She sat beside the toddler and pulled him into her lap, then pressed a hand to his forehead to check for fever. “You don’t feel warm,” she said. “What’s wrong, bud?”
He rested his head against her chest and cried out again, seeking comfort by clinging tightly to her tunic. Cara rocked from side to side while patting the boy’s back. Over the next ten minutes, she hummed and bounced and cooed, using every soothing technique she knew, but nothing worked.
He was hurting—she sensed it.
After ensuring nobody was watching from the window, she took his face in her hands and peered into his eyes, opening her mind to him.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked aloud in L’eihr.
Hurt, he mentally repeated, which didn’t help much. Using Silent Speech with toddlers was a challenge because they couldn’t form coherent thoughts. Instead of dialogue, they shared snippets of desire or emotion in a jumble that often didn’t make sense. This time was no exception.
Cara wanted to help the boy, but she didn’t know how. She rested her fingertips against his belly and locked gazes with him in desperation. Hurt? She moved her hand to his head. Hurt? After repeating the query at his ears and throat, she touched his legs. Hurt here? Where is the hurt?
He understood—she felt it within his consciousness. He opened his mouth and pointed inside, then told her, Hurt here, and projected a sensation she recognized at once. She’d known that pain at sixteen, when her wisdom teeth had pushed a jagged trail to the surface of her gums. This baby was cutting teeth—probably his two-year molars.
Anger flared through her, flushing her cheeks and making her hot all over. Teething was a common issue among young children, so why hadn’t the nursery workers checked for this? How long would they have let the boy cry before realizing he was in pain?
And they had the audacity to call her slow.
First, she was going to treat his sore gums with an analgesic swab. Then she was going to tear someone a new L’asshole. Holding tightly to the boy, she pushed to standing and stalked across the room. But when Cara threw aside the door and stepped into the hall, she came to a sudden halt.
Wait a minute.
Had she used Silent Speech with this boy? With words and everything?
Cara’s lips parted and spread into a smile. She’d really done it!
Her anger evaporated, morphing into triumph. After tireless hours of practice, she’d finally discovered the part of her brain required to share complete thoughts. Now that she’d isolated it, the region felt like a muscle she’d never known existed. She flexed it while gazing into the boy’s eyes. We’ll fix the hurt, she told him.
It was easier now!
Hurt, was all he said. He didn’t understand anything more.
She carried him to the first-aid station and strapped him into the counter seat, then fished in the cubby for a plastic swab. She showed it to the boy and opened her mouth to model what she wanted him to do. Open big.
When he obeyed, she snapped the tip off the medicated end and dabbed thick, syrupy liquid over the back of his gums, where bits of white bone had begun to poke through the flesh. She massaged the medication into the swollen tissue and opened her mind to him. No hurt?
Bad taste, he complained, but his pain was gone. Give drink.
“Okay.” She spoke aloud in L’eihr after noticing Gram, the nursery director, striding into the room with an infant on her shoulder. “Let’s get you some water.”
The boy tugged Cara’s cheek with his sticky palm, initiating eye contact. No water. Reed-milk.
“Or milk,” she said for the director’s benefit. “Would you rather have that?”
Milk, he silently repeated.
Use your words, she told him. Say it loud.
“MILK!”
Gram laughed from the changing station. “He knows what he wants.”
Cara left him buckled in his seat while she fetched a glass of reed-milk, which was similar in taste and consistency to soy. In other words, totally nasty. But the little guy loved it. She helped him finish his drink and told Gram his caregivers had mistaken teething pain for a temper tantrum. Gram promised to have a word with his instructor.
Cara guided the boy back to the toddler room and left him with a kiss on the cheek, which he promptly scrubbed away with his fist. That was gratitude for you. But no matter. Nothing could bring her down. Cara’s accomplishment had her beaming like a new quarter. She couldn’t wait to tell Aelyx tomorrow—he would be so proud.
Since the seclusion room was empty and she doubted the preschool instructor wanted any more of her help, Cara decided to sneak off to the intermediate course to blow off some steam. Besides, she was on a roll today. She’d managed to get Elle to open up about her grief, then she’d unlocked the next level of Silent Speech. If good things came in threes, she’d conquer those wily spinners before dinner.
Vero greeted her in the lobby and followed along to the obstacle course, chattering animatedly in his language of chirps and howls. Occasionally, he’d freeze, ears cocked on high alert, and dart into the trees to hunt another prize, but the daytime serpents were too quick for him. Cara strolled at an easy pace, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the citrusy scent of ilar leaves on the breeze. The only sounds were rhythmic percussions of insect calls and birdsongs, both foreign and familiar to her ears. While mating calls varied from one planet to another, love was universal, and it was in the air today.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said to Vero, even though he didn’t understand. “I miss the green leaves, but the bushes and trees back home are dormant now, anyway.”
She wished she had more time to enjoy the outdoors. She wanted to wander deep into the woods, where thick trees blocked the sun, and see what fuzzy wonders grew in the shadows. She wanted to shuttle over the great city wall and catch a glimpse of the beasts there, to discover whether the barrier protected the animals or if the reverse were true. It seemed criminal to overload her schedule to the point where she couldn’t explore this lush place.
The intermediate course was still and silent when she reached it. Even the spinners lay motionless, which gave her a chance to inspect them more closely. Each rotator was constructed like a record player, a round disk raised slightly above its foundation held in place by a central bolt, which turned with the apparatus instead of remaining fixed.
She crouched down and grazed the pebbled surface with her palm. Good traction, a clue that she wasn’t meant to skid from one to the other. She pushed against the outside edge, feeling it give an inch beneath her weight. Common sense told her she could use the bounce to her advantage, but she didn’t know how.
She jogged to the solar panel that powered the course’s moving elements and turned it on. In response, a soft hum arose, breaking the tranquility. Time to get down to business. She set off at a slow run and approached the first spinner, determined to crush the obstacle.
Fifteen minutes later, the only thing she’d effectively crushed was her own butt.
She rubbed her aching bottom and muttered a few swear words while the rotating disks mocked her in a steady whir that resembled demonic laughter. Why couldn’t she figure this out?
“As if I need another reason to feel like a loser here.” Glaring at the nearest spinner, she drew back and gave the base a hearty kick. It felt so good that she stomped the disk with her boot heel, not caring that the act would probably land her on her backside.
But that’s not what happened.
The impact caused the disk to stall ever so briefly…just long enough to gain purchase and leap to the next spinner, had she been standing on it.
That was it—the secret to navigating the spinners was to land as hard as possible on each disk. Cara laughed aloud, startling Vero, who’d begun to doze in a patch of sunlight.
“Eureka!” she shouted, rubbing her palms together. “Now watch me own this course.”
It took a few tries to perfect her technique, but by the fourth attempt, she had it down to a science. When she leaped from the final spinner across the finish line, she pumped her fists into the air and shouted a victory cry sweeter than any chocolate bar. She couldn’t believe the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins. If besting the intermediate course felt this good, she’d probably need to change her pants after mastering the proficient track.