Diverse Similarity

by Sharon Rose

  “Surely you do more than that with your fleet!” Piert exclaimed.

  “Of course we do. But we’re all prepared for reassignment when the need arises.”

  “I see. Is this area unusually rich in tra-pentazine?”

  Rialmerray stared. “Rich? What do you mean?”

  Piert shifted a bit at the odd tone. “An unusually large concentration.”

  Rialmerray’s dark eyebrows pressed together. “I understood that the word rich had a connotation of desirable or prized.”

  “I…suppose so.” Piert nodded. “But, pertaining to matter, it can simply mean a high concentration. Is that the case?”

  Rialmerray’s shoulders twitched, and his voice sharpened. “I would phrase it differently. It was moderately contaminated. Your sample collection increases it, and the continued presence of your gravity ship will increase the concentration further. We must now treat it as highly contaminated with unknown risk of future explosions. Does that answer your question?”

  “In a most unexpected way,” Piert said. “Please understand that we have only just discovered the existence of these substances.”

  Rialmerray’s voice remained sharp despite Piert’s attempt at a soothing tone. “That discovery was prompted by the destruction of two planets, was it not? How you could overlook that tra-pentazine is dangerous rather than valuable, is beyond comprehension.”

  Piert drew a breath and held his tone steady. “Could you comprehend that my poorly chosen word was only intended to mean high concentration?”

  Leonfir turned to Rialmerray and said in an acidic tone, “The answer is yes. You can comprehend that.”

  Ghent became aware of his own forward movement and eased back when Leonfir corrected his officer. Was this the best they could do?

  Rialmerray’s voice lost all expression. “I will not refer to the misunderstanding again.”

  “Thank you,” Piert said. “I would like to better understand what can trigger explosions.”

  Rialmerray’ shoulders jerked again as he turned to Leonfir. “Did you not say that we would discuss the sample collection?”

  “There is time,” Leonfir said. “Let conversation flow.”

  Rialmerray listed potential triggers and replied to questions concerning trigger thresholds and energy output.

  Piert’s posture relaxed. He followed every answer with more questions. His eyes glowed, and his wide lips curled.

  Suddenly, Rialmerray swung back to Leonfir. “He is like a child with a new puzzle. Are we never to speak of the death trap they’ve collected?”

  Leonfir cringed inwardly as four gasps sounded over the communication channel.

  Ghent spoke with a strong cadence. “Piert is an intelligent adult with an appetite for knowledge. It is through knowledge that risks are identified and death prevented.”

  “That is why—”

  “Rialmerray!” Leonfir snapped. “Stop talking and listen. Learn to recognize anger.”

  To Leonfir’s relief, TarKeen spoke, his low voice calm and unhurried. “Hrndl, will you tell us what the reference to a child means to all of you?”

  It seemed to take effort, but she also managed a calm tone. “It’s an implication that the person is uneducated and lacks understanding. An absurdity in relation to Piert.”

  “Thank you,” TarKeen said. “Among the PitKreelaundun, child implies exuberance or great energy. Adding the word puzzle implies intelligent curiosity. I can perceive why you inferred an insult, but that is not our connotation.” His voice developed an edge as he turned to Rialmerray. “But for one who is offended by the word rich, it’s remarkably sloppy communication.”

  Rialmerray licked his lips and returned to the formal tone so common to his race. “I apologize for my poor choice of words. My concern over your sample collection has compromised my patience.”

  Piert nodded as Ghent replied. “Do not be alarmed. We will not leave them here.”

  “What do you plan to do with them?” Leonfir asked.

  “Take them back with us to the Collaborative’s area.”

  Rialmerray spun away from the camera, likely to hide his expression.

  Leonfir tightened his interlaced fingers over his knuckles. “Would you like to know what I just heard?” he asked, his eyes on Ghent.

  “Certainly.”

  “You told me not to be alarmed about a moderate danger because you are going to do something far more dangerous than leaving the tra-pentazine here.”

  Ghent leaned back and shook his head. “Not my meaning. We have the technology to contain the samples.”

  Perhaps Ghent meant that mild tone to calm, but it sounded nonchalant. Leonfir firmed his voice. “I’m sure you understand your technology, but you don’t understand what you’ve wrapped it around.”

  “Fortunately,” Ghent said, “you’ve just given us more knowledge, which Piert and the rest of our scientists will combine with what we’ve already learned. When Kena is safe within the Ontrevay, we will speak more of this.”

  Silence followed the end of the transmission. Leonfir rubbed his fingertips in circles against his forehead.

  TarKeen dismissed Rialmerray and paced, waiting for Leonfir to speak.

  He broke the silence with heavy words. “He’ll use the samples to bargain for Kena’s return.”

  “We intend to return her, anyway.”

  “True,” Leonfir said, “but her full recovery is doubtful. They will very soon know that Pernanyen forced her to link. If you found anything comforting in their description of Humans and telepathy, you are alone!”

  TarKeen made no reply.

  Leonfir’s frown began to hurt. He ran his hand upward over his brow. “I think it unlikely that she’ll recover enough to perform her side of the constrained link. That means, we’ll not be permitted insight into whatever Pernanyen learned. Likewise, Kena will learn nothing from us—beyond torturous memories, that is. Her own people will be convinced that we are worse than they thought us before. If the persistent tension between Metchell and Freltenloe is any indication, we’ll never get useful communication between Rialmerray and Piert.”

  TarKeen shook his head. “That may not be a reliable indicator. Perhaps we erred in having Freltenloe converse with them. They believe he is the one who injured Kena, and we cannot tell them otherwise. I suggest appointing a different doctor to discuss her condition, for what little that’s worth.”

  “I gather Hrndl lost her tolerance, too.” Leonfir shifted. “Not that I claim to be able to interpret her rigid, little mouth and mobile brows.”

  TarKeen appeared to subject this to careful consideration. “I would guess that she longed to project her body through the camera and slit Rialmerray’s mouth open from ear to ear.”

  Leonfir uttered a bitter laugh.

  “At least Hrndl and Ghent continue to speak,” TarKeen said. “Particularly Ghent.”

  “Yes, he seems to be our best hope. Though, how I will convince him, I cannot imagine. So much to convince him of—and all of it before he knows what happened to Kena.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Ghent listened to the recording of Kena’s arrival in the Epri7, while Leonfir watched him from the screen. It ended with Pernanyen inviting Kena to a more comfortable room.

  “Come,” she said and turned toward the door.

  The ending seemed abrupt to Ghent. Or was he too suspicious? They wouldn’t have cameras in the hallway, after all. “What was Kena’s response?” he asked.

  “There was no direct response,” Leonfir said. “They spoke of the need for acclimation, and Freltenloe escorted Kena to a medical facility. The conversation Pernanyen asked for never occurred.”

  The meeting went downhill from there. Against his better judgment, Ghent yielded to another request to discuss the sample collection. It was now brutally clear that the PitKreelaundun did not want the Collaborative to have even one tiny sample of either trazine or pentazine.

  The cost of obtaining those samples—so hig
h. Not just time and work. Not just a large craft. Two lives had been lost—one of them a close friend. He halted the reflexive tensing of his shurgs. And now the PitKreelaundun wanted everything given up? If they had their way, the Collaborative’s research of this dangerous substance must stop. It was all for nothing.

  Interventions of pause became ever more frequent.

  When Rialmerray said, “The treaty was supposed to protect us from—” Leonfir stopped him once again.

  Piert ignored the halt. “Let me guess: When you said in the treaty that your border was the side of the nebula, you meant the far side, not the near side.”

  “A longer pause seems to be necessary,” Ghent said and closed the session.

  His body and mind demanded exertion. So much frustration—it had to be vented. Ghent headed for the bay, the only place in the ship with adequate height. The exercise rooms the others used could not fulfill the activity he missed from his home on Plynteth. Using struts and anchors for hand holds, he scaled the three-story walls. Up, down, sideways—all around the bay at high speed. This was nothing like climbing in a canyon, but it felt good to stretch his limbs and use his strength. It also prompted memories of his wife and son.

  How long before they began to worry about the silence the PitKreelaundun enforced? He was too far for direct communication, but they exchanged messages every four or five days. A common practice for many of the crew. Sooner or later, someone would notice that no communication was coming from the Ontrevay. The Collaborative would send a ship to search for them. It wouldn’t arrive before more PitKreelaundun ships gathered.

  Multiple ships worried him. The possibility of outright war was never far from his mind. He needed to get beyond the impasse miring them, but how?

  The PitKreelaundun were a confusing race. Leonfir and TarKeen seemed capable of reason, but no one else. Rialmerray clearly hated anyone and everyone associated with the Collaborative. The attitude must be widespread, or Leonfir would have chosen someone else to join their meetings. Even Gwillenin, who seemed to have the best possible intentions toward Kena, did not reassure him. The woman had assumed the worst, and was not persuaded otherwise until after Kena had given the child into her arms.

  There was something odd in that exchange, as though Kena had helped Pearl in some profound and inexplicable way. It seemed impossible, and yet Kena so often surprised him. The depth of her commitment. How much she would invest, even risk, on behalf of someone she had no reason to care for. Ghent swung beneath an anchored craft and continued around the bay, pondering her compassion.

  And now, she lay injured and helpless, wholly under the power of people who cared nothing at all for her. Even if he could think of a way to rescue her, he could put no navigator at risk of capture. Nor could he leave her to her fate. He could think of only one way. The risk was so great. If he failed…He’d never even have the chance to explain it to his wife and son.

  He paused, allowing his gaze to rest on the small, stripped craft below him. A couple technicians left it and headed for the door. Ghent climbed down the wall. The craft both beckoned and alarmed him. He circled it, inspecting the hull, then stepped inside. Most of the interior panels were back in place. Test equipment, which still ran diagnostics, displayed no faults. He studied the navigation console.

  Remlishos stepped through the hatch. “Hrndl tells me you’ve been flying simulations configured for this craft.”

  “True. Did she mention that it’s well within my skill level?”

  “Yours and many others.”

  Ghent nodded. “Hrndl has received several volunteers. Quon even approached me—argued at length that he should be the one to go. But if anyone goes, it will be me. Are you surprised, Remlishos?”

  “Concerned would be a better word. Kena needs rescue, but the Ontrevay needs its captain.”

  “I will not leave my crew without a captain,” Ghent said. “Did you come here to talk me out of a decision that cannot even be made?”

  “No, to tell you that we’ve received a most unusual message from Earth.”

  “Received a message?” Ghent left the craft as he spoke. “How?”

  Remlishos matched his rapid pace. “Inewin is still puzzling over that. I suppose, if anyone could pierce PitKreelaundun comm disruption, it would be Humans.”

  “How would they even know it was necessary?”

  “We can only guess. Perhaps they tried to communicate and received no response. This message isn’t in standard format. It didn’t go directly to Kena’s computer. It has a brief instruction to the Ontrevay communication staff, as well as the content for Kena.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “It’s from her father. He stresses that the message is to be delivered to Kena immediately. Strangely, it’s in verbal format rather than text.”

  As they entered a lift, Ghent pondered the oddities. Her father? How would he have access to comm technology sophisticated enough to penetrate PitKreelaundun disruption? Connections, perhaps. But their silence really hadn’t been long enough yet to cause alarm. Did Humans even have such technology? Why verbal format? It might make sense to record speech for his daughter, even though it made for fat transmissions, but why transmit voice to strangers?

  Ghent strode into the communication section, convinced that he was missing something important. Several members of Inewin’s staff were present, as well as Hrndl.

  They all looked as puzzled as Ghent felt. Inewin didn’t even wait for a request before playing the initial instructions. Ghent listened to the voice, lower pitched than Kena’s, but enriched with similar inflections.

  “I am Andrew Talgarth, the father of Kena Talgarth. I request that you give the attached content to Kena immediately. You will not understand why; but, I assure you, it is of utmost importance.”

  Ghent was still pondering the words, when a PitKreelaundun voice demanded communication.

  “Just acknowledge,” Ghent said, scowling at the interruption. “So, Andrew Talgarth is her father. I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise. Inewin, what’s Human protocol for an urgent message if the recipient’s not available? Would they expect an officer to listen and pass it on verbally?”

  “That’s not even possible,” Inewin said. “It’s music.”

  “Music?”

  He nodded. “Twenty-four files in the music format Humans use. Hours of music! Nothing else. Even her father’s message was in the same format. It’s possible that’s the reason it got through to us.”

  “Why would music be of utmost importance?” Ghent asked.

  “I suppose it could contain a message,” Inewin said, his brow knit. “They do have that alternate music voice.”

  “Sing, you mean? Or is it song?”

  Frdn answered. “Sing is the verb; song is the noun. They don’t use song for messages. The words are a form of poetry. Even if he embedded a message in a song, it wouldn’t take that many files.”

  “Music,” Ghent murmured. Urgent? It was almost as if her father knew something of what was going on. But he couldn’t. Kena did have a strange concept of distance—that it was insignificant. But that made no sense either. Humans never linked with other Humans. Inexplicable, since some of them would link with other races. Ghent shook his head. “The man definitely knew what he was talking about when he said we wouldn’t understand!”

  Those surrounding him uttered varied sounds of agreement.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Remlishos said, “that Andrew Talgarth would make a statement like this for something trivial. Hrndl, what has Kena said about him?”

  She looked up from the computer in her hand. “Very little. I’m just now realizing who he is. I know family is important to her—she communicates with them often. As for her father, the only thing I can call to mind is her commenting that he is wise. I suppose his accomplishments already prove this.”

  She stepped closer to Ghent. “I don’t understand his message any better than you do, but we can’t doubt his expertise or comprehen
sion. I think we should send it to the Epri7. They played the other music. I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t play this, as well.” She paused looking around at the others’ negative expressions. “Why not? Can’t we convert it into standard format?”

  Inewin said, “As far as we know, this is the only format the PitKreelaundun cannot block or interpret. That means, it could be useful for encoded messages. They probably recorded the signal. If we send them the message contents, we’ll be giving them the key to the code.” He swung his head from side to side. “I can’t imagine anyone in the Collaborative, Human or otherwise, commending us for that!”

  Hrndl vented a guttural sound. “What if her father does know what’s happening here? It’s conceivable that the ruling families have contacted the Collaborative, or even Earth. We don’t really understand why Humans are so enamored with music. What if this is something that Kena actually needs?”

  Ghent remained silent, his brow fur deeply puckered.

  Remlishos said, “We still cannot give them the key. Get creative. Other options, please.”

  Ghent considered strategy while they tossed ideas around. He would so much rather bring Kena to the message than send the message to her. The little craft that awaited him was no answer. He could take it right up to the bay of the Epri7, but he could not force them to grant him entrance. Of course, it wasn’t really entrance that worried him. Departure was the problem.

  He could ask them. They would promise to let him take Kena and leave. He just couldn’t trust them. He needed leverage. Some reason why they would need to release Kena and him.

  Music played in the room amidst discussions of how to slightly alter it. A challenge, since the changes could not be obvious to the PitKreelaundun or repulsive to the Human ear. Opyera knew enough about Human music to preserve the essential sound. They altered a clip and converted it to a common file format.

  When they played back the test clip, Ghent could tell no difference. Multiple instruments created the music, none of them familiar to him. He couldn’t even differentiate where Human voice was included.