Diverse Demands

by Sharon Rose

  Do you have an approach proposal?” Hrndl asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, but I haven’t refined it yet.” Kena sent her course to the main display.

  Giddech jumped on the obvious flaw. “The flyby is off-position.”

  Hrndl studied it, running the time sequence. “Not by much, but that will extend the time. Tweak it, Kena.”

  “Can we get better certainty on the planet’s orbit first,” she asked.

  “I’m working on it,” Thrayl said. “I’ve found the planet on some of our older, distant scans.” He tapped instructions into his console, then looked up as the display rendered the revised orbit.

  The planet’s future position shifted into exact alignment with Kena’s plotted course.

  “Thias!” Tevd muttered.

  Antony rested his hands on Kena’s shoulders again and squeezed.

  Hrndl smiled, the corners of her eyes lifting. “Ah, yes! Refine that, Kena.” She addressed the group again. “Does anyone have concerns with this route?”

  Kena paid scant attention to their discussion as she tweaked the plan and restarted the calculations. She strolled up to the main display for a detailed review, silently offering heartfelt thanks to her beloved. The way he showed concern for the details of her life was like finding a love note propped on her console.

  Netlyn advanced the time sequence in high magnification. At length, she said, “It has my approval.”

  “Mine, too,” Hrndl said.

  “May I?” Kena gestured to the display controls embedded in the display’s wide railing.

  Netlyn stepped aside, and Kena slid her hand over the panel to move through the closest approach to the planet, then back and forth a couple times.

  “Is there an issue?” Hrndl asked.

  “Not really. It just seems like something is missing.” Kena shrugged off the thought. “Time enough for that when we get closer.”

  “Excellent work, Kena,” Ghent said, as Netlyn left to implement the course change.

  “Thank you, sir.” She searched his eyes, wondering if she should tell him—or try to, anyway—that the course hadn’t come from her own abilities. It was just so obvious, the way it fit around the planet’s corrected orbit. Words seemed counterproductive.

  Ghent left, and Kena turned back to the display, resting her arms on the railing. Hrndl slipped near and linked an arm through Kena’s. It had been such a long time since she’d done that.

  “Do you feel how much we value you, now?” Hrndl asked.

  Kena managed to smile and nod.

  “Good. Then, next time, you won’t wait for me to ask you for a course, will you?”

  Kena crimped her lips. “That depends. Do you realize I suggested this course when I first came in? Netlyn told me not to pursue it.”

  “No.” Hrndl’s brow tightened. “So, that’s why you were inactive.”

  “My hands were tied, until you ordered me to do something.”

  “I realize your difficulty, Kena, but don’t shut down completely. Your…oh, what do you call it? That English word with no Prednian translation. Intution?”

  “I think you mean intuition.”

  “Your intu-hition is astonishing! We do not want to give it up.”

  “This wasn’t my normal intuition, Hrndl. Not in nav command yesterday either.”

  “Antony mentioned spirit afterward. I thought maybe intu-hition was from spirit.”

  “Yes, but even still…” Kena spread her hands. “This was really quite different. I don’t know how to describe it. I just…” She looked into Hrndl’s eyes. “I hope you noticed. And remember.”

  “I will, Kena. Will you join me for third meal, this evening?” She acknowledged Antony, who reached them as she spoke. “Both of you?”

  “Beyond doubt,” Kena said, borrowing the Grfdn phrase.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Kena settled into an afternoon of routine scanning work in the astro section. An occasional sideways glance or odd tone hinted that others still thought of her reprimand, but the warmth of her beloved shielded her. His love for her so deep…funny how that perspective pushed others’ disapproval from condemning to annoying. She could do this.

  Three command tones chimed in unison. Kena looked at her message from Ghent.

  Kena and Antony, report to visual communication room for diplomacy duty.

  Hrndl must have received the same message, for she dismissed them with a nod.

  Antony drew Kena’s hand onto his arm, and they left together.

  In the hallway, Kena murmured, “You know, Antony, we really don’t need to practice this.”

  “Oh, we do! You just wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve almost forgotten.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  He laughed. A low, warm chuckle that had become dear to her. “What do you suppose this is about?” he asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Maybe…” He loaded his tone with dark drama. “…we get to meet the mystery representative of Shennasee.”

  Kena’s laugh froze on her lips.

  Antony slowed. “What?”

  “No need to dally. I just got an impression within.”

  “You’re going to share that, right?”

  “The words were stand firm. It felt much like the deck will shift under my feet, but I shouldn’t let it move me.”

  “Huh.”

  She couldn’t blame him for sounding less-than-impressed. Her explanation did sound vague. No time to convey how compelling the impression had felt, for they’d reached the visual comm room.

  Ghent was already seated, but the screen was still dark. Kena sat next to him at the table, and Antony took the chair on her right.

  “Do we know what this is about?” she asked.

  “Formality,” Ghent said. “The Shennasee representative wants to greet us. We’ll take the opportunity to introduce Antony. I want you to do most of the talking, Kena, so they can see how capable you are.”

  Kena assumed a pleasant expression as Ghent touched the console. The screen displayed three Laundun men with skin the color of honey. Travannesal and the stranger wore wide, metallic bands of office draped across their shoulders and chests, identifying them as primary members of ruling families. Their regalia overshadowed the gold captain’s rank bands Leonfir wore on the shoulders of his tunic.

  The stranger’s hair was the darkest she’d seen among the Laundun, indicating he was eldest. Perhaps age gave him preeminence, for he spoke first. “I am Jenarsig, primary member of the ruling family of Shennasee, of the PitKreelaundun race.” The sheen of his deep red tunic shifted in rhythm with his flowing words. “I greet you with the hope that peace will last long between the races we protect and the races of the Interstellar Collaborative.”

  Okay, this one likes lots of formal words. Kena started the introductions.

  As the pleasantries ended, Jenarsig leaned forward and opened his mouth again, but Kena turned to Travannesal. “How is Pernanyen?”

  “She is well,” he said. “Her despondency evaporated at your message. She sends thanks that you have found the means to return earlier.”

  Kena smiled and turned her gaze to Jenarsig. His shoulders began the characteristic sway of the dual-breathing Laundun, causing reflected light to slide back and forth along his metallic collar. “I regret that it has taken me so long to reach you for the need of reassurance…”

  What? Kena struggled to parse sentences, as his discourse droned on. He had the Laundun trait of stringing phrases together with never a pause, far worse than she’d heard in the others. He complimented her desire for peace at length, then cited difficulties dealing with the triad. Huh? Now, what was he implying?

  “Excuse me,” Kena said. “Did you just criticize Travannesal for being terse?”

  Jenarsig jerked his head back at the interruption, but he recovered. “Indeed, it grieves me that he has behaved so rudely to you and without true assurance of his separation from Pernanyen since your race could not b
e expected to perceive…”

  He faltered. Her confusion must have reached her face. Kena snatched the tiny pause. “Jenarsig, we do not feel that Travannesal has been terse. Please learn from him. I realize that the Laundun can alterna—”

  “Our race is called PitKreelaundun.”

  Kena tried to hide her irritation. “Perhaps I spoke too generally. I realize that you can alternate inhalation and don’t need pauses. The Prednian language requires them for sentence structure. The less you pause, the harder you are to understand.”

  “I apologize for lack of clarity and will repeat.”

  “Please do not,” she said. “Instead, tell me the subject of this discussion, because I cannot imagine why you criticize Travannesal or speak of his severed relationship.”

  “I have been conveying my respect for you and the reasons why I am taking his place in the triad.”

  The sensation of shifting struck Kena so forcibly, she gripped the table’s edge. Travannesal and Leonfir looked just as stunned. Several seconds slid into the past before she managed to form words. “Travannesal, do you wish to withdraw from the triad?”

  “No, Kena. My commitment to you does not waver. Jenarsig did not tell us that he intended this.”

  Jenarsig swung to Travannesal. “I do not need your permission.”

  “You may offer to take my place. You cannot impose it.”

  Jenarsig turned back to Kena. “I apologize if my offer was unclear. I respect your efforts and do not want them wasted.”

  “I decline your offer.”

  “I request that you hear my reasons,” Jenarsig said. “Travannesal’s former relationship with Pernanyen places him in a precarious position, which casts doubt upon his honor.”

  Even over the comm system, she could hear Leonfir and Travannesal inhale. So rare to see Laundun chests lift like theirs did. They must also perceive an insult. Perhaps if she used more words, she could get Jenarsig to shut up. “In your eyes, perhaps,” she said, “but not in mine. The triad is stable and will soon fulfill its commitment. The change you suggest will not benefit me. I decline your offer.”

  “Both of our views are irrelevant if the triad cannot deliver on its promise. I assure you that I will—”

  Kena turned pointedly to Travannesal. “If this conversation is to continue, I would like TarKeen to join us.”

  Both primaries closed their lips as Leonfir answered, “He’s in his quarters. It’s an inappropriate time to summon him.”

  The guarded looks on the other two faces…their gazes turned aside…Had she erred in requesting his presence?

  Leonfir, however, continued like he’d practiced his lines. “Two members of the triad are adequate, for Travannesal and I have always been in complete agreement. Even another primary cannot overturn that.”

  “Forgive me, Kena,” Jenarsig said, “if I have disturbed you by expressing myself poorly. I seek to strengthen the commitment made to you.”

  Kena shrugged. “If you so readily cast aside another primary’s commitment, I see no reason to trust your assurances. I decline your offer.”

  “My great respect for you—”

  Antony leaned forward. “She has declined, three times. You may show her your great respect by honoring her choice.”

  Jenarsig opened his mouth again, but before he could answer, Travannesal said, “Depart.”

  Jenarsig snapped to rigid posture. “You cannot forbid a primary to address—”

  “As a triad member, I tell you to depart.”

  “Please depart,” Leonfir said. “We have other matters to discuss.”

  After Jenarsig finally left, Travannesal said, “Ah, Kena, how should I express my regret to a Human for someone else’s behavior?”

  What a relief. She stared at the ceiling, “I suppose, you could say, ‘I apologize on his behalf.’” Kena flashed a smile at him. “But you needn’t. Apparently, you modify your speech for us. Thank you for pausing and being…terse.”

  Travannesal lips twitched. “Did you notice how offended he was by my one-word sentence?”

  “I did,” she said. “Do the other primaries have as much trouble with Prednian?”

  “No, for the rest of us speak your language whenever we discuss the Collaborative. He understands but rarely speaks it.”

  Interesting.

  Leonfir turned to Ghent. “It’s unfortunate that you’ve had trouble with your dimensional drive. Do you lack anything to repair it?”

  “No,” Ghent said. “Only benzlium, but we’ve identified sources we can soon reach.”

  They spoke of logistics for a few minutes, then Travannesal said, “Though I value your early return, Kena, are you foregoing necessary preparations?”

  No doubt, he wanted more than a simple no. “Techniques that you would consider ordinary are foreign to me. I had assumed I would need to learn them from the Human telepath trainers on Earth. Instead, we filled that need through communication and Metchell’s ability to train me. I am now prepared.”

  A certain tightness left his face. “Was that all you needed from Earth?”

  She tilted her shoulders. “Not quite. I’ve been longing for contact with family. At least a Human who I have a relationship with.” She licked her lips. “Relationships take time to develop, of course, but…” She leaned toward Antony, her voice softening. “Not that long.”

  Antony slid his hand beneath her palm and let her fingers drape over his hand. “I have offered to escort Kena to the Epri7, and she accepted.”

  Kena hid a smirk. Ha. Way to ask for permission to enter their ship. They’d be hard pressed to say no.

  Travannesal inclined his head. “We anticipate the pleasure of welcoming you.”

  After the screen darkened, Kena leaned her chin on her interlaced fingers and stared at nothing. “Why would Jenarsig want to disrupt the triad?”

  Breaking a short silence, Ghent said, “It’s possible that, in his culture, the reasons he stated are adequate.”

  “Just doesn’t seem to be enough,” she said. “Granted, we’ve had some tense moments trying to communicate with them, but I’d expect a PitKreelaundun to blame us for that, not Travannesal. It doesn’t make sense to replace him with someone who won’t speak intelligibly.”

  “Won’t?” Antony asked. “He may not have realized he had a problem.”

  “The PitKree pause at the end of every sentence, just like we do,” she said. “Jenarsig ought to be able to pause. If he tried.”

  “Did it worry you,” Antony asked, “that Travannesal couldn’t get rid of Jenarsig on his own?”

  “Not really. Jenarsig is his peer and must have equal rights.” She smirked. “It was funny to hear Leonfir clinch the issue, because he has no authority over a ruling family member. We can’t doubt that they take their triads seriously.”

  Kena splayed her fingers on the table. “I can’t wait to get this constrained link over with, so we can work out a durable understanding with their entire government. Not just one of them, who shows up after pretending someone else was coming.”

  Antony’s dinner at Hrndl’s table could have been perfect, for Kena was there. If only the Grfdn didn’t insist on reminding him of his first disastrous meal with them. Every time he won her smile, one of the Grfdn would take a careful sip from the edge of a glass. They seemed to declare that they were not drinking from pouches, and Kena would look down.

  At least nothing went awry in the conversation. Kena was quiet, maybe because their discussion centered around the damaged primary drive. Not her expertise. She paid more attention when Frdn spoke of preparing the PitKreelaundun language files, and she finally contributed when Hrndl mentioned setting up simulations to prepare for coming work.

  “We’ll need to include some atmospheric flight sims.” Kena lowered her fork and looked at Hrndl. “Do you know how many of the navigators are qualified?”

  “We’ll have to confirm it. Usually, the races that employ energy tethers to get off-planet have no concept of
atmospheric flight. The Veet are qualified, but Tenelli who trained only on Tenel will not be. I assume, both of you can deal with an atmosphere?”

  Antony grinned and nodded at the question in her voice.

  Kena said, “It’s required of Human navigators.”

  “Which of you has the most experience?” Hrndl asked.

  “I do.” Antony took a drink.

  “How do you know?” Kena narrowed her eyes as he chuckled. “You could at least ask.”

  “I got my license when I was fourteen. Can you beat that?”

  “Oh, sure, pull age on me.” Kena dipped her voice. “Child prodigy.”

  “Even in Prednian, you two lose me,” Hrndl said. “What are you talking about?”

  Antony grinned at her. “In Earth years, fourteen is the youngest age allowed for a flight license. I’m twenty-eight, two years older than Kena, so she cannot have more experience than I. As for her reference to child, we are not legally adults until we are eighteen.” He looked at Kena again. “And yes, I was a prodigy in the cockpit. Thank you for noticing.”

  “And so modest, too.”

  Hrndl’s voice dipped to a vibrating pitch. “Humans let children fly?”

  “Adolescents,” Antony said. “With restrictions, yes.”

  Still vibrating, she asked, “What restrictions would be enough to make that acceptable?”

  “Adult reviews of flight plans.” Antony pushed his empty plate back. “Flight times limited to daylight and clear weather.” His smile pulled down. “That last one doesn’t always work out.”

  Kena’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

  “Got caught in a thunderstorm when I was fifteen.”

  “Ooh!” she said. “I bet that was…exciting.”

  “It still holds its position as the most terrifying event of my entire life.”

  “What, exactly, is a thunderstorm,” Hrndl asked.

  Her question was no surprise. Prednian was short on storm descriptors, and he’d thrown two words together. “A localized storm that can come up quick and violent. Lots of thunder and lightning, heavy rain, and high winds. I was in a small vessel. He bounced his finger on the table in short jumps, saying, “We call them hoppers, because they’re designed for short flights. Not much in the way of power.”