Diverse Similarity

by Sharon Rose

  Heat surged up the sides of Kena’s face. Muscles tensed from her neck down her spine. Derogatory descriptions of Human sports irritated her, but nowhere near as bad as his assumption that she would be the instigator of a fight. She answered through clenched teeth. “I understand you quite clearly. Be assured, I will start no fight with a Grfdn.”

  Ghent returned Kena’s fixed gaze. Every aspect of her posture, expression, and voice fit the descriptions of Human anger. He opened his mouth to state the consequences of unrestrained emotion, then closed it as one of Metchell’s comments surfaced from memory. Instead, he asked, “How much of your anger is attributable to my emfrel?”

  Kena’s brows twitched together. Then, her gaze fell, and her hands rose to cover trembling lips. She took a couple deep breaths before she answered. “I—I don’t know. I suppose it might be due to emfrel, but…you were making such offensive assumptions that…I can’t tell.”

  Ghent exhaled a quiet breath. She seemed appalled by her reaction, yet she hadn’t tried to hide behind a convenient excuse. “Try to relax,” he said. “I’ll send for Metchell.”

  “Please don’t.”

  At her sharp words, Ghent paused, his long finger hovering above the comm button.

  “I need to learn to control this,” she said. “If I always rely on Metchell’s sedatives, neither you nor I will know how I might react in a dangerous situation.”

  A valid point, but was it too soon for her? How did one go about calming a Human? Ghent shifted back in his chair. “You’re trembling. Metchell spoke of—I think he called it adrenlin. He said it prevents relaxation.”

  “Adrenaline. It enhances strength and speed.” She rose and turned away. “So, I hope you don’t mind some pacing until it wears off.”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  Her pacing only took her to the far side of the room. She clung to the stone railing. Her face was hidden, but the rise and fall of her chest told the same story as the snap in her voice.

  He waited until her breathing appeared normal, then he asked, “Are you still angry?”

  “No.”

  She released the railing and brought her fingertips up to her face. Eye level, perhaps. Hard to learn much about expression when her back was turned. Unfortunate.

  Ghent’s study had led him to believe that firmness was required with Humans. Was that false? “Can you judge how much my emfrel is affecting you right now?”

  “I’m very aware of you, but it isn’t unsettling.” She returned to her chair but kept her gaze low. “I wasn’t overly conscious of its impact before the anger surfaced. I really can’t explain why it happened. I apologize. It is not my normal behavior.”

  “Perhaps because I made offensive assumptions,” he said.

  Kena pressed her lips together.

  Ghent studied every nuance of her changing expressions and body language. Her face stiffened, but she kept her eyes averted. Her posture remained passive. “Kena, I don’t consider myself infallible. I’d like to know what I said that was offensive.”

  Kena guarded her breath, lest it reveal her tension. His changes from stern to gentle—so hard to follow. But he did seem to want an honest answer. Where to start? She quoted him, her brows rising. “‘Spare me the evasive incredulity.’” She licked her lips. “I wasn’t trying to evade you. I really was shocked. Grfdn are physically much stronger than Humans. Speed is our only advantage. A few of our males can match them, but I would almost certainly lose a fight with a Grfdn. I cannot imagine any circumstance that would induce me to start one.”

  Ghent’s fingertips moved in a slow arc across the table.

  Kena suppressed a desire to steal a look at him. “I certainly won’t start a fight, but it’s possible they will. Your—predisposition to blame me places me in a vulnerable position, which I have done nothing to deserve.”

  She wanted to say more, but she’d already said so much without reaction from Ghent. She forced her eyes to meet his and waited.

  “I admit,” he said, “I misinterpreted your response. Grfdn do not always win their fights with Humans. It didn’t occur to me that you’d be physically incapable of fighting them. My own point of view doesn’t suggest it either.” He pointed at one section of the wall display, where a cliff face protruded toward the railing. “Do you see the alternating grooves in the rock there?”

  Kena could just make them out, running vertically up the face of a cliff. “Yes.”

  “They’re handholds. There’s no difference in male or female strength among Plynteth. We all scale walls as easily as you walk a corridor. In fact, mothers often climb with their children on their backs, so if anything, they’re stronger. I know Human females are typically smaller than males, but I don’t recall reading that they’re weaker. Is that a trait of your race?”

  “Often, but not always. To some, it’s a sensitive issue, so you won’t find it in the official Human description.”

  “You share this trait with the Grfdn, which may protect you to some extent. Male aggression against females has severe consequences. In any case, I’ve already informed the Grfdn of my orders regarding fighting, and, uh, their other practice that is known to offend Humans. They understand authority very well. I don’t expect you’ll be attacked or threatened.”

  Kena nodded, though his reference to the other practice puzzled her.

  “I haven’t perceived any anger during this discussion,” Ghent said. “I keep wondering what you’ve left out.”

  Kena’s eyes widened. The man certainly paid attention. “It is a common irritation to hear Humans criticized for competitiveness. The more I hear it, the more I think it’s grossly misunderstood. But I’ve yet to find a way to convince anyone of this, so I’ll let it pass.”

  “I’ll expect you to convince me later, then.” The hint of a smile touched his lips. “It appears that you’ve regained control without Metchell’s help. Pleased?”

  She shrugged. “I’d be better pleased if it hadn’t happened at all.”

  “You demand a great deal of yourself under difficult circumstances.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why of course?” he asked, relaxing against one side of his chair. “It is not always wise to do so.”

  “I wouldn’t be the navigator I am if I didn’t demand a great deal of myself.”

  Ghent’s smile broadened. “Finally, you begin to sound like yourself.”

  Kena tilted her head. Did he know her so soon?

  “There is one other practice,” Ghent said, leaning forward again, “common to navigators of almost every race, I would like to discuss.”

  “What is that?”

  “Most navigators,” he said, “delight in the freedom and risks of piloting small craft. Some even enjoy convoluted spinning when their passengers are unaccustomed to zero G. I find no humor in the idea of making passengers sick. Nor will I tolerate unnecessary risks to our craft. Frethan was raised in space and has been navigating since adolescence. He may overlook the milder forms of such antics, but I do not. No matter how excellent your skills, if I discover that you’re playing games with our short-range craft, you will find yourself permanently assigned to nav command.”

  Kena only grinned at the stern words. “Don’t worry about me. I do all my playing in simulation. The craft will be safe under my control—and my passengers, both safe and comfortable.”

  Ghent looked sideways at her. “What amuses you? Are you expecting me to believe Humans are shy of risk?”

  “Not at all. Some even enjoy it. So much so, we have slang for the flying you described. Hot-dogging, for instance. When Human officers catch anyone hot-dogging, they do much worse than simply restricting the offender to a boring duty.”

  “Really? What are the Human penalties?”

  She shook her head. “Varied and creative. I doubt any would be appropriate in your culture.”

  Ghent’s smile returned. “How unfortunate.” He lifted himself from his chair, seeming to use his arms more than
torso or legs. “It’s time for fourth meal. If my emfrel isn’t bothering you too much, I’d like you to stay with me a while longer.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, rising.

  “Do you eat fourth meal?” he asked, walking to the door.

  “Sometimes. For a Human, it’s more of a snack than a meal.”

  In the hallway, they passed several second-shift crewmembers. Kena exchanged a quick greeting with Jorlit. What balm a friendly face could be.

  The décor of the broad dining hall emphasized the Ontrevay’s design to accommodate a diverse crew. Kena stopped to look around, and Ghent watched her. Tables in a variety of shapes and sizes filled the space, with several forms of seating. Water flasks, drinking cylinders, and hand cleaners occupied the center of each table. Buffets of freshly prepared food separated the kitchen from the dining area. Though there were no physical barriers, color and decor style divided the room visually.

  “Who designed this?” she asked.

  Ghent shrugged. “That was before my arrival. What do you think of it?”

  “Quite well done. The decor schemes accommodate diverse tastes, while avoiding the blandness that’s supposedly acceptable to all races. The schemes have been brought together without clashing, and that is not easy.”

  “I gather your interracial studies included the impact of color. Do you prefer to choose from the buffet or use the synthesizer?”

  “The buffet.” Kena moved toward the section designated sweet/sour. Ghent chose his meal from the other, which bore the freth/prin symbol and exuded a faint, indescribable scent. The Prednian influence made an appearance at the buffet. Every dish, whether plate, bowl, or even beverage container, was shaped as a squat cylinder. If ever a race valued sameness, it was the Prednians.

  Kena and Ghent joined a small group of diners that increased as others came to the hall. Kena said little, preferring to listen and watch as the varied crew mingled. No separation by either rank or race. The sign of a comfortable crew. Perfect. The only exception was the table occupied solely by the five Grfdn crewmembers. Not that she blamed them. Grfdn were known for their fastidious table manners, and eating with Prednians could strain the most tolerant.

  Metchell joined her table, and Ghent exchanged a look with him. As soon as both men had eaten, they left together. Their places were soon taken, and Kena spent the rest of the mealtime between jovial Prednians, who made it their business to introduce her to as many crew members as possible.

  Chapter Seven

  Kena leaned back from her console in the astro section and rolled her shoulders, as the computer recalculated a course for her. She’d enjoyed a restful night’s sleep and persuaded Metchell to remove her duty restrictions. So good to be fully engaged with a crew again.

  About a dozen navigators, as well as Frethan and Krdn, gathered around the huge 3-D display, either working at consoles or lounging against the railing that encircled the main viewing area. One of them fed a proposed course to the display, along with a location for repairing the Ontrevay’s damaged sensor array.

  Kena reviewed the final rendering of her course, then touched the control to display it alongside the first proposal.

  Discussion began even before completion of a third option. It proceeded exactly as Kena expected. Her proposal received little consideration. Understandable. It plotted the least direct route.

  One of the navigators pointed at the first option. “This is obviously the clearest area for repairs and the best course to get there. Why do we have to keep debating this?”

  “You’re right,” Kena said. “It’s extremely obvious. That’s why it’s the worst choice. Don’t forget, we’re near PitKreelaundun space. Flying that is much like sending them a course plan.”

  Frethan’s easy grin spread across his face, but he said nothing.

  The navigator waved a dark hand, brushing her objection aside. “They’ve no reason to guess any course for us. They don’t know we’re here.”

  Kena leaned forward and emphasized each word. “Never assume that.”

  “We can avoid the obvious,” Krdn said, “without going to extremes. Option three is less predictable, because it takes us closer to the nebula, yet it adds very little time to our trip.”

  “The timing is good,” Kena said, “but the safety margin isn’t. Too much rock spews out of that nebula and shows up in places that don’t align with our projections. Some of it is remarkably hard to catch on a scan.”

  One of the junior navigators gave her a sideways look. “You sound awfully cautious, considering your reputation. Where’s your Human fearlessness?”

  Kena’s lip curled. “Fearless navigators are fools. Humans aren’t good at this job because we ignore risk. We’re good because we understand the risks and how to mitigate them. You may be quite certain that I will remain cautious in protecting this ship and every person within it.”

  His only response was a smirk.

  “As will all of the navigators on this ship,” Frethan said, pinning the young man with an implacable stare.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Uncomfortable silence lengthened as Frethan continued to hold his gaze. “A senior navigator has addressed you. I’m still waiting for your response to her.”

  The junior navigator turned back to Kena. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I beg your pardon, er…”

  Kena nodded and turned back to Frethan before he could stumble any worse.

  “We’re discussing course options,” Frethan said.

  Krdn spoke as if no interruption had occurred. “It is true, there’s an element of risk, but it’s manageable. We’ve traveled through greater densities than this; we can do it again. Our mission is time critical. We cannot afford to go far enough out of the way to avoid all debris.”

  Ghent entered the room while Krdn spoke, and Kena twisted around to look at him.

  Krdn demanded, “Kena, did you hear what I said?”

  She quoted Krdn’s last sentence.

  Krdn turned his back on her while Frethan and Ghent engaged in a telepathic link. A few minutes later Frethan decided on option three, and most navigators left for second meal.

  A group hung back, conferring in hushed tones. As Kena neared the door, one of the junior navigators rushed into speech. “Kena, if you could spare us a little time with sim, we’re hoping you’d show us how you flew that maneuver with the PitKreelaundun fighter and the hammer-shaped asteroid.”

  Kena stopped and looked back at them. Ghent was conversing with Frethan, but her silence drew his gaze. She strolled back to the group.

  “Whyever would you want to know how to fly that maneuver?” She gestured to the display of their intended course. “Have you found such an object in these scans?”

  “Well, no, but if we can dance around a twisted, tumbling asteroid and use it to smash a PitKreelaundun fighter like you did, we’ll be good enough to do pretty much anything.”

  “You’ll be good enough to get killed.” She paused to let her words sink in. “I’ve never before seen an object so bizarre. Neither you nor I will likely encounter another, even if we could fly every debris field in the galaxy. Do you honestly expect me to help you waste your simulation time preparing for one specific thing that isn’t going to happen?”

  A stunned silence met her question.

  “You mean—you took a risk like that without practicing it?” one of them demanded.

  Kena shrugged. “Oh, I’d flown dozens of sims around that rock, but that’s because I was going to sample it. Objects that strange tend to attract the attention of scientists. As for the risk, I’d been hit several times. By PitKreelaundun, I might add, who supposedly didn’t know we were there.” She made eye contact with each of them before continuing. “My shield was all but worthless. Another hit would have been the last, so it was really only a matter of choosing how to die. If my attacker was fool enough to follow me, then I had a slim chance of getting myself out of trouble. It worked brilliantly, but that does not mean I want anyone
to copy that particular maneuver.”

  She softened her expression and said, “Now, if you’re interested in knowing how I train for the unexpected—that is an entirely different matter.”

  “Well—sure—guess so,” a junior navigator said.

  “It starts out very boring,” Kena said with an impish grin. She pointed at the display again. “The first thing you have to do is get some really thorough scans of that course. Forget all those canned sims you’ve flown a thousand times. Get as close to reality as possible. When our path is programmed in, I’ll show you how to add some spice.” With a mischievous grin, she turned and sauntered out.

  Ghent soaked up every nuance of Kena’s intonations and body language.

  “Great!” muttered another junior navigator. “Now you’ve got her expecting us to do hours of scanning.”

  Frethan’s mouth twitched, and his shoulders shook, but he stilled his reaction. “You can all work on it together. Get started soon. Otherwise, you won’t have much time for sims before we arrive at the drop-out point. I’m very interested in seeing her training techniques with plenty of time for practice.”

  Frethan turned back to Ghent and continued their conversation. When the others had moved out of earshot, though, he paused and threw a glance in their direction. He ran his hands over his dark, wispy hair, then linked them behind his head. “Satisfied?”

  “Thus far, I am,” Ghent said. “I’d like a report on this training. In particular, I’d like to know what ‘spice’ consists of.”

  “You will have it.”

  Chapter Eight

  A couple days later, Ghent strode out of the engineering section. The faint whish of the closing door stopped too soon.

  “Sir.”

  Ghent halted at Dhgnr’s voice. Odd. They had just spoken. What could the second engineer want that couldn’t have been said earlier?