Through Alien Eyes

by Amy Thomson

  They sat in a circle on the floor.

  Selena touched her shoulder as they were reaching out to link. “Juna?”

  “Yes?” Juna said, concerned that Selena was going to try to stop the link.

  “Can I join this link? If I’m to be your midwife, it might help me see how things are going.”

  “A-are you sure?” Juna asked, surprised.

  Selena gave her a long, serious look. “I think it will help.”

  ’Thank you,” Juna said.

  While Moki and Ukatonen were showing Selena how to link, another contraction rippled through Juna’s abdomen. They waited until it passed, and then the four of them linked.

  Juna could feel her daughter’s cloudy, unfocused fear and confusion. She enfolded the baby with love and reassurance. Cradled in her mother’s familiar presence, the baby relaxed. Moki and the others surrounded the child with their love and comfort. Juna felt Selena’s quiet, joyful presence watching over her and the baby, and her own worry was eased.

  Another contraction went through her like some internal earthquake. The baby’s fear surged and Moki and Ukatonen soothed the frightened child. There was a stretching pain as Juna’s womb squeezed the baby downward, and she remembered to pant hard. Ukatonen blocked her pain, and helped her relax and breathe. When the contraction was over, they gently eased out of the link.

  Dr. Engle was watching with Toivo, Astrid, and several other women in the family.

  “It’s all right. They were just checking the baby,” Juna reassured them.

  “And how is she?” Dr. Engle asked.

  Juna smiled. “Scared but strong.”

  “And Mom?” he asked.

  Selena nodded. “She just had a nice strong contraction. Her cervix is dilating. She’s not in a lot of pain, and she’s relaxed. The baby’s head is exactly where it needs to be. It should be an easy labor.”

  “Good. Next time, let me in the link. I want to see what’s going on.”

  After that, it was just a matter of time, walking up and down the long hallway to the common room, pausing to breathe through the contractions. They linked every few contractions, reassuring the baby, and helping Juna relax, easing her cervix open.

  Juna and the baby rode out the labor and delivery cushioned on the love and support of the women of the For-tunati family, assisted by Dr. Engle and the Tendu. The older children tiptoed in and out of the delivery room, fetching and carrying, or just watching quietly in a corner. The youngest watched with their mothers. When the baby crowned, every child old enough to understand was there to watch the delivery.

  In a corner of her mind, in between the waves of contractions, Juna smiled. The public nature of this delivery reminded her of the village of Narmolom, on Tiangi, where the idea of a closed door was an unknown concept. She could feel Dr. Engle’s hidden irritation at this small audience when they linked.

  “It’s all right, Doctor, they aren’t distracting me. I like saving them here,” she murmured.

  Then there was one last push, and the baby was out. The link between them remained, a little fainter now, but still there as Dr. Engle cleaned out the baby’s mouth and mrned her upside down to drain any remaining fluid from iw lungs. The infant, confused by the sudden transition arom the womb to the outside world, cried out, a lusty, Wealthy squall that brought tears of happiness to Juna’s eyes. Selena took the baby and laid her on Juna’s chest. Moki moved closer so that she could bring her linked arm up to hold the child.

  Juna looked down at her daughter, enfolding her in love and happiness through the fading link. It was strange, seeing this baby she knew so well for the very first time. The infant grew still, her unfocused eyes wide with surprise and wonder.

  “Hello, little one. Welcome. Welcome and love. Your name is Mariam. That was your grandmother’s name.” Juna remembered her mother holding Toivo out for her to see, how his small brown fingers had held her finger. If only her mother had lived to see her namesake. Tears of mingled joy and sorrow came at the thought.

  Ukatonen gently eased them out of the link. Dr. Engle stripped the blood out of the umbilical cord and cut it. Confused, Mariam began to cry again. Juna held her until the crying stopped. Then she handed the baby to Selena, who washed her off and swaddled her warmly, while Moki watched.

  “Here’s your sister, Moki,” Selena said, handing him the baby. “Why don’t you take her out into the common room and show her to the rest of the family?”

  Moki took the infant, cradling her carefully. This was his sister, something no Tendu had ever had before. He proudly carried Mariam out to show to the rest of the family, handing her first to the family’s Eldest, Niccolo. Mariam stared muzzily up at his beaming, wrinkled face and white beard. Niccolo’s eyes shone with happiness as he held his new great-grandchild, gently bouncing her up and down for a few moments.

  Niccolo passed the baby to Teuvo. “Congratulations, on your new granddaughter,” he said. Their eyes met over the newborn baby. Niccolo patted him on the shoulder. “It never gets old, does it?”

  Teuvo shook his head as he smiled down at his new granddaughter, a look of wonder and awe on his face. Then he gently passed her along to Anetta.

  “Welcome, Mariam,” Anetta said. “It’s good to finally meet you!”

  Mariam began to fuss and Moki took her back. He slipped a spur into her skin to find out what was bothering her. She was hungry and frightened by the noise and the bright lights. He calmed her down and fed her a little through his spurs, then took her back to Selena.

  “My sister, Mariam, wants to be some place quiet and dark,” he told her. “She’s hungry too.”

  “Poor thing,” Selena said. “It’ll be a few hours before Juna’s milk comes in. I’ll give her a little water, but it’s better if she’s really hungry when she starts to nurse. We’ll put her down for a bit, and let her get used to being born.”

  Selena laid her in the crib. “Isn’t she wonderful, Moki?”

  “She’s so helpless,” Moki said. “She’d die without us to protect her.” He felt a sudden fierce protectiveness for this tiny mite. It surprised him to feel like this. It was not a particularly Tendu sort of feeling.

  “But we are here,” Selena said, “and we’ll do our best to keep her safe and happy, won’t we?”

  Moki nodded, and stuck his finger into the baby’s waving hand. Her fingers closed around his fist with surprising strength. She was not as helpless as he had first thought. Blue and green laughter rippled over his skin. “She’s strong,” he said. He looked up at Selena. “I’m glad she’s my sister.”

  Selena touched Madam’s soft tan cheek. “It’s going to be wonderful watching her grow up.”

  Mold’s skin flared a clear, strong blue. “Yes,” he replied. “Yes, it will be.”

  Ukatonen excused himself and went to the kitchen, where he downed two apples, three slices of bread, and a cup of the humans’ honey, so much like that on Tiangi. Then he arranged a platter of food for Moki and the others. After helping Eerin through her daughter’s birth, he was profoundly glad that the Tendu laid eggs, and small ones, at that. He pushed open the door to the delivery room with his foot, and set his tray on a counter. While Moki, Selena, and Dr. Engle were eating, he sat beside Eerin.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She smiled down at the baby, and then back up at him. “Happy, but sore.”

  “Shall I– ” Ukatonen began.

  Eerin shook her head. “No. With all you and Moki did to ease my labor, I feel a lot better than most women do after giving birth.” She shifted cautiously on the bed. “Right now, I want to feel like I just had a baby.”

  Ukatonen was puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  Eerin smiled again. “Having a baby is an important passage, Ukatonen. It seems right to be a little sore.” She yawned. “What I really need is some sleep. Would you take Mariam, and put her in her’crib for me?”

  Ukatonen gently picked the infant up, cradling its warm, soft, fragrant h
ead in one slender, long-fingered hand. She was such a fragile little creature, and so helpless. She would be entirely dependent on those around her for food, shelter, and protection for years to come. Suddenly, much of the humans’ strange behavior made sense. Without a fierce sense of love and protectiveness, how could they raise such demanding offspring?

  He looked at Selena. She set down her cup, and came over.

  “Here, let me help you,” she said. He laid Mariam carefully in her crib, then stepped back while Selena made sure the baby was comfortable.

  “It’s all about this, isn’t it?” Ukatonen said to Selena as she smoothed the blanket over the baby. “It’s all about children.”

  She glanced up at him, her face thoughtful and perhaps a little puzzled, and said gravely, “Yes, I suppose it is.” They stood watching as Mariam fussed experimentally for a while, then slid into sleep.

  Over the next several weeks Ukatonen watched Eerin and her family and their children. For the first week Eerin had nothing to do except nurse the baby and rest. This was harder than it sounded, because Mariam woke every few hours to eat.

  “Would it help if I taught her to fall asleep?” Ukato-nen offered.

  Eerin looked startled. “I hadn’t thought of that. Can you do that?”

  “Easily.”

  So he and Eerin began linking with Mariam when she was put down in her crib, gently easing her into the rhythms of sleep. In about ten days the baby slept soundly, waking only once in the night for a feeding.

  “Thank you,” Eerin told him, as they stood over the sleeping baby’s crib. “It’s been wonderful, watching you work with Mariam. Her brain is so crowded with possibilities. There are so many neural pathways. No wonder babies have such a hard time finding their way into sleep.”

  Ukatonen looked up at her, ears spread wide. “Watching you and Mariam together, I understand humans much better.” He shook his head. “Your children are so helpless. No wonder you fight. You have to defend your children from a hostile world. Our young ones come to us able to survive on their own. From there, it is only a matter of teaching them to be Tendu. You must give them nearly everything.”

  “That’s true, en. And if they do not get enough from us, especially now, when they need us most, they grow up incomplete and broken. Sometimes, despite the best a family can do, humans grow up broken anyway.” She looked iown at Mariam, and smiled a fond, maternal smile. “It’s in enormous responsibility, Ukatonen.”

  “I think you’re capable of dealing with that responsibility,” he said, “if you will forgive an inexpert opinion.”

  Eerin touched his shoulder fondly. “Thank you, en,” she said. “I have a lot of good help.”

  “I am, however, concerned about Moki,” Ukatonen went

  [[fi. “A bami is not used to having sisters to compete for

  – us sitik’s attention. Right now, it is new and interesting,

  – ax that will wear off, and then there may be trouble. I

  *ill not be here to help you when that happens."]]

  “Don’t worry,” Eerin assured him. “I’ll keep an eye on Moki. I wish you could stay, but I understand. You’ve seemed happier than I’ve seen you since we left Tiangi. Come back when you can. I don’t think it is good for you to be away from Moki for too long. He is the only other of your kind here.”

  “Yes, but I am an enkar,” he reminded her. “I am used to being alone.”

  “You are also far away from your people,” she reminded him. “It is hard, even for you. And Moki is not an enkar. He needs you too. Visit us often, en. In half a year, when Mariam is old enough to do without me for a couple of weeks, we will come and visit you on Earth.” She smiled. “I can hardly wait to see all the interesting things that you’re doing.”

  Ukatonen watched Berry Station dwindle behind him, and thought about the insights he had gained from watching Eerin and Mariam. Observing them, he suddenly understood an essential piece of human nature. He had come much closer to knowing humans in their wholeness.

  But there were huge gaps in his understanding. He needed to understand humans completely, so that they could be brought into harmony with the Tendu. It had to be done quickly. Humans posed too much of a danger to his people and to their own world.

  Still, they had managed to step back off the rotting branch of disaster before. But could they keep on doing it? How long before they made a fatal misstep?

  He shook his head. It wasn’t just the promise he had made to abide by the Contact Protocols that held him back. The truth was that he liked humans the way they were. They were suspicious and quarrelsome, true, but they had a vitality and a curiosity about the universe that the Tendu lacked. But their curiosity and aggressiveness were woven together as tightly as a weedah’s nest. Pulling out even one strand would make the whole thing fall apart.

  He settled back in his seat, closed his eyes, and repeated the verbal portion of the Hitchee quarbirri to himself. The Hitchee quarbirri told the story of a foolish hermit who tried to empty the forests of everything that could possibly harm him. On Tiangi, the quarbirri was regarded as hugely funny, but here among the humans, faced with the kinds of decisions that he was expected to make, the story became deadly serious.

  After the foolish hermit had finished making the forest safe, everything was in chaos. Would the same thing happen here? It was clearly not yet time to decide. He needed to know more. That would take time, and study. He took out his computer and told it to wake up.

  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.