by Sharon Rose
Hrndl lunged at Krdn.
Metchell grabbed her shoulders, bracing her a few inches from Krdn.
“Sit down, Hrndl,” Ghent ordered. “I sympathize with your fury, but I insist that you control it.”
Hrndl’s exhalation rumbled as she allowed Metchell to push her back into her chair.
Ghent turned back to Krdn, his voice dangerously quiet. “You mistake, Krdn. No one is charging you with a crime.”
Hrndl’s quick intake of breath drew Ghent’s attention back to her.
“Here, that is.” His eyes locked on hers. “When this mission is complete, I will ask your Judgement Council to take custody of him.”
“His behavior was inexcusable!” she said. “How can you possibly ignore it?”
“Be…very…certain…that I am not ignoring it.” Ghent paused and calmed his harsh cadence. “Consider for a moment. When we reach our destination, we’ll be pulling samples from a huge area of debris—all of it in unstable orbit. This will be dangerous, grueling work. It’s never acceptable to lose any navigator, but losing the top level is disastrous.”
Ghent tightened his lips. “Frethan is gone, and nothing can change that.” He drew a deep breath and let it out. “Under normal circumstances, the second navigator would be promoted to chief. I will not do so, of course, since Krdn is implicated in his superior’s death.”
Ghent’s shurgs massaged his knuckles. “That means, one of the senior navigators should be promoted. There are only three of you. I’m sure you realize, that is not enough. Jorlit’s and Netlyn’s informal command relationship with Frethan is now in limbo. You and Kena are in—I think I will say sensitive condition. That leaves Delf. He has excellent piloting skills and leads missions effectively, but I have yet to witness the patience or tact that seems to come later in life for the Veet.”
Everything he said was true, and his depth of understanding afforded Hrndl a measure of relief. She inclined her head, for she didn’t trust her voice to convey respect.
“While Krdn,” Ghent said, “has shown himself undeserving of a leadership position, he is skilled at organizing complex activities. I intend to use him in that role.”
Hrndl tried to keep her opinion from her face. She failed, but at least kept her lips sealed.
Ghent turned back to Krdn, and his voice grew harsh. “Understand this. I will be acting as chief navigator, not you. Your authority is limited to crew assignments only. While I doubt your ability to coordinate in a Grfdn manner, you will continue to organize navigational activities as Frethan taught you. I will monitor your work closely. If you interfere with—or even mildly annoy—either Hrndl or Kena, you will be subject to discipline. Make absolutely certain that they come to no harm, whatsoever, from your activities. Is all of this clear?”
“It is clear.”
“Do you intend to obey my orders?”
Krdn drew his head back. “Beyond doubt!”
Dhgnr seized Krdn’s neck beneath the jaw and forced his head backward at a sharp angle. His muscles jerked. The nerve wand hummed centimeters away. “Beyond doubt? What could ever be beyond doubt with you? Do not dare flaunt your arrogance again. You have disgraced both yourself and Grfdn. I allow you to continue serving only because it is necessary.” Dhgnr’s voice grated ever lower as he drove the words home. “Whatever discipline you require, in either Ghent’s opinion or mine, will be administered by me. It will be long and painful. If you hope to avoid it, you will obey Ghent’s orders scrupulously.”
Dhgnr paused, staring down at his victim. Krdn’s only sound was his constricted breathing.
“Since your powers of self-deception are so astounding,” Dhgnr said, “I will be explicit. You will not court Hrndl, nor interfere with anyone who does. You will speak to her only as your duty requires. You will eat only in your quarters. Regarding Kena, you will speak to her, and of her, with full respect. You will never state, nor even vaguely imply, that Frethan was dead before his craft ruptured. If asked, you will state that he was unquestionably alive until that time. Do you submit to my will?”
Krdn rasped out the words, “Yes, Khn Dhgnr.”
“I am unconvinced. Your neck muscles still resist my grip.”
Hrndl gloated. He was using a surrender grip—so named for good reason.
Krdn closed his eyes and relaxed his neck. Dhgnr’s fingers closed cruelly around his throat. The only sign Krdn gave of the pain was a tightening around his eyes. For a full minute, he remained unresisting under the strangling grip. Dhgnr finally released him with a jerk that forced his back against the chair.
Dhgnr swiveled his gaze to meet Hrndl’s.
She lowered her head in a tiny nod, answering his unspoken question. It would be enough, for now.
He flicked the control of his nerve wand and clipped it to his belt while addressing Metchell. “I hate to trouble you with the pitiful thing, but that particular hold sometimes prevents speech for several days. Much as I detest the sound of his voice, he must speak in order to perform. Please repair his vocal organ, if the damage is that severe.”
Metchell stood, grabbed Krdn’s arm, and pulled him to his feet. Krdn stiffened, revealing the pain that spiked through his back. Metchell paused and glanced at Dhgnr.
“I hope your medical ethics don’t compel you to treat his back,” Dhgnr said in a low purr. “That would make it necessary for me to beat him again.”
“I don’t have time to bother with his superficial nerves,” Metchell said then pushed Krdn toward the door.
When the door closed behind them, Ghent turned to Hrndl, and his voice softened. “I hate putting you in this position, Hrndl. Can you tolerate it?”
“I understand the need,” she said. “I will do what is necessary for the benefit of the crew and the mission.”
“Your cooperation is appreciated.” Ghent stood as he spoke. “Let’s get something to eat.”
Hrndl also rose and took a firm stance. “There is one other thing I will do.”
Ghent turned back to her. “What is that?”
“I will bring the charge against Krdn to the Grfdn Judgment Council. Kena need not provide witness, nor be troubled by him ever again.”
Dhgnr sucked a breath in.
Ghent looked between the two Grfdn. When neither spoke, he asked, “Do you need privacy?”
“No,” Hrndl said.
Dhgnr looked like he would have said yes, but she had no choice.
His low voice hovered at the edge of rumbling. “That decision has additional consequences at this time.”
Hrndl kept her back straight. “Regardless, we were coordinating when she was injured and Frethan was killed. I will complete my commitment.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kena approached the open doorway of the common room Netlyn had reserved. Faint blue light spilled into the hallway—the Tenelli color of mourning. She focused on the emfrel. Only Tenelli—just as she’d hoped.
Voices reached her as she neared: Netlyn’s soft tones, then Jorlit’s, edged with frustration.
“There’s just so many questions that can’t be answered, so they go `round and—”
“Kena!” Netlyn exclaimed.
Jorlit jumped to his feet and spun to the door. His wide eyes met Kena’s as she paused in the doorway, but he couldn’t seem to speak. Was that because she hadn’t seen him these three days since Frethan’s death? Or because of what she overheard?
“My dear,” Netlyn said, “why are you up at this hour? I’m sure you should be resting.”
She nestled in her husband’s arm on the blue sofa facing the door. Inewin swept his free hand inward, their gesture of welcome.
“Do you have any idea,” Kena said, “how much I’ve rested in the last few days? I assure you, I am not one tiny bit tired.”
Jorlit came to her as she crossed the room. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, his brow creased. “Are you all right?”
A small sigh escaped her. “Am I happy right at this m
oment? No. Will I recover? Yes.” She swept a glance across all of them. “Everyone has been very kind and concerned about me, and I do appreciate that. But I was hoping, maybe if I was with Tenelli…well, that maybe you’d be more aware of Frethan, and less focused on me.”
Jorlit’s mouth gaped, then he swallowed. “A–aware? Of Frethan?”
“Doesn’t that make sense to you?” Kena asked.
“Uh, I, uh…”
Inewin filled the gap. “Netlyn and I spent the day studying whatever we could find about Human grieving, and I have to—”
“The whole day?” Kena tilted her head, a tease in her voice. “How depressing!”
Inewin let out a startled laugh, quickly suppressed. “Oh, that’s right. There was mention of humor intermixed with grieving. And no, not every moment. I meant when we were off duty. But what I was going to say was that—well, frankly, we don’t fully understand it. However, there’s one thing all the Tenelli have been talking about—wanting to tell you.” His brow lifted. “We just haven’t been sure about when, or how, or even if we should.”
Jorlit found his voice again. “It sounds like maybe now is the right time?”
Kena nodded and waited.
“We want you to know, we’re very appreciative and grateful for what you did to save Frethan’s life.” Jorlit’s eyes moved over her face as he spoke in a practiced cadence. “We know you took an incredible risk to even try it. The strain must have been intense. We’re amazed that you would do such a thing for someone who isn’t even of your own race, and we want you to know we hold you in the highest regard for it.”
Tears dampened Kena’s eyes.
Jorlit hesitated then took a breath and forged ahead. “Tenelli have a custom when we leave our planet. We take a stone with us, often a gemstone, that came from Tenel. We know Humans have a custom of giving, and we would like to give you the one Frethan carried.” He reached into his pocket as he spoke, then took her hand and laid a cool stone in her palm. “It’s called a purnel. They’re only found on Tenel.”
Kena rubbed a fingertip across its polished surface. It was a few centimeters long, the color of jade, swirled through with lighter shades. Its teardrop shape complemented the delicate pattern of swirls. Her throat tightened.
Jorlit waited a moment. “Uh, we weren’t at all sure if this would be appropriate, so please don’t feel obligated to—”
Kena stopped him with a quick shake of her head. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “I treasure it.” A tear slipped from the corner of one eye.
“Oh, Kena! I didn’t want to bring you more grief.”
A wavering smile was the best she could manage. She wiped the tear away. “You haven’t. You’ve brought me joy.”
“I have?”
Kena giggled and took his arm, turning him toward the other sofa, which was as blue as the rest of the room. “Yes, you have. Now, let me sit and talk with you. I interrupted you when I came in. What are all these questions that supposedly cannot be answered?”
Jorlit stiffened as he sat next to her, not quite meeting her eyes. “Oh, nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“Do you know what happened when I walked into the dining hall earlier today?” Kena asked.
His lips parted, and he stared.
Of course, he hadn’t been there. Kena looked to Netlyn and Inewin, raising her brow.
The corners of Netlyn’s mouth turned downward. “Every conversation stopped.”
“Yes, they did,” Kena said. “But sooner or later, I will overhear bits and pieces of whatever is being hidden from me.”
“Why assume something is being hidden?” Inewin asked. “Maybe they just didn’t want to remind you. We all know it must have been a horrible experience.”
“Perhaps.” Kena shrugged. “Yet, Jorlit did use the word questions a moment ago. Wouldn’t it be better if I heard them first among friends?”
They offered no answer beyond uncertain looks.
She turned to Jorlit, shifting sideways and tucking one foot beneath her. “What questions?”
He frowned and laid an arm along the back of the couch, taking a moment to answer. “Oh, they tend to be circular, with a lot of speculation. Things like, how could you have reached so far? Which prompts the question of exactly when and at what distance you established the link.” He gestured in a side-to-side hand motion as he stated each new question. “Some assume you must have done it within seconds of when he was hit. But then, why didn’t a Tenelli link with him? It should have been easier for us than for any other race. Some have heard that Humans have unusually long range, but no one can find any confirmation of it. In fact, for a race that’s very free with information, Humans say precious little about their sairital traits—telepathic or otherwise.”
“There’s a reason.” Kena tilted her head. “Have you heard of the technique of comparing native languages when studying the differences and similarities between cultures?”
“Sure.”
“We have no word that translates to sairit,” Kena said, “so how can we document our sairital traits? Some of these questions don’t apply, because they’re based on assumptions that are true for you, but not for Humans.”
“I know Humans aren’t natural telepaths,” Jorlit said, “so there are bound to be some challenges in discussing telepathy, but…” He faltered as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “What?”
“You completely missed the point.” She took a breath and slowed her words. “I didn’t say we don’t have a native word for telepathy. We do. It’s sairit that cannot be translated.”
Jorlit’s eyes widened. Was he even breathing? He swallowed. “You’re telling me, a non-telepathic race has a native word for telepathy?”
Kena quirked a half-smile at him. “Yeah, that one is a little hard to explain. Remember, we’re talking about sairit. A sairit is the thing we don’t have.”
“But…but…telepathy is a sairital function.”
“It is for you.” Kena raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean it is for me?”
“What else could it be?”
“Two English words: mind and spirit.” She paused to emphasize them. “In the early attempts to translate our languages, the Tenelli assumed the words were synonymous and translated to your word for sairit. But that isn’t so.” Kena glanced at Netlyn and Inewin. “By the way, that’s probably why you don’t understand the Human information about grieving. The most significant aspects can’t even be addressed.” She turned back to Jorlit. “No wonder you looked at me like I was out of my mind when I said, ‘aware of Frethan.’”
Jorlit’s hand moved forward and back in his gesture for retraction. “For an instant—it seemed as though you thought he still existed. I realized at once I’d misunderstood.”
Kena’s lips tightened despite her effort to keep a neutral expression. She didn’t dare answer, for her voice would surely break. So strange that a concept dear to her meant nothing at all to a Tenelli.
Jorlit’s brow creased again, and he took her hands in his. “This must be hard for you—with no Humans here.”
She shook her head. “Jorlit, you look so tired.”
“I am.” He let out a long sigh. “And still as puzzled as when I walked in here. Can you at least tell me when you linked with Frethan?”
“Do you mean when did Frethan link with me?”
“Oh, Kena!” Jorlit closed his eyes. “It’s the same question.”
“Fine.” She shrugged. “I don’t know the exact time, but I’m sure I said it right afterwards. Hrndl heard me and said she’d coordinate. Isn’t that in the record?”
“That part is but…” He ducked his head. “Well, everyone thinks it must have been earlier and it just took you a while to say so. After all, it was only a whisper. No one heard you except Hrndl. How could you possibly have reached him so far out? And why wait so long if you were going to do it at all?”
“I didn’t wait that long,” Kena said, shaking her head. “I tried
from the very beginning. I used Ghent’s voice for a cue, because we could both hear it. But Frethan was unconscious at first, and then he was so confused, he couldn’t even tell I was there.”
Jorlit stared, his brow contracting. “There? What does that mean?”
“Um—he couldn’t sense me. Does that work for you?”
Jorlit closed his eyes for a moment. “Sorry. I thought you meant there—as though you were present.” His hand slid forward and back again while he spoke.
Kena stared into his troubled eyes. Yes, present would be a good interpretation, but not one he was capable of comprehending. It would only confuse him further.
He took another breath. “All right. So you tried to link earlier, but couldn’t. In spite of his increasing speed, you kept trying. I can’t imagine why, but you did. When you finally succeeded—Kena, do you realize how far away he was by then?”
She gave him a long, solemn look before answering. “What does distance have to do with it? I knew exactly where he was.”
Jorlit made a couple unsuccessful attempts to speak.
Inewin leaned forward. “The foundation is missing, Kena.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “I’m old enough to remember that Humans published an explanation of mind and spirit, then later withdrew it because of misunderstandings. Everything from ‘Humans think they’re better than us because they have a spirit,’ to ‘Humans have pathetically weak minds, but we can fix them.’ I do understand why your race pulled the explanation, but it leaves a void.”
Could she succeed where others had failed? The last thing she wanted was to stir up another vortex of misunderstanding. On the other hand, she would never get a better opportunity. “Let me try it this way. You have everything you need in one package, called a sairit. We have everything we need in two, tightly-integrated packages, called mind and spirit. Neither arrangement is better nor worse, but they are different.”
She turned back to Jorlit. “Distance is not relevant to my spirit, but my mind is limited in that regard, much like your sairit. So, my spirit did the searching, but my mind managed the telepathic contact. If a Tenelli could have reached him, they could have initiated contact even while he was unconscious, but my mind cannot do that. My telepathic voice is so much softer than yours that I—well, I almost have to wait to be noticed.”