Moki sat through another long meeting with some famous human, trying not to look bored. They had been on Earth for over a week and all they had done was have meetings with important people. He had tried telling himself that it was just like being a bami for the chief elder of a village, but it wasn’t. A chief elder would have kept him busy waiting on the needs of his visitors. Here he had to sit still and watch, and pretend to listen. He wasn’t really learning anything, not after the first week of this. They spent all their time in buildings and trains and cars. There had been a few nice gardens, but they were all clipped and tame. When were they going to see the real Earth, the jungles and the forests? He hadn’t climbed a tree since they left Berry Station.
Moki glanced over at Ukatonen, who sat leaning forward, ears spread wide, apparently listening intently to everything this current leader, President of a country called the Re-United States, had to say. It wasn’t anything that they hadn’t heard a dozen times before. His country welcomed the Tendu, and wished for better relations with them. They were eager to trade with the Tendu when the opportunity arose. Glapetty, glap, glap, glah … It went on and on, and was apparently meaningless.
Finally the meeting broke up, and they went for a walk in a garden behind the big white house that the President lived in. It was full of huge old rosebushes, their blossoms filling the air with scent. He liked roses. Waiting until the others were farther ahead, he tore off a handful of pale pink rose petals, and popped them into his mouth, savoring their subtle, flowery taste. He glanced up and saw one of the silent security men in dark suits smiling at him behind his sunglasses.
Moki turned a deep, embarrassed brown, and hurried to catch up to the rest of the group. Ukatonen gave him a brownish yellow flicker of reproof for lagging behind.
That evening, when they returned to their hotel room, there was a large bouquet of roses from the head gardener of the rose garden waiting for Moki, and a small tin of candied rose petals from the security people. Eerin and Analin laughed out loud when he told them the story. Ukatonen, however, turned a disapproving shade of yellowish brown.
“This embarrasses us all, Moki. I thought you knew how to behave well.”
“Oh, come on, Ukatonen,” Eerin said. “So he sneaks a few rose petals. It doesn’t matter. They think he’s just a kid.”
“If anything,” Analin added, “it will make people like him even more.”
“It does matter, Eerin. He is a bami, and he represents our people here. I will not have him behaving in a way that makes us lose face.”
“But I cannot be a bami here,” Moki complained. “At home, I would be helping to serve my sitik through these meetings. Here I can only sit and watch and try to listen. And all the meetings are the same.”
“Yes, they are, Moki, but they are all equally important as well,” Ukatonen lectured. “These people we are meeting are the chiefs of their countries. If we are to achieve harmony with humans, we must know and understand their leaders. You serve your sitik here by watching and listening. You must watch these humans closely, study them, find out what is in their hearts. If you understand the leaders, you will begin to understand their people.”
Eerin touched the enkar’s shoulder. “You are right, Ukatonen, but I think, for now, it would be wise if the humans underestimated Moki. They will speak less guardedly around him because they believe he is a child and doesn’t understand them. He will learn more, and through him we will learn more.”
Ukatonen looked thoughtful for a moment. “You’re right. I will teach Moki the art of ang-ar-gora, invisible listening. Normally we teach this skill only to enkar-in-train-ing, but this is not a normal situation, and you are not a normal bami, Moki.”
Moki’s ears spread wide, and his skin turned blue with delight. “I am honored, en.”
Ukatonen’s skin took on a faint ochre tinge of concern. “It is a hard discipline, Moki. I hope that I am not wrong to teach you this. Ang ar-gora must be used wisely and responsibly. Please do not demonstrate that I was wrong in my judgment of you.”
Moki’s ears drooped. “Yes, en,” he promised. “I will try not to disappoint you.”
Ukatonen looked suddenly tired. “I don’t think you will, Moki, but I want you to understand what I am trusting you with.” He stood. “It is time for me to sleep,” he said. “Good night.”
Concern was written across his sitik’s face as she watched Ukatonen leave. She opened her mouth to say something, but the door swung closed behind the enkar and it was too late.
“He looks tired,” she said to Moki. “I hope it’s not the greensickness returning.”
“I think he is as tired of these meetings as I am, siti,” Moki admitted. “But he is an enkar and may not say so.”
Juna woke up, went to the bathroom, and then came back to bed. It was early yet. She should get more sleep, but her body’s clock was still somewhere out over the Atlantic. She adjusted the pillow that supported her growing belly. Ukatonen had been unusually short-tempered with Moki last night. The heavy schedule and Earth’s higher gravity combined to wear them down into exhaustion. She barely got through the day, and she was worried about what their demanding schedule was doing to the baby.
She rolled over onto her back and then shifted back onto her side again with a sigh. It was getting harder to find a comfortable position. She felt a sudden longing for home. She wanted to be surrounded by women who understood being pregnant and who could help her through this increasingly awkward and uncomfortable time. Instead, she was far from home, surrounded by people who expected her to function at peak efficiency, despite the demands of her pregnancy. She felt sudden tears of self-pity leaking from the corners of her eyes, and decided that it was time to get up before she dissolved into a soggy victim of pregnancy hormones.
Juna and Analin prevailed firmly upon the protocol minister to rework their schedule to allow for a free day in Costa Rica, where they would tour the cloud forests of Monteverde. There were still state visits to the leaders of Canada, Texas, and Mexico, but it gave them something to look forward to.
When they got off the plane in ^ian Jose, Ukatonen was almost vibrating with excitement. Moki, who had begun to shrink quietly into the background, in order to practice the art of invisible listening, was a blue and yellow blaze of anticipation. Juna smiled. She, too, longed for a day off in the shady depths of the jungle.
At last they were loaded into a military helicopter with the Minister of the Environment, who pointed out the various environmental reclamation projects the government had undertaken. After an hour of flying over scattered farms and plantations, they swung out over the bay and then up toward the forested peaks of the Monteverde cloud forest.
Below them, a broad green ribbon of jungle stretched from the mountains to the sea, most of which was part of the Monteverde restoration project. Moki and Ukatonen’s ears fanned wide, despite the roar of the helicopter engines. They had never seen a jungle from above before.
The helicopter landed at the edge of the airstrip and their party was escorted to a string of jeeps that took them past patches of lush pasture where cows and horses grazed placidly, then along slopes covered with coffee trees, and then into fruit trees which faded almost imperceptibly into jungle, though Juna could still detect rows of trees. A cacao plantation, Ministro Gomez explained. Then they rattled over another cattle guard and the landscape changed to true jungle. The road ended in a gravel parking lot. Their entourage rumbled to a stop, and the noisy silence of the jungle settled around them.