Aside from their obviously unusual pigmentation–all of the perhaps five thousand Aenar who still dwelled beneath Andoria’s northern wastes were albinos–there was little to distinguish these people from their cerulean‑hued cousins, at least visually. And like their far more common blue Andorian, the Aenar could not reproduce without the participation of four distinct sexes: shen, thaan, chan,and zhen. Also like Andorians, the Aenar possessed frost‑white hair and prominent cranial antennae that not only provided EM‑band sensory input but also swayed and danced in response to their emotions.

Watching the slow, stately approach of the shelthrethparty, Shran considered the emotions that most distinguished Aenar from Andorian, perhaps even more than did the albino people’s unique and formidable telepathic abilities. For the Aenar were as gentle and pacifistic as Shran’s folk were passionate and contentious. Despite their diminishing numbers, an augury of imminent extinction in Shran’s estimation, the Aenar seemed to have made their peace with a hostile universe in a way that Shran had never managed to do, and probably never would. He often envied them their upbeat outlook and their gentle serenity.

But he also sometimes quietly raged at them for their entrenched belief in passivity.

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder just now if either Andorian or Aenar was destined to survive without the other.

Without any conscious volition he could recall, Shran had begun the morning by mentally composing a poem about what was to occur on this day. Or perhaps it would one day become a song, with lyrics set to dirge‑like music, inspired by Shran’s own losses as much as by Jhamel’s poorly suppressed grief for her brother Gareb, whose death had closely coincided with that of Talas. However it came out in the end, he already knew with certainty that if he ever managed to see it to completion it would be a sad, morose thing indeed.

And why not?he thought. After all, he was about to bid farewell to a woman with whom he once, if only very briefly, had hoped he might build a future, a shelthrethbondgroup, and perhaps children. They might even have created a future together that would bridge the vast gulf that separated two very disparate Andorian peoples.

Jhamel.

In spite of all the mental discipline he had learned to marshal during the many months he had dwelled among the Aenar, he now found that he was utterly unable to keep a rising sense of desolate melancholy at bay. He supposed that it must have set up a keening wail that was telepathically audible to everyone else in the room, despite the ingrained aversion of Jhamel’s people to intruding upon the thoughts of others without first securing their express permission.

Get hold of yourself,Shran thought as he watched the crowd part to admit the shelthrethprocession, in which Jhamel was radiant in her snow‑white gown, despite the semidarkness. Just wish her well. She deserves all the happiness you can imagine, and more.

“Thank you for that, Shran,”Jhamel said, stopping only a few long paces away from Shran, her mind speaking gently and sweetly, and apparently only to him. It was a silent sound, like the memory of delicate, crystalline bells. “And mayyou find such happiness as well.”

A second telepathic voice intruded then, and Shran immediately realized that this one was being mentally broadcast to everyone gathered in the room.

It was clear to Shran that the originator of this thought‑stream was the white‑robed woman who stood facing Jhamel and the other three members of her shelthrethparty; Shran recognized her at once as Lissan, one of the Aenar people’s most respected leaders.

“My dear friends,”Lissan said wordlessly to the dozens of blind, silent, and eagerly attentive Aenar telepaths who stood around the shelthrethparty in a broad ring, their collective breath rising toward the cavern ceiling in delicately curling pillars of ivory‑hued vapor. “We have gathered to witness the joining of these four kindred souls in the bonds ofshelthreth , the honored, sacred estate established in earliest antiquity by Uzaveh the Infinite, the omniscient and omnipotent creator of the world. As Uzaveh instituted the Great Joining that brought together the wisdom of Charaleas, the strength of Zheusal, the love of Shanchen, and the passion of Thirizaz to form the First Kin, so, too, do we sanctify today theshelthreth of these four.”

Shran allowed a small smile to cross his lips as he recognized the ancient names, familiar to him from the bedtime tales and devotions of his youth. He found it gratifying to discover that the similarities between the Aenar and Andorian peoples seemed to extend even to the ancient myths that made up the very underpinnings of their respective cultures.

Shran suddenly noticed that Lissan had lapsed into telepathic silence, her pause filled by a soundless, psionic murmur of approval that rolled across the dozens of onlookers like a wave. Shran assumed that the sheer positive intensity of these sentiments had ensured that his own decidedly nontelepathic brain could receive them.

Lissan motioned to one of the two Aenar males of the shelthrethgroup, a young man whose white ceremonial attire was not unlike that of Jhamel. He stepped forward, his milky, sightless eyes fixed directly ahead, his expression frozen in ancient ceremonial solemnity. He was of the same sex as Shran–a thaan–and appeared to be about Jhamel’s age, approximately fifteen years Shran’s junior.

“Anitheras th’Lenthar,”Lissan said, “will you become Whole, entering the blessed state ofshelthreth with your entire heart and soul?”

The young man, whom Shran knew better as Theras, telepathically recited words steeped in age‑old ritual as he took a step toward Lissan. “I will, without reservation or hesitation.”

“Onalishenar ch’Sorichas,”Lissan continued, addressing the other young male of the quartet with the same query. Shenar responded in the same manner that Theras had; he gently took Theras’s hand, his blind face refulgent with a look of almost religious ecstasy.

“Lahvishri sh’Ralaavazh,”Lissan continued, asking the ancient shelthrethquestion yet again. Vishri, the stolid young woman who stood beside the taller, more slender figure of Jhamel, stepped forward, recited the ritual words in turn, and joined hands with Shenar.

“Thirijhamel zh’Dhaven,”Lissan said, prompting Jhamel to step toward her three bondmates and telepathically recite the time‑honored words. He hoped that the spirit of her brother Gareb was somewhere near, perceiving the proceedings by whatever means the Aenar departed might have at their disposal.

Even in the cavern’s low illumination, Shran found Jhamel’s innocent beauty gently awe‑inspiring, and more than a little humbling. At that moment, he pitied the entire Aenar race for being unable to see her in quite the same way he did.

Get a good look at her, Shran,he told himself, while carefully schooling his mind to keep a low enough profile so as not to be casually overheard, least of all by Jhamel herself. You won’t be seeing much of her anymore.He tried to memorize every contour of her face, despite the strange, distorting shadows created by the cavern’s dim lighting.

Very soon, memory would be all he had of Jhamel. His small civilian transport vessel, the only real property he possessed now that he no longer drew an Imperial Guard salary, was already waiting for him, prepped and ready and tucked away in a convenient hollow in the ice and snow that lay outside this very cavern. Once he had said his farewells to Jhamel and her bondmates, he would be gone, seeking his fortune in the sometimes unsavory world of freelance interstellar commerce.