Through Alien Eyes

by Amy Thomson

  “But– ” Juna began, then realized what he was saying. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Do I have to do anything special?”

  “No, my friend fixed it so that the security system cuts out when you talk to her. Just get us all off of this ship.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Juna promised, her stomach tightening. She managed to force down a couple more bites of her breakfast roll, then grabbed a glass of juice and headed for her cabin. Moki followed her.

  Juna sat down at the computer, turned it on, and before she lost her nerve, typed in Analin Goudrian’s comm code. Moki, sensing his sitik’s nervousness, brushed her shoulder and rippled encouragement at her.

  She sat there while the comm rang.

  It was answered by a video. A message in Dutch, and then in Standard, said: “Greetings, this is Analin Goudrian, I can’t answer the comm now, please leave a message.” Juna noticed that she pronounced her name “Howdrian” with a soft H sound rather than a hard G.

  “Hello, Ms. Goudrian? This is Dr. Juna Saari.”

  “Dr. Saari, please hold while I page Ms. Goudrian,” the comm told her. “She would prefer to speak with you directly.”

  Analin was awakened by a priority-one page. Someone in the headlines wanted to speak *with her. She forced herself out of bed and stumbled to the comm unit, raking her fingers through her hair. Her eyes widened and she swore incredulously in Dutch when she saw the caller’s name blinking on the comm screen.

  She sat down, took a deep breath and let it out, and told the comm to open a link to her caller.

  “Hello, Dr. Saari. It’s good to meet you. I’m afraid you caught me at the tail end of a nap,” she said. Dr. Saari looked much younger than she had expected, but the face peering over the explorer’s shoulder was undeniably that of an alien, so this was no hoax.

  Analin’s face creased in a broad smile of wonder. “Or perhaps I am still dreaming. Is that a Tendu looking over your shoulder?”

  “This is my adopted son, Moki,” Dr. Saari said. Despite her dark skin, Dr. Saari had a faint Scandinavian accent, and Analin remembered that her father was Finnish.

  “I’m pleased and honored to meet you, Moki,” Analin said to the alien. The alien was smaller than she’d anticipated, fine-boned and spidery, like one of those long-armed monkeys in the zoo. “Congratulations on your release from quarantine. I had not heard– ”

  “We’re still on board the Homa Darabi Maru. The quarantine has not been lifted. Officially we’re not supposed to be talking to you,” Dr. Saari said. She peered over her shoulder as though afraid of being overheard.

  A surge of excitement tightened Analin’s throat. This was a major story. “I see. Then we should get right to the point. To what do I owe the honor of this phone call?”

  Dr. Saari began to explain, and after a couple of sentences Analin stopped her. “This is important. Have I your permission to record this conversation? It will be kept confidential, unless you agree to its release.”

  Dr. Saari nodded, and Analin pressed the Record, and the little microphone telltale began blinking in the upper left-hand corner.

  Dr. Saari explained their dilemma, with Moki occasionally adding a detail or an observation. The reporter listened with growing excitement, so caught up in the story that she forgot to ask questions. The Survey was holding the entire crew of a starship prisoner, on the increasingly flimsy excuse that the Tendu represented a health threat. According to Juna Saari, the quarantine was slowly killing the Tendu. Who was behind this quarantine? And more importantly, could she find independent proof of Dr. Saari’s claims?

  “All right,” she said when Dr. Saari had finished. “What do you want me to do?”

  Juna Saari shrugged her shoulders. “I was hoping that some publicity would force the Survey to let us go.”

  Analin kept her face neutral. Dr. Saari clearly had not dealt much with politics or politicians. But then, she was a Survey researcher. She had spent most of her life on the frontiers of known space. Why should she know? And clearly no one in the Survey was lifting a finger to help her. Analin suddenly felt very angry.

  “Dr. Saari– Juna– what you’re proposing to do is very risky. You understand that, yes?”

  Dr. Saari nodded. She looked scared, but then she was risking her career, her reputation, everything, by making this call.

  “Why did you call me?” Analin asked. “There are reporters who have given the Tendu much more positive coverage.”

  Dr. Saari rolled her eyes. “Most of it was pretty awful. The other journalists were reporting what they wanted to be true. You reported only what you knew to be true. That’s what made me think I could trust you.”

  Analin glanced down in sudden embarrassment. “Thank you, I’ll have to work pretty hard to live up to your impression of my work.”

  “Then you will help us?” Moki said. He turned the most remarkable shade of blue. It was almost magical, watching his skin change color like that.

  “Of course I’ll help you. It’s a very important story, Moki. I’m lucky that you asked me to tell it.”

  She looked at Juna Saari. “The trick will be finding proof to back up your claims. Let me do a little digging, and see what I can find out. Can you call me back in about twelve hours?”

  Juna nodded.

  “Good,” Goudrian said. “I’ll want an exclusive follow-up interview after you’re released from quarantine. Will that be all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “And can you get me a copy of the medical officer’s report on the Tendu?”

  “I’ll download that now. Is there anything else you can think of?”

  “Not yet,” Analin said. “But probably later, after I know more. Thank you, Dr. Saari, for trusting me with this. I’ll do my best to find out who’s behind this.”

  Dr. Saari nodded. “I appreciate that, and so does Moki.”

  Analin nodded and signed off. She sat back, feeling limp and tired. This was the story of the year, and a total stranger had just handed it to her on a plate. She got up, shaking her head, and headed for the shower. She had a lot of work to do.

  Juna glanced at the clock on the screen before signing off. They had talked for over two hours! No wonder she was so tired. She stood up and stretched. What she needed was a good hot bath to soak out all the kinks in her muscles.

  “I’m going to take a bath in the osento,” she told Moki. “Would you like to join me?”

  “I think I’ll go to the garden instead,” Moki said. “Giselle needs some help planting out a crop of lettuce transplants and I need to check on Ukatonen.” He laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “I liked the reporter, siti. I think we can trust her.”

  Juna felt some of the tension leave her. “Thank you, bai.”

  Mold’s skin flared turquoise with pleasure at the implied compliment. “Let’s link after lunch.”

  “Thank you, Moki, I’d like that,” Juna said. She brushed his shoulder with her knuckles, and went off to the baths.

  She let herself drift in the warm water, thinking over the morning’s conversation. Suddenly her head bumped up against something. She opened her eyes. It was Bruce.

  “Hello there,” she said with a smile. “Are the baths closed for maintenance?”

  “No, should they be?”

  Juna turned in the water, stood up, and kissed him in answer.

  “Yes, I think the baths do need a little maintenance,” Bruce said. “I’ll go put the sign out.” He pulled her hips close against his and kissed her again. “Be back in a minute.”

  Juna waited in the quiet steamy dusk of the baths. With so few people aboard ship, the baths weren’t very crowded, and it had become the custom to close them off for couples during the quiet midmorning and midafternoon hours. She had been pleased to find the osento open and empty, and even more pleased that Bruce had joined her.

  Bruce slipped back into the water. Juna pushed off and met him in the middle of the bath.

  “I r
an into Moki in the garden. He told me you were in here,” Bruce said as she slid into his arms.

  “I see. So this isn’t just a coincidence, then.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Good.” Juna said, and kissed him. They slid down, letting the dark, warm water embrace them.

  Afterwards, they floated side by side.

  “How did your conversation go?” Bruce asked.

  “She wanted to do some research. I’m supposed to call her back tonight.” Juna paused, staring up at the dark ceiling, thinking over her conversation with the reporter. “I like her, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know if she’s on our side, and even if she is, I don’t know if this scheme is going to work.”

  Bruce smoothed his hand along her back. “Juna, the Survey’s going to keep us here until hell freezes over. Yes, what you’re doing is risky, but doing nothing’s far worse.”

  Juna let out a deep breath, letting the water close over her. She lay in the water, feeling her heart beat. It reminded her of allu-a, and it comforted her. She surfaced, letting the water skim her mane of dark, frizzy hair away from her face. It was getting long enough to be unruly. She needed to get it cut.

  “I hope I’ve done the right thing,” Juna said. “If I were an enkar, and this blew up in my face, I’d be honor-bound to kill myself.”

  “Then I’m glad you’re not an enkar.”

  “So am I,” she said. “So am I.”

  Analin emerged from the shower, fixed herself a pot of strong coffee, and set to work. She dug through story files and declassified archive reports on the Tendu, assembling a more complete history of the aliens. The deeper she dug, the less sense the quarantine made. There was no health-related evidence to support the quarantine. The only deaths on Tiangi were the members of Juna’s Survey team. According to Dr. Saari’s report, they had died of anaphylactic shock from inhaling airborne alien proteins when their suit filters failed. Despite extensive testing by both Survey teams, there had been no cross-infection of Earth organisms by Tendu pathogens or parasites.

  Analin leaned back in her chair, and frowned at the computer screen. So what was the real reason behind this quarantine? She got up and fixed herself breakfast, and then started making some phone calls. Her first call was to her best contact within the Survey, an old friend from college.

  “Per! How are you?” Analin said, when she finally got through to him. She let the string of pleasantries and reminiscences run on for a few minutes. It really was good to catch up with Per.

  Then Analin pounced.

  “Per, according to the official news, the Tendu are in quarantine pending a medical examination to determine whether they are carriers of any contagious diseases. But I’ve heard from a reliable source that there’s no scientific basis for those concerns. Apparently the Survey is holding the Tendu and the crew of the Homa Darabi Maru prisoner for political reasons. What do you know about this?”

  Per’s eyes widened at the question. Analin exulted inwardly; she had struck a nerve. “Where did you hear a thing like that?” he asked, after a silence that was too long to be innocent, yet not quite long enough to be overtly suspicious.

  “Let’s just say that the source was reputable enough to make it worth checking out. I thought that perhaps you might know who could shed a little light on the situation.”

  Per smiled. “You should contact our Public Information Bureau for information on that, Analin. Here, let me give you their comm number.” He typed it onto the screen and Analin dutifully copied the number into her address book. Meanwhile, Per was rubbing the left side of his nose, a code that indicated he would contact her later, on an unmonitored line. He had her anonymous-source address, so the whole transaction would stay off the official record.

  They chatted pleasantly for a few more moments. Per invited her over to see his vegetable garden. The tomatoes in his greenhouse were really big. Then he signed off.

  Analin poured another cup of coffee. Per hated tomatoes, and didn’t garden, so the news he had for her had to be really important. She made a few more calls, while waiting for Per’s message, but most of her other sources either professed to know nothing at all, or simply didn’t speak to her. That was odd. Usually they would at least speculate a little. Someone had told them not to talk about the Tendu or the quarantine. But who? And more importantly, why?

  She paced through her tiny, cluttered apartment, waiting for the message from Per to come in. What the hell was going on? She was about to call the Survey’s Information Bureau, just to get their official version, when Per’s message arrived.

  “There’s some serious power behind the quarantine. Even the head office is running ^scared. The rumor is that someone is using the CCD to keep the Tendu bottled up on that ship, but you didn’t hear this from me.” He spoke hastily, as though afraid that he was going to be overheard. “Be careful, ’Lin,” he said as he reached forward to end the message.

  Analin pushed back from the comm and stared at the blank screen. Per knew she could take care of herself, so he was warning her that this could be serious. She should move someplace safe before she did any more digging. Despite her caution, a frisson of excitement fluttered in her stomach. She bustled around her apartment, packing.

  Into one large trunk she carefully packed all the keepsakes and records that she didn’t want anyone to destroy or read. She threw her travel clothes into a backpack, backed up her comp, then did a high-security reformat and rewrite on the memory, erasing every shred of information, and writing over it with meaningless data. She carefully disassembled one lamp that had a hidden compartment in it, and left it lying on the dining room table. A thorough search would trash her apartment, but perhaps she could convince them that there was nothing here to search for. She had cleaned up after several such searches before, and she didn’t want to have to do it again.

  She was almost finished packing when Dr. Saari called back.

  Analin told her what she had learned so far.

  “At least Survey isn’t behind this,” Juna said when she was done. “That’s something. Thank you.”

  “Call me at the same time in two days,” Analin said. “I should know a lot more by then.” She glanced past Juna to Moki. “I’m doing everything I can to get you out as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” Moki said. “I appreciate what you’re doing for us, Ms. Goudrian.”

  “Please, call me Analin,” she said. “And it is my pleasure. I never thought I would get to meet you, even over the cornra.”

  Analin shook her head in wonder after they signed off. These two had handed her the story of the year, and yet they were grateful to her!

  She turned the comm off, and packed the last few items. Then she put the trunk and a laundry bag full of pillows and dirty clothes onto her luggage cart, swung on her backpack, and left. She shipped the trunk via slow freight to her uncle in Canada, with instructions to contact her when it arrived. The pillows got dropped off at the laundry, where they would be safe from searchers with knives. She was still finding feathers from the last time someone searched her place. Then she tightened the straps on her backpack, and headed for the train station.

  She spent the night hopping around Frankfurt, calling her contacts in the CCD. Then, around four in the morning, she took the train to Paris, and checked her messages in an all-night net cafe. One of her CCD contacts came through with a name: General Alice Burnham. On the train to Lyon, she did some digging. She got off the train in Dijon, and caught a train to Bern. In Bern, she contacted a net pirate she knew about from a friend.

  He was a burly man with a grizzled red beard, who went by the name Morgan. They met in a cafe.

  “Are you Morgan?”

  “You Goudrian?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, Brinker sent me.”

  Morgan drained the last of his thick Turkish coffee. “Were you followed?” he asked.

  “Not that I could see, but– ” She
spread her hands and shrugged. “The world’s a big place, yes?”

  “Come on, then,” he said. He motioned to the big, bald-headed man with the enormous black handlebar mustache behind the counter. The man nodded and opened a door at the back of the cafe Analin went through onto a landing at the top of a dark staircase. Morgan took her hand, and they carefully descended the dark stairs and went through a door that opened onto a parking garage.

  Morgan tossed a ring of keys to the attendant. “Trieste, I think, tell Mildn to send me a red Gavotte this time. And call Ian and tell him to meet us “at the Erdbeere.”

  “That way,” he told Analin, gesturing at a door. They went through the door to another garage, and then through a maze of hallways, garages, and basements, emerging finally in the lobby of a seedy apartment building. They left the building, and got into a waiting cab.

  “What do you need?” he asked her, as they settled back into the cab.

  “Traceless shielding on this comm unit for a few days.”

  “Why not get another number?”

  “I’m expecting an important call on it tomorrow evening.”

  He nodded. “We’ll forward it through one of our tracer mazes. It’ll look like you’re calling from Brazil.”

  “I also need a dossier on General Burnham, security head of the Space Service, including as much classified material about her connections with the CCD as you can find. And a good night’s sleep somewhere safe.”

  “O.K.,” Morgan said, “but it will cost you.”

  “I know. How much?”

  “Fifteen thousand Swiss credits.”

  Analin shook her head. “Too much. Five thousand.”

  “May I remind you that you’re in no position to bargain. Burnham’s a difficult target.”

  “I thought you were a professional,” Analin said, lifting her chin defiantly. She didn’t have fifteen thousand credits. Eleven would wipe her out, but this story would earn it back several times over.

  “One of the best,” he said. “That’s what you’re paying for. Twelve thousand.”

  “Six.”

  ’Ten.”

  “Seven.”