Darllanyu felt his concern for Krinata. She shifted uncomfortably. //What's taking that Historian so long?//
Absently Jindigar kneaded his chair arm to relieve the nag– ging itch of his nail beds. He stared at his inflamed fingertips and refused to check Darllanyu's restless hands as he answered, //Threntisn is being cautious—wisely so, considering what happens when I tangle with that Archive.//
//Let's not dwell on that,// suggested Venlagar.
Then Threntisn's question came directly through their Outreach: How did you know the clickerbeasts were attacking the Holot?
The whole-Oliat response was engaged. With the Inreach focused on past experience, and the Outreach holding the current links, data flooded up out of their global memory into the current links, then flowed out through Krinata and onto Threntisn's screen as visual patterns while his Archive assimilated the Oliat's subtextual data.
To the Oliat it was real again: their first experience of the shaleiliu hum, their bright anticipation of Dissolution shattered, and the sky blackened with screeching, yammering, clicking bodies swarming toward the cliff face and the lip of the cave where the Holot fought them and lost.
The entire scene unreeled, skillfully directed by Threntisn's prompts. Why did you respond? And when they had controlled -the swarm, How did you induce them to leave?
Jindigar, at Center, separated the remembered data into levels, allowing facts to go into open file for any Historian to access, and then grading the Oliat's experiences so Aliom trained researchers could retrieve it.
He had never done this before, and in his concern for his officers, he had forgotten that he, himself, was entering new depths. One mistake and someone using the Archive might have data dumped into his nervous system with such speed that it would destroy his mind. It suddenly occurred to him that generations of Aliom Priests had debriefed to this Archive. It probably contained everything he'd need to train himself to his next level and lead this community properly.
Deeply relieved, Jindigar marshaled his full concentration, mastering another Center function. He hardly noticed when Threntisn segued into questions about the search for a new food source, and Krinata and Venlagar once more held the Holot infant in their arms.
The Historian led them through the search. Jindigar carefully separated the knowledge they had gained of the Holot and the Gifters from the Oliat's inner experience. He noted the point where he and Zannesu had shifted the linkage patterns to Llistyien, insulating Krinata from the data flow.
Only this time, of course, she wasn't insulated. She had to handle the outflow to the debriefer, grip the linkage balances, and relive it all with them—discovering now what had been going on outside her awareness. Jindigar could not spare her a moment's thought, though, as he sifted and sorted, assigning levels.
//Not long now. Brace yourselves, here it comes, Dar,// he managed as Threntisn's final question echoed through them.
And why did you collapse?
Jindigar had told him to finish with that one, but now he regretted it. They were all exhausted, and he heard Darllanyu whimper softly as the memory of her loss of attunement swept through the Oliat, their current reactions worsened by three more days of increasing sensitivity.
The optical membrane showed the cave seen through human eyes as Jindigar had sought orientation in his Outreach. The inner level recorded the feel of her body against him as they fell, Krinata holding the squirming Holot baby as they and Storm toppled together to the hard floor of the cave.
Then the membrane went black—optical membranes in service never did that. Jindigar thought the instruments had jammed at the shock of a Center being displaced, but then, with the memory of Krinata's takeover, Jindigar floating above them, came a twisted, distorted image lit in dull shades—Krinata's visualization of the Gifters' hive on the plain above the cliff. . Jindigar didn't know if Threntisn had ever dealt with human I vision, and he was sure it would give the Historian a headache, l| but there was nothing he could do. That had been the Oliat's perception.
Her vision took over the data flows, as if she again usurped his position. The Oliat relived that moment of stark panic when Krinata took Center. Jindigar's touch on the data flow into the Archive froze, tangling the data feeds, but he lived the confrontation with the Takora-image. Held fast by linkages, by duty, by nameless terror, Jindigar stared into human eyes that held Dushau vistas.
For a moment it seemed that he could recarve history and reach out to accept her as Takora, his Center, a profoundly attractive woman. He could fall into her Office of Outreach, and they could pick up where her death had left them. She could Dissolve, and then they could discuss mating according to the proverb, How good it is for zunre to mate together!
With a frightful shock memory resumed, and Jindigar snapped into the Office of Outreach. The membrane image shimmered and became Jindigar's remembered glimpse of the committee onlookers clustered near the mouth of the cave. Then the Oliat linkages disintegrated in Krinata's grip and the membrane went black again.
They relived Jindigar's struggle to re-form the Oliat linkages around himself. Eithlarin, fatigued, tried to thrust aside those memories and live secure in the now of Jindigar's full control. Zannesu and Darllanyu also fought off the memories, but Jindigar summoned his last strength and held them to it a moment longer, hoping to record Krinata's inner processes as she realized what she had done—and perhaps how and why she'd done it. He prompted her by sending—as he had warned her he would—his impossibly cruel words that had triggered her breakdown. //Krinata! Listen! You didn't do that. Takora did.//
Krinata twisted on her couch to look back at him—and he saw himself through her eyes, a dark indigo form, earless head, a wide grimace showing pale blue teeth—too pale—large, wide-set eyes marbled and unreadable. She saw the seven long fingers of each of his hands, fingertips swollen provocatively with the developing nails. Overlaid was the image of himself in the cave, pulling her attention back to him, his lips parted to show the pale white teeth of a corpse.
Abruptly Krinata thrust aside her hand grips and flung herself sideways out of the headset's field, sprawling half off the couch and onto the rough brick floor.
But Jindigar was ready. He had prepared them all, and now he moved with a swiftness that taxed his inexperienced officers. Before Krinata's shoulders had struck the floor, he slammed the seals shut, forcing them into adjournment.
Darllanyu and Zannesu stiffened but did not cry out. Venlagar and Eithlarin struggled loose to tend the others as Jindigar scrambled to Krinata's side. He arrived just as one of the Historians admitted Trinarvil through the bead curtain, and another pushed her equipment—already set up and humming—from behind a screen.
Threntisn, couch and all, was whisked away through an inner door, contact lines clattering to the floor after him. Jindigar extricated Krinata from the contacts. He gathered her to him, saying aloud, "Come on now, you can do it. It's not the same as the first time. You didn't actually take Center. It was only a memory—like having an episode. Krinata? Come on."
Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at him. He had to remind himself sternly that the whiteness of her teeth was permanent, and natural, even in health. Her circular pupils were wide-open, but there was intelligence in her expression. The pulse at the base of her jaw was strong, her breathing deep. "Krinata, it was an Oliat debriefing."
She nodded, but on the next breath, as Jindigar signaled Trinarvil to cut the lights, Krinata began to sob. The convulsive breathing and copious flow of lubricating fluids was, in humans, tied to the production of pain dampers in the central nervous system. As alarming as the process was, it was hardly ever fatal. He found himself emitting the sound that would begin the analogous process for him, and it wasn't long before they all followed suit. They had survived one last supreme test.