Some Gracious Being

One

Sometimes I think that we learned the least from the way they left us. Their sudden departure, the sudden removal of all they had given to us and the changes they wrought in us, was no final and vital lesson. The true lesson was understanding why the Kaehliann had come to us in the first place.

For me, and probably for most every Alorian, the shock of their absence felt incredibly personal, as if I were the target of some deliberate act of cruelty, blind and callous. I was furious at them, weeping and raging and staring off into the skies where their ships had disappeared for the very last time.

How could you just leave me? I would scream into the sky, struggling between a miserable hollowness that wracked my body and twisted my gut, and a hot rage that made me shake and clench my teeth in snarls. My throat would catch and tears I had been fighting every day since they left would threaten to overwhelm me.

An image from those first few weeks after they left: a little boy, no more than six or seven, crouching beneath a tree and howling, head tilted up to the branches in supplication. Tiny, swollen fists pound on the rough trunk and tears stream in dirty streaks down a pale and drawn face. He wrenches himself to a stand, pressing a red and scratched ear to the bark, holding his breath in anticipation. After a few moments of desolate hope he begins to howl again and sinks back to his grass-stained knees in despair.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” His horse whispering cries drift through gently swaying trees. “Please, please, just come back. Please.  Come back.”

I stopped and stared at that boy, just watching, as the minutes passed with interminable slowness.  Part of me, I think, was trying to feel his pain, his emotion, trying to connect with him and join him in that pure mourning and expression of loss, but I felt no part of him.  I could only look on, distant and separate, as connected to that little boy as to a holovid – no comfort to be had from true understanding, no solace to be felt from sharing those cries.

Only now, two long years after the last coppery lozenge floated noiselessly into the sky, can I confess that I have changed because of them, that I am someone else because they were once with me. I have learned:  never accept gifts from unknown strangers, never love at first sight, never let charm blind you to truth.  Never open yourself to your heart’s greatest desire unless you know it will not be ripped away from you as though it were never there.

* * *

The person I was when they first came knew none of these things. Then I was open, trusting and confident, full of the excitement of discovery and learning that accompanied meeting new species, anticipating new experiences.

I am no longer that person, no longer the woman who would have gushed and thrilled at every word and every interaction with these magnificent beings that dropped into my life like a long-lost lover. I no longer smile to myself thinking of the time we spent with them, the insights we shared over hot cups of tea, the giggles that burst from my lips as they recounted their strange, almost pointless tales about distant travels and odd encounters.

Now I am a woman scorned, left at the altar, turned away by beings who were barely aware of what their presence brought and surely totally oblivious to the holes their absence left. They loved us, in their own way, and they rejoiced in learning about us, knowing us, being with us. But they left us diminished, scarred.

Much as they gave us something we had never had before, we gave them something vital. We had no idea just how vital, or just how generously we gave what will we never get back.

Two

The first time the Kaehliann made themselves known to us, we were wary and removed.   Like any planetary government, Alora’s was clunky, heavily bureaucratic, prone to panic, and incredibly self-important. The parliament made grand plans for defense strategies, trade negotiations, peace treaties, attack schemes, cultural exchange meetings, research co-ops, and scientific espionage techniques. By the time the first sightings of the Kaehliann were thirty hours old, the parliament had formed nine first contact committees (mostly militaristic), called for a vote of no confidence in the Prime Minister (overturned), recommended a military state of emergency (temporarily tabled), and appointed seven new attaches for xeno-relations: economic, linguistic, biological, engineering, social, general scientific, and cultural (the latter of which was me).

Our surveillance scans had discovered the Kaehliann ships several light-years from the Alorian system, and the general sentiment was that they must be interested in our technology and culture. The more cynical members of parliament were understandably suspicious of such notions.  Our planet-bred technology barely gets us into space, and our culture is a weak mishmash of the hundreds of older planets our colonists emigrated from. Our only cultural products to speak of are a handful of greasy, salty dishes made from locally growing vegetation and imported protein-processing techniques, and a few overly commercialized holovid techniques. No serious gourmand would even sneeze on our food, and no serious virtuoso would bother with our trite and stale art scene.

We do a bit better at commerce and trade than at culture. We are the only planet that provides carutalloy, a native metal that has terrific conductive properties, is easy to work, incredibly light, and becomes almost diamond-tough when treated with high temperatures.  It is used in almost all space-faring ships and in a good number of planetary structures, particularly on worlds with a less-than-stable tectonic make-up. We export carutalloy to over half the known galaxy, and protect our stores fiercely.

We assumed that the Kaehliann were after our purses at first – intergalactic pickpockets sneaking into our system to grab for our valuables while we were looking the other way.  When we had scanned their ships and sent the standard greetings and invitations to them with no recognizable response or clear data, the big commercial types started screaming for protection of their carutalloy stores, calling for increased vigilance over nearby space and citizen communication capacities.

The parliament, always quick to “bolster the planetary markets” with “firm commitment to our planet’s economic freedoms,” pledged billions of galactic credits in the case of “debilitating damages to economic production that would throw the planet into depression.” There was no confusion as to Alora’s priorities, that was for certain. The parliament also placed a temporary prohibition on all inter- and intra-system communication by the general public.  Carutalloy shipments and its busienss communication were to proceed as usual, of course.

By the time I was selected, found, contacted, and brought in to the planetary government buildings in Karna, our capital, to serve as xeno-cultural attaché, things had settled down a bit. The unknown visitors had finally greeted us – apparently they were waiting to update their translation technologies with our language and were delayed somewhat because we had eliminated their data source: inter- and intra-system personal communication.

Once they had a handle on talking to us, the Kaehliann were just about the nicest visitors our paranoid government could have asked for. They said please and thank you, were charming, flattering, and interested in our cultural “accomplishments.”

Our paranoia didn’t seem to phase them in the least – in fact, they were so accommodating that they let us scan their ships, weapons capabilities, and food stores to our hearts’ content. We examined all their biological data (to check for incompatible organisms), their primary religious texts (no, we weren’t their incarnation of evil), their ships’ travel logs (were we really the first human planet they were visiting?), and their basic technologies (just to make sure they weren’t any more war-like or precocious then we were). Although they declined to tell us much about their people’s history, even the more paranoid among the Alorian government were satisfied with the masses of information they opened to us.

Once these initial pleasantries were out of the way and Alora’s government was convinced that the Kaehliann were a kind people on a mission to explore the galaxy and little else, our militaristic preparations and restrictions were finally relaxed.  For our part, the attaches were thrilled that the protective instincts of our elected leaders had finally subsided into a serene repose punctuated with only the occasional concerned inquiry or gentle warning. It became our task to oversee the integration of these amicable visitors with the general population of our planet, introducing them to our customs, background, culture, and ideas, such as they were.

As the human first planet to receive them, we had no misgivings about presenting as our own the many different cultures that made up our planet’s society and introduced the Kaehliann to everything we had to offer. The Alorians and the Kaehlianns got to know each other through public forums, various musical and theatrical performances, meetings with our intellectual and cultural elite, and tours of every city, town, and province that would have them.

Our warm welcome was helped along considerably by the generous gifts of exotic stones, technological trinkets, and completely alien art that the Kaehliann presented to the parliament as gestures of good will.

It wasn’t until the Kaehliann had been with us for a good six weeks that we began to notice the changes, and by then we were in far deeper than we could have ever guessed.

Three

After about a month, the most formal diplomatic dinners, meetings and conferences were over, and the parliament handed most of the day-to-day interaction with the Kaehliann over to the attaches. As the cultural attaché, I was responsible for determining if our visitors would get along well with the Alorian people – a task which kept me busy following the Kaehliann around from city to town.

Expecting the usual mix of hesitancy, fear, and curiosity, I was amazed to see the Kaehliann insert themselves with unprecedented grace and ease into communities and towns generally regarded as isolated and suspicious. The Saintlookers in their remote mountain village requested Kaehliann representatives after three weeks, and the mysterious Zenalians opened rusty, creaking gates to the visitors shortly thereafter.

While I had few opportunities to spend time alone with any of the Kaehliann during the first weeks of my assignment to them, one afternoon sticks out in my mind as the moment I began to understand the source of the Kaehliann’s appeal to our normally indifferent people.

That day I had been asked to travel with two of the Kaehliann to a small town about fifty kilometers outside Alora’s capital city, Karna. The town nestled up to one of the more impressive carutalloy mining operations that our government wanted to show off to our visitors. The Kaehliann were fascinated with how we lived among our natural flora and fauna, and I was to accompany them in order to answer any questions they might have about the rural population.

The economic attaché would be accompanying us, to “pursue any economic inquires our guests might have.” Or rather, to begin pitching the idea that trade among our peoples was a very good idea.

The trip from Karna was uneventful, but I paid close attention to the interaction of the Kaehliann and the crew of the landcraft that took us to our destination.  Usually I find out more about new species from their interaction with regular citizens simply doing their jobs than is apparent during formal dinners and diplomatic meetings.

The landcraft’s pilot, an intractable, grumpy woman with more years experience driving planetary guests around than I had been alive, sat in the craft’s bubble-covered nose, hands firmly on the controls. Silent for most of the trip, except for a few terse instructions, she seemed, as usual, almost part of the vehicle when a gentle voice drifted from the row of seats in front of me.

“This terrain offers little contest to your craft’s stabilization systems, I see.”  It was one of the Kaehliann, leaning towards the pilot’s alcove.

“Usually does. New turbines,” replied the pilot curtly.

“Then your navigation must be responsible for such a smooth and comfortable ride.  Thank you,” commented the Kaehliann.

The pilot risked a glance back towards the alien, a single eyebrow arched.  “Yes, it is,” she replied, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

I hid my own smile behind my hand. I had never seen this veteran chauffer acknowledge a passenger en route, let alone smile at anyone who made the mistake of distracting her from her piloting.  The Kaehliann were charming indeed.

There was no doubt that the Kaehliann were a dream come true for Alora.  Charming, non-threatening, with a few new technological gadgets and a lot of fascinating stories, the Kaehliann offered the potential for an immensely profitable partnership. Not to mention a whole lot of fun. The Kaehliann loved our dancing, our music, and talking to Alorians about just about anything. This somewhat remote, admittedly limited planet had never found a society it got along with so well. The whole planet was falling like a teenager in love.

When our landcraft set down in a field within easy walking distance of the small town that housed most of the prospectors, engineers, and techies who made this particular mining operation run, the Kaehliann were thrilled. Across the grassy expanse we had a picturesque view of the several dozen whitewashed homes and modest communal buildings that formed the quaintly tranquil town center. Open fields stretched behind us, dotted with copses of trees and shrubbery, and low hills rose gently into the distant mountains that sheltered rich veins of carutalloy.

This was the first time that the Kaehliann had been truly surrounded by our planet’s natural vegetation and landscapes, since their political and social involvement with Alora had until now kept them in our cities.

The two sturdy Kaehliann were we charged with wandered among trees and bushes, touching them and murmuring little phrases in soft Alorian standard. They crouched down and rubbed their hands and faces in the grass, smelled flowers, and generally enjoyed nature more than I have ever seen anyone do.  It almost seemed as though they were extending greetings to every new thing they encountered, while the landcraft crew members, the economic attaché and I watched in fascination.

As I had come to expect, none of us felt awkward or strange watching their behavior.  I was tempted to go hug a few trees myself. After several minutes, they returned to where we were standing. The more senior of the two, who called himself Kip in Alorian, grasped my hand in obvious excitement.

“You have told us of the wonders of your planet, but I had no idea it was so lovely!”

Like all the Kaehliann, his Alorian was perfect. In spite of the digging we had done through their records and technologies, no one quite understood how the Kaehliann managed to master our language so easily.  I assumed they had some kind of advanced translation device, for their tiny mouths and obviously different cranial structure shouldn’t have permitted them to imitate our accents and tones so perfectly.

“Thank you,” I replied, as pleased as if I alone had made the greenery and hills just for their enjoyment. “It’s really been too long since I’ve been away from the city, myself. It’s wonderful to be able to share it with you.”

“We are so happy to spend time here in this valley, learning about the beings that dwell here.  We have greatly looked forward to making their acquaintance.”

“I... yes, of course.  You are welcome here.”  Fluent or not, the Kaehliann did have some odd turns of phrases that made me wonder if they saw something in our planet or our people that we did not.

“Very much so,” interrupted the economic attaché, Langoar importantly.  “We would love to show you all around this town, the mines nearby, and of course you may explore the landscape as you wish.” Langoar was a young and, in my opinion, overly eager man who was just a little too handsome for his own good. He knew where the profit was and did not hesitate to go after it.

Smoothing back dark, perfect hair with exquisitely manicured hands, Langoar took the Kaehliann by the arm and led him towards town. “Let me show you the administrative buildings here, Kip, and then we can arrange a tour of the mines. You think this is great, I’ll show you some things that’ll knock your socks off!”

As Langoar’s elegantly suited back retreated with Kip, I couldn’t help smiling to myself.  Well, I thought, if they can tolerate him, it doesn’t surprise me they can tolerate just about anyone on this planet.

Turning back to the other Kaehliann who had introduced himself as Teg, I realized we had been left alone. The landcraft’s crew had already left for town, and I hadn’t made plans beyond the initial tours and introductions. Since Langoar seemed to be taking care of that, I wasn’t sure what to do with this Kaehliann.  I assumed he wasn’t interested in touring the town and mines, or he would have gone with Kip.

“This planet is really incredible,” said Teg, crouching down to run his hand through the grass at his feet again.

All the Kaehliann seemed to be very fond of three letter names in our language, although they were obviously nicknames adopted for our convenience.  It also seemed as though they were becoming obsessed with out vegetation.

“It is.”  I didn’t really have much to add, but I could see what he meant. Trees were bursting with delicate new leaves and wildflowers created splashes of color in the pale spring grass. Warbling calls from skylings and yellowjays broke the silence as they sought food and mate, and the smell of new life saturated the air. Finally, Teg rose to his feet and looked around energetically.

“So!  What’s there to do around here?” Teg asked.

“Well, was there something particular I could show you?” My voice sounded overly formal in my ears and I was torn between responding to Teg’s easy and casual manner and performing my diplomatic duties as tour guide.

Teg looked at me thoughtfully, widening his eyes and flattening his narrow mouth in what I had come to recognize as the Kaehliann version of a smile.  It made me feel warm, somehow, as though Teg knew exactly why I was at a bit of a loss.

“I’m up for anything,” he said conversationally. It still amazed and disconcerted me a bit that the Kaehlianns could speak so casually without stumbling over words or stilted use of idioms.

“No need to show me anything in particular. I’ll let Kip do the tourist thing today.”

“Well, great,” I answered, relaxing. “I figure it’s just about lunch time, and we could engage in an old custom among our people.”  I bowed in mock reverence and came up smiling. “Have you ever heard of a picnic?”

“I believe so,” he smiled back at me warmly. “But I’ve never been on one. What do we need?”

“Let’s see.  I think there are some tarps in the landcraft, and we can pick up some sandwiches or something in town.  We could come back to that clearing behind you and eat there.” I pointed vaguely over his shoulder.

“Sounds terrific.  Shall we?” Teg took my arm with a gentlemanly flourish and we turned toward town.

Teg was about my height, shorter than most Alorian men but not extremely so.  His height felt right to me, actually.  I didn’t have to strain my neck to look up at him and yet he was just tall enough that I felt distinctly feminine – a feeling that was not only unusual for me among my own people, but was definitely rare when I was with other species.

I was a bit of a tomboy, even now in my early thirties, and I generally kept gender issues and sexuality firmly out of my professional life. Sometimes it was a challenge – there were certainly a few members of the prime minister’s cabinet who thought that a little liaison with the xeno-anthropologist would make an interesting evening and a great story.  But usually I had no trouble keeping myself essentially gender neutral in my dealings with other species. But somehow, walking arm in arm with Kip, my feminine side was coming out.

As we walked through the grass toward town, there was a comfortable silence between us, broken only by Teg’s occasional questions about a particular plant or animal we passed.  I gave a brief lecture on the nuisances of groundkits after one scurried by us in a flash of yellow and gray, and tried to remember the names of the low, leafy fronds huddling at the base of the taller trees.

In his simple Alorian shirt and narrow trousers – which fit his lithe form quite well, I noticed – Teg could have almost passed for one of us, except for his gorgeous golden skin shimmering in the sunlight. Of course, his oversized eyes, tiny mouth, and lack of ears would make anyone pause, but it was by no means an unattractive combination of form and color.

I shook my head, wondering how I managed to wander off into such unprofessional thoughts on an official assignment. Very unlike me.

My pale skin contrasted with his golden tones where our arms were hooked together, making my usually somewhat pasty complexion seem creamier and smoother.  It struck me oddly again that there was no tension or awkwardness in our interaction, particularly because my years of professional training had deeply ingrained in me that touching an unknown xeno was a very unwise thing to do. But I felt completely at ease with Teg – with any of the Kaehliann, really, but particularly with Teg that day, walking through that field.

Once we had picked up a few sandwiches and bottles of the local ale from a small street stand at the edge of town, we headed back towards the landcraft for the tarps to have our picnic. We spread out on a sunny patch of grass at the edge of the clearing and I set out the food.  Teg picked delicately at his, savoring each bite with obvious pleasure.

“Teg,” I began.  “What brought you here to Alora?”

“How could we pass this place by?” Wide green eyes twinkled at me. “First of all, I couldn’t wait to try your fry-dips.”

My eyebrows rose wryly. I sincerely doubted that the fame of our heavy, greasy, fried protein strips had reached other systems, no matter how elaborate the spicing we applied.

“Beyond the appeal of your sophisticated cuisine, I suppose we thought you seemed interesting.  Alora is an open, beautiful planet with a modestly-sized population and a heterogeneous culture.  In our explorations we have encountered many peoples who were, shall we say, less than interested in visitors.  We had been monitoring your immigration policies and cultural make-up, and thought that we might find welcome here.”

“Well, yes.  With so much open space and relatively slow population growth, we have a very open policy on immigration and visitation requests. And although no non-human species has settled here yet, we get several thousand new human settlers each year. We’re used to newcomers, though we seem rather isolated.”

“We had considered several other human planets, actually, but Alora seemed refreshingly different.”  Teg looked around him at the gorgeous vegetation that surrounded us.

“In what way?”  I was moderately proud of my planet, but it didn’t seem especially more appealing than the dozens of other human planets the Kaehliann could have visited.

“You seemed fun!” Teg grinned at me. “The Kaehliann have spent many, many years traveling and learning about new cultures.  So much of our energy has gone into investigation and analysis that your planet’s levity, joy, and, to be honest, self-indulgence, seemed like a breath of fresh air.  I think we needed a vacation, and this is a great vacation spot!”

“Vacation spot!”  I snorted mirthfully.  “I’m flattered on behalf of the Alorian peoples, I’m sure!”

“Well, you do have great holovid programs,” Teg chortled.

“Well, I’m glad you happened upon our stimulating culture, then. A lucky coincidence.”

Actually, I had been a bit surprised when Alora’s government announced the sudden arrival of the Kaehliann. Though raised on Alora’s cosmopolitan capital and trained at her top university as a scholar of xeno-relations, my experience with xeno visitors to Alora was limited.

My exposure to xenos had always been from a somewhat academic and formal distance in highly-controlled and well-established contexts, and were generally off-planet.  Alora itself rarely hosted non-human visitors planet-side, and the few xenos who toured our cities had been mostly long-standing associates involved in trade negotiations with commercial and government representatives. The seemingly social and exploratory interests of the Kaehliann were somewhat enigmatic to me.

“Yes,” Teg murmured, suddenly more serious. “Although it wasn’t really coincidence. You offer more to us than that.”

“More?  What do you mean?”

“Truthfully?” His huge sea-green eyes stared absently at the hills beyond the town in front of us. “It just happened.  We didn’t mean for it to happen, but we were exploring, and you invited us, and so we came. We really didn’t mean for this to happen.”  Teg stopped and turned those gorgeous eyes on me.  A tiny thrill shot up my back, and my stomach flipped. What was going on here? Was I not a trained professional?

“But...for what to happen?” I asked, feeling suddenly shy.

“This.”  He gestured vaguely at the air between us. “This... place.  There’s something about your people.  Something about being with you...” he trailed off. He looks vaguely guilty, I thought incongruously.

“Yes, there is…”  My tone matched his and I found myself hoping for a deeper connection between our peoples than I had reason to expect.  I watched Teg, feeling something build between us, something more somber than the banter we had been exchanging so comfortably.

“We don’t know how long we’re staying,” Teg murmured, looking at the ground.

I was puzzled.  Why would that be a problem?  What were the Kaehlianns expecting?  What did they think we expected?  I had assumed that they would visit with us, set up peaceful relations, maybe open some trade agreements, and continue on their way. What was all this about staying? And why did Teg seem so affected by being here?

“That’s okay,” I said sincerely. “Look.” I shifted to a more comfortable position on the tarp, sitting cross-legged and leaning toward him earnestly. “We’re just glad to get to know you, to learn about your people, and let you learn about ours.  I certainly hope we can keep up friendly relations for a long time, but we have no illusions that you’re staying here. This isn’t your planet, we understand that.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said slowly. There was a long pause and I heard a heavy foreboding in his voice.

“We have no planet.”  Teg looked away, and a deep sadness seemed to wash over him. “The Kaehliann lost their home world hundreds of years ago. The System leaders removed us from the planet in an emergency evacuation – we couldn’t even take our libraries and data stores with us.”

“But why?” I gasped, appalled. Such an action in human systems was unheard of, even with dire threats to a planet.  It would take a devastation humans had never faced to call for the complete evacuation of a people from their home world.

“Kaehlia was the target of the Bropena. Do you know them?  They are incredibly powerful, ancient, and basically unstoppable. Kaehlia had a certain kind of mineral that the Bropena required for their propulsion systems – our planet was filled with it. They came in, took all the mineral they could, and left the whole planet in ruins. The ecological system of Kaehlia was destroyed. It is impossible to ever return – even the atmosphere is gone, now.”

“My god, Teg, I had no idea.” I put my pale hand on his bare arm and felt a strange disconsolation pass between us.  “I’m so sorry.”

“That was about six generations ago – a long time now. No one living has a memory of Kaehlia, though there are a few holo-images and oral histories that have been passed down. But truthfully, we don’t really know much.  I think in the early days the Kaehlianns couldn’t really talk about what had happened, and no one else really knew much about our planet. In a sense, we are a people without a home, without a history.”

Teg paused, looking around him at my home, and I had a sudden start of guilt that I had a planet, a people, a history, when he had none of those things.

“After staying on another world as guests for about twenty of its years,” he continued, “most Kaehlianns decided to start traveling, to learn about the universe and our place in it. We have been visiting planet after planet, learning, exploring, hoping to find what we lost.  We have never felt like anything but visitors, so I guess we’re trying to find a sense of home inside ourselves.”

Teg was silent, lost in thought and sad memories. Teg’s story had deeply affected me, and I could sense the longing, the frustration, the grief of being so lost in the endless expanse of the universe. Feeling his pain was incredibly intimate, as though his most private self was washing over me, consuming me. I felt drained, exhausted by his anguish. Baffled by the strength of my reaction, I leaned away from him, staring at a bare patch of dirt beside me.

A slender, golden hand broke into my confusion to touch my leg.

I smiled tentatively at the Kaehliann. “Teg, I know you have a lot that you need to understand about yourselves, but Alora has plenty of room. You are welcome here if you wanted to make this your new home.”  I heard my words as though spoken by someone else. What was I saying?  I had no idea if the Alorian government and people would welcome these aliens as settlers, no matter how well we all seemed to get along.

“Thank you, really.  I just don’t know.  We still have so much to understand about ourselves, that I’m not sure we’re ready to settle on a new planet. We need a sense of who we are before we can begin to blend ourselves with others.”

“I understand, Teg, no pressure. I just thought...” I couldn’t finish. I had no idea what had prompted me to reach out to him, to extend such a serious invitation without any authority or precedent. The feeling of wanting him to stay was an almost physical reaction to his account. Then, as suddenly as it came, the feeling was gone, and I was confused again.  I blinked.

“Well, whatever your people need in terms of that vacation, we’re happy to provide.”

Teg looked suddenly relieved and his eyes widened in the beaming glow of a Kaehliann smile.  “We have so much to share with you, so much we want to learn with you.  Your planet seems to understand us in a way we so rarely encounter, that we just want to...I want to...”

I could swear there were tears in his eyes as he smiled at me. Do Kaehliann even have tears?

“We will have a wonderful time. This will be a wonderful time.” He suddenly shifted, thin shoulders relaxing and tension draining from his graceful neck.

“We will,” I replied, understanding completely, just for a moment, all his uncertainty and hesitation as he recognized the possibility that his people’s journey could someday end.

By the time we had finished our food and were sipping at our second bottle of beer, the two of us were chatting like old friends. We moved through ideas, concepts and perspectives almost faster than we could speak them – a few words were enough to explain all the complexities of my personal theories about cultural clashes and cross-species integration, and I immediately understood the subtleties in his descriptions of political shifts in galactic empires.

We debated the significance of local religion and its place in planetary and system policies.  We touched on the latest holovid soap operas and the ridiculous body art that was sweeping the teen population of Alora. I felt an incredible power, an incredible freedom as he followed my convoluted thoughts leaping over logic and side-stepping precedent.  There was a connection between us I had only rarely felt before.

Teg and I had shared a moment, however brief, of acknowledgement that something more important, something bigger than either of us, could be shared between our people.  I would mourn that moment for years afterwards, wishing I could return to that heaviness in his voice, the sure knowledge that this was vital, special, real. It was one of the few times I was absolutely sure that the Kaehliann saw something extraordinary in us.

Four

I think that we all suspected there was something different about these visitors from the very beginning, but were too afraid to mention it. I, for one, was convinced that it was all my imagination – these strange new feelings, the sensation of connection, the bonds I was forming with the Kaehliann must have been the product of my too-intense determination to understand this new race.

My conversation with Teg some weeks before had lost some of its urgency, and I was feeling a bit silly for the intensity I had felt between us. I had laughed at myself, sure I was somehow falling into a strange and warped kind of love with the Kaehliann, that infatuation that makes you think the impossible is real and the unimaginable is happening inside you. It wasn’t until our second monthly meeting that I finally realized that it wasn’t all me.

That afternoon, as we trickled into the modest conference room they had given us for our meetings, we were giddy and boisterous, like teenagers on a holiday.  There was an infectious hum of excitement in the room that flew among us like bees, and my skin tingled with the thrill of it.

Even the appearance of the somber and dour-faced Secretary of Planetary Liaisons, Sanara Philan, couldn’t dampen our enthusiasm. I think our obliviousness to her stern mood annoyed her more than the fact that we took a good three minutes to respond to her sharp calls of, “This meeting shall come to order.” Philan was used to spreading her chilling aura over everyone in her path.

When she finally captured our attention, she was more suspicious and sharp than usual – a fact that probably escaped most everyone in the room. We were high from excitement.

“This meeting shall come to order. First on the agenda, social report. Mr. Zhezzlar?”

Rin Zhezzlar stood and, straightening his face into a serious aspect as best he could, began his report on the social integration and acceptance of the Kaehliann.  I could sense the eagerness beneath his formal words.

“It seems that the Kaehliann are integrating nicely – splendidly! – with the populations of our major cities. We have placed fifteen meet-and-greet centers in eight cities where the visitors can receive guests, hold meetings, and host social events as they wish. Currently, there are twenty-seven Alorian and an incredible sixty-two Kaehliann sponsored events.” Rin paused to exchange a proud glance with me. We had worked on the meet-and-greet centers together, calling them social and cultural meeting places so we didn’t have to figure out what the different was between them.

Rin continued.  “The impact of the Kaehliann on the social organization of the host cities and towns seems to be minimal.  We have, so far, seen few individuals unduly attached to the visitors, and there seem to be few disturbances in normal social activities. If anything, the Alorians seem to be relaxing, slowing down a bit and enjoying themselves more than before.  Even Karna’s traffic seems to be less urgent!”  With our city’s reputation for traffic nightmares almost all day long, that was good news indeed.

“As several of you have mentioned,” Rin went on, “the Kaehliann have made it known that they are looking for a planet on which to settle. It is my opinion that if they choose to stay here our population could only benefit from their presence.”

During his report even Philan looked pleased, which was a rarity from the voice of caution herself.

“Fine, Mr. Zhezzlar.  Have you made arrangements for stage two of the tours and introductions?” asked Philan.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, beaming. “I am pleased to report that we have had requests for Kaehliann representatives in twenty-nine of the thirty-three provinces that have yet to receive them.”

“Fine.  Go ahead with your plans, then.  I see no reason to change our original schedule of introduction. Please remember, Mr. Zhezzlar, that we can not assume these Kaehliann have any interest in developing permanent relations with us.  For now, we must proceed as though they are honored guests from whom we can learn much.”

And receive much, I though to myself, pursing my lips wryly. It was no secret that the parliament hoped to show these visitors such a good time that they would enter into trade agreements with us and expand our market for carutalloy to an entirely new, untapped planetary system.

“Next item.  Engineering report.”  As Philan continued with the other reports, I drifted off a bit, thinking about the visitors and my unprecedented ease and joy with this assignment.

My ebullience over the Kaehliann amazed me, not only because this was the first time I had ever done anything for the government that wasn’t mind-numbingly tedious and a bureaucratic misery, but also because I considered myself pretty exotic-proof.  As a xeno-cultural expert, I had met and hobnobbed with people from all over the galaxy and was definitely used to the strange and mysterious.

This race was different, though. Not physically, in particular. They were bi-pedal, as were eighty percent of the non-humans we had encountered.  They had a head, two arms, visual and nasal organs in roughly the same places as ours, and a tiny, slitted mouth that provided enough visual familiarity that their faces didn’t induce the horrified wrongness of peoples like the Unaoris with their complete lack of a head.  We got used to the way they looked pretty quickly, and many of us even found them quite appealing.

Maybe what struck me was something different about their demeanor, their way of talking, or carrying themselves. Maybe it was the way they looked at people, deliberately and with great intensity,  as though they could see something the rest of us miss. I hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

As the stuffy economic attaché Langoar started on his report on the possibilities of tourism and trade revenue, I leaned back comfortably in my fancy padded government chair and mused on the visitors’ style.

Trained as an anthropologist with an advanced degree in xeno-psychology, I was used to running through various check lists of behavioral types: sensation-seekers, introverts, social modelers, high self-monitors, risk adverse, risk prone.  The Kaehliann seemed basically like us on most of the standard measures – not too extreme in any of the factors that usually helped me understand the basic psychology of alien peoples.

Something about myself nagged at me, though. When I was around them, I felt different, not uncomfortable or awkward, which was common enough for xeno-anthropologists at first contact, but actually more comfortable than usual. I couldn’t remember a single incident that precipitated that sinking feeling that I had unwittingly said something to offend their alien mores, and it made me pause.

Usually it took a good two or three months before I could relax out of the delicate dance around offense and inappropriateness. Instead, the Kaehliann and the Alorians seemed to integrate immediately into each others’ culture with an uncanny ease, as though they had known each other long before and were just having a reunion to rehash old memories.

The more I thought about the ease of our interaction with the Kaehliann, the more disturbed I became. It wasn’t ominous, exactly, but it went against years of training in the social and cultural awkwardness that is part of developing good relations with other races.  This was a kind of being I had never encountered, and yet I felt as comfortable and calm as though I, too, had known them all my life.

I started paying attention to the meeting again when the linguistic attaché, Yanor Olinaret, began to give his report. He was a wiry little man, awkward and eager, prone to long-winded lectures on the significance of linguistic drift or gerund use or vowel coordination.  Tiny, archaic glasses perched on his nose and he sprouted data-pads from every pocket, presumably to keep on hand his notes and research on linguistic patterns from across the galaxy. As he stood at the front of the room giving his report, Yanor waved his arms excitedly, stuttering about the Kaehliann’s remarkable mastery of the Alorian language. The next thing he said started my bells ringing, though.

“You see, you see, ladies and gentlemen, the Kaehliann have no language! They have no language at all! This is entirely new to them – it’s as though we are introducing them to a whole new world! Can you imagine! To hear and understand what it means to represent ideas and concepts and linkages with words for the first time! It would be incredible!”

“But surely they have encountered other cultures with language!” I broke in, taken aback at Olinaret’s suggestion that we offered the Kaehliann something so unparalleled.

“Well, yes, of course,” he stammered. “But there must have been some point in their history at which they grasped the notion of verbal language for the first time, and in describing that experience they could provide such insight! I plan to talk to them about how they realized they would have to participate in an oral system of conceptual representation, where signs and signifiers are absolutely not the same thing, and the cultural implications! Well! There are centuries of meaning in every word! Take the word ‘friend’, for example, you can not simply – “

“Mr. Olinaret,” interrupted the Secretary of Planetary Liaisons.  “Mr. Olinaret! I am sure we do not need a lecture on the cultural origins of the word ‘friend’ this afternoon. I am more interested in what you have found on their language – ”

“But they have no language!” shouted Yanor, grinning excitedly and waving his arms even more furiously.

“I understand that, Mr. Olinaret, but I would still like to understand how these beings normally communicate with each other, assuming they do actually communicate.” Philan raised a skeptical eyebrow at the excited little man.  She probably thinks he’s just spent his entire time with the Kaehliann talking their ears – or the tiny holes on the sides of their heads that passed for ears – off, I thought to myself.

“Yes, yes!  Absolutely! Or perhaps I can not say communicate, for to do so would imply that their communication somehow is the same as our communication, which is certainly not the case! It is an entirely different thing than what we mean when we say communicate, with all the complexities of words and nuance expressed via relatively limited phonetic combinations – “

“Please, Mr. Olinaret. Just tell us how they... whatever you would like to term the way they let each other know what is going on. Perhaps you could let us, too, know what is going on in some manner, since you seem to have picked up the Kaehliann’s penchant for doing something other than communicating.”

“It’s, it’s, well, it’s all our fantasies come true, Madam Secretary! They have no language, although they could, I’m sure if they wanted to, given the ease with which they have...” Madam Secretary gave Olinaret a steely look. “Yes, yes, of course.  The point. The point is, the point is that the Kaehliann communicate mind to mind! Isn’t that incredible?  Isn’t that amazing!  I just find it amazing!  No language!  No language whatsoever!”

Olinaret finally sat down, chuckling and murmuring to himself at his discovery while the rest of us looked on, stunned.

When humans had first started to make contact with alien species, we had assumed there were beings out there somewhere that communicated mind-to-mind.  We had too many centuries of fiction and speculation about psychic powers and mental abilities far beyond our own not to hope that our myths would be made in alien flesh someday.

As a people perhaps overly-obsessed with imagination and fantasy, we had contemplated, written about, and filmed stories about thousands of different alien configurations, especially ones with various types of psychic abilities.  Our scientists were constantly comparing new peoples we encountered to this story or that movie or that ancient Star Trek episode. There were, in fact, alien fiction classes required for the anthropology degree I held.

Up to now, that particular aspect of our fiction-inspired preparation had been superfluous.  In the six centuries since the first human-alien contact we had never encountered a spieces with even an approximation of psychic abilities. In fact, as far as I knew, we were the only species who even contemplated that such a thing might be possible.

To have found a people that could truly communicate mind-to-mind would be a scientific revelation and probably the most amazing discovery for us since we ran across the beings that switched from male to female halfway through their lifecycles.

When the room had recovered from the initial shock, everyone started talking at once, speculating as to how and why and what we could gain and if they could teach us to communicate with our minds. Someone recalled a millennia-old science fiction story in which psychic twins solved the problems of distant interstellar communication and someone else suggested that perhaps we could set up a psychic training center and charge people from all over the galaxy for lessons.

Finally, when the generally unflappable Secretary Philan regained some order over the excited clamoring, the biological attaché cleared her throat to speak.

“Yes, Ms. Norinare?  You have something reasonable to add to this?”

“I believe I do,” said the biological attaché slowly. “I think, well, there is some evidence to suggest how the Kaehliann perform this feat.”

“I see,” responded Philan skeptically. That woman never gave anyone a break. “Please, give us your report then, by all means.”

The older woman rose cautiously to her feet, bringing her plump form to the front of the room and taking a light-marker in hand. Smoothing salt-and-pepper hair back with one hand and looking around the now riveted room in contemplation, Norinare cleared her throat again.

“I believe, from the medical scans the Kaehliann so generously have allowed us to perform, that these people are very similar to our own species in their neural make-up.  Like ours, their brains seem to work via a series of chemically-based networks of what we may as well call neurons that produce electrical impulses in the brain and body.”  She nodded thoughtfully to herself and continued.

“In our brains, those electrical impulses are a very mild effect of the chemical signals which make up our brain activity. Those signals regulate their minds and bodies as ours do, sending messages to the leg when we mean to take a step forward, or from the eye to the brain to deliver visual information.”  As she spoke, Norinare made a crude sketch with the light-marker of a human form darkened with dotted lines extending from the head to the feet.

“Unlike ours, however, the electrical pulses that result from these messages carried to and from the Kaehliann brain seem to extend beyond the bodies of the Kaehliann.  They can literally fill the air with these impulses, exchanging information with each other much as our bodies carry information back and forth from leg to brain internally.”  Now she extended the dotted lines from the figure’s head out beyond its body, like the rays of the sun in a child’s drawing.

“Are you telling us that in the same way we can simply think, I shall move my leg now, they can move each other’s legs? I find that very hard to believe, Ms. Norinare.” Philan gazed at the well-accomplished scientist as though she were a school child describing midnight dances with fairies and gnomes.

“No, the information they send out beyond their bodies is very specific, much as the information we get and receive from the eye or the nose is very specific, designed for a specific purpose. The Kaehliann can only send those types of impulses or electrical charges that contain, well, what we might call abstract information. It’s as though they can send and receive ideas, but no commands.”

“Is this dangerous, Ms. Norinare? Should I alert the military representatives as to this development?” Philan looked as though she would gleefully charge out of her seat to report that these strange beings were dangerous and not to be trusted.

“No, no.  Certainly not,” said Norinare quickly.  “I do not believe that the Kaehliann can use this method to communicate with anyone but each other.  Perhaps our brains lack the ability to read these signals. In any case, they only exchange information, ideas, intentions. There does not seem to be any compulsion associated with this communication,” Norinare glanced at the linguist.  “It seems to nothing more ominous than that, communication.”

The room fell silent again, and Norinare sat down. No one spoke – incredibly, not even Philan. My own contained electrical impulses were whirring.  Electrical exchange of ideas. Mind-to-mind communication. Mind-to-mind bonds. No cultural mishaps. No awkward stumbles. No obvious misunderstandings in six weeks of contact with a totally new species from a totally alien planet.

“You’re wrong.”

“I beg your pardon?”  Norinare looked at me, shocked and probably quite insulted that the vague culturalist would be so bold as to contradict the hard scientist fortified with her indisputable data.

“I’m sorry, Norinare, but I have reason to believe that the Kaehliann can and do communicate with us in this way, and that we understand it.”

Once again the room erupted in shouts and exclamations, this time with an edge of panic.  I strode to the front of the room and calmly watched everyone clamor. When the din began to die down I spoke again.

“Something has been troubling me,” I looked at Philan, and quickly amended my language.  No need to send her running off to the big guns just yet. “Something has struck me as remarkable. In the six weeks since the Kaehliann arrived here, we have seen an unprecedented ease of interaction. I don’t know if you are aware of just how incredibly awkward, difficult and dangerous first contact always is. Social and cultural missteps are par for the course until the two species learn what is and is not acceptable in each society. There are always tense and strained moments when one group or the other does something that is profoundly insulting, obscene, or simply so weird the other doesn't know what to do. Like any meeting of cultures, it takes a while to figure out how to be around each other when two new species interact.

“In all my dealings with the Kaehliann I have neither seen nor experienced myself a single culturally jeopardous moment, unwitting insult, or embarrassing blunder.  Do you understand what I am saying here? Not a single real misunderstanding! Not even the smoothest intra-species exchange, let alone a first contact between two totally different species, can say that. Not ever.”

“Surely that is because of your vast experience and sensitive training in multi-culturalism,” said Philan with what I suspected was the beginning of a sneer.

“I am trained for social misunderstandings first and foremost, Secretary Philan.  Managing the transition from alien stranger to welcome guest is the most important part of my job.  I was assigned to the position of cultural attaché because I have seen enough potentially disastrous inter-species clashes to know how to deal with them. I have never, in the twelve years I have served and studied other species and cultures, seen a first, or even tenth contact without major misunderstandings. The Kaehliann are coordinating themselves with us and our culture to a degree that is absolutely unheard of. And.” Here I simply had to pause for dramatic effect. “We are coordinating ourselves with them.”

I was expecting the room to explode again, but this time there was nothing but absolute silence.  Seven shocked faces looked up at me, the bewilderment and awe in the room a heavy weight in the air.  I quietly took my seat.  There was nothing else to say.  Eventually, Philan rose and gathered her things.

“We will - we will report again in one week.” I had never before heard the woman stumble over a single word. Well, this was a day of shocking revelations indeed.

Five

When I returned to my apartment on the other side of the city, I was exhausted.  I had no conception of the far-reaching implications of what we had realized today, and I was frankly tired of thinking about it. Since the Kaehliann had arrived I found myself completely drained by the intensity of my duties at the end of every day.

I flung myself onto the couch and started flipping though the holovid for some mindless show to distract me. As I scanned through the hour’s offerings I realized that I was far too over-stimulated to take in any more information, even mindless information.

This whole assignment was completely exhausting, in a thrilling sort of way.  Even though it was hours before my usual bedtime, I decided that the only thing that sounded palatable right then was sleep.  Crawling into my bed, I passed out immediately, without even changing my clothes.

The next morning, things seemed more reasonable. Sipping a fresh cup of hot tea and staring out my window at the city seventy-two stories below me, I thought about our new Kaehliann friends. We pick up on their comfort thresholds and they pick up on ours.  It was exactly what I had been trained to do for years, and there were lots of people who had a particular talent for gracious and gentle interaction even in strange situations.

Basically, we shared an intense empathy with the Kaehliann, and that was a very familiar, very human ability. Yes, it was strange that we could share this with a species so different than our own, but maybe we had more in common than we thought. Maybe both our species were a bit more sensitive because of this brain energy thing, and so we can get along a little better. There was nothing too disturbing about that, not really.

Once the Alorian government started accept the impact of the Kaehliann’s unique communication methods, I didn’t think they would have much cause to worry.  Given how used to assimilating new human cultures Alora was, if the Kaehliann decided to stay, we would adapt to these new-found friends and their empathy quite readily, I figured.

That day I had no formal duties, and so I took the opportunity to schedule some unofficial time with Nak, a female Kaehliann with whom I was beginning to build a strong friendship.  I was curious about what she thought of settling on Alora, and wanted to talk to her about her impressions of Alorian culture.

As one of the Kaehliann’s chief historians, in charge of chronicling their travels and learning about the history of the peoples they encountered, Nak had given me some interesting things to think about in the past, and would, I hoped, add to that today.

Nak and I met in Karna’s main park for lunch and our usual intellectual chatter.  The Kaehliann had become enthralled with the idea of picnics, and after sharing fry-strips on the park’s main green, we decided to stroll around the park and enjoy the summer sun.

Nak was avidly telling me about her visit to our planet’s museums – she had been on a whirlwind tour of every one she could find, including some less-than-reputable institutions filled with scientific experiments gone wrong. Laughing almost uncontrollably at her recounting of the preserved groundkit skull that reminded her of a great aunt followed by a truly inventive rendition of our planetary anthem, I realized that I would really miss these folks if they left.  Teg had been right, there was something about our two peoples together that was truly special.

“You know, Nak, you are completely hysterical,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes as I recovered my breath.

“Ah, yes,” she said gravely. “Totally controlled by my human reproductive organs.”

“Okay, okay.  We do have a strange linguistic history,” I conceded, laughing again. “But I mean it.  You just really know how to have fun.”

“Our new claim to fame, perhaps? Well, that’s what I do, anyway. I have fun.  I learn about things, get to know them, and have fun with them. It’s the best way to really learn a culture, don’t you think? I mean, who wants to spend all their time holed up in some stuffy library or stodgy meeting talking economics and organic compounds?”

“Well not me, certainly.  Why else would I be a cultural attaché?  No economic summits for me, thank you very much.”

“No, I can see that,” Nak said wryly.

Wandering leisurely through the park grounds, we eventually took a seat on a long wooden bench with a view of the pond that formed the center of the city’s little green oasis.

“Nak, do you think it is possible for two different species to share each other’s culture completely? I mean, given how different we are from one another, do you think it’s possible to integrate into a single culture?”

“I think that in some ways, cultures can not help but integrate with each other, that there is inevitably a change that happens to everyone when you meet someone new.  But in other ways, we never really leave our old selves behind, you know? I mean, for us, learning about you has been a matter of shifting our understanding so that we can communicate with you. We have had to learn new ways of expressing what we think and what we mean. For you, though, it has been a matter of learning about yourselves from a new perspective – that an entirely different process can be applied to the things you already do.”  She waved an elegant arm at the passing Alorians as they drifted through the park’s paths and open greens.

“Interesting,” I replied, intrigued. “Your influence has, among other things, made us aware of the communication itself, to see it as a process instead of a concrete, or goal-oriented thing. The way that Alorians have increased their – what can I call it? – empathy with each other, I guess, is changing the basis of our communication into something more focused on the act itself, not just the outcome.  I guess we’re becoming more process-oriented, which in turn might allow us to understand ourselves in an entirely new way.”

“Exactly,” said Nak.  “And that understanding can eventually make something entirely different out of both parties.  Our perception has changed your expectations and uses of your own language.”

“And both species accommodate those changes in the rest of our cultures.  When Raniare – that’s the closest xeno inhabited planet to Alora – received humans about seventy-five years ago, we considered them stiff, boring, and very bound to their rules of conduct.  Alorians have always been much more relaxed, especially in trade negotiations, and after about six months, the Raniare began to realize that they would never be able to maintain an equal partnership with humans if they continued to be so predictable.”

“I can imagine that they would have been at quite a disadvantage, given how spontaneous you humans seem to be.” Nak glanced at me sideways.

“I guess it was obvious to the Raniare, too. They drew up very strict agreements about trade negotiations and then proceeded to break all the other rules we had thought were so rigid!   We followed their lead in official meetings, but before long they were spending time in our bars, coming to our inter-planetary parties, and generally raising a ruckus in everything not business-related. We were sure thrown for a loop! They had been so easy to predict before.  And I imagine that we learned a thing or two about self-control inside the meeting room.”

“We considered visiting them, actually, the Raniare,” remarked Nak, long golden fingers idly stroking a stray leaf that had drifted from the heavy branches above our heads.

“You did?  And what happened?”

“We had just come from another planet where we had seriously considered staying permanently – Jarnaga. They were a welcoming and kind people who had plenty of room for us, but were perhaps a bit less sympathetic than we had initially thought. We were there for nearly ten years … it just didn’t work out.”  She shrugged, try to mask, I thought, some of the ache of that discouraging experience.

“I think that the Raniare appealed to us after that because they seemed so in control, so solid.  But when we learned about your people, I suppose we just thought, why not? It’ll be fun.”

“And are we? Fun?” I asked, attempting a guileless smile.

“Too fun, sometimes,” Nak responded wryly.

“My apologies,” I said gravely, arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should have studied the Raniare a bit more carefully.”

Nak expression grew more serious and she twisted slightly to face me on the bench beside her. “You have been fun, truly. It’s been so important to us. After leaving a planet many of us hoped would be the one, the true one we’ve been searching for all these years, we really needed comfort and openness. You have given us everything we could ever ask for in friends – welcoming us into your society, your lives. I think that we were all feeling a bit delicate after having so much hope and then realizing that we simply couldn’t stay, that it just wasn’t the right place for us right now.”

Nak’s gaze drifted unfocused out over the lake in front of us and I felt the melancholy that always seemed to accompany Kaehliann conversations about finding a planet.   Her sense of rootlessness swept over me and I reached for her hand to offer what thin comfort I could.

“I think we weren’t ready for the changes that have to happen when two societies integrate so completely.” She sighed, and then, shaking her head in a very human way, turned back to me brightly.  “But these things are part of life’s process, I suppose.”

“Which brings us back to what we were talking about before,” I said, welcoming the change of tone.  “The changes that everyone goes through when you let a new influence come into your life. It happens on a personal level with people in a relationship and it happens on a societal level with colonization, immigration, or any social re-organization.”

“What happens with most first contacts? The two species get to know each other, learn about each other’s quirks and eccentricities, and eventually find a common ground on which they can build a relationship.  Sometimes that common ground is economic, sometimes cultural, sometimes political. But no matter what, each species will change their self-organization somewhat as a result of allowing something new into their society, even if it’s just temporary. With you, though, I think we Kaehlianns have found something different.  Usually, integration is a matter of accommodating profound essential differences that can never be truly bridged.  But we have found a way to bond together in that essential way, and are trying now to work on the more simple stuff, like what kinds of foods we like or music we listen to.”

My heart started flip-flopping again. This conversation was treading into territory I had thought of only as a distant possibly.

“So,” I said carefully, “you have found a people who share your deepest selves?”  I think I was holding my breath.

“I believe so, yes,” replied Nak gently.

“You know we are here for you,” I said at last.

“I know.  Thank you. I don’t take that offer lightly. Your people are very important to us, we care about you very much.”

“So do we.”

Nak and I sat together in silence for a while. There wasn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t have been pushing things over the top, making too much of the bond that our people shared. I knew, of course, that part of the reason it meant so much to me that the Kaehliann find a home was because I was sharing the energies, or neurons, that created this empathy between us. But it also felt as though there was something right about our two peoples coming together.

The Alorians had always been a bit isolated from other planets and peoples, in spite of our vigorous trade activities and open immigration policies.  We didn’t really travel much, didn’t have many visitors, and were generally a stubborn, proud, and protective people.

The Kaehliann had affected us in a way that I hoped would finally open us up to the rest of the galaxy, to become a true part of inter-galactic society. In many ways, the Alorians needed to allow themselves to be befriended as much as the Kaehliann needed friends. If the Kaehliann came to settle on Alora, we would both change in unimaginable ways, and I got the feeling that it would have meant something wonderful for all of us.

“Nak, I wanted to ask you. You’ve been here for ten weeks now and -”  Suddenly I stopped short.  “Do you hear that?”  I strained to listen, rising to my feet and peering through the trees around me. “I thought I heard a scream, or not a scream, but...” I heard only the expected noises of park animals and street traffic.

“I don’t hear anything,” said Nak. “What was it?”

“I don’t know, like a moan, or a cry... there it is again! It’s more like a sob, do you hear it?”

Nak looked at me curiously. I was getting agitated, turning in circles as though, like a sonar device I would hear better in a certain direction. “I really don’t hear anything,” she said.

“It’s over there,” I said firmly, heading through a stand of trees, pushing low branches out of my way. Pausing again, I listened for a second and started walking slowly towards a huge shade tree about four meters away. “Here.  It’s here somewhere.”

Nak had started behind me when I rose. Now she stopped and stared at me, incredulous. “You ‘hear’ that? But that’s...that’s impossible!  How could you know...”