Becoming Alien (39 page)

“My grandfather and grandmother—very ambitious. Sent my father to school—weaving night and day for a handwoven dealer. Handwoven is like live servants with the Federation people. Machines are quicker, but pay to creatures is calculated on city living, so the rich wear live-made cloth to prove their money. But the dealers think they can cheat primitives.” She leaned up on her elbow and said, “And you
can
cheat most primitives. Most
are
stupid. But when
we
found out
we
were being cheated, we sued the handwoven dealer. From the settlement, we bought a shop.”

“Do you cheat primitives, yourself?”

She laughed.

“Yangchenla!”

I’d have asked her more, but the Gwyngs burst into the room, saying, “Your female, not in her room/missing.” Then they twined around each other in mock shock as she slowly pulled the sheet up over her breasts.

“Tom, you lied. You sleep together,” Rhyo said.

“Only pairs,” I said. “Get out so we can dress.”

Cadmium brought in a box from the hall. “New clothes for Red Clay,” he said as he dumped the box out on the bed. Rhyodolite went out for two more boxes.

“We tried to trick Hargun into coming in,” Rhyodolite said, “but he was very cagey/non-cooperative. Since you’ve seen Black Amber mate, then we should see you.”

“I didn’t watch Black Amber mate,” I said. Yangchenla looked like she was trapped under the sheet. “They won’t hurt you,” I told her. “I’ll get your things.”

“Hurt you? No,” Rhyodolite said, hopping up by her feet. “We’ll keep off the
Yangies.
Protect ape-eating-ape/female who calls us names.”

“They tease, especially the little one, but…”

“Bring me my bag,” she said. “Under the other bed.”

I got up, and Rhyodolite crowed, “Used, a male used organ.”

Furious, worried about what they might do to Yangchenla, I pulled on my pants and rushed to her room. She’d brought a scuffed leather satchel, full of clothes, papers, and a hand calculator. Something like a metal penis on a chain dangled off the handle.

When I got back, they were sitting on the foot of the bed, humming at Yangchenla, who giggled when she saw me.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Get them out of here,” she said.

Rhyodolite moaned. Cadmium Gwyng-talked sternly, and Rhyo said, “But, Tom. Only fun. Shy ape shit.”

Cadmium spoke again. Rhyodolite stiffly put his legs on the floor and said, “Had almost forgotten pain and death agonies until you hurt my feelings.” His nostrils clapped open and shut as he hobbled out.

“Is he serious?” I asked Cadmium.

“We don’t like being excluded from our friends’ social lives,” Cadmium said stiffly, “but if your primitive woman is a xenophobe, then we’ll release our tensions by mobbing the Yauntry.”

“Cadmium, please. She can’t understand you, so…”

“Not
that
serious. Don’t become upset, lose erection. But remember, you watched Gwyngs.”

“No, I didn’t; Black Amber took them to another room.
Shit.”
I explained to Yangchenla, “To them, sex is a social occasion. Since they’re my friends, they think we should include them. I was at another Gwyng’s house during her breeding season. But, of course, the Rector was trying to get me so I’d sleep with a Yauntry woman, be bait for the Yauntries.”

“You need friends,” she said, “on the History Committee.”

The Gwyngs shrieked in the hall about Red Clay and
Yaungchoochoo
having sex. Yangchenla, suddenly shy, around me even, held the sheet up around her collarbones as she fished out a long dress, brown cotton-looking, and a stretchy knitted band. She pulled them under the sheet and wiggled around, then stood up to straighten the dress and find the right belt for it. I realized she’d wrapped the knitted band around her breasts, and blushed some.

“Do you plan to re-pay your sponsor quickly?” she asked, tying the belt.

“I didn’t even know I was going to get a cut in Yauntry tariffs for being in the First Contact group until Hargun told me.”

“You must ask questions,” she said.

I began going through the clothes the Gwyngs had brought in. “Do your people make clothes like this?” I said, holding up a corduroy suit.

“You can buy cloth like that all over Karst City,” she said, “but I guess they don’t let cadets out much.”

The Gwyngs had brought in suits, jeans, tops, belts, two coats, underclothes—all from Berkeley, California, stores. I felt weird that some alien in surgically shifted human face had gone around shopping for me…

Yangchenla pulled out her pocket calculator and totaled the prices, me translating them to Karst numbers. She asked, “How much is 3,698
dollas
in Karst credit?”

“I could have lived for a year on 3,000
dollars
if I’d owned my farm and didn’t wear anything but jeans,” I said.

“What budget does
this
come from?” she asked, spreading her hands over the clothes.

I couldn’t answer her. After I dressed in jeans and a Lacoste shirt, I slipped on the Swiss shoes as Tesseract knocked on the door and asked, “Are you both dressed?”

“Tesseract? No Gwyngs? Come in.”

“Karst is trying to seem less militaristic to Yauntra,” he said when he came in, “so we’re sending you out in species costume.”

“I’m not familiar with this,” Yangchenla said.

“Chenla, you might want to go out to the porch and have breakfast with Ammall., I’d like to talk privately to Tom.”

She picked up her bag as she left.

“Well,” Tesseract said, “was it too embarrassing?”

“She thinks I’m naive.” I sat down on the bed and stroked the satin lining of one of the suit vests. “I guess I am. I want to ask you some pretty hard questions about Karst, Yauntra, about what cadets and officers do.”

“Most of our work is less exciting than what you’ve been going through.”

“Hum.”

He smiled, knowing that much Yauntro, and rubbed his crest, which was still pale. “Hargun’s decent, if the Yauntra governing group trusts him now…”

“Chenla said I should support Karriaagzh or Black Amber, pick a side and make sure it won.”

“Tom, if you must pick a side, help us keep two very intelligent, capable individuals from destroying each other. Karriaagzh and Black Amber…”

“I feel odd about Yangchenla.”

“We wanted it to be a pleasure for you.”

“Well, it was…”

“…
and it wasn’t,”
he finished in English.

“She makes me nervous. But I feel more
human,” I
admitted.

We went out to the porch for breakfast and found Yangchenla talking gravely to Edwir Hargun, who looked over at me with his round inhuman eyes before turning back to
her and answering. “We’ve been told we could send cadets if we join the Federation. Perhaps your species hasn’t joined the Federation yet,” Hargun said to her.

“So polite,” Rhyodolite said, pulling his straw out of his throat.

Yangchenla and Hargun seemed pleased not to be able to understand. Granite and Feldspar came out, seeming sleepy.

“Would you have preferred privacy, Red Clay?” Granite asked in Karst II, looking at Yangchenla.

“It would have been nice,” I said.

Cadmium said, “We meant no harm.”

Yangchenla and Hargun discussed various oils, butters, and the flavors of grains. Yauntra had much cold land, so she thought
tsampa,
whatever that was, might grow there.

“Perhaps I can sell you seed stock,” she said.

“Free traders,” Rhyodolite commented, “are always freeing trade.” He stuck his broad straw back down his mouth and began pumping away with his tongue muscles.

“We’re leaving this afternoon,” Granite Grit said, “all of us except you and Yangchenla.” He spoke in Karst I this time so she understood.

Mid-morning, I stood with Yangchenla and Ammalla on their veranda to watch the planes rise up into the engineered air.

“Tom just came from the planet you say my people came from years ago?” Yangchenla asked Ammalla.

“Five hundred years ago, to be exact.”

“He’s in the Academy. Not one of us who has been here for five hundred years has been accepted.” Yangchenla’s dress fluttered as the plane carrying the birds and Gwyngs took off.

“Tom is a test of
humans.
Your family is another test. We don’t take the murder of Rector’s People lightly—even if it happened five hundred years ago and the killers were terrified.
Humans
were lethally xenophobic then. Tom, I’m sorry.”

“Did Tesseract know a
human
had killed a Rector’s Person when he came to Earth?” I asked.

“He knew when you came in with Granite Grit that time.” Ammalla smiled slightly.

Poor Tesseract—Granite freaking and me from a species with a history of lethal xenophobia.

“Murder’s against our religion,” Yangchenla said.

“We’ve heard
that
before. Karriaagzh wants to contact all language-users, but so many would die—cadets, officers, Rector’s People, terrified primitives themselves.”

Some near-lethal xenofreaks lived right down the road from our old farm, I thought.

Yangchenla sullenly sat there, staring down. “But,” she said, “we have no status, no place.” She got up and stretched, displaying her body to me, I sensed. The body was wonderful, so wise on its own terms. I wished a bit that complex Chenla wasn’t so much in control of it.

“Cold, Tom?” Ammalla asked gently.

I
was
shivering.

“All that distance between here and our planet,” I said, although that didn’t really explain things.

Yangchenla went to the porch rail, grabbed it, and hissed through her teeth. Ammalla touched her gingerly. “I hate pass-carrying,” she said. “Slimy come-ons.”

“I’m sorry,” Ammalla said, rubbing the human girl’s back.

“Him. You only feel sorry for him. Prize cadet.”

“Tom
is
our first concern,” Ammalla said, “but perhaps sex-giving makes you feel vulnerable.” She turned Chenla around carefully—half afraid for herself, I thought, embarrassed that my species had such a xenofreak record. But had
I
hurt Yangchenla?

Yangchenla stared rigidly at Ammalla and whispered, “Tell Tom to go away.”

I nodded to Ammalla and slipped into the house, hearing Yangchenla weeping as I crossed the entry room.

God, let there be beer.
I went to the kitchen freezer, pulled one out, popped it open, and drank. Yangchenla and Ammalla came after I’d drained it. “I’m sorry, Tom,” Yangchenla said. She went to the sink and dialed cold water to wash her eyes.

“Maybe we should have eased into this.”

Yangchenla got her eyes back in the shape she wanted them and turned to look at me. She looked older than early twenties then. “I never wanted to
use
my sex-giving, but you were so tempting.”

“Naive? And sexually lonely?”

“The Barcons put in the child-preventive sticks, but I don’t have my children anymore,” Yangchenla said.

“Didn’t your ex-husband take them when he left you?” Ammalla asked.

“Worse for our men in Karst City,” Yangchenla said. “Tom, help me.”

“He can’t help you yet,” Ammalla said.

Yangchenla crossed her arms in front of her and gripped each upper arm with the opposite hand. “I should have gone back with the others.”

“Tesseract’s coming back tonight,” Ammalla said, leaning against a counter. “My poor sink has seen lots of tears—yours, Rhyodolite’s—these few days.”

“What does a wrinkle-face have to cry over?” Yangchenla said, loosening her fierce handholds on her arms.

“Some near-kin broke his legs—and none of us had
any
idea that the
Gwyngs
were trying to poach a contact.”

“Poach a contact?” I asked.

“Some Federation sapients feed primitive cultures scientific information—get them out into space and make the First Contact, get the First Ccontact shares and sometimes even the linguistics team shares.”

“Oh,” I said. “He told me they were just watching.”

“Naive,” Yangchenla said.

That afternoon, we heard a plane coming in. Ammalla smiled and fixed a tray of beers and nut cookies loaded with vitamins that Ahrams needed—whether humans needed then or not. Before she carried the tray to the porch, she rubbed her small crest ridge and said, “We need time alone.”

Yangchenla and I began talking as if we’d just met and weren’t sure the date arranger had paired us up intelligently. “So you were born in a free-trader family.”