"Good-bye, Alessia," he said, recovering, with affection. "Now, lieutenant, remember what I've taught you."
* * * * *
“Ungarn is a decent man, and it’s very good of him to have come see us off.” Gerryls observed as Alessia entered the laboratory.
“You knew I was coming,” Alessia said.
“I knew Ungarn would tell you that you were assigned to be my assistant once he found out. I’m still adjusting to the idea myself.”
“What are you doing?”
“Stowing supplies.”
“Need help?”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Hard to believe that we can store so much away, and yet this ship still appears empty,” Gerryls said several hours later, wiping his brow out of habit. He looked at his hand, surprised to see that there was no sweat on it.
“Gerryls–do you sometimes forget how it feels to feel things the way you used to?”
“Like pain? Hunger? Fear? Fortunately, yes. But you saw me just now. I sometimes forget that I underwent the serum as well. I flinch, say, or expect to be tired, when I never am anymore. Exhaustion is one thing I find I don’t miss, yet it keeps surprising me that I can keep going on day and night without it catching up to me. It’s almost unsettling, never to be tired. It’s almost as though–”
“We don’t deserve any rest, for defying nature.”
“That’s a severe way of looking at it.” Gerryls observed. “There are so many things we’ll be able to do now for the benefit of our people, things that we could never even imagine before.”
“Yes, true, but I wonder, what if we weren’t the kind who tend to be philanthropic?”
“I wouldn’t want to know the answer to that question,” Gerryls evaded. “And I suppose there’s some truth to what you said about punishment for those who defy the natural order of life.” He admitted, but chose not to explain himself. “We were recruited for this mission, but each one of us could have said no if we’d wanted to.”
“Yes, maybe.”
“Alessia–” he said, eyeing her with a steady, keen gaze, “you’re keeping something to yourself.”
“Yes, I am.”
Gerryls sighed. “I thought so. I can’t change your mind and persuade you to confide whatever’s bothering you with me, can I?”
“I’d like to, Gerryls.”
“But you won’t.”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t.”
“You’re still afraid of the mindlink, aren’t you?” He surmised. “You didn’t have much of a chance to learn to control your telepathy, did you?”
“Actually, I did.”
“Yes, but without others to help you. It’s different, linking minds with ordinary people.”
“I know. They can’t put up barriers, so that makes it easier.”
“And,” Gerryls said, “ordinary people also can’t help you telepathically to escape when you start to sink into their alien identities, either. I never read much beyond what I immediately need to know from them. None of us do. It’s dangerous to immerse yourself in foreign memory for too long, unless you learn how to navigate memory successfully. If you don’t, pretty soon you’ll convince yourself that the other memories are real. That it’s who you are.”
“Hinev spoke of this to me, warned me. I took his advice, assuredly. I never make mindlinks anymore unless I need to. Most people’s thoughts are easy enough to read on the surface.”
“So why not tell me what you’re afraid of?” Gerryls asked.
“Who said I was afraid of anything?”
“You are, though. I can sense it in you. Wait, let me guess. You’re afraid of being an outsider, since we all knew each other for so long.”
“And if I am?”
Gerryls laughed, sincerely amused. “You’re more likely to alienate the others by keeping secrets than for any other reason. They’ll get used to you in time, but not if they think you want to keep apart from everyone.”
“I didn’t say that is what I want. I just want to keep my own memories private.”
“Well, all I can say to you is that it may rouse suspicion in them to hold back who you are.”
“And what about you? How would you feel about me?”
“Me? Well, I’ve had a little more experience in the world. I don’t think it’s an awful thing to want to keep your privacy. But I can’t say I’m not curious, too.”
“Curious?”
"It’s still a mystery to us why Hinev would have disrupted our number with another crew member so close to departure, and not long before he was sent to Eneveh."
“Well, Hinev never mentioned anything about the rest of you to me, either, until afterward, until it was almost time for me to join you,” Alessia returned. “I myself might wonder why he chose not to tell me about any of you.”
Gerryls stared at her earnest expression a moment, then gave a short laugh.
Chapter Seven
As the day ended, Alessia headed to her new quarters on a moving corridor; her room lay between the bridge elevation unit and Gerryls' laboratory. Her name and rank had been etched on a silver-colored piece of plating beside the doorway. Most of the crew lived in the same section. The other crew quarter sections, housing thousands of rooms, remained empty but had been built to accommodate a large population, in case Selesta was ever to be used as a Federation transport ship.
Alessia passed nameplates that read Ioka Shiyer then Celekar Calain before she came to her own; on the other side of her lived the woman named Broah Malier. She went in silently to unpack her things and stared at her sleep panel. Sometimes, even though she didn’t need sleep very often, she found she still craved it mentally as an escape from everything. And she found that if she willed it, her body could quiet itself long enough for sleep to overtake her, especially in the suspension chambers, the suspended animation chambers, such as the one that Hinev had given her while she lived in her quarters in the Martial Scientific Force center in the middle of Ariyalsynai. There were hundreds of those on board, but not one in her quarters. Hinev said it was in general no longer possible for those who had undergone the serum to truly sleep for long, but resting did help clear the mind. Alessia decided to try a bit of that and crawled under the cover fully dressed.
She lay a long time with eyes closed before giving up on any notions of resting. Where were all the others, and what were they doing? She suddenly wondered, remembering how quiet the corridor had been, yet she was acutely conscious of the life that was stirring all about her. She alone seemed to hesitate, to be estranged from that life by the doubts and fears creeping into her thoughts.
Thirty-one of us... she thought, plus Hinev. The only comrades I will ever keep on this long, unnatural journey of life.
But Hinev, her second father, her mentor, even her friend–how would he fare once they had left him behind, alone of his kind?
She couldn’t think about that now. There was nothing she could do to change the situation, and feeling guilty about leaving him didn’t solve anything. And, Hinev had only himself to blame for what he now was and where he was.
A tone abruptly sounded that she had a visitor outside the door.
Alessia got up to open the panel doors, already sensing several people clustered outside.
“Illuminate,” she called before opening the door; the computer responded with a medium-level intensity appropriate for the evening.
The doors swished open.
"Did you think you could escape us that easily?" A woman known as Broah Malier asked as she and several others passed through the doorway. "The others had to leave for Ariyalsynai to pick up the Elders' revised mission guideline, which Marankeil won’t trust with any one else, and Gerryls is late. He was supposed to keep you busy until we finished duty, but–"
"What's going on?" Alessia asked.
"A welcoming party!” Lieutenant Vala exclaimed, holding up a sherinfruit cake.
“How did you know–”
“Ungarn. He sent your file earlier today. There wasn’t much on your list of personal preferences apart from a weakness for sherin fruit. Actually, there wasn’t much on your file at all. Nor in the global computer network memory. Except that you worked for Hinev a short time before coming to Ungarn. Hinev filled composed your file himself.”
“Should we save any cake for Kiel, Kellar, and the others?” Vala asked, motioning to the cake; she pressed a button to slide out the smooth surface of the reading station from the wall, where she could lay it down. Though they no longer needed food to survive, they could still digest food if injested. And they still enjoyed the taste of it.
“Not if they don’t get back in time,” Celekar said with a hint of mirth, tucking his long hair behind his ears. He was older than the others, in appearance twice Alessia’s age. He had a broad forehead and a firm, wide jaw that joined at a small chin, a peak in the center of his hairline, steady, smouldering grey-blue eyes quick to analyze anything they surveyed, a rough, uncompromising face, and eyebrows like two streamlined bird wings. “Kiel used to have quite an appetite in the old days, as I recall.”
Lierva choked off a laugh, eyeing Alessia with a hard gaze despite the festive atmosphere.
Don’t mind them, Broah thought as Derstan Ekeri brought Alessia a piece, and the others waited around Vala.
“I’m the cultural historian, if you remember.” Broah said, sitting down on the chair near Alessia; there were only two, which Alessia had requested be transferred from her quarters in Ariyalsynai, apart from the planes which could be extracted from the walls at the touch of a button. Alessia had brought the two cushioned, vermillion chairs with worn material around the handholds, a gift from Kudenka, long ago; both chairs appeared out of place in the room and would not survive the long journey, but they were exceedingly comfortable.
Ioka Shiyer, a tall, reed-thin woman with straight glossy hair, approached with a piece of cake and sat down cross-legged on the floor beside them. The others took seats nearby on the sleep panel and wall planes, seeming to give Alessia distance, as though they planned to introduce themselves one at a time.
“Thanks, Ioka,” Broah tossed over her shoulder, accepting an offering.
“You two have known each other longer than the others,” Alessia guessed, taking a bite out of her own piece. At least her sense of taste hadn’t been altered by Hinev’s serum, she thought gratefully for perhaps the thousandth time.
“Yes,” Broah nodded. “Except Onracey and Filaria. They’re brother and sister. Ioka and I have known each other since childhood, though. We grew up in the same outlying section of Ariyalsynai, but we only became close friends while training in Ariyalsynai at the Federation Science Building.”
“You were there, too?” Alessia said.
“I was taking chemical analysis, and Ioka had begun her training in the Tactics Division as a political analyst, but she diversified into statistical analysis.”
“And we were paired in the same quarters a year later.” Ioka added.
“When we graduated into the Martial Scientific Force's Specialists' Division, I was assigned to the team that analyzed the cultural discoveries of the newly returned explorers.”
“Did you know Kudenka, Niflan–”
“No, I never actually got to meet any of them.” Broah raised a palm. “If everyone in Ariyalsynai who’d wanted to meet them was able to get the chance, there’d have been a line outside the Federation Science Building all the way to Firien!”
“So how did you get involved in this mission?” Alessia asked, wondering if Broah had understood about the serum before she agreed to train as an explorer.
“Well, I did get a chance to meet Hinev while I was working. And then after a while, I began hearing reports that the Federation was looking for candidates for another mission, so I persuaded Ioka here to join me, and we went through a screening process. Hinev hand selected us himself, though I still sometimes wonder why.”
“You still don’t believe what he told you, do you?” Ioka threw up her hands. “Hinev said the other prospective candidates weren’t anywhere near as argumentative as we were.”
“No, it’s not that we don’t argue.” Broah disagreed. “He liked us on sight, and didn’t want to separate us. Our friendship was touching to him, and he said that the explorers have to be willing to risk a lot for each other. Without loyalty, there’d be mutiny–chaos. Plus, Hinev said his own experience had taught him the pain of severing all ties with one's former life.”
“What about your families?” Alessia suddenly realized that they’d never see any of their families again. Since she no longer had one, she’d forgotten about how difficult leaving Seynorynael might be for the others.
“That was the last condition.” Broah said, serious, stony-faced now.
“What?”
“Haven’t you guessed?” Ioka arched a brow. “None of the explorers have families left to consider, or we had to be willing to leave them behind forever.”
“You can’t all be without families,” Alessia protested. “Or—I guess you have had to say good-bye to them? That’s rough.”
Broah put a hand on Ioka’s shoulder. When she looked at Alessia, there was a steely expression in her eyes.
“Yes, it is. As for me, my parents died when I was two, but I was raised by close friends of the family. They loved me dearly but never had great expectations of me, until I applied to the training school for the Federation Science Department. I’m glad I decided to go there,” Broah said, in a dry tone. “Or I’d never have met Ioka again.”
“It’s the strangest thing, but while you’ve been talking, I feel as though I’ve been seeing your experiences.”
“Of course you have,” Broah said, as though the statement were obvious. “I was projecting my memories to you. We don’t really even need a holo-room, but the engineers who helped build Selesta couldn’t have expected that, of course.”
“You loved your younger brother more. Vaiel?” Alessia guessed.
“Let me tell you how jealous I used to be of Ioka.”
“Why?” Alessia wondered.
“Well, Ioka here’s the only child of a wealthy family from Kilkor. When I was young, I thought she had it all.”
“Kilkor…” Alessia thought. “Reputed to be a great city to the West, almost as half as large as Ariyalsynai.”
“And one of the ancient cities. It’s one of my favorite places to visit.” Broah smiled.
“My family moved to Ariyalsynai when I was a child.” Ioka said. “My father had become a head of Federation Cordan Imports. And it didn’t hurt that the move allowed him to become a city representative so he could further his political ambitions.”
“You see, Cordan made their family very wealthy,” Broah added. “He could almost buy himself a seat on the city council. I know you know about Cordan, of course, Alessia—the substance prevalent in the clear indestructible windows of Ariyalsynai.
“I always thought that Ioka was lucky, her future so secure, so easy to arrange if it hadn’t been already.” Broah said. “It’s strange, to be so wrong about everyone and not know it. I wish I could show them, sometimes, how bittersweet and amazing it is to understand the experiences and motives of other individuals in a mindlink. To feel their aspirations, share their excitement–I’m not the same person I was exactly after seeing other lives like that–”
“I’m sure Alessia understands all of this,” Ioka interrupted.
“Isn’t it marvelous, though, how the merging of our thoughts has made us all instant experts in nearly every area of study imaginable?” Broah sighed. “I found it amazing and am very grateful to Hinev for this gift, of course. Very grateful. It is such a great gift—knowledge,
and even more so, the power to put it to good use.”
Alessia smiled, missing Hinev acutely at that moment.
“I guess first impressions aren’t ever accurate,” Broah nodded. “The first thing I really learned about Ioka here,” Broah continued, “was that she was re-living her father's life rather than her own. All the signs were there before, if I’d really paid attention, but of course I never realized. She was his only child, and to his mind, the responsibility of maintaining her family's honor was going to fall on her. To please her father she had gone into political analysis, but it wasn’t easy to excel because that wasn’t what she really wanted to do.”
“I finally transferred to statistical analysis.” Ioka explained. “To an equally acceptable field, as far as my father saw it. Fortunately, I discovered some latent interest in that area of study or else I never could have carried myself through that kind of rigorous training.”
“Ioka wanted to specialize in Kilkoran sub-culture and dialect.” Broah shook her head. “But of course, what kind of a specialization is that for someone of her background?”
Ioka narrowed her eyes. “What can I say? Kilkor still haunts me, I suppose, because I never wanted to leave that place.” Ioka shrugged. “It’s a beautiful sea coast province, a bit like Firien. Of course, we had everything we wanted outside Ariyalsynai, but I preferred to be in Kilkor.”
“And when you met Broah, who had a large family, a family that didn’t expect her always to succeed, you wished you were her!” Alessia perceived.
“The cake’s almost gone.” Derstan Ekeri interrupted. “If you’d like, I don’t mind making a mindlink with you—up to you.”
“All right then, I guess–” Alessia said, reaching out through the air for Derstan’s surface thoughts...
* * * * *
...Derstan Ekeri, the ship's communications specialist, had lived on Kayria for six Seynorynaelian years, nine by Kayrian years. He had trained there as a child and learned to speak the Federation languages fluently. After his first year of advanced study in communications, his family had moved back to Seynorynael, his mothers' translation project finished. Derstan had gone to the Federation Science Building to complete his training in communication codes and etymology. There Hinev, who was half-Kayrian, had approached Derstan and spoken to him anonymously. Identifying himself only as a technician, Hinev had asked Derstan questions about Derstan’s time on Kayria.