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.
The last item on the spool indicated that Xinecotic was
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.
The last item on the spool indicated that Xinecotic was
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