The Record She Left Behind. Patrice Sharpe-Sutton

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      The Zenobians wended among stars to record Milky Way spectra and search for cosmic anomalies.

      Zer had burrowed into a comfortable position, knees tucked to chest, to watch streaming particles. When choreographed, the ceaseless flow of light patterns showing on her viewscreen would provide background melody for leaping, plunging thermal colors. A musical bar displayed translated heat-color into soundless notes. Zer wanted to hear the pulsing frequencies. She pat, tap, patted the display as ribbons of blue and purple wavelengths rose and burst and collapsed.

      Zer glanced about the workroom. No one stirred in either direction along the hallway curve. Crewmates sat at four paired stations, spaced along the curve in a compass ring. Those Zer could see had their noses raptly pointed at their displays; Vatta was just as engrossed.

      Zer drummed the beat of the pulsing line, waiting. Leon had forgotten to invite her to the pilot's room where sound data flowed in. Pilots transposed celestial landscapes into music; he'd promised a chance to watch him choreograph a composition from raw data. She could change dimensions, sneak in. Suffering Leon’s calm, impersonal wrath beat endless hours tracking data far from home in a big tub in alien space where she wasn't even allowed to change dimensions. It was natural to turn invisible; back home everyone did.

      Here, they had to practice staying third-dimensional solid so later on Earth they wouldn't shock Earthlings. If they ever got there.

      She stretched her legs and got to her feet to go check the seeds. It was hard ignoring their pleas, the tiny prickly sensations in her mind.

      Sudden laughter sailed round the hall. Vatta glanced at Zer. “We're swapping travel jokes to pass time. Pool with us.”

      Zer was not in the mood for psychic communion. “What's funny?”

      “Maiden visits to Earth.”

      “Yours wasn't funny.” When humans rushed toward Vatta with flashing cameras, Vatta lost control of her body and turned into a semi-dematerialized halo long enough to play tricks on Earthling minds.

      “We’re a threat,” Vatta said, laughing.

      “Glad you broke them in. You suggesting we play jokes on them?” Zer asked. Better that than change their habits just so they could spend one month among them.

      “It gets easier staying solid, especially in Earth’s gravity.”

      “Sure.” Remaining third-di solid was easy until you had to. Now she flipped somersaults to keep from exploding or turning fourth- or fifth-dimensional. She used to go invisible at whim with no concern about appearances. It made for quick travel.

      “We're all having difficulty adjusting.” Vatta leaned over, tapped a long, pearly finger on Zer's screen and switched on image choices that activated memories. “Solid body sensations.”

      “Distractions.” These preflight simulations were Zer’s least favorite part of warrior training. She’d liked the physical exercise part and spent extra time in third-di form, practicing.

      “So you don't go planting trees.” Vatta changed the angle and size of pulsing frequencies. Huge, lifelike forty-foot waves surged straight at Zer.

      She ducked as the swell broke, smelled pungent seaweed—recalling its briny burning in her nose got her cells all agitated. The molecular frequency motions or bonds of her body changed. She gripped the chair, wishing she weren’t so volatile. She’d go nova, turn into a light being. She’d lose the way home.

      Leon, Zer telepathically shouted, turn on the music.

      Finally, a long, reedy note wailed past her round the deck. Vatta swayed with it, crooning. Zer jumped up to dance, but the tantalizing song receded. Drat Leon. Was it another test of her will? He was usually subtle. “Lousy pilot.” While composing, he was supposedly able to mentally stalk the crew, caring for their welfare.

      “You wanted to hear a music sample,” Vatta said.

      “I could’ve gone nova. He should’ve come.” Leon had the golden eyes; he could’ve calmed her just by looking at her.

      “C-ring's out of sync.” Vatta was listening to the thrum coming from the wall behind. “No wonder we're giddy.” Inside the C-ring wall, the pyrid’s midsection, energy twisted round a coil and generated subliminal throbs that promoted pooling or other states.

      “Rhythm's off,” Zer said.

      “You’ll adjust,” Vatta said.

      You’re off tune, Leon said, telepathically.

      Fine. I’ll take a walk, Zer thought back at him. And maybe she’d plant a few seed.

      That’s a dangerous thought cloud forming in your mind.

      You don’t have to monitor me that closely, Leon. If you are, why haven’t you helped?

      Busy. Leon conveyed an image of a broken song-keying slate, its cord disconnected from the music duct that transferred heat-color sound vibrations into the pilot’s hub. Take care you don’t get overstimulated. СКАЧАТЬ