Free Hellspark by Janet Kagan Page A

didn’t someone tell me?”
    “Because it’s one of the hardest things in the world to tell. You interpret both spacing and gesture on a subconscious level as you’ve been trained to interpret them by your culture. In fact, there are at least six different sets of proxemics and kinesics on Sivy alone, and you’d be hard put to get one of the others correctly. The fact that, to the ear, you all speak the same tongue, makes it all the more liable to misinterpretation.”
    Alfvaen sat down, put her chin in her hand. After a long time, she said, “I’ve seen it, and I didn’t know what it was. And if it’s that difficult between two people who’ve known each other all their lives…
    Tocohl, perhaps I’ve misinterpreted Jaef altogether.”
    “I doubt it, or you’d be calling him ‘swift-Kalat’ like the rest of us. He gave you his soft-name, Alfvaen; that’s a very good indication of how he feels about you.” For Maggy’s benefit, Tocohl added, “And I’d say you felt the same way, even though you had no soft-name to give in return.”
    Tocohl knelt to look her straight in the eye. “You have a good ear, and you can catch on quickly to the visual aspects.” She grinned. “And you have a better motivation than most to learn. I’d bet money you can get all the basics on a conscious level by the time we get to Flashfever. If you’re willing, that is…?”
    “Willing?” And once again, Alfvaen was on her feet. In three steps, she’d set her toes once more Page 31

    against the broad stripe in the carpet. “All right,” she said, “show me how it works in Jenji. I swear I
    won’t move an inch.”
    Tocohl laughed. “You probably will—but by next week you won’t.”
    In fact, it was the rigidly codified rules of dueling that gave Alfvaen her greatest asset in learning the proxemics and kinesics of Jenji. Tocohl could explain certain uses of space between two speakers in terms of the very precise movements of the duel, codifying them in Alfvaen’s mind.
    All in all, Tocohl was pleased with her pupil. Even now, as she fairly crackled with anticipation, Alfvaei spoke in Jenji and carefully maintained the proper polite distance. Tocohl knew it was no easy task for her—on Alfvaen’s world, physical closeness implied intimacy.
    “I mean no denigration of your teaching ability Tocohl,” she said, “I am only afraid that will forget
    I
    my lessons-s. If I’s-stop thinking about it, I will s-step back.” The emotional stress had brought her slurring back.
    Tocohl’s hands moved swiftly as she manually brought the Margaret Lord Lynn into geostationary orbit above the survey camp; Maggy flashed confirmation. Tocohl said, without looking up, “Take a pill and don’t worry. I’ll let you know when you can stop thinking about it.”
    (Something is bothering her,) Maggy said privately (What’s wrong?) (Nothing we need worry about, Maggy,) said Tocohl in the same mode, (I’ll explain it later.) Aloud, she said, “There we are. Good to know my brain hasn’t atrophied. Now see if you can raise Captain
    Kejesli.”
    She glanced briefly at the serendipitist and wondered why she’d ever thought those quick green eyes pale. “Your pardon if I speak Sheveschkem?”
    “What distance do I s-stand for that?”
    In Jenji, it was not a joke, but Tocohl grinned back at her. “Stick to Jenji,” she said. “The usual survey team is so diverse that no two members speak the same language. Don’t confuse the issue.”
    Maggy pinged for attention; “I have Captain Rav Kejesli,” she said. Tocohl pointed to an area of the screen.
    A face appeared in the indicated spot, dwarfed by the full-screen display of the stormy atmosphere of Flashfever. Tocohl shifted her attention to take in Rav Kejesli. He was a stocky man with gray eyes and a worried expression. His long dark hair was elaborately beaded and clicked with each movement of
    his head. A festival pin glittered in his vest lapel—a pin of remembrance, in