by Sharon Rose
How was he going to pull this off? “Relax, now,” he whispered. “Breathe easy. God, we could use a little help here.” The prayer grated, though he had only uttered it on Kena’s behalf.
Delf, Quon, and Jorlit strolled into view, Quon saying something to the others.
Delf quickened his pace and cut off Quon. “What’s going on? Kena, are you all right?”
“Nothing is going on,” Antony said. “Don’t interrupt your walk.”
“Kena, what’s wrong?” Delf asked, as footsteps to the right sped up.
Jorlit frowned at Kena’s back, and Quon glared at Antony.
“Jorlit,” Antony said, “I’m guessing you know that hugs are common among Humans and that they’re non-threatening. Could you confirm that to Delf and continue your walk?”
“It’s true, Humans embrace,” Jorlit’s feet remained planted. He glanced down the ring as Tevd, Farian, and Drenann approached.
“What’s this about?” Tevd asked.
“Nothing.” Antony guarded his tone, firm but calm. “Our conversation has grown private. We don’t want company. Please, will you all continue your walk?”
“Of course,” Jorlit said, “as soon as Kena confirms that’s what she wants.”
“Why can’t you accept what he says?” Tevd asked.
“Because I’ve seen them tense, but I have never seen them embrace.”
Tevd grimaced. “And I have seen—”
“No, Tevd,” Antony said. “I know you mean well, but stop.” He looked to the three on his left and said, “And you mean well on Kena’s behalf, but you are not helping her. Please continue your walk.”
Jorlit faced Antony. “I know her better than you do. This is not natural for her. Either she answers me, or you leave with everyone else.”
Kena shifted within his arms. Antony loosen his hold, until she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“She is free to speak,” Farian said, “but chooses not to. Let her gesture be your answer.”
Jorlit held steady. “Antony, do I have to remind you of my rank?”
“That would be inappropriate,” Drenann said, her changeable Dantokrellie pitch low. “For one thing, this is a personal matter and rank does not apply. For another, Kena’s rank equals yours, and she has shown her intent. It is divisive for you to give him contradictory orders. None of us have the right to force our presence upon them. We should all leave now.”
Drenann gestured to her companions. “You two, return the way we came.” She pointed past Jorlit, Delf, and Quon. “You, likewise, retrace your steps. Antony, I’ll go ahead of you down this intersecting hallway. I believe a common room is not far, and likely empty. You and Kena may follow me if it pleases you.”
Antony waited while Drenann got people moving. Her footsteps receded down the intersecting hallway. “Shall we see if Drenann is right about that room?” he whispered to Kena.
“Far better than to be fought over again.”
They found the common room empty and reserved for them.
Antony closed the door, seated Kena, and brought her the only refreshment available, a glass of water. “What do you frown over?” he asked, sitting opposite her.
“All this dissension. It would be so much easier to deal with if they were being self-centered.”
That surprised a chuckle from him. “How so?”
“Then, I could just chew them out. But I don’t want to damage friendships or come down on them when they’re trying to support either you or me—be they ever so misguided.”
“I’m less concerned about them, than I am about you. Shall we pick up where we left off?”
Kena shook her head. “I think I’ve covered it. I’ll tell Ghent to release the recordings.” She exhaled. “How do you feel about watching them with me before the others see them?”
“I think you are wise. When?”
“How about now?”
Antony nodded. “Please.”
Chapter Fourteen
Pernanyen mumbled a response to TarKeen’s greeting, her gaze on her lap. Her golden hair, once so intricately woven, hung loose.
Disturbing. She’d been hiding out in her quarters again and now slouched, half-veiled by her own hair. He sat down across from her. “I saw there were messages from the Ontrevay. Was one for you?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice listless.
“May I know it?”
“It’s not that bad. Not really.” She looked past him. “It’s just…I was hoping…maybe Kena would return sooner, now that a Human is with her. She told me they spend time together.”
A non-answer. “And?”
She straightened her posture. “I asked her if it’s a comfort to have him there. She replied in a positive fashion, so I finally dared ask if she would come to complete the link before she goes to Earth.”
“I gather she said no?”
Pernanyen flipped her hands apart. “She said the question surprises her. She said Antony is not trained in telepathy. And that he was chosen by the Collaborative to command their resupply vessel, not sent by Humans to assist her.”
“That is likely true,” TarKeen said.
Pernanyen drooped. The signs of deterioration troubled him. After her trial was suspended, she had settled into quiet dignity and maintained at least the appearance of calm. Now conspicuously absent. Neither Ghent nor Kena had even mentioned starting for Earth. Months to endure. And already cracks showed in Pernanyen’s stability. Was it really due to bad news? More likely the loss of meaningful links. Perhaps the loss of her father or distress over Kena. But he couldn’t speak of that.
“I understand your disappointment,” TarKeen said, “but nothing has changed. We agreed that she could go to Earth and knew it would take months. Return to your original determination and carry on. You do have the strength for this.”
Pernanyen stilled the twitching muscles of her face. “I have no choice but to carry on.”
TarKeen left her and went to the communication chamber to meet with Leonfir, for he managed his additional fleet duties from there. Fortunately, no conference was in progress when TarKeen entered. Travannesal sat beside Leonfir.
“I’m glad you’re both here,” TarKeen said, coming to stand before them. “I’ve just visited Pernanyen. I am concerned.”
Travannesal’s expression grew mask-like. “In what way?”
What did he know? He’d been forced to disown her at the beginning of her trial. With a parent-child link forbidden, he could only hover near the surface of her sairit to relieve isolation. Never go deep enough to exchange information. Still, could he not read her expressions? Or did she hide them? “I’d prefer to link with you,” TarKeen said, “and show you our conversation.” He provided it to Travannesal first, then Leonfir.
Travannesal broke the silence. “We must decide how to respond the next time Kena asks about Pernanyen.”
“Do you think,” Leonfir asked, “that she’ll be able to maintain for months? Especially with no definitive end?”
“I’m sure she will continue to try,” Travannesal said. “What state she will be in a few months from now is uncertain.”
“The three of us committed,” TarKeen said, “to ensure Pernanyen’s health, comfort, and safety until Kena returns. Already, her sairital health is in doubt.”
“I do all that I can to ensure it,” Travannesal said. “She has loyal friends who visit, so she is not fully isolated. You know I cannot delve beyond a surface link.”
Her only telepathic link was with the man who had disowned her. TarKeen considered silence, but this needed to be said. “That gives her sairital relief, yes. But not emotional relief. Yet, no one but you may link with her. I’m concerned that we’ve committed ourselves to an impossibility.”
Leonfir rubbed his temple. “Can we consider assigning someone else, perhaps a doctor, to link with her to, uh, stabilize her emotions?”
“Her emotional distress,” TarKeen said, “may be as much related to the harm she did Kena as to her severe
d father-daughter relationship.”
Travannesal snapped, “Why not state the plural, TarKeen? There is a reason my wife does not join me here.”
TarKeen inclined his head and waited. Travannesal was not the sort to lose his composure. Not that TarKeen blamed him.
Travannesal shifted, as though his discomfort were physical. “My apologies. Your point is taken. Emotional treatment would involve someone linking with Pernanyen. Which is forbidden until Kena completes her portion of the link. To be effective, a doctor would need access to everything that happened during the constrained link…before Kena has the chance to remove what she chooses.”
Leonfir sighed. “Could we arrange something where the doctor makes specific commitments? Such as, agreeing to reveal nothing and to have memories of the treatment removed after the final resolution, whatever that may be?”
TarKeen broke a brief silence. “Too many people claim that our law of constrained links has already been violated.”
Travannesal tapped his fingers against the table. “Stretching it to that extent would snap it. It’s one thing to extend the time, far worse to allow such a deep telepathic link. The other primaries will not condone it. Nor would I.”
“So,” Leonfir said, “the two of you must somehow convey to Kena that we may fail in our commitment, without telling her we will fail.”
Travannesal closed his eyes for a moment. “You and I must be equally subtle with Ghent. Kena will listen to him more than us.”
“I begin to wonder,” TarKeen said, “if Jenarsig is going to force another…subtlety on us.” The two men fixed their gazes on him. “We received the course plan for the Shennasee representative, which includes the vessel designation. It is Jenarsig’s own cruiser, yet their communications still refer to ‘representative of Shennasee.’ Why would a primary refuse to identify himself?”
Travannesal took a moment to answer. “He may not want the Collaborative to know until he arrives. We assume the Ontrevay intercepts our messages.”
Did he really have to state the obvious? “Kena, at the least, understands our language. She will notice the oddity of omitting a name.”
Travannesal’s frown deepened. “Who else knows?”
“The ship designators are cryptic,” TarKeen said, “but not beyond memory. I know the cruiser identifiers of all seven primaries, so I recognized it immediately. Any watch officer may also, should they chance to look at it.”
“I see.” Travannesal sighed. “Don’t mention it to Pernanyen unless she asks. Tell me if she hears of it.”
TarKeen inclined his head and left them. Was Jenarsig trying to hide something from his own people? If so, what? And why did Travannesal hide it from his disowned heir? To prevent further stress, perhaps, but that meant he foresaw problems. Worse, VanDar could discover it. What might he conclude—or do—if he knew another Laundun primary was en route?
Chapter Fifteen
Kena closed Travannesal’s latest obscure message. Better to start her shift early than to keep re-reading that. Besides, Antony must have finished his check-out simulation by now. Considering how picky Netlyn was over tra-pentazine identification and trajectory predictions, Antony would deserve Human-style congratulations.
Kena strolled to the nav section. It would be nice to settle the new navigators into permanent shift positions. Maybe that would draw them into a cohesive team.
The rare sound of Netlyn’s raised voice dashed that hope. “Do you think you are here for entertainment?” Netlyn glared at Antony from the review console.
He stood rigid by the central table. “No, ma’am.”
Another problem to diffuse? Hrndl was absent, and Netlyn still struggled with her position of second navigator.
“Good morning,” Kena said. “Did something go wrong with Antony’s check-out?” She stopped at the table and rested her hand on a chair back. She was just close enough to hear the beginning of the word no from Antony.
Netlyn flung her hands up. “He was listening to music!”
“Shocking,” Kena deadpanned. “So, what went wrong?”
Surprise, then disbelief, flitted across Netlyn’s features. “Are you telling me that you—you are willing to fly with a distracted navigator, who’s more interested in music than communication?”
A hint of Grfdn emfrel reached Kena. Hrndl must be approaching. “Distracted?” Kena said, spreading her hands. “That would be another matter entirely, but let me confirm an assumption.” She turned to Antony. “Were you wearing an audio unit, and was it set to mute the music when communication comes through?”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Kena turned back to Netlyn. “That is standard protocol for Humans, and yes, I’d fly with him under that condition.”
Netlyn stared at Kena. “You don’t listen to music when you’re working.”
That struck a nerve, though not her fault. “Music is precious to me,” Kena said. “Fiascoes like this strip all the joy from it. So, you’re right, I don’t, but not because it would interfere with navigation.”
Netlyn’s brows twitched, but instead of responding, she watched Hrndl, who had reached the review console.
Hrndl studied results for a moment. “Antony, that is a lot of benzlium you snatched from between tra-pentazine clusters.”
“That was the goal,” he said.
“No.” Netlyn glared again. “The goal was to get as much as possible, safely. You went after the richest source without regard to risk. The very area navigators ought to have the sense to avoid.”
“Ma’am, I did assess risk.”
Kena neared the review console to get a look at his sim results.
Hrndl advanced to one of the difficult sections. She twisted in sync with a tight maneuver on the screen. “This reminds me of the first time I watched one of Kena’s simulations. I thought she was insane.”
“I know,” Netlyn said, “but I took that into consideration. I expected him to fly like a Human, but Kena wouldn’t have made some of the choices he did.”
“We are not identical,” Kena murmured.
Antony ventured closer. “Kena, which benzlium cluster did you go after in this sim?”
She gave him a half smile. “I designed it, so my course choices would be irrelevant.”
“Beyond doubt,” Hrndl said, tapping buttons on the console. “I want a Human viewpoint on his piloting. Kena go into a simulator with him. Support only—just follow his directions. I’ll give you a debris field. Antony, run it as long as you can, but not until failure. Call for a stop when you deem the risk level too high. For you, that is, not for someone else.”
Kena strolled beside him past several simulators that were in use.
The instant she closed the door in a dual-navigator model, he said, “What a surprise. I have to prove myself twice as much as any other navigator. I can’t please Netlyn any better than I can please Jorlit.”
“Yeah. Not because you’re poor, but because you are good.” She settled into her couch and angled a look his way. “But since you are good, you may as well prove it.”
“Is that your encouragement technique?”
Kena grinned. “I suppose I could grump about Netlyn, if you prefer. But I know her. She’s in a tough spot.”
“How so?”
“Frethan was a fabulous chief navigator, but he did the reverse favoritism thing that some people believe will overcome bias. He wouldn’t promote Jorlit or Netlyn because they were the same race as he. They didn’t get the title of senior navigator until Ghent promoted them after Frethan was killed.”
Kena started the simulation, and Antony initiated thrust. The simulator mimicked movement. “Netlyn is gentle and humble,” Kena said. “She thought Frethan’s authority, rather than her leadership, made others follow her.” Kena modified the screen’s magnification. “Not true, but she believed it. Then, she got another promotion to second navigator. She’s qualified, but she’s still trying to figure out how to use her authority.”
Antony swerved around a rock. He tapped some points on the course projection. “We’re going through here. Adjust scan. You think I should put up with being treated like a junior nav so she can feel powerful?”
“Of course not. I saw the tra-pentazine you marked in the sim. Nothing wrong there, and that is her biggest concern. You just need to give her a good reason to approve your skills. Be patient.”
He grunted and altered course. An icy chunk sailed by overhead. “Easy for you to say. I doubt it’s about my skills. I listen to music, and she’s ready to bar me from flight.”
“Why did you let her know that anyway?”
“I’m Human. It’s in our work profile.” They swayed with his maneuvers. “On every ship I’ve been assigned to, all the Human navs listened to music in flight.”
“I was the first Human on this ship, Antony. Besides, I stumbled into the same minefield on an earlier commission.”
“There’s nothing wrong with asserting for normal Human behavior.”
“Right, but it doesn’t always go as planned.” Kena updated a scan. “Music is precious to me. I don’t appreciate having others demand to hear what I’m listening to. Or worse, translate it into something repulsive.”
He made a catching sound in his throat. “That happened?”
“Sure did.”
“No joy.” He altered direction and tapped more points on the course plan. “I’ve noticed problems before,” he said, “when some of us give up our native behavior. Those who follow have to fight that much harder, just to be allowed to act like a Human.”
“Perhaps. I’m less interested in fighting for my rights, than I am in working with other cultures. The two don’t always mesh well.”
“Ah, trade-offs,” he said. “What was your minor, Kena?”
“Cultural studies. It was—is—as important to me as navigation. Getting other races to willingly accept us, rather than granting our rights because they must…well, that would mean way more to me than praise for surviving a mad dash around a tumbling rock.”
“What if your survival saves other lives?”