by Sharon Rose
“Not at all. You simply walked in while we discussed an unusual event. Kena’s telepathy is a small bonus, which we may never need. Her navigation skills are another matter. I could tell you of flight after flight where she accomplished near impossibilities.” Ghent dropped his tone. “I’ll spare you, though. I know you wouldn’t appreciate them as they deserve.”
Metchell laughed. They walked in silence for a moment, and the humor faded from Metchell’s face. “I hope her Human nervous system is adequate justification for what she endured.”
Ghent’s shoulders tightened. Had acclimation been worse than expected? He couldn’t ask in the hallway. “Don’t assume her skills are limited to the proverbial Human quickness. She is much more than that. Decision-making. Training skills. Leadership under pressure. I could go on, but it will all point to one thing. Kena Talgarth is not an average navigator. And if you think I praise her highly, you should have heard Frethan when we discovered she was available.”
“I’m sure the two of you can judge her skills far better than I.” Metchell’s brow creased “Talgarth. Her family name strikes me as familiar.”
“It should. Andrew Talgarth is a highly respected culturalist, although not as public as he used to be.”
“Is Kena related to him?”
“It’s hard to know. Humans reuse names.” Ghent touched his four long fingers to the access panel beside the door of his consult room, causing it to slide open.
They seemed to step from a spaceship onto a Plynteth balcony. Three walls displayed a panoramic view of a canyon from Ghent’s home-world. Ghent skirted the granite, half-moon table and lowered himself into his traditional chair behind the table’s straight edge, while Metchell took one of the re-formable chairs along its curve.
Ghent took a deep breath and savored the change. This was one place where he could be fully comfortable. His chair was as stable as the rock wall behind him, unlike the swiveling, sliding chairs that others preferred. Better yet, its back was no higher than the armrests, so it never rubbed his fur in a contrary direction. He settled himself and rested his forearms on the table. “What’s the problem, Metchell?”
“As far as the crew is concerned, Kena is simply off duty. But for you, don’t go anywhere near her.”
What was this? “Are you saying that she cannot acclimate to Plynteth?”
“It’s not that bad. With the Human privacy restrictions, I can’t go into details without reason. Jorlit was present, and anyone could have walked in.”
“Ah. As captain, I require an explanation of Kena’s condition.”
“Trauma was severe. I had to use three bursts, which completely exhausted her.” Metchell’s voice ground. He shook his head as though the motion were necessary to bring his changeable tone back to a neutral pitch. “Progress is adequate for her to finish unassisted, but she’s now highly sensitive to Plynteth emfrel. She’s going to find your presence extremely distracting for a while.”
Even Metchell’s neutral tone sounded tense to Ghent. Was severe an understatement? “I wish I could comprehend this better. It’s hard to empathize when I’ve never been disturbed by an acclimation.”
“That’s because Plynteth emfrel is so complex,” Metchell said, “almost as though it combines energy patterns from other races. Alien emfrel may feel odd to you, but there’s always some nuance you can identify. Humans have faint, simple emfrel. They weren’t even aware it existed until they met the Tenelli. Alien emfrel comes right through their shields into their minds. They can’t recognize it unless it’s concentrated. To a Human, acclimation feels like an invasion.” He dramatized, sweeping his fingers up to his head, then jerking back as though assaulted. “Like a powerful being entering the mind without warning or permission.”
The fur on Ghent’s forehead puckered. “That must be appalling for a non-telepathic race. Why three bursts?”
“The first is too—incomprehensible may be the best word. The shield doesn’t get much chance to identify and adjust.”
“Why is it so much worse for Humans then other races?” Ghent asked, leaning back in his broad chair. “Is it because they’re not natural telepaths?”
“Spoken like a telepath.” A trace of disbelief lifted Metchell’s voice, but he leveled it again. “Every race has emfrel. It’s the excess life energy that is not used. That’s why it gets vented and affects others. Telepathy requires specific, focused energy, which is not vented. Whether a person is a telepath has nothing to do with how emfrel affects them.”
“Then why,” Ghent asked, “are Humans so traumatized?”
“Acclimation creates a disorienting form of shock in Humans, which shuts down sensory perception.” Metchell glanced around. “Imagine you’re standing by that railing over there, and suddenly the room goes dark and silent as the void. Vertigo hits, so you try to grab the railing—but you can’t feel it. You don’t even know whether you’re floating up from the balcony or plunging into the canyon.”
Metchell’s gaze followed his movements. Ghent realized he was gripping his table and forced his hands to relax.
“Exactly,” Metchell said. “To make matters worse, their stress hormones are hyper-activated. One hormone in particular—adrenaline—makes it impossible to relax. Of course, relaxation is necessary for effective acclimation, so neutralizing drugs are required, which adds another twist of unreality.”
“That sounds like a hormone they could do without.”
“Better hold the criticism,” Metchell said, his voice grinding again. “It’s also the hormone that enables their incredibly fast reflexes under pressure. I hope Human reflexes are adequate reason for putting her through this.”
“Calm down, my friend,” Ghent said. “Do you really thing I’m criticizing her? Or that I’m careless of any crewmember’s wellbeing?”
Metchell drew a deep, audible breath and measured it out before he answered. “Sorry. Patients are supposed to leave my care in better condition than they arrived. Today, I received a healthy, pleasant woman and then put her through such torment it incapacitated her.” He drew another breath. “And yes, I know she requested it.” His lips twitched. “And yes, I know it’s not actually your fault.”
Ghent grinned and dropped his tone. “Well, not entirely, anyway.”
Metchell huffed a laugh and shifted in his chair as if to loosen tense muscles.
Ghent asked, “Can you give me a guess on Kena’s recovery time?”
“She was lucid for a while before exhaustion took her,” Metchell said. “I expect she’ll be reasonably capable when she finally wakes up. Keep her on light, non-critical duty until I let you know otherwise.”
“We can accommodate that,” Ghent said. He leaned forward to enter duty restrictions on his computer. “Considering how traumatic her acclimation was, I’m surprised you didn’t keep her in med section.”
“She requested her quarters. I agree, it’s, uh,” Metchell’s pitch dropped. “better to awaken in familiar surroundings.”
Now, why would that be funny? “What?”
“Apparently,” Metchell said, “her quarters were last occupied by the Sierritame scientist we had with us a couple missions back.”
Ghent laughed at the mention of Sierritame.
“Did you ever see those quarters?” Metchell asked.
“Only once,” Ghent said, curbing his laugh. “I got out as quickly as I could. What was Kena’s reaction?”
“She covered her eyes and moaned.” Metchell’s voice rose over Ghent’s renewed laughter. “Fortunately, she had—several—décor schemes in her computer, so I was able to, uh, stabilize the situation.”
“What an appalling shock,” Ghent said, “and right after acclimation, too. What instructions did you leave her with?”
“None.” Metchell shook his head. “She was asleep before she lay down. I’ll return to her when she wakes. Did you have something specific in mind?”
“Simply that I want to talk with her about our Grfdn crew members before
she meets them.” Ghent rolled his shoulders and stretched his long arms along the curved backrest of his chair. The charcoal gray fur, which covered his shoulders and upper arms, shifted as his muscles flexed.
“As well you should! Do they know she’s here?”
“They do,” Ghent said. “I’ve taken what precautions I can to avert—shall we say, unpleasantness. If she can avoid stirring up trouble, we should be able to maintain a tolerable situation.”
“She has more cultural studies in her profile than I’d expect for a navigator,” Metchell said. “She responded to my tonal changes like she grew up on Dantokrell. She may be fairly well prepared.”
Ghent snorted. “Grfdn describe themselves only from their own point of view. Nor do they permit other races’ descriptions to be entered into public information centers. So, I’ll be very surprised if she’s found study material that will prepare her for them.”
“I know, but she’s bound to have met Grfdn before,” Metchell said. “She’s been acclimated to them.”
“True, but meeting them is far different than working with them. Her previous assignments were on ships with few Grfdn. Not one of them had any Grfdn navigators.”
“You make no sense.” Metchell twisted his head to one side. “Why did you want her here if you expect trouble? Is she really that good?”
Ghent spread his hands. “Even among her own race, she is exceptional! Human competitiveness makes them a nuisance as crewmembers, but it does develop outstanding performance levels. This mission has a high level of risk, both at our destination and en route. Kena is a definite asset, even if she does come with the typical Human bad habits.”
Metchell’s nostrils contracted.
Ah. What was this? “Did she even find a way to annoy you?”
“She presumed to know how I should conduct her acclimation,” Metchell said. “She told me I could skip the first step.” He shook his head. “No one likes the repetitive description or rehashing their decision, but I will not perform a high trauma acclimation if the subject isn’t willing to listen to me.”
“I hope you set her straight with utmost clarity.”
“Now, how would I have gotten her relaxed if I used your approach?” Metchell said. “I can get my point across without stressing my patient. To her credit, she complied after that. Later on, she also managed to control intense anger very quickly.”
Ghent lifted his brow. “So, she has a quick temper, too?”
“There was no indication of that,” Metchell said, dropping his pitch. “I won’t let you criticize her for anger during acclimation to the likes of you. After what she’d just been through, I’d be more inclined to say she’s highly tolerant.”
Ghent grinned. “I acquit her of the charge. What else can you tell me about her?”
“Normal, healthy Human. Moderate strength, good flexibility, and quick reflexes. She’s the light-skinned variety, brown hair…” Metchell pointed at one of the lighter patches of his hair. “About this color. Fine bone structure, a little taller than average for a female. Her chest looks odd, but that’s to be expected. She wore a loose tunic over her navigation suit, so it wasn’t too shocking.”
“I was hoping for something less physical,” Ghent said. “Did you notice her personality?”
“We only talked for a few minutes before starting acclimation. When I asked her to reconsider, she was respectful but firm.” His lips twitched. “She uses humor in difficult moments, including that one. I’d even guess she adapted her humor for me.”
“May I infer that she managed to make a friend?” Ghent asked.
“Of course you may.” Metchell turned his hand in the helix gesture common to his race. “Dantokrellie are so accommodating.”
“Vya!” Ghent said in his own language, giving the expletive an affectionate twist.
Chapter Four
Kena woke to gnawing hunger pains. Lingering exhaustion fogged her mind. Where was she? Oh, yeah. She struggled upright and found a protein drink to quiet her stomach’s demand. Then, she sat on the side of her bed, grappling with the difficult question of whether to get some coffee or go back to sleep.
Lights flashed, and a shrill tone sounded. Kena startled so badly, she almost fell off the bed.
A command blared over the audio system. “Navigators to stations! Navigators to stations!”
Kena was on her feet and almost out of her quarters before remembering she didn't know the way to navigation command. She snatched up her computer and hurried as best she could, following the path it displayed.
The last to arrive in nav command, Kena hesitated just inside the door as the final words of an order came over the speakers. The man standing at the central directive console couldn’t be Frethan. Tall and lean, with short hair clinging to his head—a Grfdn. He swung around and glared at her, his small, thin-lipped mouth pressing into an even tighter line.
“I’m Kena. What do you assign me?”
He pointed to a console in the forward section of the circular room. “That station. Monitor extended area.”
Kena hurried past him, slid into her seat, and activated the configuration controls. The station re-formed to accommodate both her physique and task. She exhaled a long breath. He’d assigned her the least demanding duty, which gave her a moment to figure out what had happened.
Her display showed the Ontrevay’s course and surrounding space. Excellent. They were already through the spatial rift, which saved weeks of travel time. Though they’d only been underway for twelve hours, they were approaching the nebula that formed one border of PitKreelaundun space.
A puzzling designation, that. Kena and the member races of the Interstellar Collaborative found the practice of laying claim to a spatial void inconceivable, but their neighbors were extremely sensitive about the vast area they’d declared to be PitKreelaundun space. They might challenge a ship for even skirting the nebula’s edge, as the Ontrevay’s current course required. The nebula’s sporadic debris ejections would both increase navigational risk and afford some protection. The PitKreelaundun might not like the Ontrevay’s presence, but they would think twice about coming in for a fight.
Kena ran a rapid playback of the past few minutes. An uncharted rock had curved into their path. Collision had been unavoidable. The Ontrevay’s extended shield had absorbed the impact, but it bowed inward and crushed a sensor array against the rigid hull shielding. So, this was what they were dealing with.
Kena studied several types of scans, deciding which debris warranted trajectory analysis. Alternate courses played through the back of her mind, as always.
She glanced at the navigator to her left, a Grfdn female. No need to worry about the short-range area, since the woman had it up on her screen. “You must be Hrndl,” Kena murmured. “And I assume Krdn is directing?”
“Yes,” Hrndl said in her throaty, Grfdn version of the Prednian language. Her tiny mouth barely moved. “I hope you’re also aware that his rank is second navigator.”
“Yes. What did I miss on the general order?”
Hrndl’s eyes remained locked on her display, and her hands moved over the controls. “Command designation. Frethan is in ex op, assessing damage. Krdn has nav command. We’ll hold fifth-dimensional slip.”
Kena plotted a trajectory as she waited for more from Hrndl. It didn’t come. “Doesn’t the captain get involved?”
“Ghent splits his time between shifts, so he may be asleep. He trusts his officers.”
Kena let the conversation drop. The other navigators in the command room exchanged occasional, brief statements. Kena absorbed them but stayed focused on her own console. Several groups of small, uncharted objects were approaching their path. Strange. At least they had time to get out of the way.
She laid out a new course, then said, “Recommend course change. Implement within four minutes.”
Krdn ordered, “Continue extended scanning. Netlyn, verify her scan and projections. Delf, check the course parameters.”
A moment before implementation, Ghent strode into nav command. His emfrel hit Kena like a shock wave. She swung around to stare at him, her lips parted and eyes wide.
Ghent glanced at her as he joined Krdn at the directive console. “Focus,” was all he said.
Krdn sneered in classic Grfdn fashion: eyes narrowed, nostrils lifted, and mouth oddly straight. “Netlyn, check the Human’s scans,” he ordered.
Kena turned back to her console and pressed cool fingers against her burning cheeks. The distraction of Ghent’s emfrel overwhelmed her senses, and it took her several seconds to realize Delf had implemented the course change. She was not only slow to adjust her settings, she even missed some objects on the long-range scans, forcing her to make constant rechecks. Never out of conscious thought was the Plynteth sitting behind her.
A few moments later, Ghent allowed his shoulders to relax. “Emergency status ended,” he said. “Resume normal procedures.”
Krdn turned to Kena and ordered, “Non-essential crew, get out.”
When Kena started to rise, Ghent said, “Kena, stay where you are until Metchell arrives.”
The growling inflections of Krdn’s speech intensified. “She is disrupting the—”
“Krdn!” Ghent held his gaze, letting the silence stretch. “When you are in command here, I expect you to be aware of the crew, not just the space surrounding us. It’s obvious Kena requires medical attention. Why don’t you recognize that?” Touching his comm control, he said, “Frethan, come to nav command.”
Metchell entered and stopped short. “Ghent! Your first contact with her is here?” He strode to Kena.
Ghent softened his voice. “Emergencies do occur. She performed well, given the circumstances, but take care of her now.”
Frethan arrived as Metchell escorted Kena out.
The instant the door slid shut behind them, Krdn exclaimed, “Performed well? How can you say that? She became worse than useless in a matter of minutes.”