Kensho (Claimings) - Lyn Gala Page 0,1

away rather than sit on the temple floor and see if the Grandmothers of Deidell would seek her counsel.

It was a cautionary tale. Just because a Grandmother was ready to walk a border did not mean they had the right to walk it. Rownt followed where Grandmothers walked.

Ironically, every Rownt would have chosen to follow that Prabrateakil Grandmother into space. Her motives touched the Rownt soul. But in the end she chose not to follow the path she herself had set. She-who-had-been-Ragil was acutely aware of the danger that approached with the strangers’ ship—and the danger was not limited to individual Rownt lives or profits.

“I will advise parents to remove their egglings,” another said.

She-who-had-been-Ragil should have advised that first, but she walked toward the stairs without comment. She was fortunate to have so many elder Grandmothers to stand beside her. A Rownt who invited others to pick a harvest had to share the profits, but a Rownt who picked a harvest alone watched fruit rot on the plant.

“Grandmothers! A transmission!” The youngest Grandmother’s voice trembled with emotion. She-who-had-been-Ragil turned back to the monitors. “I believe they transmit visual and auditory information.” Her tail whipped so furiously that she slapped another Grandmother. The victim of that errant tail hissed, and the young Grandmother held her hands low and even showed the back of her neck.

“We are all emotional,” She-who-had-been-Ragil said, not specifying whether she intended her admonition for the hissing or the tail. The young Grandmother curled her tail around her leg where it should’ve been. She was cursed with a masculine tail that showed her emotions more than a Grandmother’s tail generally did. “Can you display the transmission?”

“The visual,” the young Grandmother said. She tapped at her computer and a figure appeared on the screen, blurred by static but unmistakably Rownt-like. The Grandmothers all looked at one another in shock. They had never seen such a familiar face on a stranger.

“It appears angry,” a Grandmother commented.

She-who-had-been-Ragil agreed. The color was most unfortunate. If they had met these strangers while standing on a ship, She-who-had-been-Ragil would assume the Rownt had trespassed—nothing else would account for the apparent rage in the stranger’s expression. Every bit of blood had fled the creature’s face, leaving it pale with anger or perhaps distress. The stranger’s mouth moved, and a Grandmother moved to a computer and opened the communication to planetary defense.

“Do they send audio?” She-who-had-been-Ragil asked. She would not have strangers treated like predators because of unfortunate coloring.

“I struggle to separate the signal from the noise the ship generates,” another Grandmother said. A new stranger moved to stand beside the first. This one was much more agreeably colored; around the room Grandmothers relaxed fractionally. Perhaps the pallor of the first did not indicate emotions as it would on a Rownt. After all, Imshee never changed color, even at their most fearful or angry.

“We should transmit,” She-who-had-been-Ragil said, and she hoped that some Grandmother would provide a logical objection. When none did, She-who-had-been-Ragil moved to a computer and brought up the communication menu. She studied the technical data collected by the satellites and hoped these strangers could receive and understand Rownt transmissions. The strangers had shown two individuals, so she made eye contact with the second oldest Grandmother. She moved to stand next to She-who-had-been-Ragil.

Since she had nothing to say to the strangers, She-who-had-been-Ragil transmitted the visual image and watched. It would take the transmission eighty-four minutes to reach the strangers. Only then would they get to see the strangers’ reactions. If they were wise traders, they would stop transmitting so they could preserve their privacy, but She-who-had-been-Ragil had no illusions about a stranger following the same rules of logic.

“I believe this is the audio transmission,” the young Grandmother said. Noise filled the temple. Not noise. A voice. It was high but not unpleasantly so. The more concerning problem was that She-who-had-been-Ragil heard no individual words. The sound went on and on for an impossible length of time before a brief pause and then more sounds. She considered her fellow Grandmothers in dismay. How could they interpret sounds that were not discrete units?

When the Imshee had come to Prarownt, they had provided the translations with their computers. This time the strangers brought strange words. But Janatjanay stood where others would not. The Janatjanay Grandmothers transmitted news and called out to strangers to come and stand where none of their kind had stood before. This was their business just as the business of Deidell was metals and