Diverse Demands

by Sharon Rose

  His voice within her, so reassuring. All the years you’ve lived among the distant families have prepared you for this.

  Okay, that made sense. But these people are not acclimated to me.

  She sensed her beloved’s amusement. They don’t need to be. You are not a sairit.

  Like she hadn’t said that a hundred times. Liza would laugh over this.

  Her beloved’s voice continued inside her. I made human minds as they are for a purpose. That is why you have a touch so gentle you may reach every sairit, and a well of strength so vast you will always emerge unscathed.

  Her tense shoulders eased with his empowering words.

  They are in need, Kena. You are, too. Use what I have given you.

  During the few seconds of this conversation, Turglund and Murloff separated. They all stared at her. Again. Maybe her fault, this time, for scooting away.

  Vinzlet edged nearer, holding out the wired sensors. Not necessary, but Kena let her place them. The blue line activated, tracing along the left side but not as far over as Antony’s.

  Now Turglund crept nearer. What would he think of this? She differentiated mind and spirit, preparing for him to reach out to her. All three of them startled, and she turned to see what they looked at. The blue line had jumped halfway to the right.

  Ah! It was a sairital monitor, or maybe something similar. The good thing was, Turglund might not be so shocked when he discovered she was active before they linked.

  He moved close enough to touch and held up his hand. She copied, knowing that he would search for her perception in order to establish the link. She made the sensation obvious for him.

  Turglund trembled as he grasped her essence around him.

  She eased a sense of peace through their link as she breathed the words. “All is well.” She ran her fingers down his palm to ground him with physical touch. And in that moment, she knew how he perceived her fleshy hand compared to his emaciated form. Also, her rounded figure and Antony’s substantial muscles. These strange-looking visitors must feast every day of the year.

  Kena looked around at the others and saw them as he did. Starving. Faces so sunken that their cheekbones stood out.

  Compassion rose. She should have guessed. That animal eating last year’s trash, the natives who could barely jog, the sparse food they offered. She conveyed a question. Why isn’t there enough food?

  Winter is longer every year.

  She sensed the tentative nature of his telepathy. Probably didn’t use it much. She must keep this at a surface link and learn their language. “I will speak,” she said slowly, “so you may hear our words. If you speak also, I will learn your words.”

  “I will speak,” he said.

  “I did not realize your hunger,” Kena said in sync with her thoughts. “For, there are many races, and all look different.” She sensed puzzlement over the word races. “Distant families. All different in some ways, but the same in others.”

  “Do they all have enough to eat?” Desperation and mourning drove his question. First harvest was at least twenty days away, and the rationed food all but gone. The weakest were already dying.

  “Yes, we have plenty.”

  Shame came next. “Is that why you rejected our first meal offering? Because it was so poor?” The significance of that ceremony, the desperate importance of an ingrained belief. They could never hope to receive help if they did not first give, and they had nothing left.

  “I did not reject.” She let appreciation flow with her words. “I wanted to eat it but could not.” She pressed her clenched hand to her chest. “Having received it as mine”—she extended her hand—“I gave it to you. I was glad to have at least something to give you, for you showed kindness to Antony and me, giving us shelter and tending our injuries.”

  He pondered whether that was good enough. Giving shelter and care cost them nothing.

  “Please,” Kena said, “will you tell them this now, for I grieved that they were troubled by my actions.”

  He did so without breaking the link. So helpful to observe how he heard language. That seemed to settle his concern about giving, but nothing erased hunger from his mind. Even that she may hunger. “Why couldn’t you eat?”

  “Different world’s grow different foods. Each kind can be shared with some distant families, but not with all. She sensed his gnawing fear, her own gut tightening as his hope faltered. She emphasized reassurance. “I have friends coming here soon who eat as you do.”

  “Our first meal offering…” He struggled over the admission. “It is so inadequate. Will they understand? Is there something we should do differently?”

  She refused to let this feeling of unworthiness persist. “Your offering was generous, because you gave away the thing most precious to you.” She glanced to the tray on the counter, her smile sweeping all three of them. “You even served it in the beauty of your art, which is a gift from within.” She let that settle for a moment. “And when I could not take the juice, you gave me the thing I could receive from you. Do not think you have nothing to give. We came here because we have need. Not for food, but for fuel.”

  He moved his head in a waggle of sorts, puzzled again.

  She sought a means to explain. “What gives you heat?”

  Shock. How could she not know this? “Dur gives heat.”

  Interesting. Dur was the planet name. A geothermal heat source. She glanced around. “What makes the lights glow?”

  Understanding, now. “There is a generator on the river.” Imagery of equipment spanning an underground watercourse. “It is very old, from before the cataclysm. We have forged replacement parts many times.”

  With that, she caught a glimpse of his role. When he spoke, others listened. He knew the importance of that generator and ensured it was maintained, just as he struggled to find the means to feed his people. A leader, though not by his own choice.

  She wanted to ask about the cataclysm, but it would have to wait. “My friends and I come from far away.” She brought an image to mind of the Ontrevay. “We do not have Dur for heat or a river for light. We use fuel for these things and also to make the vessel move. There is much fuel in the plateau.” She used an image for that, too, absorbing his words from his understanding. “Do the caves go near the plateau?”

  “No, into the hills.” She caught his perception of the complex, no longer full, for so many had died. “But the plateau is barren. Nothing grows there. How can it be fuel?”

  “Food grows from a different kind of ground.” She smiled. “Which is well, for we must not disturb your cropland.”

  “Your…” He searched for a word, the image of her craft in mind. “…little vessel is sitting in our cropland.”

  “Oh. I can move my craft when the wind calms. Will you lead us out of the caves?” She imagined Antony carried on the stretcher and herself walking beside him.

  Turglund shifted. “The storms will continue for days. We cannot carry him through the wind or let you walk it. Look at your hand.”

  She glanced at the injured one, though constant throbbing made that unnecessary. A little swelling showed beyond the cloth bandage. “I must send a message to…” She presented an image with the concept of leadership. “…to my captain, Ghent.”

  Turglund dwelled on that image, relieved that Ghent, at least, had fur. “You cannot go to your…craft.”

  “There is another way.” She sensed him tiring of the link. “If I could just go to the cavern entrance.”

  In his mind, the doors were closed against the storm.

  She supposed he must know. “Are there any other openings?”

  There were, but he was withdrawing.

  She shifted her focus, channeling peace to him during the final moment. He lay down on the rug, and she leaned against the sloped wall, pulling off the sensors and closing her eyes.

  The others preserved silence. Kena let her thoughts meander through the insights of their link. When Turglund left, she sat up and added to h
er report. Awkward, since her left hand didn’t want to help. He returned before long and conferred with the others. Such a relief to hear words she recognized, like message, opening, and go.

  Antony moaned. Kena hurried to his side. It must have been in his sleep, for his eyelids didn’t lift. Blood stained the bandage bound to his shoulder. His T-shirt was gone, revealing black hair on his brown skin. Though still pale, he didn’t look quite so ashen.

  Antony attempted unconscious movement and winced. His eyebrows strained to meet over scrunched eyelids, and breath rasped in his throat.

  “Hey,” Kena murmured, touching his cheek with the back of her fingers. He felt too warm.

  His eyes found hers. “Oh, Kena,” he moaned.

  If only there were something she could do! “How bad is it?”

  “Well…I guess…not as bad as…when they dug in it.” He took a few more shallow breaths. “Can’t wait to…see Metchell.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Have you…heard from anyone?”

  She shook her head. “We’re in a cave.”

  His gaze traveled over the irregular ceiling. “Yeah. How long’ve…I been out?”

  “A couple hours.”

  “I’m fuzzy on details. D’you give me blood?”

  “Yeah. You weren’t in any condition to notice.”

  He lifted his right hand and smoothed it over her hair and cheek. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She caught his hand as it slid down, like it was too heavy for him to hold up.

  “Is there water?”

  Kena looked up at Murloff, who watched them, and pronounced the Prednian word for water, followed by their word.

  He went to the wall with embedded structures, where he had drawn water for Kena earlier.

  “You’re teachin’ ’em…Prednian?” Antony asked.

  “Just a few words. I linked with one of them and learned some of their language.”

  “Linked? Are you crazy?”

  “Not to worry. I checked their emfrel. We’ve been acclimated to the components via five other races.”

  Murloff returned, holding a container with a short tube.

  “Antony, this is Murloff.” She gestured toward them both as she said their names. “He’s your doctor.”

  Murloff performed that lift and settling of the shoulders, then gave Antony a few swallows of water before setting the container aside and moving away.

  “Kena…” Antony seemed to try harder with words, slow and soft, but distinct. “We need to…contact…Ontrevay.”

  “I’m working on that. It’s not easy.”

  “I get it…’bout the cave…Go to the craft.”

  “The storm isn’t cooperating. Apparently, they closed off the entrance we came through, but there are other openings of some kind. I’m sure you couldn’t see much when they carried you in, but this place is a maze. I need a guide.”

  She gave him a little more water. “I’m pretty sure I’ll get my chance soon. I’m glad you woke up so I could tell you before I leave.”

  His brow tightened, and he blinked hard. After a moment, he looked at the three natives. “Tell me who’s who.”

  Was he talking to distract himself from the pain? Or to hide it from her? She gestured. “Beside Murloff, is Vinzlet. She is my doctor.”

  Vinzlet lifted and settled her shoulders.

  “They do that gesture now and then,” Kena said. “I believe it’s some form of agreement or acknowledgment.”

  “Like a nod?”

  “Maybe.” She gestured again. “The one with light, silvery fur is Turglund.” She paused for the shoulder motion. “He is…” She waggled her hand. “…kind of a leader.”

  Antony moved his head, then winced. “More water,” he murmured.

  “You’re not queasy, are you?”

  “No.”

  She gave him a little at a time. She longed to do more. At least ease the pain that etched deep lines in his brow.

  “That’s enough,” he muttered, his eyes nearly closed. “D’you know…where my computer is?”

  She pulled it off her belt. “Right here.” She held it up for him, and he tapped it, one-handed.

  “I’m setting it to…recognize your…eyes for ID.”

  She aligned the camera viewfinder to her eyes and tapped the record symbol. “Why?”

  “Just in case…”

  Did he mean, so that she could notify his family? No! She held the computer out to him. “You are going to be all right, Antony.”

  He tapped it again and let his hand fall. “Yeah. It’s hard to operate…stuck on my back…only one hand. This way…” He tried hard again. “You can find me some music…if I bore you.” The corners of his mouth twitched. That may have been a joke, but he wasn’t laughing.

  Kena found a playlist, turned the volume low, and set the computer between his thigh and right hand. She gripped his fingers. “I’m going to try to get a report off to the Ontrevay, now. You rest.”

  He murmured, “K.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Kena grabbed the shirt of her nav suit, pulled a sleeve over her bandaged hand, then wrestled her sweaty arm into the other one. Too much trouble to close the front. She approached Turglund and tried a couple phrases that they’d recently spoken, first in Prednian, then repeating them in his language. “I must send a message to Ghent. Will you lead me to an opening?”

  His brow twitched. He enunciated his answer, stressing the words she’d pronounced poorly. So, she had an accent. At least he understood. Turglund went to the passage entry and gestured for her to follow him. Vinzlet came along behind her like a shadow.

  Had she come in this way? Kena didn’t remember the draft, but that meant little. Soon, they turned up an incline. There’d been ups and downs, though nothing this steep. Turglund and Vinzlet kept moving past those who turned to stare. Intersecting passages and chambers became rare, then non-existent. Just an upward path with twists and switchbacks. At one point, a distant roar echoed. The river? They clambered up a sloped wall with carved steps.

  At last, they reached a chamber with whistling wind and a crack of natural light. Turglund spoke with two natives who sat on folded hides. One of them crossed the room to a crank and put his weight into turning it. Gears creaked, and a flat rock moved with much grating of stone upon stone. Vinzlet spread a hide by the widening crack. Kena’s hair tickled her neck, but the wind was nothing compared to outside.

  Turglund drew Kena near the gap. She dropped to her knees to look out on the plain. The hillside blocked the view to her left and much of the wind. Debris in the gale reduced visibility, but she could make out her craft. The plain looked greener than she remembered it.

  Lousy weather, but could she communicate? She pulled her computer from her belt and sent her prepared report. The craft returned the automated reception notice, but nothing more. The wait stretched. Kena sighed and blinked away unexpected tears. She tapped the comm control on her computer. “Ontrevay, I have just sent a report file. I have limited communication oppor—”

  “Kena, are you receiving this?”

  A quiver coursed through her at Ghent’s voice. “Yes!” Whoa, she better calm that down. “Receiving clearly. Are you in orbit?”

  “Yes. We have your report but haven’t gotten through it yet. Tell me your status.”

  “I’m fine, but Antony is hurt bad. There’s a native race here, and they’ve helped, but he needs Metchell. Only, I can’t get him to our craft, and the winds are still too strong for you to send a craft down. I—”

  “Kena.” Somehow, Ghent’s voice infused stability into the breezy chamber.

  She drew a breath, realizing how fast she’d been talking “Yes, sir.”

  “You might feel stranded and alone at the moment, but we are within range. You have support staff backing you up.”

  “That is a relief,” she said, shifting to sit cross-legged and resting her left hand on her knee. “I’m guessing you want me to calm
down.”

  “Exactly. Where are you at this moment?”

  “A cave in the hills. Turglund and Vinzlet, two of the native people, brought me to a high lookout chamber. I can see my craft, but I can’t reach it.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Good. Talk to Hrndl for a few minutes, then I’ll be back with instructions.”

  “Nice to hear your voice, Kena,” Hrndl said.

  “Yours too.” A little more tension slipped away from Kena’s shoulders. “Am I going to lose comm due to orbit?”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’re placing comm relay units. I assume you didn’t get a chance to deploy the energy tether base. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Did the raepour craft sustain damage in the storm?”

  “Not that I can see. The debris shatters easily, so probably not. By the way, what exactly is a storm burst?”

  “Uh, Prednian lacks a specific term.” Her voice faded, as though she had turned away. “Someone, find an English word.” Hrndl’s voice settled into her chief navigator cadence, as she stated progress of establishing geosynchronous orbit.

  Listening to nav info made Kena feel almost normal, despite sitting in a drafty cave.

  Hrndl paused, then said, “We’ve found two English terms that might describe the storm type.” She slowed to pronounce the unfamiliar words. “Hurricane and tornado. The storms come in clusters. High winds. Form and dissipate rapidly. Duration varies from minutes to hours. We have only identified them during daylight, though wind velocity can stay high at night.”

  Kena grunted, almost wishing she hadn’t asked.

  “I’ll send you instructions,” Hrndl said. “Metchell is waiting to talk with you.”

  Metchell came on the channel with questions about Antony and her.

  She tried the diagnostic finger motions he asked for, then said, “I don’t think the tendons are injured. Just seems like lots of swelling for a few splinters.”

  “Your immune system is reacting to foreign matter,” he said. “Even though it hurts, that’s a good thing.”

  Sounded plausible, but would he tell her about other possible dangers? Nah. How could he even know them all? “What about Antony? What should I do for him?”