by Sharon Rose
Kena’s steps slowed as she tried to take it all in. Antony’s murmur of wow blended with the rushing sound of wind. All so realistic that it felt odd no spray touched her face. “Stunning!”
Ghent watched her as he leaned against the railing. “One of the most acclaimed cascades of Plynteth. This view is from a different angle than in my memory, but do you recognize it?”
“Is it the waterfall you showed me the first time we linked?”
“Yes. I’ve seen it from different vantage points,” Ghent said, “each beautiful or majestic in its own way. Would you like to link with me for the full view?”
She raised her brows.
“If you haven’t guessed,” Ghent said, “I’m trying to get you to use deep telepathy again with someone you trust. I have another idea, as well, that is easier shown than explained.”
Her habitual refusal tried to rise, but the quiet voice of her beloved drowned it out. You did ask.
This wasn’t what she’d expected, but why ask, then reject the answer? “All right,” she whispered.
Kena extended her mind and waited for Ghent’s sairit to reach out to her. Then, she encompassed him, touching his awareness with her own. Suddenly, she stood with Ghent in a memory from years earlier, on an observation platform carved from a canyon wall. He drew his attention down to an opposing vantage point, then showed her a memory from that deck as he’d looked up toward this one. The completeness of the canyon filled her mind, even the details of the climbing ways. Ghent knew every vertical pathway with a spatial sense far exceeding her own. His deep appreciation of the rugged power surrounding him—the roaring water, the misty breeze, the strange scents of Plynteth, the stability of rock contrasted with ever-shifting water—all this flowed into her mind.
Antony hovered near, his gaze moving between their faces.
Metchell’s voice came over the door’s comm unit. Still linked with Kena, Ghent moved to open the door, for he’d sent for Metchell. This, Kena observed from within their link. Their voices came to her through both her ears and Ghent’s.
He turned his full attention to her again. What else do you wish to see?
The river.
Draw it from my memory.
She blocked her internal shock from passing through the link, though her widened eyes must reveal it.
Ghent channeled reassurance to her. I want you to search my sairit for memories of the river.
Kena still held her thoughts from him, realizing what he was doing.
He held his attention steady on the upper crest of the cascade, waiting.
She had never done this before. Always, she presented a concept and let the other person comply, as they chose. He was giving her a safe place to search for memories.
Kena closed her eyes and studied his view of the arcing water. She inspected lower and lower until she saw the water crashing and spewing mist. It raged around a battered island, then rejoined in a frothing tumult, which curved out of view in the distance.
Ghent prompted her. Look further.
No image connected. She paused, wondering. The river’s name?
That memory formed as sound, a Plynteth word with a strange consonant involving Ghent’s cheeks. The name implied spreading or disbursing. Though she couldn’t pronounce it, she could use it to draw other memories. One included a map showing the river’s branches and tributaries. Another offered a view from a high cliff overlooking a placid river, which split as it meandered through verdant fields in a flat-bottomed canyon. She caught the drift of agricultural concepts being taught to a much younger version of Ghent, for this view was part of his education.
Kena broke from the link. She’d strayed so far beyond what he had explicitly permitted! She licked her lips, trying to hide their trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Antony whispered in her ear.
“Give them a minute,” Metchell said. “Let Ghent and Kena be the first to talk.”
Ghent motioned his guests toward the chairs around the curve of his table, then took his own seat on the straight side. He waited a few minutes, then said, “You didn’t go too far, Kena. We value that river far more for the crops it waters than for its dramatic descent.”
Kena kept her gaze low.
Antony gripped her hand. “Please remember, Ghent, I have no telepathic training, and I’m completely in the dark. What are you talking about?”
“I prompted her to search my sairit for memories of the river.” Ghent looked at Kena, and his voice softened. “She finds this uncomfortable, since her telepathy is passive. She normally waits for information to be presented. When she searched—as I asked—she found a memory she didn’t expect.” Ghent leaned forward. “You succeeded, Kena. Well done. Particularly since that must have been your first attempt.”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
Antony rubbed her hand. “So, what’s wrong, Kena?”
“The memory was from a lesson about agriculture,” she said. “I was just looking for the river, then I saw more than that. I can’t stand the idea of obtaining a memory beyond what someone permits.”
“You didn’t exceed what I permitted,” Ghent said. “Plynteth has very little arable land. Whenever I think of that river, I automatically think of the crops it sustains. In discovering that, you were not violating my will. You were learning how I perceive the river.” He leaned toward her again. “When you search another’s memory, you will always find the unexpected. This will be true when you link with Pernanyen. I just wanted to give you a safe, friendly environment, so you could accustom yourself.”
Kena nodded and let her breath out.
“Are you angry with me?” Ghent asked.
“No, of course not.” She made a point of relaxing her posture.
Silence stretched. Maybe he was giving her a chance to say more, but she had no such desire.
Ghent ended the pause with his quick nod. “I understand that communications were received from Earth. Did they contain anything you were hoping for?”
“I heard from my father and from Liza,” she said. “They both encouraged me to complete the link without waiting for them. Liza doesn’t know how to teach me, anyway.”
Metchell turned to her. “What do you need to be taught?”
Memory sparked. Pernanyen’s ruthless probing of her memories. Every muscle in Kena’s chest locked up. No! Not again! She summoned a newer thought: the healing that had flowed into her mind last night and the image that came with it. Her emotions were hers! She was done letting them fling her around as though a wild, unbridled horse carried her. She imagined gathering the reigns and drawing them back, her feet firm in the stirrups. Perhaps later, she would walk through those emotions—at her pace—but for now, they would stop! She almost smiled at the image of reigning her horse to a standstill, the twitching beneath her saddle, and the indignant neigh.
Kena lifted her chin and answered Metchell with determined calm. “Pernanyen has some of my memories embedded within her own. I have the right to remove them, but I have no idea how to do that. I’m not even sure how to find them or differentiate the memories I want to remove from the conclusions I want her to retain.”
Metchell’s pitch shifted to his surprised tone. “I can teach you that, Kena.”
She stared at him, her lips parting. “But…but…how do you know such a thing?” Expressions darted across Metchell’s face, lines by his eyes, which she’d never seen. Oh, no. She’d let revulsion edge her words.
His eyes calmed and narrowed. “Ah.” He took a breath and spoke slowly. “I’m a doctor. Which you know, of course, but you don’t know what that means to a sairital being.”
She shifted in her chair. “I guess not.”
“May I tell you a story, Kena?”
An odd approach for Metchell. “Sure.”
“It’s from many years ago, when I was training for my profession,” he said. “This might be a surprise to you, but telepathic techniques are among the first things we learn.”
He
r brow twitched. “Oh!”
His smile quirked, and he dropped his tone. “I think I can safely assume there is no corresponding training for Human doctors.”
Kena chuckled. “Good assumption. But why—never mind. Please continue.”
“There are many uses. Assessing consciousness level. Understanding the location and type of pain. Communication with the patient if hearing or speech is compromised. Comforting or stilling a patient. Treating sairital shock or emotional trauma. And one you know about firsthand, recording memory.”
“Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”
“Back to my story. A natural disaster struck nearby. A boy was pulled from the rubble and brought to me.” Metchell half closed his eyes for an instant. “His age correlated to a Human of about five Earth years.”
Kena made a sympathetic sound in her throat.
“The boy was catatonic,” Metchell said, “although his physical injuries were not extreme. Some object kept the roof from crushing him, but he’d been trapped next to his dead mother. I know this because I linked with him.” Metchell watched Kena for a second. “His mother hadn’t spoken after the collapse. She held his hand for a little while, then went still. Her hand grew cold and stiff in the dark, and it never moved again in all the hours he was trapped. An eternity, to him.”
Kena’s hand pressed against her chest.
Metchell shook his head. “You don’t need to look that sad, Kena. The story ends happily for the boy.”
She lowered her hand and took a deep breath as Antony slid his fingers through hers.
Metchell resumed his story. “I treated his sairital shock and physical injuries, then brought him into deep sleep. But the most important part came days later. He was in constant distress, reliving those awful hours. The damage was spreading to other areas of his sairit. His uncle came to get him, but the boy was totally unresponsive. So, I removed the boy’s memories of the past few days.”
Kena opened her mouth and closed it.
“He awoke with no idea what had happened and asked for his parents. I took him to his uncle. The boy was happy to see him, jumping and chattering. His uncle had to tell him that his parents had died. He mourned them in a healthy manner and recovered.”
Kena breathed easier. This fit the kind doctor she trusted.
Metchell held her gaze. “That child couldn’t tell me what he needed. He couldn’t show me where to search for those memories. He couldn’t even make a decision about whether he wanted to keep them. That is why all Dantokrellie doctors know how to search through someone’s sairit, without their permission, and remove memories. I even know how to dampen or restrict memories. Such techniques are rarely needed, but to natural telepaths, they are not surprising.”
Kena drew a deep breath. “And you think you can teach me this?”
His smile quirked again. “I’ve taught others. If you can embrace the technique, I think you’ll be good at it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already know at least part of it.”
Kena’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you say that?”
“The PitKreelaundun baby you rescued—you helped her heal in some fashion. They remarked on it.”
Kena opened her mouth, but she could form no words.
“What did you do?” Antony asked.
“Nothing, really. I just loved her.”
Antony gave Kena a soft smile and murmured, “How can you call that nothing?”
“Nothing sairital,” she said. “I couldn’t. I wasn’t acclimated to her emfrel.”
Metchell frowned at her, his lips parted.
Kena tilted her head and quipped, “At least, I’m not the only one who is puzzled, now and then.” She rubbed her forehead. This was a lot to take in. “So…I guess it should be possible to perform this link with Pernanyen. Now, if I can just deal with the idea of poking through her mind and destroying what I will.”
His expression gave her pause, those lines forming around his eyes again. “Please don’t take offense,” she said.
“Then, stop saying such offensive things. Like poke or destroy to describe identification and removal. I will never tell you what to do to another Human, Kena, or even a PitKreelaundun, but I can speak for the Dantokrellie. Should you ever come across an orphaned child who you are able to help telepathically, please do so. Even if Humans would criticize you for it.”
Orphaned child? He meant something different, but that was how she thought of Pernanyen. “Please forgive me, Metchell. I do not question your motives or actions.”
He turned his hand in a helix gesture. “I can accept that your views differ from mine, but you must accept the difference, too. You cannot learn unless you are willing.”
Kena drew a deep breath. “I am willing.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Conflicting emotions warred inside Antony as Kena left with Metchell. She was at last moving toward her goal, but his instinct to protect her threatened to overwhelm him.
He shifted his gaze from the closing door to Ghent. “This is the duty you had planned for us today?”
“I suppose you could call it diplomacy duty,” Ghent said. “Not your chief interest, I realize, but I have a limited understanding of Humans and need your input.”
Unexpected. “Regarding?”
Ghent frowned. “Perhaps I should start by asking why you sound so angry?”
Antony drew a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m worried about Kena, and…uh, my urge to protect her is flouted at the moment.”
“Are we…treating her inappropriately?”
“No. Neither you nor Metchell forced her. That’s why I can’t protect her…even though I know how hard this will be for her.”
Ghent leaned against the encircling backrest of his chair. “Peace depends on Kena. I must provide her every facility to return to the Epri7 and complete her link with Pernanyen.”
“I understand.”
After a moment, Ghent said, “I have noticed that you and Kena spend all of your off-duty time together.”
Antony subdued his twitching lips.
“That seems to have calmed her, which is why I wanted you here when we urged her into the next step. I wouldn’t normally pull you out of nav duties.”
“You won’t hear me complain.”
“Have you considered,” Ghent asked, “accompanying Kena to the Epri7?”
“I want to, though I haven’t talked to her about it yet. Of course, I’d need your approval, too.”
“Can you control your urge to protect her there?”
Antony blinked. “Are you asking if I would prevent her from linking with Pernanyen?”
Ghent laughed. “I don’t know. You may need to interpret for me. What should I be asking?”
Antony shook his head. “I won’t interfere between her and Pernanyen. I’d still like to be there for Kena, particularly when she has finished that link. To give her some comfort or anything else she might need.” Antony drummed his fingers as he considered the PitKreelaundun. “They seem like the sort of race who’d think an escort indicates a person’s worth or honor. If I don’t escort her, they may assume Humans don’t value what she’s doing.”
“Ah, you may be right about that. Perhaps you have some innate diplomacy skills.”
Antony huffed with a one-sided smile.
“Do you choose acclimation to the PitKreelaundun,” Ghent asked, “or would you rather wear a temporary emfrel shield on the Epri7?”
That sure crushed the mood. “Haven’t gotten to that decision yet.”
“I’ve talked to Metchell about it. He says an improved technique will ease some of the acclimation discomfort. There’s a side benefit, too.”
Hard to believe. “What?”
“Metchell can explain it better,” Ghentsaid. “Something about the complexity of PitKreelaundun emfrel and the other races you’ve already been acclimated to. Apparently, that combination would make it unnecessary for you to acclimate to the Sierritame race, should you ever need to associate
with them.”
“Oh!” Antony raised his brows. “I’ve heard that other races can reach that point, but I didn’t know Humans could.”
Ghent dropped his pitch. “It does seem only fair that Humans would reap some benefit from all this.”
“I suppose I should just get it taken care of,” Antony said. “Maybe this evening, so I can sleep off the exhaustion and still have a decent day with Kena tomorrow.” His gut tightened, not just at the thought of acclimation. Kena’s ordeal had jumped from the distant future to imminent.
Antony picked up two packaged lunches and turned to leave the dining hall.
Hurried footsteps followed him. “Antony,” Hrndl said, “may I walk with you?”
“Of course. Is anything wrong?”
“No, but I must respect Kena’s privacy.” Hrndl glanced over her shoulder. “Metchell told me he finished teaching her memory techniques about an hour ago, and she’s resting in her quarters. Naturally, I won’t intrude before she’s ready. I thought she might come to second meal, but…” She gestured to the food containers in his grip. “Have you talked with her?”
“Not yet. She just sent me a message, asking that I bring her a meal.”
Hrndl was silent for a moment. “I suppose I will have to be frank, at the risk of sounding crass. I wish to see her, but she doesn’t know that. May I accompany you to her quarters? If she’s not ready to talk, I will leave.”
“Okay. Uh…why would it take an hour for her to be ready to talk?”
She looked sideways at him. “An hour should be adequate, but her link with Metchell was long and involved. Tiring, beyond doubt, and she will want time to establish her understanding of what he taught her.”
“I never seem to ask this question the right way. Why is talking such a problem after a link?”
She regarded him longer, this time. “I suppose none of us realize how alien telepathy is to you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Words may be used in a link, but they are quicker than speech—like lightspeed compared to crawling. So, after a deep link, verbal communication feels cumbersome.” She slowed her steps as they neared Kena’s quarters. “Absorbing concepts from another is much different from one’s own thinking. Retaining them requires focused attention—without the distraction of forming words for others.” She looked at him again. “Is that clearer?”