“I-I can’t. It’s against regulations,” Jennifer said, looking at Dr. Maass.
“No one on board ship is allowed to link with the Tendu,” Dr. Maass explained. “Even Juna is forbidden to link with you.” He sighed and looked up at Ukatonen and Moki. “I know it makes things a lot more difficult. I wish the regulations weren’t so rigid. Perhaps you can convince them to change the rules when we reach Earth, but for now”—he held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness—“those are the rules, and I’m afraid that we have to abide by them.”
Juna frowned at the ceiling. I’m getting very tired of the Survey’s fondness for rules, she thought sourly.
“I don’t understand,” Ukatonen said. “If none of you agree with this prohibition on linking, why do you obey it?”
“Because that’s what the Survey says we’re supposed to do,” Dr. Maass told him. “That’s what the rules are.”
“Who made those rules?” Moki asked.
“They came from the central Survey office, on Earth.” Dr. Maass replied. “They were part of our original mission orders.”
“So you are following rules made by people who have never been to our planet or met any of my people,” Ukatonen said.
Dr. Maass nodded.
“The enkar are trusted to make their decisions based on the situation at hand. Why do your people do things so differently?” Ukatonen demanded.
Juna glanced down at the table. “The Survey is based on a military pattern, where control and command are centralized. It’s easier to make rapid decisions involving large numbers of people that way. In this case, the Survey hierarchy and, I suppose, the Security Council are more concerned with matters of intelligence and security. They’re afraid of you.”
“Why?” Ukatonen asked.
“Because you’re different. Because you’re strange, and because of this.” She held her arms out as though for allu-a.
“They’re afraid of linking?” Moki asked.
“Not of linking, Moki, but of what you can do with it. The potential of allu-a is tremendous. It frightens them.” She shrugged. “It frightens me, too, a little bit, and I know and trust you. They know linking changes people. They’re afraid to trust people who have linked.”
“But that’s crazy!” Moki exclaimed, puzzled. “You’re still you, even after years of linking.”
“No, Moki, I’m not,” she told him. “I’m a different person after all my time with the Tendu. Allu-a was a part of that change, a big part. I’m no threat to the security of humanity, but I do think differently than I did before. Because I’ve changed, the Survey isn’t sure they can trust me. But they still need me. Without me, there is no link between our people. Without me, there is no trust.”
Ukatonen reached out and brushed her hand affectionately with his knuckles. “You are wrong, Eerin,” he told her. “It takes two people to trust. There is no trust without us.” He looked at Dr. Maass and Jennifer. “Jennifer may help us without linking, but it will take us many months to learn to speak properly if we are not allowed to link. We do not have that time to waste.”
With that, Ukatonen rose and headed for the door, followed by Moki. Juna went with them. There was nothing more to say. All of them knew that the Survey’s protocols were worse than useless. Don and Jennifer had made their token protest, and that would be the end of it. The real Survey brass back on Earth would not be nearly so easy to deal with.
Much to Ukatonen’s relief, Don and Jennifer avoided noticing Brace’s linking with the two Tendu. Jennifer spent several hours each day drilling the two of them on pronunciation, projection, and tonality.
Initially, Ukatonen doubted that Jennifer would be any help at all, but he soon realized her suggestions were useful. Gradually, their voices acquired depth and resonance, and their pronunciation became more accurate. In addition, their voices began to reflect their personalities. Each day Moki sounded more like an inquisitive, mischievous, and lighthearted child. Ukatonen’s voice acquired authority and dignity.
There was still an alien timbre to their voices. They would never be mistaken for human. It bothered him at first. Ukatonen had wanted to sound completely human, but Jennifer and Eerin convinced him that sounding different made their voices more memorable and distinctive.
In the three months it took to reach the jump point, the two Tendu learned to be comfortable with speaking aloud. The crew made a game of teaching them new words. Moki complained that his head was going to burst. Even Uka-tonen felt inundated by the flood of words, though he hid it well.
He was grateful for the language lessons, though. They distracted him from the toll that the monotonous and barren environment of the ship was taking on him. He was grateful when the jump day arrived. It meant that there were only a couple of months more to go before they got to Earth.
“I’m looking forward to the jump,” Ukatonen remarked to Moki. “It will be good to be moving toward Earth instead of away from Tiangi.” Regret fluttered over his skin like windblown mist. “I need a world around me again. The garden is nice, but it isn’t enough.”
Each day the ship seemed smaller, colder, and more barren. The bright lights hurt his eyes and the dry air clawed at his lungs. He longed for greenness and moisture and a sense of concealment. Some days it was all he could do to leave the warm, moist den of his bed and face another day in this sterile environment.
Moki nodded agreement. “I want to feel the wind on my skin again. It’s been so long,” he said, his skin blue-grey with yearning.
“There’s still two and a half more months to go,” Ukatonen reminded him. “I will be glad when we finally get off this dead ship and feel living air on our skins again.”
Eerin stuck her head in the door. “Commander Sussman tells me that we’re going to have to strap in for the jump in about forty minutes. We should go to the lounge now. Is all your stuff secured?”
Moki told her it was. They had spent the morning making sure that every loose item in their cabin was stowed safely in locked drawers. Eerin double-checked everything.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Ukatonen hauled himself up off the bed and followed Moki to the observation deck for a last look at Tiangi.
Every day it seemed harder to find the energy to leave his cabin. It wasn’t a physical ailment; he was just losing interest in his surroundings.
When they reached the observation deck, they saw that the protective shielding on the aft window had been lifted back, revealing a sky strewn with hard, untwinkling stars. Their sun was a bright bead of light set against the blackness, larger than the other stars but still impossibly distant.
“There,” Eerin said, pointing. “There’s Tiangi. The blue star, to the right of your sun.”
Ukatonen followed her pointing finger. His world was a bright blue speck of light, lost among the millions of stars. He felt awed by how far he had come.
“Who could believe that so big a world as ours could be so tiny, just a spot of light?” Ukatonen murmured. He looked away from the window, overwhelmed by sudden sadness.
Moki touched him on the shoulder. “Who could believe that the universe is so large?” he said. “And that there is so much in it still to learn?”
Ukatonen looked down at Moki and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, looking back out the window. But in his heart, there was no optimism. There was only the desperate need to get off the ship and onto a living world again.
He stood looking at the window full of bright stars for another long moment, longing for the warmth and familiarity of home. Then the massive shielding slid over the window like the closing of a giant eye, and it was time to strap in for the jump.