Into the New Millennium: Trailblazing Tales From Analog Science Fiction and Fact, 2000 - 2010 (48 page)

"When will that be?" Seko-cho asked, not unreasonably.

I thought for a long time before answering. "I do not know. I may not return at all. If I do not, you must take care of your siblings and yourself as long as you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Xinecotic," Seko-cho responded, unthinkingly calling me by our parent's name.

I left as quickly as I could, so that my own flavor of grief and self-doubt would not infect my siblings.

Outside the weather door, considering my options, I realized that my best hope was to return to the alien planet and try to find the juvenile that had helped me before. Its parent was a leader of its people; if nothing else, the information might prevent the aliens from being swindled. And I might be able to return with one more load of food before I had to pupate.

But as I moved across the encampment toward the portal, I realized that pupation had advanced much farther than I'd thought while I'd been reading Xinecotic's notes. My limbs were swollen and stiff, my vision was beginning to cloud, and the pain along my spine had turned into an itching line of fire that felt ready to tear open at any moment. And the faster I tried to go, the worse the pain got.

I
am
significant, I told myself. I matter. I can make a difference. But only if I keep going.

I dragged my swollen body across the stony ground toward the portal. As I passed through the ring of soldiers guarding it against alien invasion, one of them eyed me warily and said to her neighbor "That juvenile looks sick."

"Maybe we should put an end to its suffering," the other soldier replied.

As the soldier raised her weapon, I froze in fear. I had not considered my appearance, or what any considerate adult would be expected to do upon seeing a juvenile in pain.

"No!" I managed to cry, despite my paralysis. A whiff of surprise leaked from the soldier's armor—no juvenile, especially a sick one, would ever say such a thing to an adult—but she hesitated. "I—Ksho is delivering an important package to her parent on the alien planet." I gestured to my pannier. "Ksho must do this before pupating."

I waited, trembling. The soldier seemed uncertain what to do.

After an eternity, the other soldier spoke. "Oh, let her go," she said. "If she dies over there, no one will ever know."

Somehow I managed to will myself into motion. The soldier's weapon continued to follow me, and I expected a gout of acid to strike me at any moment, but finally I found myself on the other side of the portal.

I never expected to feel relief at the cold, the strange flavors, the leaden weight of the other planet's gravity.

That relief was short-lived. Now I had to find the alien juvenile.

The path to the huge stone structure seemed infinite as I hauled myself along it. The aliens who passed did not react any differently than they had before—they probably did not know the difference between a healthy and a sick juvenile—and I was glad there were no Shacuthi present. At one point I felt a tearing pain in my side, followed by a slow trickle of fluid down my flank, but I pressed on, not wanting to know what it looked like.

At last I came to the structure's massive door, which stood firmly closed. There was nothing like a scratching-board . . . I had no idea how to signal for entrance.

Then a form loomed up behind the door's transparent panels. For a moment I felt hope, but then I realized it was just an alien adult, one I'd never seen before. It did not appear to have a translation device on its limb.

I needed the alien to bring me to the juvenile. But how?

And then I remembered the very first thing the juvenile had said to me: "Speaker equivalence (assertion) Ah-lec-sa (proper name)." It had made no sense to me at the time, but I realized now what it had meant:
I am Ah-lec-sa
.

"Ah-lec-sa," I said to the alien at the door.

I repeated it as the alien opened the door.

I continued to repeat it until the alien departed, then returned with another that had a translation device. "I must speak to Ah-lec-sa," I said. "It is vitally important."

I sat on the cold stone outside the structure's weather door for a long time, unmoving from pain and fatigue more than from fear. Something tore open on my other flank.

I waited.

And then a whole crowd of aliens appeared: the juvenile Ah-lec-sa, followed by several others with dark skin like hers, and several more.

I dug in my pannier and brought out the notespool, and I explained as best I could what my parent had learned. Another alien brought a larger, more complex version of the translation device, and that made the conversation a little easier. Many other aliens came. When I brought out Xinecotic's communication device, two of the larger aliens immediately moved in and took it away from me. I was too tired to argue.

After a long while they brought it back, saying they had examined it and determined it was safe. I explained how to open it, and one of the aliens who had taken it away tried, but in the end it turned out that only Ah-lec-sa had fingers small and strong enough to work the catch. I showed Ah-lec-sa how to feed the notespool into the device's reader and how to initiate transmission.

"You must take the device through the portal," I said, "and transmit from there." After so much talking, my voice was hoarse and whispery.

The aliens argued a long time among themselves. I didn't follow the argument very well—I was drifting in and out of consciousness—but I gathered that Ah-lec-sa was the only one who could manipulate the device, and the other aliens didn't want it to go. Eventually, though, Ah-lec-sa bent down to where I could see. My vision had nearly failed. "Speaker travel (future) and return (future)," it said to me. "Listener wait (imperative) at this location."

"I will wait," I said. I didn't really have much alternative.

Ah-lec-sa left, accompanied by four of the largest aliens. I slumped where I sat. Some of the other aliens asked me questions, but I was barely able to respond.

I realized I had done all I could.

I crawled into a corner and began to wrap myself, beginning with my tail and working up. I had waited almost too long; my skin had stiffened to the point that I could barely reach my tail with my mandibles. I did the best I could, but it took much longer than it was supposed to. I hoped my adult form would not suffer because of the delay.

While I worked, many other aliens came, pointing devices at me that flashed and beeped. I ignored them.

I was nearly finished, just my head and one limb unwrapped, when Ah-lec-sa and the others returned. My vision had failed nearly completely by now, but Ah-lec-sa's flavor, different from the other aliens' though equally strange, had become familiar to me.

"Transmission completion achieve (past, assertion)," Ah-lec-sa said. "Grand Nest acknowledge (past) transmission. Grand Nest send (assertion) soldiers, apprehend (future) criminals."

"Thank you, Ah-lec-sa," I sighed.

"Listener status (query)," Ah-lec-sa asked.

"I am pupating now," I whispered. "You must watch over the pupa for three months. Do not let predators eat it, or let it get too warm or too cold. The soldiers from the Grand Nest will tell you what to do, and will care for my sisters."

"Speaker talk (future, assertion) with listener in three months."

I paused in wrapping the one remaining exposed limb. "No, Ah-lec-sa. The adult that emerges from the pupa will not be me. She will know the things I have done and learned, but I am told it is like reading a spool about the ancestors, not like a memory. She will be a different person. You will need to introduce yourself to her."

Ah-lec-sa and the other aliens discussed this for a long time, while I continued wrapping myself. Covering my own head was the most difficult part, but I relaxed and let my instincts guide me.

"Speaker equivalence (assertion) great sadness," Ah-lec-sa said.

"Do not be sad, Ah-lec-sa. The new adult will be glad to meet you. She will enjoy hearing from you what we have done together."

"Adult feel (future, assertion) pride about listener. Listener equivalence (assertion) significant-person."

"I would never have been significant," I said, "if you had not taught me to be."

I tucked my mandibles against my neck, feeling the wrappings begin to harden, and let myself relax into the long sleep.

Amy Bechtel

What we want is not necessarily what we need.

The lobby of the Escabero Building, in the heart of the city of Chicago on Earth, was opulent beyond anything Dr. Samuel Marsh had ever seen or imagined. A holographic fountain dazzled his eye; the walls were lined with brilliantly lit aquaria of live fish. The carpet was a deep lush blue, and was immaculate. The color of the carpet reminded Samuel of Indigo's oceans, as viewed from space, and he felt a twinge of homesickness. He peered at the swirling, brightly-colored fish displayed in the aquaria. Their beauty might once have delighted him, but now they made him feel vaguely uneasy. A vivid blue one swam to the front of the tank and stared at him, and Samuel hastily looked away, returning his gaze to the fountain.

A young woman suddenly appeared at his elbow, her trim body clad in a business suit as immaculate as the carpet. "May I be of assistance, sir?" she asked. She glanced doubtfully at his worn trousers and striped shirt, as if she thought he might have wandered into the wrong building by mistake.

Samuel drew himself up, trying to look professional. "I have an appointment," he said. "With Mrs. Helena Garcia of NSI."

"Of course, sir," the young woman said, bringing out a pocket display. "If you would place your hand against the screen, sir?"

Obediently, Samuel did so. The screen flashed green, then displayed his photograph along with a rather large amount of text. The woman studied it for a moment, punched a few keys, and then smiled at him. "If you will follow me, Dr. Marsh, I'll escort you to Mrs. Garcia's office."

"Thank you," Samuel said, and followed her as she led the way between the aquaria and into an elevator. The elevator had a black marble floor and white marble walls with gold trim. All of the surfaces looked as if they had just been polished. Samuel could see his reflection in the wall; he stared at it a moment, then looked away. The elevator doors opened and his guide led him down a carpeted hall to an office with the letters NSI stenciled in gold on the door. She ushered him into the office, showed him to a seat, and left him there.

Samuel gazed slowly around the office. This was a much more comfortable-looking space, lined with wood paneling and bookshelves. The desk was equipped with a high-powered built-in computer, and was adorned with a spray of flowers in a graceful glass vase. Forget-me-nots, Samuel realized, and wondered uncomfortably what the significance of these particular blooms might be. Why would anyone at NSI, New Slate Incorporated, prominently display a vase of forget-me-nots? Samuel, like everyone else who visited this office, had come here to forget.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Marsh."

Samuel had not heard anyone enter, but a woman now stood in front of him. She was an older woman, silver-haired, wearing a simple, conservative dress, a light cardigan, and low-heeled shoes. Old-fashioned reading glasses hung about her neck from a delicate silver chain. Samuel stumbled awkwardly to his feet. "Mrs. Garcia," he said.

"Please, sit down," Mrs. Garcia said, moving to take a seat behind the desk. "No need to stand on ceremony. We have some rather rigid rules downstairs, but here in my office I like to be a bit more informal."

Samuel nervously lowered himself back into his chair. "Thank you, Mrs. Garcia," he said.

Mrs. Garcia smiled kindly at him, perched her glasses on her nose, and peered at her computer screen. "Now then," she said. "I see that you live on Indigo. This is a new colony, is it not? Somewhat off the beaten path of civilization?"

Samuel nodded. Indigo was about as far off the beaten path as one could get. It was a frontier colony, small and poor. It was not an easy place to get to, and it was not on the way to anywhere else.

"Yet you were born in Topaz, in the city of Saint Leona. A beautiful city; I've been there. What made you decide to move to Indigo?"

"I wanted to be a doctor," Samuel explained. "But I came from a poor family. I couldn't afford to go to college, much less medical school. Indigo provided a scholarship."

"I see. And you were the only recipient."

"Indigo is a subsistence colony. It took years of saving for them to provide the scholarship I received."

"And there are conditions, I see." Mrs. Garcia gazed intently at her computer screen.

"Yes. I agreed to practice medicine on Indigo for a minimum of fifteen years, once I graduated." Samuel looked at her uncertainly, wondering why she was asking questions when the answers were on the screen before her.

As if hearing his thought, Mrs. Garcia leaned back in her chair and looked directly at him. "We have access to many facts about your past, as you know. You sent us a great deal of the data yourself. But in order to determine if we can help you, I need to know your personal impressions, your point of view. Now, how long has it been since you graduated from medical school?"

"Five years."

"Leaving another ten yet to serve. How do you like living on Indigo?"

"I love it there. I did from the beginning. I'd always wanted to live someplace small and quiet. Someplace where you could really get to know your patients, and be part of their lives. My classmates kept telling me I'd hate living someplace so primitive and rural, but they were wrong."

"I see." Mrs. Garcia gave him an unreadable look. "And how do you like practicing medicine there?"

Samuel hesitated, not sure how to answer. His practice had become a nightmare, but once, not so long ago, it had been a dream come true. The residents of Indigo had welcomed him, had brought him into their hearts and homes. They would have welcomed any doctor, no doubt, after all the years of having to travel to Topaz to receive medical care, but he had developed a special rapport with his patients, with the community. "It was everything I ever wanted," he said at last. "Once."