Diverse Demands

by Sharon Rose

The day sailed by. A workout first. Kena favored a routine of stretching and gravity resistance, including suspended exercise. They followed that with the promised chocolate, which she savored with closed eyes and an ecstatic mmm.

  He lost her for a while in the crowd of the dining hall, but he regained her company for a stroll through the symmetrical jungle of the horticulture section, then on to music in his quarters. First, some recent tunes his cousin had sent him from Earth and, later, his guitar. She pulled her legs up on his sofa as his music flowed. Companionship that didn’t need a steady stream of words.

  The day would have been perfect, but a hidden weight pulled her brow low between songs.

  Time to change tactics. He plucked the strings of his guitar, bringing out a melody he had created and changed many times over the years. “What troubles you, my dear?”

  Her eyes darted to his, then she sighed. “The future.”

  “Would that be the Pernanyen part of the future?”

  “Yeah.” She picked up a guitar pick that had fallen on the sofa and turned it round and round in the fingertips of one hand.

  “What’s the worst of it, Kena?”

  She drew a strained breath. “Seeing my memories in her mind and…her opinions of my private thoughts.”

  “That,” Antony said, “was an extreme violation.”

  She rolled her lips in and slowly released them. “They don’t see it that way, you know. Shared knowledge isn’t violation to them. It is treasure. They form life-long bonds based on internal knowing of another person. It is the basis of relationship.”

  “Even if the knowledge is taken by force?” he asked.

  “They still value it. Maybe more so.” She rocked sideways with an awkward shrug. “But it must be shared, not stolen. That’s why constrained links are reciprocated. They must submit to the same thing they imposed on the other person.”

  Antony slowed the tempo of his music, simple and soothing. “Do you agree with them?”

  “No.” She drew the word out, her gaze distant. “In a strange way, I understand their perspective.” A quiver ran through her. “But I still cringe at the thought of others seeing…essentially my mind through Pernanyen’s view.”

  Softer still, he played. “Is it possible to remove the entire memory from her without seeing all of her opinions?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure that would be best, even if I could do it. Part of the reason for completing the link is to…” Kena rocked. “…try to pull some benefits out of the utter disaster she created.”

  “Is that really necessary? Ghent linked with Leonfir, so there’s already a PitKreelaundun who knows the Collaborative’s views. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I asked Ghent about it,” she said, shaking her head. “Leonfir only inquired about Ghent’s perceptions, and he only saw what Ghent chose to reveal. Which is fine, but one person’s view doesn’t reach very far.”

  Kena fidgeted. “Pernanyen wasn’t just interested in my view. She, uh, eavesdropped, so-to-speak, on conversations I had with members of other races. Everything she could find, from mining the nebula’s ejection arm, to skirmishes with PitKreelaundun fighters, to explosions of so-called disguised weapons. Really tra-pentazine, of course.”

  Kena gripped the pick in both hands, flexing it. “I’m sure that knowledge would be more convincing than Leonfir’s. The fact that the Collaborative—none of us—ever knew tra-pentazine existed…that one fact changes the meaning of every interaction we’ve had. It really is a huge step toward peace.” She flexed the pick faster and faster. “I just…don’t like having my friendships turned into a…a spy conduit. Or having my emotions set out for public display. I need to get that part removed without destroying her understanding. And that means I have to look at my memories and her perceptions, in order to find the boundary between hers and mine.”

  The guitar pick snapped in half, startling her. She dipped her head, looking up at him. “Sorry.”

  He quirked his lips. “I have a package of them. Cheap extras I don’t mind losing in zero G. You may have another, if you like.”

  She tossed the pieces onto the coffee table and gripped her hands.

  “What of Pernanyen herself?” Antony asked. “If you complete the link, she goes free, in spite of how badly she hurt you.”

  “Yes. At least, she won’t be executed. Her life is messed up, but she’ll have a future. A chance for hope.”

  Wow. He swept his tongue across the inside of one cheek, then tried again. “I realize this may seem obvious, but can you tell me why that matters?”

  Her lids fluttered in exaggerated blinks. “She’ll die. She’s like an orphaned child, punished for something she didn’t know was wrong.”

  “Didn’t know? I’m not so sure about that, considering how strict their laws are.”

  “I don’t mean their laws. Those are for sairital beings.” Kena rubbed a fingertip over her thumbnail. “I mean she didn’t have any idea what a Human is or the impact it would have on me. Unless you’ve used telepathy yourself, you don’t understand just how different the sairital races are from us. The PitKreelaundun are at the most extreme edge of the spectrum. It gives a whole new meaning to the word alien. She couldn’t fully realize what she was doing.”

  “Perhaps.” How could he say this without making a mess of it? “Yet, there are consequences to every act, be they good or bad, known or unknown.”

  “Her consequences go far beyond the norm. A death sentence.”

  Antony let the last chord fade away. “Kena…there is another way to look at this. You might not like it, but…” He took a breath. “Other Humans may see this in a different way than you do.”

  “Specifically?”

  Was he making a mistake? “You’re not under any obligation to link with her.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m not sure you do. I don’t just mean that you’re not obligated by their law. It sounds like you would feel responsible for her death. But Pernanyen is the one who forced a constrained link on you. She is the only one responsible for her own death, because she is the one who did something wrong. And now, she wants you to…uh…to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

  She rolled her lips in again, then let out a breath. “You mean…do something wrong?”

  “I don’t pretend I can judge that, Kena. But others might. Regardless of what we call it, if you complete the link, even with good intentions, some might say you are condoning her actions. They may claim it puts other Humans at risk in the future.”

  By the time he finished, she had turned her face away. Her jaw worked. “Is that what you think?”

  “I will not pick a side. I’m just saying it’s an objection you will eventually face. Everyone claims forgiveness is good, but few take it as far as you do. Justice has a purpose.”

  Her chest heaved for a moment. Through a long silence, her shoulders settled, and she straightened. When at last she spoke, her voice resonated with quiet strength. “You say justice has a purpose. That is true, but not the ultimate purpose. Some claim it prevents future crimes.” She quirked a corner of her mouth. “Discourages, maybe. The only true prevention is if the criminal dies. Such justice never allows the guilty to make a different choice. Only mercy offers a second chance. Only mercy can restore.”

  Antony stared into her eyes, his words soft and slow. “You are an amazing woman.”

  Her lips twitched into a brief smile. She rocked sideways. “Thanks, but…I didn’t make that up on my own, you know. I’m much like everyone else, really.”

  “Uh—no. You’re not.”

  Her smile fluttered back into existence. “It’s just—when people find me amazing, usually I can tell they’ve seen a bit of me that’s infused with God. It’s kind of hard to take credit.”

  “You are still the one choosing and speaking. My compliment stands.”

  Her eyes scrunched. “Thank you, Antony.”

  She left soon after, and he
put his guitar away. The warmth of finding such a woman spread through him, but those last few sentences disturbed. He didn’t want to acknowledge their truth. Why couldn’t she just be beautiful without bringing God into it?

  Chapter Eighteen

  TarKeen finished giving his report to Leonfir and ended the link. For a moment, he leaned back in his chair at the communication chamber table, considering Leonfir’s instructions. Most could wait for tomorrow, but one he relayed in a message to ParTan.

  Quiet movements sounded loud against the unusual silence of the chamber, with its meeting screen blank and no distant captains speaking across the void. Leonfir had already returned to his scrutiny of mitigation proposals, which TarKeen had interrupted, and Travannesal sat off to the side, intent on a hand-held screen. TarKeen read ParTan’s confirmation, then stood.

  Travannesal also stood, as though he’d waited for TarKeen to finish. “Please join us for dinner tomorrow, TarKeen.”

  Why did that invitation strike him as a command? “With pleasure,” he replied.

  “Leonfir’s wife will also join us. I would like at least one other PitKree. Is there anyone you would prefer?”

  TarKeen raised his eyebrows.

  Amusement gleamed in Travannesal’s amber eyes. “Yes, I did say PitKree, all by itself. I didn’t even stutter or frown. Stunning, isn’t it?”

  TarKeen permitted a glimmer of his smile. “Only surprising.”

  “There is a reason. Leonfir and I were speaking of differing opinions between the Laundun and the PitKree. He showed me a conversation he had with you, some time ago. I was already aware of the PitKree viewpoint, but I’m concerned the ruling families do not grasp the depth of the issue. Yet, as I move through this ship, not one person has ever mentioned it. Perhaps because I am Laundun, but silence will not bring change.”

  TarKeen inclined his head, realizing that Leonfir was also watching him. Was this the opening he sought? Or was it a trap? In either case, the other PitKree guest must be a person of discretion.

  “Who else should I invite, TarKeen?” Travannesal asked.

  The obvious choice leapt to mind. Would bringing her into notice put her at risk? But if they already guessed…“Do you recall ShenLee?” TarKeen asked. “She spoke a couple times at Pernanyen’s trial.”

  Leonfir looked away with a faint smile.

  “I do,” Travannesal said. “Her arguments were reasoned and useful. What is her position on the Epri7?”

  “Maintenance. She is skilled in design as well as repair.”

  “Her superiors,” Leonfir said, “assign her when others have difficulty determining the true cause of equipment failures.”

  Interesting. The captain didn’t know every crew member. Had the accusation in ShenLee’s past drawn his attention? At least he’d complimented her.

  Travannesal drew nearer to TarKeen. “Do you see her often enough to extend the invitation?”

  “I’m sure I can arrange that.” TarKeen let his smile show again, and Leonfir chuckled. Yes, he was aware of something.

  “Should I invite VanDar, also?” Travannesal asked.

  “Couldn’t that be deemed inappropriate? His generation in the family of Kell is non-ruling.”

  Travannesal turned his head to the left, dismissing TarKeen’s objection. “He’s allowed to speak his opinions. Any other reason?”

  “If you invite him, there is no point in including ShenLee or me. VanDar will dominate the conversation.”

  Travannesal’s voice dipped. “That, I can believe. Any other reason?”

  What was he digging for? “I dislike him. Is that enough?”

  “Plenty,” Leonfir said. “We’d far rather give you a pleasant dinner. Not everyone may realize your value on this ship, but we certainly do.”

  ShenLee admired her tunic in the mirror. A beige so subtle it was almost cream. The gold threads she’d woven into the fabric produced the free-flowing effect she’d envisioned. A handful of them streamed down from one shoulder and split into more as they descended the trailing side.

  The door chime sounded, and she opened it for TarKeen. They enjoyed a momentary link of greeting before strolling down the hallway.

  “Nice choice.” She gestured at his tunic. “Your black contrasts with my fair shade, but this bit of gold trim at the cuffs echoes my gold accent.”

  He answered in the soft voice he used in private with her. “My gem, who but you would find poetry in clothing?”

  “There are a few of us.” She flipped a hand. “I can see why Travannesal would invite you to dinner, but why me?”

  TarKeen linked to show her the conversation. “I chose you because you are persuasive without angst. We must be careful to take advantage of the opportunity without any hint of extremism.”

  They traversed a deck shield passage.

  “Do you know Leonfir’s wife, Jetawnni?” TarKeen asked.

  “A little. We’ve chatted a few times in one garden or another. By the way, she finds her poetry in plants.”

  “How fitting. That must make her duties a pleasure.”

  “At least part of them,” ShenLee said. “I’m not so sure about managing the horticulturists. People are harder than plants.”

  “Really? I find that people follow directions better than plants do.”

  ShenLee laughed. “But people are unpredictable.”

  “That could bother her,” TarKeen said. “She tends toward more rigid views of PitKreelaundun unity. Not nearly as flexible as Leonfir.”

  “Ah.”

  TarKeen slipped his forearm under ShenLee’s hand, then touched the door control and escorted her into the government suite.

  Travannesal, Leonfir, and Jetawnni awaited them, standing to one side of the seating area, where young aides, with blonde hair tied back, placed food on a serving tier or arranged bowls and glasses.

  Once greetings were complete, ShenLee let the artist within guide her eyes around the ornate room. A new venue to savor.

  “Will you tell me your impressions?” Travannesal asked her.

  “I like how the vines ease the symmetry of the columns and arches. The variations in plant selection are pleasing, too.” She frowned and pointed at furniture. “This combination, though, with the PitKree table offset from the Laundun seating—it’s awkward.”

  “I agree,” Travannesal said. “Pernanyen’s idea, but it didn’t achieve her goal.”

  The aides picked up empty trays and departed.

  “What goal?” ShenLee asked, as they moved to the sofas around the low table.

  “She wanted inclusive seating,” Travannesal said, “that appealed to both Laundun and PitKree. However, I find the effect is more divisive than inclusive, for PitKree stop by the high table.”

  ShenLee lowered herself to the Laundun-style sofa, its curve matching the long edge of the oval table. “Yes, we would tend to stop there since it was intended for us. Inclusive seating cannot succeed, for PitKree would rather stand.”

  “We know,” Jetawnni said. “It’s just not always appropriate.”

  “All those rules about when to stand and when to sit…” ShenLee uttered a faint p’fuf. “We learn them, of course, but they seem so pointless. Since our stools provide adequate height, standing or sitting is irrelevant.” She served herself from the warm dishes atop the tier. “Sitting for a long time…it’s just so uncomfortable.” She stirred steaming sauce into her rifet. “I wonder how the Collaborative solves the problem.”

  “Do we know they have it?” Jetawnni asked.

  ShenLee leaned back, eating in the Laundun manner, with the bowl just below her chin. She swallowed a spoonful of rifet. “With multi-racial crews? They must face many challenges. We are only two races, and we’re practically the same. Yet, we have strange conversations like this one.”

  Travannesal’s lips twitched. “Is it strange because we are talking about PitKree and Laundun as two different races?”

  She half closed her eyes. “Maybe the true oddity is
that we find it strange to acknowledge we are two races.”

  Jetawnni exhaled with the force of both lungs.

  “What do you find strange, TarKeen?” Travannesal asked.

  “The PitKree can easily tell you how we are different, but the Laundun struggle to describe any differences.”

  Jetawnni tore a piece of bread. “As ShenLee just said, we are practically the same. The differences are trivial.”

  “Yes, we are.” TarKeen pointed at the tall table. “And yet a Laundun tried to accommodate us by installing more seating. All that is really needed is to turn this sofa.”

  Jetawnni dipped her bread. “How would that help?”

  “Since you don’t know, you prove my point. If it were at a right-angle to the other sofa, there would be plenty of space for the PitKree to stand, facing the seated Laundun. We would both be comfortable.”

  ShenLee shook her head. “It’s so strange. We’ve been on the same planet for three hundred years, and we’ve been friends for longer than that. Yet, we are still trying to explain this. You wouldn’t tell us to alternate our breathing between lungs. Why tell us when to sit?”

  “You compare a physical impossibility to cultural practice,” Jetawnni said. “Laundun culture changed when our races joined, but PitKree didn’t. At least, not to the same extent. It’s a shame you pass down ancient memories between generations. I’m sure it interferes with the blending we need for unity.”

  ShenLee closed her lips and darted a look at TarKeen. His eyes were veiled. She longed to snap, It’s a shame you’re Laundun. I’m sure it interferes with our unity. Instead, she pressed her lips tighter.

  Jetawnni sighed. “Now, I have offended you.”

  The silence lengthened until Travannesal said, “Tell her why that is offensive.”

  ShenLee dared not trust her voice.

  TarKeen turned to Jetawnni. “Do you have any deceased ancestors whom you knew before they died?”

  How did he manage to keep his voice so calm?

  “Naturally,” Jetawnni said. “Grandparents.”

  “Have you had your memories of them removed?”