Becoming Alien (34 page)

“Lasers and particle beams,” Karriaagzh told Hargun.

“Two thousand of them in the area from here to the next planet out. Just that type alone. Watch.”

We saw three dots of light coming up over the disc of the planet. Then they weren’t there.

“Particle beams and lasers are invisible in space,” Karriaagzh said matter-of-factly. “Next, Zh-13.”

The pilot adjusted the orbit and we came on a squat spherical satellite. “Gravity net—can mass a tenth of an average neutron star—generally not necessary. You understand I won’t show you all Karst’s defenses.”

Sweat beaded on Hargun’s short nose. Karriaagzh ordered tea and suggested we just sit for a while.

“Obviously, I’ll be returned to Yauntra to tell about this. You understand they won’t believe me, since I’m suspected of being an alien sympathizer.”

“So you had Red Clay captured? Other
Yauntry people will see what you saw. Perhaps their reports will be more trusted.”

Hargun’s eyes drifted toward the pug-face who’d come in with the tea. As he cringed, I realized each species on board, one at a time, had been coming into our cabin. If all us aliens had suddenly surrounded the Yauntry and friendly-gestured in our different styles, the Barcons would have had to pull Hargun off the bulkheads. But Karriaagzh was giving Hargun manageable jolts every five minutes or so.

I didn’t think Hargun noticed a pattern, but I did and looked sharply at Karriaagzh. No high-strung types like Gwyngs served on the ship. Now, an olive-colored bird like Xenon ambled in and looked in Hargun’s teacup.

“Hope you like that tea,” it said and went out.

Hargun tightened his lips. He never mentioned pitting stock against stock again.

A Barcon entered and said that the other ship had returned to the outer well and would be taking Yauntry observers back to their planet—all except the ones Hargun wanted with him.

“I know this must seem like a zoo,” the Barcon told Hargun, “but we’re certified tame.”

The ship dropped out of orbit and flew over Karst, but Hargun said he’d seen that before and turned away from the viewport, staring at his hands folded on his lap.

When we landed, Hargun’s breathing was erratic—I saw the Barcons about to pounce with the tranquilizers—and he kept looking toward his men as they were loaded onto a bus.

“Please, Rector, I’d feel better if they were with me.”

“We’ll have their bus travel in front so you can see them, Edwir Hargun,” one of the Barcons said.

Hargun said “hum” faintly, then held his body stiff, tremors breaking through the rigidity every few seconds. I wanted to say something to calm him down, but he seemed so very alien now, face slick with sweat.

“Cadet Red Clay, you’ll come with us,” Karriaagzh said.

“I’d prefer to be with ranking officials, if I can’t be with my own,” Hargun said before I could protest.

“Ambassador, he’s trained in Yauntro now and has experience with how you deal. He’ll continue working with you throughout his career with the Federation.”

“Sir?” I asked, not liking that at all.

“Come along, then, you bristly-faced thing,” Hargun said as he slid into Karriaagzh’s car.

“Perhaps Hargun would prefer that you shaved, Tom,” Karriaagzh said mildly. “When we get to the lodge, cut the face hair, then join us. Take a nerve tea if you have to.”

I had no idea of how long I’d been awake—Karst and Yauntra weren’t on the same day cycles—but I was feeling terribly tired. “Sir, perhaps we should sleep,” I suggested.

“Reasonable idea. The lodge has rooms enough. Air-cooled, heated—whatever makes a sapient comfortable.”

“And if you have trouble sleeping, Edwir Hargun,” the Barcon with us said, “we ran tests on your species and can recommend a very safe soporific.”

“Shit on your soporific,” Hargun said, trembling.

“Could you get a soporific for me, too?” I asked.

Karriaagzh said, “I don’t quite trust mammals to prescribe for me, but I found one medicine that helped me fall asleep better, too, when life was, stressful.”

“I refuse your drug stupor,” Hargun said. “You’ve infected my mind enough with your hideous language.”

“But I’m serious,” I said, “about having a soporific.”

Karriaagzh raised his crest slightly while the Barcon flexed his nose. Hargun almost laughed, but squelched it, maybe to prevent hysterics, and settled back against the seat, intently watching the bus ahead of us.

At the lodge, Hargun and the other Yauntries followed a Barcon to a guarded wing, while a serving bear led me to a small room full of lacquered wood and homespun upholstery. After I showered and shaved, I dressed in a fresh black uniform and asked the room communicator if I could speak to Edwir Hargun.

“Who’s calling?” Hargun asked in Karst.

“Sir,” I said in Yauntro, “Red Clay.”

“You sound as though
you
feel sorry for
me.
Unbearable! Shut up.”

I clicked off and felt sorry for him. Taking my uniform off again, I changed to Earth-style pajamas and crawled between my alien polyester sheets.

In the morning, the bear servant coughed several times politely in front of my bed. When I sat up, it said, “Karriaagzh invites you to breakfast with himself and Edwir Hargun, dressed casually or not as is your custom.”

The bear waited while I dressed. All I had were pajamas or blacks, so I put myself in uniform. “Where?” I asked.

“Follow,” it said.

We went up to a turret room with an airy view, perhaps the same room where Karriaagzh and Black Amber told their myths. Hargun stood by the window, looking out. When he heard me behind him, he turned abruptly, and I saw that he was paler than usual, Yauntry clothes all rumpled.

“Both awake,” Karriaagzh said as he, in feathers only, went over to a buffet table and started lifting pot lid and tasting various curds and breads. Karriaagzh’s feathers were partly matted, broken—like a sick hen’s.

Neither Hargun nor I had noticed the buffet when we came in—I hadn’t thought about breakfast in terms of food, more in terms of being with Hargun and Karriaagzh.

“We have eggs, Tom,” the bird said. “I think
scrambled
Earth-style. Hargun, we hope you like fish, or perhaps you’d like to try Red Clay’s eggs, rich in all sorts of amino acids and fats.”

Hargun didn’t move. “One of my men was sedated with a drug stronger than a mild soporific. Your Barcons are rather fearsome animals.”

“‘Animals’ in this language implies non-sapient. ‘Creatures’ is more general,” Karriaagzh said as he dished up my eggs and handed them to me. “And Hargun, you find us all fearsome. They’re making your man as comfortable as possible. He’s suffering from alien contact disorder. It affects some creatures, sapient or not.”

The eggs tasted just like hen’s eggs, scrambled in butter and sprinkled with chives, which I’d never had back on Earth. There was also toast and jam. And tea—infusions of dried medicinal leaves, which kept many going on Karst. “Have some tea, Edwir Hargun,” I said. “We have our creature differences, but a teacup’s a teacup.” I was hoping he’d drink it; it smelled like Tesseract’s calming tea. Hargun stood by the window, as though locked in place. “How long am I going to be held hostage?”

“We’re studying you,” Karriaagzh said. “We wonder why your kind recoils when a species that looks like yours grows heavy facial hair. One strain of Tom’s people doesn’t do this—perhaps you’d…”

“No one on my planet grows facial
fur—
nothing
that thinks.”

“On my planet, hairy lactating creatures are vermin. I never expected a galaxy of sapient milk rats. Normal for me, Hargun, is my shape, but the universe seems to find growing intelligences in this shape difficult. Still, should I decide
I’m
a monster?”

“Intelligence…you trick me with it into relationship.” Hargun sighed and came to the end of the serving table. Karriaagzh backed away while the Yauntry looked suspiciously at all the dishes. Finally, he took bread and fish to nibble on.

“I’m sorry you feel tricked,” Karriaagzh replied as he settled down on his hocks to watch Hargun while sipping tea from his spouted bird cup—some differences can’t hide in a uniform or teacup.

I wondered what Karriaagzh had been like before he became the intimidating, tricky Rector who’d set me out as bait for Yauntry spies. Karriaagzh closed his eyes when he saw me looking at him—slowly pulling that strange bottom lid up. Clothes had twisted and frayed his feathers. I thought of how horrified Granite Grit had been about clothes, how feather-proud.

Hargun also looked at Karriaagzh—our eyes met around the bird—while the Rector gave us time for a long look before he slowly dropped his bottom lid and said, “I’m due a molt soon, but mammal clothes are rough on feathers.”

“Yet, you wear them,” Hargun said.

“When I came here, I was unique. We knew of no other bird sapients until after I became Rector and expanded the exploration service.”

“And so now you have company,” Hargun said, somewhat bitterly.

“No, Hargun, not unless you have company with the Gwyngs. Perhaps not with Gwyngs, but Barcons. You both are placental mammals; the Gwyngs aren’t even that.” The Rector levered himself up and walked toward Hargun. Silently, the bird raised a plate of fish to his beak and hooked off pieces, his bird tongue working like a flexible knife. Karriaagzh bolted the fish down and said, “Tom, call up Yauntra history on the computer.”

I did. A few more lines had been added—some confusion over requirements for Federation membership, questions about the linguistics team’s role. “Show it to Hargun.”

Hargun came up, sweating his stale flower smell, so I stepped away from the terminal.
“Mildly
xenophobic,” he said to Karriaagzh, “you’re very diplomatic.”

“Diplomacy has a bad name on many planets,” Karriaagzh replied.

“Sir, what do you want from Ambassador Hargun?” I felt sorry for Hargun, despite what he’d done to me.

Karriaagzh’s crest rose: “If he’d just stop acting as though we were monsters. If we let Yauntry cadets in, are they going to panic all the time? Over me? Over you?”

“Your Federation could exterminate my whole species.”

“Hargun, that’s your xenophobia.” Karriaagzh’s crest jerked and he puffed up other feathers. “Your little cadets will drive us crazy if they’re as xenophobic as you. We’re barely containing you, right now.”

“What about creatures who flop over unconscious when strangers approach them? That’s not too xenophilic. And one of them tried to kick me.”

The feathers smoothed down, but the crest stayed erect.

“Oh, Gwyngs,” Karriaagzh said. “They evolved voluntary comas to survive each other’s savagery. Works, too. Frequently, one sleeping Gwyng is all we can rescue from a mistaken landing or crash. I don’t like them—I evoke their hard-wired compulsion to kick me off with their little feet. But we work together, fairly well. Their intelligence checks those exasperating fears, most of the time.”

“They’re really nice people,” I said. “If you can relax with them, they’ll sing your vocal cords for you.”

Karriaagzh gagged on air; Hargun looked at me as though I’d sprouted a full beard in that sentence’s speaking time.

“Some individuals,” Karriaagzh said after a long pause, “get along with anything.”

“Why are you hostile because I’m uncomfortable around non-Yauntrou?” Hargun asked in a monotone. “Why
hostile?”

“I wake up normal, then for
the rest of the day, and until I die, for all my working days, I’m a solitary. To be rebuffed offends me, because I identify with all social creatures. Life reflects the overall structure of cosmic mind. Some think I’m a mystic.” His cheek feathers raised up and trembled slightly.

“I’ve heard that solitaries don’t do well,” I said, feeling chilled. “But most cadets call me a trash-kid.”

Karriaagzh looked at me as if he’d just noticed me. “You’re not completely isolated, Tom. The primitives.”

“Isolated from my time and my culture.”

Hargun looked at me, then slumped on a floor cushion. “I’m sorry, Tom, that I tried to use you,” he said. “Why all the military pressure?” he asked Karriaagzh, voice less strained and flat than before.

“Drills are good. We might run into a truly dangerous species,” Karriaagzh said mildly before he called a servant to take the meal remains away. Then the Rector sat crouched, elbows on the floor. “Karst would go out fighting if it had to. I believe in our system here, its potentials. But for you? We’ll wait until your colleagues decide. Perhaps you will be more comfortable with the Rector’s Man, Tesseract. He has a charming farm and a sympathetic wife, primate placental-mother-style. And Tom, you’ll stay with Hargun and return to Yauntra if his people continue talking to us.”

“Sir?” I asked, not at all happy to be working more with Yauntries. “Can I talk to you alone?”

He moved his hand in assent, then patted both hands against the floor as he watched Hargun.

“I thought,” Hargun said slowly, “that I was a hostage when I first came here.”