The Silka
Chapter Seven
M'nala showed the humans to their apartments and left them there alone, hating the feeling of relief that washed over her. But she couldn't help it. She knew they were totally unaware of how it felt to her to be close to them. She also knew they had no control over the electromagnetic field they projected, just as every other living thing did, though some of them claimed to be able to see it, calling it an aura, according to McGee. He's also told them that they'd developed a primitive form of photography called Aura photography that captured images produced using biofeedback techniques as well as Kirlian photography. The images were reputed to be those of the electrical field that surrounds every object produced by the inherent properties of the atomic particles that make up every molecule.
She didn't know and she didn't care. What she did know was that being near them, near their uncontrolled fields was like moving against sandpaper. It had taken them months to teach Eden to control hers and years until she'd reached a point where her ability to do so equaled that of even the most immature Silka child. She shivered, rubbing her arms and pushed the memory away.
The door to her office was slightly ajar, telling her she had company. And there was only one person who'd take it upon himself to just go in and sit down to wait for her. N'tark, who'd ignored the nuances and implications of the fact that she no longer shared his bed or even any other part of his life if she could avoid it. She pushed the door all the way open, her eyes shooting daggers into his back, making no effort to hide it when he turned to greet her, without even bothering to rise in deference to her rank as a healer-attendant or to the fact that she was the mother of his children, raising and caring for them without him because..." She bit that thought off too and moved around behind her desk. She seated herself without a word, waiting for him to tell her why he was here.
"It is a mistake, this bringing these beings here. They will not understand. We cannot afford them to even guess at what we Silka do." His voice, as always, was calm, controlled. N'tark, no matter how angry he was, showed nothing of his emotions. And little of any others he might be feeling at the moment, which perhaps explained M'nala's difficulties with him. He met her eyes his own the deep green of a forest and as impenetrable.
"Eden understood," M'nala said. "And McGee has assured us they will not betray us. Are you suggesting he is wrong?"
"I'm suggesting he cannot know. That he trusts these people does not mean they deserve his trust or that they have earned ours," he replied reasonably. "Nor does it mean that their ideas of a solution, should they come up with one, will fit our needs and philosophy. They cannot understand. They are not equipped to do so."
She kept her cluck of impatience internal. Instead she said, "It isn't understanding we require. It's a cure to a disease that could destroy us, rendering all of those considerations moot. So I would suggest that you hold your suspicions in abeyance and give them a chance to earn our trust."
"And take the chance that everything we've worked for, everything we've sacrificed for, for all these millennia being destroyed by one loose word?" He shook his head, then met her look. "I will bide my time. My people will not take action. Yet. But be advised we will the moment we feel we must."
She gripped her hands tight together in order to keep from screaming at him. She knew from bitter experience how useless it was. His arrogance was proof against anything. "My people," she mimicked scornfully. "And what will they do? Kill them? Destroy their memories? Hold them prisoner here? Just how far behind have you left all we hold most important in your rush to power?" She shook her head, sneering at him. But why am I surprised. It is a measure of the arrogance you deny that you think the First Ones need you to protect what we do."
He stood to loom over her. "You allow your emotions to cloud your intellect. So it has always been." He turned and left her there, he calm as usual and she seething.
She didn't know and she didn't care. What she did know was that being near them, near their uncontrolled fields was like moving against sandpaper. It had taken them months to teach Eden to control hers and years until she'd reached a point where her ability to do so equaled that of even the most immature Silka child. She shivered, rubbing her arms and pushed the memory away.
The door to her office was slightly ajar, telling her she had company. And there was only one person who'd take it upon himself to just go in and sit down to wait for her. N'tark, who'd ignored the nuances and implications of the fact that she no longer shared his bed or even any other part of his life if she could avoid it. She pushed the door all the way open, her eyes shooting daggers into his back, making no effort to hide it when he turned to greet her, without even bothering to rise in deference to her rank as a healer-attendant or to the fact that she was the mother of his children, raising and caring for them without him because..." She bit that thought off too and moved around behind her desk. She seated herself without a word, waiting for him to tell her why he was here.
"It is a mistake, this bringing these beings here. They will not understand. We cannot afford them to even guess at what we Silka do." His voice, as always, was calm, controlled. N'tark, no matter how angry he was, showed nothing of his emotions. And little of any others he might be feeling at the moment, which perhaps explained M'nala's difficulties with him. He met her eyes his own the deep green of a forest and as impenetrable.
"Eden understood," M'nala said. "And McGee has assured us they will not betray us. Are you suggesting he is wrong?"
"I'm suggesting he cannot know. That he trusts these people does not mean they deserve his trust or that they have earned ours," he replied reasonably. "Nor does it mean that their ideas of a solution, should they come up with one, will fit our needs and philosophy. They cannot understand. They are not equipped to do so."
She kept her cluck of impatience internal. Instead she said, "It isn't understanding we require. It's a cure to a disease that could destroy us, rendering all of those considerations moot. So I would suggest that you hold your suspicions in abeyance and give them a chance to earn our trust."
"And take the chance that everything we've worked for, everything we've sacrificed for, for all these millennia being destroyed by one loose word?" He shook his head, then met her look. "I will bide my time. My people will not take action. Yet. But be advised we will the moment we feel we must."
She gripped her hands tight together in order to keep from screaming at him. She knew from bitter experience how useless it was. His arrogance was proof against anything. "My people," she mimicked scornfully. "And what will they do? Kill them? Destroy their memories? Hold them prisoner here? Just how far behind have you left all we hold most important in your rush to power?" She shook her head, sneering at him. But why am I surprised. It is a measure of the arrogance you deny that you think the First Ones need you to protect what we do."
He stood to loom over her. "You allow your emotions to cloud your intellect. So it has always been." He turned and left her there, he calm as usual and she seething.
