He had opened his link before the time scheduled for their first contact, giving himself time to adapt to the onslaught of sensory input.
Because of the very nature of their assignment, the guides always got much more information through the link than the agents did - they were the ones, after all, who had to give an overview of the situation to the agents. They had to literally guide them through their missions to make sure they got out alive again, and get them back to safety.
To do this, they needed information not only on the physical surroundings of their agents but also on the communication traffic that might relate to them or their missions, broadcasts of any kind and, of course, military and police movements. To be able to do all of this, they tapped into communication systems - andthey needed the sensory input from their agents - touch, smell, sight, sound, taste … emotions.
Bracing himself against the impending flood of incoming data, he closed his eyes, concentrating on channeling and sorting everything that came his way, almost as if he were dividing tangible, albeit ethereal, strands of information into groups to either put aside or focus on. To him, the experience was always a highly visual one even though there was nothing there to physically be seen. Over time, he had started assigning colors to the different types of information he was receiving and was now concentrating primarily on the yellow strands that he associated with people.
Recalling her personality profile, Daryl started sifting through the information he was getting, skimming over the swirling eddies of light that, to him, represented agents whose links were open right now and waiting to be contacted by their guides, as opposed to the tight knots of light that were either currently linked agents or link-less humans. He lightly brushed over them, sensing if they were male or female, teamed with a guide already or waiting for a new contact. He checked fleetingly to see if they fit with the profile he'd been given, and hurried on after each brief touch revealed that the eddy he was investigating wasn't her.
And then his highly attuned senses, looking out for a specific texture, a unique pattern - he had always found it difficult to describe, even to other guides, as the experience was different for each person -, recognized what he had been searching for. There she was, her personality swirling in front of him, an untarnished, sun yellow nexus that told him that she was comfortable, at peace with herself, open-minded, and at ease with being paired with him.
He ignored the brief flash of panic that was there and gone again in an instant.
They would never talk to each other outside of missions or their link. She would never know anything about him as a person - nor he about her, except, of course, the things he needed to know to keep her safe, all the little details that might get her into danger. If they passed each other in the street, he might think that this woman loosely fit the physical description he'd been given of his agent, while she would never bat an eye. He would all but live inside her head while they were working together, whereas she would never know the color of his skin, eyes, hair, how tall he was, if he took his synth with or without sweetener, if he was afraid of spiders.
She would never know him.
They would never meet.
Which was fine with him.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
He forced himself to put it aside and focus on the task at hand.
Gently brushing her mind with his consciousness, he conveyed his name and a greeting, carefully banking the swirling nexus that was her mind to keep it coherent.
In some cases, first contact was traumatic for the agent who was always the passive partner during this process, and so it was the guide's responsibility to make sure that the agent was safe during this first encounter. Carefully watching the bright yellow miniature nebula in front of him, he withdrew slightly to give her time to recover from his mental caress.
.-.
Her first impression was that his „touch" was far more forceful than any other she had experienced before. It wasn't that he didn't make sure that she was safe and comfortable with their link – on the contrary. She could sense that he was being extremely careful in handling her mind, only brushing past her initially and pulling back a bit after his first contact with her so she could regain her composure. He seemed to be very aware of how powerful he was, and she appreciated that he didn't simply plow into her mind to assert his hold over her.
She was surprised and humbled by the startled realization that she had, based on what little she knew about him, expected a brute, and that contrary to her own expectations she was now actually looking forward to working with him because he was turning out to be far more considerate than she had ever anticipated. Apparently, being rejected by an agent didn't automatically translate into the guide in question truly being an overpowering mind tank. It was definitely something to think about, as she herself had been on the verge of asking for an alternative guide after reading his file and without ever trying to meld with him.
The slight pressure building "outside" her consciousness alerted her to his approach once more, and she opened her mind to make this easier on them both. Once more she got a sense of great care and gentleness, of great power tightly reined in, and then he was there.
"'m your new guide if this works out", she heard a deep, rough voice in her head. The first time he'd touched her, all he had given her was his name and a general sense of being welcomed, and she had been prepared for him being one of those guides who preferred non-verbal communication with their agents – which generally also made it easier to adhere to the "no personal contact" rule established by Terran Earth.
This rule was one of the reasons why guide/agent teams were constantly broken up again after a few missions so each half could pair up with a new partner. If you worked with someone for a long time, if you maintained that intimate connection with each other's minds, if you trusted each other with your life and sanity, then maintaining the required distance, the emotional detachment, became near impossible over time.
You did grow attached.
You did start to care.
There had been too many teams in the past who had been uncovered, tortured for information, and then executed by the occupation forces, to fully justify not only the rule itself but also its ruthless enforcement. Although the number of contacts that each operative had within the organization was strictly limited for just that reason, enough people had been lost in each of those instances to cause serious damage to the insurgency movement. After the first such cases the „no personal contact" rule had been set up, and when teams were found to violate it they could be banned from remaining actively involved in TE any longer, to only contribute by gathering intelligence until they were deemed trustworthy again.
They all understood the rules when they signed up for the ride - but it was frustrating nonetheless. Trusting someone with your life automatically took your relationship with them to another level, just as entering each other's minds did. Humans were built to care. But in this case, every little shred of attachment was too much already, and had to be either prevented or eradicated. Preventing it had proved to be impossible, even during phases of drastically shortened pairing times. For now, ripping teams apart practically as soon as they started functioning seamlessly as one unit seemed to be the only viable approach.
However, that didn't mean that they had to like it.
And she didn't.
Every time she was paired with a new guide she was curious to find out as much about them as they did about her. She didn't know it, but her psychological profile listed „warm" and „caring" for her, among other things, and she unconsciously lived up to that characterization by unfailingly trying to establish at least a minimal personal relationship with her guides. She had found that this worked better with women than with men, which was why she preferred them. Returning to her empty room after missons made her very aware of the fact that her life, the life that everyone believed was her only one, was seriously lacking in companionship, and she tried to make up for that during her missions, at least to a certain degree.
And there was nothing wrong with chatting about having a cup of synthcaf after her return, was there? Especially since she would never actually drink it with one of her guides.
After almost two dozen missions, she could still recall every single guide she had worked with - not the missions themselves, just her partners in them. She remembered every little shred of personal information they had dared to share with her - after all, they were the closest she had to what one might call „friends".
And she missed each and every one of them.
She couldn't wait to get to know this man who would take her into her next mission and make sure she would survive it. As usual, the file she had been given on him contained little more than a list of his previous missions and his name, and she hoped to find out more about him once their bond was firmly established.
As always, she was looking forward to getting to know someone new while contributing to the downfall of the alien invaders, and she hoped that he would live up to the promise of that first careful touch.
Reaching out herself, she welcomed him inside her mind and they started their exchange.