by Sharon Rose
“If you won’t bring her to us, then return her as she specified. Her EVA belt will protect her. Release her from your ship and withdraw. We will pick her up.”
Freltenloe turned to Leonfir. “I heard that the ships are far apart. Is this not so?”
“It is so.” Though he answered Freltenloe, Leonfir’s eyes fixed on Metchell. “She would be isolated for hours. I have not calculated the exact time; for, such an unacceptable solution never occurred to me.”
“It appears,” Metchell said, “that you have a high aversion to activity beyond the protection of your ships. Kena does not share that trait. Review what she said about it. She chose that method of travel. It didn’t bother her.”
TarKeen rejoined the discussion. “At that time, she was rested and alert. She also was not isolated; she was interacting with Jennellee Pearl. We’ve discovered that she was even providing the child with a light sairital presence, apparently to comfort her. She was conversing with us and active. None of this would be true if she were put out of our ship now.”
“I assure you, she will survive the trip,” Metchell said, tight-lipped.
Freltenloe shook his head, his upper lip raised. “Survive? Is that all that matters to you? She’s endured acclimation stress and exhaustion. Now, you want to add hours of isolation stress? She is one of yours, but you would treat her with such cruelty? You are nothing like Kena.”
Metchell leaned across the table and drew a rapid breath to speak, but Ghent shot a hand out and gripped his arm before hasty words could escape.
Freltenloe strode out of view.
Leonfir said, “Perhaps Pernanyen is right. Nothing good came from this conversation.”
The screen went blank.
Metchell’s arm shook in Ghent’s grasp. Ghent released him, but ordered, “Do not speak until your anger is under control.”
Metchell swung away and paced between the table and screen.
In truth, Ghent needed time to still his own ire. How could that have turned bitter so suddenly? The idea of being accused of cruelty toward Kena galled him, even if it was directed toward another. The PitKreelaundun had brought her to this state. How dare they now…”
He stopped himself. Anger, so counterproductive. He needed understanding. Alternatives.
Once Metchell’s pacing slowed, Ghent said, “I need to know why you won’t give them the drug Freltenloe requested.”
“There is something wrong that they’re not telling us,” Metchell said. “It must have sairital implications. Any drugs strong enough to put her to sleep can worsen certain types of sairital injuries and make them much harder to heal. They could make her vulnerable to additional injury. Even small alterations in these drugs can have devastating effects. It is because I am not cruel that I cannot give them these formulas. They could cause much more harm than good.”
“I know you have Kena’s best interests in mind. Don’t Humans have anything less dangerous?”
“Of course, they do. I’ve already given them the preferred method. There are a couple of mild drugs, but I doubt they would bring her to sleep.”
Ghent stared at the blank screen. The silence stretched.
Metchell finally said, “I cannot help her if I cannot examine her. Will it really take as long as they say to retrieve her?”
“We are staying out of weapon range,” Remlishos said. “It would take a few hours to get a craft from the Ontrevay to the Epri7’s location. We need to allow time for them to get beyond intercept range, as well. That’s harder to predict.”
“Can’t they do that while we approach?”
“They will need to begin with only navigational jets,” Remlishos said. “If they engaged the primary drive of a ship that size, we wouldn’t even be able to find Kena’s corpse.”
“Oh. I suppose that should have been obvious.”
Remlishos gave him an understanding nod. “To some of us. I gather, it’s not covered in medical training.”
Metchell didn’t even smile at the mild jest. “Is there any way to shorten the period she would need to be alone?”
Ghent rejoined the conversation. “Not enough. I know she sounded unconcerned about extended EVA time, but she had no other option. She shared her view of isolation when we talked about Krdn’s death. I don’t want her alone when she’s in a weakened state.”
Metchell’s lips parted then closed.
Ghent stood. “Remlishos, choose the simplest craft we have. It only needs to hold two people. Strip it of all but the most rudimentary technology. No extended shield or integrated robotics. No communication encryption or decryption. No ability for remote control. Remove all but the simplest scanners. You’ll need to strip the computer, too. No security identifications for them to decipher. No navigational programs. Nothing that isn’t used to keep the craft functional under manual control.”
Remlishos nodded. “I understand.”
“Once you have the final specs, feed them to the simulation computer.”
“Any navigator on the ship could already operate such a simple craft. Who will be piloting it?” Remlishos asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe no one. But I want it readied in case it’s needed.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“We got the design specs from Remlishos,” Hrndl said to Ghent as she pulled simulation records up on a screen in nav section. “Here’s the list of navigators who have—”
Inewin’s voice came over the comm system. “Communication request received from the Epri7.”
Ghent touched a console. “Relay it to me here.”
TarKeen’s recorded voice said, “I request to speak with a Human. Preferably one who knows Kena well.”
“What did you respond?” Ghent asked.
“Just an acknowledgement,” Inewin said.
The fur on Ghent’s brow puckered as he lifted himself from his chair.
Hrndl also hurried to her feet. “Will you let me talk with him?”
“What do you have in mind?”
What did she have in mind? Better decide quick. “I could…speak as her friend, instead of as an officer.”
“I’m open to any new approaches,” he said. “Come.”
In the visual communication room, Hrndl sat down at the table and opened the channel. Ghent stood to one side, out of view.
TarKeen was waiting—the only one at the table. He took one look at Hrndl and said, “You do not appear to be Human.”
“No, I am Grfdn. My name is Hrndl. There are no other Humans on the Ontrevay, so I came because I’m Kena’s friend. What do you wish to speak of?”
“I wanted to hear what a Human would do to draw someone toward sleep when no medical assistance is available.”
Painfully aware of her ignorance, Hrndl said, “I will find answers for you. Kena has many friends here. Some of them have served with Humans before. They may know some details that I do not.”
He nodded and began to reach for a control on his table.
“Wait,” Hrndl said. “Please don’t end communications yet.”
He leaned back but said nothing. This man was hard to read or even study. His expression revealed nothing, and he seemed to use no unnecessary motions. Unlike the others, with their swaying shoulders.
“I’m so worried about her,” Hrndl said. “May I see her?”
“There is nothing to see. She simply lies there, unmoving.”
“Even so, I would like to see her. I may notice something that would not seem significant to you.”
He pulled a device of some sort near himself, and his hand moved over it. After a couple minutes, he said, “This image is from a monitoring camera in the medical facility where she’s cared for. Medical equipment is hidden; the room is intended to look like a bedroom.”
The screen split to show another image beside TarKeen’s. Hrndl stared at it. The camera provided an overhead view. Kena lay on her side, mostly covered by a sheet. Her hair lay neatly in place, as though it had been combed. Someone sat beside
her, massaging one of her hands.
“Kena normally sleeps alone,” Hrndl said. “I don’t think she’ll sleep if someone is touching her.”
“We have given her privacy, quiet, and a darkened room. It has not helped. We’ve reached the point of searching for anything that may bring about a change. Gwillenin offered to tend to her basic needs, hoping to soothe her.”
“Gwillenin? The woman who mothers Pearl?”
“Yes,” TarKeen said. “Kena’s pulse increases when medical personnel tend to her. We have wondered if she is still expecting more acclimation. Kena would know that Gwillenin will never harm her. If you’ve heard their first conversation, you may be skeptical, but when Gwillenin realized how Kena had cared for Jennellee Pearl, their interaction became…appreciative and friendly.”
“How like Kena to make a friend among the PitKreelaundun.”
TarKeen turned his head. “What do you mean?”
“She makes friends among every race, no matter how different. Grfdn and Humans are not well suited to one another, and yet Kena has become a valuable friend to me. She could well be named Pearl herself, for she is a treasure.”
TarKeen leaned farther back in his chair. “So I would have thought, but our last conversation with your crew did not leave the impression that she is treasured by all.”
“No, but I think you misunderstood. I know Metchell, and I’ve seen him care for Kena. My opinion of his concern for her is far different from yours. I cannot quite make out the words from Kena’s room. Is Gwillenin repeating ‘It’s over’?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Whatever went wrong,” TarKeen said, “happened at the end of contact with PitKreelaundun emfrel. When acclimation is long and stressful, it’s common to give the person assurance that it’s over. Do you think Kena should be set adrift alone?”
“I find the idea disturbing, but my race has some difficulty with lengthy isolation. The Human view is different.”
“Apparently, the Dantokrellie view is different, as well.”
Ah. His voice dropped at the reference to Metchell. Not a good change, but discernable, at least.
Hrndl shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I should mention that, even though Metchell is a well-qualified doctor, he’s never experienced EVA, and he has a poor grasp of navigational concepts. If Kena were rested and healthy, she could manage it. Be certain that several of us would be ready to talk with her for more hours than the trip would take.”
“Unfortunately, she is not rested and healthy. Now that you’ve seen her, do you have any suggestions?”
“Sound—but it needs to be the right sort. I’ll get a recording for you, but it might take a little while. If I send a message to you, will you respond?”
“I will.” The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
The screen went blank, and Hrndl let out a pained breath. She looked over at Ghent. “Did you see her face?”
He nodded.
“It’s so…still! Almost like she’s…” Her voice caught.
“She’s breathing,” Ghent said. “I watched the sheet.”
So, he had noticed the deadness in her slack expression, too.
“I’ll have Metchell review it, of course. Well done, Hrndl.”
Absently, she murmured, “Thank you.”
“Do you know how much you’ve changed since Kena arrived?”
She thought of their early days, and of realizations that had come over time. If they couldn’t recover Kena, or if she had suffered permanent sairital damage…Hrndl brushed a hand across her forehead. “I suppose I have,” she said, standing. “Excuse me; I need to figure out how to get a restful recording for Kena.” She walked to the door, then turned back. “I think you have changed a little, too.”
He smiled. “I take that as a compliment.”
Hrndl used her officer’s override to open the door of Kena’s quarters. The lights came up, and woodland sounds greeted her. Memories—Kena’s face at rest, so different from the vacant stare she had just seen.
Kena’s computer lay on the table. So, Ghent had been here, too. Hrndl picked it up and searched through the few public files. The room configurations were public, of course, because they had to be available to the ship’s computer. But it was music she really wanted. Kena often played instrumentals over the forest sounds. Hrndl found a short list of selections. Their names were gibberish to her, Human words written with Human letters. All she could do was select them and listen.
She paused to contact Frdn from her own computer.
A moment later, a voice responded. “This is Frdn.”
“I want you to meet me in Kena’s quarters. Bring whatever equipment you need to record sound. Do you have any information on the Human language?”
“On English, yes.”
“Bring it.”
He joined her in a few minutes. “I heard the latest transmission,” Frdn said, “where you spoke with TarKeen.”
“Good. I want the woodland sounds recorded from her room configuration. Can you do that?”
“Easily. I can get it from the interface.”
“Do we need to let it play through?”
He was already using his communication systems. “No, the file is stored with the configuration.”
“Can you get this music, too?”
“That’s going to be harder. Humans use sophisticated sound files for their music. There’s a lot of nuance to capture.” His eyes traveled over the holographic display projected from his computer. “It looks like I can’t get the file directly. I’ll need to record in our format.”
“All right. I think, maybe, this one.” She pointed at a selection on Kena’s computer. I’ve heard her play it a couple times.”
He nodded and sat at the table. After detaching an audio unit from his computer, he fit it into one ear. Colored bars rose and fell in a 3-D graph on his display. He watched and listened with the intensity of a navigator reviewing astro scans.
She gave him a few minutes and then asked, “What do you know about English?”
He slid the volume control down and looked up at her. “I can pronounce the basic phrases. Things like yes, no, courtesy words, message received, and stand by. For anything more than that, I have to use the translation system.” He pulled up the English interface as he spoke. “This is for written language.” He leaned over to look at the letters on Kena’s computer, then entered them into his.
The computer announced, “Antonio Vivaldi. The Four Seasons.” It gave the English pronunciation and Prednian translation, followed by a description of the piece of music.
“Oh,” Hrndl said. “Well, I didn’t know that, but there should be no problem with letting the PitKreelaundun hear it.”
“The description would have told us if copying or transmission was restricted.”
Humans restricted their music? But that didn’t matter now. “What can your system do with translation?” she asked. “I need more than just literal meaning; I want implications and subtleties.”
“I have two audio files for Kena,” Hrndl said to TarKeen.
His expression remained as still as ever. At least he’d responded quickly to her communication request.
“This first one I’m sending is a recording of forest sounds from Earth. Kena lets it play continuously while she’s in her quarters. The volume should be low, like distant sounds.”
TarKeen looked down at the table, and his fingers moved over a device. “I’ve received the file.”
“The second one is Human music,” Hrndl said. “She sometimes listens to it in the evening. Play it over the forest sounds, but don’t let it repeat. The volume should be moderate.”
“Will these cause her to sleep?”
Hrndl shifted. Did he think she could answer such a question? “Perhaps, particularly the forest sounds. According to Human-authored information, some of them habitually go to bed with music playing. If it’s absent, they can have difficulty falling asleep. I don’
t know if Kena does this, but music may give her a feeling that things are—or can be—normal.”
The forest sounds, then music, played second-hand over the comm channel as TarKeen listened to each recording for a moment. “We’ll play these for her and analyze the results. Did you find anything else that will draw a Human to sleep?”
“Some, but it mostly pertained to children. There seems to be no need of it in adults.” She drew a breath and tightened her brows. “I did find that a rocking motion can cause a Human to feel drowsy.”
“Rocking? What do you mean?”
She mimicked it with her hand. “I believe it’s a side-to-side, or backward and forward movement. Apparently, they even have furniture that produces such motion.”
TarKeen turned his head. Was he as puzzled as she?
Hrndl moved on. “I checked on the phrase it’s over. I don’t think it should be said any more.”
“Why not?”
“It has a negative connotation beyond its literal meaning. It can imply hopelessness, or that something has been destroyed. Something of great value, like a relationship or an endeavor.”
His eyes grew a little wider. Was he finally taking her seriously? “I will tell those who care for her. Is there anything that should be said instead?”
Hrndl frowned at her hands for a moment. “I cannot give you exact words. When things go wrong, Kena doesn’t focus on the past. She looks toward the future. She speaks of the goal—of what to do next.”
TarKeen leaned back in his chair. “The Prednian description of the Grfdn does not seem to be accurate in regard to you.”
How unexpected. Would it have seemed accurate on the day she’d met Kena? Probably. Still, Hrndl had no idea what he had read. “The Prednians have difficulty comprehending our race.”
A hint of a smile lightened his dark features. “How is it that you are a friend of Kena? Why do you seek to help her?”
The word help grated on Hrndl’s sensitivity. She suspected he had chosen it intentionally, but couldn’t guess whether he was testing her, or insulting Kena, or something else entirely. “What I have done has cost me very little. Kena has done much more than this for me, and would do more again without thought of the cost. I will do nothing less for her, if I can just find a way to do it.”