Through Alien Eyes

One

Ukatonen looked out the window at his home world of Tiangi. It had grown steadily smaller as the humans’ sky raft sped through the starry, endless night. All the trees he had climbed, all the creatures he had ever hunted, all the rivers he had swum in, were now contained in a cloud-swathed blue crescent he could cover with his outstretched hand. It made him feel very small and alone.

Mold’s arm slid around his waist. Ukatonen looked down at the youngster, his skin brightening to pale blue with gladness. He was only a bami, and a young one at that, but Moki was Ukatonen’s last link with his home world. Moki had been adopted by the human Eerin after she saved his life. Ukatonen had made a formal judgment that Eerin could adopt the tinka, brushing aside the objections of the elders of the village she was living in. The adoption had worked out well; they had become exceptionally close.

When Eerin’s people came to take her back to her home world, Moki made it clear that he would either go with her or die. So Ukatonen had rendered a judgment that he and Moki would return to Earth with Eerin. Since his life was forfeit if his judgment was wrong, the humans were forced to take the two of them, or have the death of an enkar on their consciences.

Now, looking at his world dwindling behind them, Uka-tonen wondered if he had done the right thing. The ship, and these humans, were stranger than he had imagined. Everything was bright, and smooth, and bare. The air was dry and the ship was cold and very small. There was a constant vibration underfoot and in his ears that masked the small sounds he was used to. The people were either too friendly or seemed frightened of him. He longed for the shady, concealing jungle of home, with its familiar smell of wet and rotting vegetation, and the distant sweet scent of flowers. The ship reeked of humans, and under that the dry smell of metal, the waxy scent of plastic, and the sharp pungency of the substances used to clean the ship. He was finding it very hard not to show how uneasy the sterile environment of the ship made him feel.

Perhaps it would have been better for him to seek an honorable death. But his people needed to know more about these humans, and it was his duty as an enkar to learn everything he could.

Ukatonen looked up and saw Eerin watching him. Was that a look of concern on her face? Even after four years of observing her, he had trouble deciphering her alien features. It was even harder now that Eerin was among her own people. She seemed like a stranger, her body concealed by clothes, her skin the color of embarrassment, speaking the humans’ noisy sound speech. Even her name was different. The humans called her Juna, or Dr. Saari.

Eerin came over to them and put her arm’ around Moki’s shoulders. The bami looked up at her, his skin flaring blue with happiness at her touch.

“Are you all right?” Eerin asked.

Ukatonen’s ears twitched at the sound of her words. Human sound speech sounded like frogs in heat. It amazed him that intelligent creatures actually communicated like that. If only Eerin could still speak properly.

“Tiangi looks so small from here.” He spoke in the humans’ skin speech, which they called “writing.” The human words appearing on his chest were dark grey with sadness.

Eerin nodded. “Do you miss it much?”

“Everything’s so strange here. So bright and dry and empty.” He shook his head. “I’ll get used to it,” he reassured her. He would have to. The journey from Tiangi to the humans’ planet, Earth, would take more than four months.

A trickle of grey anguish slid down his back. Four months in this barren, lifeless place! There were a few small trees and shrubs, planted in what the humans called a garden, but none of them were big enough to climb in, and only a few provided adequate cover. Well, Eerin had told him that it was going to be difficult. He would find a way to adapt. He had to. He was an enkar, and this was his duty. It was the only honorable thing to do.

Moki watched Ukatonen leave the gathering. He was worried about the enkar. Despite his brave talk, the enkar was finding it difficult to adapt. It was hard for Moki too; the ship was uncomfortably dry, cold, and cramped. But as long as his sitik was with him, even a place as strange as this could be home.

Because of their special status, enkar were expected to avoid close ties with others. Here on the humans’ sky raft, only Eerin understood that. The other humans approached Ukatonen with an eager friendliness that stripped the enkar of the dignity and honor of his lonely status.

Moki looked up at Tiangi, dwindling on the screen. Soon, Eerin told him, the world he was born on would be just another spot of light like all the other stars in the sky. He found the idea frightening, but also strangely exciting. No other Tendu had ever gone this far. He and Ukatonen would be the first to see another world.

But right now Ukatonen needed the comforting presence of another Tendu, though his dignity would never allow him to admit it. Eerin, busy talking to one of the other humans, didn’t even look up as Moki slipped away to find the enkar.

Juna stood watching the sparse crowd of people at the reception. The Homa Darabi Maru was running with a skeleton crew. Everyone else had been left behind on Tiangi. “Dr. Saari?” It was Commander Sussman, captain of the ship.

“Yes, Commander?”

“I was hoping to have a chance to get to know the Tendu. I’ve been so busy getting the ship underway that I haven’t had the chance to talk to them.”

Juna glanced around the room, looking for the small, long-limbed Tendu. They had slipped away again. Ukato-nen had probably gone off somewhere to brood, and Moki, concerned about the enkar, had followed him.

“I’m afraid that they’ve slipped out of the room, Commander. They’re not used to shipboard life just yet, and I think the reception was a little overwhelming.” Her lips tightened in momentary exasperation. It was considered very poor form to snub the captain of the ship, especially at a formal reception like this.

Guilt replaced her irritation. Ukatonen was here because of her. If she had not adopted Moki, Ukatonen would not be here. But then, neither would Moki, and she couldn’t imagine life without her irrepressible bami.

She shook her head. She could not change the past. The present was all that mattered now. She apologized to the commander, and went to find her two wayward aliens.

Moki found the enkar in the garden. He held his arms out, spurs upward, asking to link with Ukatonen. Here on this sterile, barren ship, their world dwindling behind them, Moki needed the comfort of allu-a as much as the enkar did, and it would not violate his dignity to admit it.

“Let’s go to our cabin,” Ukatonen said. “It’s too open out here. The humans will see us.”

Moki nodded. Allu-a made the humans uneasy, so they had to link in private. A yellow flicker of irritation forked down Moki’s back. Everything about them seemed to make the humans uneasy. He hated the restrictions their discomfort burdened him with.

They left the garden and threaded the long, bright maze of passageways with their brilliant white walls and sharp corners, their feet silent on the soft beige carpet. The empty hallways made Moki nervous. He kept expecting something to jump out at him from behind one of the myriad identical doors that lined the hallways. His nervousness was the result of long years as a tinka with no sitik to protect him from predators. The reflexes of that vulnerable time came back to him here in the bare corridors of the humans’ sky raft.

They passed several humans, who looked away uncomfortably. Something about them embarrassed the humans. Yet only a few of the humans on Tiangi had responded like that. What were they doing wrong?

At last they reached their cabin. The door slid open with a sound like the hiss of an angry ganuna. Still, Moki felt profoundly relieved when the door hissed shut behind them. This cold, dry, alien room was the only spot on the ship where they could truly be themselves. The two of them sat on one of the strange, flat beds provided by the humans. Moki stretched out his arms, spurs upward. Uka-tonen grasped Moki’s forearms. Their spurs pierced each other’s skin and they plunged into the inner metabolic world of tastes, smells, and emotions that was allu-a.

As always, Moki marveled at the power of Ukatonen’s presence. Linking with Ukatonen was like being swept along by a rain-swollen river. Despite his power, Ukatonen controlled the link with the delicate precision of a mi-tamit building her mating web. Moki drifted, letting the comfort of the enkar’s presence carry him along. Ukatonen’s presence enfolded Moki, and Moki let his sour loneliness and bitter frustration wash into the link, where the power of the enkar’s presence swept it away.

Moki reached out to Ukatonen, trying to release the fear and loneliness that the enkar kept hidden. Ukatonen pushed him away. Moki relaxed immediately, emitting shame and embarrassment at his presumption. The swiftness and contrition of Moki’s apology amused Ukatonen. Even if he hadn’t gotten Ukatonen to relax his rigid emotional control, Moki had at least alleviated the enkar’s dark and lonely mood.

They lingered well past the point of emotional equilibrium. Neither wanted to leave the familiar haven of allu-a for the alien world outside. At last Moki began to tire, and Ukatonen broke the link with a bittersweet tinge of regret.

The door hissed open and Juna climbed down the spiral staircase to the garden. The garden was silent and empty, the bright sun lights shining down on the motionless plants. Everyone not on duty was at the reception. She felt vaguely guilty, slipping away like this.

Well, if they weren’t in the garden, they were probably in their cabin. She headed down the carpeted hallways until she reached their cabin. Opening the door, she peeked inside. Ukatonen and Moki were seated on the bed, lost in allu-a.

Juna sat on the cabin’s second bed and watched the two aliens. She had been so busy dealing with the details of getting them settled and preparing for orbit that she had been able to link with the Tendu only once. And the Survey had prohibited allu-a. It was a regulation that came from Earth, based on the report she had made four and a half years ago, when she was first marooned on Tiangi. She had barely known the Tendu then, and linking was still a strange and frightening invasion.

The regulation was stupid, but no one on this side of the jump gate had the authority to countermand it, so Juna had decided to ignore the rule. Moki had a deep physiological need to link with her. If he could not engage in allu-a with his sitik, he would become apathetic and depressed, and eventually die.

She sighed, wishing she was linked with the Tendu. Their skins were a calm, neutral celadon, reflecting their inward preoccupation. Seated, with their long limbs folded, they looked strangely childlike. The spidery, graceful Tendu had made her feel huge and awkward when she was on Tiangi. Here on the ship, they seemed somehow diminished. Ukatonen, who was one of the tallest Tendu she had ever met, barely came up to her chin, and Moki was nearly a foot shorter than that.

Those first few weeks had been a brutal time. The filters on her environment suit had failed and she was dying of anaphylactic shock when the aliens found her. She had awakened in a strange, leathery cocoon, halfway up a tree. Her skin was wet and slimy, and changed color in response to her emotions.

The Tendu thought she was some strange new animal, and had treated her as such until she learned to communicate with them. Even after that it had been hard. She had to learn to eat raw meat, and sleep in a pile of rotting leaves, and struggle to understand the Tendu’s primitive, harsh lives. The loneliness, strangeness and isolation had nearly unhinged her.

Ukatonen and Moki were suffering the same dislocation and loneliness that she had felt on Tiangi. She did everything she could to help them, but it was up to them to adapt to life among her people. Unlike her, however, they had chosen to leave their people. And they had each other for company. Most important of all, they had allu-a to help ease their loneliness.

Allu-a was the bond that held the Tendu culture together. Linking cemented the bond between bami and sitik; it drew villages into a harmonious, coherent whole; and helped the enkar resolve disputes. After four and a half years on Tiangi, she had learned to treasure the intense level of intimacy that came with linking. The formal, distant life she had lived in the Survey seemed sterile and lonely now.

She missed her life on Tiangi nearly as much as the two Tendu did. But she also missed being among humans again, and she fiercely missed her family. Her brother Toivo’s spine had been crushed in a spinball accident, leaving him paralyzed. She had to see Toivo, and try to help him. And so they were all here, on their way to Earth. She hoped she had done the right thing. Unlike the enkar, she had to live with her mistakes.

With a sudden, deep inhalation, Ukatonen opened his eyes and sat up, unclasping Moki’s arms. Moki awoke a moment later. They looked better. The link must have gone well.

“Hello, Eerin,” Moki said, reaching out and brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “It was a good link. I’m sorry that you weren’t with us.”

“I wish I had been,” she told them. “I came to see how you were doing. I’m concerned about you, en,” she said to Ukatonen. “You seem unhappy.”

Ukatonen nodded, a gesture he had learned from her. “It is a difficult thing to watch your world growing small enough to hold in the palm of ymir hand.”

“Are you sure that this is what you want to do?” Juna asked. “It’s not too late to turn the ship around and go back.”

“Eerin, when have I ever gone back on my word?” Ukatonen said. “You warned me that it would be difficult, but I will learn to live among your people as you learned to live among mine.”

Juna nodded. She hadn’t really expected him to change his mind. Going back would mean a loss of honor so profound that he would have had to kill himself. Still she had to remind him that the option existed.

“Then what can I do to help you adapt?”

Ukatonen shook his head. “Nothing. Everything must happen in here,” he said gesturing at himself with a long, graceful hand.

“And Moki, what about you?” Juna asked.

Moki rippled amusement. “You are my sitik,” he replied. “Your home is my home, your life is my life. Every day you teach me more about how to live among your people. All I need is time, and useful work to do. Though perhaps our cabin could be warmer,” he suggested, “and perhaps more— ” he paused, searching for the correct word— “water in the air.”

“Humidity,” Juna told him. “The word is humidity.” She traced the letters on his arm, showing him how it was spelled. The word flared on his chest several times as he memorized it. Ukatonen practiced the word along with Moki.

“I’ll let the environmental technicians know. And I’ll ask the Life Support people if they’ll let you help them in the garden.”

Waves of blue coursed over Moki’s body. “Thank you, siti,” he said.

“I can’t promise anything, and if you are allowed to help, you must do exactly what the gardeners tell you to.” Moki nodded eagerly, and four horizontal bars flickered across Ukatonen’s chest in acknowledgment. “We look forward to learning the gardeners’ atwa,” the enkar told her. “It will be good to be of use.”

Juna smiled and was about to reply, when she heard them paging her over the ship’s public address system.

She swore in Amharic, the language of her mother. “I’m late for the staff meeting!”

At least I have a good reason for being late, she thought as she headed out the door at a run.

“Welcome, Dr. Saari,” Commander Sussman said as Juna took the last remaining seat. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Juna listened as the ship’s divisions delivered their reports. It was a good, well-run ship, there were only a couple of minor problems, quickly solved. At last it was her turn.

“By now most of you have met Ukatonen and Moki,” she said. “Hopefully you’ve had time to read through my preliminary report on the Tendu.” She was greeted with mostly blank looks.

“I’m afraid that getting the ship under way has taken up all of the crew’s time, Dr. Saari,” the first mate told her apologetically. “But the crew is interested in the aliens, and will read the report as soon as they can. Perhaps you can summarize the details for us.”

Juna glanced at Commander Sussman, who nodded. “If you would be so kind, Dr. Saari. I’m sure the staff would appreciate it.”

“It is easy to underestimate the Tendu,” Juna began. “Their culture seems quite primitive at first glance, but they have been stable and at peace for many millenia. Their medical and biological sciences surpass our own in many respects. I was dying of anaphylactic shock in the forest when the Tendu found me. They created a symbiotic skin that protected me from the deadly allergens on the planet, and made it possible for me to speak Tendu skin speech. Because of the Tendu’s help, I am the first human to survive on the surface of a living alien world without an environment suit.” Juna paused a moment to let the implications of that sink in before going on.

“Moki and Ukatonen are highly intelligent, and moderately fluent in Standard. They can understand you if you use simple language and speak slowly and clearly. The Tendu language is visual. They “speak” in color and pattern. They also display emotions as color. Red is anger, orange is fear, turquoise is pleasure, and so on. There’s a complete listing in my report.

“When they’re speaking Standard, the Tendu spell the words out on their skin. If you have trouble communicating, try writing out what you are saying. Sometimes that helps. Their name for me is Eerin,” she said, writing out both the Standard spelling and the skin speech glyph.

“Ukatonen, the taller of the two, is an enkar. The enkar are the closest thing the Tendu have to a ruling body, though there is no formal government as such. Mostly the enkar visit villages and help solve problems. Each enkar’s word is law, and if an enkar’s formal judgment goes wrong, that enkar is expected to commit suicide. Ukatonen is almost a thousand years old, and highly respected among his people. He is accustomed to a high degree of respect, and should be treated with great politeness. Think of him as visiting royalty.

“The smaller one is my adopted son, Moki. He is about thirty-four years old. When I met him, he was a tinka, or juvenile, living in a village on the coast. I saved his life, and as a consequence, wound up adopting him. Ukatonen performed the physical transformation that made him into a bami, or sub-adult, and we’ve been together ever since. He is every bit as much my son as any child born of my body would be.”

Juna felt a fierce, protective pride as she remembered the joy of their presences merging during Mold’s first awakening as a bami. That moment of bonding had been the most profound rapport she had ever experienced. His delight and amazement at his own awareness had lifted her out of her loneliness and isolation. Caring for him had helped her make a place for herself among the Tendu.

“Dr. Saari, is it true that the Tendu eat their young?” one of the women in Life Support asked her.

The question jarred Juna from her reminiscences. Of all the differences between the Tendu and humans, that had been the hardest for her to accept. It was even harder to explain it to others, who didn’t have her understanding of the Tendu culture.

“Each year, a female Tendu lays hundreds of eggs, producing far more young than the land can support,” Juna told her. “The surplus tadpoles form a major source of protein for the Tendu during the rainy season.

“It seems harsh to us, but at that point in their life cycle, the tadpoles are barely aware of anything except food. If all of their offspring survived, Tiangi would be awash in Tendu.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” the woman asked.

“Yes, it does,” Juna confessed, “but this is the way that the Tendu have ordered their society for longer man we have had history. We have no right to tell them how to live their lives.”

“Could you explain a little more about the bond between yourself and Moki?” Commander Sussman asked.

’The relationship between a bami and a sitik is not the same as the one between a human parent and child. A bami can survive quite well on its own. The task of a sitik is to prepare the bami for adulthood, to create a wise elder who is well-schooled in the ways of its village. Once the bami is mature, its sitik either dies or leaves the village and becomes a hermit or an enkar. The bonding process involves a physiological link between the sitik and its bami. Without frequent linking, the bami loses its will to live. If a sitik dies before its bami is mature, the bami will die as well. Moki had to come with me, because otherwise he would have died. Ukatonen came along to help with Moki, and to learn more about us.”

She paused, and a forest of hands rose in the air. She glanced at Commander Sussman, and the commander gave a fractional shake of her head.

“Most of your questions about the Tendu are answered in my report,” Juna said. “The important thing to remember is that Moki and Ukatonen are in a strange place, very far away from home. They feel -lost and alone. It’s going to take some time for them to adjust. I have a few requests that I would like to make on their behalf.

“The Tendu are finding their cabin too cold and too dry. Can Life Support do anything about this? They’re also homesick for greenery. Could they help out in the garden? Contact with living things would help make them feel more at home on board ship.”

The head of the Life Support division spoke. “As I recall, we set the controls for their cabin as high as they could go, given the conditions in the rest of the ship, but I’ll see what we can do about making things a little warmer. And we’d be glad to have more help in the garden.”

“There’s a couple of portable humidifiers in the infirmary,” Dr. Caisson volunteered. “And we might have a small heater as well.”

“Thank you, Louise,” the commander said. She turned to the head of Life Support. “Maria, could you raise the ambient temperature and humidity of the rest of the ship as well? I’d like Ukatonen and Moki to feel more comfortable throughout the ship. I’m sure we can all manage to cope with a more tropical environment for the sake of our guests.”

Everyone smiled. Survey ships were generally on the cold side, something everyone complained about.

“Thank you, Commander,” Juna said. “That will be very helpful.” Not only would the Tendu be more comfortable, but the crew would have a reason to be grateful to them.

The commander continued. “I also want everyone on board to access Dr. Saari’s report on the Tendu. They are going to be our shipmates for several months; I think we should make an effort to understand them. Are there any more questions?”

“Dr. Saari, the Tendu’s inability to speak may cause some communications problems, especially when we get back home. How can we solve this?” It was Dr. Maass, one of the two Alien Contact specialists sent along to help with the Tendu.

Juna suppressed a surge of resentment. She didn’t need any help with the Tendu, and if she did, an Alien Contact specialist was the last person she’d turn to. A-C people tended to be extremely long on theory and very short on practical experience. Most of them resented her because she was a biologist, not a trained A-C specialist.

“That’s a good question, Don,” she replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know yet. The A-C team will need to discuss that.” She smiled at him, hoping her hostility didn’t show.

“Dr. Saari?” a voice spoke up hesitantly. It was the head of the Maintenance staff, a shy, mousy woman whose name Juna kept forgetting. “Some of my crew have mentioned that they would feel more comfortable if the Tendu wore clothing.”

“Thank you, Jeanne,” Don said, “That’s just the kind of feedback we need. It helps to know what makes people on board ship feel uncomfortable about the Tendu. That way, we’ll have some idea what problems people on Earth will have with Moki and Ukatonen. Not,” he said, seeing Juna sitting forward, about to interrupt, “that I think we need to turn the Tendu into imitation humans, but I think that Ukatonen and Moki need and want to know what bothers us.”

Juna sat back, pleased and relieved. Perhaps she could work with this A-C specialist after all. “You’re right, Dr. Maass, we should schedule some feedback sessions with the ship’s crew, in order to help us prepare the Tendu for Earth.”

“That’s a very good idea, Dr. Saari,” Commander Suss-man agreed. “You and Dr. Maass and the Tendu should discuss this and present something at our next staff meeting. Are their any more pressing questions?” She looked around, but no one spoke up. “In that case, thank you all for a good and useful meeting.” The commander gathered her papers together and stood.

Dr. Maass came up to Juna as she was leaving the meeting.

“I wanted to thank you for backing me up in there,” he said.

Juna shrugged, “It was a good idea. I’m glad you suggested it. I appreciate your help-. It must be hard for you, having to leave Tiangi to escort us to Earth.”

He shook his head. “Jen and I volunteered to come with you.”

“You left a whole world full of Tendu behind, just to study two Tendu?” Juna asked in surprise.

“Two Tendu, and you, Dr. Saari. You’re the one who made contact. You know things that none of the A-C specs on Tiangi know. I wanted the chance to learn from you.”

“You’re very kind, Dr. Maass, but the Tendu did most of the work,” Juna told him.

“I’ve watched you with the Tendu,” he said. “When you’re with them, you change— you become almost a Tendu yourself. I think that’s what enabled you to succeed.”

“Perhaps,” Juna said. She looked down, embarrassed by his praise. “But it isn’t easy.”

“Real contact never is,” he replied.

She looked up again, meeting his eyes. “No, it isn’t.”

Juna sat in the cafeteria, a cup of vile Survey coffee cooling slowly in front of her. The meeting had gone well. The crew seemed willing to accept the aliens. And Don had surprised her with his interest in her ability to work with the Tendu. That was encouraging, but Ukatonen was already in a decline, and Moki was worried. How was she going to help them adapt to life on board ship?

“Hey, Juna!”

Startled out of her brown study, Juna looked up. It was her lover, Bruce Bowles, a technician with the Survey. Juna had fallen in love with him on Tiangi. She smiled, slipped her fingers through his, and kissed him.

“You looked like you were going to stare a hole through that bulkhead. Is Moki all right?” he asked, sitting beside her. Bruce was fond of the little Tendu and tended to worry about him.

Juna shook her head. “Actually, it’s Ukatonen I’m worried about now. He’s depressed, homesick. I can’t blame him, really. It’s a big change for them. I miss Tiangi too.”

Bruce’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “I know,” he said, “but you’re home now, Juna. You’re back among your own people again.”

Juna nodded, but she remembered how connected she felt, living among the Tendu. Even though she was among her own people, she missed that sense of belonging.

“Earth to Juna, can you read me?” Bruce said.

“What?” Juna said, coming out of her reverie.

“You looked a million miles away.”

Juna smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry Bruce.” She looked down at her cold cup of bitter coffee. “Let’s go somewhere quiet. I can’t hear myself think.” It was a feeble excuse. The galley, between shifts, was almost empty.

“My place or yours?” Bruce said, taking her hand.

Juna looked up at him, “Yours, I think. Less chance of being interrupted.”

Juna rested her head against Bruce’s shoulder, feeling the sweet relaxation that followed good sex. Being with Bruce was good, but it would never take the place of allu-a. Linking seemed to satisfy a different desire than sex, less urgent perhaps, but no less important to her now. She could live without allu-a, she supposed, but it would be like losing the ability to see the color blue. She was glad that the two Tendu had come with her. It would have been impossible to give up both Tiangi and linking.

Ukatonen slowed to a walk just before the entrance, letting Moki hurry on ahead. They were late for their first day of work, but it would not do for an enkar to be seen hurrying. The humans could wait a moment or two longer. His ears flattened back against his head and his skin paled to beige in disgust as he thought of the humans’ obsession with clocks. Imagine living your life under the command of a dead thing! A cloud of olive-grey resignation passed over his skin. It was yet another thing to get used to.

The door to the garden hissed open as Moki approached it, and Ukatonen’s nostrils flared*wide at the welcome scent of green growing things and freshly dug soil. His skin flared turquoise with pleasure at the smell. This was the only living place on the whole ship. Even the hydroponic area, where most of the fresh food was grown, seemed eerie and mechanical; the plants’ growth was forced and artificial. Here, things grew at their own pace, in soil, not a chemical solution. Ukatonen felt himself relax as he walked through the door.

The humans were already at work. The gardeners straightened up and stared as the Tendu came in. Ukatonen could sense the humans’ discomfort at their presence. Several of them glanced away. Human emotions were still very hard for him to read. Were they embarrassed, angry, frightened? What were he and Moki doing to cause the humans this continual uneasiness?

One of the humans, a female, her hair shot through with the silver threads that marked an elder, set down her tools and stepped forward, her arm extended in greeting. She seemed more self-possessed than the others, but Ukatonen thought he detected traces of the same awkwardness, more carefully concealed.

“You must be the Tendu,” she said. “My name is Giselle.”

Ukatonen nodded. “How is it spelled?” he asked.

She wiped her hands on her trousers, pulled out a pad of paper, and wrote her name on it. Moki peered over her arm to see what she was writing.

“Thank you, Giselle,” the enkar responded, spelling out the words on his skin. “My name is Ukatonen, and this is Moki. Thank you for showing us the gardening atwa. We are honored to learn from you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m honored to be teaching you,” she replied with a smile. She picked up a tray of soil containing small plants. The plants had wide dark green leaves dappled with small white spots that looked like little stars. “This way,” she said beckoning them forward with a movement of her head.

She led them over to a patch of churned-up ground. It smelled rich and full of humus and nutrients, much more fertile than the red jungle soil that Ukatonen was used to. It was more like the soil they made for the dry season treetop plantings, compounded of mud and refuse from the bottom of a na tree, mixed with composted leaves and some coarse river sand. He stuck a spur into it, and nodded. “It’s good soil,” he said.

“We compost most of our waste and put it back into the soil,” Giselle told him.

“I would like to see how that is done sometime,” Ukatonen said.

Giselle shrugged. “Compost is compost. If you really want to see it, I’ll show you the recycling facility sometime.”

“Thank you, I’d be honored,” Ukatonen said.

“Sure,” Giselle returned. “Now, here’s what you do.”

She neatly transplanted one of the plants with a small metal tool, explaining what she was doing as she worked. Ukatonen’s ears lifted and clouds of pink and lavender crossed his body in surprise and relief. He had done this before, every dry season.

“What kind of plants are these?” Moki asked Giselle.

She smiled, “They’re melon plants. It’s a variety called Moon and Stars. It’s one of my favorites. Not only does it produce delicious fruit, but it’s pretty as well.”

Ukatonen’s ears lifted. “You grow plants because they look pretty?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said “Otherwise we would just be raising crops. We want this area to look beautiful, but it’s nice if we can grow some fresh food here as well. Gardening is all about growing plants in arrangements that are beautiful to look at, nice to smell, or even pleasant to touch.”

Giselle ran her hand along the branch of a small shrub, releasing a sharp and pungent aroma. She held her hand out to Moki. “Here, smell.”

Moki sniffed her hand. Ukatonen could see the nictitating membranes flick over his eyes as he did so. It was a good smell, but powerful. Giselle didn’t realize how overpoweringly strong the smell was to a Tendu.

“It’s rosemary,” Giselle explained. “We use it in cooking to add flavor to food, but it also smells wonderful.” She knelt beside a silvery grey plant, and stroked one of its leaves. “Feel this,” she told Ukatonen.

He reached down and felt one of the plant’s soft, furry leaves.

“We call this plant lamb’s ears, because the leaves feel as woolly and soft as the ears of a lamb.”

“Oh. So how does it taste?” he asked.

“It’s not edible,” she said. “We grow it because it looks pretty and feels nice.”

Ukatonen shook his head in puzzlement. It seemed a very strange reason to grow plants. Perhaps plants on Earth were uglier than those on Tiangi and needed more help to look nice.

Moki picked up a plant and a trowel.

“How far apart should they go?” Moki asked. Giselle showed him, and the two Tendu began gently easing the plants into the soil. The gardener watched them for a few minutes.

“You’ve done this before.”

“During the dry season, we build platforms in the trees, put soil on them, and grow food plants. In the rainy season the platform rots away and the dirt is washed onto the ground, where it nourishes the soil of the forest. Some trees have roots on their branches that we weave together to make the platforms. They draw nourishment from the soil we put on them,” Ukatonen told her.

“I didn’t realize that the Tendu farmed.”

“Only during the dry season,” Ukatonen said.

“I hope you’ll tell me more about it, when we have the time.”

“Of course, I’d be glad to,” Ukatonen replied.

Giselle thanked him, and left them to their work.

It was a satisfying task. The soil, rich and moist, was a pleasure to work in. The plants would prosper. Moki touched his arm and Ukatonen looked up. A small pink animal wriggled in his palm. Except for the color, it looked much like a yetilye, an orange worm that ate decaying leaf matter and tiny soil organisms. The yetilye aerated the soil and fertilized it with their droppings.

“What is it?”

Ukatonen stuck a spur into it. It had the distinctive metabolic profile of an Earth animal. “I don’t know. Ask Giselle what it is.”

The creature was called an earthworm, and it did much the same thing as a yetilye.

Moki described the yetilye to Giselle. “Why is the earthworm so much like it?” he asked.

“That’s a good question. It’s probably because the two creatures live in the soil and eat pretty much the same thing, even though they’re on two different planets.”

“Ah,” Ukatonen said. “They occupy the same ecological niche.”

“Yes, they do,” Giselle said, her eyebrows lifting. “Certain kinds of animals seem to occur over and over again on other living worlds. There is a large oceanic predator called a shark on Earth. A similar predator occupying a similar niche seems to turn up in every suitable ocean. The details of the skeleton, skin, and organs vary, but they are all much the same shape. Even their teeth are similar. I understand that the oceanic Survey team caught several sharklike animals on Tiangi. There are pictures in the Survey report. Perhaps you could identify them sometime.”

“I would be glad to try, but first we must finish planting the Moon and Stars,” the enkar said with a ripple of amusement.

Giselle grinned at his joke. “And once that’s done, we need to do some weeding,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. Ukatonen stiffened at the familiarity of this gesture, and he saw Giselle draw back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot myself.”

“It’s all right,” Ukatonen assured her. “You humans do the same thing when we touch you.”

Giselle looked embarrassed.

“It’s all right,” Ukatonen said again. “We just have to learn to get used to each other.”

She smiled. “I forgot because I like you,” she explained.

“I know,” Ukatonen told her. “Thank you. You honor me.”

Giselle met his gaze. “You honor me as well,” she replied.

They finished transplanting and joined the rest of the crew at their weeding. Giselle teamed each of them up with another gardener to show them which plants were weeds. Ukatonen’s partner seemed stiff and embarrassed, mumbling instructions so that Ukatonen had to strain to hear. The earlier pleasure he felt was gone. Instead, he mulled over his partner’s discomfort. What caused it? Could he make the man feel more at ease?

Ukatonen set down his trowel, got up, and walked over to where Giselle knelt, also weeding. He touched her on the shoulder. Giselle sat back on her heels, “Yes, what is it, Ukatonen?”

He squatted beside her, “Why do Moki and I make everyone so uncomfortable? Are we doing something to offend them?” he asked, keeping his words small and private.

“It’s nothing you’re doing, Ukatonen.” Giselle said. “They’re just not used to working with people who have no clothes on.”

“But your people didn’t act like this back on Tiangi.”

“Ukatonen, on Tiangi you were dealing almost entirely with Alien Contact personnel. They’re trained to accept cultural differences. Besides, your nudity probably seemed more natural in your own environment. Here on the ship it’s more noticeable. They’ll get over it eventually.”

Ukatonen thanked Giselle, and returned to his work, deep in thought. Giselle had dismissed the problem, but Ukatonen could not. Their nudity posed a serious barrier to harmony with the humans. Perhaps Eerin could help them come up with a solution.

“How did you like it?” Juna asked as she met Moki and Ukatonen after their gardening shift.

“It was fun!” Moki told her. “I learned a lot. And I got to play with an earthworm!”

“And you?” she asked Ukatonen, whose skin was muted and cloudy.

“Oh, the gardening atwa went well enough,” Ukatonen told her, “but I have discovered a problem. Perhaps you could help me bring harmony to this situation.”

“What is it?”

Ukatonen told her what Giselle had said.

“Well, what do you want to do about it?” Juna asked when he was finished.

“I don’t know. Perhaps it might be better to wear clothes, but we can’t talk if we’re all covered up.”

“You don’t need to wear a lot of clothes, Ukatonen. Maybe we can rig you a pair of shorts.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got about three hours before dinner. Let’s go see what the fabricator can spin for us.”

The fabricator took the Tendu’s measurements in a quick flicker of light, and a couple of queries. Juna reassured the fabricator that the measurements were correct. Then, with help and comments from Moki and Ukatonen, she began designing some clothing for them. At last they arrived at a design that made them all happy, a pair of loose shorts with a brief kiltlike skirt over them. It provided modesty and freedom of movement, while leaving the torso bare so that the Tendu could communicate freely.

Juna pressed the button, and the fabricator hummed quietly for about fifteen minutes. Then, with a faintly triumphant-sounding beep, the first pair appeared. She helped Ukatonen put them on. He peered down at the shorts. They needed to be a couple of inches longer, and a bit tighter in the seat, and looser at the waist, but for a first try, it was pretty good. Juna showed him the mirror, and watched as the enkar regarded himself. She had dreaded the idea of Tendu dressed up like humans, but this outfit had a faintly alien air to it that she liked.

“Well?” she asked. “Do you like them? Are they comfortable?”

Ukatonen shrugged. “Will this reassure the humans?”

“It should.”

“Then they’re fine.”

She adjusted the fit on the computer, and then told the fabricator to make another pair. These fit perfectly. Then she made a pair for Moki, who donned them eagerly. He was very proud of them. “Can we make them in different colors, like your clothes?” he asked.

Juna smiled. “Of course we can, but right now it’s time to eat. Let me adjust the fit a bit, and then we’ll go show off your new clothes at dinner.”

The clothing, minimal as it was, made a surprising difference in the crews’ attitude toward the Tendu. People began talking to them. Moki became the center of a cluster of human friends wherever he went. Ukatonen made acquaintances more slowly and tentatively, but Giselle and several other members of the Life Support team befriended him, despite his enkarish reserve.

Moki was extremely excited with his new clothes. He made dozens of them in brilliant colors and patterns until Juna, concerned that he would deplete the fabricator’s fiber supply, put a stop to it.

Ukatonen made only a few pairs, mostly in neutral shades of green. They soon became rumpled, giving him the air of an absent-minded alien professor. Juna smiled at the thought. The stereotype fit him. He tended to ignore everything that wasn’t alive. It would be a problem for him on Earth. She imagined Ukatonen crossing a busy street, oblivious to the lumbering buses, trolleys, and delivery trucks, and winced. One problem was solved, but there was still a lot of work to do.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Bruce, padded across the cabin to her computer and entered a reminder to discuss this fresh worry with Don and Jennifer at their next meeting.

She looked over her notes. Her list of things to discuss with them was already several pages long. How could they possibly teach the Tendu everything they needed to know before reaching Earth? She shut down the computer, and slipped back into bed.

Bruce slid his arm around her, and she snuggled against the warmth of his body. The next thing to work on, really, was smoothing out communication between humans and the Tendu. Juna stared up at the ceiling, her mind churning with problems and plans. Her Tendu-enhanced night vision bothered her on wakeful nights. Her cabin seemed too bright to let her rest. She got up and put a towel against the bottom of the door, blocking out the light filtering in from the companionway, and returned to bed, settling against Bruce’s warmth again. The Tendu’s problems would have to wait until morning. She needed some sleep.

Ukatonen lay awake, marveling at how much difference wearing a length of cloth around his hips had made to the humans. But now that the humans were coming up to talk to him, his use of skin speech Standard got in the way. It got in Mold’s way too, though the friendly little bami managed to transcend the problem.

Eerin told him that the humans would get used to their skin speech. But Giselle had said the same thing about clothes, and yet they had made a big difference to the humans. If a small thing like that change made such a difference, surely speaking sound speech would help even more.

But the Tendu’s throats couldn’t make human sounds. It would be easy to alter Mold’s throat. Working on himself would be harder, especially since he would be working on the passage that supplied his lungs with air. A misstep could cost him his life, and Moki needed him. He could not die now.

He tried, softly, to speak human speech, just to see how close he could come. The result sounded like nothing he’d ever heard a human say.

“Are you all right, en?” Moki asked. “What is it?”

“I was trying to make sound speech, like the humans. It would be easier to reach harmony with the humans if we could talk the way they do.”

“I’ve tried to speak like the humans too, but my throat isn’t shaped right,” Moki said. “Can you imagine how surprised Eerin would be to hear us using sound speech?” Glowing laughter rippled over the bami’s body.

Ukatonen laughed with the bami. “It would be fun to surprise her. But I can’t work on myself alone.”

“I can monitor you while you do the deep work on yourself, en,” Moki said, his words as solemn as the glowing nighttime skin speech could be. “You have taught me well.”

“You have been a good student,” Ukatonen told him, “but are you willing to assume responsibility for my life?”

Moki’s skin darkened as he considered it. “If you think I am good enough, en.”

“Then we will start in the morning, after we’ve slept and eaten well.”

“Yes, en,” Moki replied. “And thank you.”

“Go to sleep now, little one. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Moki’s eyes slid closed, though Ukatonen could tell from the bami’s breathing that he was wrestling with the burden that Ukatonen had just laid on him. He reached over and let a couple of drops fall from his spurs onto the bami’s skin. Moki’s breathing slowed as the sleeping potion took effect.

Ukatonen lay awake a few minutes longer, thinking through what needed to be done. He looked over at Moki, his face illumined by the wash of light leaking in under the door. This link would demand all of the bami’s skill at allu-a. He hoped that Moki would not fail him.

Moki awoke to the realization that Ukatonen’s life would depend on his skill at allu-a today. Was he up to the task? He had monitored Ukatonen before, when he was doing deep work, but Ukatonen would be working on himself today, and that was always risky.

Ukatonen woke, and the two of them showered, luxuriating in the all-too-brief warmth and humidity. The humans had made the ship much more comfortable, but it was still too cold and dry.

Eerin knocked on the door as they were basking in the steam produced by the shower. They pulled on their clothes and went with her to breakfast.

“You’re eating a lot today. What’s up?” Eerin asked.

“I was showing Moki some linking techniques last night,” Ukatonen told her. “We were very hungry when we woke up this morning.”

Moki’s ears lifted at Ukatonen’s tale. The enkar glanced at him, and he lowered his ears and focused on finishing his breakfast.

Eerin nodded. “Next time you can get something to eat from the galley; there’s someone on duty all through the night.”

“Thank you,” Ukatonen said.

“Don and Jennifer want to discuss ways to improve your communication skills. Can you meet with us on Tuesday afternoon, after lunch?”

Ukatonen nodded. “Of course. We’ll be there.”

They finished their breakfast, and hurried to their cabin.

“I’d like to be speaking sound speech by that meeting,” Ukatonen said as they settled themselves on his bed.

“But en, that’s only three days from now! How can we learn to speak sound speech that quickly?”

“We only need to speak well enough to let them know that we are capable of using sound speech. But we must not waste time discussing this. We must begin now, and work well and swiftly.”

The enkar held out his hands and they linked.

Ukatonen’s presence surged into Moki. The enkar did a quick physical exam and then settled down to work. Mold’s windpipe tingled as Ukatonen began reshaping it. That done, Ukatonen moved on to alter Moki’s palate and thicken his tongue. When he was done, Ukatonen examined his work, and then broke the link.

“Try some sound speech,” Ukatonen suggested. “Think of how Eerin’s throat feels when she speaks.”

Moki concentrated, remembering the movements of Juna’s lips and tongue from the few times she had spoken during a link.

“Huuwoo! Hoo ah oo?” Moki said, his voice sounding buzzy and flat. He bit his tongue on the last syllable.

Moki shook his head. “It didn’t work,” he said in skin speech.

“It was almost recognizable. Keep trying. Eerin told me once that it can take years for a young human to learn to speak. You did very well for your first try.”

“Perhaps the computer knows something about how humans learn to talk,” Moki suggested.

Ukatonen hesitated. He disliked working with the computer. It seemed wrong that a nonliving machine should hold so much knowledge. But the computer was a human thing, and he needed to learn about it. And it would not be good for Moki to see his discomfort. He was an enkar, after all.

“Let’s see what we can find,” Ukatonen said, forcing his dislike out of his mind.

Moki woke the computer. After fifteen minutes of careful searching, he downloaded several useful articles. They picked their way through them, pausing often, and getting explanations from the computer. Then Moki began practicing phonemes, while Ukatonen coached him. By lunch time, Moki had learned to pronounce several consonants, and was able to differentiate between most of the vowels. His voice still sounded buzzy and flat.

“You’re doing well,” Ukatonen told him, as they got ready for lunch.

“Ah hobe zzo,” Moki replied aloud. “Izz harr.”

Ukatonen brushed his shoulder reassuringly. “I know, but you’re learning quickly.”

“I miss hunting,” Moki complained in skin speech, as they joined the queue of humans waiting for lunch. “The food is all right, but getting it is really boring. No wonder humans had to make so many different machines. They needed something to do with their time.”

A ripple of amusement coursed down Ukatonen’s back. “Perhaps, little one, but remember, one of those machines made that clothing you’re so proud of.”

Mold’s ears flattened against his head. “Yes, en,” he said, his words dark brown with embarrassment.

Ukatonen brushed his shoulder. “Learning to live with the humans is difficult. But this trip is about more than just being with your sitik. You are here to learn about your sitik’s people. Someday you will help the Tendu and the humans achieve harmony.”

“Yes, en,” Moki replied, his words a contrite shade of greyish brown. Inwardly he cringed at the responsibility that Ukatonen expected him to assume. He loved Eerin, and he wanted there to be harmony between humans and Tendu, but they were so different. How could such a thing be possible?

Eerin and Bruce waved them over as they emerged from the food line. Eerin was explaining the fine points of the life cycle of the gauware tree to Dr. Maass and Jennifer when the two Tendu joined them at the table.

Moki glanced up at Bruce, who was listening to the discussion. He looked bored. It was a small disharmony, but it troubled Moki, because he could not fix it. He touched Bruce on the shoulder.

“What is it, Moki?”

Moki spoke in small, private speech on his forearm, “Ukatonen and I need your help on something. It’s a secret, though. We want to surprise Eerin and the others when we meet with Don and Jennifer on Tuesday. Do you promise not to tell?”

“What is it?” Bruce asked.

“We want to speak like humans,” Moki told him, “but we need your help. Can you come to our cabin after lunch?”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll be there at two o’clock.”

He arrived with typical human promptness. This human habit of punctuality was certainly convenient when you didn’t have much time, Moki thought. Humans always seemed to be in a hurry. Perhaps it was because they didn’t live as long as the Tendu.

“What do you want me to do?” Bruce asked.

“We need to link with you,” Ukatonen told him. “I need to compare your vocal anatomy to Moki’s and see if I need to make any corrections.”

“I could get in trouble,” Bruce protested. “It’s against regs to link with you. I could be court-martialed and drummed out of the service.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Ukatonen said. “We shouldn’t have asked this of you. Forgive us.”

Bruce shrugged, then looked up. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it was like for Juna. What were you going to do to me?”

“We won’t do anything to you in the link. I just want to check my work,” Ukatonen reassured him. “We’ll be monitoring you, and if you get scared or overwhelmed, we’ll stop.”

Bruce looked thoughtful for a minute, “You promise you won’t do anything to me?”

“You have my word as an enkar,” Ukatonen reassured him.

“Well, this was going to be my last trip out, anyway. I may never have another chance. Let’s do it.”

They pushed the beds together and sat in a circle. Moki showed Bruce how to hold his arms.

“It’ll sting a little bit when the spurs pierce your skin,” he warned.

Bruce nodded. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Moki could feel Bruce’s fear and anxiety as he entered the link. He and Ukatonen waited while Bruce got his bearings. Then Ukatonen slowly and gently began infiltrating the link with calmness and a sense of well-being.

The enkar waited until Bruce was deeply relaxed, then set to work. Moki could feel Ukatonen working on his throat, thickening his new vocal cords, changing the shape of his palate, and enlarging the resonating chambers in his sinuses. He followed Ukatonen’s work closely. Soon he would have to monitor Ukatonen as the enkar worked on himself.

Ukatonen broke the link, and asked Moki to talk.

“Iz bedder,” Moki told him aloud. His voice was smoother-sounding now, less buzzy and more resonant.

Ukatonen nodded, “Now me,” he said, holding out his arms for a link.

“Are you sure, en?”

“You can do this, Moki. Just stay calm and focused.”

Moki gripped Ukatonen’s arms and the two of them plunged into the link. Ukatonen worked swiftly and well on his own sinuses, tongue, and palate. Then, he began altering his vocal cords. This was the dangerous part. Gradually, he reshaped the flaps of tissue, making them longer and wider. He was nearly finished when one of his newly enlarged vocal cords slid across the other, effectively blocking the airway. It opened as he breathed out, but flapped shut again as he inhaled.

Moki immediately began feeding the enkar as much oxygen as he could through his allu, breathing deeply and hard while Ukatonen worked feverishly to reopen his throat. At last Moki intervened, forcing an opening that undid all of Ukatonen’s work but opened the enkar’s airway. Air began flowing back into his lungs. The crisis was over.

Ukatonen rested for a moment. Then he methodically repaired his vocal cords. There was one terrifying moment when the enkar’s throat almost closed again, but much to Mold’s relief Ukatonen managed to stop it without his intervention. After that, everything went smoothly, but it seemed to Moki as though an eternity passed before Ukatonen broke the link.

“You did well, Moki,” Ukatonen told him in skin speech. “I was proud of you for keeping your head.”

Moki shook his head. “Thank you, en. I’m sorry that I made you redo your work.”

“If you hadn’t acted when you did,” Ukatonen said, “I would have died.”

Moki shrugged. “I’m glad we’re done.”

Ukatonen rippled agreement. “We may have to make some small adjustments, but nothing as major as that one.”

“Are you all right?” Bruce asked. “Your breathing went all funny for a couple of moments. I was starting to get worried.”

“Ahm ohkeh,” Ukatonen said aloud. “ ’An oo unner-sand mmmee?”

“I’m okay. Can you understand me?” Bruce repeated.

Ukatonen nodded and tried again. The words were clearer this time.

“That’s pretty good!” Bruce said encouragingly.

“It’s a beginning,” the enkar said in Standard skin speech. “With your help we will improve quickly.”

Moki and Ukatonen had a quick snack of fruit juice and sugar. Then, their reserves replenished, they linked with Bruce. They had him speak while they monitored his lips, tongue, and throat.

“Now you try it,” Bruce said after they broke the link.

“Hello, how are you?” the two Tendu chorused.

Bruce laughed, “You sound exactly like me.”

“Thank you,” Ukatonen said aloud. “You were our”— he paused, searching for the word—“the thing you use to make copies of a shape,” he continued in Standard skin speech.

“Template,” Bruce supplied. “I was your template.”

’Tem— temblate, tempuhlate,” Ukatonen repeated. “You say it now, Moki,” he encouraged in skin speech.

Moki got it on the second try.

“Very good,” Bruce told them. “You need more practice, but by the time of the meeting on Tuesday you should be able to talk well enough to be understood.” He grinned. “I wish I could be there to see the look on Juna’s face when she hears you.”

Juna, Moki, and Ukatonen filed into the meeting room. Juna noticed that Moki looked unusually excited about something, but just as she was about to question him, Don and Jennifer arrived.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Don said. “It took us a bit longer than I expected to find the necessary reports.”

“That’s all right,” Juna assured him, pleased that for once she and the Tendu were on time and the others a bit late.

“We need to prepare Moki and Ukatonen for life among humanity,” she said when everyone was settled. “The first thing we should do is list the potential problems that they might encounter when we arrive, and then decide which are the most serious.”

“Well,” Don said, “we’ve already dealt with the problem of nudity. I think our next problem is communication. We need to make it easier for people to understand Moki and Ukatonen when they use written Standard skin speech.”

“No, you won’d. Moki and I are learning do speak like you,” Ukatonen said.

“I’m sorry, what did you— ” Juna began, and then stopped as she realized that Ukatonen had just spoken aloud.

Don and Jennifer were staring open-mouthed at the enkar.

“You can talk!” Juna exclaimed. “How— ”

“We linked,” Moki explained, also speaking aloud. Pink lightning flickers of excitement cut across blue and green ripples of laughter on Mold’s skin. He was clearly enjoying his surprise. “Ukadonen changed me; then I helped Ukadonen change. Bruce helped us learn do puh-puhro— ” Juna watched him struggle with a difficult word.

“Bruce showed uz how do zay de words,” Ukatonen explained.

“Moki, Ukatonen, this is amazing. I guess we’ve solved your communication problems.”

“We need help,” Moki said. “We don’d know many words.”

“Perhaps Bruce could continue helping us,” Ukatonen suggested in skin speech. “We enjoyed working with him.”

“That’s a good idea,” Juna said. She was pleased that they’d found something for Bruce to do. She had noticed that he was becoming bored and restless lately. A shared task like this might help their relationship last until they reached Earth. Juna sighed inwardly. She longed for something more permanent than these shipboard relationships.

“…perhaps we might want someone with a little more experience in linguistics or speech therapy,” Dr. Maass was saying. This was no time to be daydreaming, Juna told herself sternly. Her first responsibility was to Moki and Ukatonen.

“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Maass,” Ukatonen replied falling back into skin speech. “All we require is a native speaker of Standard to provide a template for our own speech.”

“There’s no point in worrying about this unless we have a competent speech therapist on board,” Juna pointed out.

“I studied and trained as a speech therapist,” Jennifer said. She lowered her eyes, blushing. “I was planning on using it as a fallback career if I couldn’t find a job in my major. I’d be happy to work with Crewman Bowles and the Tendu to help smooth out any vocal irregularities or other difficulties.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have someone with some formal training helping out,” Juna said.

“Would you be willing to link with us?” Ukatonen asked. “By feeling how you speak, we can learn faster.”

“I-I can’t. It’s against regulations,” Jennifer said, looking at Dr. Maass.

“No one on board ship is allowed to link with the Tendu,” Dr. Maass explained. “Even Juna is forbidden to link with you.” He sighed and looked up at Ukatonen and Moki. “I know it makes things a lot more difficult. I wish the regulations weren’t so rigid. Perhaps you can convince them to change the rules when we reach Earth, but for now”—he held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness—“those are the rules, and I’m afraid that we have to abide by them.”

Juna frowned at the ceiling. I’m getting very tired of the Survey’s fondness for rules, she thought sourly.

“I don’t understand,” Ukatonen said. “If none of you agree with this prohibition on linking, why do you obey it?”

“Because that’s what the Survey says we’re supposed to do,” Dr. Maass told him. “That’s what the rules are.”

“Who made those rules?” Moki asked.

“They came from the central Survey office, on Earth.” Dr. Maass replied. “They were part of our original mission orders.”

“So you are following rules made by people who have never been to our planet or met any of my people,” Ukatonen said.

Dr. Maass nodded.

“The enkar are trusted to make their decisions based on the situation at hand. Why do your people do things so differently?” Ukatonen demanded.

Juna glanced down at the table. “The Survey is based on a military pattern, where control and command are centralized. It’s easier to make rapid decisions involving large numbers of people that way. In this case, the Survey hierarchy and, I suppose, the Security Council are more concerned with matters of intelligence and security. They’re afraid of you.”

“Why?” Ukatonen asked.

“Because you’re different. Because you’re strange, and because of this.” She held her arms out as though for allu-a.

“They’re afraid of linking?” Moki asked.

“Not of linking, Moki, but of what you can do with it. The potential of allu-a is tremendous. It frightens them.” She shrugged. “It frightens me, too, a little bit, and I know and trust you. They know linking changes people. They’re afraid to trust people who have linked.”

“But that’s crazy!” Moki exclaimed, puzzled. “You’re still you, even after years of linking.”

“No, Moki, I’m not,” she told him. “I’m a different person after all my time with the Tendu. Allu-a was a part of that change, a big part. I’m no threat to the security of humanity, but I do think differently than I did before. Because I’ve changed, the Survey isn’t sure they can trust me. But they still need me. Without me, there is no link between our people. Without me, there is no trust.”

Ukatonen reached out and brushed her hand affectionately with his knuckles. “You are wrong, Eerin,” he told her. “It takes two people to trust. There is no trust without us.” He looked at Dr. Maass and Jennifer. “Jennifer may help us without linking, but it will take us many months to learn to speak properly if we are not allowed to link. We do not have that time to waste.”

With that, Ukatonen rose and headed for the door, followed by Moki. Juna went with them. There was nothing more to say. All of them knew that the Survey’s protocols were worse than useless. Don and Jennifer had made their token protest, and that would be the end of it. The real Survey brass back on Earth would not be nearly so easy to deal with.

Much to Ukatonen’s relief, Don and Jennifer avoided noticing Brace’s linking with the two Tendu. Jennifer spent several hours each day drilling the two of them on pronunciation, projection, and tonality.

Initially, Ukatonen doubted that Jennifer would be any help at all, but he soon realized her suggestions were useful. Gradually, their voices acquired depth and resonance, and their pronunciation became more accurate. In addition, their voices began to reflect their personalities. Each day Moki sounded more like an inquisitive, mischievous, and lighthearted child. Ukatonen’s voice acquired authority and dignity.

There was still an alien timbre to their voices. They would never be mistaken for human. It bothered him at first. Ukatonen had wanted to sound completely human, but Jennifer and Eerin convinced him that sounding different made their voices more memorable and distinctive.

In the three months it took to reach the jump point, the two Tendu learned to be comfortable with speaking aloud. The crew made a game of teaching them new words. Moki complained that his head was going to burst. Even Uka-tonen felt inundated by the flood of words, though he hid it well.

He was grateful for the language lessons, though. They distracted him from the toll that the monotonous and barren environment of the ship was taking on him. He was grateful when the jump day arrived. It meant that there were only a couple of months more to go before they got to Earth.

“I’m looking forward to the jump,” Ukatonen remarked to Moki. “It will be good to be moving toward Earth instead of away from Tiangi.” Regret fluttered over his skin like windblown mist. “I need a world around me again. The garden is nice, but it isn’t enough.”

Each day the ship seemed smaller, colder, and more barren. The bright lights hurt his eyes and the dry air clawed at his lungs. He longed for greenness and moisture and a sense of concealment. Some days it was all he could do to leave the warm, moist den of his bed and face another day in this sterile environment.

Moki nodded agreement. “I want to feel the wind on my skin again. It’s been so long,” he said, his skin blue-grey with yearning.

“There’s still two and a half more months to go,” Ukatonen reminded him. “I will be glad when we finally get off this dead ship and feel living air on our skins again.”

Eerin stuck her head in the door. “Commander Sussman tells me that we’re going to have to strap in for the jump in about forty minutes. We should go to the lounge now. Is all your stuff secured?”

Moki told her it was. They had spent the morning making sure that every loose item in their cabin was stowed safely in locked drawers. Eerin double-checked everything.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Ukatonen hauled himself up off the bed and followed Moki to the observation deck for a last look at Tiangi.

Every day it seemed harder to find the energy to leave his cabin. It wasn’t a physical ailment; he was just losing interest in his surroundings.

When they reached the observation deck, they saw that the protective shielding on the aft window had been lifted back, revealing a sky strewn with hard, untwinkling stars. Their sun was a bright bead of light set against the blackness, larger than the other stars but still impossibly distant.

“There,” Eerin said, pointing. “There’s Tiangi. The blue star, to the right of your sun.”

Ukatonen followed her pointing finger. His world was a bright blue speck of light, lost among the millions of stars. He felt awed by how far he had come.

“Who could believe that so big a world as ours could be so tiny, just a spot of light?” Ukatonen murmured. He looked away from the window, overwhelmed by sudden sadness.

Moki touched him on the shoulder. “Who could believe that the universe is so large?” he said. “And that there is so much in it still to learn?”

Ukatonen looked down at Moki and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, looking back out the window. But in his heart, there was no optimism. There was only the desperate need to get off the ship and onto a living world again.

He stood looking at the window full of bright stars for another long moment, longing for the warmth and familiarity of home. Then the massive shielding slid over the window like the closing of a giant eye, and it was time to strap in for the jump.