Diverse Demands

by Sharon Rose

  “That, they do,” he murmured. She was poetry, as charming as the verse she described.

  “Antony…” Her eyebrows arched. “I know some musicians would hate this, but will you play it once more for me?”

  He chuckled. “My dear, I will play it all night if it pleases you.” He kept the accompaniment softer this time, revealing their voices. Could he have found a better match?

  After this rendition, they accepted compliments from their audience. Kena sipped her drink and said little, but her smile had become a permanent feature.

  As their crewmates demanded more, he asked, “Kena, do you have any recording you like to sing with?”

  Several voiced loud encouragements.

  “Not many,” she said. “I don’t do a lot of public singing.”

  “Just give us one, Kena,” someone said.

  “If you’re comfortable with it,” Antony murmured.

  She opened her computer and, after a quick look, selected something. “This will do. It’s from the same time period.” She stood and backed a few steps from Antony.

  He propped his guitar against the bench and prepared to enjoy her.

  The first few notes, sweet as they were, choked him. Not this song! It jerked him right back to his sister’s funeral.

  Kena closed her eyes as she built into the melody, soft at first, then swelling. By the time she looked at him, he could barely breathe. Everyone faced them. Never had he felt so exposed.

  Kena’s eyes widened. He caught the spark of understanding in them. She shifted around to face the rest of the room, then backed up a couple steps, shielding him from the view of many. Everyone focused on her, anyway.

  Antony struggled to keep his face a mask. If he could just hold his lips steady through these excruciating verses. Breathe. Then, his eyes betrayed him, filling with tears. The final swelling note finished him. His throat seized.

  Kena accepted compliments, getting conversation rolling, keeping the focus away from him…except for Tevd. Why couldn’t he follow her lead?

  Kena reached down to pick up her glass and snatched a look at Antony. She whispered, “I’ll cover for you,” and turned back into conversation.

  Please, let everyone be looking at her! Antony made it to the corner door. At least the hallway was deserted.

  Kena eased away from the crowd. Had enough time passed? Would there ever be enough?

  She turned around to find Tevd glaring at her.

  “What did you do?” he demanded.

  “Do? You heard me sing. I suggest you avoid making assumptions.”

  All five of Antony’s original crew members stared at her.

  “But your words were in Human language,” Tevd said. “We don’t know what they meant.”

  “No. You don’t. That’s a very good point, which you should keep in mind.” Kena picked up the guitar.

  “Leave it,” Tevd snapped.

  “He’s expecting me to bring it to him.”

  “I’ll take it.” He stepped near and reached for the guitar.

  She jerked her head up, and his breath brushed her cheek. “You are way too close,” she said.

  He drew back a step. “Leave his belongings alone.”

  Kena ignored Tevd, laying the guitar in its case.

  Delf edged between Kena and Tevd, forcing him back. “Let it go.”

  “No. Antony is particular about how that’s handled, and she knows nothing of—”

  Delf uttered a quick, Veet sentence.

  This was getting so out of hand. Kena kept her voice level. “I know how to handle our instruments.” She squeezed the padding at the neck, causing it all to cinch in place, then slipped the pick between the strings.

  Quon and Jorlit pushed forward as Kena closed the case. “That song,” Tevd said, proving he was no master of discretion. “What did you do? Don’t think you can get away with this. We all saw—”

  Kena swung around to him, her voice firm but quiet. “You are making an enormous mistake. And heaping others on top of it. For which Antony will not thank you. Let this end now.” She swept a gaze across Delf, Quon, and Jorlit. “All of you.” Grabbing the guitar case, she strode from the room, then headed for Antony’s quarters, right next to hers. The walk gave her a moment to calm herself.

  She pushed the comm button. “Antony, this is Kena. Do you prefer now or later?” The door slid open. Now, apparently. She stepped inside.

  Antony stood beside the table, his expression calm. She set the case upright between them, and he rested a hand on the top.

  She looked up into his eyes. Dry, now. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine. How awkward was it after I left?”

  She shifted. “Okay, at first. I kept some conversation going for a while, but when I packed up your guitar, Tevd made a bit of a scene. He seems to think I…did something to you…on purpose. I didn’t mean to, you know. I only have a few solo accompaniments, and I just like that song. So full of hope.”

  He nodded.

  “But then, I saw your face…and remembered that the first time I heard it was at a funeral.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard it there, too.” He picked up the case and propped it in a corner. It took him a moment to turn around again. “Thanks for bringing this back.”

  Silence lengthened.

  “For me,” she said, “it was my great uncle’s funeral. I rarely saw him. According to my dad, he was one with Yeshua, but he had a lot of baggage from the last generation. Much of the family was martyred and…well…he didn’t want to stay.”

  Antony nodded again.

  She waited.

  He looked at the wall behind her. “My little sister’s funeral.”

  Her breath hitched, and she clamped her eyes shut. “I am so sorry.” She touched his arm barely realizing she’d reached for him.

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been two years. Not something I think about all the time. It just came up really sudden when you sang that, and…caught me by surprise.”

  She nodded, feeling her way. “If you want to talk about it…”

  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Freak accident. The sort of thing that isn’t supposed to happen.” He swept a hand through his wavy hair. “I was helping her move to a new campus. Small college, native stone buildings, and a square with huge elms. Beautiful place.”

  He licked his lips. “A storm was coming up, the rain just starting to spit and the trees caught up in the wind. Mary was running across the square from one of the other buildings. Trying to beat the rain, I guess.” He took another breath. “There was a dead branch in one of the trees. It came down on her. I ran to her, but…” He swallowed. “Somehow, it sliced a major artery. She bled out before help could arrive.”

  He opened his clenched fists. Bitterness edged his words. “A dramatic story, isn’t it?”

  “Tragic, certainly.”

  “Yeah.” His chest heaved a couple times. “My mom wanted that song at Mary’s funeral. I guess, ’cause of the part about leaving too soon. I used to like it. Before Mary died. But when I saw what happened to her…what never should have happened…I just can’t stand all that fake hope.”

  Kena let the charged air settle. “These Thousand Hills speaks of the same hope. The way you sang, it never occurred to me that you’d…think it was fake.”

  His nostrils widened. “I understand about the last generation dying. The way my dad looked…acted…at Mary’s funeral, he won’t be living long among us. But Mary…” Antony shook his head. “She was close to Yeshua. Had every right to God’s protection. She should not have died.”

  Antony fidgeted. “I haven’t sung any of those songs since that day. Opyera told me you enjoy historic music, and I just thought you might like that one.”

  “I did.” She looked up into his eyes. “You used to sing it with real joy, didn’t you?”

  His lips clamped tighter.

  “So sad,” she said. “The day your sister died, you lost two loves, no
t just one. And he was the only being who could comfort you.”

  Comprehension sparked in his eyes. His upper lip lifted. “God, you mean? What good is comfort from the one who let her die?”

  She looked down, her own memories washing through her. “His comfort is precious beyond measure,” she whispered.

  When she raised her eyes again, his brow was puckered, and his lips parted. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snarled at you. None of this is your fault.”

  “Oh, ‘Who is at fault?’ and ‘Why did this happen?’ The questions everyone wants answered, though they bring no solution.” She shrugged. “Don’t think I couldn’t ask them, too. But they lead nowhere. Is it God’s fault, because he let gravity work? Why not blame the groundskeeper for not pruning? Or, for all you know, God told Mary to stay out of the square, and she ignored his warning.”

  “You’d blame Mary for her own death?” He flung the words from rigid lips.

  “I would blame no one, but is she not Human? Is she not free to make her own choices? Free to make mistakes? You don’t know what happened in her mind. So, instead, you blame God, even though he is the one who always wants the very best for us. Is that any more logical than blaming Mary?” She spread her hands. “But don’t you see? Blaming either of them makes no difference. It gives you no peace, only turmoil and grief. You don’t really need to know why it happened. And you don’t need to know whose fault it is.” She softened her voice. “But you do need comfort.”

  He clamped his lips, much like he was trapping words that desperately wanted out.

  She ached for him. Grief was cruel. She whispered, “I do have a little experience, you know.”

  His scowl softened.

  “Our beloved’s comfort is precious beyond measure. It’s worth reconsidering.” She drew a breath. “I’ll say no more.”

  He looked away and swallowed. “How is it that every time we get a few minutes together, it all goes awry?”

  Surprise drove a high-pitched laugh through her closed lips. “Well…it’s only happened twice. And besides, it’s up to us how this one ends.” She glanced under her lashes at the corner. “That guitar of yours could charm me any day. Do you know any pieces that are strictly innocuous?”

  The hint of a grin lightened his expression. “Perhaps one or two.” He motioned her to sit, then reached for his guitar case and drew the instrument from its nest.

  Tension seemed to slough away from him as his music charmed them both. She lounged sideways on his sofa, watching him play. She could have stayed for hours, but a command tone sounded on his computer, interrupting a soothing melody.

  Antony leaned over to look at the display. “Ghent wants to see me.” He set his guitar aside.

  Kena’s computer sounded an identical tone. She pulled it from her belt. “And then, he wants to see me.” She pursed her lips, staring at the device as though it would give her an explanation. “Hm. I wonder. How would you feel about me joining you?”

  “Fine, but isn’t that Ghent’s choice?”

  “Sure.” She opened the device a bit more and tapped it.

  Ghent’s voice responded. “What is it, Kena?”

  “I happen to be with Antony. Would you like to see us together?”

  After a brief silence, he said, “If you both prefer that, yes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ghent’s consult room,” Kena said, “is something quite out of the ordinary. It’s not that big, but it’s enormous.”

  Antony turned a quizzical look on her as the door slid open. One step inside and her meaning became clear. Breathtaking. He forced his attention to Ghent, saying, “Sir,” with a dip of his head.

  Ghent nodded.

  “May we have a moment to admire Plynteth,” Kena asked, her elfin smile in full play.

  Ghent’s expression softened and he leaned back in his substantial chair. “Of course.”

  Kena drew Antony to the railing that encircled most of the room. The walls and ceiling displayed a Plynteth canyon in three dimensions. She pointed to one side. “See, there are some homes carved into the canyon wall, with balconies much like this one.” She tapped the railing. “And if you look close over there, you can see the hand-holds that run up the cliff face, like a vertical sidewalk to the neighbors.”

  Antony narrowed his eyes. “You mean those horizontal markings?”

  “They are short bars,” Ghent said, extending an arm. His shurg snapped out from his wrist. “Easily gripped.”

  Ah, well suited to the odd Plynteth hand with its prehensile shurg opposing the four fingers. Antony surveyed the vista again, instinctively bracing himself as he leaned forward and looked down. The fertile canyon floor curved out of sight far below.

  Kena must have seen his grip, for she said, “The height illusion is freakishly disconcerting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but what an incredible beauty! Imagine hang gliding in this.” He turned back to Ghent. “What is the wind like?”

  “It varies throughout the year, but there’s always some. What is hang gliding?”

  “One rides a glider,” Antony said, “which is essentially a wing with a harness hanging below. It has a simple steering device but no power.”

  “Is this part of a navigator’s training?”

  “No.” Antony grinned. “Hang gliding is for fun.”

  Ghent shook his head. “I don’t understand the appeal. Is it speed?”

  “More the joy of flight itself,” Antony said, nearing the granite table, “within a vast, peaceful stillness.”

  “I suspect,” Ghent said, “it is more than quick reflexes that cause Humans to acquire navigator skills so easily.”

  Antony nodded, unsure what to say. No one ever looked deeper than the surface where Humans were concerned.

  Kena slid into one of the chairs. When Antony hesitated, she gestured for him to sit. “He doesn’t want you to wait for an invitation.”

  “She speaks from experience,” Ghent said. “Our first misunderstanding, in fact.” Had she called on that memory for a purpose?

  “There are bound to be misunderstandings among varied cultures,” Kena said. “I was so glad, that evening, that you took such care to listen.”

  Ghent uttered a soft chuckle. “How like you, Kena.” He turned to Antony. “I heard that you sang this evening.”

  “I did.”

  “I also heard that Kena seemed to take considerable pleasure in it.”

  “Indeed!” she said.

  “You weren’t alone in that,” Antony murmured.

  “And I heard,” Ghent said, “that Kena then sang to you. Something immensely disturbing, according to some.”

  “According to whom?” Antony asked.

  “That is not the point. Did she disturb you?”

  “Kena did nothing wrong. If someone believes she did, they are mistaken. But I left too soon to know who this might be. I would like the chance to ensure they understand.”

  Ghent enunciated each of his words again. “Did she disturb you?”

  “The song was disturbing, but she couldn’t have known what that one would mean to me.”

  Ghent took his time responding. “I find the dynamic between the two of you puzzling. I have no idea if it’s normal to Humans. The times I have seen you together, you both appear tense. Though, I could be wrong about you, Antony, not knowing you well. Still, I avoid interfering in personal issues between members of the same race.”

  “I hope you can impart that wisdom to others,” Antony said.

  “And I hope it is wisdom. No one knows the meaning of the words Kena sang. I’m not sure I would understand, even if you translated.”

  Both Kena and Antony shook their heads.

  “At least, tell me what the song is about.”

  They answered in the same instant. Kena said, “Life,” and Antony said “Death.”

  Ghent frowned.

  Kena exchanged a glance with Antony, then said, “I think I should extend my answer
. It is about life and death and life.”

  “That makes no sense to me,” Ghent said.

  She licked her lips. “When I speak of life, it is far more a matter of spirit than of mind, so, no, it won’t make sense to a sairital being.”

  “And when you speak of death,” Ghent asked, “what is that?”

  “It pertains to the body. Death for the spirit is another matter entirely, which is not mentioned in that song.”

  Confusing. Why would she sing of death and call it life? No matter how much Ghent appreciated Kena, he needed to remain objective. “Whose death, Kena,” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “It’s, uh, inappropriate for me to—”

  Antony laid a hand over hers on the armrest. “Sir, if I may answer?”

  Ghent turned to Antony and waited.

  “It is not unusual for songs to have multiple meanings. Also, music is entwined with our customs. Unknown to Kena, my younger sister was accidentally killed two years ago. My mother chose that song for the, uh, customary event following a death. Funeral is the English word. She chose it because it speaks of life in spite of death, but it’s not only sung at funerals. I once liked that song, but now it brings unpleasant memories. This evening, they took me by surprise. Yes, I’m sure grief showed in my face, but the point is, Kena couldn’t have known that would happen.”

  Antony spread a hand. “If you want a better indication of how things stand between us, consider her response. She did what she could to get me some time alone, and later, brought my guitar to me. I view her actions as kindness, but apparently, Tevd has a different view. I’ll talk to him about it. And if there’s anyone else you choose to mention, I can talk to them, too.”

  “It’s no one’s business,” Kena said. “You shouldn’t have to discuss private matters. Anyone might have had similar thoughts but said nothing, so you’ll never know who to talk with.”

  Antony knit his brow. “Was the misunderstanding more widespread than I hoped?”

  “Mm. I couldn’t see everyone, of course, but your former crew members were all staring at me. But don’t think I’m bothered by it. I’m quite pleased that your crew is so supportive of you.”