“~’~” The dismissive. “None are impartial. All wish to attach to Popeak. Urgians. Hurns. Rands. Every kind. All want the advantage in trade.”
“You’re right,” Paul said looking at Feen. She frowned but gestured to him to continue. “This is Embassy Row. Every being here wants to make their own type of attachment. To reach out to the unknown and unfamiliar. To find common purpose and future.”
“The Offer can only be to one kind, ~’~, not every being.” Impatience.
He didn’t smile, but I could see a dimple on the nearer cheek. “Yet isn’t that why you’ve come to us? Humans readily adapt to other cultures and environments.”
“It’s why we make good bartenders,” Rudy commented. At Feen’s look, he defended, “It’s true. Go anywhere.”
“And effective diplomats,” Paul added tactfully. “As well as traders. If Popeak attaches to Humans, it’s to the Commonwealth itself. Our connections to other species become yours, through us.”
The fidgeting ceased. “These are observations I have made for myself. Why I decided Human.”
“Then please let us do this in the best possible way,” Feen urged. “Ambassador Wimmerly is waiting. We’ll go down together, if you agree.”
“I cannot.” Prela indicated ril’s sparkling clear eyes with a plaintive toetip. “I must cleanse.”
If a delaying tactic, it failed. Evan Gooseberry walked past me without a glance, setting a container in Prela’s reach.
Then he turned to his senior, his face set in new, stern lines and I glimpsed what Evan Gooseberry could become. If he didn’t lose his job again.
“This farce you’ve planned is wrong, Polit Feen,” he declared. “It’s cruel and poses harm to Prela, and I will do whatever it takes to stop you.”
* * *
Paul and Rudy. Bess. People he hadn’t known existed this morning and who were now, what, friends?, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.
Prela, whom he’d run from in horror this morning, tapped his wrist in approval. “I agree.”
Senior Political Officer Feen, second only to the ambassador himself and confirmed representative of the immensity of the Commonwealth beyond, put her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers, a posture that sent terror into the hearts of staff. Laiden shook his head in pity.
Evan braced himself.
“Tell me your reasoning, Gooseberry.” Feen aimed her fingertips at him. “Tell me this isn’t your fear talking.”
Was it? Denial fought up his throat and stuck there.
“I am!#~!!~. Afraid, too,” Prela said, bravely coming to his aid. “I do not like the festival. I do not like the crowds.”
Was it fear? Evan looked to Bess.
“You should be afraid,” she said, her eyes brimming with a strange, ageless grief. She spoke to him, though the others listened. “I am. Of the consequence of failure.”
“You must not, @!~. It is forbidden!”
“To you. Not to me.” Bess lifted her head. “What Prela is forbidden to tell you is that every Popeakan on this world will wither and die at sunset if ril does not successfully attach. Starting with Prela.”
Who collapsed in a heap of quivering limbs, as if to quell any doubts a Human youngster with glow spots on her cheeks and clothing knew ril’s terrible secret.
Evan scooped the Popeakan gently in his arms, dismayed to find ril less substantial than before. He found he’d a voice after all. “We won’t let it happen.”
“It usually does,” Bess countered, grim and low. “It’s why Popeakans are reclusive. Why they wait so long before reaching out again. The risk to those they love is too high.”
Paul nodded. “To do so now means an urgent reason.”
“There’s been a series of natural disasters on Popeak.” Feen didn’t take her eyes from Prela. “None cataclysmic, but together—there’s speculation the Popeakans must expand their trade outward, and quickly, or suffer dangerous shortages.”
Bess turned to Paul with a grumbled, “And this would be why we need faster updates.”
Evan felt Prela tremble. “It is true, Polit Feen. We fear being vulnerable. ~’~” With the abrupt dismissive, ril stopped trembling, and tapped his wrist. “Survival is worth any risk.”
Feen flattened her hands on the table. “Do you know what it means, Prela, when a Human gives you their word?”
“It is that Human’s very best promise. Evan Gooseberry gave me his word, that he would catch me and I would be safe.”
He longed to be invisible.
Wait, was that approval in Feen’s eyes? Before he could be sure, her attention snapped back to the Popeakan. “I give you my word, Prela,” she said, “only Humans will be on the stage with you, and that only you will decide the outcome. Whatever the Urgians thought to add to the script, this will be our show. What do you say? Will you do it?”
“I say—” a pause, then a firm, “what I do is up to Evan.”
No, no, no, he told himself. Worse and worse. He’d run up here to save Prela from the stage, not talk her into it. Been rude to his senior. Was juniormost and unworthy, especially where lives were at stake, not to mention reputations. Of Humans as a whole. Of their capacity to work with others. To understand.
FEAR! Desperate, Evan looked to Feen for guidance. She sat back, her face inscrutable. He looked at Bess.
Who shrugged her little shoulders.
“No. It can’t be me!” He hadn’t realized he’d said that aloud until Prela tapped his wrist.
“I no longer think clearly. My expiry nears. Please, Evan, help me do what is right.”
He shut his mouth, breathing hard through his nose, fighting to compose himself as the others waited, giving him that grace.
The first rule. Keep it simple. He’d started the day hoping to catch some of the festival with his friends.
Well, then.
Evan Gooseberry stood proudly, the once-Pink Popeakan cradled in his arms.
“We’ll need more glitter.”
* * *
Our part being done, Paul, Rudy, and I were escorted outside the embassy, and offered excellent seats five rows back from the stage. Lights glowed from the trees, the sun having dipped behind the buildings across the cobbled street.
Cobbles impossible to see through the gathering horde. Word had spread throughout Kateen that this was the Place To Be, not that anyone could get here quickly. Still, a tidal force of sorts was underway, and the only reason the patio remained free of the crush stood drooling within the arch of the main gate.
“Thoughtful of Polit Feen to invite the Iftsen’s Performance Artists,” I commented, having recognized the Herd.
And having had something to do with their new profession, though full credit to the Matriarch, who’d seized the opportunity with the fervor of a veteran campaigner.
“Clever,” Rudy said. “No one’s going near them in that state.”
The restless stomping and those violent shoves, punctuated by loud thuds of surely bruising contact did appear threatening. I could have explained it was light-hearted anticipation, but who’d believe me?
Wider than deep, and edged in native trees, the embassy patio had been installed with a robust stage and rows of the Urgian version of seating, benches with troughs down the middle. In deference to Human anatomy, the troughs were filled with cushions, except for the area reserved for our festival hosts. Their view was unimpeded, they were situated beneath the luxury of tepid drizzle showers—to which they were most welcome, my Humanself thought—and, most importantly, no Urgian regardless of standing or poetic clout was within arm’s reach of those on stage.
Feen, keeping her word.
Paul bent, then surfaced with two bottles. “There’s beer under the seats.”
Humans, I thought. I’d yet to acquire a taste for the beverage, unless mixed with
juice, a practice that made Rudy shudder.
“Here.” A tall frosted glass appeared from behind me, followed by a grinning male Human who stepped over the bench and made himself comfortable. “From Evan. I’m his friend—Terry Koyak. You must be Bess.”
I took the glass gratefully. Before I could thank him, Terry leaned forward, ignoring me in favor of the other adults, Paul and Rudy. After introductions, he jumped right into questions. Did we know anything about Evan and the Pink Popeakan? What about the festival? Where were we from?
Sometimes, being small and ignored had its benefits. Taking my glass, filled with what, yes, was a child-appropriate berry juice with bubbles and quite delicious, I slipped from the bench.
Paul raised an eyebrow. Behave that was.
Of course, I’d behave, but I saw no reason I couldn’t go closer while doing so. After all, the only memories I had of the Popeakans and their Offer were Ersh’s, and she’d definitely left out some key parts. It was my duty to be better informed. I headed for the stage.
When I should have paid attention to the street.
* * *
Eyes sparkling gold—though the grape juice had left purple smudges in the corners and Evan agonized over whether to tell ril or not—Prela examined the stage and those waiting from the safety of the embassy lobby.
From his arms, ril refusing to be put down or passed to another Human of greater status. At least ril had let him change into a clean, if borrowed, shirt, if not to put aside his plaid satchel. His lunch bag, it appeared, had become part of ril’s firm expectation of his appearance. If it was how Prela distinguished him from other Humans, well and good. Without ril’s raincoat, folded for safekeeping in the event of fruitcake over Feen’s arm, could he do the same?
It wasn’t as though he’d seen another Popeakan for comparison.
Ambassador Wimmerly would, if all went well. He’d move into the Popeakan Embassy immediately after the celebration; his assistant, between tears, was packing his belongings, while others oversaw the shifting of his personal effects and Human-suited furnishings from his home. Yet another was preparing a thorough list of suitable foods and requirements. It was as though he was setting off, never to be seen again, but surely he would.
The Urgians, having recognized the shift in plot, weren’t happy. Their linguists were working on the developing stanzas as quickly as possible, but rumor had it they were more upset about losing Wimmerly to the Popeakans than about the Offer going to Humans.
Nonetheless, Evan couldn’t help but worry. In his day, Wimmerly had been an athlete and remained a strong, dignified person, with a shock of white hair above an intelligent, memorable face. His piercing blue eyes twinkled when he laughed, or when he wanted to set a new juniormost at ease, but they weren’t twinkling now. The ambassador, wearied by the wait, sat in his liftchair and nodded to himself every few moments as if fighting the urge to nap.
How would he manage, leaving all he knew—his own kind—behind?
“I would have Offered to you, Evan Gooseberry,” Prela said so quietly he had to bend to make out the words. “Despite our ranks, I feel we could have attached well.”
To be the first Human so connected to the Popeakan species. To be the one to write the texts others would rely upon in years to come. Ambassador Wimmerly had earned the opportunity, but— “And I would have been willing,” Evan said, tapping a limb with a gentle finger. But Bess had objected, and he trusted her reasons, whatever they were. “Ambassador Wimmerly is a fine—”
“It’s time.” Senior Political Officer Feen gestured for them to go on stage, walking at Evan’s shoulder.
* * *
Finished with my juice, I squirmed my way through a final shrub and climbed the base of the stage, reaching the spot I’d marked earlier where I could, if I wanted, rest my chin on the platform itself without being noticed.
A spot with an excellent view, so far of feet, but they shuffled as the Humans settled themselves, allowing me to finally see.
Prela clung to Evan Gooseberry like an armload of about-to-be-cooked crustacean parts. Not unexpected, though I’d hoped Feen would separate them. It was up to Evan to deal with the clingy Popeakan.
And up to Pre-!~!-la Acci-!~!-ari to remember where ril was and to whom ril was to Offer, though I was prepared to intervene.
I’d a shrub nearby and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.
Intervention didn’t appear necessary. Polit Feen welcomed the gathered guests, announced the commencement of the “Found in the Last Place Imagined” portion of the festival—a title I was sure the Urgians thought hilarious—then invited the Offer to meet Ambassador Wimmerly.
Whose face lit with sincere joy as Pre-!~!-la Acci-!~!-ari descended to the stage, tiptoeing graciously toward him.
Maybe this would all work out, I thought.
Then the Actor crashed the party.
* * *
It was another enormous black Funchess, spewing glitter and gumdrops from writhing metal arms.
Driven not by Urgians, but by Hurns!
That was all Evan had time to process before the Actor plowed through the arch as though it weren’t there at all, showering the street with rubble. That no one was killed had more to do with the respectful gap previously afforded the Ganthor Herd than a reasonable awareness of danger.
Predictably, the crowd filled in behind, cheering and rhyming in a frenzy of enthusiasm; chaos being a crucial measure of a superb festival experience.
Evan wasn’t looking, busy helping those on the stage reach the safety of the embassy lobby. He hoped it was safe. There’d been reports of mechanicals rampaging through buildings in past festivals. While frowned upon and expensive, there weren’t rules against it.
And should be, he thought grimly. There’d be flurries of irate memos after this. An embassy should be a haven—
Feen took his arm and pulled him aside, shouting over the din of machine and spectators. “Where’s Prela?!”
“I don’t know.” He looked around. Even injured, the Popeakan could move faster than any on two legs. “I’ll find—”
“I’ll do it. You make sure everyone’s inside.” She shoved him toward the doors. “Get it done, Gooseberry!” Feen ran back across the stage, dodging a flailing metal arm, and forever altering Evan’s perception of his seniors.
“This way,” he shouted, waving urgently. There were those on the patio organizing the evacuation, using benches for stairs. He steadied those climbing onto the stage, refusing to look up as another arm swung by overhead, raining glitter.
With a thud, a Hurn landed on the stage behind him, brandishing a stunrod. Before Evan could do more than put himself between the larger alien and those running for shelter, Rudy tackled the Hurn, while Paul wrested away the weapon. “We’ve got them, Evan.”
From what he could see, the Ganthor had “got” the rest, the Herd swarming up the sides of the Actor after the Hurns with an agility Evan was sure would give him nightmares later. As each operator was plucked from its lever and tossed aside, a part of the Actor ground to a halt.
As more and more stopped, the giant mechanical began to tip forward.
“Run!” Evan shouted, and he wasn’t alone.
* * *
There were moments etched in particular clarity, so Paul told me, within an ephemeral’s memory. While those screaming around me as the Actor headed for the embassy wouldn’t forget living this moment, I was too busy to absorb details.
I cycled from Bess into web-form, relieved to release the energy from every molecule, trading the blunt senses of sight and sound and smell for the exquisite awareness of gravity and energy, the dance of matter in its myriad forms, hearing the harmony of Urgia Prime and her inner rocky twin.
But I’d no time for that. I thinned, spreading myself in a sheen of blue over every leaf, twig, and rootlet of the nearest shrub, inserting my ti
ssues through every pore. As I became more plant than me, my thoughts slowed, distracted by imperatives of growth and nutrients. The sensation was familiar, caused by proximity to nonintelligent life, and I ignored it.
The rest was automatic. Everything in contact with my flesh reformed into more of my flesh. Leaving the shrub, I slipped into a good-sized tree, continuing the process, my sense of self expanding in size, thoughts sharpening. Instinct knew when I’d enough.
I cycled into my new and much larger self, annoyed to have to pull my feet free of dirt. Roots were such a nuisance.
I shook myself, sending ripples through the heavy fur blanketing this form, then jumped on the stage.
Cracking it a little.
* * *
At the sound, Evan whirled, fearing a new threat.
There was a Crougk on the stage.
Frozen in wonder, Evan bent his neck to stare up and up. There was no mistake, though he hadn’t met a member of the largest known land-based sentient before. No one else had the size.
No one else had jaws able to swallow a Ganthor whole.
Another tourist? Another species seeking the Offer? It didn’t matter. He jumped in front, waving his arms up and down to attract the giant’s attention.
“I’d get out of her way,” Paul advised, running to the right.
Evan looked at the tensing wall of muscle and followed in haste.
If it wasn’t for the vid record, what happened next would have been considered by those Humans not present a festival tale at best, an outright lie to justify outrageous repair estimates at worst.
But the record—and those witness—did not lie.
The Actor tipped toward the stage and those still upon it, including Polit Feen and a Popeakan in a pink raincoat, its shadow a glitter-filled doom, arms flailing. The Ganthor dropped clear, landing with impressive accuracy atop any Hurns attempting to flee. Those Humans who’d made it to the embassy doorway, including Ambassador Wimmerly, watched in horror.
The Only Thing to Fear Page 10
