The Only Thing to Fear

by Julie E. Czerneda

  His flinch having slammed him into the door, Evan took more deep breaths, stopping before he made himself dizzy. “How?”

  “They’ve a nerve cluster—” Bess gave him a very unchildlike look. “Maybe you should brace yourself.”

  Evan edged sideways to put his hand on the shelf support.

  Her eyebrow lifted.

  Like that, was it? With an inner shudder, he wrapped his arms around the support and, for good measure, gripped his elbows tightly.

  She nodded approval, then looked at the Popeakan. “Sorry about this,” he heard her whisper.

  Then Bess reached out and—

  The raincoat went flying as the child scrambled back.

  An enormous SPIDER leaped into the air!

  * * *

  Disoriented, the terrified Popeakan hit the ceiling, rebounded to the floor, then leaped again, this time squeezing hurriedly into the miniscule space between ceiling and whatever was on the top shelf farthest from us.

  Evan whimpered and didn’t budge.

  Now what?

  The shelves were full of parts for comp systems, expensive parts without serial numbers. Diales’ shopping, at a guess. Illegal, at another.

  Useless to me. To speak proper Popeakan, I’d need to be one—they’d intricate vocal chords and a series of bladders—and there wasn’t living mass available. Even if there was, a stranger of ril’s kind would not be welcome. Those sent here would be close relatives and lifelong companions. Attached, in that Popeakan sense. Dealing with a stranger from outside that group was possible, but it involved complex formalities. Time-consuming ones.

  The Hurns wouldn’t be gone long. Having stashed us, they’d be back with discreet transport. Evan and I would be dosed with the currently popular mind-distorting drug and dropped in the shipcity. To be found. Maybe.

  The Popeakan was theirs to keep.

  While I appreciated villains who regaled victims with their plans, as it made foiling those so much easier, this had been horrible. Diales had whispered in Evan’s ear while his other mouths lipped and sucked—as though the chance to torment the Human added to the stolen taste.

  We had to be out of here first.

  Sent to this world, surely ril had a means to communicate with aliens—if only through a portable translator, but I hoped for more. “Do you speak the trade tongue?” I gave the Popeakan my best approximation, butchering the sound but clapping at what should be the right spots.

  The shadow hiding the Popeakan developed three oval glints, centered where I’d expect ril’s eyes. “I do.”

  Comspeak. I was impressed. Ril’s beautiful complex voice added an under-humm and “!~!” pop to the otherwise clear words.

  “Are you hurt?” Evan’s voice was thready and unsure, but his expression held sincere concern.

  He hadn’t, I noticed, let go of the shelves. Small steps.

  “I am!#~!!~” Ril’s comspeak shattered. “!#~!!~” Weaker, eyes disappearing into the dark. “!#~!!~”

  “You’re afraid,” I translated. “Of us.” I gestured at myself and then Evan. “Of Humans.”

  “!#~!!~”

  “I’m afraid, too,” Evan erupted before I could think what to try next. “Not of you. Of—of what looks like you. Of—” with more strength to his voice “—what moves like you. It’s not a rational fear; I know that. S—spiders are harmless, helpful creatures.” He let go of the shelf. “I’m afraid of fruitcake, too, but you don’t meet one walking around.”

  “I know ‘spider.’” From the shadow, with a dismissive “~’~” that indicated the Popeakans knew full well what some Humans called them. “What is ‘fruitcake’?”

  Evan’s face remained sickly pale, but he replied promptly. “It’s a special treat my uncle makes every holiday. We’re supposed to enjoy the taste, but I don’t—”

  Before either one remembered to be terrified, I broke in. “My name is Bess. This is my friend, Evan.”

  A limb appeared, toetip gripping the shelf edge. “Junior Political Assistant Evan Gooseberry,” the Popeakan identified, eyes glinting. “From the—the embassy of your kind.”

  Evan pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted as if in pain. It was what Paul did just before launching into one of those lengthy, I didn’t want to get into this, but you’ve made me explanations.

  “That’s right, Evan’s from the embassy,” before he could complicate things. “And your name?”

  “Pre-!~!-la Acci-!~!-ari.”

  A harmony of chords unpronounceable by my current form. “May we call you Prela?”

  A long pause. Then, “It sounds peculiar.”

  “Try growing up with Gooseberry,” Evan commented, then gave me a rueful shrug.

  A second toetip appeared. “Pre—la will do.”

  To confirm my growing suspicion of why the Hurns were fixated on this Popeakan, I needed to see Prela in the open—

  Both toetips withdrew.

  I let out my own sigh, catching Evan’s attention. Holding a finger in front of my lips, a Human request for silence I trusted the Popeakan wouldn’t know, I took a single step closer to ril’s refuge then stopped. “I would ask the forbidden question, Prela, for your safety and for ours. May I have your consent?”

  A faint brrrr-like sound. Ril’s toes tapping frantically, at a guess. Unhappy, definitely.

  Evan frowned at me, puzzled but trusting. I wondered if he’d noticed he’d stopped patting his pocket.

  All at once, Prela moved forward so I could see her eyes, if nothing more. Large and round, midnight pupils surrounded by gold, they regarded me solemnly. “I cannot give something of such consequence to a @!~.”

  Save me from species prejudiced against the young. I pointed wordlessly at Evan.

  “He has my consent. Ask the forbidden, Evan Gooseberry, and I will answer.”

  * * *

  By the chagrin on Bess’ face, not the outcome she’d hoped.

  Nor could she help him. That was plain in the way her hand lifted toward the Popeakan’s hiding place.

  He was a diplomat, Evan told himself. At least, that’s what he was training to be, along with a multitude of now-meaningless office tasks and how to brew tea for the ambassador. Interpret the alien. Comprehend the unfamiliar. Make the leap.

  If only he’d a clue what would be a “forbidden” question to a Popeakan. Especially one who ran around in a pink raincoat after Humans, despite being terrified of Humans—

  —and had been kidnapped by Hurns. Evan didn’t for a second believe he or Bess were anything more than inconvenient baggage with sweat. Why would Hurns want this Popeakan?

  He could see Bess growing impatient—rightly so. He used her gesture, finger over his lips, to beg for time.

  Kidnapped during the festival. In Pursuit of the Most Pure, We Must First Ourselves Be Found . . . it could be coincidence, but if Prela was somehow part of the festival—

  —there was only one question.

  Before he lost his courage, Evan looked up into what were reassuringly not-spiderish eyes, and asked, “Who are you, Prela?”

  A row of neat toetips appeared. “I am the Offer.”

  Bess nodded to herself. Good, he thought, letting himself relax. Someone understood what was going on.

  Before Evan could enjoy the feeling, the child spoke, and he realized whatever it was, wasn’t good at all. “How soon?”

  More agitated tapping, but the Popeakan “Offer” must have decided when dealing with aliens, ril had to accept a few irregularities in form. “I expire tonight.”

  A euphemism, Evan decided at once. It must be. Or a mistake in translation. Happened all the time. Just ask— “Bess?” Their eyes met and hers glistened as though fighting back tears, and he had his answer. “What can we do?” he demanded. “We have to do something!”

  The corner
of her mouth deepened in what wasn’t quite a smile, but made Evan feel better than he had in—in a long time. “Yes, we do,” the child replied. She went to the shelves and looked up. “Come down, Prela. We have to get you out of here.”

  A subdued “I am still!#~!!~ afraid of you.”

  “We can be afraid later.” Evan joined Bess. “Please. Let us help.”

  After a painful pause. “I am damaged. I am!#~!!~ I will fall.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll catch you.” The firm yet gentle tone, the words, couldn’t be his, but whomever was talking through his mouth, Evan decided, was doing a fine job and should continue. “I give you my word, Prela. You’ll be safe.”

  “Your word. That is a Human promise?”

  “Our very best,” Evan assured ril. “Please come down.”

  Ril emerged one limb at a time, clinging to the shelf. Without the raincoat, the Popeakan was almost ethereal, ril’s body a central narrow mass, soft-skinned and pulsating gold, topped by myriad whorls and extrusions of pearlescent shell. Ril’s head was a stout triangle of black, wider at the eyes, narrowing to a budlike mouth. More shell, no, actual pearls studded the sides of ril’s head in a delicate pattern, matching the bag—a satchel—hanging beneath ril’s short neck.

  The limbs that had caused him such dread? Twelve in number, eight originating beneath the body—spider, came the distant gibbering echo—with four, smaller, held tip-to-tip below the bag.

  Elegant. Regal, Evan corrected, unconsciously straightening. If only he didn’t have glitter in his hair and been lipped by a Hurn.

  Vulnerable. Two of the legs were bent at painful-looking angles. This wasn’t a sturdy form, not within the gravity of this world, in structures suited to other shapes. Prela descended cautiously, limbs shaking so hard he worried ril would lose hold.

  Almost down. FEAR! clenched his teeth before they touched. Ril trembled and flinched.

  Before either failed utterly, the Popeakan was in his arms. Astonishingly light. Warm. There was a hint of spice about ril, and Evan worried immediately about his own smell.

  Bess, meanwhile, had rummaged on a shelf, coming away with a piece of metal conduit. She swung it experimentally through the air. “What do you think?”

  “Terrifying,” Evan assured her. “Shouldn’t I have that?”

  She went to the door, pressing an ear against it. “Your job is to take Prela and run.”

  He nodded. “Where?”

  “To your embassy,” Prela replied.

  “I’m willing to go to yours.” And he was, to Evan’s own amazement, not that he’d risk thinking too much about it.

  Bess looked around at Prela. “You’ve decided, then.”

  “Some time ago.” A toetip tapped his wrist; another hooked ril’s pearl-encrusted bag and raised it. “I sought the courage to implement. Now, I am ready.”

  “No!” Alarm filled Bess’ face. “You can’t have him—”

  * * *

  However damaged and fearful, Pre-!~!-la Acci-!!~!-ari managed to sound sure of rilself. “We are the same, inside. We battle our dread.” Another possessive tap.

  Ril had known Evan’s full name because the Popeakans would have information on every member of the embassy’s staff. The Offer, by their own rules, had to match to the highest possible rank. Ril knew that wasn’t Evan. Ersh save me from the desperate.

  Rather than argue, I smacked my would-be weapon against the door in!~! emphasis. “You are being expedient,” I accused.

  Evan, already tense, started wildly. Prela held on to him. “How dare you, a @!~, chastise me!”

  While cycling into something impressive might help, exploding wouldn’t, so I dumped heat and kept my voice calm. Paul would be proud. “I dare because you have identified the option of greatest value.” Use the equivalents for their deeply held, passionate beliefs. “You must not permit yourself to Offer to a lesser one. Sorry, Evan,” I added.

  By his now-aghast expression, no apology was necessary. He might not know the particulars, but he was catching on quickly.

  The Popeakan withdrew the toetip, though still looking too clingy for my comfort. “My time is almost up. The Offer must be accepted in full, or we fail.”

  Fail. They’d shrivel and die, every one of ril’s closest kin, their bodies cued to the Offer’s expiry. Biology as diplomacy. It was the Popeakan way, this perilous dance of intimacy, the result—the attachment—tied irrevocably to their future or lack of one. They did it with each other. Who to invite for supper and the rest of their lives. They did it between related groups. Who to include in mating clusters and start future generations. It worked well for them, until space brought a new category of stranger.

  Their answer, the same. Why change—perhaps they couldn’t, Ersh had suspected. Popeak sent forth the Offer, a living invitation to join the group that was their entire species.

  It’d stand a better chance of working, I thought savagely, if they didn’t spring it as a surprise on everyone else. The Humans’ invitation, sent a day too late, would have been to the already dead.

  There’d be an entry in the Library’s collection. A long and detailed one. Required reading. By the Popeakans, too—

  “They’re back,” Evan warned.

  * * *

  Bess stood to one side of the door, motioning him—and who he carried—to the other. They’d be hidden when it opened, she’d be exposed, and Evan had no idea what the child thought to accomplish with her flimsy length of conduit.

  It didn’t shake his trust. Something about Bess pushed aside the irrational FEAR, leaving a reasonable mouth-drying anxiety. He knew his part in the coming confrontation with the Hurns. Save Prela.

  The door began to move.

  Evan tensed, then, with the hand not holding a Popeakan, grabbed the door and pulled, hard.

  Pulled with it, a figure fell inside, and Bess froze, conduit held high and ready over what wasn’t a Hurn at all, but a stranger as Human as he.

  “Run! We must run!” Prela urged, tapping his arm.

  As Evan hesitated, a second Human stepped through the opening. Seeing them, he put away the deadly, and illegal, weapon he’d carried. “Making friends, Bess?”

  “Rudy.” Bess helped the other to his feet, her face crimson. “Paul. This is Evan Gooseberry from the Human Embassy and—”

  “I am Pre-!~!-la Acci-!~!-ari. I demand my cloak of invisibility!”

  The raincoat?

  “I must be safe from—from fruitcake!” Ril shuddered against him.

  Evan sympathized. These were intimidating Humans, if ones he abruptly recognized. He’d seen them from a distance: Bess’ friends. They weren’t happy, they were dangerous, and didn’t know him.

  Moving with exaggerated care—the weapon out of sight, not forgotten—he stooped to pick up the pink coat. Prela seized it in four handling limbs and tucked it around rilself with flustered little movements, settling only when done.

  They watched, thinking who knew what. The one called Paul had dark wavy hair, gray eyes, and tanned fair skin. He’d cocked his head in curiosity to watch Prela. Now he studied Evan, who found himself blushing for no reason.

  Rudy commanded even without his weapon drawn. Patrol maybe, despite the festival garb and glitter.

  They seemed to be waiting for something from him. Evan took a guess. “I’m not here in an official capacity,” he blurted. “In fact, I’m about to tender my—”

  “You work for the Hurns.” Forget Rudy. Paul’s even tone was the scariest thing Evan had ever heard.

  Rudy’s weapon reappeared in his hand. “And took our Bess.”

  “He didn’t and isn’t.” The child stepped in front of Evan, shaking her head in exasperation. “I took him. There’s more, but we have to get Prela to the Human Embassy, now.”

  Rudy nodded at the open door. “We found a shortcut.�
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  * * *

  Rudy’s “shortcut” was the means the Hurns had used to follow us without being caught up in the festival throng, then move us to their hiding place. The back of every building in Kateen could be accessed via a tidy series of spectator-free alleyways, a practical arrangement for a city that choked on tourists and giant mechanicals on an annual basis. Emergencies could be responded to and all important deliveries made. Wine, as Urgians would say, was only fine if on time.

  My ever-cautious partner had slipped a tracker into the plaid bag before handing it to me. While I appreciated the irony of being saved by the same underhanded technology as had brought us into the Hurns’ clutches, Paul and I were going to have a talk about boundaries and needless secrets.

  Once those pale spots left his cheeks. We crouched together in the rear of an Urgian for-hire, a groundcar with padding and an abundance of armholds in lieu of seats. During the festival, they were harder to find than a sober Iftsen; I wasn’t surprised Paul had managed it.

  “I wasn’t in danger,” I whispered finally.

  “They were.” With that look. “You’re burning up.”

  I pulled my betraying hand free.

  “What mass did you have in there? Evan? The Popeakan?”

  “You know I wouldn’t!” I’d have become a Ycl and slipped under the door first. As if nothing ever went wrong when I did that, I thought, just as glad it hadn’t been necessary. “What about Diales?”

  When Paul didn’t answer, it was my turn to stare meaningfully at him. “You’re letting him get away with it.”

  “Diales’ code is throughout the Library’s comps. We’ll clear it out, but until we do—and until we find a replacement with comparable skills—yes,” with a twist of his lips, “—he gets away with it. We need him.”

  “He kidnapped me!” Well, technically, the Hurns had kidnapped Prela, taken Evan because they had to, and I’d insisted on coming along, but that didn’t change how I felt. “He’s unprincipled and a danger, and he sucked on Evan!”