Diverse Similarity

by Sharon Rose

  Not good. Still, he couldn’t deny her. “Are you saying you don’t want the medical staff to see or hear what’s in this room?”

  She nodded. “No one. No…record.”

  “I’m concerned that we won’t be able to hear or see if you need help. You must be able to use the communication controls before we stop visual monitoring.”

  She nodded.

  “Bring your hand along the side of the armrest.” He waited for her to do so. “Touch here. It sends a signal. Someone will reopen the audio channel to talk with you.”

  Her fingers found the control. A voice spoke. “What do you need?”

  “Pri-va-cy.” Kena’s word emerged slow and stilted, but understandable.

  TarKeen said, “Turn off the visual and audio monitoring.”

  “But, sir,” Shannandi’s voice said, “I must—”

  “Turn it off, now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  TarKeen softened his voice, revealing emotion even he hadn’t expected. “I will ensure that your privacy is maintained. Enjoy your music.”

  A sigh eased through her lips. Still no eye contact. He dared to hope that would come soon.

  He spent a few minutes in the monitoring room. Freltenloe hurried in, as well. Medical monitors confirmed the change. She was physically and mentally active. Areas of her brain that had been dormant now pulsed with energy. TarKeen pointed at a display. “Is this normal?”

  “She used that area when she first arrived,” Freltenloe said. “Levels are elevated right now, but variances are common during recovery.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  Kena restarted the song and turned the volume up. She let the words—the voice—encase her. A familiar song, but new. Her dad’s tenor sang with the soundtrack. It held a double meaning; for, this was a love song from her eternal father to his children. Her mind leapt beyond the pain. He was there—waiting for her—in that realm where he could be so easily found. She flung herself into him. Surrendered all her effort to hide from reality, from her fear of emotional pain, from hopelessness. His strength permeated her mind, stilled her.

  The music went on and on. Some, she recognized. Other songs were new. All perfectly choreographed into a message of love and peace, strength and mercy, hope and love. Always love. Without conscious decision, she stood and swayed with the melodies. A slow dance in the arms of eternal love. A heavenly scent filled the room. Her thoughts drew together into this moment. She was only now. She was only loved.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Leonfir pointed out a few basic controls in Ghent’s room, ending with the wall mounted display. He touched a control on the low table, and a frozen image appeared.

  Ghent glanced between Leonfir and the display. It showed the end of the conversation he’d seen between Kena and Pernanyen. Interesting. He settled on the couch, as Leonfir took a chair.

  “It’s time that you learn what has happened here,” Leonfir said. “I would really rather not show you the rest of this conversation. I worry that it’s enough to trigger war, which is why I didn’t want you to record it for the Collaborative at large.”

  Ghent said nothing. Energy surged down his arms; he just barely kept his shurgs from snapping out.

  “Before I show you,” Leonfir said, “just allow me to emphasize that Pernanyen made an individual decision. It was within her authority, but it should not be viewed as the consensus of our government.” Leonfir touched another control, and the images played on.

  Ghent listened in growing concern as Pernanyen tried to persuade Kena to link with her.

  The recording reached the point where Kena said, “Several days must pass before I could link with you, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

  Leonfir paused the recording. “That statement has legal ramifications. Naturally, Kena didn’t know that, but Pernanyen did. You’ll better understand what’s coming if I explain.”

  Ghent nodded, not trusting his voice.

  “Once Kena said she didn’t want to link, even if she later changed her mind, it would be considered a constrained link under PitKreelaundun law. This places strict obligations on the initiating party and confers additional rights to the one who is constrained. This law is intended to protect someone from an undesired link. For instance, if Kena later agreed to link because she thought it was the only way we would allow her to leave, we’d view that as no different from being forced into the link.”

  “Do you actually force people to link?” Ghent asked.

  “Under very rare circumstances, yes.” Leonfir shook his head. “Your expression tells me nothing good. I don’t ask you to agree with our viewpoint. All I ask is that you let me explain it and attempt to understand. This will make the rest of their conversation easier to follow.”

  Had someone linked with Kena? Ghent longed to demand an answer, but Leonfir would take the circuitous route. If he was to maintain any chance of success, he would need to listen—and at least try to understand. “Your explanation, please.”

  “We use telepathy more than any other race we’ve encountered,” Leonfir said. “Children link before they speak. Learning occurs through links. Even trivial information may be exchanged, simply because it is quick or clearer. Telepathy is as natural to us as speech. Various forms of it are taught and practiced. We realize, of course, that all races use telepathy in different ways. The only thing we have trouble grasping is the complete absence of it.”

  Ghent nodded. This much, at least, made sense to a Plynteth.

  “Unfortunately,” Leonfir said, “great ability can open the door to problems. Forced links were more common up until a few hundred years ago. Around that time, laws were enacted to prevent abuses. We’ve never outlawed it entirely, because there are times when it’s necessary. Instead, we control it. That’s the reason even a voluntary link may be considered a constrained link under our law.”

  “I comprehend what you’re saying,” Ghent said, trying to maintain a diplomatic tone, “but I think you should know our viewpoint. All races within the Collaborative consider a forced link to be both illegal and unethical. Appallingly so! Even what you term a voluntary constrained link is unethical. Only one of our races permits it, to a very limited degree.”

  “Which race?”

  “Grfdn.”

  “Interesting,” Leonfir said. “When Kena said she didn’t want to link, Pernanyen knew that she would be under the obligations of a constrained link if she chose to proceed. The penalty for failing these obligations is death. This is what’s in Pernanyen’s mind through the rest of the conversation.” Leonfir resumed the recording.

  Pernanyen rejected Kena’s right to choose, and the guards removed her EVA belt. Kena’s lips and nostrils twitched. Even the way she jerked showed the tension of her muscles, but she was outnumbered. Ghent’s shurgs snapped into the grooves of his fists. How had she felt? Livid? Terrified? Both? He longed to voice the scathing words that marched through his mind, but they would destroy what he came to do.

  Freltenloe stated his objection to Pernanyen’s decision, and she left him to carry out the deed. Ghent noted his reluctance, his measured gentleness, as he put the emfrel shield in place. He seemed no more willing than Kena. This didn’t exonerate him, but the scales grew heavier on Pernanyen’s side.

  The recording ended, and Leonfir said, “After this, Freltenloe escorted Kena to the medical facility. He performed some scans and tests in order to gain basic information—or perhaps to buy time for TarKeen to dissuade Pernanyen. Kena didn’t seem to object to the scans too much, though she was concerned about the acclimation and proposed link. The next recording is audio only. It’s recorded from TarKeen’s memory, so the voices—particularly his—will sound different. We give it to you partly because you asked about it, and partly because we find it puzzling.”

  The words played out in the room. When Kena asked, “Are you the same race?” Ghent startled and glanced at Leonfir.

  Leonfir nodded but let the recording conti
nue.

  Ghent listened to the explanation and then to TarKeen’s question. Realization formed. This was the very first time a PitKreelaundun discovered that the Collaborative knew nothing of tra-pentazine. Leonfir’s gaze was fixed on him.

  Then, TarKeen identified the planet destroyed long ago: PitKreel. Ghent sucked in a breath and did not exhale until the recording ended. Even then, it was hard to speak. “I can’t—This is too shocking to grasp quickly. Please confirm what he just said.”

  “Two habitable planets once orbited our star,” Leonfir said. “PitKreel, which was nearer the sun, contained several concentrations of trazine and enough pentazine to trigger a reaction. It broke up a few hundred years ago.”

  “How did the—the other planet survive?”

  “Elaundun, which is the old name for our planet, contains a negligible amount of trazine and only traces of pentazine.”

  “But the debris—”

  “The breakup of PitKreel wasn’t nearly as dramatic as the one you’ve been studying,” Leonfir said. “Its major remnants are still in orbit. It took some time to clear the scattered debris, but we knew how. Predict, prioritize, neutralize. We are proficient at that, you know.”

  Ghent still struggled with the ramifications. “How did the PitKree race survive?”

  “Neighbors visit,” Leonfir said, with a turn of his head. “Travel between the two planets has been common for centuries—long before we even imagined non-standard dimensions. There were a few PitKree settlements in the equatorial region of Elaundun. Those who were in space or on Elaundun survived. Around fourteen thousand of them. Shock waves stripped PitKreel’s atmosphere. Everyone on planet died.”

  “The aftermath…”

  Leonfir nodded, his eyes lowered. “Suffice it to say, the surviving PitKree were devastated. Over the next few years, we changed our planet and race name and assigned the full equatorial region to them. Not that they’re required to stay only there; they simply appreciate heat far more than the Laundun.”

  How strange that Kena had stumbled upon this information. Or had she stumbled? Why had she asked in the first place?

  Leonfir’s posture relaxed as he moved beyond the tragedy. “We combined the governments, which were already similar, and jointly built the PitKree’s earliest cities. Even though our cultures are integrated, you can still see signs of this. My lightweight clothing, for instance, compared to TarKeen’s much heavier, darker clothes. Laundun rarely have more than two children. PitKree often have around ten, although the number has been dropping in the last couple decades. They currently make up almost 30 percent of the PitKreelaundun population.”

  “I’m stunned,” Ghent said, “that the Prednians did not publish any of this. We had no idea.”

  “They never came to our system,” Leonfir said. “Our only contact was at the border. I’m not surprised they didn’t know. It’s very rare to hear the divided race names. We are PitKreelaundun. I’ve only used the separate names to describe our distant history. In anything you may publish, please make it clear that the race names should not be used separately.”

  “As you wish.” Ghent inclined his head. Was any of this related to Kena’s injury? “How similar are you at the sairital level?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  “Which of your races was Kena acclimated to?”

  “Both,” Leonfir said. “The emfrel is almost indistinguishable.”

  “To you, perhaps. Humans are very sensitive to alien emfrel. The Prednians didn’t notice the difference, but Kena must have.”

  Leonfir angled his head. “Most perplexing! We cannot understand this. She obviously noticed something—appearance, perhaps—but it couldn’t have been the emfrel. She was wearing a shield.”

  He looked no more convinced of his own suggestion than Ghent was. “If you’d ever seen Human variations, you’d realize appearance couldn’t have caused her to question your race. But we stray from the point. No matter how tragic the past, only the present is under our control. I’m still waiting to hear what happened to Kena.”

  “She was acclimated. Freltenloe and an assistant named Shannandi attended her. Even though it was highly stressful, it was effective. She was exhausted but not harmed. They monitored her constantly in every possible way. I’ve had other doctors confirm from the records that she was not injured during acclimation. Freltenloe took the blame, because we did not dare tell you the actual cause. This brings me to the reason I so desperately wanted to talk with you in person, without recording. We believe this incident has pushed us to the brink of war. I will do almost anything to avoid that outcome.”

  Ghent closed his eyes and summoned patience yet again. “You spend a lot of time talking about what you’re going to talk about. Just tell me what happened.”

  “Pernanyen forced Kena to link with her.”

  Hardly a surprise, at this point. Still, Ghent had clung to a scrap of hope that Kena had been spared this. He drew in a long breath then let it out with equal deliberation. He could not allow emotion to drive their future. Not while they teetered toward war. Ramifications began to form in his mind.

  Ghent finally broke the long silence. “I assume that we have not been allowed to speak with Pernanyen because she is dead. Is Kena accused of murder?”

  Leonfir stared, the hair at his temples drawing backward. “I have no idea why you said that or what you mean! Pernanyen is not dead. I’ve said nothing of the sort. Why anyone claims that verbal communication is better than telepathy is beyond comprehension!”

  Ghent squelched a bizarre urge to laugh. Not so hard, considering his grief and confusion. “Pardon me, then. You said Pernanyen forced Kena to link. Was this what you’d term a voluntary constrained link? Was Kena controlling the link, or Pernanyen?”

  Leonfir seemed confused, but answered. “Pernanyen controlled.”

  “Then, she holds the distinction,” Ghent said, “of being the first person to survive such a link with a Human. How did she accomplish that?”

  Leonfir lifted his hands, palms up. “I don’t even understand why you would ask such a question.”

  “That’s difficult to believe for someone who passes trivial information telepathically. Surely you have linked with Pernanyen since the incident.”

  Leonfir shook his head. “No, that is strictly forbidden by law. Kena has the right to link with Pernanyen and completely control that link. No one else may link with her until after Kena has done so. Kena even has the right to destroy Pernanyen’s memory of their links.”

  Ghent stared at him. They did take this seriously—he could no longer doubt that. But that wouldn’t reconcile a Human to forced telepathy. He kept his voice calm. “The Human viewpoint is more restrictive than the rest of the Collaborative’s. Humans never link with members of their own race. Very few of them even learn telepathy, as Kena has. They have no tolerance for a forced link! It’s possible that Kena will refuse any further links. What then?”

  Leonfir dropped his gaze and sighed his words out. “Pernanyen will be executed.”

  He regretted that, did he? No such emotion echoed within Ghent. It was what she deserved. Still, he needed to keep this conversation positive. His and Kena’s lives might depend on it. “Is she a close friend?”

  Leonfir shifted his gaze back to Ghent. “I think you misinterpret my expression. I’ll try again. We saw compassion in Kena and then empathy. We hoped to gain understanding from Humans. Maybe even friendship, someday. Instead, we have made them bitter enemies. If you knew how desperate we are for change, you would understand the depth of my disappointment. The border situation will become war if we cannot find a way to gain real understanding from the Collaborative.”

  Ghent’s brow fur shifted. He hoped Leonfir would see and hear how earnest his words were. “I have every intention already of bringing your concerns to the Collaborative’s leadership. You don’t need to keep convincing me.”

  Leonfir closed his eyes and swallowed. “Ghent”—he locked eyes again—�
��do you remember a collection of tra-pentazine, which you intend to drag across our space into yours? This tells us you don’t care at all about our concerns. You don’t need to repeat your reasons. Whether your intentions are good or bad, you will say what is necessary to secure an uncontested journey home. As you and Kena have both pointed out, words go only so far. You and Kena will soon return to the Ontrevay and know that our words were true.” He gripped the arms of his chair. “How long will it take until your words are proven true? Likely, not until it is too late. I need to know today, with certainty!”

  Ghent shook his head. What did this man want? “What do you think you can possibly know within a day? Time and communication are required for trust.”

  “We have had decades. We have had words. No trust has formed. Think about it, Ghent. I am not the only one who needs certainty. You also need to know if our words are true.”

  Ghent held his silence. These very thoughts had passed through his mind on the Ontrevay.

  “It isn’t really your words I care about,” Leonfir said. “TarKeen is convinced that Kena felt deep empathy when he told her of PitKreel’s destruction. Others say expressions vary so greatly between races that it’s impossible to interpret her reaction.” He leaned back. “I was curious whether I would see the same reaction in you. I saw shock.” He flipped a hand. “Empathy, perhaps. But I don’t truly know if you care about us or the races under our protection. And just as much, I want you to know what we feel when the Collaborative disrupts the ejection arms of the nebula.”

  Realization formed in Ghent’s mind. Leonfir’s many words pointed to only one thing. He wanted to link. It stilled Ghent’s breath for a moment. “Are you planning to repeat Pernanyen’s folly?”

  Leonfir swung his head side to side. “Certainly not! Under no circumstances would I engage in a constrained link with you. If that is what you think…Do not answer me yet. You must know, we’d gain no advantage in keeping you or Kena here.”