by Amy Thomson
“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 •yyh 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 mot
ioned 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.