by Sharon Rose
Leonfir turned a glare upon him.
“I’m as angry with her as you are, sir,” Freltenloe said, “but my statement is true. We do not know what caused harm or if it is permanent. You must do what is lawful in regard to Pernanyen. I must do what is necessary to restore Kena to health.”
“Your point?” Leonfir demanded.
“Even if I knew the cause and nature of the injury, I could do nothing to repair it until Kena is thoroughly rested. The woman must sleep!” He spread restless hands. “Sleep alone may even restore her natural resilience.” He took a deep breath and shifted to a wider stance. “Before I request what neither of us will like, will you permit me a moment to check on her condition?”
Leonfir nodded and remained silent, listening. The frown that etched his brow deepened while Shannandi’s voice responded. “There is no change. She is still awake. She has not moved at all.”
Freltenloe turned back to Leonfir. “I need something that will induce sleep. I have no idea what will work for a Human. I must ask a doctor on the Ontrevay.”
The expression that passed over Leonfir’s face spoke volumes. His voice was equally grim. “This question must be phrased in such a way that Ghent does not learn how severe her condition is. There is to be no mention, whatsoever, that anyone has linked with her.”
TarKeen let out the breath he now realized he’d been holding. Leonfir had covered the crucial points.
“What have you told them, so far?” Freltenloe asked.
Leonfir motioned him aside. “Go listen to the recordings. It won’t take long. Then, decide exactly what and how you will ask their doctor.” He turned. “Pernanyen.” He held her gaze. “Do you have any idea how close you are to starting a war?”
She lifted her chin. “I am aware of the sensitive nature of this encounter. There are several possible outcomes, some of them highly desirable.”
Leonfir’s nostrils quivered. His hand struck the table again. “My tolerance for your political statements has ended. Ghent does not have the patience you want to believe he should have. Stop clinging to fallacy. Grasp the fact that they do not have any way to know whether Kena is still alive. The moment they believe we have severely harmed or even killed her, they will fire on us. That is the beginning of war. Once it occurs, it is irreversible. One misstep, and it will be…too…late. Do you understand?”
Pernanyen’s rigid body vibrated at the reverberation of his voice “I do. I will—”
“Then do you understand why you cannot be the one to talk with them at this moment?”
“Captain Leonfir, you are usurping my authority.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I’m attempting to give you counsel. Are you willing to listen yet?”
TarKeen took a step toward Pernanyen. Time for a calm counterpoint, an option she could favor rather than a battle for authority. “Consider the value of your absence, Pernanyen. Nothing can be decided or changed if you are not in the room. If Ghent were to make a demand, we must defer our answer.”
Pernanyen’s eyes shifted to his, and her brow lifted.
Quick understanding—that, he could grant her. With a few more words, he got her out of the communication chamber.
When she was gone, Leonfir looked up at TarKeen with the first hint of a smile to touch his lips in the entire day. “That was well done.”
TarKeen inclined his head.
“Considering your opinion of her judgment, I would have expected you to push for her arrest.”
“I think it would be unwise to disrupt the authority triad at this moment.”
“True.” Leonfir held his comm device to his mouth and said, “Send a message to the Ontrevay that I wish to speak with Ghent and the doctor who is most knowledgeable about Kena.” He motioned Freltenloe to join him at the table, and TarKeen stepped back from the camera’s range.
They had not long to wait. Two dissimilar people faced them on the screen: one with short hair in varied shades of brown, and the other with dark fur covering most of his upper body. So, that was what a Plynteth actually looked like.
“I am Ghent,” the Plynteth said.
That was brief. True they knew the captain’s name and race, but no greeting of any sort?
“I am Leonfir, captain of the Epri7. Please accept my greeting and pardon the length of time it took to respond to your request for information.” He gestured to his side. “Freltenloe is the doctor who is responsible for the care of Kena Talgarth. He was attending her, and I felt it would be better to wait until he was available before replying to you.”
Ghent copied Leonfir’s gesture and said, “This is Metchell of Dantokrell. He is our chief medical officer. What is Kena’s condition?”
Freltenloe answered. “The acclimation exhausted her, which is not surprising. Her condition is stable. However, I’m concerned because she does not sleep. I request that you provide me with the chemical composition of a drug that will induce sleep.”
Metchell’s brow lowered. “She has not slept yet?”
“That is correct.”
“What, exactly, do you mean by stable condition?”
“She is physically relaxed,” Freltenloe said. “Her pulse and respiration are regular and appropriate for an inactive state.”
“Forgive me for doubting your words,” Metchell said, “but this sounds most unlikely. I’ve performed a high-stress acclimation for Kena. If you wanted to wake her, you would need a drug, but not to get her to sleep. It’s possible for Humans to sleep with their eyes open. Are you certain she is awake?”
“I am judging her consciousness based on sairital data, not outward conditions.” Freltenloe’s shoulders began a rhythmic shifting. “I witnessed her sleep between emfrel doses near the end of acclimation. After the final contact with PitKreelaundun emfrel, she remained awake. I also find it surprising, but I am certain that she is not asleep. We are familiar with the chemical notation used by the Prednians. If you use that format to define a drug, I will be able to duplicate the substance.”
“I would like to talk with her first.”
“That is not advisable at this time,” Freltenloe said. “I am unable to continue conversing, due to Pernanyen’s directive. Will you provide me with a sleep-inducing drug?”
Metchell looked away, a couple of fingers sliding back and forth beneath his chin.
“Are you going to answer me?” Freltenloe demanded.
Ghent responded. “Considering the amount of patience you demand from us, can you not give him a moment to decide what is best for Kena?”
“Certainly,” Leonfir replied for Freltenloe. “I regret that this conversation is limited. The difficulty of communication is already evident. We hope to improve this soon.”
“I suggest,” Ghent said, “that it will improve more quickly if conversation is not limited. Kena and Pernanyen spoke of general, non-controversial topics without difficulty. We can do the same to learn of each other.”
Leonfir spread his hands. “I must defer to the directive of a ruling family member. I realize this may be frustrating to you, so I greatly value your patience.”
Metchell used his computer to send a chemical description through the communication channel. Freltenloe studied it as Metchell spoke.
“From what little you’ve told me, I suspect that her sleep process has been disrupted. Most likely by stress. This is the substance that her body naturally produces to initiate her sleep cycle. The dose suggested is considerably more than she would need under normal circumstances, but it will not harm her. You should see results in half an hour or less. You can give her another dose if she is not fully asleep in that time. Please let me know the results.”
“Thank you.” Freltenloe inclined his head.
“We will talk more later,” Leonfir said and ended the transmission. An audible breath escaped his lips. He propped an elbow on the table and leaned his forehead against his hand.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
TarKeen strode through the halls, carefu
l to keep his irritation from his face. Urgent, the message had said. Doubtful, but he couldn’t ignore it.
The specified chamber was well removed from the command areas of the ship. For good reason. When, at last, he reached it, he swept his gaze over those scattered through the chamber, assessing who had felt this meeting was worth attending. People sat on tall stools or stood around the high tables, pretending to be occupied with their own concerns. One could never tell when someone uninvited might chance to enter.
VanDar, however, made no attempt to feign casual posture. His pacing ceased mid-stride as his eyes darted across the room to TarKeen’s. He lifted his square chin. “What kept you?”
“I have a profession that consumes my time. Are you not familiar with the concept?”
How would he react? As a member of the PitKree non-ruling family of Kell, VanDar was expected—required, in fact—to have occupation. His token profession and meddling in government could bring him under investigation. Not that anyone present would report him. They were all PitKree.
VanDar ignored TarKeen’s jab. “You have confirmed an order to keep DrenVid confined to quarters when you should have reversed it. I sometimes wonder where your loyalties really lie.”
“DrenVid is an idiot. I do not tolerate fools. Particularly when secrecy is required.”
“He could be useful to us.”
TarKeen enunciated each word. “Not after he opened his mouth.”
A voice from the crowd said, “DrenVid is a problem waiting to happen.” The man drummed his knuckles against the table. “He’s been in trouble before. To use his word, he forgot to numb the arm of a Laundun man before setting a broken bone. He’ll give false impressions of our intent and harm our cause.”
“Secondhand stories are not proof of wrongdoing.” VanDar shifted his glare back to TarKeen. “Nor is one man’s overreaction to a few poorly chosen words. Have him released.”
“Are you taking on the role of judge, now?” TarKeen asked. “The duty of ruling families? Interesting.” He shook his head. “Do not think that DrenVid is committed to our cause. He’s only committed to a warped delight in vengeance. He will have the hearing he’s entitled to, though you will not preside.” TarKeen swept the room with his gaze. “My concerns are far more practical. A man who cannot follow orders for five minutes will not be granted opportunity to participate in our endeavors.”
“What orders?” VanDar demanded. “You weren’t even there.”
“Did you not hear what I announced to the entire ship?” TarKeen strolled the room. Unlike VanDar, he did not need to raise his voice. His words carried the ring of command, no matter how loud or soft. “Let this be clear in your minds; being a member of this company does not exempt any of you from compliance with my orders. Treat them with contempt, and you guarantee that no authority will ever be granted you. We are a minority. The risk is great, and timing is crucial. My orders must be followed with precision. I will maintain discipline. If this disturbs any of you, withdraw.”
TarKeen judged their reactions while VanDar ranted.
“Pernanyen seems not to have heard your orders. Oh, that’s right: she’s the one who kidnapped the alien, ordered her tortured, and then attacked her.” VanDar spread his arms. “Our kind and caring Laundun government at work.” He slapped a hand down on a table. “Their hypocrisy is revealed. This is exactly the opportunity we have needed. Now is the time to act!”
“Now?” TarKeen stretched the word.
“Certainly. Pernanyen is vulnerable. Even the Laundun condemn her.”
ShenLee made a dismissive p’fuf sound without looking up. “They will soon commend her if she is successful.”
The timbre of her voice eased TarKeen. Pity that he must listen to VanDar instead of her.
“We must not allow her to be successful. This Kena Talgarth…” VanDar seemed to spit her name. “She is injured already. Her death would be easy to accomplish and surprise no one. DrenVid could—”
“You want to murder her?” ShenLee demanded, swinging around so fast, the trailing side of her tunic flared out. Graceful as a dancer, even when startled.
“Not murder.” VanDar jerked his head to the side, discarding her objection. “Even though it must be done subtly, the word is execute. Have you forgotten the PitKree who died because of her?”
“That is true,” another woman said. “There could have been others we don’t know of.”
“Judging again?” an older man grumbled. “Conviction without a hearing,”
TarKeen noted the stirrings within the group, but addressed VanDar. “Do explain how Kena’s death will help our cause.”
“There will be outrage among the Laundun. They’ll blame Pernanyen for her death. Everyone knows she constrained that alien to link and has not yet submitted to the same. Leonfir is still supporting Pernanyen. We will arrest both of them. You will take Leonfir’s place, and I will take Pernanyen’s.”
“Ah! I see.” An unpleasant smile lifted TarKeen’s lips as he drew near VanDar. “This is not about the PitKree cause. It’s a method for you to claim power. And you questioned my loyalties?”
VanDar’s voice rose. “Not so. It will give us opportunity to take control of the ship without any hint of mutiny. We won’t even be challenged when entering PitKreelaundun orbit. We’ll be able to take over the communication complex and move against the Laundun fam—”
“Enough!” TarKeen’s voice shattered VanDar’s rant and sent a charged hush through the chamber. “If Kena dies, a war starts with the Interstellar Collaborative. Are you actually proposing to challenge the Laundun while we are under attack from the Collaborative? Do you not realize what havoc that will create? If we are battling one another, who will defend against the Collaborative? Both Laundun and PitKree will…lose…everything!”
As the view screen flickered to life, Ghent motioned for Metchell to join him at the table, and Remlishos moved out of the camera’s range. Leonfir sat at the corresponding table in the Epri7.
“I had hoped to hear an update on Kena’s condition by now,” Ghent said.
Leonfir’s brow twitched, then smoothed. “Freltenloe has been summoned.” He glanced aside as someone else moved into view. “This is TarKeen, with whom you have spoken before. He is commander of the Epri7 and is authorized to speak on my behalf when I am unavailable. We link regularly, so we are both equally aware of events.”
Ghent considered TarKeen. Direct gaze. He remained standing. Did that mean something to his race? Could useful information, or maybe even leverage, be obtained from him? “The last time we spoke,” Ghent said to TarKeen, “Kena was talking with Pernanyen. Did you join them?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken with Kena since she arrived?”
“Briefly,” TarKeen said.
“When was that?”
“Before acclimation began.”
“What did you speak of?” Ghent asked.
“I asked her for more detail about the phenomena she said you had come to study. There was little time for discussion. We remain curious about why you are here.”
At last, an opening to conversation. Ghent leaned back in his chair. “Two planets broke up not far from here. This wasn’t caused by collisions. Something that devastating warrants study.”
“We’re aware that they broke up,” TarKeen said, “and also aware of how dangerous that system is. Are there no remnants of such events closer to home that you could study?”
“None.” Ghent leaned forward. “Are there such remnants in PitKreelaundun space?”
“There are. Kena mentioned gathering samples of unstable matter, but she didn’t say the Prednian name for the substance. What word do you use?”
“We’ve not named it yet. What do you call it?”
That pause before TarKeen answered—what did that mean?
“The semi-stable form is called trazine. The volatile, catalyst substance is called pentazine. The words are sometimes combined to tra-pentazine.” TarKeen s
hifted, though his face still revealed nothing. “We’ve identified the samples you left behind when you followed us away from the nebula. A very lethal collection, you have assembled. Yet another curiosity for us to ponder.”
He stepped back as Freltenloe joined Leonfir at the table.
“What is Kena’s condition?” Leonfir asked.
Freltenloe directed his answer to Metchell. “There is no change. She is still awake.”
Metchell frowned. “Did you give her the full doses?”
“I did,” Freltenloe said. “I could describe their impact as a suggestion that she should sleep. She needs something stronger that actually induces sleep.”
Metchell shook his head. “I need to understand what is wrong before I can tell you how to treat her. Please give me all of the medical data you’ve recorded.”
Freltenloe stared. “What we measure and the format in which we record are certain to be different than yours. Converting it is problematic. The data would need to be thoroughly tested by doctors from both of our races who actually understand each other. Kena needs to sleep now, not months from now. Do you really doubt she’s exhausted and needs sleep?”
“No, I do not. However, I do know that exhausted Humans sleep. Something must be preventing it. I need to know what, so the cause of the problem can be resolved.”
Ghent listened intently. The frustration in Metchell’s voice was no surprise, but the increasing emphasis in Freltenloe’s was still an unknown. Probably not good.
“Her medical data does not indicate a cause,” Freltenloe said. “It does indicate a need for sleep. Again, I request that you provide me with the chemical description of a drug that will induce sleep.”
“I cannot.” Metchell shook his head. “I need to examine her first. You need to return her to us, now.”
The two seated men twitched back. TarKeen didn’t move, but all three of them appeared too stunned to speak. Ghent was no less surprised, but waited to see how they might respond.
Seconds ticked by before Freltenloe managed to ask, “How could we possibly do so?”