Not all of Kristyl’s formidable skill could make any activity distracting enough from the news and uncertainties they suffered while waiting. But her efforts did help. Even the staff members found themselves participating in and adding to her schedule of events. One jokingly offered her a job; Vasiht’h watched them both laugh as if they meant it, observing the formalities. And everyone’s eyes returned again and again to the screens. Someone had suggested turning them off, but that had lasted all of ten minutes before group consensus led them to renege on that vow and resume staring at the path of the hurricane.
Vasiht’h found the waiting interminable. The facility had a basic medical kit, one sufficient to sealing cuts and resolving minor contusions. Anything more complicated would have been whisked via Pad to the mainland hospital for diagnosis and treatment. His injuries, while not incapacitating, hurt like the Goddess’s hell, particularly since the immobilizing wrap around his torso was someone’s best take at it. No one here was a licensed healer or healer-assist, and while all the staff was trained in first aid, there was first aid and then there was professional-level care. The more critically wounded had been isolated in a room out of the way, and the staff members who exited that room did so with grim expressions.
How ridiculous it was not to be able to just step over a Pad and fix all this! Or call someone and have them walk someone through basic care! He didn’t understand the explanations why their systems weren’t working, only that it had something to do with the location of the transmitting end and its proximity to the storm and whatever disordering fields it was emitting. Vasiht’h sipped from a cup of calming tea and watched the white arms of the hurricane rotate on the screen, thinking of how powerless people were without their tools. Such tools they were, born of the thoughts of the Goddess’s children, following Her precepts. And yet, tools did not make gods of men, and in the end, they all died.
“Something wrong?” he asked when the same staff member, a concerned-looking Tam-illee, had gone in and out of the back room one too many times.
He glanced at Vasiht’h and plastered a smile on his face. “Everything’s under control, alet.”
Vasiht’h canted his head. “Is that what you’d tell your therapist?”
That gave the todfox pause. “If I had one…?”
“You can borrow one now, if you want.” Vasiht’h smiled and tapped his chest. “I have a license to practice. And I could use the work.”
Another pause, and then the Tam-illee laughed, wearily. “Couldn’t we all. Still, I don’t want to worry you. You’re a guest.”
“I think the distinctions between guests and staff melted away hours ago.” Vasiht’h glanced at the main room, where the games had given way to people sleeping or talking very quietly. “We’re all in this together.”
“I guess so,” the todfox said reluctantly, and ran a hand over his head, between his ears. “I guess a therapist isn’t likely to panic, either.”
“I’m a Glaseah as well as a therapist, too,” Vasiht’h said. “Trust me, I don’t fluster easily.”
The Tam-illee chuckled. “I bet!” And looked back into the room before saying, “If we could get them to the hospital… but we can’t. And I’m afraid. At least one of them looks really bad.”
Vasiht’h didn’t need to ask how bad. “The storm’s already hit the coast, right? It won’t be much longer.”
“It might already have been too long.” The todfox rubbed his eyes with the butts of his palms. “This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen here. I took this job because it’s wonderful. People come to Tsera Nova happy and leave happier. I spend all day watching people laugh and play and relax. Even when they’re upset and I need to fix their problems, they’re already less upset than people doing normal things in other places. If that makes sense?”
“It does,” Vasiht’h promised.
“It’s just… so… positive. I love my job.” He looked toward the room again. “And then this?”
“An accident,” Vasiht’h said. “They happen.” He rested a hand on the todfox’s wrist, drawing him back from his agitation. “A terrible accident, in this case, but… have you ever had anything even remotely this bad happen here?”
“Never!”
“So… it’s not likely to happen often, is it?”
“No,” he said. “But… it wasn’t supposed to happen at all.”
Vasiht’h shook his head. “We do our best, alet. But to think we can control everything… that’s not reasonable. Some might also call it arrogant.”
The Tam-illee’s ears drooped. “I know that.” He tapped his temple. “Here. But here,” finger on breastbone. “Here, I think… ‘what’s the point of everything we know how to do if we can’t stop things like this from happening.’”
“Those people relaxing and laughing,” Vasiht’h asked. “Can you picture them in your mind?”
Surprised, the todfox looked at him. “What?”
“Tell me about one of the laughing people,” Vasiht’h asked.
“I can’t… I don’t…”
“Child or adult?” Vasiht’h asked.
“Child,” he said automatically.
Vasiht’h nodded. “Girl or boy?”
“Both? There were…” He stopped, smiled. “There were six of them. Four girls, two boys. All Tam-illee. Two separate families, here to celebrate something. The kits weren’t clear on it, but it had to do with money. A promotion, maybe? And the littlest girl had a shirt with a pegasus on it. A purple one.”
“Were they chasing the fish?” Vasiht’h asked. “I chased the fish. It’s hard not to.”
“It is, isn’t it?” The Tam-illee laughed a little. “But no, they asked me to take a viseo for them, and it was the funniest thing. They were all yelling and bouncing and jostling and not paying attention, but then the oldest boy gave me the tablet and I pointed it at them and they all just…” He made a gesture with his hands, pressing them together. “Came together instantly. Posed perfectly, smiled, were completely motionless. I took some stills and said, ‘All right, done!’ and they burst apart and ran in all sorts of directions…” He laughed and snapped his fingers. “Like that! How did they do that? How many pictures do you think they posed for, to have that instinct?”
“Probably hundreds,” Vasiht’h answered, smiling. “I bet those two families have been friends since before the kits arrived.”
“It has to be so,” the todfox agreed. And grinned at him. “And then they chased the fish.”
Vasiht’h nodded. “That must have been a pretty picture.”
“Kits are wonderful,” the todfox said with a sigh. And then frowned, and smiled crookedly. “You’re about to say ‘that’s the point of everything’, isn’t it. Yes, disasters happen and they’re awful and we can’t stop them. But most days are about… children laughing, and the sun on your face, and your favorite meal on a hard day, just when you need it….”
“Yes,” Vasiht’h said. “You see? You already knew the answer.”
The Tam-illee leaned back against the wall, sobering. “I guess I did. But why is it so hard?”
“Because it’s so good the rest of the time,” Vasiht’h said. “So when it’s bad, it’s awful.”
That startled a chuckle out of the male. More quietly, he said, “I think one of them’s going to die.”
“Then it was their time to go home,” Vasiht’h said, gentle. “And not all your grief or fear or worry will change that. All it’ll do is deprive you of the strength to keep going for the people who will survive.”
“And if I can’t stop feeling those things anyway?”
“Then know you’re not alone.” Vasiht’h looked up at him. “Do you need a hug?”
“I…” The todfox stopped, a bemused look on his face. And then his ears dropped, and he said, sheepish, “I wouldn’t say no?”
Vasiht’h offered his arms, and the Tam-illee bent for the embrace. And stayed there, trembling, for several long breaths, which Vasiht’h felt intimately against his ribcage: how the other male was trying to keep from shaking, or crying. Or maybe he was, just softly; Vasiht’h could smell salt, and thought of the ocean.
Backing away, the todfox said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Vasiht’h paused a few heartbeats. “So, what is your favorite meal?”
Surprised, the Tam-illee said, “Ah… I like sushi?”
“You’re in the right place for that, I bet!”
“Oh yes, it’s wonderful here. You should try it if you haven’t.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Vasiht’h said.
The Tam-illee smiled a little. “I should… get back. But… thank you again.”
“My pleasure,” Vasiht’h said.
He remained in the hall after the todfox had gone on to the main room, wondering at the interaction. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t turn off the instincts that had led him to become a therapist; his sister’s pithy observation about his wanting to take care of everyone had stung because of its accuracy, after all. What did puzzle him was that… he’d been right when he’d told his impromptu client that he didn’t fluster easily. He didn’t, when other people needed him. Or at least, he thought that was how that worked.
How could he be both an anxious mess and everyone’s rock at the same time? Was that even possible?
He glanced at the storm on the nearest screen, and then at the sleepers. Tempting to go among them and try to rest, but he knew he’d fail. Instead, he crept into the room where the injured had been sequestered. There was a staff member dozing on a chair in the corner, her uniform wrinkled and the data tablet she’d been holding slumped onto her lap in her open hand. There were six people in the room, lying on blankets. It didn’t take Vasiht’h specialized medical knowledge to identify the one that had frightened the Tam-illee: a middle-aged Asanii woman, her flesh already seeming to have shrunk away from her spirit. Sitting alongside her, Vasiht’h gathered up her limp hand. Maybe she would die… but maybe she would feel the heat against her fingers, and use it as an anchor.
Stay with us, he whispered. Not just for yourself, but for all the people who would miss you… whoever they are. Including me, and the Tam-illee staffer whose name I don’t even know. He doesn’t know your name, either, but he doesn’t have to, because we’re all voyagers together, and in the end, we all go home to the same place. And that makes us kin.
She didn’t miraculously wake—that really would have been something out of the fairy tales Kristyl accused him of living in—but that was all right. He was doing good work, right here, and that was all he needed.