After a long time she passed through the half-ring of imposing columns and approached the giant structure’s weather door, not a proper door at all but a pair of huge, flat, angular plates that hinged open at one side. She had passed through this door many times before, but every other time she had been expected and one of the aliens had been here to open it for her. Now the door stood closed, silent and untended.
Ksho realized she had been a fool. She’d stepped through the portal to an unknown world, throwing her own fate and that of her siblings into the strange hands of alien beings with unknown motivations. They might be just as likely to eat her as to feed her.
Suddenly an alien appeared on the other side of the door, peering at her through one of the transparent plates in the door’s substance. Ksho froze in terror.
This alien was different from any of the others Ksho had met. It was no bigger than Ksho herself, both shorter and smaller around than any other alien she’d seen. It was dark like a Shacuthi, instead of pale like most of its kind, which made it seem a little more familiar but also made its disturbing eyes even more prominent and strange. And the tendrils on its rounded head, which curled in tiny dark ringlets, were gathered into tufts on either side. Each tuft was bound at the base by a few turns of some soft, sparkly material. Was this unusual tufting some indication of caste or status?
The alien and Ksho stared at each other for a time. And then the alien leaned forward and pushed the door open a couple of spans. Moving the huge door was clearly an effort for the small alien, which made Ksho feel a little sorry for it—it seemed nearly as unsuited to this enormous, heavy world as Ksho herself.
And then the alien spoke. Its voice burbled and lapped like a stream flowing over pebbles, an almost pleasant sound, higher and softer than others Ksho had heard. A moment later a device strapped to one of the alien’s limbs spoke in an approximation of Ksho’s language: “Speaker equivalence (assertion) Ah-lec-sa (proper name). Identity listener (possessive) existence (query).”
The second translated phrase was one Ksho had heard before; it meant what is your name? Still petrified with fear, she struggled to reply. “Xinecotic-ki Ksho,” she managed to stammer.
The alien’s head drew back and its eyes narrowed a bit. Ksho had no idea what that might mean. “Zi-neh-ko-tick (proper name, possessive) three (ordinal) existence (denial) name.” It took Ksho a moment to recognize her own dead parent’s name, as rendered by the alien’s mandibles and then the translation device, and another moment to puzzle out the sense behind the translation: “Xinecotic’s Third” is not really a name.
And, indeed, ksho was not a proper name, an adult name, at all. It was just the number three, indicating that Ksho was the third of Xinecotic’s offspring: The first had failed in the egg and the second had died as a grub. Then there had been three more deaths before Seko-cho, number seven; Xinecotic’s luck with offspring had not been good. And now there would be no more siblings at all.
Ksho tasted grief but could not give in to the emotion. How to explain all of this to an alien?
“Ksho is not a name, but is Ksho’s designation,” she said. “Ksho is a juvenile and does not have a name like an adult’s.”
After Ksho finished speaking, the alien held its upper limb close to one side of its head—those curved protuberances had to be its ears—while the device burbled softly in the alien’s language. It seemed to consider for a moment what it had heard, then replied. “Listener existence (assertion) merely juvenile,” came the translation. “Speaker equivalence (assertion) listener.”
You’re just a juvenile, the alien meant. I am the same.
That explained why this alien was smaller than the others, and why it was willing to speak with Ksho. Ksho relaxed a bit, allowing herself to breathe but still not moving from the spot. Perhaps the young alien would also be willing to help one like itself. “Ksho is hungry,” she said. “Ksho needs food for herself and her siblings.”
After hearing the translation, the alien suddenly bared its teeth—a vicious surprise of white against the dark skin that made Ksho freeze again. The alien’s flavor, salt and iron and flowers, told Ksho nothing about its emotions. Then it spoke: “Speaker bring (conditional) listener building within.” Ksho didn’t know why the verb was flagged as conditional, but the statement was accompanied by an unmistakable gesture: The alien pushed the door open wider and stood to one side, leaving enough space for Ksho to enter.
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.