Thresholds by Nina Kiriki Hoffman Page A

Travis set her down and she stood, uncertain. She twisted toward the door they had come in through, then back toward the center of the cavern, where the giant pale segmented bug from outer space waited, its forelegs curling and uncurling in her direction.
    No danger , thought Maya’s egg.
    “All right,” Maya said. She walked toward Loostra, and so did everyone else. Travis stayed even with her, and she glanced up at him and mouthed, Thanks.
    As they got closer, Maya smelled Loostra: vinegar, damp dirt, a hint of rank, crushed grass.
    “This is Loostra,” Harper said. “Loostra, this is Maya.”
    Maya tried to slow her heartbeat; it was shuffling in her ears, and it pulsed through the egg.
    Everybody else seemed calm, even Travis, as though he ran into giant talking centipedes every day. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
    “Maya,” said Harper, “and a sissimi .”
    The centipede had a hard round head with six dark velvety spots on it. “Ah,” she said, but Maya couldn’t tell where she spoke from. “Show me.” She sounded like the best mother in the world again, asking to see a scraped knee so she could put a Band-Aid on it.
    Maya calmed.
    Benjamin nudged her.
    “Don’t hurt it,” Maya said, pressing the egg against her chest and shielding it with her right hand. “Don’t take it off.”
    “What have they told you about me, Maya?” asked the centipede. “Whatever it is, it is wrong. I only ever look at things. I study them. I decide and inform, but I do not do .”
    “You promise?”
    “I promise.”
    Maya edged three steps closer to it. Its vinegar scent was almost overwhelming. She held out her wrist.
    It lowered its front end. The six longer limbs reached out and hovered above Maya’s egg, then wove through the air around it. “Ahhh,” it said. “Beautiful. Ahhh. Rarely have I seen one of these so close.” It made soothing, wordless, musical murmurs. “A new variant. Of course. With every new host, a new variant. What an elegant creature it is.”
    “What do we do with it?” asked Harper.
    “Leave it alone.” Loostra almost sang her answer.
    “But the child is not a traveler,” said Harper. “She didn’t step into this risk with knowledge. This pairing is wrong.”
    “Leave it alone,” Loostra sang. “There is nothing you can do. They are bonded now, and nothing can change that.” Its head turned, aiming its eye spots toward her wrist, one at a time. “Child, may I touch it?”
    “You won’t hurt it?”
    “I won’t hurt it.”
    Maya lifted her wrist higher. One hard-shelled limb drifted down until the very tip touched her so lightly she couldn’t feel it. Lemon yellow color formed on the egg and rayed out across all the other colors. Maya felt a weird click under her skin.
    Loostra gasped and jerked her leg away.
    “Of course it can already defend itself and its host. I should have known,” she said. “Thank you, Maya.” She turned to Harper. “This answers one part of a complicated question.”
    Harper nodded. “One sissimi we have found. Two more are still lost. And this invasion and theft was orchestrated by the Krithi, or so we believe.”
    Loostra hissed. “So I had heard—it travels on the info web—but I had hoped the rumor was wrong.”
    Harper nodded to Maya. “You heard the boy say ‘Krithi’?” he asked.
    “You know I did,” Maya said. He was the one who had forced her to repeat Chikuvny Boy’s words.
    “It’s the first we’ve heard of them escaping the interdict,” Harper said.
    “The monitors are checking the nurseries for evidence, and the Force has been alerted,” said Loostra. “You will tell us when you learn more. For now, I am ready to go home.”
    “How do we handle this situation?” Harper asked, waving toward Maya.
    “With reason. With friendship. With family.” She dropped her front end and coiled into a spiral. “Thank you for showing me your friend,” she said to Maya.
    “Have you seen one before?” Maya