Diverse Similarity

by Sharon Rose

  “I don’t see how I can. To put her through this and then not link…” She raised uncertain eyes to his. “Is that what you think I should do?”

  “The time for my advice has passed. You created this situation. It is yours to resolve.”

  Pernanyen lifted her chin.

  “This is not a time for you to falter,” TarKeen said. “It is time for you to link with her. To be sure of what you are doing. To remain calm throughout.”

  “Kena is ready?” She stepped nearer the door. “Why didn’t Freltenloe tell me?”

  “He cannot leave her. She is deeply exhausted, but her sairital recovery is quick. You will need to initiate at the precise end of an emfrel sweep.”

  Again, she moved for the door, but he sidestepped to block her.

  “Did you hear me, Pernanyen? She does not look good. You cannot let that unnerve you again. Are you able to calm yourself and maintain stability?”

  She looked up at him, finally showing comprehension. She closed her eyes and took several slow breaths while her posture and expression neutralized. “I am ready.”

  The beating stopped. The emfrel intensity diminished as the strikes broadened. Kena’s resistance, instinctive now, pushed back. Wave after wave. Resist, release, resist. Why did Freltenloe continue? How could she become any more acclimated than she already was? Exhaustion wrapped her, so complete she couldn’t lift her eyelids. Sleep captured her in the seconds between each wave.

  Her body seemed distant, insignificant. She didn’t want to be bothered with it. She was dressed in only her camisole now, though she couldn’t remember when her nav suit had been removed. Shannandi had sponged away the clammy sweat and wrapped her in a warm blanket. Why wouldn’t they let her rest?

  She fell into sleep during one of the intervals. The pattern changed. The waves stopped. Instead, a strong presence remained.

  I am Pernanyen.

  The words carried no sound, for they were spoken within her mind.

  Kena woke on the instant. Painfully awake. Her body shook as she violently tried to force Pernanyen out.

  Pernanyen suppressed Kena’s instinctive response.

  She flailed mentally, as effective as grass beating a rock in a storm. The rock didn’t flinch. It settled on the grass, holding it. Gently conquering. Waiting.

  When Kena continued her struggle, Pernanyen formed words in her mind. Be still. You’re only exhausting yourself further. It’s not possible for you to break the link. She paused again then tried once more. It will be easier for you if you just let this happen.

  Impossible. Kena sensed a puzzled regret. Very faint, for Pernanyen was holding her own reactions in check. Then, the invader moved through her recent memories, searching for something tangible she could relate to. Kena pushed her need to explain Human telepathy toward Pernanyen, but so much frustration mingled with the memory, Pernanyen didn’t grasp its meaning. Instead, she subdued the distraction.

  Pernanyen found TarKeen’s brief conversation. She keyed in on his voice and statement, “I came here to ask you something that may be of importance.” The conversation played out in Kena’s memory. Not just the words, but Kena’s emotions, as well. Pernanyen inspected the depth of Kena’s feelings when she’d heard that the planet PitKreel had been destroyed. Kena cringed to have something so personal touched.

  Pernanyen moved on, exploring Kena’s perception of their conversations. Then, she eavesdropped into Kena’s conversation with Quon. The discovery and rescue of Pearl was next. She seemed to stare at Kena’s tenderness—the love she extended to an orphan.

  To have such an intimate emotion inspected and judged! Kena couldn’t even react. The more she tried to, the more Pernanyen suppressed.

  Pernanyen searched farther back and found the memory of Kena’s encounters with PitKreelaundun fighters. She inspected Kena’s feelings and opinions then listened to what other crew members had said of the events. She moved forward again and found which ships Kena had been assigned to, then skimmed over memories until she came to the briefing where Kena first learned of her current mission. The quick glances at memories ceased. Now, she dove into relationships, watched them develop, considered Kena’s perceptions of the people around her, wondered over her emotions.

  Twice, she showed some compassion. When she discovered Frethan’s and Krdn’s deaths and the pain Kena had felt, she left the memory paths and moved on. All else incited a detailed study, invading Kena’s dearest feelings.

  Pernanyen moved slowly through the mission to collect samples of the two shattered planets and listened to what Piert told Kena of the exotic substance. She examined all the nuances of the ensuing conversation with Hrndl. Then she studied the intricacies of a friendship between two such different races, violating places she had no right to enter.

  Amidst it all, Kena suffered exhaustion beyond any she had ever imagined. She could not abate her struggle. Pernanyen was swift and delved deep. At any moment, she would go too far—and then they would die. At least, Pernanyen would. If Kena survived, Pernanyen’s death would destroy her from within. Death would be better.

  Pernanyen almost pierced the entwined boundary of mind and spirit when she tried to understand Kena’s conversation with Jorlit after Frethan’s death. For some reason, she drew back before satisfying her puzzlement. She pried into the nights when Kena was alone in her quarters, singing and lifting her heart to the one she loved. Kena cringed and struggled away. She could not let Pernanyen see that depth. Pernanyen held back but looked for other opportunities.

  Then she discovered the evening when Kena had linked with Ghent. Pernanyen had veered away from other memories of links, but not this one. So intrigued, she was. But Kena had been with her beloved both before and after. Pernanyen would touch one of those contacts, both so intense. They would lead Pernanyen from Kena’s mind into her spirit, where God dwelled. Worse yet, Pernanyen was in the act of violating a Human’s will, something even God wouldn’t do. She would never survive contact.

  Kena turned her mind away. Pernanyen brought it back. Twice more, Kena tried. Pernanyen was relentless. Kena’s resistance faltered. Pernanyen pressed deeper. Despair welled up. Impossible to stop her. She will die within me. It’s over.

  Pernanyen drew back at the last instant. Confusion swirled in Kena’s mind. Her thoughts separated, disassociated, like leaves stripped from branches in a storm.

  “It’s over. I’m ending it now,” Pernanyen’s voice said, both inside Kena’s mind and in her physical ears. The woman’s hands smoothed over Kena’s face. She nudged Kena to notice the sensation—to remember her body—to focus on the sound as she spoke. “It’s over. It’s over.”

  Kena fell adrift. Alone. Her mind grew numb and confused, registering only despair.

  TarKeen stood in the monitoring room, staring at Kena’s inanimate form. A doctor, YefRon, paid more attention to the medical monitors.

  Freltenloe and Shannandi returned to Kena’s room. He motioned Pernanyen to leave and bent over Kena, running his hands from her shoulders to fingertips and back again.

  Freltenloe’s voice sounded distant as it came over the monitoring room’s speaker. “It’s over now, Kena. Focus on sensation. It’s over.”

  Kena stared at nothing.

  Freltenloe brought his hand swiftly toward her eyes. No flinch. Not even a flutter of an eyelid.

  “What is he doing?” TarKeen asked.

  “Testing her response,” YefRon said. “It didn’t register in sairital activity.”

  Freltenloe spoke again. “Shannandi and I will remove medical devices that are no longer necessary. You need do nothing. I’ll remove the breathing tube first.”

  Kena’s body displayed no reaction whatsoever. Not even a twitch.

  “Is this normal,” TarKeen asked, “that she doesn’t move at all?”

  “No.” YefRon drew the word out, his voice low. “Physical sensation registers in her brain, but she is not showing any sairital reaction.”

  “We’re r
emoving the acclimation cap, now,” Freltenloe said. “It will take a few minutes.”

  YefRon pointed at a physical scan where a foreign object moved at the base of her head. “He’s inserting a sensor, just inside the skull. It will give us continued sairital readings even when she’s off the table.”

  Shannandi worked the bands free of Kena’s tangled hair. Every minute or so, she reassured Kena that this was removal of the cap.

  The monitors revealed what little impression their words made.

  YefRon pointed to an image of Kena’s brain, where symbolic colors extended and receded. “The activity in this area is the sound reaching her brain. Over here, is where her sairital responses indicating comprehension should be—but aren’t.”

  Disturbing. TarKeen studied her still form as Shannandi smoothed Kena’s messy hair back from her slack face. “Is it possible that she’s asleep?”

  “No,” YefRon said. He pointed up at one of several brain images that had been recorded earlier. “That is the onset of sleep. No sign of it now. Still no reaction to stimuli.”

  The brain images all looked similar to TarKeen. He could only rely on the doctor’s interpretation. It seemed consistent with Freltenloe’s, for he frowned at monitors near Kena and increased his efforts to elicit a response.

  Shannandi lifted one of Kena’s hands into her line of sight and described the manner in which she was massaging each finger. She let the limp hand drape over hers. “Squeeze my fingers.” She waited, shifted position, and tried again. “Kena, grip my hand.”

  “They’re trying multiple, concurrent stimuli,” YefRon said. “Visual, audible, and tactile. Still nothing.”

  Freltenloe and Shannandi attended Kena’s every physical need, assuring her, all the while, that it was over. At last, Freltenloe supported her as Shannandi wrapped her in a silky robe.

  “I’m going to carry you to another room where you can sleep,” he said.

  Kena’s body hung limp in his arms.

  Several monitors went blank, and TarKeen paced across the back of the room. Could this get any worse? Monitors lit again, and he returned to them, gripping the back of a chair as he watched.

  The camera showed Freltenloe laying Kena on a bed. The room’s décor mimicked a bedroom, with no visible medical equipment. Freltenloe reconnected the IV, running the tube to an aperture in the wall.

  Movement beside the far-right monitor caught TarKeen’s attention. YefRon explained it. “That’s the IV station. We can change the fluid bags from this side without disturbing her.”

  Freltenloe spoke again. “We’ll give you privacy, now. Sleep.”

  No reaction. TarKeen adjusted the camera to get a better view of Kena’s face. Her eyelids remained half closed, her gaze fixed, her lips parted and loose.

  Freltenloe and Shannandi left Kena and joined TarKeen a moment later. They sank into the empty chairs.

  TarKeen moved so he could watch Freltenloe’s face. Shadows surrounded his eyes, and his mouth formed a grim line.

  Minutes passed. Freltenloe suppressed a yawn while he studied the monitors.

  TarKeen waited, giving privacy some time to return Kena to a more normal state. At last, he broke the silence. “I need an explanation of what’s happening.”

  “Nothing is happening,” Freltenloe said through tight lips. “Absolutely nothing. There has been no change of any sort since Pernanyen ended the link. Kena is exhausted beyond measure but does not sleep.”

  Freltenloe leaned his forehead on his fingertips, working them in circles. No surprise his head would ache. He was long overdue for sleep. It would be longer still.

  “Leonfir and Pernanyen are waiting for your report,” TarKeen said. “Come.”

  Freltenloe stood. “Shannandi, her condition must be monitored continuously.” His gaze lifted to YefRon. “She is not to be disturbed unless it is necessary to maintain her life.”

  YefRon turned to him. “Make no mistake, Freltenloe. I understand the gravity of the situation.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  TarKeen took Freltenloe to the communication chamber.

  Freltenloe slowed as they neared it. “Wait. Why here?”

  “Leonfir intends to contact the Ontrevay’s captain soon.” TarKeen touched the door control. “They are not transmitting yet.”

  TarKeen motioned Freltenloe to the center of the room, while he remained to one side, where he could observe all faces.

  Leonfir’s full lips, usually in a soft curve, clamped in a rigid line. The brown and gold entwined rank bands on his shoulders rose and fell with each breath. The captain, ever calm and collected, for once let his anger be seen. Not that TarKeen blamed him.

  Pernanyen sat next to him with her head lifted high and her eyes downcast. She had taken time to change her clothing. The amber and topaz chain of the Frayunomen ruling family lay prominently across her chest. She looked like a cross between dignity personified and a scolded child.

  Leonfir glared at Freltenloe. “State the condition of Kena Talgarth.”

  He startled at the abrupt demand, but responded with equal firmness. “Her pulse and respiration rate are stable, but slow. All other measurements indicate that her condition is grave. Recovery has not begun, nor is there any indication that it will.”

  Pernanyen’s eyes widened.

  “What did you do to her?” Freltenloe demanded.

  “I was gentle throughout.” Her voice caught on the last syllable.

  Not a muscle shifted in Freltenloe’s stern face, stating disbelief as surely as if he spoke it.

  Pernanyen gripped the table’s edge. “She fought me the entire time. I tried to persuade her to relax control, but she wouldn’t relent.”

  “You’ve told me she is a weak telepath,” Leonfir said, his voice harsh. “Her acclimation caused extreme exhaustion. How could she have fought you?”

  Pernanyen jerked her chair around. “I didn’t say she was successful—only that she tried. Continuously! I thought exhaustion would soon stop her, but—it’s hard to explain. Even when she was completely spent, her strength returned. If she had just stopped fighting, it wouldn’t have been so hard on her.”

  Leonfir slapped his hand to the table, fingers splayed. “You’re babbling contradictions. Is this what you intend to say to her captain? She is weak, but she is strong. She was exhausted, but she was fighting. And the crowning insult: You imply that her injury is her own fault because she fought. The fault is yours!”

  “I am not shifting the blame.” Her shoulders heaved. “I’m just explaining why I didn’t foresee what would happen.”

  “What are the chances,” Leonfir asked, “that you can explain this to her captain without senseless contradictions?”

  TarKeen’s low voice ended the ensuing silence. “Kena stated several times that she is not like other races, and that telepathy means something different to Humans than it does to others. It’s time someone paid attention to what she said.” He stepped nearer. “Freltenloe, you have observed her through acclimation and a constrained link. Do you have any idea what she meant?”

  Freltenloe took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. “Measurements of her sairital energy have been low throughout. However, she has incredible resilience. It’s as though she can be crushed in one instant, and in the next, her energy returns—almost as strong as before. I suspect we’re not measuring her full sairital capacity.”

  “A reserve of some sort?” Leonfir asked.

  Freltenloe flipped a hand. “A reasonable guess. I have no idea if it’s correct.”

  “If she is highly resilient,” Leonfir said, “explain why she is not recovering now.”

  Freltenloe released a long exhalation. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m so concerned. She no longer shows any sign of resilience. She was falling asleep between emfrel doses at the end of her acclimation, but now that stress is removed, she does not sleep. It appears damage was done during the link.” His gaze swung back to Pernanyen, and his voice firmed. �
��I need to know the cause and nature of the damage.”

  “I didn’t touch anything to do with physiological processes,” she said. “I only viewed her memories.”

  “Her condition worsened at the end. I know you can’t tell me the content of the memories, but you must tell me what was happening.”

  “I found a memory of her linking with Ghent.” Pernanyen shifted forward then back. “She was frantically trying to stop me from seeing it. There were other times she did so; mostly memories of times when she was alone. I thought perhaps the moments were too private, so I didn’t look, but I wanted a glimpse of Ghent.” She looked between TarKeen and the others, as though searching for understanding. “She was so determined to stop me—I thought she was trying to hide something. I wanted to know what. But then…” She licked her lips. “There really was no way she could stop me. As I was moving into the memory, she realized it and…I sensed utter despair. She believed I was about to die within her mind.”

  Leonfir shook his head. “You were strong and rested. She was weak and exhausted. Yet, she believed you were about to die. Not her? You?”

  Her voice pled. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but her despair was real. She did believe I was going to die.” Pernanyen shifted again. “I thought it was too stressful for her, so I ended the link.”

  “Did you just withdraw,” Freltenloe demanded, “when you felt her despair?”

  “Of course not!” Pernanyen spread her hands on the table. “I’m not a novice, and I’m not cruel. You know me better than that. I told her it was over—that I was ending it. I made sure she could hear and feel before I withdrew.”

  “Can she hear and feel now?” Leonfir asked.

  Freltenloe shook his head. “Only in the physical sense. There is no sairital reaction to stimuli.”

  Leonfir leaned toward her, relentless. “Then clearly, Pernanyen, you did harm her.”

  “I trained her myself,” Freltenloe said. “She is skillful and has ever been gentle.”