Excerpt of What We Are Seeking by Cameron Reed

In this scene from What We Are Seeking, the main character, John Maraintha, is learning how to garden when he first meets one of his alien neighbors.

The work had to be done on the knees and bending down, which was hard on the back. Yet it was satisfying to pull at the base of a stem, using a firm and steady tension so as not to break the roots, until they came free of the branching passages they hid in and he held the plant whole in his hand. Once he had managed this a few times, Ru moved to the opposite corner of the bed to weed, and together they finished more quickly than he had expected. Then she showed him where to plant black-eyed peas, at the corner of each cluster of corn seedlings; the corn, she said, would support them as they grew and they would nourish it by fortifying the soil. A third sister, to be planted later, would shade the ground with her broad leaves to cool it. In this way an arrangement of seeds would grow into the shape of a story—a very old one; Ru said it came all the way from Earth. He could have thought about it pleasantly for another hour or two of work, except that their activities had drawn the attention of the basket-man, who came toward them with a slow four-footed gait. Sudharma followed, matching his pace, staying close without crowding. Could a basket-man perceive his gentleness? Could it see how in his every movement he was the embodiment of calm? Would a basket-man be soothed?

“Let him smell you if he wants to. I will make the introductions.”

The basket-man approached John first. The muscles in his arms moved smoothly as he walked; his claws, folded back so that they didn’t touch the ground, were thick and sharp. It was frightening to think of what those muscles and those claws could do together. He drew close to John and reared up on his hind legs. Lifting his long head, he put his mouth close to John’s face and took in air with three soft gasps. He stayed close, considering, and John smelled his fur and his breath: wood and hot iron and flowers and rich soil newly tilled and the scent of a man at the end of a day’s work.

“John,” Sudharma pronounced; and with his face still close enough that John could feel the breath against his cheek, the basket-man repeated “John.” Though equally high in pitch, his voice had a more resonant quality than that of the basket-man in the video. So like humans, they had individual voices. Or maybe it was only that recordings could not reproduce the eeriness of that timbre, suspended undecidably between old woman and young boy.

He sat down on his haunches. For the first time he looked into John’s eyes—briefly, as you might peek at something forbidden. Then he turned away. He glanced at Ru, and seemed to consider whether he would go to her. This took most of a minute. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, he walked over and put his face as close to hers as he had to John’s. After thinking a while longer, he carefully sniffed each hand too. Ru bore up under this investigation with good humor.

The basket-man learned Ru’s name, then moved off a little way. Finally John could approach Sudharma. He still felt he owed him an apology for last night, but they could hardly discuss the matter in front of Ru. So he only said, “I brought you lunch, but I’m afraid it will be cold. I didn’t like to interrupt.”

“Thank you, John.” Sudharma’s voice was kind; John felt he was forgiven. “I realize now I’m very hungry, but I don’t want to eat in front of the basket-man—at this stage he might be confused by foods with more than one ingredient.” A clinking sound caught his attention: the basket-man was trying to pry the cover off one of the dishes with his claws. “I see I have no choice, which is a relief to my stomach.”