by Sharon Rose
“Of course not, but that’s not at all the same. I knew my grandparents. The memories are my own. Ancient memories are someone else’s experiences implanted in your sairit.”
“Regardless of how they were acquired,” TarKeen said, “they are memories of real people who could think to the future and love descendants yet to be born. If I can love a deceased grandparent who I knew physically and sairitally, why can I not love a distant parent that I know only sairitally? Why would I withhold from my children the memories bequeathed to them?”
“Because—”
“No more,” Travannesal said. “I wanted you to hear the PitKree view, not debate it. This is nothing like customs of standing and sitting. We speak now of what is precious. The memories of loved ones. Understand it if you can, but it is not yours to challenge.”
ShenLee stared at him. “Thank you!”
He inclined his head to her. “I sometimes wish that I, too, could access memories of my ancestors. In my opinion, the PitKree possess a treasure. I would hate to see you give it up.”
“A most unusual opinion in a Laundun,” TarKeen said. “Why do you value it?”
Travannesal tightened his lips and drew a breath with both lungs. “I am one of only seven people who must ultimately judge and guide billions of PitKreelaundun. Our decisions affect future generations. And sometimes, other races.” He shook his head. “It is not an easy task!”
TarKeen inclined his upper body to Travannesal.
ShenLee’s chest warmed. She loved the depth of TarKeen’s respect. How he honored what was good. How he understood and valued leadership.
Travannesal set down an empty bowl and poured himself a beverage. “I am often surprised—appalled may be a better word—how an issue can have two contradictory solutions. Both of them good, but incompatible.” He sipped his drink. “We—the primary members of government—try to fully grasp issues and reach consensus, yet we’re often criticized for our long deliberations.” A trace of irritation crept into his voice. “Oddly, after I made a quicker decision with no opportunity for peer discussions, I am now criticized with equal vigor.”
He could only mean one thing. His decision to allow Kena to delay completion of the constrained link. “That one,” ShenLee said, “seems more like a choice between two poor solutions, in the absence of a desirable option.”
Travannesal smiled ruefully. “At least we’ll soon know whether the results are good or bad.” He sipped his drink again. “Then, there are decisions where we may never know if we chose wisely. The Harnon, for instance. Habitable planets with no intelligent life are rare. We assign them to the race with the most unstable home-world. The last time we had the luxury of a choice, we assigned the planet to Harnon, since they were at the greatest risk. Their home-world continues in serene orbit and may do so for another day or another millennium. I may not live to see if they needed a second planet. Yet, even without that confirmation, the choice is valid to the PitKreelaundun, for our home-world is stable and safe.” He looked to TarKeen and ShenLee. “Is it so?”
ShenLee sipped her drink. Was this the perfect opportunity? Or the perfect disaster? Maybe TarKeen would answer. Silence lengthened.
Travannesal said, “I invite you to contradict me.”
“For what purpose?” TarKeen asked.
“To persuade me.”
“I would think you have already heard the arguments.”
Travannesal nodded. “Which did not persuade me at the time. You may offer different arguments, or there may be ramifications I do not perceive. Yet, no one offers me this information. So, I ask.” He looked from TarKeen to ShenLee. “Convince me.”
ShenLee leaned back. “The choice seems valid because of the way the question is presented. The PitKreelaundun home-world is stable, so the PitKreelaundun people do not need a second planet. But it is not one question. It is two. The planet Elaundun is stable, so the Laundun do not need a second planet. The planet PitKreel is nothing but jumbled remnants, many still impacting. Therefore, the PitKree are in dire need. We don’t ask for a second planet. We ask for only one.”
Jetawnni inhaled and clamped rigid lips.
ShenLee considered Jetawnni a moment, then swept her gaze to include them all. “At this point, the Laundun look at us in shock and gasp, ‘But our planet is yours as well as ours. In fact, there is no us and you, no ours and yours. There is only we. And we have a planet.’” She sipped her drink. “Then, the Laundun feel hurt or angry, so it’s hard to tell them how we feel. For, we do remember that day, three centuries ago.”
ShenLee gazed into empty air. “I remember it as PairDee, a distant mother of mine.” She let the old accent of the PitKree slip into her speech. “I remember youth. The expectation of adulthood and all it offered. I was so excited to visit Elaundun.” She paused. “I remember hearing the report of PitKreel’s demise. My whole family was there. Every one of them. All dead. I felt so weak, I dropped to the ground and couldn’t stand.”
She raised her lowered eyes. “The Laundun were almost as devastated as the PitKree at first. But most of their families were intact, so they recovered sooner. Some of them picked me up and took me home. They finally got me to respond and eat. There came to be a little poem that the Laundun would murmur to us again and again.”
You are not orphaned.
You are not alone.
We are your family.
And this is your home.
ShenLee drew a breath, audible in the charged silence. “And so I—PairDee—survived. The Laundun...” ShenLee extended her arms to encompass Leonfir, Jetawnni, and Travannesal. “You. In my mind, you are part of the Laundun who did these things. As PairDee, I know you took me in. You built a home for me and the husband I married. You encouraged us to reproduce, to rebuild our race. You spared us the time demand of careers so we could raise more children. You fed and clothed my family through my entire life. I had twenty-one offspring. I know all their names, and I know the careers they learned from the Laundun who helped us build the city of TanQue.”
ShenLee turned her head with a respectful dip, dismissing the memory. She relinquished her old accent and said, “The last thing I want to do is to tell you I don’t appreciate your gift. Laundun are the kindest, most generous race in the galaxy. You gave us your wealth, and your time, and your planet! And we love you for your welcome.”
She flipped a hand. “But we never understood that you were turning us into you. We were puzzled when you joined our two names into one. We assumed it was your kindness, wanting us to feel at home. You even pulled our government in with yours, so we would have a voice on this planet we shared. But we didn’t ask to become you. We know that we are PitKree. We will always be PitKree.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kena looked over Hrndl’s shoulder at the crew assignments. “Can’t I ever share a cockpit with Antony?”
Hrndl twisted around to Kena. “You and Antony have similar skills.”
“Agreed. I still want to fly with him at least once. Call it training. We’ll learn the fine details of one another’s techniques.”
Giddech grumbled, but Hrndl spoke over him. “A strong partner wouldn’t hurt, since you’re commanding the mission.” Hrndl tapped her console, adjusting the assignments. “Tevd, you will partner with Elna. Delf, you are with Giddech.”
Before long, the navigators strode to their craft in the bay, putting on EVA belts as they walked. Not that they planned external work, but the belts had become standard equipment while working near tra-pentazine.
“Thanks for getting us in the same craft,” Antony said. “I didn’t realize that would be such a rarity.”
“I understand Hrndl’s reasons.” Kena engaged her belt. “Seems a bit of a shame, though, doesn’t it?”
Antony checked Kena’s belt, routine among Humans, but not required in the Collaborative. “I always have this feeling when we’re working that you are near, but beyond reach.”
“A voice on the comm channel,” Kena
said, checking his belt. “It does lack the personal touch.”
Giddech passed them. “Insecure Humans must constantly recheck every—”
“Oh, shut up,” Delf said, striding beside him.
Kena climbed the ramp into their craft. “C’mon, Antony. Let’s go do something fun. You pilot first. I’ll take it later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kena led her crew out according to plan. When they had initiated their courses, she closed the comm channel and let out a purring sigh. “Do you feel that?”
“No,” Antony said, his eyes forward and a hand on the control stick.
“Neither do I.” She breathed the words out. “Not a single wisp of emfrel.”
He chuckled. “Like a distant crowd suddenly hushed. Does it get on your nerves?”
“Nah. It fades into the background, but the silence is sweet.”
“True enough. Also, the absence of Giddech’s voice. He goes far beyond the classic Chonander curtness. What’s his problem?”
“Frustrated or jealous. He has years of experience, plus strong piloting and robotic skills. Decent at scanning, too. But he never gets promoted to senior navigator. His training skills are atrocious, and he alienates everyone. Can you imagine him leading missions?”
“Nope. Why doesn’t Hrndl rein him in?”
“She does, and Netlyn, too. He’s better for a while, then slips back. I even got him to behave once. For a day! He probably hates that our skills exceed his, though we have less experience.”
“Too bad,” Antony said with zero sympathy.
They crossed the buffer space between the Ontrevay and the tra-pentazine samples. To their left, energy beams etched in white light connected the anchors, which glowed yellow. Containment fields extended from the anchors, each holding a sample of either trazine or pentazine. Far to their right, the empty test chambers waited between two remote control units, bristling with sensors and antennas.
Kena checked the local scans. “I’ll take over piloting.” She pulled the control sticks toward her lap. “You take robotics.”
What a pleasure to focus like this. To intrinsically know how her partner managed the combination of mechanical robotics and energy fields. Few words were necessary as they worked together.
She headed over to the test site. After watching him place trazine samples, she asked, “How did you get quick with robotics?”
“By doing it slowly a thousand times. I never try to be fast. Only precise. And, yes, I say that to everyone I train.”
She smiled but began directing other pilots, specifying the order of sample deposits. Another larger craft joined them, with the scientists in charge of today’s experiments. Tevd and Elna placed the pentazine samples they had extracted, and all craft withdrew to safe locations.
“Break time.” Kena pulled out her water and a snack.
When she finished eating, Antony took his turn. “What are you doing this evening?”
“Finishing the infamous reports.”
Antony split the seal on a food container and pulled out a pocket sandwich. “About your time with the PitKreelaundun?”
“Uh-huh.”
He finished chewing a massive bite. “How’s it going?”
“Better.” Kena touched a few buttons to display the test progress. “The general report for the Collaborative is done. I just need to finish the augmented part I’m sending to Earth.”
“Who gets that one?”
Kena tapped an index finger on her cheek. “Hmm. I suppose I could give it to you.”
“If that’s not already understood, you’re going to get an earful.”
Kena chuckled. “It’s addressed to ESC Chief Administrator Joseph Feinerman, Culturalist Andrew Talgarth, and the telepath trainers.”
Antony captured a scrap of food that had floated from his sandwich. “The elite foursome themselves?”
“From that, I’d bet you’ve never met them.”
“No, just hearsay. Everything from awe to grumbling about selection bias.”
“That bias thing…” Kena wrinkled her nose. “It’s bogus. The trainers are kind and humble, like all of the sealed ones. They don’t actually select. They’ll train anyone who asks, if it’s possible.”
He consumed another bite, eating fast like a navigator. “Why do some people claim they were refused?”
“The trainers know at the first touch. That might be hard to believe, but it’s true. If it isn’t going to happen, there’s nothing they can do. It’s so quick, people think they don’t get a fair chance. As though it’s a matter of…” She waved a hand. “…oh, qualification or accomplishment.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Why send your report directly to the trainers?”
“To give them a heads-up, I guess.” She slid her finger down the sample list to display a new request, then tapped a couple times to assign it to Delf. “When I do get to Earth, I’ll meet with one of the trainers. If anyone can teach me how to get through the link with Pernanyen, it will be them. And hopefully, my dad will have some insight, too. It’s rather convenient when one of the foremost experts on alien cultures just happens to be your own father.”
“I imagine having Andrew Talgarth for a father has been convenient more than once.”
Kena twitched her eyebrows together. His emphasis seemed a bit off. Was he hinting that she had unfair advantages? She wasn’t going there, or they’d end up arguing, for sure. “He’s my dad, and that’s all. Yes, I learned about alien cultures younger than most, but the biggest advantage is really…well…he’s wise.”
Antony drank, flattening his flexi-bottle. “You dodged a major disappointment there.”
His tonal drop took her by surprise. She waited a bit. “Was your father less than stellar?”
“Yeah.” He drew a deep breath. “The short version is that, well, he concealed…loads…from my mom. He was a charmer and manipulator. Knew how to work last-generation tricks on the trusting sort born after Yeshua’s return.” Antony crushed his food wrapper. “Maybe that’s why he waited to look for a wife. Waiting for someone unsuspecting. He kept right on conning her until advocates came to the house with proof of fraud.”
“Yikes! How old were you?”
“Eleven. Things were already rough. My parents fought more times than I can count. He’d always spin a line about forgiveness to get her to make up, but fraud was more than she could stand.” Antony stowed his flexi-bottle, then slapped the compartment shut. “All of his assets—legal or otherwise—were confiscated for restitution. I’m not saying it was unjust, but we went from plenty to poverty in a day. It didn’t help that he expected my mom to support him and pay off his restitution debt.” The bitterness in Antony’s voice grew ever more pronounced. “’Cause after all, he used to share his stolen money with her. He even wanted to pull my sister and me out of school so he could use education funds to pay down his debt. He invented a brand-new version of nasty when my mom refused.” Antony released his mangled food wrapper and shoved it into the waste receptacle. “That’s why we moved to Missouri.”
Kena’s breath huffed out in a snarl, her voice quivering. “Every now and then, I hear a story like this and…oh! The remnant of the last generation can be hard to live with.”
He reached over and clasped her hand. “Not to worry. My mom requested relief and got an advocate herself. We were gifted with one of the abandoned last-generation houses. It was close to where her brother lived. The court made my dad stay in Georgia to work out the full six years of repayment.”
“I get the restitution part, but that didn’t put any food on your table.”
“If ever I feel the need for instant empathy,” Antony said, laughing, “I will know where to come. My mom had to start over, but we made it. Once my dad paid off his debt to the people he cheated, the court forced him to repay my mom’s share of their legal assets. If there is one thing my dad is good at, it’s business. My mom even convinced the court that he owed me, because once I got
my pilot’s license, I helped support my family.” That brought a glint of mischievous delight to his eyes.
Strange how quickly a laugh, even the silent one in his eyes, could diffuse angst. “I take it you got a better mom than dad?”
“The best one on the planet. And a pretty amazing uncle, too. Not to mention twin cousins who are practically my brothers.”
Kena stared past the high-tech equipment. “It’s funny how things shake down sometimes. Disasters, I mean.”
“Am I about to hear some version of the challenge builds character adage?”
“No, I’m skeptical of that. I know of people who thrived in the face of challenge. Those are the uplifting stories we all hear. But I’ve also seen people…” Her hand traced a random spiral as she sought words. “…oh, just butt their heads against the problem and get nowhere. Nobody ever talks about those stories. Bounty is much the same. Some people flourish and others flounder, wasting every advantage.”
Antony loosened his straps, turning toward her. “What do you think makes the difference?”
“My theory is that it all comes down to decisions. Mostly our own, though sometimes other people’s choices play into our reality.”
“Just us? I thought sure you would include something about God.” A hint of bitterness tainted the final word.
“That part comes down to our decisions, too.” She tilted her head. “I’m guessing your dad didn’t ask God whether fraud was a good plan.”
Antony snorted. “He hated it if my mom even mentioned God.” Antony’s brows darted together, and he looked away.
What realization had hit him? Something he didn’t care for, by the look of it.
He touched a few buttons on his console, initiating another review of the sample collection. “There’s another side of it, though,” he said. “Some people trust God and make good decisions, and everything falls apart anyway.”
“Yeah, been there. We both have.”
“Here’s an irony for you. Do you know that the old-era followers of Yeshua thought that our era would be perfect?”