Varktezo felt guilty, placing telepathy gas emitters in the backroom above the Leaven Street Brewery. He shouldn’t smuggle such valuable devices outside the lab.

There was a bar. Some students were already getting drunk or snacking. The brewery owner was friendly with a popular student who was friends with one of Varktezo’s most creative lab assistants, and she’d been excited to host this semi-secret party.

The promise of telepathy gas seemed to excite a lot of people. Varktezo could hardly believe how crowded the room was growing.

A band of impromptu musicians arrived. They claimed that Varktezo’s colleague had invited them, and even though he suspected they were lying, he agreed to let them stay. It should be fine as long as he liked their music.

“Are you the chief scientist? Varktezo?” A cute female ummin actually sounded happy to talk to him, not judgmental.

“I am.” Varktezo checked to make sure the third emitter was stable.

“Are you the one who set up this party?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Ooh, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She riffled the flaps of her head cover, making sure it was pretty. “I’m Ounzong.”

Varktezo grinned at her. “Um, hi.” He wasn’t sure how to greet a friendly stranger. Her lack of a collar scar hinted that she probably came from a slave farm, like him. Or maybe she was shani? He didn’t want to be rude with personal questions. “Ounzong? That’s a pretty name.”

Ounzong looked happily around the crowded room. “This is going to be miraculous. Truly. Are we really going to read minds? Have you actually done it?”

“Yup!” Varktezo stepped back from his handiwork. He eyed the emitters, making sure they were roughly equidistant.

He had told the Teacher that he was experimenting with free radicals and ionic polymerization, the last time they’d spoken. Instead...?

Well, he hadn’t lied. He had finished his experiments, and then he’d decided to reverse-engineer and duplicate telepathy gas emitters. Why not? Was Varktezo supposed to just dismiss the intellectual curiosity of his fellow lab assistants? It seemed harmless to invite loads of people to practice telepathy.

It would even be beneficial. People ought to be prepared for the next Torth invasion. If people grew familiar with telepathy gas, they were more likely to survive.

The band began to play music. The combination of their drums and stringed instruments added to the festive atmosphere. One of them grabbed a microphone and began to croon into it.

Voices got louder to compensate. A few people began dancing in place. Ounzong bounced to the rhythm.

Was she giving Varktezo a flirty look? He must be misinterpreting it.

“When do we get started?” Ounzong asked.

“Um…” Varktezo looked around the room.

“Let’s read minds!” someone shouted.

Cheers.

Varktezo grinned at all the enthusiasm. People shouted his name. They yelled for the party to get started. Ounzong whooped, clearly ready.

“All right!” Varktezo twisted the knob on the nearest emitter, and the crowd roared in approval. They cheered for Varktezo as he ran from one emitter to the next, turning them on.

Varktezo raised his hands for attention. “Let’s get this party started!”

… Started!

 … Started!

His own words silently echoed with unique enhancements, augmented by the varied perceptions which he picked up. Varktezo felt incredible. He was at the center of a vortex of attention.

People saw him.

They saw him from a variety of angles, through different eyesight and height levels, colored by different emotions and opinions of geeky ummins like him. They weren’t all friendly. They did not all follow the code of Gwat. But just about everyone thought he was worth knowing, because he had put this awesome party together.

He could get used to this feeling.

“Yes. I’m pretty awesome, aren’t I?” he admitted.

People cheered.

They actually agreed! That seemed miraculous.

The musicians tentatively experimented with their song. As soon as they sensed how well it was received, they gained confidence, the same way Varktezo felt. They seemed to thrive on the energy of the crowd.

As more and more people enjoyed their melody and rhythm, their music changed, reflecting the overall mood in the room. It grew more energetic and joyous.

Ounzong was thinking. He looks so happy. I wonder if he would like me if I buy him a drink?

Varktezo laughed at the absurdity of someone wanting to impress him. Usually it was the other way around. He just wanted to dance with her!

Ounzong laughed in astonishment. She grabbed his hands and pulled him into a dance.

Soon they were bouncing to the rhythm, neither needing to speak. Thoughts reached them no matter how loud the music was. When Ounzong became confused, inundated by too many alien perceptions, Varktezo shared the focus techniques he had learned from (a grizzled old mind reader) Garrett. He led by example. He led the dance.

Can I take telepathy lessons from you? Ounzong gripped his arm, enchanted by the idea.

 !

  !!

   !!!

Half the room seemed to echo her sentiment. People mobbed Varktezo, not physically, but mentally. Their minds swept around him like orbital satellites around a planet. He wasn’t an expert, but he was the closest thing to an expert who was not a full-time mind reader.

Yes.

 Oooh.

  I want lessons!

   Invite Me?

Varktezo eyed the eager crowd, surprised. Garrett’s private lessons had a limited invitee list, but only a fraction of the official list ever attended. Plenty of dignitaries, including Ariock and Vy, never showed up. So it had not occurred to Varktezo that a lot of people would want to experience telepathy on a regular basis.

Cravings surrounded him. He had underestimated public interest.

All right. Varktezo spontaneously decided that yes, he could become a teacher. Why not?

!!!

 !!!YAY!!!

  (Party!!!)

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People whooped. They jumped and danced, happy to celebrate. They wanted to become telepaths.

Ounzong danced with Varktezo, filled with joyous hope. Their thoughts fit together like puzzle pieces. They locked into a discussion pattern, even though they were not conversing. Every idea sparked a reaction in the other.

It was unlike anything that Varktezo had ever experienced.

Thoughts surrounded him and Ounzong, but most of those thoughts were dull, just not worth exploring. He and his newfound partner were creating their own symphony. They ignored everyone else in the room. They built upon each other’s imaginations, making each other giggle, creating a covalent bond. They were diatomic.

Later in the evening, some outside thoughts did intrude.

!

 !!!

  Really?

   An Alashani came here?

    I (We) don’t believe it.

There were enough silent exclamations for Varktezo to look towards the door, along with the majority of party-goers. They wanted to verify that this new arrival was real.

Everyone perceived her. She had the dimensions of an Alashani maiden, although her face was hidden by a hood and a sunhat. But why would a shani attend a student party? Very few albino people took classes at the Academy. They preferred their own schools, where they learned their own things.

Also, the albinos detested telepathy. Everyone knew how they felt about rekvehs.

As Varktezo watched, the maiden removed her hat and shook out her long black hair.

Not an Alashani at all. He knew who this was.

 ? ? ?

  (Cherise) right, it’s the angel.

“Cherise?” (Cherise?) Varktezo’s voice resounded, bolstered and verified by other people’s affirmations. The music faltered. Everyone was surprised to see someone famous show up at a student party.

Cherise looked unnerved. She eyed the doorway, and Varktezo sensed her inner doubts.

“Stay!” He tried to make his voice inviting. “You’re welcome here.”

The music found a confident rhythm. Varktezo wound through the dancing crowd with Ounzong by his side. The closer they got to Cherise, the easier it would be pick up her thoughts.

Cherise waited politely. But her fear was as stark as a color. I shouldn’t be here. She eyed the door. How many people will Varktezo tell? (Will he tell Thomas?)

Varktezo blew breath out through his beak. These days, the Teacher (Thomas) never visited. He was too busy mind probing penitents. It might take him a whole week to find out about this party.

Oh. Cherise marveled at the thoughts she had just overheard from Varktezo. Oh my.  

Indeed. Thanks to telepathy gas, non-telepaths sometimes knew more than the Teacher. It was incredibly amazing.

Varktezo swept a bow.

Next to him, Ounzong offered to guide Cherise around the party. Do you (Cherise) take telepathy lessons with Garrett? she wondered, polite and curious.

Cherise looked away. No. Her mind glowed with sublime interest in telepathy lessons, yet Varktezo could actually see her reasons for avoiding the lessons. Her boyfriend (fiancé) (Flen) would not approve of Cherise doing rekveh things. Her fear was as vibrant as the banded sky. Cherise did not want Flen enraged at her.

Varktezo gawked.

Then why…? He stared at Cherise, curious, soaking up her reasons for showing up at his party.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Cherise hunched her shoulders defensively, her thoughts spilling and overlapping. Gosh, this is embarrassing. They’re overhearing my thoughts!

But she had been curious.

Cherise was in the habit of staying late at the Academy, to chat with students, or to draw in her sketchbook. She had figured she could get away with a few minutes at this semi-secret party. Students and Alashani did not share social circles. Clearly, Cherise had figured that a party full of random students would be too obscure for Flen to learn about.

She had not expected to run into someone she knew. Varktezo’s presence made her nervous.

Ounzong radiated an opinion. Well, I can understand Flen’s point of view, she thought. (I am sorry but) Cherise looks like a Torth. If she learns to read minds…? Hmph. Then what will separate her from Torth?

That concern had not occurred to Varktezo.

He did not conflate friends with enemies. Even Thomas, who was a half Torth hybrid, was in a league of his own. No one should equate the Teacher with a Torth—let alone Vy or Cherise. That seemed ridiculous.

I don’t belong here. Cherise’s iridescent amber gaze bounced from the colorful lights to the musicians to the various people dancing and laughing. Looks fun. (All alien crowd, no humanoids.) How can I politely leave?

Her discomfort made everyone nearby feel discomforted. People shot her annoyed glances.

Why doesn’t that human leave?

 Yeah.

The unfriendly chorus gained traction.

Varktezo wanted no part of the common sentiment, so he made an effort to reject it. “Please.” He clasped Cherise’s hand with deliberation. “Stay for a few minutes?”

The alarm in Cherise’s mind was louder than the music. She felt the hostility, and she expected jokes made at her expense. Perhaps an attack or two?

Varktezo was amazed to learn that the human adolescent shared his own social fears.

They were from different worlds. He was an ummin, she was a human, he was a scientist, she was an artist, and yet they both had trouble fitting in with a crowd. For each of them, friendship was a complicated dance that required too many steps. As for dating…? Ha. That was harder than rocket science.

Oh? A teasing spike of humor came from Ounzong.

I’m fine. Cherise stepped back. I don’t have trouble dating. I love Flen.

But that was a lie. Varktezo sensed Cherise’s inner doubts as clearly as if she had advertised them. She regretted losing Thomas. She missed him.

I get that, Varktezo silently admitted. Lately, he feared that his friendship with the Teacher was slipping away.

Cherise blinked at Varktezo, shocked by his understanding.

Ounzong stepped back, fading to the periphery of Varktezo’s telepathic perception. Was she disgusted by his unlikely connection with the human?

No. That was an unfair assessment. Ounzong emanated sympathy instead of disgust. She was being nice, giving Varktezo room to mentally explore his feelings.

I don’t have to intrude. Cherise began to step away, to retrieve her hat and cloak.

You came here to learn about Thomas, Varktezo silently observed.

Cherise hesitated. It was true. She wanted to gain some perspective on how Thomas used to perceive her.

And she also sought secrets.

She had doubts about where her relationship with Flen was headed, and she wanted to learn if the general population knew about the Alashani undergrounder movement. Was Flen dangerous? Did people perceive him as being dangerous?

“Stay,” Varktezo invited. “Let’s talk for a bit.”

He actually wanted to converse, he realized. Mind sharing was too intense. It got rude fast.

Other party-goers picked up on Varktezo’s quiet invitation to Cherise, and many quit their hostility. They returned to experimenting with shared perceptions. It seemed that a number of people here actually respected Varktezo’s wishes.

How marvelous.

“If you two need fresh air,” Ounzong said, “there’s a nice view from the rooftop.” She pointed to the upstairs ramp.

For a wonder, Ounzong glowed with acceptance and patience. She understood that Varktezo wanted an opportunity to discuss the Teacher with someone who used to know him well.

Are you Varktezo’s girlfriend? Cherise wondered.

Varktezo did feel a special closeness with Ounzong, but he dared not claim a relationship with the pretty ummin. Ounzong had probably only gotten intimate with him thanks to the telepathy gas. Would she even want to speak to him after tonight?

I will definitely speak to you again, Varktezo. Ounzong waved with a casual smile. You’re darn cute, even if you are a science geek.

She vanished into the crowd.

Varktezo gaped. Cherise chuckled, radiating an artistic array of emotions.

They found the rooftop balcony above the brewery. Varktezo inhaled the night air, making sure that all traces of telepathy was gone. Cherise seemed to do the same.

“It’s too much,” Varktezo admitted. “When we’re friends, I mean. I think telepathy is better for strangers.”

Cherise nodded. “Thomas used to tell me that. I think he felt guilty for absorbing all my secrets.” She hesitated. “He used to, anyway. I guess.”

“The Torth may have trained him to stop feeling guilt about it.” Varktezo could not imagine the slave masters feeling guilty about anything.

“Yeah.” Cherise made a face. “The way they think…? It’s more obvious, now. Isn’t it?” She shivered, drawing her knitted cardigan around her shoulders. “It was weird. Like being part of a swarm of insects.”

Varktezo supposed she had a point. Telepathy could be uplifting and amazing. It empowered mass coordination.

Yet there was a dark side to sharing every mood and erasing every secret. Disagreements became dangerous. Mental gulfs became treacherous. Hostility could build up with savage speed. Varktezo thought of how swiftly the crowd had turned against Cherise, and he shuddered. The moods of crowds were frightening.

The early Torth had experienced that. Mass joy, but also mass hatred. Mass outrage. Mass fear.

They had collectively voted to get rid of emotions.

It must have seemed like a wise choice at the time. A kindness. But one bad vote led to another, and over time, perhaps within just two or three generations, the collective of destitute peasants had transformed into tyrants who owned slaves. Their cooperation was glorious. It gave them immense power. But the price of that power…

The Torth had collectively given up their morals and their human kindness in exchange for power.

No wonder the Teacher had wanted to escape.

“Thomas doesn’t go with crowds,” Varktezo said. “He’s not interested in capitulating to other people’s emotions and opinions. Not at any price. I think that may be why he left the Torth Empire.”

He considered other super-geniuses, such as the Upward Governess, and the Twins, and all the generations that had come before them. And he grew more certain. The others were certainly smart enough to identify the negatives of oversharing, yet they had stayed. Perhaps they were too self-doubting to disagree with their orbiters?

Or they were beholden to the masses in some way. They were addicted to other people’s knowledge. They wanted to please crowds. They wanted to be liked.

Thomas, raised on Earth instead of on a baby farm, had felt unique and different from the start. He’d grown inured to the feeling. He was used to being an outcast, and he had embraced uniqueness as his core identity.

“Otherwise?” Varktezo concluded, “he would have stayed.”

Cherise leaned on the railing, thoughtful.

Varktezo did not ask what was going through her mind. That was private and personal, and it would be rude to intrude.

He was content to admire the view.

For the first time, he felt glad to be unlike his peers. He did not particularly want to join a swarm, no matter how glorious and almighty it was.

It was good to be different.