Diverse Similarity

by Sharon Rose

  “Yes.”

  “You weren’t here. How do you know?” she asked.

  TarKeen kept his eyes locked on VanDar. “Leonfir asked me about it. What did the Laundun hear?”

  VanDar shifted his weight, his voice quiet for once. “Not more than a couple words. Nothing was revealed.”

  TarKeen wove between the tables toward VanDar, his firm steps at odds with his casual pace. “Then why did Leonfir hear of it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How careless of you to have no idea.” TarKeen let his sharp words hang for a moment. “The man perceived inordinate tension. As though you were saying something you didn’t want a Laundun to hear.”

  Murmuring rose from the crowd.

  “VanDar will destroy everything.”

  “His tongue is dangerous.”

  “They’ll assume that we’re party to anything he says.”

  “Don’t over-react,” a calm voice said. “Nothing was compromised.”

  One spoke louder than the rest. “TarKeen, how did you respond?”

  TarKeen drew near VanDar and held his gaze. “I laid the blame for tension where it belongs. I said that VanDar rants, and everyone present cannot help but listen. I said that tension follows him because there are many who do not agree with him.”

  The murmurs behind him eased.

  “No harm will come of it,” the calm voice said.

  “We must continue to plan,” another said. “We will simply need to be more cautious.”

  TarKeen continued forward, forcing VanDar to step back. He read the anger in VanDar’s eyes. The man wanted to strike but knew the consequence. Pity. It would be a pleasure to arrest him. Not today, apparently.

  TarKeen taunted him. “Have you any objection to taking the blame, VanDar?”

  “I have strength to bear the results of my words.”

  “Strength.” TarKeen spat the word. “Strength impresses me far less than wisdom. Of that, you have no more than Pernanyen. She, at least, had authority for her decisions. Something else you do not possess. Or have you forgotten that yours is the generation of your family that will not rule?”

  VanDar’s face worked, but he did not speak.

  “You have a profession, do you not?” TarKeen demanded. “Something to do with communication research, though I’ve never heard you speak of it. I believe it’s time that you give attention to whatever it is you supposedly do. Something other than stirring up contention and damaging the PitKree reputation.”

  VanDar’s lips darkened and twitched. “You cannot command my silence. I have as much right to speak as anyone.”

  “You speak far more than anyone. Do not imagine I will assist you in usurping Frayunomen authority. Speak one word, take one action that is treason, and I will arrest you myself.”

  VanDar’s breath blew hot against TarKeen’s face as he shouted, “Are you PitKree or PitKreelaundun?”

  In that instant, the door opened.

  TarKeen relaxed his posture immediately, leaving only VanDar in the pose of aggressor. TarKeen matched his voice to his mild stance. “Both, of course. What a ridiculous question.” He turned a casual glance toward the door. A Laundun couple hesitated there. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s only VanDar who shouts; the rest of us are far more hospitable.”

  They advanced through the room’s open center, which permitted a shortcut across the long chamber. The man threw a disapproving glance around the room. “Why do you PitKree gather like this?”

  “You must know,” TarKeen said, “that PitKree families are bountiful. We’re comfortable in large gatherings. Feel free to join us, if you have no other plans. We have no intent to exclude the Laundun.”

  “PitKreelaundun,” the man corrected.

  Someone else answered, keeping his voice as mild as TarKeen’s. “Even though you noticed that we are all PitKree, you seem to have forgotten that you are Laundun. How odd.”

  “It is not we who maintain division,” the Laundun man said.

  ShenLee responded as the couple neared her. “There is nothing to maintain or disallow. The only way to be PitKreelaundun is to be either PitKree or Laundun. Why pretend it is otherwise?”

  “Centuries have passed! Will you never accept our welcome?”

  “Are we not here?” she said with a smile. “Can we not acknowledge that we are PitKree at the same time as we acknowledge the union of PitKree and Laundun?”

  “But you don’t. VanDar said ‘PitKree or PitKreelaundun.’”

  Another voice rose with a touch of ire. “That was VanDar’s opinion. He does not speak for all of us.”

  A snort was the Laundun man’s only answer.

  As the couple neared the opposite door, the woman spoke for the first time. “Be fair, my dear. No one else echoed his opinion.” She inclined her head to TarKeen. “We must decline your invitation; our own, much smaller family is waiting for us.”

  The door closed behind them.

  “Again, your tongue stirs up trouble!” someone said to VanDar.

  “It is nothing,” he declared. “All know that we call ourselves PitKree. Enough of this. We need to plan and act. Take advantage of opportunity.”

  “It is not time for action,” TarKeen said. “This opportunity that you perceive is only useful if the goal is to place you in power. Acting now will cause war, which will prevent us from getting PitKree ships for PitKree exploration. Do not think that I will support you in this, VanDar.” He dropped his voice, but flared the emphasis. “And do not imagine that you can control this ship without me.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Leonfir scanned the faces on the screen. Three he recognized, one he did not. How would Ghent react, since his primary request had not been granted? Ghent had matched the number of PitKreelaundun attendees Leonfir specified. An indication that he knew something about negotiation protocol—more promising than his oddly brief greeting.

  “I requested a meeting with Pernanyen of Frayunomen,” Ghent said, emphasizing her name.

  Leonfir stated his planned response. “I must inform you of a directive we have received from the ruling families of PitKreelaundun. Pernanyen’s authority has been suspended until her actions have been investigated and judged by the other families. It will take at least fifteen days for one of them to reach us. She is no longer permitted to make decisions or to speak with you.”

  “How convenient for her.”

  Leonfir’s eyes widened. “I doubt she would describe her situation as convenient. She has lost her authority, but is still responsible for her actions. If Kena Talgarth does not recover, Pernanyen will be executed.”

  “That may satisfy your sense of justice,” Ghent said, “but it will not help Kena.”

  Leonfir acknowledged the point with a nod. “Fortunately, Kena has shown some signs of improvement. Pernanyen’s suspension does provide a benefit to us. I now hold highest authority on this ship and can speak with you freely. Permit me to express the hope that communications will improve.”

  “Any improvement would be appreciated.” Ghent’s fingers swept an arc on the table. “Do your goals differ from Pernanyen’s?”

  “It is my firm intention to return Kena to you in the best possible health. Pernanyen hoped to improve relations between us and the Interstellar Collaborative. While I do not endorse her approach, I do agree with her goal.”

  “Pernanyen said that, but her actions suggest the opposite.”

  Apparently, Ghent was not going to make this easy. Of course, negotiation never was. Leonfir ensured his voice remained calm. “You may understand better,” he said, “if I describe her. She is young, barely an adult. She is on this ship to continue learning, not because we expected contact with other races. Her father, Travannesal of Frayunomen, is the family member active in government. Pernanyen’s idealism and inexperience led her to an error of judgment. If she had foreseen what would occur, she would have chosen differently. It’s not her nature to intentionally harm anyone. However, she is still
accountable for the results of her decision. As a race, we do not take this lightly.”

  Ghent’s expression remained fixed.

  Leonfir leaned forward. “Others will decide what comes to Pernanyen. You and I, Ghent, will decide what comes to us now. My desire is that we strive toward improving relations.”

  “I am willing, but to be blunt, I’m skeptical. I need more than words. I need actions. We requested recordings of Kena’s conversations. Pernanyen did not provide them. Will you?”

  Leonfir perceived his unspoken meaning. If you don’t, I won’t believe you any more than I believe her. “I’ll review what was recorded. I’m sure some can be given to you. Please understand that there will come a point where that is no longer appropriate.”

  “Why not?”

  “You already know Kena’s acclimation was harsh. We do not reproduce what anyone says under stress. Nor will I transmit what I deem to be private. If you have concerns after you’ve heard the recordings, we’ll speak of this again.” Leonfir leaned back. He needed to return this conversation to plan. “For now, there are other subjects I wish to discuss. I propose that we first give you the latest information on Kena’s condition, then agree on how communication will occur. Last, I would like to open a discussion of your plans after Kena returns to the Ontrevay.”

  “This is acceptable,” Ghent said.

  Leonfir glanced toward Freltenloe, who was waiting for this cue.

  “Kena has shown some degree of improvement,” Freltenloe said, “although not as much as we would like. Her muscle tone is approaching normal. She drinks and eats. She can sit up and walk a short distance. None of this was true when we last talked. Unfortunately, she still has not slept. She is lethargic, probably due to exhaustion.”

  “Has she spoken?” Metchell asked.

  “No, but we have not encouraged that. We speak to her only in brief, simple statements. We find that it is better to wait for other sairital systems to normalize before prompting speech.”

  Metchell nodded. “Agreed. What is her reaction to the sound files Hrndl provided?”

  “Reaction to the forest sounds is too subtle to draw conclusions. We can tell that she gives attention to the music.” Freltenloe shifted and licked his lips. “My impression was that her brain activity indicated dissonance the first time she heard it. I suspect, she experienced an emotional release that was inconsistent with the music. It was played again a few hours later. Strong synapses were active. Her earlier intense emotional response was not evident. My interpretation is that she was listening to the music in a more normal way.”

  Metchell frowned as though considering this.

  Freltenloe shifted again. “I’m reluctant to use the word normal since I have no experience with Humans. The Prednians gave us medical and sairital information on several races. They did not include any that pertained to Humans, perhaps because Humans had only recently joined the Collaborative. I realize, now, that you may have assumed we already had such information, but we do not. Will you provide me what is commonly available?”

  Metchell started shaking his head, even before Freltenloe finished. His lips pinched into a thin line.

  Freltenloe hurried back into speech. “It need not contain drug specifications. I am only asking to understand what constitutes normal responses for a Human. Particularly sairital responses.”

  “That is not possible,” Metchell said. “Nor is it necessary. Sairital intervention is completely out of the question. I would have thought you would understand this.”

  “I do.” Freltenloe’s voice held rigid restraint. “I only seek a way to judge the impact of the things we are trying. We want to ease her back into a normal state, but we don’t have baseline information. We cannot be sure whether she approaches it or digresses.”

  “There is nothing I can give you.”

  Freltenloe stared at Metchell’s image. “I see two possibilities. Either you don’t know how to care for her, or you want us to fail in caring for her. The latter, I suspect.”

  Hrndl darted a look at Metchell’s livid face and said, “Pause.” She turned back to the screen, her guttural voice utterly calm. “You have injured her and yet you blame Metchell? By association, you blame all of us for something that happened on the Epri7. Please understand that we find this both absurd and infuriating. Your captain says he wants to improve relations. Do you?”

  Freltenloe’s lips quivered.

  Before he could speak, Leonfir said, “Pause? An interesting word choice. Useful. Freltenloe, vent your anger at Pernanyen, not Metchell. I do not want to hear what you are unable to do for Kena. Only what you can do. You have forty years’ experience and have been the first to study multiple alien races. You were successful with them. I expect you to be successful with Kena.”

  Ghent rejoined the discussion. “It’s a mistake to believe that anything you have learned of other races can be applied to Kena. Sairital information was once published on Humans. Misinterpretations of it resulted in injuries. Attempts to correct it did not help. Humans finally insisted that all copies be destroyed.” He spread his hands wide on the table. “It concerns me greatly that you ask for sairital information. I expect you already know what I’m about to say, but I must be certain.” He stressed each word. “You absolutely must not link with Kena!”

  Leonfir took care to hide his feelings and speak only of the future. “Now that I hold authority, my permission would be required for anyone to link with her. I, most certainly, will not grant it.” He looked aside. “Freltenloe, you’re dismissed.”

  Ghent motioned to Metchell with the same result.

  After the two doctors left, Leonfir said “I believe this next subject will be far less contentious.”

  Ghent resumed a neutral tone. “So I should hope. I would like to introduce Remlishos to you. He is second in command. His position is similar to TarKeen’s, although we do not use the title of commander.”

  “What race are you?” TarKeen asked.

  “Meklehon,” Remlishos said.

  Light skin, hair a sort of pale, brownish hue, not much darker than his skin. Leonfir searched his memory of the racial profiles.

  Apparently, TarKeen did as well. He bowed from the hip and asked, “Is this the appropriate greeting?”

  Remlishos returned the bow. “It is.”

  Leonfir offered the gesture as well.

  “I understand,” TarKeen said, “that both Meklehon and Plynteth are strong telepaths. Is this correct?”

  “It is so,” Remlishos said.

  “If it’s permitted that I ask,” TarKeen said, “please tell me whether you and Ghent link regularly.”

  Remlishos nodded. “As often as convenient or needful.”

  “He has heard every conversation between us,” Ghent said, “and is in full agreement with my goals. You have met Hrndl, but her position was not mentioned. She is an officer: chief navigator.”

  TarKeen inclined his head to her. “You described yourself as Kena’s friend. Is she also an officer?”

  “No,” Hrndl said, “but she is one of the senior navigators, so she does have leadership authority. When I met Kena, we were both senior navigators. We’ve flown many missions as peers and also spend off-duty time together. I suspect that your authority structure is more rigid than ours. Perhaps it seems odd that we would be friends while one of us holds authority over the other. Kena and I are comfortable with it.”

  Leonfir gestured to the man beside him. “This is Rialmerray, another of my officers. He is chief of tra-pentazine protection. That is his sole responsibility. It keeps him and his staff fully occupied.”

  “Naturally,” Ghent said, “we do not have a similar, dedicated role. The tracking of objects falls within the chief navigator’s responsibilities. I believe, it may be useful to include our chief scientist, who has led our study of trazine and pentazine.”

  “As you choose,” Leonfir said.

  The scientist, Piert, soon joined them. Notably taller than the othe
rs, with a mouth as broad and mobile as Hrndl’s was tiny and still. He addressed Rialmerray. “I was intrigued when I heard your role mentioned. Will you explain it further?”

  Rialmerray nodded, a stiff motion. “My team locates and tracks trazine and pentazine. We analyze risk of explosion in projected paths. When appropriate, we neutralize the risk.”

  Piert smiled. “I look forward to a long conversation with you.”

  Rialmerray’s rigid expression held, but he said, “I hope it will be mutually satisfying.”

  Leonfir leaned forward and pressed his palms together, letting his fingertips interlace. “Ghent, there are things we need to discuss. It is possible we will have opposing views and probable that misunderstandings will occur. Yet, it’s imperative that we reach agreement. Are you willing to make the attempt with me?”

  Ghent seemed to take a longer breath than necessary. “We may already be misunderstanding one another. I don’t know what agreement you seek. We desire a peaceful conclusion to our dealings. Does that satisfy you?”

  Leonfir struggled to understand Ghent’s expressions, but he seemed less than pleased. “Yes,” Leonfir said. “I would prefer to keep a small consistent group involved in all communications. Do you believe this group we have now includes the right people to engage in discussion?”

  “That depends on the subject. Is this related to tra-pentazine?”

  “It is.”

  “Then, these are the members of my crew who should be involved.”

  “Let us proceed, then.”

  “Piert, this is your opportunity,” Ghent said. Between the arguments and the lengthy preambles to actual conversation, his hopes were not high. What did they want that they would not state?

  Piert dove in, clearly untroubled. “We’re fortunate to have contacted a ship with a staff focused on tra-pentazine.”

  “All PitKreelaundun ships,” Rialmerray said, “are staffed to neutralize tra-pentazine.”

  How stiff the man was, without the gentle shoulder movement Ghent attributed to the PitKreelaundun.