by Sharon Rose
“It doesn’t work,” Hrndl said. “Our speech organ is so low and different, no other race can approximate our throat vowels. The closest anyone can get is to use their must guttural vowel wherever they require it. Prednians, for instance, need many vowels. They call me Hur-run-dul. But you can manage Hurn-dul, which I prefer. The last thing we want is to add more vowels than necessary.”
“I often wonder about Krdn’s name. I can say Kru-dun or Kur-dun. Which is closest to correct?”
“He prefers Kur-dun. Most people say Dhgnr wrong. The h is a vowel because it’s between sharp consonants. If you can’t pronounce it as a vowel, replace it with one you can say. Dug-nur is far better than Duh-gun-nur.
Kena experimented with it then asked, “And the other two?”
“Ru-nul and Fru-dun.”
Kena repeated them all. “How’s my pronunciation?”
“Good enough for us to recognize them.”
That bad? “Does it annoy you that I say your name poorly?”
“Not at all. You say it far better than most. Have you practiced it?”
Kena let out a wry laugh. “Beyond doubt! I could never get close to your names without practice.”
“I’m not surprised, but what you said a moment ago—about needing practice to hone your reflexes—that is surprising. I thought Humans were born with quick reflexes.”
“So it is said. Were you born with coordination skills?”
“No, but we do learn them at a very young age. Even the simplest chores are coordinated.”
Kena shrugged. “My sister and I also learned coordination quite young.” Hrndl drew her head back, but Kena didn’t wait for her remark. “For instance, we knew we could finish the simple chore of making our beds much quicker if we helped one another.”
“To a Grfdn, there is a distinct difference between helping and coordinating. You use the words interchangeably. Am I correct in guessing that the Prednian words help and coordinate translate to the same word in your language?”
“No, but you probably perceive a greater difference between them than we do,” Kena said. “I didn’t help my sister because I thought her less capable, and she didn’t find my help insulting. It’s a simple fact that two people can make a bed much faster than one. We coordinated our movements without any communication. In fact, we were usually talking of something quite different. I still use the word helping to describe what we did for each other. But, since there is no shame or insult associated with that, the end result is the same.”
“What you described sounds like a matter of mutual benefit. I’m not sure why you call it helping.”
“Perhaps because Humans perceive the value of help.”
Hrndl’s nostrils lifted. “It creates dependence. How can that be valuable?”
“Only if it’s taken to extremes—or if the person wants to be dependent. We stop helping in that case.”
“Helpful races are poor at recognizing dependence.”
“A valid observation, but unhelpful races are poor at recognizing when someone could learn to succeed independently if they were given help.”
“We do realize that society as a whole benefits from every member’s productivity,” Hrndl said, shifting to a different position in the chair. “In some types of coordination, the benefits are shared indirectly. It’s not as though we would leave an injured person to starve in the street.”
“No doubt, but you give an extreme example. When great shame is attached to requesting or receiving help, opportunities will be missed. Somewhere between the two extremes lies the help that can improve society, without causing either shame or dependence.”
“Yes,” Hrndl said, “but not help. It’s called coordinating, and it involves mutual benefit.”
Kena chuckled deep in her throat.
Hrndl’s brows rose. “Is that a laugh? It sounds different.”
“It’s for a different type of amusement. Don’t you realize what we’re doing?”
“Apparently not.”
Kena grinned. “We are agreeing.”
“Definitely not!”
“Oh, I know,” Kena said. “We have such remote viewpoints that it sounds like complete opposition. But, still, I suspect we are much closer to agreement than either of us would have thought possible.”
“Then you clearly do not understand coordination.”
“Let’s see whether I do or don’t.”
“How?” Hrndl asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Coordinate with me on the development of training simulations.”
Hrndl hesitated. “Your techniques do produce certain benefits, but there appear to be offsetting problems.”
“Quite so. Those who lack confidence tend to become rather timid after flying Human sims. Grfdn sims, on the other hand, are very good for standard, repeatable procedures, but they don’t teach how to react when standard procedures fail. Did you realize the virtual pilot in my sim was programmed to miss at least one target?”
“I wondered why he missed it. A hit shouldn’t have been difficult from his position.”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect navigator. Your skills are top level, but you didn’t look very well-prepared when your partner failed only one instruction.”
Hrndl angled her head. “I cannot deny that, after virtually knocking him unconscious. But I still don’t see how you can train with randomization. It sounds like you want to teach the crew not to use standard procedures. This will cause chaos. No one will know what to expect from anyone else.”
“The environment may be random,” Kena said, “but repeatable response patterns can be applied to many situations. The challenge is to pick the best response in the instant danger appears. That’s where practice comes in. Perhaps this would be clearer if you review how I fly sims.”
“Do the rules not state that randomized sim records cannot be made public?”
Kena picked up her computer and entered the authorization as she replied. “Yes. I suspect it was made after a few fiascoes like the one we just saw. You were the only one to display your full information during training, and look what it did to Delf. Just imagine what he’d do if you published it.”
“You need not worry about Delf. He’ll get over it. The Veet can be quick tempered, but they recover with equal speed.”
Kena looked up from her computer, a faint smile lifting her lips. “I have flown with Veet before.”
“Then, I suppose you already knew that,” Hrndl said. “Since you also know what dissention it can create, why do you give me your records?”
“Giving them to one navigator is hardly the same as making them public,” Kena said. “If you do decide to coordinate with me on training—and I hope you will—you’ll need to see Human training. If not, I’d still like you to know what to expect from me when we’re flying.”
“That would be useful information.” A distinctive chime sounded on Hrndl’s computer. She stood to leave without bothering to look at the message. “I’ll review your records as soon as I can.”
Chapter Thirteen
How could she even do that?
Hrndl took a deep breath, ran her gaze around the screens in nav command, and returned to Kena’s data. The simulation records had only whetted her appetite. She’d consumed them in a couple days and now delved into Kena’s actual flight records. Fascinating! She’d expected good piloting skills—Human reflexes guaranteed that—but the rest? Some of it didn’t even seem possible. Beyond doubt, the woman had earned both her rank and reputation.
Hrndl stretched. She shouldn’t have needed to stay up late last night, hunched over Kena’s records. Krdn could have studied them with her. One thing they had in common was an endless drive to improve their navigation skills. Here was a promising new avenue, but Krdn’s contempt for anything Human prevented that. He’d focused on nothing but her.
Not that she objected to that! The corners of her eyes lifted at the memory of the deserted inner-ring hallway he’d found for their evening
walk yesterday. It even provided access to an overlooked common room. How pleasant he had made their time together. Most of it, anyway. She didn’t care for the way he’d ignored her when she talked about Kena’s skills.
The junior navigator who shared her duty pointed out a distant object, but said, “Risk is negligible.”
Hrndl swiveled to the screen he was using and reviewed the playback and current scans. “Good assessment. Carry on.”
All those little rocks from that beautiful nebula, harmless—most of them. Yet, they could not be ignored, for even one could prove devastating. Why did they seem to be a warning about Krdn? Intelligent. A highly skilled navigator. Doing well in his career. Taking pains to show his dedication to her needs. All traits desirable in a mate, yet he disregarded her opinion. Was this like a harmless rock—or something significant? Once she chose, she’d spend her life with her mate. Could his disregard grow from an annoyance to an intolerable irritant?
How could she know? Beyond doubt, it was questions like these that had spawned the ancient imperative, “Never should a female rely wholly on her own judgement while her mating drive is in full force.” Older females always coordinated with the younger as that first ovum matured and pumped out chaotic, demanding hormones. Perhaps she should have left with the other Grfdn females who were reassigned to another ship. But leave the Ontrevay? No, not something she wanted to do. Besides, Krdn had seemed like such an obvious choice for a mate.
Her pulse quickened. She couldn’t deny a certain attraction, at least when he wasn’t criticizing Kena. If only Krdn would join her now in studying Human techniques. As second navigator, he really ought to know this information. Where was he, anyway? He’d been starting his split shift early in order to be with her. Would he join her in nav command? Did she want him to?
Hrndl compressed her lips. Simultaneous desire and dissatisfaction were maddening. She needed someone to ask. It wasn’t right that there were no Grfdn females to support her! She squelched a growl before it became audible. What good of all this silent ranting?
She captured her unproductive thoughts and focused on Kena’s records. They provided the perfect distraction, absorbing her so completely that she didn’t look up when Krdn entered.
“What’s so interesting, Hrndl?” He leaned over her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, not Kena’s records again. You are wasting your time.”
Hrndl dipped her shoulder away from his touch, but turned the motion into a reach for her console to acknowledge their change of command. “I am a navigator. So is she. If I must fly with her, I should understand her techniques.”
“A futile attempt. She is unreliable. No matter how well you study her past, her future actions remain unpredictable. Besides, she’s likely to be assigned to solo flights. That’s what she’s best suited for.”
Hrndl squirmed as the other navigator’s mouth slipped open. How could Krdn stand there and disparage a senior navigator right in front of a junior? “You miss a great deal. Frethan sees that her training contains aspects of coordination.”
Krdn snorted. “I doubt that! But if so, Frethan understands coordination as poorly as Humans do. Even if she wanted to learn it, she does not have the control to maintain her focus. She swings around to stare when Ghent enters a room. What more proof do you need?”
“She hasn’t done so in days.”
“Beyond doubt, she is still doing it internally. Such distractibility is a serious flaw.”
Kena had paused in the doorway. She let it slide shut and headed to the forward consoles. “It’s not nearly as distracting as you think, Krdn,” she said. “But sensitivity to emfrel does give me one sweet advantage. I always know when someone enters a room, even if my back is turned.”
Krdn’s eyes narrowed. They tightened still further as Hrndl exhaled a mocking snort. He straightened and glared at Kena. “As unpredictable as usual. What are you doing here?”
Hrndl muttered, “Why shouldn’t she be here? She’s a navigator.”
Kena took the console on Hrndl’s right. “Alas! The void’s as unpredictable as I am.” She touched her console to change the room’s central screen and waved a hand at it. “Frethan dislikes the latest scans of our drop-out point and has just changed the location. We drop back to four dimensions at 16:24, which is barely ten minutes away.” She touched the re-form control as she spoke, and the console changed its couch, control panel, and display to her specifications. She let the fluid motion soothe her—synthetic matter performing a choreographed dance.
“Is he still planning to use the octopuh repair craft?” Krdn asked.
Kena sat down, ignoring his mispronunciation of the English designation. “No doubt.”
“The phrase is beyond doubt.” Krdn growled his words. “If you must mimic Grfdn, at least get it right.”
Kena blinked, her hand pausing over the console. “No doubt is a common Human expression.”
More navigators entered, and Frethan’s voice came over the communication system. “Dimensional transition has been rescheduled to 16:24. Krdn has nav command. I have ex op command. Delf is piloting the robotics craft. I’m sending five navigators out with him to get this done as quickly as possible. Krdn, you and Hrndl perform transition with Kena on oversight. The rest of the navigators are on their way to you. I want the most thorough scans that have ever been done, and I want every one of them double-checked. Watch for PitKreelaundun craft and camouflaged devices. And don’t let me hear anyone say they don’t know we’re here.”
Krdn twisted around, looking at the last few navigators who hurried into nav command. “Frethan, most of the first shift is here. Who is handling support with you in ex op?”
“Ghent. I’ve only got one craft out. I’m not pulling anyone off scanning.”
Krdn frowned, but he calmly stated names and assignments. The command room grew quiet as the navigators set up and began their tasks.
Krdn strode to the console on Hrndl’s left and raised it to standing height. “Hrndl, I request telepathic coordination.”
“Granted.”
Kena glanced their way only once, to see how they divided the task. Krdn controlled the dimensional drive, while Hrndl piloted.
Kena monitored the Ontrevay’s artificial dimensional rift, ready to compensate for any problem before it could have devastating effects. The shields were under her control, along with mitigation strategies for dimensional faults. In the realm that most people called reality, the rift was invisible. On her display, it was depicted as tunnels within tunnels, some moving in opposite directions. No worries when they were stable, but that was about to change. She watched the exit form and verified symmetry. The slip detachment from the S4 and T2 dimensions had to be perfect, or Hrndl would be in for some wild piloting.
Krdn and Hrndl executed in perfect synchronization, giving Kena nothing to do.
When the Ontrevay had returned to normal space/time, Kena said, “Excellent transition!”
“Of course,” said Krdn. “It is the product of Grfdn simulations without a single random event.” He glanced across several screens then touched a communication control. “Frethan, we are stable, and the area is clear.”
Frethan’s voice transmitted to both nav command and the repair craft. “We’re opening the bay.” A minute later, he said, “Delf, you are clear to launch.”
Delf said, “On our way.”
Krdn closed the channel and said, “Hrndl, monitor the repair area. Kena, review scans for signs of PitKreelaundun craft or tactical manipulations.”
Repairs proceeded smoothly, and nav command grew quiet. The main display screen showed Delf’s craft and a section of the Ontrevay’s hull. Robotic arms, operated by four of Delf’s crewmembers, attached the newly fabricated sensors.
Most were in place when Netlyn opened a comm channel and announced, “I’ve found an object on a strike course: 20 centimeters in diameter, high mass, impact in three minutes. Delf, do you have the full scan?”
“Yep.”
Kena switched her scan to the object. The rock approached at an oblique angle in relation to the ship.
A few seconds passed in tense silence before Delf said, “Thanks for the notice. I’ve got plenty of time to net this pebble.”
Kena studied it as energy beams extended from the perimeter of Delf’s craft and wove a containment field in the rock’s path. The danger seemed minimal, but why was a high-mass object mixed in with the other debris heading in their general direction? Stranger yet, its chemical signature was oddly distorted, and the mass reading kept fluctuating. Something must be interfering with the scan.
Kena touched a button on her console. “Delf, I sure would like a look at that thing if you can bring it in for me.”
“You’ll have it in the hour. Unless, that is, you want it wrapped in some of that fancy Terran gift paper. That will take longer.”
Kena grinned. “Hmm. I think I would prefer energy field gift wrap. We’ll start a new trend on Earth.”
Then, the object hit his containment field, and Kena sucked her breath in. It bounced crazily inside, gaining momentum rather than losing it. It behaved like a tiny craft with damaged controls. The field hadn’t been powered to absorb so much energy, and it weakened before Delf could compensate. The object careened through it, plunged toward the array, and nicked a sensor that hadn’t yet been fastened down. The long, curved blade spun away from the ship. The rock bounced off the hull shield and continued its aimless journey through space.
Kena’s lips pinched as expletives in two languages came over the comm system.
“Shut up, back there,” Delf said, his tone unperturbed. “A sensor is loose, Frethan, but there shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not moving that fast. I’ll just run over and fetch it.”
“Stay where you are, Delf,” Frethan said. “I want that array completed now! I’ll take a craft out myself to retrieve the sensor. Krdn, send a navigator down here for support.”
“Quon, ex op,” Krdn ordered.
Quon sprinted to the exit. His feet pounded down the hall as the door slid shut behind him.