Diverse Similarity

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Diverse Similarity Page 9

by Sharon Rose


  From the corner of her eye, movement caught her attention. Hrndl looked up from the console she was using, stared at Kena a moment, then began to study the segmented screen. About time she noticed her fellow navigators.

  “Frethan, no one has flown standard sims in two days,” Kena said. “And they don’t include partners when flying the randomized ones. I even programmed in partners, but the only attention the navigators give them is to avoid hitting them.”

  Frethan laughed.

  “That wasn’t a joke.”

  “I know, Kena, but you’re worried about nothing. They know the purpose of the random events is to improve reflexes. They won’t forget they have partners when they really fly.”

  Kena shook her head, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “I don’t know, Frethan. I think you should require partnered sims. And it wouldn’t hurt to restrict how many random sims they fly in a day. The one they’re working on now is going to demoralize most of them. This is their third time through, and they’re still flying it all wrong.” She spread her restless hands. “Not a single one has brought the simulated partner out. The ones who’ve tried got smashed into scrap metal. Not even Delf has pulled it off, and he’s a senior navigator with the skills to prove it. What good are high response statistics if people die?”

  In direct contradiction to her statement, Delf sauntered out of his simulator, as only a Veet could. His long limbs swayed with fluid grace. Beneath a mass of black hair, his dark eyes flashed, and the lines around his mouth deepened. “I must say, Kena, you know how to set up a simulation. That one really pushes the limits. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a sim more.”

  Netlyn came out of her simulator as he spoke. She plopped into a chair at the ring of tables in the center of the room. Her wispy, brown hair fell forward, veiling her downcast eyes.

  Hrndl sneered at Delf. “I don’t know what you’re looking so pleased about. You left your partner to be pulverized.”

  “I don’t like leaving a partner behind any more than you do, Hrndl, but sometimes that tough decision has to be made. That’s the point of having one in this sim. If you spend time trying to rescue your partner, you get trapped and can’t get yourself out. It’s a question of whether two people will die, or just one.”

  “That is not the point of the sim,” Kena said. “You can both get out safely.”

  The rest of the navigators were coming out of their simulators, complaints firing.

  “Well, why don’t you just show us how?” one of them said.

  “What good will that do us? We don’t have Human nervous systems and never will.”

  “It’s not a fair comparison. Kena designed the sim; so, of course, she knows the way out.”

  Kena waited for their griping to subside. “This isn’t a competition. It isn’t about the capabilities of our nervous systems. It’s about making the right decisions under pressure. I’ll bet Hrndl could finish it successfully on the first try.”

  Frethan’s brows snapped together. “The Grfdn train differently than the rest of us and are not required to use randomized simulations. Nor do I want to hear any suggestions that could be interpreted as manipulation.”

  “That is not my intent,” Kena said. “I simply think training would be improved if it were a joint effort, incorporating both Grfdn and Human strengths.”

  Every trace of Frethan’s persistent smile vanished. “Enough.”

  Hrndl strode to a simulator. “She has a valid point, Frethan. The training you’ve been doing for the last two days worries me. I’m willing to try her simulation for the sake of improving the training program.”

  As Hrndl slid into the simulator’s couch, Netlyn darted glances between Frethan and Kena, her brow tight. “We should give her at least three runs through before commenting on her results.”

  Hrndl paused, her hand hovering above the door control. “Perhaps you didn’t hear Kena. This is not a competition.” She closed the door and fed her controls, audio, and view screen to the room’s main display.

  The simulation placed Hrndl in the role of support navigator. Her partner, in a separate craft, was collecting samples from an area of concentrated debris along the nebula’s fringe. The simulation computer controlled both the debris motion and the virtual pilot in the collection craft. Hrndl monitored just outside the danger zone. Some of that debris was going to collide soon. Which rocks, though? The sooner she figured that out, the better her chance of success.

  The collection craft dropped its extended shield and began the delicate job of hooking a spinning object.

  Hrndl’s scan and analysis revealed the threat only seconds before one spinning rock bashed into another. The scattering pieces set up a chain reaction of collisions, spraying debris across both craft. Hrndl’s double-shielded craft remained undamaged. The collector was not so fortunate. The impacts sent it farther into danger.

  Hrndl made contact with the collector’s virtual pilot. “Status?”

  “I’ve lost all nav jets except 14 and 16. I’m down to only one shield generator. Power level is eight percent.”

  “Stabilize your course,” Hrndl said. “What’s your weapon status?”

  “Undamaged, but I don’t have the power to use them.”

  “I have plenty,” she said. “Minimize your shield and keep weapons online.”

  Hrndl blasted a rock heading for the disabled craft, and it changed course, heading harmlessly away. Another soon followed it.

  Delf shook his head. “She’ll never make it now. She’s waited too long to protect herself.”

  Kena turned a smirk his way but said nothing.

  Netlyn asked, “Why do you grin? Most of us tried to protect our partner that way, and we never got out to the debris cloud. Hrndl still hasn’t even moved. She doesn’t stand a chance. What’s the point of a sim that kills everyone?”

  “I don’t recall anyone asking their partner to keep weapons online,” Kena said. “She’s on the right track.”

  As if on cue, Hrndl’s voice addressed her virtual partner. “I’m sending you a sequence of targets. Do you have them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Begin firing, at once, and don’t change the order. My course to you is planned around the sequence.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Hrndl held her position until her partner had blasted two oncoming objects. She continued her own firing as she swept a complex course toward the damaged collector. “Prepare for contact. Shut down your nav jets as soon as I’ve got you.”

  “I missed the last target.”

  “I’ll get it,” she said. “Cease fire and hold steady. I’m coming in on your tail.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Hrndl’s maneuver to hit the final target failed. The rock spun close enough to reveal its jagged, fractured edges. A giant spearhead, hurtling through the void. She fed maximum energy to shields and fired thrusters. Her course angled in on the rock’s trajectory, closing the distance. The projectile struck her extended shield. Ice burst from its surface as she shoved it away.

  Hrndl reversed thrust. The disabled craft was too close. She couldn’t avoid dealing it a nasty jerk as she snared it. Her shield wrapped around the linked craft. “Status?” she asked.

  She received no response. The nav jets did not shut down. Their thrust skewed her course and pushed the pair toward a spin.

  “Navigator, report your status.”

  Silence.

  The virtual pilot must be incapacitated. She compensated for the extra thrust. There’d better not be a delayed shutdown. Worst of all, her plan had included a partner capable of firing weapons. How would she get through all this debris alone?

  Kena watched in rapt attention. Like the navigators beside her, she shifted with every movement on the screen. They all had access to the collector craft’s data, which Hrndl couldn’t see. Its communication transmitter was damaged by the impact. Only the receiver still functioned. The computer interpreted the force of impact as mildly dama
ging to the pilot. It simulated ten seconds of disorientation, then waited for instructions from Hrndl.

  Kena scowled, jumped up from her seat, and ran to a simulator.

  “What are you doing?” Delf demanded.

  Kena slid into the simulator couch. “This was designed to be a partnered sim,” she said, jabbing at buttons to take over for the virtual pilot.

  Delf swung around to Frethan. “This isn’t a fair comparison. She’s changing—”

  “Pay attention!” Frethan snapped. “See if you’re capable of learning something.”

  Inside her simulator, Hrndl adjusted her course, increased thrust, and blasted two objects out of her path. She considered the few options still available. Her simulated craft jerked sideways then corrected. What was that? Two seconds later, the movement repeated, then again in another two seconds. The other navigator was alive and signaling her. A tingle coursed through her, and the corners of her eyes lifted. Better yet, he hadn’t shut down nav jets. He must know she had compensated.

  Hrndl almost repeated his signal back to him before realizing communication could be simpler. She broadcast, “I’m not receiving communication from you. If you can hear me, repeat that sequence.”

  She released a breath as identical jerks rocked her seat.

  “Excellent! I’m transmitting a four-second count. Shut down thrust on the fourth mark.” As she spoke, Hrndl prepared to deactivate her counter-thrust. At the appointed instant, both navigators simultaneously performed their parts of the correction. The coupled ships continued on course, sailing between two approaching rocks.

  Hrndl tested maneuverability. Her craft responded exactly as it should. A tingle surged all the way to her fingertips. Success was within reach. “Let’s establish a yes/no signal. I can see the lights in your aft section. Turn them off and on—once for yes, and twice for no.”

  After her partner repeated the signal, she sent him a series of targets.

  The lights flickered once.

  They spent the next ten minutes flying through a dense field of debris, both of them firing to clear a path according to Hrndl’s precisely coordinated plan. The simulation ended as they came out of the debris field.

  Hrndl emerged from her simulator, her steps quick and her eyes tilted high. “You were right, Delf. That was an excellent sim!” She searched the group as she approached. “Where is Kena?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m here,” Kena said, stepping out of another simulator.

  Hrndl’s pleasure froze. “Were you flying the disabled craft in sim?”

  “After you caught it, yes.”

  “So, you think I needed your help,” Hrndl said, her voice dropping almost to a rumble.

  “Not you, but the computer was in dire need.” Kena strolled to the central tables. “I hadn’t programmed for that hard of a jolt. It simulated disorientation then waited for your instructions. No navigator would simply wait inactive, so I joined you. Once you knew your partner could function, I only followed your directions.” Kena glanced around the circle of navigators. “This sim was designed to show how two navigators working together could get out of an otherwise impossible situation.” She turned back to Hrndl. “That’s pretty hard to illustrate if one of them stops navigating.”

  Hrndl stared. Hard to believe from a Human, yet the whole design of the sim supported her explanation. In fact, it was similar to Grfdn training in some ways. Shocking. It called into question everything Hrndl knew about Humans. It wouldn’t be wise to jump to conclusions, but—perhaps getting to know Kena wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

  Delf broke in on her thoughts. “Kena should never have joined the sim! It created a distorted comparison.”

  Kena turned to him. “If you really need to have your skills acknowledged, I concede that you won this imagined competition in terms of maneuvering and firing accuracy. But I would still rather fly with Hrndl than with you.”

  “Why? So you can be there to help her out of trouble?” He aimed a scathing glance at Hrndl.

  Hrndl drew her head back, but Kena gave her no chance to respond. “No, Delf. It’s partly because you and I have similar skills. Putting us together would be a waste. Much greater synergies are gained by pairing us with others. But mostly, it’s because you are much too likely to ignore your partner’s capabilities. You may as well fly alone.”

  Delf’s large mouth curved into a sneer, promising a response far from polite.

  “That will do,” Frethan said. Delf turned to him, but Frethan cut him off again. “Do not utter one more word. You are dismissed.”

  Delf’s face contorted into a grimace before he swung around and headed for the door.

  Hrndl shook her head. Bad move. Even she knew what that grimace meant. A facial obscenity. Frethan would never let it pass.

  Frethan’s voice grew cold and hard. “Now would be a good time to show me perfect respect.”

  Hrndl held her breath and focused all energy on keeping her face still.

  Delf halted. He hesitated an instant then spun to face Frethan. In one fluid movement, he lifted a knee to hip level, raised himself onto tip-toe, and closed his eyes. He held the pose for a few seconds, then he snapped his feet together, turned on his heel, and strode out the door.

  Kena pulled her lower lip between her teeth, as Delf turned to Frethan. Oh, no! Not the tin soldier routine. According to the Veet racial profile, it was a posture of deep respect. How that culture had ever come up with such an absurdity was beyond comprehension. It seemed to satisfy Frethan. How could he keep a straight face?

  Kena hoped no one noticed she was strangling on suppressed laughter. Frethan either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He dismissed Kena and Hrndl, but kept the other navigators with him.

  Kena hurried to her quarters to have her laugh in private. She was forced to hold it back even longer, for the door of her quarters didn’t close behind her. Hrndl stood in the entrance.

  Hrndl spoke with Grfdn formality, though it sounded like there was gravel in her throat. “Please forgive the intrusion. May I speak with you for a moment?”

  Kena swallowed hard and managed to answer. “Certainly. Please come in.”

  “I am curious about one of your expressions,” Hrndl said. She took another breath. “It wasn’t mentioned in the training material, and I respectfully request an explanation.”

  Was she this stiff on purpose or just uncomfortable? And how to get her past it? “What expression?” Kena asked, trying to sound like this was a normal conversation.

  “You pulled your lower lip in so far, your mouth looked almost Grfdn.”

  Kena almost choked, but somehow controlled her voice. “It’s referred to as ‘biting one’s lip.’ The lip is held between the teeth as a physical reminder to control the expression of an emotion.” Kena tried to control that same emotion, but her mouth quivered.

  The muscles at Hrndl’s temples tightened, pulling the corners of her eyes upward in the Grfdn version of a smile. “What were you suppressing?” she asked, even more gravel tumbling within her throat.

  “I find the Veet posture of respect—quite humorous.”

  Hrndl’s voice shook. “As—as do I.”

  Kena struck a melodramatic pose. “I can imagine myself twenty years from now in the role of a firm chief navigator. A Veet makes a face at me and I sternly declare, ‘Now would be a good time to show me your perfect sense of balance.’”

  Hrndl collapsed against the wall in helpless laughter. She sounded like a Human gargling. It was more than Kena could endure. She fell onto the couch and laughed until she couldn’t breathe. By the time Hrndl quit, Kena was holding her sides and forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

  She might have succeeded if Hrndl hadn’t exclaimed, “Kena, you’ve changed color!”

  Kena doubled over, shaking.

  Hrndl’s voice firmed. “Are you all right?”

  Kena could only nod as Hrndl stared.

  “Your face is so red, and you
r breathing is irregular. I think I should call Metchell.”

  “No!” Kena twitched her head from side to side. “No, I’m fine. Jus—just don’t make me laugh again.”

  Hrndl sat down, her back not touching the chair.

  Kena took a few deep breaths. “Thank you for sharing my laughter.”

  Hrndl’s eyelids drooped in a fleeting expression. “It was most enjoyable. So was flying your sim. It was incredibly realistic. Do Humans always put that much detail into sims?”

  Kena leaned back and stretched her legs out. “Uh-huh. We hone our reflexes through repeated practice. The more accurate the simulation, the better we perform in reality.”

  “Was the—double hum—your sub-vocal form of yes?”

  “Oops. Yes, it was.”

  “What do you use for no?” Hrndl asked, leaning forward.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Repeat them, please.”

  “Uh-huh. Uh-uh.”

  “Interesting,” Hrndl murmured. “I thought Human sub-vocalizations where simply hums. But there’s a tonal variation, and it sounds like the letter H is included. If not for the vowels, they would sound Grfdn.”

  Ah! She had noticed a similarity. Promising. “You’re much quicker than most to pick up the distinction.”

  “Just as you are able to pronounce our names better than most non-Grfdn. Perhaps it’s because these sub-vocalizations come naturally to you.” Hrndl was looking at her—really looking—as though experiencing some profound realization in this odd conversation.

  “Maybe.” Kena tipped her head, unwilling to claim proficiency with their guttural sounds. “It helps if I can remember not to move my lips while pronouncing Grfdn names, but that is a challenge. Then there is the question of vowel placement. I’m sure you know which letter combinations need them, but it’s utterly obscure to the rest of us. I’ve often wished you would place a vowel indicator within your Prednian version of name spellings.”

 

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