Alien Eyes by Lynn Hightower

me.”
    The Mother-One rocked from side to side. “A truth teller,” she said. “Many hot dogs tell lies.”
    â€œWhere’d she get the gun?” David asked.
    The Elaki Mother-One glided past him into the house. “Please to come in.”
    â€œThank you,” David said. It would be good to get out of the heat.
    â€œMost welcome. Must clean shockee anyway, to prepare for death watch.”
    It hurt his feelings.
    The inside hall was narrow, the ceiling high, and David got a panicky feeling in his chest. Small, tight places bothered him now. He wished they’d stayed outside.
    Inside was cool, at least.
    The lime scent of Elaki was strong, but not unpleasant. The pouchlings followed their mother like baby ducks. The hallway snaked to the right, then curled left. There was one door on the left, but it was closed. Going through Elaki houses—shockees—was like falling down the rabbit hole.
    The hall widened into a large room with a tile floor and a glass ceiling. David’s heart quit pounding. He could breathe here. There were squared-off areas filled with small pebbles. David wondered if they were the start of a new project, or a completed scenario that only an Elaki might appreciate. String would know. It would have been good if he’d been able to come along. This hostility to Izicho was new, judging from String’s bewilderment. Kind of like what cops put up with in the 1960s.
    Poor String.
    There were reasons in the sixties. Were there reasons now?
    The Elaki Mother-One stopped abruptly and David expected the pouchlings, following so closely, to run into her. They didn’t. He veered to the right to avoid tripping over the one ahead of him. His reflexes were good—honed by years of going places with his own kids just ahead.
    Painter scooted to the center of the room. She swept sideways gracefully and turned to face him. Her left wing went out. The pouchlings seemed to find the motion meaningful.
    â€œBut, the Mother-One,” a pouchling said—the one with the reddest inner coloring.
    â€œPlease, please, please,” said the other, smaller pouchling.
    Interesting, David thought. Even alien children chanted at their parents.
    â€œConversation not of interest to young ones,” Painter said calmly.
    â€œOh, but, Mother-One, it is, it is. Very much interest.”
    Painter’s voice took a hard note. “Conversation not proper for pouchlings. Please to use new construction materials in vid room.”
    â€œYes, Mother-One.” The small pouchlings swayed. “What shall we build?”
    â€œYou must decide.”
    â€œYesss, Mother-One.” The pouchlings moved their fringe scales slowly.
    David laid his jacket over his arm. It was an Elaki home—no chairs.
    â€œDahmi’s pouchlings were younger,” David said.
    â€œYesss. Baby ones. Tonight I do the death watch. No one from the chemaki will come. Cannot be reached. Out of town.”
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œHome planet,” the Elaki said. “Dahmi’s pouchlings. Please to tell—she did this? She kills them?”
    â€œI’m afraid so,” David said.
    â€œHard for to believe. And yet—”
    â€œYet?”
    â€œThey did not suffer?”
    â€œNo,” David said. He thought of the pouchling who had opened his eyes. “No. Tell me. Where did Dahmi get the gun?”
    The Elaki twitched an eye stalk. “Very good question, yes. I have no knowledge here. I know Dahmi very little. Live near, but both involve with pouchlings too much for the close association.”
    â€œWhere would you get a gun? If for some reason you were desperate to have one.”
    â€œI do not think it would be possible for me to secure such a thing. Not common to Elaki. Complicated and dangerous.”
    â€œSuppose it was a matter of life and death. What would you do?”
    â€œWhat could be such a matter?”
    â€œSuppose you needed