David Levine: Pupa

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 nearly ready to transmit her notes to the Grand Nest. Takacha must have discovered this, somehow, and killed her to prevent it.

I sat there with my parent’s last written words between my fingers, already hungry again, with my bones aching and my skin feeling ready to split. Under normal circumstances I would be curling up in my little nest already and preparing to pupate.

These were not normal circumstances. If I pupated now I would die, and my siblings with me. My parent’s death would go unreported and unpunished. Worse, a whole planet of innocent aliens would be swindled and cut off from civilization forever, and the crime might never even be discovered.

I hated to think of that happening to the juvenile alien who had been so helpful to me. And I was the only one who even knew about it.

But what could I do to prevent it? I was only one juvenile, small and weak and powerless. I had no relatives to protect me, no adult would listen to me, and I couldn’t even work my parent’s communication device.

Then, as I sat lamenting my fate, I remembered what the alien had made me say: I am significant.

I am significant, I told myself.

I didn’t really believe it. Deep down, I knew that no matter how close to pupation I was, I was still only a juvenile. But acting as though I believed it was the only way I had any chance to stop all those awful things from happening.

“I must go out again,” I said to Seko-cho, tucking the notespool and communication device into my panniers. A strong flavor of confusion came from her, and I realized it was because I was speaking as an adult. But, just as though I really were an adult, she said nothing and waited attentively for further instructions. I decided to continue using “I”—it would help to keep Seko-cho and the others from panicking. “You must seal the door behind me, as before. I will return with more food as soon as I can.”

“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.”