by Sharon Rose
Farian tapped the control, then grabbed a handhold and flipped over the back of the couch into the one behind. Antony delivered his planned response as he took her place.
“Greetings from the Collaborative. I am Antony Galliano of Earth, commanding this vessel under the orders of Ghent of Plynteth, captain of the Ontrevay.”
Antony studied the PitKreelaundun captain who stared from the screen. His gold-flecked brown eyes were narrowed, and dark brown hair emphasized the honey-like hue of his skin. Only he was visible, so Antony tightened the camera’s view field to himself and returned the intent scrutiny.
Sairminnaton broke the silence. “You do not look similar to Kena Talgarth.”
“I’d be surprised if I did. One of my ancestors comes from a part of Earth where skin is darker and hair is black.”
“She mentioned appearance differences, but your voice is also unlike hers. She did not mention that.”
“Human adult males have lower voices than females.”
The captain’s nostrils pinched. “Can males sing?”
Alien expressions could be misleading, but this one, along with his clipped words, didn’t bode well. Antony made a point of keeping his expression calm. “Yes, though my pitch will be lower than hers. Did Kena sing for you?”
“I wasn’t present. I have heard the recording, for it was provided to all PitKreelaundun ships for identification purposes.”
Antony nodded. “Songs vary. It would be best if I sing one similar to what you’ve heard. I suggest you play it for me.”
“Do you realize that if you alter it and play it back to us, we will be able to tell it is false?”
“Of course. Probably better than you do. The sooner you let me hear it, the sooner I will convince you that I am Human.”
Sairminnaton gestured to someone off-screen, and Kena’s voice sang, “My eyes have seen the fury of the raging, vengeful horde.”
Antony’s brows rose. Why was she singing of war? And why did she falter? He remembered he was being watched and smoothed his expression. By the time she reached the chorus, her voice grew equal to the task, and she began another verse. Unfamiliar to him, but at least it spoke of hope. Haunting beauty lurked in the timbre of her voice, so rich and sweet. He let the final notes echo in his mind.
Sairminnaton watched him with his eyebrows lowered. “What does your expression indicate?”
As though he’d tell. “That I now look forward to hearing her sing in person. She chose an old song. It’s known in our culture for historic reasons. I will sing the first half of it.”
Sairminnaton inclined his head and watched with a fixed stare, while Antony sang. He let several seconds pass after the final notes, then said, “Thank you. I see why you were unconcerned with my warning. Your version is similar, yet notably different.”
Antony nodded. “Singing is an art form to Humans. It is never identical, even from the same person. Did you record my voice?”
“We did.”
“Good. I suggest you alter your identification recording. Replace the first half of Kena’s singing with my version. This will give you both male and female voices and show the differences that should be expected.”
“Why not keep all of hers as well as yours?”
How much to say? “Because her voice sounds…stressed at the beginning.”
Sairminnaton’s face tensed, as though the skin was pulled back at the sides, erasing fine lines. Interesting.
“How is Kena?” Antony asked.
Sairminnaton took too many seconds to answer. “I have never met her, but I believe she is well. She is on the Ontrevay.” He paused, his eyes darting. “Before she sang, she said that it wouldn’t be the best because she hadn’t warmed up her voice. We do not understand what she meant.”
Fine, Antony could let him off with that. “Warm-up is a few minutes of practice, which enables stronger tone and more precise control of pitch.”
“I see. We will note that with the information we are compiling of your race.” He shifted, and his shoulders fell into a rhythmic sway. “We are pleased that the Collaborative has honored our request for a Human or Plynteth commander for the resupply vessel. Several of our ships are stationed along the nebula to reanalyze tra-pentazine risk. We have noted minor variations between your actual course and the proposed route. I request your most recent course plan, so we may avoid interfering with your travels.”
“Course plans can change,” Antony said.
“That is true, more so as your trip progresses. If we know your planned route, we will provide detailed scans of the distant areas so you will have the best possible information for course design.”
Antony turned to Tevd. “Send him the updated plan.”
“Yes, sir.” Tevd slid a finger across the course display and tapped controls on his console.
Antony addressed Sairminnaton. “Thank you in advance for the detailed scans. I hope you’ll inform the captains of these other ships that I am Human, so they will not slow us to confirm the obvious.”
Sairminnaton produced a faint smile. “I see no reason they would request dropping from slip, although they will likely contact you to exchange information.”
Antony reached for the console and zoomed the camera to a wider angle. “That requires much quicker responses. Allow me to introduce Tevd, who is second in command. If I am asleep, he is awake. He has my approval to exchange this information.”
Sairminnaton turned to him. “I greet you. May I know your race?”
“I am Veet.”
“Thank you.” He looked to Antony again. “I will inform the other captains of our discussions. Safe travels.”
Antony smiled. “That sounds like a Human phrase. I wish you safe travels, as well.”
He closed the communication channel and let out a long breath.
“That was interesting,” Tevd said.
“Yes,” Antony said, lengthening the word. “Let’s get back into slip. Design an entrance plan.”
“I’ve got one ready for you,” Farian said.
It appeared, superimposed on the hull. They reviewed and implemented it.
Antony sent a report to the Ontrevay, then linked his hands behind his head and stared into the void.
Farian unhooked her restraints. “So, that’s a PitKreelaundun. I thought, at first, he was going to be trouble.”
“Likewise,” Tevd said. “It was like he was digging to find holes, then he hurried to change the subject. What was that about Kena’s voice, Antony?”
“Mm. What indeed?” he murmured.
Farian moved between their couches. “Was the thing about not practicing enough to explain whatever you noticed?”
“Could be. I just thought he seemed tense. Almost defensive.”
“Noticed that too,” Tevd said. “Singing is incredible, though. I’ve heard it before, but I liked yours even better.”
Antony unclipped his belt. “Thanks.” He pushed off from the seat, twisting as he rose, then propelled himself aft. “You can have your shift back.”
Antony returned to his interrupted exercise, but his mind traveled afar. He replayed the communication recording. No, he couldn’t convince himself that missing a warm-up was adequate explanation for Kena’s voice, so weak at first, then finishing strong. What happened to her on that PitKreelaundun ship?
He’d read Ghent’s report, but Kena hadn’t filed one. Plenty of navigators hated compiling reports, but he’d checked her history. That didn’t seem to be her problem. Even Gordahl didn’t know the full story. Ghent didn’t either, since he’d only arrived at the end of her…what word? Visit? He didn’t buy that. Capture? Better not let that slip out. At the end of her stay, then. Should be neutral enough. She’d had a horrendous acclimation, but she wouldn’t have been singing right after that. Must have been later. Something else was wrong.
Chapter Four
TarKeen released his tense muscles at the end of the recording. At least Antony Galliano had ended the conversat
ion in a positive fashion. Unlike Sairminnaton, who had seemed determined to disrupt the truce. TarKeen’s gaze traced the column and arch motif of the visual communication chamber, symbolic of the PitKreelaundun unified government. Odd how some could demand unity from certain groups, yet force exclusion on others.
Travannesal leaned back in his chair at the table as the last image faded from the screen. He looked up at the doctor he had summoned. “YefRon, do you see anything physiological that would cast doubt on Antony Galliano’s race?”
“No.” YefRon stepped away from the side wall. “The appearance differences are not beyond explanation. His chest movement while singing is consistent with hers. It’s the sort of detail that a non-Human would likely miss if they tried to mimic singing.”
“Any comments, TarKeen?” Travannesal asked.
“They have some similar nuances in expression.”
Travannesal nodded. “Give me examples.”
“They both let their eyelids fall while they sing,” TarKeen said. “They both employ a simultaneous lift of their eyebrows and shift of head. Those movements may occur in any race, but the consistent pairing is likely a shared cultural trait. They also accent the Prednian language similarly.”
“Yes,” Travannesal said. “Laquelynn should be able to document speech nuances.” He turned to Leonfir, seated beside him at the table. “Do you notice anything that could be fuel for those determined to remain unconvinced?”
Leonfir shook his head. “No. I’m more concerned with the content. Antony questioning Kena’s well-being, for instance, particularly since Sairminnaton wouldn’t know.”
“He could have been scouting for information,” Travannesal said. “Perhaps a counter-challenge. He may have been annoyed with Sairminnaton.”
“It is possible,” YefRon said, “that he can deduce more from her voice than we can.”
Travannesal stood. “True. Leonfir, change the recording as Antony suggested. Tell the other captains in the local fleet not to challenge him.”
They left the room together, and Travannesal motioned TarKeen to his side. “When you see Pernanyen today, you may tell her that Antony Galliano is en route to the Ontrevay, and his race is confirmed as Human.”
TarKeen nodded. Bizarre. Carrying messages between a primary member of government and his disowned daughter. What a twisted situation.
Pelta stuck his head into the nav module. “I can’t open the door to the exercise room.”
Antony suppressed a sigh. “It could be locked from inside.”
“But no one answers the comm unit. Tevd’s probably asleep, but Farian went in to exercise ages ago.”
“I’ll check in a minute.” As Pelta withdrew, Antony raised his brows and exchanged a look with his support nav.
“Maybe,” Theshain whispered, his shoulders shaking, “she doesn’t want to talk to him.”
Antony shook his head. Twenty-five days of Pelta’s incessant dialogue—or monologue. Like an immersion course for developing patience. Not that the scientist wasn’t intelligent. He could even be interesting. Then, there were moments when he couldn’t open a door.
Antony tapped a comm control. “Farian, is everything okay back there?”
No response.
“Farian, you locked the door to the module. Can you give me verbal response that everything is okay?”
He swapped another look with Theshain, frowning now, as they waited through the silence.
“Farian, I’m coming back to check on you.” He unclipped his lap belt. “You’re on your own for a minute, Theshain.”
“No problem.”
Antony pushed out of the nav module and sailed through the lounge and galley, then past the smaller sleeping berths to the end of the original living quarters. The inserted module was next, housing two larger sleeping berths on one side and exercise equipment on the other. Drenann hovered nearby. Two vertical lines between her eyebrows eased a little.
Pelta pressed the comm control. “Farian, can you hear me?”
Antony pulled his utility tool from his belt. “Move aside, please.” He extended a blade, fit it into the indentation under the control panel, then popped open the cover. It revealed the controls that needed protection from accidental bumps. No fault codes. He jabbed the override.
The door slid open on his side. The corresponding door of the next module didn’t budge. Not good. He used his utility tool to give the door several sharp raps, then listened. Only Pelta’s agitated discourse met his ears.
“Pelta. Quiet, please.”
Antony beat the door again and waited, his fingertips resting on its surface. This time, muffled thudding and vibration answered him.
“Okay, they know we’re aware of the problem.” He put his feet to the door and kicked off for the nav module.
Pelta’s voice followed. “But how will—”
Drenann murmured something.
Bless her. She could stem Pelta’s flow without offending him. Antony sailed into the nav module and grabbed the pilot couch to stop his momentum.
“What’s going on?” Theshain asked.
“Some kind of failure internal to the inserted module.” Antony swung into his couch. “I got the door open on our side, but not theirs. Our only communication, so far, is beating on the door. Can you link with Farian and find out what’s going on?”
“Well, we normally use a tactile cue to start the link.” He unbuckled and pushed off. “I’ll try it with sound.”
“Talk to me when you’re back there.”
A few minutes later, Theshain spoke over the comm channel. “I’m linked with Farian. They have total power failure. No light, no comm, no ventilation.”
“Assure her we will get through. Is Tevd awake?”
“Yes. They’re worried about air. There’s no sign of oxygen deprivation yet, but they can’t check the levels.”
“What maintenance skills do you have?”
“Uh…maintenance? I…maybe I can find instructions or something.”
That inspired zero confidence. “Come back up to nav.”
Antony sent a quick problem report to the Ontrevay. Doubtful they could help at this distance, but they needed to know.
Theshain glided into the empty couch. “What are we gonna do?”
“Get the door open. I have some basic maintenance knowledge. You may be single navigator for a while, so use Pelta to fetch anything you need. Our route still looks clear, but let me know if you see anything unexpected.”
“Quit worrying,” Theshain said. “I’ve got this end covered.”
Antony headed aft, stopping to pick up a tool kit on the way to the inoperable door, where Drenann and Pelta still hovered. “Do either of you have any hidden engineering skills?”
“Sorry, no,” Drenann said.
Pelta stared at him with his mouth open. “I’m an astro mineralogist.”
“I know.” Antony unrolled the tool kit and stuck it to a wall. “You’re also assigned to support for Theshain. Nothing challenging—just bring him food or anything else he asks for.”
“Oh! Yes, of course.” He drifted forward.
Antony pulled an anchor strap from the tool kit and wrapped it around his hips. “Drenann, how many of those tools can you name?”
She looked the caddy over as he clipped the strap to either side of the door. “The simple ones. I will learn the others. Am I your assistant?”
He smiled at her. “You are. I will be passing you a lot of fasteners. Don’t let them float away.”
He braced his feet against the door and got to work.
It took a while, but Antony finally pulled out a section of flexible air duct. He pointed a light at the far opening and said, “Hello in there. Is anyone home?”
“It’s not as though we could leave,” Tevd said. “I was hoping you’d work on the door!”
“Nice gratitude. I give you light. I give you air. I even give you the sweet sound of my voice, and what do you do? You complain about the door.”
Farian laughed. “I like the sound of your voice, Antony. What happened?”
“The engineer on the Ontrevay, Dhgnr, guesses that the internal power feed for that module got separated from the ship-wide energy source. First things first. Do either of you have symptoms of low oxygen?”
“No, not yet,” Tevd said, his voice nearer the ventilation duct.
“Good. Do you have any tools over there?”
“I’m a navigator, not a mechanic.”
“Farian, are you less inept than Tevd?”
“I once reseated a comm circuit card,” she said.
“You two are about to increase your skill levels. I’m going to pass you a light.”
Tevd’s hand reached through the opening and grabbed it.
“In order to force the door open,” Antony said, “you’ll have to remove the shroud. First, find some straps to anchor yourselves. Then, I’ll give you tools.” Antony passed them up one at a time and gave directions.
Anything requiring pressure was awkward in zero G. By the muffled sounds, Tevd and Farian weren’t enjoying it.
At last, Tevd heaved a sigh. “The shroud is off. We can grip the door’s edge.”
“Force it along its track,” Antony said.
Tevd grunted and snarled out a string of Veet words. A gap appeared with four hands gripping it. Antony got his fingers through the gap, wedged a shoulder and knee against the door frame, and helped them get it two thirds open.
“Enough,” Tevd said. He guided Farian through the opening, then sidled through after her, hampered by a floating strap.
Antony steadied him and nudged a hook free.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Drenann asked, disentangling Farian’s straps, while she giggled.
“Sure, but I don’t ever want to do that again.”
Tevd looked over the disassembled duct, as his panting breath slowed. “Did you do all this?”
“Yeah.” Antony gestured to Drenann. “With my able assistant.”
She huffed a breath out her nose and altered to a higher pitch in the Dantokrellie style of speech. “He did it. I handed him tools.”