Analog SFF, September 2010 (10 page)

Ksho hesitated, trembling, for a long time before convincing her limbs to move her forward. Everything in this place was so strange and frightening. But the alien, despite its inexplicable habits and the language barrier, waited patiently until Ksho could coax herself into entering the structure.

As the door closed behind her with an ominous
clack,
Ksho immediately regretted her decision. The air inside was even colder than outside, and the light here was unnatural and flickery and made everything look strange. “Speaker bring (future) listener toward food-preparation-place,” the alien said, and moved off toward the interior of the structure. Ksho envied its gait, which was more of a leaping bound than the larger aliens’ ponderous motion, as she dragged herself through the heavy gravity. But the promise of a “food-preparation-place” drew her forward. She'd eaten the aliens’ food before, at ceremonial negotiations, and knew that it was not harmful and could even be nutritious and delicious.

They came to a place of hard surfaces and bright lights, all ceramic and metal. Many large aliens were here, all working diligently at incomprehensible tasks, and the air tasted of a hundred different things, some delicious and some disgusting. As soon as the small alien entered, one of the larger ones stopped whatever it was it was doing and bent down to the small one's level. They warbled at each other for a while, both of them aiming their strange eyes at Ksho between glances at each other.

Ksho fought to relax. Nothing good would come from freezing in fear; she was deep inside the aliens’ nest and if they meant her harm it was already too late to escape. But she didn't think the small alien intended any harm, and some of the flavors in the air here made her stomachs clench with renewed hunger. She had no idea how long it had been since she'd eaten.

The larger alien went away, then returned with a large, flat, angular metal plate upon which were arranged small dabs of many different substances. Ksho tasted each dab with a finger, saying “Ksho likes this one” or “This one tastes awful” for each. The large alien didn't have a translation device on its limb, but the small alien interpreted for Ksho, and a short while later the large alien brought out bowls with larger quantities of some of the foods that Ksho had liked best. She had no idea what any of them were, but some were absolutely delicious and she had soon eaten her fill.

"Ksho would like more of this one, and this one, please. To take back to her siblings.” There was some difficulty with the translation, but eventually she made herself understood, and the large alien brought her two containers full of food, warm and flavorful even through the sealed lids. Ksho arranged the two containers in her panniers and spread her upper limbs wide in what she hoped was a universal gesture of thanks.

The small alien led Ksho back to the structure's weather door. With full stomachs and a heavy load in her panniers, Ksho moved even more slowly than before, and the ache in her limbs reminded her that she must pupate soon.

As they made their way, they conversed in a halting and tentative fashion.

If you are a juvenile, where is your parent?
At least, that's what Ksho thought the alien was trying to ask. The translation device kept insisting that “parent” was plural.

"Ksho's parent is dead,” Ksho replied.

The alien expressed unhappiness at the news, though its flavor didn't change.
Who takes care of you?

"No one takes care of Ksho now. Ksho must care for herself and her siblings.” She didn't mention—didn't want to think about—the fact that when she pupated she would probably die, and her helpless siblings along with her. She was just trying to cope with one day at a time.

That seems cruel,
the alien said.

The alien's statement surprised Ksho. She hadn't thought that an alien might have any concern for the fate of one Shacuthi juvenile. Then she considered the fact that the small alien was the only juvenile she had seen in all the time she'd spent on this planet, and all the adult aliens seemed to treat it with astonishing deference. Juveniles here must be very rare and precious. “Shacuthi juveniles are not important,” she said. “They hatch in great numbers and are put to work. Only a few survive to adulthood."

That took a long time to explain.

The alien's reply took even longer for Ksho to understand. So long, in fact, that the two of them had to sit down together at one side of the long narrow room they were moving through, the hard floor tasting of stone and solvents. Large aliens moved by as they talked, staring at the alien and Shacuthi juveniles in conversation, but Ksho barely noticed because what the small alien said demanded so much concentration to understand.

The aliens, it seemed, had several different tribes, or clans, differentiated by lightness or darkness of skin. The small alien, with its dark skin, belonged to a clan that had in the past been considered inherently inferior to another, pale-skinned, clan. “Speaker (possessive) clan believe (denial, past tense, passive) person (plural),” the alien said.
My clan was not thought to be people
. But members of the dark clan, together with some members of the pale clan, had insisted over and over, across many generations, that they deserved to be treated like people—like Shacuthi adults rather than like juveniles. After a long time they had seen some success. In fact, the small alien's parent, a member of the dark clan, was the leader of this entire part of the planet—a very powerful alien indeed, with authority over pale and dark aliens alike. This was not a perfect situation, the small alien said, but it was an improvement over what had come before.

And then the alien said something that seemed very important to it. “Important dark-clan leader Yeh-seh-yak-sung (proper name) write (past tense) famous ancestor-song.” Then its strange eyes widened, it leaned forward, and its burbling water voice deepened in pitch. Its words had a formal cadence, though they didn't sound like any ancestor-song Ksho had ever heard before:

"Speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.

"Speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.

"Speaker equivalence (provisional assertion) impoverished.

"But speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.

"Speaker equivalence (provisional assertion) juvenile.

"But speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.

"Speaker equivalence (provisional assertion) (untranslatable).

"But speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.

"Speaker equivalence (provisional assertion) small.

"But speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person
. . ."

It went on like that for a while. Ksho didn't understand all of it, but the message was clear and it was obviously very meaningful to the alien.

The ancestor-song ended with yet another repetition of “Speaker equivalence (assertion) significant-person.” Then the alien bent, laid one hand on Ksho's flank, and said “Listener comprehension (query).”
Do you understand?

It was the first time Ksho had been touched by an alien, but she didn't flinch away—the touch was firm but not hostile, cool but not cold. It didn't seem to fit with the alien's lengthy assertion of its own significance. “Ksho understands,” she said, “that you are a significant person."

Upon hearing the translation the alien seemed to become upset, standing up and turning in a small circle before sitting down again. This time it placed both hands on Ksho's skin and leaned in even closer. “Listener (emphatic),” it said. “Listener (emphatic) equivalence (strong assertion) significant- person.”
You! It is you that is significant!

Ksho tasted her own surprise and disbelief. Ksho was not significant.

"Repeat (imperative) speaker (possessive) statement,” the alien said.
Repeat my statement.

The command was clear, so Ksho complied, although she didn't believe it. “Ksho is significant."

The alien closed its eyes and struck itself on the forehead with both closed hands, an extremely peculiar gesture. “Listener equivalence (strong denial) three (ordinal). Listener equivalence (assertion) name speaker (personal pronoun).” They went back and forth on that one several times before Ksho understood what the alien meant:
You are not “number three.” You are “I."

"Repeat (imperative) speaker (possessive) statement comprising name speaker (personal pronoun),” the alien said.

"I am significant,” Ksho said.

It was the first time she had ever used the personal pronoun, “I,” for herself. It was wrong . . . ungrammatical, inappropriate, a violation of propriety. It made her feel strange even to form the words without meaning them.

"Repeat (imperative) statement,” the alien insisted.

"I am significant.” It felt a little less strange the second time. There was, after all, nothing extraordinary about the sentence itself . . . Ksho had heard sentences like that all her life, just never from a juvenile. “I” was for adults.

But Ksho was almost an adult. Ksho was not only nearly ready to pupate, as the constant ache in her bones reminded her . . . she was responsible for the care of her siblings.

"Repeat (imperative),” the alien said again.

"I am significant."

This time she began to believe it.

This time . . .
I
began to believe it.

Ksho . . .
I
. . . was acting as an adult, and must take on adult ways of thinking and speaking.

"I
am
significant,” I said again. I.

I.

"Listener equivalence (assertion) significant-person,” the alien concurred, tipping its head up and down.

Ksho realized that much time had passed, and the containers of food in her panniers had grown cold. “I must return to Ksho's . . . to
my
siblings,” she said.

I.
I
said.

"Affirmation. Return (imperative). Remember (imperative) listener equivalence (assertion) significant-person."

"I will remember. I am significant."

I
hauled myself up from where
I
had sat for so long on the alien's hard floor. During that long conversation Ksho's hunger had begun to return and the ache of impending pupation had grown even stronger. But I knew Ksho's siblings would be even more hungry. I had to hurry.

Returning through the portal, seeing the encampment again, Ksho felt herself returning to old ways of thought. The air here, which had felt so cold before, now seemed warm and full of familiar flavors; the normal gravity was a great relief. But the weight of the two containers of alien food in . . .
my
panniers reminded me that I was now an adult, in terms of responsibility, if not physically. I could not relax into old habits; I had no adult to feed and protect me or my siblings.

And yet there was no denying I was still a juvenile. My bones ached, my limbs twinged with every step, and adults gave me no more notice than they would a rock or a patch of lichen. This could be useful to me, though. I could, perhaps, survive through invisibility like any other small camouflaged creature.

I came to Xinecotic's nest and tasted the edges of the weather door, finding only Seko-cho's flavor there. My relief was so strong I was sure my siblings inside could taste it from there. “Seko-cho,” I called. “Ksho is here, with food."

Soon enough Ksho was inside, and Seko-cho and the rest fell on the strange food with mewlings of desperate need. There wasn't very much left when they all had eaten, but it was a start. Perhaps Ksho would return to the alien planet soon for more.

After Ksho . . . after
I
, too, had eaten, I looked around. My siblings, always busy and diligent even without adult direction, had already cleaned up the ruins of Xinecotic's body, leaving only a dark and pitted acid stain on the floor where she had died. I tasted grief, but my responsibilities were pressing.

The whole time I had been making my way from the portal to Xinecotic's nest I had been formulating a plan. Takacha and the other criminals would be happy to leave my siblings and I alone to starve, but if I could find a way to inform the Grand Nest that their agent Xinecotic had been killed, they might send other agents, and those agents might take us back to Xinecotic's relatives. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best I had. Whatever I did, it had to be done quickly—the rapidly intensifying pain along my back told me that I would have to pupate within a day or two. I didn't know what would happen if I tried to resist the impulse, but it felt as though my skin would burst right open. But how could I contact the Grand Nest?

Right before killing my parent, Takacha had said something about Xinecotic checking in with the Grand Nest at twelve past the hour of waking every sixthday. Thinking back, I realized that early every sixthday, Xinecotic would retire to her meditation niche . . . a common enough habit, but not one she had practiced before coming to this encampment.

Searching the niche, tasting every corner and cranny, I soon found an area where Xinecotic's lingering flavor had a slight tinge of anxiety and anticipation. It was a subtle difference, not something anyone other than her own offspring would ever have noticed, but I examined the area closely and eventually found a cleverly concealed panel, closed by a hidden latch. Behind that panel a small compartment contained a notespool and a communication device, both strongly flavored of my late parent.

The communication device was designed for an adult's fingers, and I was unable even to open the case. Frustrated, I opened the notespool and ran its tape through my fingers. The sequence of flavors I read there astonished me.

Xinecotic had discovered here, and documented with her usual meticulousness, an extensive conspiracy to violate the laws against exploitation of less advanced species. Takacha and her fellow criminals were representing themselves to the aliens as the duly authorized representatives of the Grand Nest, offering wondrous technology in exchange for large quantities of alien artworks, genetic material, heavy elements, and other valuables. But the promised technologies did not exist except as convincing fakes; the criminals’ plan was to extract as much from the aliens as possible and then close the portal, leaving the aliens with nothing but some complex-looking but worthless devices. After closing the portal, they would “poison” the channel to the aliens’ planet, preventing the Shacuthi or any other species from ever opening a new portal and discovering the crime.