Ukatonen stood silent and still for a moment after the quarbirri ended. Then he held out his arms, offering to link with them. The two elders reached out and grasped his arms as he instructed them. Moki joined them, holding out one hand to Eerin, who joined the link.
Ukatonen felt a moment of panic from the man. He reached out and enfolded the elder in calmness, steadying him until he could get his balance in the rush of sensation. There was an internal complexity to the woman that belied her stolid outward appearance. Her presence reminded him of a stretch of bright, rippling water. The man felt dark and solid all the way through, a good, well-worn darkness like the wooden handle of a tool, polished and stained from years of use. The human’s sense of patient craftsmanship reminded Ukatonen of Domatonen, the enkar who had trained him in healing and allu-a.
The memory of Domatonen triggered a sudden, explosive upwelling of longing and loneliness. As he struggled io control himself, he felt the sudden sharpness of surprise from Moki, Eerin, and the two elders. Moki and Eerin moved first, enfolding Ukatonen in reassurance. Slowly and uncertainly, the Aboriginal elders opened themselves :o him, exposing the depths that lay under the bright rippling thoughts and the core of dark wood to comfort him.
Ukatonen struggled against their help, but the pressure of loneliness was too much. He gave up and opened himself to them. He had not realized how much loneliness and homesickness had poisoned his spirit. He let go of his oneliness and pain, allowing the others to wash it away, antil the link dissolved. He felt light, almost hollow, like iie shed skin of a snake, empty of all the pain that had rilled him.
’You have been too long in the cities of the ghosts,” -.he man told him. “You need to go walkabout in the bush : or a while.”
Ukatonen nodded. They were right. He needed to lose himself in the familiarity of the forest.
Stan Akuka stood. “Thank you,” he said. “Come visit us. There’s a lot of good jungle up around the north end of Queensland. We’ll share songs, and dance and eat and talk, and do this new thing you have shown us.” He took a battered card out of his waist pouch. “Here’s my comm number. Let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll get everybody together. We’ll have a right big party.”
“You and the little one should come too,” the woman told Eerin.
Eerin nodded, and then the Aboriginals filed out of the room, leaving the ship as unceremoniously and quietly as they had come.
Ukatonen looked out the window of the lounge and saw them heading, not for the airdrome, but across the hot tarmac and into the grey-green bush.
Juna touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, en,” she said. “I should have gotten you down here sooner. I didn’t know how bad it was.”
“You did the best you could, Eerin,” Ukatonen reassured her. “We are here now, and we will be in the forest in two days’ time.”
“I can hardly wait,” she said, yawning sleepily.
Ukatonen nodded absently. He was thinking about the Aboriginals, and their warnings. He would have to go to Darwin and talk to them someday soon.
A day and a half later, the zeppelin touched down at Darwin. When they reached the arrival lounge, Juna looked around. Selena had arranged for one of the family’s older sons, Marcus Fortunati, to meet her here. He would look after her and the Tendu until she went back up to the station.
A tall, dark-haired man came up to them. “Dr. Saari?” “Marcus?” Juna inquired. Juna had remembered him as a solemn-eyed toddler when she was a teenager. He had become a handsome adolescent while she was in the Survey Academy. She hadn’t seen him for years, and the image of him as a handsome teen had remained in her mind’s eye. He must be in his early thirties by now.
“Marcus? Is that you?”
“Hello, Aunt Juna.”
“For some reason, I thought you were younger.”
He blushed, looking suddenly a lot more like the teenager Juna remembered. “It’s been a long time, Aunt Juna.”
It was Juna’s turn to be embarrassed. “I know,” she said. “I was expecting a twenty-year-old. Selena told me you were in college.”
“I’m in graduate school now,” he told her. “I wanted to go to the Survey Academy, but they’ve cut back on admissions.”
Juna touched his arm sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”
He shrugged. “It’s all right, Aunt Juna.”
“Please, Marcus, don’t make me feel any more of an old lady than I already do. Just call me Juna.”
“All right,” he said with a grin. “You look too young to be my auntie, anyway.”
Juna blushed at the compliment. Then she introduced him to Analin, the Tendu, and their squad of security escorts.
“If we had an elephant and a tent, we could call ourselves a circus,” she quipped.
Moki got their luggage while Marcus arranged for a shuttle to take them to the airport for their flight to Jakarta.
“What are you studying?” she asked him, when they were settled in the shuttle.
“I’m getting my Ph.D. in Anthropology,” he said. “I thought about doing Alien Contact studies, but since I couldn’t get into the Academy, anthropology seemed like a more practical goal.
“It’s just as well,” Juna said. “The A-C people are all theory and no practice. You’ll learn more in Anthropology. Where are you doing your fieldwork?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. I was hoping I’d find something interesting in Indonesia.”
“I’m sure you will,” Juna told him. “It’s an interesting part of the world.”
Ukatonen and the others said goodbye to Analin in Palang, then flew on to Medan. They got to their hotel, ate a quick meal and collapsed into bed. The next day, a ranger from Gunung Leuser Park collected them in a van, glancing sidelong at the Tendu. Her name was Nesa, and she let Moki help load the bags, which endeared her to him immediately.
An hour out of the city, trees closed over their heads, and they were in the forest. Ukatonen had to fight the urge to leap out of the truck and head for the treetops. They stopped at a village market to pick up supplies. He and Moki were immediately surrounded by eager, staring children, chattering at them in their native language and broken Standard. Their security guards shifted nervously, but Eerin shook her head.
“Let them go,” she said.
Ukatonen bought two beautifully made mesh bags that looked rather like Tendu gathering bags except for their longer straps and their weaving pattern. He and Moki filled the bags with ripe fruit. They found a quiet corner of the market and spread the fruit out to eat, sharing it with the curious crowd of children, who darted in to take pieces from the aliens’ hands then darted back again, exclaiming at their own bravery. By that time, a crowd of adults had gathered and stood watching. When the fruit was all eaten, Ukatonen stepped onto a packing crate, and, drawing himself up, performed the bird chant.
The villagers clapped excitedly, and then one old man, clad in a faded sarong, his face a mass of wrinkles, brought out a gong and started to play. Other people came running with their musical instruments. Soon the air rang with complex rhythms and plaintive chants. People started dancing, drawing the Tendu and Juna and the park ranger into the performance. Ukatonen wove snatches of quarbirri into the dance. Moki simply improvised.
The villagers were absolutely delighted, and it was several hours before they got out of the village and back on the road, laden with gifts of fruit, cloth, and a couple of small flutes. Ukatonen felt more lighthearted than he had in months, and Moki was so excited that he could hardly sit still.