Through Alien Eyes

Eight

Moki came in from the forest with a live bird in his hand to show Eerin. He bounded up the stairs to the nursery, then paused at the door and peered inside. Eerin was nursing the baby. He turned away, fighting back his loneliness and anger. He went outside and stung the bird awake. It flew from his open hands with a harsh cry of alarm. The bright orange patch on its head made it easy to track die bird as it flew into the forest.

He had wanted to show Eerin how he had gotten the bird to grow orange feathers, but she was preoccupied with the baby. Mariam took so much of her attention these days. Disconsolate, he found a quiet, cool spot by the horse trough, and settled down to wait until his siti had time for him.

“Hei, pikkuinen. What are you doing?”

Moki looked up, startled. It was Eerin’s father. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the old man coming.

“Just sitting,” Moki told him.

“Well, why don’t you come help me with the horses? We need to take lunch out to the workers in the fields.”

Moki shrugged and got up. He didn’t particularly want to help out now, but he didn’t have anything better to do.

“Isoisi, how long does it take for babies to grow up?” he asked as they drove the cart out to the long tables where the laborers would eat.

“That depends, Moki,” Teuvo replied, “on what you mean when you say ‘grown up’. Most of us leave home between the ages of seventeen and twenty. But we’re able to get by without parents several years earlier than that, though it’s usually better if the children stay with their parents longer.”

“That’s a long time,” Moki said, horrified by the prospect of sharing Eerin for so long.

His grandfather smiled. “That depends on which way you’re looking at it. It seems long when you’re the one doing the growing up. It seems much shorter when you’re watching your own children and grandchildren grow up.”

They rode in silence, while Moki tried to accept the idea that Eerin would be preoccupied with Mariam for a very long time.

“Moki, how long does it take before a bami is all grown up?”

“You are grown up when your sitik says you are ready to become an elder. Sometimes it takes”—Moki paused to calculate the time in Earth years—“only fifteen or twenty years, sometimes it can take sixty or even seventy years. It all depends on your sitik and on the harmony of the village. If the village needs new elders, the time can be shorter. If the village is stable and happy, the time is longer. No one is really in any hurry. After all, your sitik must die or be exiled from the village when you become an elder.”

It was Teuvo’s turn to be silent for a while.

“What will happen to Juna when it is time for you to become an elder?” he asked.

Moki shrugged. “I don’t know, Isoisi” he said. “I suppose that will be decided by the enkar when the time comes. It will be a long time before I am ready to be an elder. I have so much to learn.”

“And what if they say that Juna must die?”

“All elders are offered a choice— death or exile,” Moki told him. “Most Tendu elders choose death, because they cannot imagine a life outside of their village. It may be that Eerin will have to leave me on Tiangi. It may be that we simply will not be permitted to see each other ever again. But no one will expect her to die if she does not want to.”

“I hope you’re right, Moki, because I would kill anyone who tried to hurt my daughter.”

Moki felt a trickle of orange fear ooze down his back at this sudden flash of violence.

“I love her very much, Moki,” Teuvo continued. “She and Toivo are more important to me than anything else. I created all of this”—he gestured at the vineyards—“so that I would have something to pass on to my children.”

Moki touched his arm. “Isoisi, do not worry. I promise that I will not let Eerin die when I become an elder. I’m not an enkar, but if I was, I would make this a formal judgment, with my life as forfeit.”

’Then I am glad you are not an enkar, Moki,” Teuvo said. “I don’t want to trade your life for Juna’s. I love you both.”

Moki felt a strange welter of emotions. This was so strange, so un-Tendu, yet it moved him deeply.

“Thank you, Isoisi,” he said. “I love you too.”

Ukatonen watched as the gangly chick broke free of its shell and wobbled toward the warmth of the brood lamp. It tried to settle itself under the brooder and fell backwards on its rump. It sat there for a second, blinking in confusion at the world, and then set about preening its dirty grey feathers.

“Congratulations, Ukatonen,” Dr. Lindberl said. “You’ve rrought back another species.” He was a short, squat man, with a wide mouth and a couple of moles on his chin.

Ukatonen shrugged. “The DNA was old, but there was i lot of it,” he said. “Once I’d gotten a big enough sample, the rest was easy. What I don’t understand is why you wanted to resurrect this particular creature.”

Dr. Lindberl’s wide-mouthed grin stretched across his face. “They sure are ugly, ain’t they?” he drawled.

Ukatonen nodded.

“And clumsy and stupid on top of that. But they’re a symbol, Ukatonen, a very powerful symbol. We can use these birds to raise money to help restore thousands of acres of habitat. Hell, we might even manage to wipe out all of the exotics on Reunion, and put them back where they belong. The rats’ll be the hardest to get rid of.” Dr. Lindberl shook his head. “Rats’ve killed almost as many species as we have. But we helped them get where they could do the damage. Frankly, I wouldn’t miss ol’ Rattus norvegicus one bit if it was wiped off the face of the Earth tomorrow.”

“Surely they must have an ecological niche,” Ukatonen said.

“Course they do. They’re vermin. They killed half of the people in Europe during the Black Plague, and a goodly number more during the Slump. Actually, it was the disease that did them in, but the plague was carried in the fleas on the rats.” He paused. “Technically you’re right. They’re a major food source for a lot of predators. Even so, I wouldn’t miss rats much at all. Not many people would.”

“There are animals my people would not miss either, but we keep them in the world.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Dr. Lindberl conceded. “After all, the rattlesnake is the symbol of the Republic of Texas, sort of the state bird, but there ain’t no one in Texas that would want one living under his house, even if they do eat rats. That’s about the only useful thing a rattlesnake does.”

“Why is a snake the state bird?” Ukatonen asked. “Does it have feathers?”

Dr. Lindberl grinned broadly. “That was by way of bein’ a joke, son.”

“Ah.”

They stood silent for a while, watching the chick preening its feathers under the brooder.

“So what’re you gonna do next?” Lindberl asked. “This’s a pretty difficult thing to follow up on, you know.”

“I’m going to travel for the next few months. I want to see some more of the world, at least as much of it as my security escort will let me.”

“Where’re you goin’?”

“I’m not sure yet. I want to see some more of the ecological restoration projects, actually spend time there, and see what people are doing. I’ve tried doing book research, but it’s better for me to go and see places. The books are too static to hold my attention. I’m used to words that move.”

“What are you tryin’ to find out?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Ukatonen confessed. “I’m trying to learn more about how humans think. I want to see the world through your eyes.”

“That’s a mighty big project,” Dr. Lindberl said.

“I know,” Ukatonen agreed.

“Well, in order to further your research, I propose that we go on out and get sloppy drunk.”

“Why is it that your people drink so much alcohol?” Ukatonen inquired. “Surely you must have better eu-phorics.”

’Tradition, I suppose. What do the Tendu do to get mgh?”

There are a number of substances we use. Most would -ot be compatible with your physiology.”

“You miss them much?”

“Sometimes. But if I want to, I can synthesize their ef-r:ts through my allu.”

Lindberl’s sandy eyebrows shot up. “You can do that?[[ ’;n. you all are pretty cheap drunks. Why take drugs at . then?”

It’s less work,” Ukatonen explained. “You cannot get

nigh, because it takes a certain focus to synthesize the]]

“Well then, why don’t we go celebrate? I can get drunk and you can get— What do you call it?”

“Gun-a.”

“Well, then, let’s go out and get good and gun-a. It isn’t every day we resurrect the dodo.”

Ukatonen leaned back in his chair and admired the rainbow halos surrounding the lights. The halos pulsed in time to the music, which was too loud, but complex enough to be good anyway. Ignoring his security escort’s obvious dismay, Ukatonen got up and started dancing to it, skin speech and pictures cascading over his skin in time to the music. The humans drew back to watch him.

One of the musicians spotted him on the dance floor, and his eyes widened. He motioned to the other humans in the band, and they all turned to watch the enkar dance, shifting the music in response to his pictures. Then one of the musicians set aside his instrument, came down, and invited Ukatonen onto the stage. Half-blinded by the lights, Ukatonen performed the bird chant in time to the music. The song ended, and the audience went wild.

The lead musician picked up a golden, curved instrument with a complex mechanism on the front.

“Let’s jam,” he said, and started to play something sweet and slow and haunting on his mellow, rich instrument. Puzzled, Ukatonen stood watching. Under the red lights the man’s dark sweat-sheened skin shone like the surface of a vat of deep purple grape juice.

“He wants you to do the picture thing along with the music, man,” one of the other musicians whispered to him.

Ukatonen nodded, drew himself up as for a quarbirri, closed his eyes, and listened. Slowly, he let his skin change to a dark and bruised purple, like the night sky over a large city. Red and blue patches of color flared on his skin, sliding over his body like the blaring notes sliding out of the gleaming musical instrument.

Point by point, brilliant lights appeared on his skin, moving in time to the hot, slow music. Sometimes his skin became the night sky seen through leaves. Then it shifted through the glowing phosphorescence of the warm seas of Tiangi, and then the harsh, static brilliance of stars in space, writ large on his skin.

The music drew to a close, and Ukatonen’s skin flared and died with the sound of the final note.

There was silence for a moment; then the audience cut loose with cheers and whistles, and shouts of “More! More!”

The musicians waited until the applause died down. Then the horn player stepped up to the microphone.

“Do you want us to do one more?” he asked.

The audience’s response was so loud that for a moment Ukatonen thought the roof was falling in.

“You ready?” the musician asked.

Ukatonen nodded.

“It’s your turn, then. You lead, we’ll follow.”

“I’ll do a piece from one of our quarbirri, then. It tells the story of a bami who was separated from her sitik on a trading voyage, and how she found him again,” he told me waiting audience.

He turned away from the mike, “Watch my back,” he told the musicians, “I’ll mirror what I’m doing on the front of my body.” It was an old quarbirri technique, but it should work just as well with these human musicians and their alien instruments.

Ukatonen walked to the front of the stage, feeling the heat of the lights on his skin. The synthesized drugs had •vorn off, the lights had lost their halos. Through the glare, le could dimly make out the audience sitting at their tables with their drinks, waiting for him to begin. Looking :ut at the crowd, he felt suddenly afraid.

Pushing the feeling aside, he drew himself up and began. He started slowly, testing the musician’s ability to follow. He speeded up as the players found the trail of the music. They built a musical structure on his skin speech that was different and more complex than anything a Tendu would io. It was disquietingly beautiful, and he loved it. The complex interplay between the musicians made him feel ›trangely at home. The music was alien, but the togetherness of it, the ruwar-a, was very Tendu. It was too bad that Moki and Eerin were not here. He would have liked to share this experience with them.

The quarbirri and the music ended with a bright crescendo of joy as the bami and her sitik were reunited. The audience went wild again.

“Man, you’re really solar,” one of the musicians said.

“Thank you,” Ukatonen said. “Can we do one more?”

The musician laughed. “I don’t think they’re going to let you go without an encore,” he said, gesturing at the audience with his chin. “What do you want to do?”

“I was thinking something slow, something quiet,” Ukatonen said. “Something to calm the audience down.”

“Good idea,” the musician agreed.

“Could we lower the lights?”

When they were ready, Ukatonen stepped forward, wishing he had brought his flute. It would have been nice to play along with the other musicians, but the quarbirri would have to do for tonight.

He drew himself up a third time, and in the hushed darkness began to tell about everything he missed on his home world: the smell of the forest after rain; swimming with the Lyali-Tendu; the familiarity and comfort of village life, and the reassurance of allu-a. As fond as he was of Moki, he ached to link with a different Tendu.

He started in silence, the musicians watching his words; then slowly a single horn began to play. Then came a silvery rush of sound, like the wind in the trees, and a quiet thunder and hush from the drummer. From that the structure built to muffled horns and then the sweetness of voices in harmony, no words, just sound. Bit by bit, it died away, leaving him alone with his silent skin speech and the slow full notes of the horn. When that died away, he let the last words appear and reappear, fading slowly. He held out his hands, spurs upward, and bowed his head as the last words faded. No one here understood a word he had said, and yet the music had followed his meaning, sweet and sad. He saw a woman sitting close to the front of the stage wipe away a tear. Across all the distance between his world and theirs, he had managed a sharing.

After the applause ended, he found Dr. Lindberl waiting for him at the edge of the stage. Manuel, Ukatonen’s security escort, was standing behind him.

“Your security guy’s about to have kittens,” he drawled, “but everyone else loved it. What other talents have you got hidden up your sleeve?”

Ukatonen shrugged. “I’m an enkar. We are expected to have a wide range of skills.”

“Hey, you guys want to come with us and jam?” the horn player asked. “I know a quiet spot where we won’t get bothered.”

“I would like that, but— ” Ukatonen gestured toward Dr. Lindberl and Manuel. “What about my companions?”

“They can come too,” the musician said. “Either of you two play anything?”

“I’ve been known to blow blues on a harmonica,” Dr. Lindberl said.

“I play the guitar,” Manuel said, “but unfortunately, I am on duty.” He turned to Ukatonen. “Excuse me, en, but you must be more careful. I cannot protect you when you’re on stage. If someone had wanted to kill you while you were up there, you would be dead now.”

“I’ll try to be more careful in the future, Manuel,” Ukatonen reassured him blandly.

“It would reflect badly on me if I allowed you to get nurt,” Manuel pointed out.

“I understand,” the enkar said. “But I need to take chances sometimes.”

It was an old disagreement between them. Each tried to respect the other’s needs, but inevitably, they were in conflict with each other. It bothered Ukatonen that he could aot achieve harmony with Manuel, but that was not going :: stop him from doing his duty as an enkar, even if it -leant risking his life. He risked his life every time he ~ade a formal judgment. Performing on a stage seemed ofe by comparison.

So, despite Manuel’s disapproval, he agreed to go, and the three of them set off in the company of the musicians.

Juna sighed as she read Manuel’s latest e-mail. It was yet another attempt to get her to convince Ukatonen to be more careful. If it continued, Manuel wrote, he would be forced to resign. Juna sighed heavily. She wasn’t any more likely to change Ukatonen’s mind than Manuel was.

She smiled as she read of Ukatonen’s latest adventures. He was hanging out with jazz and improv junk musicians. He had actually gotten up and performed in public several times, exposing himself to the possibility of an assassination attempt. Juna scrolled through the letter, hoping that Manuel would provide a few details about Ukatonen’s performances, but the security man only complained about how difficult it was to guard the enkar.

Mariam began to fuss, and Juna got up and lifted her out of the crib. She was crawling now, and didn’t like to be cooped up in her crib. Mariam was growing up fast. At five and a half months, she was already ahead of most babies her age in terms of physical coordination. She and Moki linked with Mariam, helping her learn to reach and grab and crawl.

Part of Juna worried that her little amber-skinned girl was growing up too fast, but the linking sessions brought her so close to Mariam. It was good, but it was a little scary, too. She remembered Bruce’s fear that Mariam would grow up to be alien. Was he right?

Mariam began pulling the buttons on Juna’s shirt, trying to unbutton it. She hadn’t quite figured out how to open it, but her plump golden fingers handled the small buttons with the deftness of an older child.

“Are you hungry, pumpkin?” Juna asked, unbuttoning the nursing flaps of her shirt. Although Mariam was starting to show an interest in solid food, she still clamped onto the nipple and nursed strongly and eagerly. Juna smiled down at her daughter. The chief joy and the chief sorrow in raising children was watching them grow and change. Linking with Mariam only helped her enjoy her baby’s all-too-brief infancy more intensely.

Moki squatted by the back corner of the barn, watching the chickens peck and scratch at their grain. He was bored, and he itched to work on something. On Tiangi, he had watched other bami catch small animals and transform them through allu-a, then change them back again, learning how to use their spurs to transform and heal. Helping Eerin and Ukatonen at the hospital had been fun, but now mere was nothing to use his spurs on.

He went to the feed bin and grabbed a handful of grain. It was easy to lure the tame, hungry chickens close to him. With a quick grab, one of the peeping chicks was his.

A prick from his spurs silenced the small yellow ball of fluff’s piercing cheeps of alarm. Moki squatted there, and pondered what to do next. He could try growing an extra leg, but that was too easy. Perhaps a second heart, or another liver— they were complex organs requiring a great deal of precision to duplicate. Or he could change ±e chick’s sex. That required delicate systemic changes, and wasn’t particularly noticeable. It seemed like a good jnd challenging choice. And it wouldn’t upset Eerin’s family.

He went into the hayloft, where he wouldn’t be dis-inrbed, and began to work. He decided to begin on the easiest level, transforming the sex organs from female to male. On such a small, immature animal, the process was very easy. Later, he would work on a deeper level, chang-mz the brain chemistry and the endocrine system to be Mly in harmony with the changed organs. Then, eventually, he would work on the cellular level, changing each .el so that its genetic complement matched its sex. He rrierged, blinking, from the hayloft an hour later, slipping [[:*‹e]] chick in amongst its siblings, marked now with a distinctive brown patch on its chest and one darkened toe.

He felt better than he had in weeks.

Selena tiptoed out of the toddlers’ room. The childern were finally asleep, and she didn’t want to wake them. At last she could put her feet up for a few minutes, before beginning to think about getting dinner ready. A cup of coffee sounded good about now. She spooned the fragrant coffee into the filter. They ate well here on Berry, where they could barter apples and wine for coffee, tea, chocolate, and bananas from the plantations in the tropical sectors.

She leaned against the counter, listening to the breathy gurgle and splash of the coffeemaker. Looking out the window, she saw Moki, head down, cut across the barnyard, and back out to the fields. There was a furtive air about him, as though he had been doing something he knew was wrong. He was spending a lot of time lurking in corners alone, or watching Juna and the baby. If he had been a human child, Selena would have suspected him of being jealous of the new baby. But he seemed so self-sufficient, and besides, Juna had told her that Moki was nearly as old as she was.

She could hear, faintly, Juna talking on her comm unit. Juna’s daughter was getting stranger every day. The other morning she had come in and found the baby sitting in the front hall, methodically tying and untying the laces on Toivo’s work boots! Mariam couldn’t even walk yet, but she could do things that much older toddlers had trouble with. And the way that child looked at you! It was like she was seeing your thoughts projected on the back of your skull!

A couple of days ago Selena had found Juna and Moki linking with the baby. She understood using the alien’s strange linking for urgent situations like labor, but this casual linking with the baby bothered her.

With a final wheeze and a soggy chuckle, the coffeemaker finished its work. Selena poured herself a cup, and then, with a sudden resolve, poured another cup, and set it on a tray with some cookies. It was time to talk to Juna about her concerns.

Toivo was putting some tools back in the barn when he saw the chicken with three legs and four eyes. He watched it limping awkwardly along for a moment, then picked it up and wrung its neck with one swift movement. He reached to pick up the shovel he had just set down, when he saw Moki.

“I was going to fix it after lunch,” the little alien said. Toivo was startled by Moki’s sullen and resentful tone.

With an effort, Toivo swallowed his anger. “Come with me,” he said, gripping Moki’s shoulder. “We need to talk to your mother.”

He strode into the house, not even bothering to remove his shoes. Juna was talking to Selena in the family room, the baby asleep beside her. He tossed the dead chicken into Juna’s lap.

“Moki did this.”

Juna looked from the malformed bird to Moki and back again. She closed her eyes in pain. “I’m sorry, brother,” she said in Amharic.

“I was going to fix it,” Moki explained. “I just needed :o eat first.”

“But Moki— ” She paused, looking from Selena to Toivo to Moki and back again.

“Moki, these animals are under our protection. We don’t do things like this to them.”

“But how will I learn?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Moki, but these are not your birds, and you shouldn’t play with them without permission. Do you understand?”

Moki shook his head. “What can I work on, then? I need something to do.”

“I don’t know,” Juna said again. “I need to talk to Uka-:onen about this. All of this,” she added with a significant ook at Selena.

Selena reached out and touched Moki on the arm. “Do you miss Juna?”

Moki’s skin turned deep walnut brown. “Yes,” he said. “I need her too much.”

“No, Moki,” Selena told him gently, “you need her as much as you need her. It isn’t always easy being a brother. Human children get jealous of their siblings all the time.”

“Really?” Moki said, the deep tone of shame on his skin lightening.

“Really,” Selena said. She turned to Juna. “You need to spend more time with Moki.”

“But Mariam— ” Juna began.

“Mariam has other parents who love her. Let them look after her a little more. Right now, Moki needs you.”

Juna looked at her bami, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry bai,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk and talk things over.”

Moki nodded. Juna put a hand on Selena’s arm. “Can you watch Mariam for a while?”

“Of course, Juna. It’s my turn in the nursery today. You two go on, and don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thank you.” Juna scooped up the deformed chicken. “We’ll bury it, and I’ll try to explain the problem a bit better to him.”

Toivo nodded. He glanced at Selena, who was watching Juna and Moki leave, a worried frown on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was going to talk to her about Mariam, when you came in,” she said. “That chicken isn’t the only thing Moki’s been playing with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mariam was sitting in the front hall, tying and untying the shoelaces on your boots the other day. She’s still crawling, but already she can do things like that.”

Toivo looked down. “Juna told me that she and Mold had been working with Mariam. Juna wouldn’t let the baby come to harm.” Despite his reassuring words, the situation made him uneasy.

“I don’t know, Toivo,” Selena said. “But I think Marian should have a chance to prove what she can do on her own. She’s only a baby, after all.”

Toivo sat beside his wife. “You’re right. We should talk to her about it. But let’s wait a while. I don’t want to say anything to Juna until we understand what’s happening.”

“We should give this thing with Moki a chance to settle,” Selena agreed. She smiled at him. “It isn’t all bad, Toivo. It’s just— different.”

“And being different can be hard,” Toivo observed.

Juna and Moki walked hand in hand along the edge of the vineyard. The dark, gnarled grapevines were sporting bright green new shoots. Juna was silent, trying to find ihe words to express how sorry she was. They came to ±e grove of three large chestnut trees, overlooking the weathered tables where the laborers ate their meals. Juna sat at one of them.

“I’m sorry, bai. I— ” Juna stopped and held out her arms for a link. Moki sat down across from her. He reached out to her and they linked. Juna felt her bami’s wall of silent frustration and loneliness dissolve as she enfolded him in ove and affection. His need was intense, and their link *as long. The light was dimming toward dusk when they iaaerged, and it was growing cold.

“Bai, when you need me, please tell me. I may not always be available right away, but I will make time as soon as I can. I promise,” Juna told him.

“Yes, siti,” Moki said. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she said. “What are we going to do about the lamckens?”

“I don’t know, siti,” Moki told her. “I’m bored. There’s meching to do.”

’Well, we can’t have you messing with the chickens. It[[

’i— people.”

Itt I need to do something.”

“Let’s go see Isi and Netta. Maybe they can help us. *^Jrr, it’s getting too cold for you to be out. Isi can run

home in the truck.”

Moki brightened. “I’d like that,” he said. ; “flfcy wound up staying for dinner. When the meal was Teuvo stumped down into the cellar, coming back a bottle of gleaming golden wine. Juna’s eyes widened she saw the label.

Tri. that’s from Earth!"]]

He nodded, his work-roughened hands peeling away the foil over the cork. “Bernkastler Doktor ’36, beerenauslese, one of the classic vintages, heavily botrytized.” He smiled. “It’s like drinking flowers! Even this little one may like it,” he said, nodding at Moki.

“But why now?” Juna asked. “Is there some reason for celebrating?”

Her father shrugged. “Life is a celebration, if you look at it the right way. But, no, I got it out for my grandson here. I want him to try it.”

“Why?” Moki asked. “You know I don’t like wine.”

“Try some,” Teuvo urged him. “It involves a project I want you to do for me. Something to keep your spurs busy without bothering the chickens.”

“All right,” Moki said.

Anetta got down some small wineglasses, and Teuvo solemnly filled everyone’s glass. A reverent silence fell as they swirled, sniffed, and then tasted it. Moki took his first sip warily. Then he turned blue, and spread his ears wide.

“You like it?” Teuvo asked him.

“It’s better than most wine. Sweeter, and like— like flowers, roses perhaps, and a little bit like honey. But there’s still that alcohol in it.”

“Can you isolate that flowery taste[[ pikkuinenV ]]Teuvo asked. “Memorize it in your spurs?”

Moki stuck a spur into his glass. He closed his eyes in concentration for a long moment, then nodded.

“Could you re-create it, if you had to?”

“I think so, Isoisi. Why? What do you want me to do?”

“That wine is rare and precious because of a certain mold, botrytis, that grows only under very special conditions. Autumns have to be long and dry, and warm, and the botrytis mold must be present. If it is, then you get that amazing flavor, but up here, there is no botrytis, because it gets on other fruits and makes them rot. So, we can reproduce the weather, but without the mold”—he lifted his hands and spread his fingers—“all you have is sweet wine.”

Teuvo leaned forward. “Could you build me a grapevine that would make wine that tastes like that, without the mold?”

“I’m not sure, hi” Moki said. “But I could try.” “Then instead of bothering the chickens, let’s see what you can do with a grapevine.”

The comm chimed.

“Comm on, speaker on,” Ukatonen told it. He was used to ordering the human’s machines around by now.

Eerin looked tired and tense.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Moki,” she said.

He sat back and listened while she told him what Moki had been doing.

“I’m going to try to spend at least a full morning or a full afternoon with him every day, but I think he also needs you around. It’s been months since we last saw you, en.”

Ukatonen looked away, browning with shame. Spending time with the musicians had been fun, but he needed to remember his duties as an enkar.

“I’ll try to come up at the end of the month,” he said. “I’m working on a project in Brazil until then.”

“Why don’t we come down and visit you?” Eerin suggested. “Mariam’s getting close to being weaned. Moki ind I could come down when you’re done there. We’re •yy\h dying to see the projects you’re working on, and I -ant to see you perform. Manuel hasn’t said anything ioout what you’re like on stage.”

“I’d like that,” Ukatonen told her.

They talked of inconsequentials for a while, and then rerin signed off.

Ukatonen stood up and stretched. It would be good to [[‹e]] Eerin and Moki again. It was time to focus on his [[:_:›.]] he thought, regret misting his skin with grey. Hu-.ins came closest to understanding harmony in their art. -e had felt it in the Motoyoshi garden, and sometimes, eetingly, looking at a painting or a sculpture in one of their museums. Music had been the easiest for him to josp, and it came the closest to his own concept of harmony. Indeed, the Standard word for harmony had a second, musical meaning, and this carried over to many of humanity’s other languages as well. It seemed ironically appropriate.

Music was certainly one way to achieve harmony with the humans, but it was a fragile, tenuous link at best. He needed to find a more compelling connection. Certainly there was the promise of better medical care, but how many Tendu would be willing to leave their cozy jungle to spend time in the aseptic environment of a hospital? No village elders, and very few enkar, he supposed. Perhaps a few of the stranger hermits, but they needed hundreds of experienced healers. But providing better medical care would only help more humans live longer at a time when they desperately needed to slow their population growth.

Ukatonen shook his head. It was all too complicated. It would be so much easier just to make music and forget all about trying to achieve harmony with the humans. He was tired of trying to untangle the whole mess. So much of it made no sense. He longed to be back on Tiangi faced with understandable, solvable problems.

Juna saw the man eyeing her as they got off the train in Sao Paulo, and smiled to herself. Her figure had returned to her pre-pregnancy slenderness. It was too bad that she didn’t have a lover who could appreciate her new figure on a more intimate level. Now that she was away from Mariam, and the demands of breast-feeding, the demands of her own body were making themselves felt. Not, she thought wryly, that there was anything she could do about those demands. Still, it was nice to have someone look at her like she was more than a mobile milk factory.

John Savage, their security escort on this trip, stepped down beside her. The Survey had tried to get her to accept three security guards, but Juna had insisted on only one. John was easier to take than some of the others she’d been saddled with. He managed to be vigilant without the obtrusive nervous paranoia of many previous escorts, some of whom were continually cutting in front of her, or pushing her back in order to inspect a car or a room they were about to enter. John seemed to be content to let her set her own pace, and simply watch the people around them.

Moki stepped down from the train. “I’ll go get a porter!” he announced and scampered off toward a group of porters standing near the doors into the station. John tensed and reached to stop Moki, but he was too late. Then Juna saw a man, the same one who had been watching her, move through the crowd toward her bami, his expression grimly intent.

“Moki! Wait!” she called and moved toward him.

There was a sudden loud crack. John grunted and fell, people screamed. Someone grabbed Juna from behind. She tried to pull away and felt something hot pressed against her temple. She could smell the acrid scent of gunpowder.

“Hold still or I’ll shoot,” a voice growled in her ear.

Juna froze. Moki had turned toward her, his skin a blaze : orange. Just then, the other man grabbed him around -e shoulders. Moki struggled, hissing and squalling like angry cat, his claws extended. He stuck a spur into the .roat of the man who’d seized him, and he folded bone-rssly to the ground.

“Tell him to stop fighting now. Or I’ll shoot you,” said the voice in her ear.

“Moki, stop. He’s got a gun. Hold still or he’ll shoot [[sac."]]

Moki stood immobile as a statue.

“What should I do, siti?” he asked in skin speech, his don flaring red with anger. “Should I distract them?”

“Don’t try anything, Moki,” Juna called, warningly.

“Good,” called the man behind her. “This way. You’re :::fining with us.” Juna could see several other men wear[[--■£]] hoods and carrying pistols fanning out around them. [["re]] crowd backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, :»ae could see their escort, John, lying in a spreading pool [[r red]]. There was so much blood! She should have taken the Survey’s advice and gotten two more guards. Perhaps John wouldn’t have gotten shot.

They were blindfolded with rough black hoods and shoved into a waiting truck. Juna felt the prick of a needle in her arm, and then everything slid into darkness.

She awoke in a small, whitewashed cell with a heavy metal door. There was a battered tin pail in one corner, and a small stack of brown paper squares in a niche beside it. There was a single, unshaded lightbulb and one small, high window. The glass in the window was frosted white, but she could make out the shadows of the bars on the other side. She was alone.

She lay quietly for a few moments, trying to recall every detail of the kidnapping, playing it out slowly, all the way up through the needle and her blackout. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain as she remembered John Savage lying on the ground. She should have agreed to additional security measures.

But would it have helped? Their kidnappers had been frighteningly well-organized. Perhaps even more people would have been killed. Juna shook her head and stood up slowly, still a little logy from the drugs. Where was Moki? What had they done to him? She started pounding on the door, yelling to be let out.

After what seemed like half an hour of pounding and shouting, Juna heard the rattle of keys in the door. She stood back, sudden fear clutching her throat. The door swung open, revealing three guards, two with drawn guns trained on her.

“Where’s Moki? I want to see my son!” she demanded.

One of the guards slapped her so hard that she nearly fell. Then he pushed her down onto the bed. Juna’s fear turned to terror. She had been raped in the camps. She would die before she let it happen again. She lifted her feet, ready to fight him off, but the guard had already stepped back.

“You’ll see him when we’re ready for you to see him,” he told her. Then he turned and left the cell. The door clanged shut behind him.

Juna shut her eyes and waited while her breathing slowed and her heart stopped hammering. Mind games, she told herself. They’re playing mind games. I can’t let it get to me. She used the bucket in the corner, then sat cross-legged on the thin foam mattress, closed her eyes, and lost herself in meditation.

[[The blurry light that shone through the window had

— ept down the wall and halfway across the floor before

Tie keys rattled in the door again. Juna opened her eyes.

Her mouth was dry, and her stomach was aching and empty.

The guard set a tray on the floor. There was a plate of -‹eans and rice and a plastic cup of water.]]

“Eat that, and then we will take you to the alien,” the [[z_ard]] told her. He was a different guard than before, younger and a little more polite.

He stood, watching her as she ate and drank. The water ttsted sweet and pure. It was cold enough that a sweat of condensation beaded the sides of the cup. She had half-ffinshed the beans and rice before it occurred to her to wonder whether they were drugged. She set her fork down and looked up.

“I am done,” she said.

“It may be a long time until there is more,” the guard [[onboned]].

She looked away. “I have been hungry before.”

The guard shrugged and picked up the plate. “As you wufa, senhora,” he said. “We will now take you to see the [[

“My son,” Juna corrected him. “Moki is my son.”

The guard motioned for her to get up. “Come.”

The corridor outside her cell was wide and floored with duraplast tile. It looked institutional, as though this had once been a small clinic or hospital. Behind one of the doors Juna heard a woman weeping. They stopped m cell across the hall and down several doors from her

The door opened. Moki was cowering in a corner, mattress half-pulled over him, bright orange with fear.]]

Juna crossed the cell and squatted beside him. “Moki, it’s me.” He did not move. “Bai, please, wake up.” He stirred grudgingly. “Link with me, bai,” she pleaded. “I need you.”

Slowly, painfully, Moki uncurled. He sat up and reached out to her.

“Stop. What are you doing?” the guard asked. Gently Juna rested a reassuring hand on Mold’s arm. “He’s in shock. He needs to link with me.”

“I can’t let you do that, senhora.”

“If you wanted us dead,” Juna said firmly, “you could have shot us at the train station, so I assume you want us alive. If you want Moki to live, you must let him link with me.”

“A moment, senhora. I must c6nsult with my superior.” He left. A moment later, another guard, this one a woman, joined the other two watching at the door.

About ten minutes later, the first guard returned accompanied by his sergeant.

“I understand that there is something the matter with the alien.”

“Moki. Yes,” Juna said. “He’s in shock. I need to link with him to bring him out of it. If I do not do this, he will die.”

“I have heard of this thing. Explain what you will do.”

Juna explained what linking entailed. He thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “Go ahead. We will be watching you. If you make any attempt to escape, then you will be shot. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Juna husked grudgingly from a throat that was dry with fear. “I understand. Moki, do you understand?”

Moki nodded.

“Good. We are ready.”

Juna took Moki’s arms and they plunged into the link. Moki’s terror surrounded her, tart and urgent. She breathed deeply and slowly, creating calm within herself, and enfolding Moki in it. Slowly his terror ebbed, and he was able to respond more fully. Gradually she built up a sense of hopefulness within herself, and fed that to Moki, giving him something to grasp and hold when they were apart. They rested for a moment in a tentative, hopeful peace. Then Juna slid out of the link and opened her eyes.

She sat up very slowly, taking a deep breath. Moki’s :olor was a neutral pale green tinged faintly with blue.

“Thank you,” she said to the guards. “Moki feels bet-ier now. We will need food and water.”

Moki opened his eyes. His skin flared orange momen-arily, then settled down to a dark, reassuring blue. He was “[[— • ing]] to be brave. Juna smiled at him and gently squeezed his hand.

“You must come with us now, senhora,” her guard said.

Juna nodded. “It would be helpful if we could link every uy. Unless we do, Moki will become hysterical and [[fear-~.il]]. He’s still very much a child.”

Moki, recognizing the cue, grabbed Juna’s hand as she [[^cood]]. “Please, siti, don’t go!”

“Shhh, Moki. I have to. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you be brave for me until then?”

Moki cast a fearful glance at the guards. “I— I’ll try. When jre we going to go home?”

“I don’t know, Moki,” Juna told him. “We’ll have to be :rave for now. Maybe later they’ll let us go, and we can [[*ee]] Mariam, and Netta, and Isukki again.” She felt her own : rntrol begin to fail at the thought of her family.

“You must be very proud of yourselves, kidnapping an nnocent child,” she said, standing up.

“Senhora, that innocent child killed one of our best [[■en]],” the sergeant told her.

Moki’s eyes widened in dismay, his skin clouding over [[-ah]] grey. “I’m sorry. He surprised me. If I’d known what is happening, I would have just put him to sleep.”

“Moki reacted instinctively,” Juna explained. “His stinging reflex used to stop predators. He would not do it on purpose.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Moki repeated.

The guard just shrugged, and held out his hand. “You—just come now, senhora.”

She turned and looked at Moki. “I will see you as soon as I can, bai.”

“Be brave” appeared on his chest in skin speech. Juna wasn’t sure whether he was telling her to be brave or reassuring himself.

“If you try to escape, or harm any of my men, we will hurt your”—the sergeant paused as if saying the word was distasteful—“mother. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Moki said, his skin flaring orange and red with fear and anger. He glanced at Juna. “I will be very careful,” he said in skin speech.

The sergeant took Juna’s elbow and led her out of the cell, followed by the two guards at the door. Instead of turning left, toward her. cell, they turned right.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You will see,” her guard said. “Come.”

They stopped at another locked cell. With a jangle of keys the sergeant opened it. The other two guards stationed themselves beside the door, their pistols drawn.

“Ukatonen!” Juna cried.

He was unconscious. His skin was a strange silvery white, and there were cuts and dark patches on his skin. It took Juna a moment to realize that the dark patches were bruises. He was too far gone to heal the damage they had done.

“What have you done to him?” she demanded.

“He would not cooperate. It was necessary to use force,” the guard told her.

Juna squatted next to him. “Ukatonen, it’s me, Eerin. Wake up, en.”

His eyes slitted open; the pupils were different sizes. “Eerin? Is it really you?” he said in skin speech, the words faint and fuzzy around the edges. “They hit me on the head. Hurts. Can’t think. Can’t heal. Need help. Moki?”

“He’s here too. Shall I bring him?”

Ukatonen started to nod, then stopped. He flickered agreement in skin speech. “Please. Soon.”

Juna stood. “He’s badly hurt. We need Moki.”

“I will send for the doctor,” the guard said.

“No,” Juna said. “A doctor could kill him. Moki can heal him. But we need him quickly.”

The sergeant stepped forward, and caught her chin in a painfully powerful grip. He dragged her to her feet and twisted her head up and around to look at him. “I am in charge here,” he told her. “I could hurt you. It would be wise not to forget that.”

“Do you want him dead?” Juna asked. “Moki is the only one who can heal him.”

The sergeant jerked her up on tip toes, and squeezed her jaw so hard that she thought it was going to break. He let her go with a sudden shove that sent her reeling into the wall. He spoke into a comm unit at his belt. “We will bring him,” he told Juna.

“Moki and I will be tired and hungry afterwards. We will need to eat,” Juna explained. “This kind of healing lakes energy.” Her chin felt as though it had been caught m a vise, but she refused to rub it.

The guard nodded grudgingly. “Food will be brought, as well.”

Moki was escorted in. “En!” he cried, his skin flaring red and orange. Juna laid a hand on Moki’s arm before he alarmed the guards. “He is badly hurt, and needs allu-a.”

“I will do what I can, siti,” Moki said.

They linked. Ukatonen’s normally powerful presence was barely detectable. Juna could feel Moki’s anger surging strongly. She contained it before it unbalanced the fragile link. She felt Moki pause, and get control of his anger. It showed a new level of maturity. Juna let her approval of this maturity expand into the link, reinforcing her barm’s confidence.

Moki began examining Ukatonen’s head injury, and Juna felt his confidence begin to falter. Even without allu, Juna could tell that it was very bad. A pungent coppery aura filled the area around the wound. The damage had affected Ukatonen’s ability to repair it. He literally couldn’t focus well enough to constrict the necessary blood vessels, and the bleeding had increased the pressure inside his skull.

After putting Ukatonen into a deep, healing coma, Moki constricted the arteries that fed the injury. This helped stop the dangerous buildup of pressure inside the enkar’s skull. As the pressure eased, Moki set about repairing the damage. It was delicate, careful work. Monitoring Moki, Juna could feel his fear and frustration build, but it did not affect the care with which he worked. At last, exhausted, he broke the link.

“I’ve done what I know how to do, siti,” he told her in skin speech. “The rest is beyond my skill. There is damage. I don’t know how much or how permanent it will be.” He glanced down at Ukatonen, lying unconscious on the mat. “I can repair the bruises and cuts, but it would be best if I rested first.” He paused, then went on: “I wish Ukatonen were awake. Maybe he could tell me what to do. But I’m afraid to wake him. He would only try to fix the problem, and that would make blood flow to the injury. It’s best to keep him unconscious for now.”

“You’ve done well, bai.”

Moki just looked at her and shook his head.

“How is he?” the sergeant asked.

“We’ve done what we can for now. He’s stable. We need food and a chance to rest before we do more work.”

Food came. Juna ate mechanically, not tasting it, her eyes on Ukatonen. When they were finished, Moki sat, eyes hooded, his skin a muddy roil of turbulent colors.

The door opened, and the two guards at the door visibly stiffened as a short, black-haired man swaggered in. Someone important, Juna concluded.

“How is the injured one?” he demanded.

“The little alien and Dr. Saari have been working on him, Commandante,” the sergeant rapped out.

He looked at them. “Well?”

“Moki’s doing the best he can,” Juna said. “We don’t know yet how extensive or permanent the damage to Ukatonen will be. We are resting before we do more healing.”

“I see. How long will it be before you know?”

Juna looked thoughtful for a moment. “We’re not sure,” she said. “At least several days. Possibly a week or more. What do you want with us?” she demanded.

The man frowned. “We will tell you when we are ready to tell you.” He glanced at the sergeant. “Carlos, show Professora Saari that we are in charge here.”

The sergeant slapped her. Hard. She stumbled back several steps, dizzy, her head ringing. Moki had turned bright red, and started forward.

“Don’t hit my mother.”

“Again, Carlos.”

This time Juna was prepared, and rolled with the blow. It hurt, but it did not stun her.

“No!” Moki cried.

“Again, Carlos. Harder.”

This time he slugged her hard enough to knock her down. She hit their dinner trays, and they scattered with a metallic clatter. Moki flew at him claws out, spurs forward.

“Moki, stop!” Juna called through the ringing in her ears.

Two guards wearing thick leather gloves grabbed Moki, pinning his arms down against his sides. He started to struggle.

“Stop!” Juna called again. “Moki, please, stop.”

“You can fight, little one, but every time you do, we hurt the professora.” He nodded at Carlos, who raised his arm. Juna rolled in time to avoid the worst of the blow, but it still stung.

“Stop,” Juna said. “We understand. If you continue to beat me, I will be unable to help heal Ukatonen.”

That seemed to stop the commandante. [[“Enough, Car-

— Do as we say, Professora. And see to it that the sick

e gets better quickly. Your lives depend on it.” He turned -.d walked out, not waiting for an answer. Carlos followed him.

The other guard, the kind private who had first brought

: food, shook his head philosophically. “Ah, senhora,

u should not have spoken so to the commandante. He . _r, be a hard man.”]]

Juna got up slowly, still disoriented by the blows. Each movement made her aware of new aches and bruises. The guard began picking up the utensils. He glanced up at her. “Senhora, why don’t you and the little one rest in your cells while we clean up here?”

She shook her head, and winced at the pain the motion caused. “We should look after Ukatonen.”

“He’s asleep. If he wakes up, we’ll send for you. Go on, we can’t clean up properly if you are here.” It was phrased as a request, but it was clearly an order.

Juna reluctantly agreed, and the guards showed the two of them into Moki’s cell. As soon as the door shut, they sat on the floor and did what they could to repair their injuries. They were too exhausted and numb to try to raise each other’s spirits. They were too tired to do more than stop the pain and swelling. They broke the link and fell asleep on Moki’s thin foam mattress, curled around each other for warmth and reassurance.

Ukatonen felt Moki and Eerin trying to salvage what they could of his bruised and battered brain. They had been working on him for at least two days now, and there was nothing more that they could do. The injured brain tissue could be regrown, but the skills that had been stored there were gone. Still, the two of them kept trying, and he was powerless to stop them.

Ukatonen could no longer control the link. When he reached for the familiar strength of his presence, there was almost nothing there. If he worked slowly and carefully, on a calm patient, he could still heal. But his presence was weaker than that of a new bami. He could no longer calm a frightened person with the force of his will, or hold a dissolving link together. He had lost an ability that had taken a long lifetime to learn. He tried to imagine a village chieftain’s reaction to his laughable presence, and darkened with shame.

He was crippled, and a crippled enkar was useless. His injury would cause all the other enkar to lose face. It was time to die, but Moki and Eerin would not let him go.

When Moki and Eerin allowed him to wake up, he explained this to them, as gently as he could.

Ukatonen, you have a duty to me and to Moki,” Eerin ^i when he was through. “You must live. We need you.” Why?” Ukatonen asked, not looking at her.

“Because there is something that they”—she motioned[[ ^li ]]her head to indicate their kidnappers—“want from. If you die, so do we. I would not want a death that dishonors you so.”

Ukatonen sat silent for a while, thinking through her words. He was tired of carrying the crushing load of duty, ured of being an enkar, but she was right. They needed him. Finally, he looked up at her. “You would make a good enkar,” he admitted.

“I would not want to carry such a burden as that, en,” Juna said. “I am human and we are allowed a few imperfections.”

“What do they want?” he asked.

“I don’t know, en. I’ve been afraid to find out. It may not be something that you can do. I will not ask you to violate your honor to save our lives.”

Ukatonen looked at her. “Don’t be silly, Eerin. You already have.”

Eerin looked down. “You’re right, en, and I am sorry.”

He reached out and brushed her shoulder affectionately. “We will do what we have to do to get out of here.”

“It may not be that easy, en,” Moki said in skin speech. “These are people without honor. They may not let us go, even when we do what they want.”

“Then either they will die, or we will die,” Ukatonen replied in skin speech. “If there is a chance to escape, we will take it.” He held out his arms, spurs upward. “Let us link. I will not be much help, but it will bring us closer to harmony.”

The three of them entered into allu-a. Ukatonen could feel the others’ instinctive pause as they waited for his powerful presence to fill the link, and then their grief as they realized that it was no longer there. He struggled to break the link, but Eerin held the link together, blocking his escape. He was surprised at the strength of her presence. Even without allu, she could hold him in the link. He tried to block her as she enfolded him, searching for his pain, but he couldn’t stop her. She found the darkness and pain and loneliness inside him, and forced it to the surface. He struggled against it. There was too much pain to face all at once. He tried to make himself go unconscious, but Moki blocked him. Imagine, an enkar of his experience being blocked by a mere bami. He raged angrily, and impotently against them.

Then Eerin and Moki enfolded him, lifting him out of his pain. Exhausted, he let himself drift, surrounded by Eerin and Moki’s caring. He was a leaf floating on the river instead of being the river itself. It was like being a bami again. He eddied in the warm currents of their presence, stilled and at peace.

Ukatonen’s cell door opened, and he was escorted out. The guards marched him past a row of featureless cell doors and out into the open air. He blinked in the sudden, bright sunlight, flaring his nostrils wide, taking in as many smells as he could. They were surrounded by rain forest, separated only by an expanse of closely mown grass and a barbed-wire fence.

It was odd. Two years ago, such close confinement would have driven him into greensickness. Now, he was too preoccupied with surviving to notice the grim sterility of his cell. Still, the scent of the forest roused a wave of longing so intense that he stumbled and nearly fell. One of the guards jerked him upright and pushed him along the concrete breezeway.

He was led toward a door into another building. A guard opened the door with a stiff salute to his escort. They walked down a long hallway, and into a bright, sunny room. A man lay in a bed, surrounded by guards and subordinates. He was the focus of everyone in the room. Moki and Eerin were waiting. One of the guards had a gun pressed to Eerin’s head. Ukatonen fought back a sudden flare of anger. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to be calm.

The man in the bed looked at them. His eyes were pale and cold and hard. Ukatonen knew with a sudden clarity iiat this was the man who was responsible for their kidnapping. The cold eyes flicked away, back to Eerin.

“Dr. Saari, I am Sefu Tomas.”

Eerin’s eyes widened at the name. She knew who this man was, and he frightened her.

“I am dying. You are here to heal me. If you do not, you will be killed. If you do, then you will be freed. Your lives for my life. It is that simple.”

“How can we trust you?” Eerin asked.

“My people respect me because they know I am a man of my word. I would not jeopardize that trust by violating my word, even to you.”

“You understand that I have vowed to stop healing people,” Ukatonen said. “It is a matter of honor.”

Sefu Tomas looked faintly surprised. “Interesting. A race that eats its own children speaks of honor.”

“And a man who kills and kidnaps members of his own species speaks of honor,” Ukatonen replied calmly.

Tomas looked at Ukatonen. “I could have you killed.”

Amusement flickered over Ukatonen’s skin. “But you need me,” he replied. “Your life for our lives.”

“You could be hurt.”

“I could choose to die,” Ukatonen said.

“I could hurt the little one, or Dr. Saari.”

“They, too, could choose to die. You need us all,” he said. “Dr. Saari needs to be in the link. We draw strength from her.”

“You could use one of my men,” he said. “Any one of them would gladly give his life for our cause.”

Ukatonen looked at Tomas’s men. They shifted uneasily under his unwavering gaze. “Perhaps if I had not been injured, that would be possible. Now, though, we need someone experienced. Someone who will not panic in the link. I no longer have the strength to control their fear.” He looked back at Tomas. “It would be foolish to have done all this, and then die because one of your men didn’t know what to do.”

There was a long silence. Ukatonen and Tomas regarded each other appraisingly.

Tomas laughed. It was a long, deep laugh that broke the building tension in the room. Even the lines on Eerin’s face eased. In that moment, it was obvious what drew men to follow Tomas.

“We will have to trust each other, then,” he told Ukatonen. “You will heal me, and you will have your freedom. Yes?”

Ukatonen looked at Eerin and Moki for a long moment, then nodded.

“Good. When do we start?” Tomas asked.

“We can begin now, if you are ready,” he replied.

“I am ready,” Tomas said.

Ukatonen held out his arms to* begin the link. “I have a plan,” he told Eerin and Moki in skin speech. “Follow my lead.”

Surprised, Eerin hesitated for a moment, then reached out to link with Ukatonen. Moki followed suit.

The link was a roil of emotions. Tomas was a swirl of bloody violence. Moki struggled to keep his fear and anxiety under control, while Eerin fought to suppress her anger and fear. Ukatonen reached into Tomas, and rendered him unconscious, a simple physiological trick. But there was nothing he could do for Eerin and Moki except wait for them to calm themselves. When the link was finally calm enough for him to be heard, Ukatonen sent a flood of reassurance and a sense of anticipation. He was pushing as hard as he could, yet it barely affected the tenor of the link. But it was enough— Eerin and Moki both responded with cautious optimism. He would explain when he emerged from the link.

Then Ukatonen turned his focus to the patient. The cancer was deep and widespread. It was a testament to the strength of Tomas’s will that he could appear as healthy as he did. It would be dangerous to underestimate this man.

Ukatonen released the killer cells that would clear away the cancer. With the help and support of Moki and Eerin, he reversed as much of the damage as he was able to, given his own fragile state. When he had done as much as he could, Ukatonen created a temporary pain block. Tomas would wake in pain in the middle of the night.

It was a strange thing to do, and in response to Moki’s puzzlement, Ukatonen conveyed anticipation. This was part of his plan. Then he sent a feeling of caution and urgency. He was going to do something. They needed to be ready.

Ukatonen woke Tomas and broke the link, hoping that Eerin and Moki understood him. Moki glanced at Eerin as her eyes opened. She looked at Ukatonen and moved her head in a fractional nod. They were ready to follow his lead. He only hoped that his plan would work.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Tomas?” Ukatonen asked. He felt drained. The link had exhausted him.

Tomas sat up in bed. “Better than I have in months,” he said. “It’s really amazing.”

“The pain block may wear off in a few hours,” Ukatonen told him. “If you start to hurt, call us, and we will come and reinstate it. You will heal faster if there is no pain. I have done all that I have the strength to do today. I will do more healing in a couple of days, when I am stronger.”

Ukatonen swayed suddenly on his feet, his color paling to a silvery white. “Be ready,” he said in skin speech. “Watch my skin.” He collapsed, going into convulsions, his skin becoming a riot of color. “I am all right, but pretend I have done too much,” he said, the symbols jumbled in amongst the swirls of color. “Get me into another room.”

“Ukatonen!” Eerin cried. “What’s wrong?” She looked up at the guards, who had their guns drawn and pointed at them.

“He’s done too much,” Eerin explained. “He needs food. Honey, sugar. Anything sweet. Please! Now! If you don’t do this, he will die,” she pleaded. “If that happens, he cannot save you,” she told Tomas. Ukatonen went suddenly limp, his skin pale silver.

The guards looked at Tomas, who nodded. “Take him out of here, now. Do what they say.”

“We’ll carry him,” Eerin said.

“Let my arm drop,” Ukatonen said in skin speech. “I will be dripping something out of my allu.”

Ukatonen let one arm droop down toward the floor, and released the first drops of the precursor to a potent sleep drug. It had a faint, acrid odor, but the nose-blind humans didn’t seem to notice the smell.

“This way,” one of the guards said. “Take them to the cafeteria. Put him on one of the tables.”

“Good,” Ukatonen said, still in skin speech, “a good place. Everyone goes there.”

They laid him on one of the tables, and a guard came running up with a container of sugar from the kitchen.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Eerin.

Ukatonen explained what he was doing in skin speech as Eerin opened his mouth and began pouring sugar onto his tongue.

“Tonight, when Tomas has us brought in to relieve the pain, I will release the second part of the drug. They will fall asleep, and will not awake for several hours. Link with me now.” He let his skin fade back to a neutral celadon color.

“Thank you,” Eerin told the guards. “It’s helping. Now we need to link with him.”

The guards looked at each other, and then the one in charge nodded. They linked briefly. Ukatonen showed Moki how to synthesize the precursor substance he was producing, then broke the link.

His simulated convulsions over, Ukatonen opened his eyes. He sat up, slowly and painfully. It was not really acting: the link, and then the false convulsions, had drained him. He was exhausted.

“Are you all right?” Eerin asked.

Ukatonen flickered agreement. “Food. I need food,” he said aloud.

“So do the rest of us,” Moki put in. He began letting some of the clear, synthesized precursor substance ooze from his spurs onto the table, where it evaporated quickly.

Their captors brought plates heaped with food— 6eans and rice, with fresh fruit and vegetables. They stuffed themselves. And all the while, the precursor oozed from the Tendu’s spurs, dripping onto the floor, or spread surreptitiously onto the tabletop. The substance was highly volatile and would evaporate and spread throughout the building, where it would be inhaled and absorbed by every single person inside.

“Could we go to the bathroom before we are put back in our cells?” Ukatonen asked. “I’m afraid there is some urgency.”

The guard in charge nodded. Ukatonen left a trail of precursor on his way to the bathroom. He let a small puddle of it accumulate on the floor of the toilet stall, and wiped some on the door handle and faucets. They brought him back to the cafeteria, and then escorted the prisoners back to their cells. Ukatonen stumbled and fell just outside the building, leaving a faint stain of precursor on the walkway. As Moki bent to help the enkar up, he sprayed some on the grass.

“He’s still weak,” Eerin said. “We should stay with him.” The guards hesitated, then one of them conferred with someone on his coram unit.

“Only the little one may stay. There will be a guard outside, in case there is any trouble.”

Ukatonen caught a glimpse of Eerins anxious face as they led her off to her cell. He hoped she would be ready to act when the time came.

Ukatonen was asleep when their captors came for them. The guards escorted them to Tomas’s room, where he lay sweating and pale in agony.

“Stop the pain,” he commanded.

Ukatonen nodded at the others, and they linked with Tomas, putting him under immediately. Ukatonen cleared their systems of all traces of the precursor to the sleep drug he had released earlier in the day. Now the second half of the drug would not affect them. Then, on a prearranged signal, they unlinked. He and Moki began releasing the second half of the drug from their spurs. The light, volatile compound diffused rapidly through the room. It had a peculiar, almost flowery scent. He heard the muffled thud as their guards fell to the heavy carpet.

Ukatonen slipped out of the link and called in the guards waiting outside the room. They were asleep before they took five strides into the room. Ukatonen and Moki crept out into the hallway, releasing the sleep drug from their spurs. Almost immediately the hallway was full of slumped bodies. Ukatonen gingerly opened doors, releasing more activator into every room where he smelled a human. In less than twenty minutes, everyone in the building was asleep except for Moki, Eerin and” himself.

“Okay, this building’s safe,” Ukatonen said.

“I’ll call out for help,” Eerin said, picking up the comm unit.

“No,” Ukatonen told her. “I want to talk to Tomas. I need to understand him. He goes with us.”

“Goes where?” Eerin demanded.

“The jungle,” Ukatonen said.

“Ukatonen, this compound is surrounded by armed guards. How are we going to get him out of here?”

“I don’t know, but we have to.”

“We barely have a chance to get out of here with our own skins. It’ll be a whole lot harder with a hostage,” Eerin pointed out.

“I know,” Ukatonen told her, “but it is necessary.”

“Siti?” Moki said. “There are trucks here. I heard them come in the other afternoon. Maybe we can use one of them to get out of here.”

Eerin looked at him. “That’s a good idea, bai. We should move soon, before someone checks the building.”

Eerin stripped one of the guards, and put on his uniform. Then she scooped up Tomas’s comm, and slipped it down her shirt front, tucking it securely into the waistband of her pants.

They carried the unconscious Tomas to the back door [[:f]] the building.

“I’ll go first, and see if I can find a way to get out of here,” Ukatonen said. “You wait here with Tomas.”

“Be careful,” Eerin cautioned.

Ukatonen slipped out into the night. A few minutes of exploring brought him to a garage filled with trucks and cars. He crept up behind the guard and put him to sleep with a quick sting of his spurs. Then he returned to where Eerin and Moki were waiting.

“I found the garage. Let’s go.”

They carried Tomas to the garage.

“We’ll take that troop transport over there,” Eerin said, pointing at the largest truck in the garage. The back was roofed with canvas. Moki searched for the keys while Eerin and Ukatonen loaded Tomas into the back of the truck. Ukatonen climbed into the back of the truck to keep an eye on Tomas. Moki found the keys hanging on a board on the wall. He grabbed them and scurried across the garage toward the truck. Just then a pair of guards walked into the garage.

“Hey!” one of the guards shouted. “Stop, or we’ll shoot!”

“Siti!” Moki called. He deftly lobbed the keys through the driver’s window with a long-armed toss, and then leaped for the truck. Then Ukatonen saw the canvas truck roof dent as Moki scrabbled up onto the roof . There was a rumble as Eerin started the truck. Moki appeared framed in the opening at the back of the truck as he swung inside. There was a loud, sharp crack and the bami landed in an awkward heap in the back as the vehicle turned, the engine whining loudly in protest. There was the smell of blood, Moki’s blood.

Ukatonen moved toward the bami, but just then the truck surged forward, knocking him over. There was a rending crash, and then the garage receded behind them as the truck speeded up. He could hear shouting and more gunshots. There was another crash, and then Ukatonen could see the gate vanishing behind them. He heard more shots, but the bullets whined by without hitting them.

“Are you all right, Moki?” Ukatonen asked, his words glowing in the darkness.

“Something hit me, en. I’ve stopped the bleeding, but my arm’s gone numb.”

The truck was bouncing too much for them to link safely. “That’s not good. As soon as we’re safe, I’ll look at it for you.”

Moki flickered assent. The truck slowed as they rounded a sharp bend, then swerved sharply and started jouncing over rough ground. Ukatonen could hear branches crash and crackle against the canvas sides of the truck as he and Moki bounced back and forth inside. There was a sudden crunch and a metallic rending, and they slid forward, crashing into the back of the cab as the truck stopped abruptly.

The door of the cab creaked open, and Eerin got out. She climbed up on the back of the truck.

“Come on. We don’t have much time.”

Ukatonen dragged the still-unconscious Tomas out of the truck as Moki jumped out.

“Siti, I’ve been hurt,” Moki said.

“How bad is it? Do you need me to carry you, bai?”

“No, siti. It’s my arm. I can walk.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Ukatonen swung Tomas onto his shoulder, “This way,” he said, guiding Eerin and Moki up a half-fallen tree draped with vines.

They had reached the canopy and were hurrying through the treetops when they heard the whine of approaching vehicles.

The trucks roared past. A moment later they stopped. Ukatonen could hear the grinding of the gears as they turned around.

They swung into the next tree, pausing to convey Tomas across the gap. Behind them, Ukatonen heard the trucks stop. Headlights sent splinters of light into the forest. He could hear the guards calling out orders and crashing through the underbrush toward them.

There was a heavy crack and swish as a branch fell somewhere off to their right, probably snapped as some startled animal turned and fled. The guards shouted and headed toward the noise.

“Go that way,” Ukatonen urged, pointing away from the oise. “I’ll draw them off. Go until you come to a stream, then head upstream until it branches. Wait for me there. If I’m not there in two days, go on without me.”

“Okay, en,” Eerin said, “but please, be careful.”

“I will be. Now go.”

Ukatonen settled Tomas into a secure, vine-draped tree crotch, then moved silently through the trees, moving past the guards and away from Moki and Eerin. When the guards were still a few trees away, he broke off a heavy, waterlogged bromeliad, and dropped it. It crashed noisily through the branches to the ground. The guards headed toward the sound. Ukatonen swung into the next tree, making as much noise as he could. The guards followed him with their torches and guns.

Ukatonen led them through the jungle for over a kilometer before swinging silently back around and retrieving the unconscious Tomas. He managed to carry Tomas about half a kilometer farther into the jungle, and then hid him again. Then he found Moki and Eerin’s trail and began iracking them. It was late afternoon before he found them.

“I’m worried about him. He’s lost a lot of blood, and there’s no feeling in his arm,” Eerin told Ukatonen, when he was settled in the nest she had built. There was a pale silvery cast to Mold’s skin that worried Ukatonen.

“He doesn’t look good,” the enkar agreed. “I’ll check him as soon as I’ve eaten.”

Eerin handed him a couple of pieces of overripe fruit. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to eat,” she apologized.

“I didn’t find much either,” he told her, pulling out a small bundle of wilting fern shoots and two very small fish. “I was too busy getting here to hunt.”

“Where is Tomas?” she asked.

“He was too heavy for me to carry the whole way. I left him in a tree. I’ll find some more food and check Moki, then go back and get him.”

Eerin sighed. There were dark shadows under her eyes. She looked numb with exhaustion. He touched her shoulder reassuringly, then set off to look for food.

The pickings were slim and he was tired, but eventually he came back with some small game, greens, and a few more pieces of fruit. They ate hungrily, wordlessly. Moki had lost a lot of blood. He would also lose his arm. There was little that Ukatonen and Eerin could do to help him. Their reserves had been drawn down to almost nothing. Still, there was a flicker of response. Moki would live through the night. Tomorrow, rested by sleep and restored by food, they could do more.

Ukatonen got up early the next morning and killed a sloth. He and Eerin gorged themselves on the meat. Strengthened by the feast, they were able to work on Moki. It was clear that there was nothing they could do for his arm. Ukatonen took it off, with the help of a machete that Eerin had found in the truck and brought with her. He stopped the bleeding of Moki’s stump, and helped it heal over. It would be at least a week before Moki would be strong enough to travel. With patience and careful work, the bami’s arm would grow back in less than a year.

Having done what he could for Moki, Ukatonen set off to bring Tomas back. The ants had found Tomas before he did. His body was covered with their bites. Ukatonen healed the bites and woke his captive up enough to make him walk. It was almost as much work as carrying him. He struggled against the fog of sedation that was the only way Ukatonen could control him. It was growing dark by the time they got to camp. He hauled his captive up to the nest, put him back to sleep, then collapsed in exhaustion.

The next day, Ukatonen woke Tomas just enough to feed and clean him. As soon as he was conscious, Tomas began to struggle against the link, battering Ukatonen with his anger and hatred. Ukatonen wasn’t strong enough to control the man’s emotions. Finally, he rendered him unconscious and pulled out of the link. He sat there, looking down at his captive, his skin roiling with rusty red frustration.

“What’s wrong, en?” Eerin asked.

“He’s too angry. I can’t work with him, but”—he shook his head—“I can’t calm him down because of my injury. I have to understand why he’s angry, and try to address that.”

“Sefu Tomas controlled hundreds of people directly, and millions more indirectly, through violence and fear,” Eerin told him. “Now he’s alone among enemies in the middle of the jungle. He’s angry because he’s lost everything. I don’t think you can fix that, en.”

“But we have something in common.”

“What do you mean, en?”

“Coming to Earth, I too have lost everything. But,” he said, looking thoughtfully at the unconscious Tomas, “I did it voluntarily. It has been taken from him by force.”

He ate and rested, thinking the situation over. Linking with Tomas was like trying to tame a trapped predator.

He sat up. Yes, that was it. He needed to treat Tomas like a wild animal he was trying to tame. It would be much harder because of his injury, but if he proceeded slowly, it just might work.

He linked with Tomas, slowly letting him come to a dreamlike awareness. At first Tomas paced the cage of his mind, searching for a way out, but eventually he became bored and unwary. Then Ukatonen fed calmness into the link. It took hours of painstaking work, instead of the few minutes it would have taken before his injury, but eventually he managed to get Tomas to relax. Gently, slowly, Ukatonen coaxed him into a deep trance. When he was too relaxed to lie, Ukatonen began interrogating him.

Juna half-listened to Ukatonen’s interrogation of Tomas. Moki slept deeply, curled against her for warmth. She was hot, sticky, and bored. The insect repellent Ukatonen had synthesized for them was wearing off, and the bugs were starting to bother her. The slim black shape of Tomas’s comm unit caught her eye. She flipped it open and turned it on. Once again, the familiar opening screen requesting the password came up.

“Hey, Ukatonen, ask Tomas what the password is for his computer.”

Ukatonen did so.

“It’s Rimel Moman Jarvi,” Tomas droned obligingly. He repeated the words twice more.

Juna’s lips pursed in disapproval; two of the words in the password phrase were the names of notorious Birth-Right terrorists. But after he had spoken the password, there was a chime and the screen changed to reveal the file finder program. Juna typed in her last name, and did a search on it. There were about two dozen files mentioning her name. But at the end of the list was another file: Mariam Saari Fortunati. Juna swore softly in Amharic. She read through the file, and her eyes grew wider.

“What is it, Eerin?” Ukatonen asked.

“They were considering kidnapping Mariam,” Juna told him. “And they were going to use Bruce to do it.”

“That’s very bad,” the enkar said.

Juna continued to scan the file. “Apparently, Bruce contacted the BirthRight movement about taking Mariam. He gave them all kinds of information about us.”

“Why, en? Why would he do it?” Juna demanded.

“I don’t know, Eerin. Why don’t you keep looking, and see if you can find anything else?”

Juna continued searching through the files, while Ukatonen returned to his slow, painstaking questioning of Tomas. She was reading through the files on herself when she came across General Burnham’s name. She searched for more information, and found it. Apparently Burnham’s office had supplied their kidnappers with vital intelligence about their schedule and security arrangements. They had overridden several attempts by the Survey to increase their security escort. Although none of the information implicated Burnham directly, it was damning enough to end the general’s career.

Juna’s eyes were sandy with fatigue by the time she reset the password, and shut down the computer. There was enough information on this comp to shut down most of the BirthRight network. There were names, addresses, and organizational charts for the networks on Earth and Mars. She closed the cover with a smile. It had been a most productive afternoon.

Ukatonen sat back and considered what he knew after two days of interrogation. Sefu Tomas grew up in the movement’s most radical fringe. His parents took him to BirthRight rallies when he was still a baby. He played under the dining room table with his younger brothers while his father and other leaders of the movement discussed contraceptive reversal techniques, and plotted bombings of Pop Con offices.

He was thirteen when his family were exiled to Mars for population violations. As the eldest, he was allowed to stay behind in the care of relatives. He lived with an uncle for two months, before running away. He was taken in by the leader of the BirthRight movement, and trained as an elite smuggler and spy. By the age of fourteen he was smuggling anticontraceptives and fertility drugs around the world. His youth was the perfect cover. He killed his first man before he turned sixteen.

At seventeen Tomas married the leader’s youngest daughter, and became a father before he turned eighteen. By twenty, he commanded several terrorist cells. When he turned thirty, Tomas was designated the leader’s official heir. He took over the leadership of the radical wing of the BirthRight movement four years later.

But those were just facts. Ukatonen still didn’t understand what moved Tomas. How could he kill so easily, and without apparent thought? What was the source of that anger that Tomas kept bottled up inside himself? Could Ukatonen extinguish that anger, and bring Tomas into harmony with the rest of his world?

Eerin shook her head when Ukatonen asked her this.

“En, we’ve been trying to find a way to do that for centuries. Every person is different. We carry scars in different places on our hearts. For me, it was the death of my mother. For Tomas? Who knows? His father perhaps. Or the arrest of his parents. Or it could be none of those.”

“How do I find out?” Ukatonen said.

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

Ukatonen darkened with frustration. “I did. But right now he is angry at us.”

’Then ask him to be a child again, and find out what he is angry at when he’s a child,” Eerin suggested.

Ukatonen stopped and stared at her.

“Thank you, Eerin, I would not have thought of that.”

He kept forgetting how crucial a human’s childhood was to their eventual development. One chose a bami based on their personality. The willing, honest, and hard-working juvenile tinkas were adopted. SuHen, angry ones were not. Once a tinka became a bami, it was merely a matter of shaping that personality to fit the needs of the village. With humans, a great deal more depended on their childhood.

Patiently, Ukatonen guided Tomas back into his memories of childhood. After several attempts, he managed to make Tomas believe he was a child again. Finally, he was regressed to the age of four; Tomas’s whole demeanor and posture changed. The lines left his face; he seemed younger, happier. Ukatonen’s eyes flicked to Eerin. She nodded. She had seen the change too.

Slowly, Ukatonen eased him forward in time, until his face began to change. Then he took Tomas back, embedding him in that moment of terror and anger, and plunged into the link.

It was like being tumbled into a rapid at flood time. Ukatonen was caught in a maelstrom of powerful emotions that was much more dangerous than anything intentional that Tomas could have thrown at him. He struggled to maintain his equilibrium in the midst of the turmoil. He was powerless to do anything to calm Tomas. Finally he struggled out of the link.

He sat for a moment, stunned. Then, pulling himself out of his daze, he looked at Eerin and Moki.

I need your help,” he said, holding out his arms, deep [[-r~: wn]] with shame. “He’s too strong for me. I can’t calm.

“Rest and eat, en,” Eerin said. “I found some bees; here’s honey and honeycomb.”

“A moment only,” Ukatonen told her. “He is in pain, [[r!‹d ]]we must stop it.”

“After all he and his men have done to us, en, I don’t rally care,” Eerin declared.

Ukatonen was shocked. “But, Eerin— ” Ukatonen, we’ve been sitting here for eight days while you mess around with him.” She gestured contemptuously it Tomas. “My family’s got to be worried sick. I want to £0 home!”

Ukatonen laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Eerin. I’ve been so absorbed with Tomas that I didn’t think about that. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“And him?” she asked, gesturing again at Tomas.

“He will come with us. But you must set aside your anger now, and help me end his pain. Unless we do that we cannot bring him into harmony with us.”

Eerin looked down. “I’m not sure that I can, en. I’m too angry about all of the things he has done to us.”

Ukatonen touched her shoulder and she looked back up at him. “I did not say that you must forget what he has done, or how angry it has made you, but for now, you must let it go for long enough to help him. Moki and I can help you shed your anger if you will let us.”

Eerin was silent for a long moment; then she nodded and held out her arms. “All right, en.”

They linked. Moki helped Ukatonen smooth away Eerin’s anger. Then they turned to Tomas.

The emotional storm had exhausted Tomas, and they were able to slow the raging turmoil. Ukatonen pulled partway out of the link, and talked Tomas through his pain, monitoring and quietly reinforcing calmness, happiness, peace, and a sense of forgiveness. Tomas slid into a sweet, peaceful dream state. Then Ukatonen reached into Tomas’s brain and smoothed away the pathways that led to that anger and violence.

Tomas woke about an hour later. He stretched, and there was a relaxed, almost sweet smile on his face. He opened his eyes, and tensed in fear. It saddened Ukatonen to see the lines reappear in the man’s face.

“Good morning,” Eerin said. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

He looked around. “Where am I?”

“In the middle of the jungle,” Eerin told him. “We’re not exactly sure which jungle, though. Are you hungry?”

Tomas nodded. “What did you do to me?” he asked. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About eight days,” Ukatonen replied. “How do you feel?”

“Different,” he said. “Better. What happened?”

“We escaped, and took you with us,” Ukatonen told him. “I needed to understand you. Your cancer is almost gone, by the way.”

“I see. And my men? My wife and family? Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” Ukatonen replied. “We put everyone to sleep in the building you were in. Unless something else happened, they should be all right.”

Tomas hung his head in silence for a few moments, his brow furrowed as though he was puzzled.

“I should be angry with you. No, wait, I am angry with you, but it”—he hesitated—“it’s different somehow. What did you do to me?”

“We helped you forget how to be angry,” Ukatonen explained.

He sat silent for a few moments, looking inward. “Yes, you have. But it was my anger— Who gave you the right to take it away?” His voice was mild, despite his words.

“Who gave you the right to kidnap us?” Eerin asked.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“None of us do,” Ukatonen said. “Even after all the work I have done on you, I still don’t understand why you have killed so many people.”

“I believe that it’s wrong to tell me how many children I can have.”

“But if we keep having children, humanity itself will die,” Eerin told him.

“And if the state had decided that you couldn’t have your daughter. What then?” Tomas shot back.

“I don’t know,” Eerin admitted. “It would have been terrible. I can’t imagine life without Mariam now.”

“And how is that different from us?” he asked. “We love children. We want to have a lot of them.”

“I would have given up having a child,” Eerin explained. “But your argument doesn’t apply. I was buying a child-right that someone wished to sell. I am not exceeding the population goals. Yes, we restrict the right to have a child, but it is restricted equally for everyone.”

“And what about this place?” Ukatonen asked. “Would you have so many children that this forest would be destroyed to feed them? Is it worth the death of a beautiful, living planet to have as many children as you wish?”

“The government has no right to tell us how many children to have,” Tomas argued.

“You’re right. It isn’t fair, but it’s necessary. But you have a choice. You can emigrate to Mars, if you want to have more children,” Eerin pointed out.

“It’s sterile and cold. You have to pay to breathe there.”

“At least you have a choice, even if it’s a hard one. Someday we’ll have Terra Nova, and room to expand.”

“In two hundred years’ time. What good is that to me? Or to my children and grandchildren and their children?”

“None,” Eerin allowed. “But it’s possible that the Tendu could help us shorten the terraforming. Or give us the ability to adapt to a living world. You have no idea of what humanity risked losing when you kidnapped us. It was stupid, short-term thinking.”

Ukatonen held up his hands. “That’s enough,” he said. “We will not achieve harmony by arguing.”

“Then how will we achieve it?” Moki asked.

“By understanding,” Ukatonen told him.

“We understand each other,” Tomas said. “We understand each other quite well. But we believe very different things. The two beliefs are diametrically opposed to each other. They do not harmonize. It is impossible.”

Ukatonen sat up straight, ears wide, amazed by Tomas’s rigidity.

“How can you not want to reach harmony?” he asked. “Is it not the goal of all things to want to reach equilibrium with the world around them?”

“I don’t want to accept what is,” Tomas said. “I’m fighting to make the world into what I want it to be.”

“How can you deny the nature of the world?” Ukatonen asked.

“Perhaps the nature of the world is not as you think it is,” Tomas replied. “Perhaps the world you see is an illusion built of your own beliefs. Perhaps belief can alter the nature of the world.”

Ukatonen listened in astonishment. “How can you believe this?” he questioned.

“Because humans have always changed the world,” Tomas said. “It’s what we do.”

Ukatonen looked at Eerin, who nodded.

“We have changed our world,” Eerin admitted, “but not always wisely or well. Usually we changed the world in response to short-term interests. Greed, if you will. But sometimes we have done so for a greater purpose. We did it to save lives, or to further a religious belief. Many people sacrificed their lives for causes that they believed in. Many others were killed because they would not believe what others wanted them to. Sometimes the attempt worked, lives were saved, wars averted, but just as often people died, or became slaves of one sort or another.”

Ukatonen listened in disbelief. Even Eerin felt this way. It was as though he had opened the door to another world. How strange to look at the world as humans did, as a thing to fight against, to alter, as though it were made of clay and could be molded without consequences. This sudden glimpse of human nature frightened him more than the casual brutality his captors had shown them, more than the ravages humans had inflicted on their planet’s ecosystem, and even more than the fear he had felt as he saw his planet dwindle into an insignificant speck in an immense and starry sky. He felt as though the world itself had turned upside down, and suddenly nothing made any sense at all.

“I think I shall go hunting,” Ukatonen told them. “Will you be all right here?”

Eerin said they would, and the enkar swung off into the trees, lost in thought. Human ideas burned in his head like live coals. What if the Tendu kept trying to change their world? What would Tiangi be like? He paused in mid-swing, and hung swaying from the branch he was on, to think it over. Would we have cities and streets and huge buildings! Would we live as out of balance as the humans! The idea made him uneasy. No, not on Tiangi, never. But if he could change Tiangi, what would he change?

Very little, seemed to be the answer at first. But then, as he resumed swinging through the trees, the idea returned, niggling at him like some annoying insect. He thought of the villages, mired in tradition, of how hard it had become to find promising elders who wished to become enkar. He only knew a handful of enkar under seven hundred years old, and most of those were ones he had taught.

More and more villages refused to travel and trade with the sea people, preferring to rely on traders to bring them whatever they needed. And there were fewer and fewer new quarbirri being created and even fewer Tendu willing to perform them. Their world was a stagnant, drying mud puddle compared to humanity’s quarrelsome, complex network of cultures.

His people were becoming as stiff and inflexible as a sun-cured hide. This is what he would change, if he could. But at what cost? Change always cost something. His time among the humans had taught him that much, at least. Humans had paid and paid and paid for their ceaseless rush to change their world. If the Tendu changed Tiangi too little, then humans were killing their world with their ceaseless desire for change. If only humans and Tendu could give to each other some of what they lacked. There were the seeds of a new harmony somewhere in that idea. He needed to find them, and plant them in fertile soil.

A flicker of resignation passed over him. Someday, perhaps, but not today. Now it was time to concentrate on finding food. Tomorrow they would start heading out of the forest. The question was, what to do with Tomas. There was nothing more to learn from him. Eerin insisted on bringing him back to the authorities, who would punish him as the humans saw fit. It didn’t matter, really. Uka-tonen had already punished him. He had made it impossible for Tomas to tell a lie.