by Sharon Rose
“It’s the least I can do.” He picked up his glass, lifting it higher than usual. “You may not realize it, but we much appreciate this change. The drinking cylinders of Earth are so much easier for us to use than those of Prednia. Also, you are very thorough in adopting our table manners.”
“For the most part, my table manners are from Human culture.”
“Would any of our Grfdn manners be unacceptable on Earth?”
Rnl’s voice was rumbling down again. Kena struggled to keep her expression calm. “Hmm. Children who squabble during meals are sent away from the table. Their stomachs soon teach them to control their tongues.”
Rnl stopped mid-sentence and demanded, “What?”
“I was speaking to Dhgnr of Human culture,” she said, all innocence. “Did you feel that it applied to you?”
Rnl panted a couple breaths before a growl began deep in his throat. It stopped when Dhgnr slammed a fist onto the table.
Rnl changed to words. “Humans are not welcome at the Grfdn table.”
Hrndl’s voice grated. “I invited her to my table. Accept her or leave.”
Kena exhaled through pursed lips when Ghent stood up and said, “Navigators, we’re meeting in the astro section in five minutes.”
Hrndl linked arms with Kena in the hallway. Kena’s memory skipped back to Ghent telling her that Hrndl would never want her friendship. There was a first for everything—and this was definitely a first!
“Oh, my dear,” Hrndl said. “That was the most wonderful line.” She made an attempt to reach Kena’s pitch and quoted, “Did you feel that it applied to you?”
Kena chuckled along with Hrndl’s gargling laughter. Anything to lighten the mood after that unpleasant meal.
A few minutes later, Kena sat at a console next to Hrndl and surveyed the astro section. “What a relief,” she whispered. “The whole gang isn’t here.”
“Three scientists are more than enough for a lengthy argument,” Hrndl murmured.
Apparently, Ghent thought so, too. Instead of sitting, he leaned against the railing that encircled the 3-D display. Focusing on the scientists, he said, “We are not here to debate which theory is correct. We know it’s far too early to do more than guess. The purpose of this meeting is to give the navigators an idea of the possibilities, and to determine our first steps in understanding the explosions.” Ghent slid a hand along the railing. “I’d like each of you to give a brief summary of your theory. Focus on why the debris is so much smaller than we expected, and why the trajectories are inconsistent with earlier data.” He nodded at Betnorel, the Prednian scientist.
“We think the initial fracturing occurred to a much higher degree than originally estimated. Hence, the pieces started out smaller. Since we don’t know what triggered the break-up, it’s quite possible that the initial force was underestimated. Therefore, debris from the two planets may have already mixed, rather than just now coming together as we expected. The material that we thought to be the alpha planet may really be a mixture of both the alpha and beta planets, and vice versa. This explains why some material appears to be heading inward. At issue, is the—”
“Thank you,” Ghent said. “That will do.” He nodded to Thrayl.
“We’ve always suspected,” Thrayl said, “that gravitational anomalies were involved in this phenomenon. We’ve found indications that significant portions of the material in both planets and in the large moon have unusually high mass. This would have skewed earlier projections of the overall composition. We’ve also found unrecognizable chemical signatures. We may be looking at an element never before identified. If it’s volatile, it could account for variations in velocity. This could result in more collisions than were anticipated. Subsequent collisions would break fragments into smaller and smaller pieces.” Thrayl stopped and looked back at Ghent.
Ghent extended his hand, palm up, in the Tenelli gesture of thanks, and nodded to the third scientist, a Dantokrellie.
Salsheen used a tone that Kena identified as strictly-business, but her body language was defensive. “A few of us recognize the possibility that the original estimates of fragment size, speed, and directions were approximately correct. We think the break-up activity may have continued for an unknown period of time. This hypothesis has some definite problems, but we bring it up because it suggests added risk. It’s conceivable that additional fragmentation could still occur.”
Every navigator stared at Salsheen. Kena’s imagination conjured up visions of flying amidst debris that could explode without warning. A few navigators gave vent to their cultural expletives. Sadly, this loosened Betnorel’s tongue.
“There is no particular reason to believe this is still happening. Remember, there was an unusual energy reading from the star before the break-up. That has not recurred, so this hypothesis is very unlikely.”
Before anyone could respond, Ghent asked, “Did you calculate probabilities for the theories, as I asked?”
“Yes,” Betnorel replied. “The theory I described has a probability of 60-65 percent.”
Thrayl turned to Ghent and said, “30-35 percent, sir.”
Kena grinned and said to Salsheen, “They didn’t leave you much, did they?”
She returned the smile. “I agreed to an estimated probability of 5-10 percent to avoid argument.”
“How wise,” Kena said. “Unfortunately, I think that estimate may be low. The trajectory data I’ve analyzed fits better with your theory than with the others.”
“Yes,” Ghent said, “I’ve seen indication of that, too. Regardless, we must take precautions. All samples brought into the hold must be enclosed in containment fields.”
Betnorel’s eyes rounded. “But we need to—”
Ghent employed his cold stare. “Do not suggest placing the ship and crew at risk.”
Betnorel swallowed.
“What are the sampling needs?” Ghent asked
“We’ll need control samples,” Thrayl said. “Material that we are absolutely certain is from the alpha planet and from the beta planet.”
“We should be able to pick that up this afternoon,” Delf said. “We’re sure the rocks at the outermost edge of the debris field haven’t been knocked around since the original break-up. It’s easy enough to know which planet they came from.”
Thrayl nodded and said, “As we get closer, we’ll try to determine from scans which pieces broke up from collisions and which show signs of other forces. We’ll need samples from both sets. And obviously, we want samples of the unidentified substance.” He frowned and turned to Ghent. “We really need samples from the two moons if there’s any way to get them without excessive risk. We’ll leave that decision to you, of course.”
Ghent turned to Netlyn. “How are you doing on finding the small moon?”
“I’m not positive yet, but I think I’ve found it. There’s a large object surrounded by several fragments. They’re a ways off the moon’s orbital path, but within the realm of possibility.”
“Let me know when it’s confirmed.” He looked back to the three scientists. “Thank you for the information. You’re dismissed.” As they headed out, Ghent said, “Delf, you get samples from alpha. Kena, collect from beta. Take solo craft; we aren’t looking for quantity on this run, just representative samples. Krdn, partner them each with a junior navigator. We’ll get some training value out of this, as well. The rest of you, continue with your current assignments. I’ll be with Piert if you need me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alone in a small collector craft, Kena aligned her course with an irregular chunk of rock that had once been part of the beta planet’s crust. She circled it to get a complete scan, and then slowed its tumble with nudges from an energy beam. When it was stable, she anchored it in a containment field with the rest of her samples.
This was her delight: Zero G. A responsive craft under her control. Vistas never before seen, spread out for her discovery.
This trip had an added bonus, since sh
e was in a solo craft. No emfrel. Pleasure simmered deep within Kena’s heart. For some reason, all the nuances of her creator’s love were so much more tangible when she was alone in space. Beloved protector, guide, comforter, friend, father—the list could go on and on. She didn’t need words with him. He was just intensely present while she worked.
She gripped the control stick with her right hand, while skimming her left across the console to configure the containment field for towing. She swung the little craft around to get a visual of her partner. Her movements were instinctive, and the craft responded as smoothly as if it were her own body. Without looking at the console, she slid her hand to the far left and touched a communication control.
“Are your samples stable?” she asked the other navigator.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Right. Let’s head back to the Ontrevay.”
The return trip took a couple hours. Kena filled the time by studying the scans she’d recorded of her samples. Nothing unusual. She paused to admire some crystals that flashed a rainbow of colors as they turned under the craft’s lights. They’d probably end up in a museum somewhere. A memorial to a planet that was no more. She hoped they wouldn’t be accompanied by artifacts of an intelligent race. At least she’d found no hints of that in her small collection.
As they decelerated for final approach to the Ontrevay, only Delf’s craft came into Kena’s view, aligned belly-to-belly with the ship. His partner must already be inside. He nudged his sample collection into the broad hold beneath the ship’s gravity plane. The containment field snared it and drew it into position. Delf angled away from the hold, executed a half-flip reversal, and slipped neatly into the bay on the ship’s side.
He opened the comm channel and said, “Your turn, Kena.”
She grinned at his jaunty tone. Delf was never so happy as when he was flying.
A support navigator in ex op command said, “Kena, I’m sending target coordinates. Do you want to talk your partner through, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it,” she said. This took longer than Delf’s polished maneuver, but was soon complete. She’d aligned her own load by the time her partner entered the bay.
“It looks like you’ve already figured out your target coordinates,” the support navigator said, “but here they are for confirmation.”
She gave them a quick check and replied, “Yes, that will do nicely. Releasing samples.” She sent the collection toward the designated point and watched until the containment field engaged it.
“Another perfect shot,” the support navigator said. “Come on in.”
“If you insist,” Kena said. She closed communication, enjoying the last couple moments of her trip as she adjusted her course for a curved entry into the bay.
An alarm sounded. The word FIRE flashed on her console. Damage indicators lit. She reached for the communication control, but the panel beside her blew apart. Twisted metal smashed into her left side.
Pain spiked through her ribs, and her diaphragm seized. Only her restraint harness kept her from curling into a ball. The agony overwhelmed her, then fueled a screaming need to reach the comm control.
She forced her head up and tried again, but her hand wouldn’t respond. Her left wrist throbbed, and needles prickled through her fingers. Not good! She tried with her trembling right hand, but twisting her torso was unbearable. Debris still ricocheted around the cockpit. Something bounced against her windpipe. She blinked tears from her eyes.
A portion of her brain shouted through the pain. Think!
Her gaze flew to the window. She was off course. She would miss the bay doors, but not the Ontrevay. No!
Kena tried to correct, but the craft didn’t adjust course. She checked her navigation console. The entire left bank of nav jets was down. She had to get control.
Her diaphragm was still locked in a spasm. Her pulse pounded in her head. Blood spread across her shirt. The Ontrevay’s hull filled the window, closing in. She had very little time. “Help me, father.”
She overrode primary control and turned the upper and lower jets as far aside as possible, working them against each other. Her craft shifted sideways, returning to its course. It wasn’t quite aligned. She tweaked with the right, rear thrusters. She was risking a spin, but could do nothing more to correct. Krdn was in ex op command; he’d be quick to see the danger and protect the bay.
Ghent stood beside the consoles in ex op command, talking with Krdn, as Delf came up from the bay to watch Kena’s entry. Ghent only half listened to the routine procedures and the casual conversation between Kena and the support navigator. Neither he nor Krdn paid much attention to Kena’s maneuvers.
The support navigator frowned at the course projection and said, “I hate these curved entries. They’re so hard to predict.”
Delf leaned back in his chair with one foot on the console’s edge, his hands linked behind his head and a smile twisting his lips. “Don’t worry about it. She knows what she’s doing.” He shook his head. “Thias! That woman can fly! A perfect arc for approach. She won’t even have to adjust it en route—just a little tweak at entry. Watch and learn.”
Krdn looked over at the display, a guarded frown on his brow. He dug his fingers into the back of the couch he stood beside.
“What is she doing?” Ghent asked.
“Coming in with only three banks of the nav jets operating,” Krdn said. “On a curved course—just like the one she used to bring Frethan in.”
Ah—that was the reason for Krdn’s tension. “Three banks? Why?”
“Impressing us with her prowess, I suppose.” Krdn’s voice rumbled. “There’s no sign of any damage.”
True enough—her craft looked fine. Krdn didn’t. His lips compressed, and his knuckles whitened, but he made no move toward the console. The reason dawned on Ghent. Krdn was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Was Kena taunting him? Would she go so far as to put the ship at risk?
Kena execute a one-sided course correction. It pushed her toward a spin.
Ghent’s nostrils flared. He dove for the containment controls. “Protective fields!” They barely had time to get the internal fields energized.
Kena’s craft sailed into the bay in an unsteady spin, nav jets still firing. They flared against the energy shields, encircling her in a halo as she spun. It took her a full turn to get them shut down.
Ghent’s shurgs wrapped his fists. She would have damaged all the craft on second level if they hadn’t gotten the shields up. He swung around to the lift. “Stop that spin and pull her craft down so I can get in there and—educate her.”
Krdn took the controls. He snapped orders to the other two navigators. “Anchor the craft. Rapid pressurization. Engage—”
The lift door slid shut, cutting off his words. By the time Ghent reached the bay, the gravitational field had re-engaged. He waited only for minimal pressure before opening the lift door. His eardrums fluttered, and air rushed past him to complete pressurization. The left side of Kena’s craft faced the lift. Ghent half expected to find damage. Its flawless condition fanned his anger.
He crossed the bay at a run, flipped open the panel beside the hatch, and pulled the manual release. He swung himself inside without waiting for the hatch to fully open. “Do you think I am impressed?” he demanded.
Two steps took him into the cockpit. He grabbed the top of the high-backed couch to jerk it around.
The stench halted him. His eyes swept over the damaged panel and Kena’s right hand, gripping the armrest. Careful to bump nothing, he maneuvered around her in the cramped cockpit to get a better look. The fur on his brow puckered, and a Plynteth exclamation passed his lips.
He reached across the console and jabbed the comm control. “Get Metchell down here.” Dropping to a gentler tone, he said, “Kena, tell me what’s injured.”
Kena tried to point, but her hand wavered. She mouthed soundless words.
“I can’t hear you.” Ghent leaned close to her face.
<
br /> “Can’t—breathe.” Her faint, strangled words slipped between pale lips, and her eyes rolled in a disturbing fashion.
“Tell Metchell there’s blood on her chest, and she’s barely breathing.” He twisted around to open a cabinet.
Delf’s voice came over the speaker. “There should be an oxygen mask in the emergency cabinet.”
“Yes, I have it,” Ghent said, jerking it out and letting other supplies fall to the floor. Careful not to move Kena, he formed the mask over her nose and mouth. “This is oxygen. Try to breathe.”
Kena felt the mask press against her face, but Ghent seemed very distant. What good would oxygen do when she couldn’t inhale?
“Kena, breathe,” he ordered.
She tried to draw air through her swelling throat. Fresh pain shot through her chest. Her eyes clenched.
“Again. A little deeper,” he said.
She sat there helpless, her diaphragm wrenched in a spasm, her throat closing, and her head throbbing.
“Kena, breathe,” he ordered again.
She could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears. Strange tingling sensations prickled through her. Someone tipped her head back. Garbled sounds. Darkness.
Her head seemed stuffed with cotton. She tried to move it but couldn’t. Dizziness swept through her. She was numb and floating. Strange. She’d gotten into the bay. Something had fallen when the gravity field engaged. So why was she floating?
The memory of pain lingered, but she felt nothing. Confused, she opened her eyes. Ghent’s and Metchell’s faces hovered at odd angles. Her stomach convulsed, and she fainted.
Ghent cringed as Kena’s eyes rolled back and their white showed. Unnerving.
“Let me get next to her,” Metchell said.
Ghent sidestepped out of the cockpit to switch places with him. They tilted the couch as far as possible without allowing her body to shift.