by Sharon Rose
He nodded. “I will let you know, ma’am, if any of your suggestions are successful.”
Bird song. Wind in the trees. A brook.
The sounds filtered into Kena’s awareness. She didn’t want them. She only waited to die. Why was it taking so long?
A squirrel chattered. Water gurgled over rocks.
The sounds wouldn’t leave. They prompted earlier memories—contrasting past joys with present devastation, creating anguish beyond her strength. She could not bear to think.
Sounds of quietness persisted.
She sought emptiness. That place where she was oblivious to the death of hope.
Footsteps.
Not now. She must hasten to that distant place.
“I am TarKeen,” a low voice said.
His legs stopped within her line of sight. She willed herself not to see.
He knelt, bringing his face within her view.
Oh, she needed to close her eyes. To command the body she wanted to shed. No, she would not make use of it.
TarKeen spoke again. “All of the difficult moments are past. They will not repeat.”
Her pulse quickened. Stupid heart. Stop.
“You will recover now. It’s time for you to sleep.”
Her breath copied her pulse. She rejected his voice.
“Hrndl sent music for you. We will play it. Sleep.”
Hrndl. Dear one. Kena’s eyelids squeezed. She had other dear ones. If only she had never known their friendship. There would have been so much less for Pernanyen to sift.
Footsteps receded. Light dimmed. Vivaldi called to her from the past, lilted through vibrant nature, bursting with life. The melody emphasized the seared wasteland in her mind.
A ragged sob scraped through Kena’s unwilling throat. Her body demanded air, would not let her refuse it. Stubborn body that wouldn’t let her leave. No sooner did it have the breath it wanted, then it sobbed it out again.
Kena pulled the sheet over her head and curled into a ball. Wracking sobs shook her body. All the while, Vivaldi declared the joy of life.
Bouts of crying ebbed and flowed, her body no more capable than her mind of sustaining so much grief. Though tears soaked her pillow, they brought no relief. No calm after the storm. No sleep. They only merged into exhaustion.
The final notes of Vivaldi faded into the woodland’s hush. Kena faded into numbness.
Eventually, rising light announced Gwillenin’s approach. She washed Kena’s face and combed her hair. She spoke of new things, of how well Pearl was adjusting. Kena tried not to hear. At least the baby was all right.
Barely realizing it, Kena swallowed the water Gwillenin carefully squirted into her mouth.
Chapter Forty
TarKeen listened but didn’t join the discussion. Doomsayers, every one. Obsessing over problems that had not begun to form. Granted, tra-pentazine protectors had to consider worst-case scenarios—unfortunate that it turned them into such pessimists. Leonfir pulled them back to discussion of probabilities when the pessimism got too extreme, but he continued to question the protectors.
They detailed dozens of predictions for every possible scenario; whether the Ontrevay’s crew abandoned the sample collection, took it back across the nebula, or—worst of all—developed weapons from it. The wall screens around the room showed one projection after another. This went on for hours. TarKeen strolled the chamber’s perimeter. He pitied the PitKree among the protectors—obliged to sit for so long.
At last, Leonfir issued several orders and dismissed them.
TarKeen turned for the nearest door.
“TarKeen, stay,” Leonfir said.
He joined the captain as the others left.
When the door closed behind the last of them, Leonfir leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I’d like to hear your observations.”
TarKeen leaned against a table’s edge. Leonfir often used this sort of discussion to organize his thoughts. “If we can persuade Ghent to leave the samples behind,” TarKeen said, “we can likely persuade him to set them on a course away from us. With their extended field technology, that should be a simple matter. Therefore, all scenarios of this sort have little risk to us; they need not be solved.”
Leonfir nodded.
TarKeen rested his hands on the table’s edge. “If they take them between the nebula and our domain, we are at risk, since they’re likely to lose control of some or all of the samples. However, the debris will be easy to locate. We know how to neutralize the risk. The biggest problem to us is that we’ll once again need to reassign ships to clean up another of their messes.”
“True.”
“In this group of scenarios, there is one possible outcome that was not mentioned.”
Leonfir’s nostrils pinched. “I thought they were exhaustively explored!”
TarKeen let a sympathetic smile form at Leonfir’s rare acknowledgement of impatience. “I refer to the possibility that the Ontrevay will be destroyed if they lose control of the tra-pentazine.”
A shadow crossed Leonfir’s face. “In which case, we will be blamed, and the Collaborative will declare war.” When TarKeen did not reply, he asked, “What have I missed?”
“I don’t know if they’ll declare war. It would be advisable to keep our distance until the Ontrevay is well beyond our domain. The greatest risk is not to us.” TarKeen glanced toward one of the screens, which displayed the Ontrevay. “If it happens, I would guess some three or four hundred lives will be lost.”
Leonfir gave him a long look. “After all the years I’ve known you, there are times you still surprise me. Since when do you care what becomes of the Collaborative’s members?”
An interesting question. Did he care? He’d be loath to kill Kena; that much was certain, be it ever so strange. To Leonfir, he said, “I wouldn’t wish them ill if they’d stop stirring up tra-pentazine courses with their gravity ships.”
“What are your thoughts on the likelihood of the Collaborative making weapons of trazine?”
“Probability of success is low,” TarKeen said. “We cannot do it, and we have plenty of material to experiment with.”
“True enough,” Leonfir said, “but we don’t have extended energy field technology. They do. Have you seen the energy levels on their containment fields?”
“I have.” Both men stared at the screen where the sample collection was displayed. “I would give much for that technology,” TarKeen said.
“As would we all.” Leonfir sighed. “What do you suppose the possibility is that Pernanyen will have gained such information for us?”
“I try not to think about it. I suspect her idealism will have stopped her short of extracting technology secrets.” He dropped his voice. “I suppose that must command my respect, in spite of how infuriating it will be.”
Leonfir laughed. “You see—this is what I mean. Most will mix disdain with their fury, yet you mention respect.”
TarKeen let his expression soften. “What’s your view?”
“I can’t get beyond frustration.” Leonfir rested his arms on the table in front of him. “If Kena does not recover enough to perform her side of the constrained link, Pernanyen will be executed. Not only will we lose all the information she obtained, but we lose a young woman who could have matured into a fine leader. A tremendous cost with no value gained.” He shook his head and sighed. “Even worse than no value, since the Collaborative will have another reason to hate us.”
“Are you arguing that the law should be set aside based on circumstance?”
“Never!” Leonfir squared his shoulders and clasped his hands on the table. “Even if that seemed acceptable now, abuses would be certain to follow. Pernanyen must bear the consequences of her decision.” He raised his eyes to meet TarKeen’s. “Speaking of Pernanyen, I heard that you dismissed one of her guards and assigned another in his place. Why?”
TarKeen shrugged. “His contempt for her was blatant. Not useful in a guard. Have you received an answe
r yet from the ruling families?”
“Apparently, they’re still debating the matter.” Leonfir waved a dismissive hand and leaned back. “I also heard that you restricted a certain medical technician from entering the facility where Kena resides.”
TarKeen maintained his composure, but his every sense sprang to alert. “True. Freltenloe has forbidden spectators, to use his word. I agree with him. She’s not an object to be stared at, and the disruption in the monitoring room could interfere with medical care.”
“Agreed, but this was a medical tech.”
“He’s assigned on level six,” TarKeen said. “There was nothing to bring him to level one except…to give him the benefit of doubt, I will say curiosity.”
“What would you say without benefit of doubt?”
“A desire to gloat.”
“That makes three, counting DrenVid,” Leonfir said. “Not that I disagree with your decisions, but I can’t help noticing your discipline is more severe than usual.”
“Perhaps so. Recent events seem to have reduced my tolerance of fools.”
“I also can’t help but notice that all three men are PitKree.”
TarKeen considered turning this aside as well, but Leonfir had never used that race name alone. He suspected something, but what? TarKeen chose his words with care. “They are. I’m in a position to hear things that will never be said in your presence. I make use of the opportunity. Do not misunderstand; other than DrenVid, these men have made no threats. They have committed no crime. If Kena were not on this ship, if Pernanyen were not on the verge of arrest, then I would only reprimand them. As it is, I will take no unnecessary risks.”
“What else will I never hear?” Leonfir asked.
“Probably not much that would surprise you. The most common themes center around disillusionment. Planetary exploration that can benefit every race…except PitKree.”
“Are we referring to the viable, uninhabited planet designated for Harnon colonies?”
“Of course,” TarKeen said.
“Their native planet has as much tra-pentazine as PitKreel had. The race’s survival is doubtful if they do not colonize elsewhere.”
“And so, the Harnon have two planets, while the PitKree have none.”
“I suppose it’s pointless to say that you have PitKreelaundun,” Leonfir said, with a faint sigh. “The decision about Harnon’s second planet cannot be revoked. It’s been a decade. How can this still rankle so badly?”
“It’s not the Harnon decision alone, but viewing that decision in light of our ancient memory.”
“I sometimes wonder,” Leonfir said, “whether it’s wise to pass memories from one generation to the next. Particularly, a memory as devastating as the loss of your planet.”
“You’re not alone in wondering this,” TarKeen said, “but, whether wise or not, we do possess those memories. We’re also convinced that the Laundun ruling families would force a similar decision if we find another planet suitable for habitation. It will be given to some other race for colonization.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “In other decisions of our government, race makes little difference. But this matter forever divides us. Laundun ruling families will always hold the majority, so PitKree can never benefit from exploration.”
Leonfir let out a long breath. “And you agree with them.”
TarKeen let his arms fall. “No, sir. I certainly do not agree with everything I hear. On the other hand, I understand their viewpoint better than you do. I make no attempt to convince anyone that their opinions are wrong. Instead, I listen. Occasionally, I point out…I think I will call it distorted reasoning.”
Leonfir laughed but seemed to take little enjoyment in it.
“Do not be overly concerned, my friend,” TarKeen said. “Such grumbling has sprung up among the PitKree for the past decade. I only spoke of it because you asked.”
“What else won’t I hear?”
TarKeen turned his head. “You puzzle me, sir. If there’s something specific you’re looking for, tell me.”
Leonfir leaned his elbows on the table and pressed his palms together. “Someone walked in on a gathering of PitKree. The instant the door opened, the speaker stopped, mid-sentence.”
“When was this?”
“Several hours ago.”
Tangible energy pumped through TarKeen’s limbs; relief that he had not been present, fear of what had been said. He allowed his voice to reveal none of this. “What did he hear?”
“Only a few words. No meaning can be determined from them. But he felt that his entrance caused inordinate tension.”
“Already, I suspect that VanDar was speaking. Am I right?”
“You are. How do you know?” Leonfir asked.
“If ever a man was fascinated with his own voice, it’s VanDar. All who are present must listen to his rants. Since all do not agree, tension follows him. I’ve seen it often.”
“Is there risk, TarKeen?”
“If I thought there were no possible risk, I would not spend my off-duty time in his vicinity.” TarKeen furrowed his brow. “Believe me, that is no pleasure. I have yet to see him commit any crime. He rants but takes no action. I can do nothing but listen.” He waved his hand aside. “That is really all I can tell you.”
Leonfir leaned back. “Then there is nothing for me to do, but express my appreciation.”
TarKeen’s brow remained furrowed. “I hope you remember your appreciation if VanDar ever turns to action.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am often seen in his presence. I even permit him to think I agree with him at times. My position would be vulnerable if he commits some act of stupidity.”
Leonfir dismissed TarKeen but sat staring at nothing for several minutes. His brow tensed. He had relied on TarKeen for years and come to trust him implicitly. Now, this strange conversation where TarKeen said much but committed to nothing. Was he over-analyzing this? TarKeen had said nothing wrong, but those final comments—He could draw two very different interpretations from them.
TarKeen turned over those same two possibilities as he strode through the halls. So far it had progressed, this dangerous game he played, slipping ever closer to critical mass. A decision was nearing. There was no longer a question of whether he would become a traitor, only a question of who would call him traitor.
Kena lay in a recliner with her eyes closed, but rest was beyond her. They had fed her a thick drink, followed an hour later by a bland pudding. After removing the last two tubes from her body, they had lifted her into a standing position. She’d found it less troublesome to put her weight on her legs than to hang between their shoulders. She’d taken the few steps toward the recliner as they insisted, only so they’d let her sink back into lethargy.
She knew what they were doing; trying to get her to use her body again. The sounds, the food, the movement, even the flowering plant that filled the air with exotic perfume.
Then, they’d left her alone again. Alone with thoughts she didn’t want to think.
She dodged between painful memories. Her mind invaded. Her private thoughts and feelings inspected. Was this what rape felt like? It wasn’t physical, but her treasured places were violated.
And now they expected her to return to normal?
How deluded they were. Normal would never exist again.
Some literal portion of her mind pointed out that she was closer to normal now than she had been.
She examined those earlier thoughts; the confusion, the estrangement from her body. How convinced she’d been, during all those hours, that death was only moments away. Even the belief that she could refuse her body. She still wished that were true, though there was no longer a way to convince herself it could be. No amount of limp inactivity made it so.
She supposed she would have to bestir herself, but motivation was non-existent.
She tried to think of seeing friends again. Barren. Emotion refused to rise.
She imagined flying. Hollo
w. No excitement. No pleasure.
How would she endure this? People said life was short. Hers loomed as an eternal void.
Pernanyen’s silent voice returned to her memory. I want to know how you view us—both you and the Collaborative. I want to know if you speak the truth; if you really don’t know what tra-pentazine is. I want to know if you are as you seem.
Wow, what an insane way to get to know someone. Torment them while you learn of them. But Kena couldn’t deny the realization that had come with those silent words. Pernanyen was comfortable in telepathy. To her, it was not so different from verbal conversation. She was well trained. She’d believed she could soothe Kena, that the link would be gentle. Oh, how wrong…how terribly wrong she’d been!
She even seemed to think Kena would want to do the same to her. Kena shuddered. Revulsion twisted her stomach, while her overwhelmed mind invented fears. Would they find some means to coerce her into such a link? Or inflict some other horror she had yet to imagine?
What if she never slept again? The exhaustion grew painful. Cold shivered through her body in spite of the warmth radiating from the recliner. Her thoughts, never rational for long, gyrated through impossibilities. She was lost, couldn’t find her way, didn’t know what she was looking for.
Vivaldi began to play again. There was order in the sounds. Rhythm. Predictability. She grabbed hold and hung on.
TarKeen made an abrupt entrance to the meeting chamber—a long, narrow lounge this time.
VanDar broke off mid-sentence, swinging around to the door, then opened his mouth to continue.
TarKeen spoke first. “How predictable. Just like this morning.”
“What do you mean?” someone in the gathering asked.
ShenLee answered. “A Laundun walked in while VanDar was speaking inadvisably.” She looked to TarKeen. “Is that it?”