Two things bothered Serge as he watched the evening news with Een. No, three. Not Een, of course, snuggled up against him on the couch, happy to cocoon under a fleece blanket now the sun had set. Serge had admitted to himself that he liked having Een cuddle with him. His company was soothing instead of irritating, which Serge hadn't experienced with anyone recently. He liked Een as a person, which wasn't the easiest thing for him to admit to himself.
No, the niggles in his brain all pointed in the same general direction. That call from the government agency weighed on his mind. That can't have been the end of it. When they came for Een, he would try to hide him and do his best to lie, because they would come.
The second thing bothering him was the agency itself, the Office of Alien Affairs. Their director was onscreen now, giving a news conference to update the press on the aliens. He reassured the press, again, that the aliens were peaceful and all seemed to be refugees. Yes, communication was still difficult. Yes, the aliens were safe and well cared for.
"Een? The people he's showing pictures of, other people who landed—do you know them?"
After an interrogatory chime, Een asked, "Know? Friends?"
"Well, yeah, that too." Serge took Een's reaching hand, his thumb automatically stroking the soft faiina on his palm. Soothing. God, yes. "But if they weren't you're friends, do you recognize them? Have you seen them before?"
"Seen. Yes. People." Een pointed to the ones who looked like manta rays. "Mnep." Then to the ones who looked like stick bundles. "Dalidana."
Serge took that to mean that those were the names of the aliens as groups rather than individual names. "Okay. So you know what they look like. Do they look okay to you? Healthy? Not scared? Afraid?"
"Mnep color is…not correct." Een snuggled closer and Serge put an arm around him. "Not afraid."
All right. They were still photos, so it was probably hard for Een to tell much, though he didn't seem distressed by any of the pictures. Serge would've felt a lot better if one of the aliens had stepped up to the podium to say, We're fine. Everyone's been really nice and helpful.
Until that happened, until the aliens themselves got on TV and said they were fine, like they had in Iceland, Serge couldn't let himself believe it. Pain speared his chest at the thought of Een vanishing into the OAA system, never to be see again. He hugged Een close, gently moving a lim over that had wandered in front of his eyes. I won't let them take you. Promise.
The next morning while Een worked away diligently at gathering more vocabulary, Serge decided to tackle his second niggle. The Aalana bodies from Een's pod—why Pitt? Why hadn't they gone to the feds? Though he needed to be careful whom he talked to and what he said. Serge's own contacts in the music department were useless for this, but Josh's friends from the school of medicine were a better bet.
Josh had been biology, of course, so normally there wouldn't have been much overlap. But Josh tended to get involved and had served in the University Senate. He knew everyone and had even guest lectured about medicinal plants in some of the pharmacology classes. Parties, dinners, nights out—Serge did know a handful of the medical faculty personally. He could even call a couple of them friends, though he'd only been a friend by association.
It's just a phone call. Nothing to be nervous about. Still his heart hammered as he stepped out onto the porch and called the department. His knees buckled in relief when a familiar admin answered.
"Donna? Hi, it's Serge Kosygin."
"Mr. Kosygin? How are you? Is everything all right?"
There it was. The reason he'd stopped calling anyone. The heavy sympathy in her voice, the pity, it had grated on his last frayed nerve. We were all so sorry to hear. If there's anything we can do. Such a terrible loss. They meant well, he reminded himself and took a deep breath.
"I'm doing fine, Donna. Thanks. Um, is Dr. Ahmal around? Or maybe Dr. Carver?"
"Let me check the schedule… Dr. Ahmal has office hours now. Did you want me to put you through?"
"Please. I appreciate it."
The next voice on the line was a pleasant, cultured baritone, "This is Dr. Ahmal."
"Omar? It's, um, Serge."
A hint of a smile crept into that familiar voice. "You don't sound like you're sure. It's been weeks, Serge. How are you managing?"
"I'm…I'm okay." It sounded surprisingly like the truth. "I have a question. Probably kind of a weird question."
"Of course." Omar huffed a laugh. "I didn't think you were calling just to say hello."
Heat flooded Serge's face. He was a terrible friend and he knew it. That didn't make the phone call any easier. "I'm sorry, Omar. I mean to call…"
"No, sorry. That was out of line." Omar drew in a sharp breath. "You've been deeply depressed this past year. It wasn't up to you to stay in touch and I am glad to hear from you. So what's your strange question?"
"You know I found the—" Serge almost slipped and said the Aalana pod. "The alien pod that crashed near here, right?"
"Right. Of course."
"And the news said there were two bodies. They went to the university?"
"They did. Serge, where is this going?"
Serge hesitated. Omar was a friend. He really was. He was the one person who'd bothered to come up to the cabin to check on Serge after Josh died. But still, Serge felt a need for caution. Friends sometimes did things for your own good. "I've been watching the news. And seeing this new federal agency that's for the aliens. Why didn't the bodies go to them?"
"Well. That's actually a good question, not a weird one." Something tapped on the other end, probably a pen against Omar's desk. "One of the issues was the possible fragility of the bodies. The agency wanted to get them to the nearest appropriately equipped facility as quickly as possible. They weren't willing to risk cross-country transport. The other part of it… Serge, you have to promise that this stays between us."
Serge's conspiracy feelers shot up to attention. "Whatever it is. Yeah. Promise."
"It's a little embarrassing, but it's simple nepotism. Our provost is the brother-in-law of the OAA's director. He made noises about the university being a better place for transparency and for PR, but it's plain that the agency caved to his demands because of family relations."
"Oh." That wasn't at all what Serge had been expecting. "Oh. Well. I guess it's a real coup for your department, right?"
Omar laughed out loud this time. "Yes, but now we're dealing with all the territorial contests. Who gets to do the research? How many people will have access? Does Bio get to have a hand in? Chemistry? Anthro? Let the games begin."
"Hooray for academic pissing contests."
"You said it. My money's on Kurt Phillip's getting the project. He does have the most interdisciplinary proposal."
"And he's bullheaded enough to get what he wants," Serge grumbled. Kurt was a bit of a cold fish, at least what Serge had seen.
"Let's say persistent, at least. Serge, I have students coming in. I'll call you soon, all right?"
"Okay." Normally he would've left it at that, but with Een staying with him, he'd started to feel more, well, human again. He realized that he actually missed talking to Omar. "Sounds good. Thanks, Omar."
They said their goodbyes and Serge stayed out on the porch for a few minutes even though the breeze was starting to cut through his shirt. The government, for whatever reason, pick one, had let the Aalana go to civilians. That had to mean something. Maybe it just meant the bodies were too damaged to be useful? He shuddered, worried for the other aliens in government custody all over again.
"Serjeh?" Een placed a hand on Serjeh's shoulder, the shivering all too evident under his touch. "Cold?"
"Yes. And you can't say it yet even if I hear you thinking it, but yes, I'm being an idiot and standing out here without a jacket." Serjeh turned them and went back inside with Een.
While Een had been concerned about Serjeh's unprotected skin out in the cold, his wildly waving lim betrayed his excitement. He kept hold of Serjeh's hand and pulled him to the laptop on the window seat where a vid was playing. Serjeh lifted the laptop to get a better view and Een stabbed a finger at the screen where humans moved to music. For a full minute and a half, Een sang in his own language about the lovely movement song before he started searching for human words.
"Humans…" Een flailed a moment. "Move harmony!"
"Singing with movement?" Serjeh nodded. "That's a good way of looking at it. We call it dance." He pointed to the screen and repeated the word. "Dance."
"Danz?"
"Dance."
Een trilled his joy, his lim tingling as they brushed Serjeh's head. "Dans. Serjeh teach? Human dans?"
"I can't do that," Serjeh laughed as he pointed to the humans making graceful leaps. "But I can teach you something else."
Carefully, Serjeh moved Een's lim aside, the touch sending a warm rush through him and all his lim yearned toward Serjeh as he moved away. Een concentrated, bringing the wayward appendages under control. He wasn't an adolescent, unable to separate a comforting touch from desire, even if he still leaned toward where Serjeh had walked to the other side of the room. He watched Serjeh's movements in fascination as he pulled a shining disk from a square box and fed it into one of the devices on the flat surface beside the viewing screen.
Music filled the room, slow and peaceful. A version of Serjeh's lude played, but others too, some of them with the sound of breath instruments and rhythmic instruments. Serjeh returned and placed Een's hand atop his.
"This is what I teach…taught…" Een couldn't parse the momentary twist of Serjeh's lips. It wasn't a smile. It seemed the opposite of one. Then he said an incomprehensible word followed by music and dance.
"Teach? Young humans?"
Serjeh tipped his free hand back and forth. "Not small, but not quite adult. I'll teach you a slow one I start with. No jumping for you yet. Not with those burns. Follow my steps. Do as I do."
A step forward with the right foot, then the left—step, together, step, together. Serjeh stepped sideways, Een tried to follow and was motioned the other way. Next the same steps backward, then Serjeh pressed their palms together and they circled each other with slow steps. The opposite palms pressed together to circle the other way.
All the while, Serjeh held Een's gaze. Those eyes, so alien, so strange and beautiful. He had marveled at them before, wondered over the function of each separate color, but now… They held a warmth that was more than kindness, a weight that was more than concern. Een fought his lim's reactions, more and more common in Serjeh's presence. Attraction? Certainly something that happened between different galactic peoples, but Een hadn't thought it possible for him.
When Serjeh ended the movement song, Een wrapped his arms around his host's neck in a thank you, surprised when Serjeh reciprocated with gentle warmth. Een let his breath out on a soft chord, melting against Serjeh, simply concentrating on their mingled breath, letting all his spinning thoughts go.
The next morning started in the newly usual way—Een in the front room with water, sun and laptop, and Serge in the kitchen making himself breakfast. Serge caught himself smiling at the thought that any of this could be called usual, but as strange as it all was, it felt comfortable and right.
He was just bringing his plate of eggs and scrapple scramble out to sit with Een when the sound of an engine climbing the hill caught his attention. A half-jog to the front window got him there in time to spot a black SUV headed toward the cabin, tinted windows and something about its frame screaming federal agents.
"Een, let's move you back to your room for a bit," Serge put an arm around Een, made sure he had his laptop and water, and steered him back to the guest room. "There are humans coming. I'm not sure if they're, um, good humans or not."
All Een's lim increased their waving. "Serjeh? Danger?"
"I don't think so. But please stay here." Serge helped him sit in the rectangle of light on the floor, motioning with his hands to back up his words. "Stay quiet. No sounds. No notes, please."
While this obviously distressed Een with his faiina starting to spike, he gave Serge a nod.
"Thank you. It'll be okay, Een." Serge closed the door, hoping he hadn't just lied.
He wanted so bad to go back and comfort Een until those spikes settled into feather-scales again, but he was out of time. The sharp raps of a law enforcement knock were already sounding on the front door.
Serge took a deep breath, put on his best puzzled expression, and opened the door. "Can I help you?"
There were four of them, agents in agent suits and mirror shades, the outlines of shoulder holsters not at all subtle under their jackets. They'd retreated down the steps, maybe to give him some space. The one in front held up a badge. "Mr. Kosygin? Serge Kosygin?"
"Yes. That's me." No reason to deny that, at least.
Front agent came up onto the porch and waved a hand at her colleagues. "I'm Special Agent Saunders. These are Agents Feldhauer, Marshall and Curtis. I'll get right to the point, sir. On the night of April twenty-first, you called in a crash landing of an alien vessel, is that true?"
"I did, ma'am, yes."
"But you failed to remain at the site to wait for the authorities."
Serge suppressed a flinch at the word failed. Already, she implied he'd done something wrong. "I couldn't do anything to help the crash victims. It was snowing heavily. Roads were treacherous." He nodded to his pickup. "My truck's not a Sno-Cat or something. They would've been rescuing me next if I'd stayed out there."
"I see. But you had driven out to the crash site in treacherous weather."
"I was on my way home and saw the ship come down. Are you going somewhere with this, Agent…Sanders, was it?" He had no idea why he was trying to annoy her. It was probably a bad idea.
"Saunders," she corrected sharply. "Mr. Kosygin, there were two bodies recovered at the crash site."
"Yes. I saw them. Poor things."
"Did you take a look at the bodies?"
Serge shrugged. "Just enough to see there wasn't anything I could do."
"I'm going to be blunt, Mr. Kosygin." Agent Saunders took off her mirror shades to reveal sharp gray eyes that were the antithesis of warm and fuzzy. "Did you take anything from the crash site?"
He didn't have to fake his shock. "Of course not. That would've been robbing a corpse."
Saunders tapped her shades against her palm. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you saw, sir."
"Sure. I saw the pod coming down, too fast for a safe landing. It was on fire when it crashed. By the time I got to the site, a lot had already burned. The…canopy, I guess, was open. Two aliens were lying in the snow at bad angles, so I thought they might've been thrown out when they crashed. One was charred. That was bad. The other was lying all twisted. They were aliens, but you could tell they weren't supposed to bend that way."
"You checked? Made certain they were dead?"
Serge blew out a shaky breath. It was hard remembering that night—he didn't have to lie about that either. "Look, I'm not a doctor. They weren't moving. They weren't breathing. The authorities were on their way to make sure, but to me it looked like they didn't make it."
More palm tapping and a long, hard stare later, Agent Saunders backed up a step so she wasn't crowding Serge. She reached into her pocket and handed him a card. "Thank you, Mr. Kosygin. That's all for today. You remember anything else you think we should know, call me."
"All right. I will." Serge waved the card at the silent backup agents. "You folks be careful going down the mountain. Probably some ice still."
He watched them drive away, the sick feeling never leaving his stomach. What had they really wanted? What was it they knew?