Trace the Stars, Page 2

  The Kokkalns on the far side of the compartment began to disembark, clambering over each other with dozens of segmented legs. Incoming Kokkalns swarmed through the doors at the same time, clinging to walls and ceiling. These new arrivals were larger than those who’d boarded at the surface, with darker chitin and pronounced dorsal ridges. Kahihatan’s security detail watched them suspiciously.

  “Do not move suddenly,” one of Kahihatan’s aides said to Kitty. “Kokkalns in this size range are bull-headed and aggressive, and native laws do not prohibit brawling.”

  Kitty nodded and affixed her own respirator, blocking the wafting scents. Hot, humid mist sprayed into the compartment.

  The nearest Kokkaln compressed and distended in languid rhythm, mouthparts undulating. Kitty watched from the corner of her eye, surreptitiously studying its anatomy.

  Assimilate the shadows . . .

  Kitty flipped open her datapad, checking to be sure the transmitter was disabled. She called up an image of the mysterious amber sculptures. They shimmered as she rotated the view, shadows springing to life against the pale grid of the background.

  “What are you doing?” Kahihatan had leaned to peer over Kitty’s shoulder. Kitty pulled the pad instinctively toward her chest.

  “Searching,” she said curtly. “Exploring. Trying to understand.” When Kahihatan failed to take the hint and go away, she sighed and explained: “A shadow is essentially a mathematical projection. Compress a three-dimensional object, and you get a silhouette. Compress it along a different axis, and you get a different silhouette. I’m searching for patterns in the silhouettes.”

  “There aren’t any. Our cultural analysts already tried that.”

  “I doubt I’m looking for the same kinds of patterns as your analysts.” Kitty shifted the simulated light source, watching the shadows deform. Many species were fond of luminal art, but Kitty didn’t expect to find any shadow puppets here. The Kokkalns were not a visual species.

  “How long will it take you to decipher the pattern?”

  Kitty shrugged. “That depends on what I learn from the Blind Queen’s executives. It would help if I could view more of their architecture. Archaeologists learn a lot from architecture.”

  “And from junkyards,” Kahihatan pointed out.

  “Junkyards are overrated. They can teach you how a species lived, but not what they dreamed. Graveyards and spawning chambers are your best bet.” Kitty continued tapping keys on her datapad. “Your analysts were looking for messages in the shadows, data, images, sequences of prime numbers, that sort of thing. Me? I’m looking for insight into the Kokkaln view of reality.”

  Kahihatan gripped the handrails as the gravtrain swung into motion. “I don’t see how one set of sculptures will give you that kind of insight.”

  “By itself? It won’t.”

  “Then how do you expect to—“

  The train dipped sideways and swung into a noisy spiral, sparing Kitty from further conversation. She sighed, yearned wistfully for her abandoned excavation site, and continued examining the diagrams on her datapad.

  Two hours and three transfers later, they reached the outer caverns of the Everqueen’s bubble complex. Fourth-molt Kokkalns scanned them officiously as they exited the train.

  The cavern seemed to vanish beyond the running lights of the gravtrain, nothing but inky blackness punctuated by reddish blobs at the perimeter. Sweltering humidity crept past the edge of Kitty’s respirator, mixed with the stench of Kokkaln biology.

  “Adjust your translator several centuries back,” one of Kahihatan’s aides advised Kitty in a low voice. “Her Majesty’s representatives are quite old.”

  “I wasn’t aware that it mattered.”

  “Kokkaln neural pathways calcify during their first years of life. Young Kokkalns can learn the dialects of the past, but subsequent linguistic shifts become opaque to them.”

  “You’re saying that teenage Kokkalns literally do not speak the same language as their parents?”

  Was that a smile behind his respirator? In the darkness it was hard to tell. “It’s not common knowledge. Most humans never venture beneath the first sub-level, and Kokkalns don’t tolerate surface conditions well once they’ve passed their third molt. There’s enough linguistic overlap between generations that most offworlders never even notice the variations.”

  “But given enough time, the dialects mutate beyond recognition?”

  The aided nodded. “The language spoken by modern Kokkalns varies greatly from the language originally spoken by second-minister Shallans. We have to recalibrate the translators every decade or so. Not that we always get everything right,” he hastened to add. “Speaking to a Kokkaln is a bit like trying to read old Earth Standard without a dictionary.”

  “I’ve done worse.” Kitty examined her control box, found the dial for historical conformity, and set it back a few centuries. “How will I know I’ve got the right age for the Kokkaln I’m speaking to?”

  “It’s a bit like tuning a radio. Just wiggle the dial until something intelligible comes out.”

  “Great.” Fortunately, the process turned out to be almost as simple as Kahihatan’s aide made it sound. By the time they’d felt their way across the dim cavern, she’d keyed in to the conversation of the Kokkalns who’d exited the gravtrain along with Kitty’s party. They were complaining about having to share a compartment with a crowd of ill-mannered humans.

  Kokkaln public lighting did not extend much beyond the infrared range, but Kitty’s eyes gradually adjusted. Soon she could see the massive Kokkaln blocking the tunnel to the inner caverns. It was old, well past the twelfth or thirteenth molting, with mottled calcifications along its dorsal plates.

  “You have changed since your last molting, Minister,” it said formally. “You have become quite tall.”

  Kahihatan bowed and spread his arms wide. “I am eighth-minister Kahihatan, newly elected in the place of my predecessor. I am honored to make your acquaintance.” The translation unit at his waist emitted a series of Kokkaln clicks and whistles, accompanied by the occasional moist growl.

  The Kokkaln seemed to grow larger. “I liked you better the last time you visited. Be greeted in the domes of the Evermother, eighth molt-child of the human called ‘Minister’.”

  Kahihatan’s aide leaned toward Kitty. “The Kokkalns believe all of the planet’s human ministers are the same entity. Whenever we have a change of office, they insist on calling it a molting.” He shook his head in puzzlement. “For an advanced technological species, they can be pretty dense.”

  Kitty glanced at the aide, a gangly fellow, barely more than a teenager, with precision grooming and a spine that never varied more than a few degrees from ramrod straight. “I don’t think they’re being dense,” she said.

  “Well, ignorant, then. They certainly don’t seem to understand human biology.”

  “Perhaps they’re just being polite. I doubt that a first-molt of any species would be allowed to speak with the Everqueen. So they courteously overlook our deficiencies.”

  The aide looked angry, then thoughtful. He glanced at the Kokkaln guarding the tunnel entrance, noting the biotech along its carapace. “You’re very good at what you do,” he said to Kitty after a while. “Aren’t you?”

  Kitty smiled and turned to observe the convoluted process of acquiring access to the deeper tunnels, which seemed to involve Kahihatan personally vouching for the parentage and accomplishments of each member of his entourage. When he reached Kitty’s name, the Kokkaln raised its head.

  “You are the human who will assimilate the shadows?”

  Kitty nodded.

  “It is fitting that you are so young. Perhaps the eighth-minister has not become completely decrepit in his latest molt.” Kahihatan ruffled, and Kitty stifled a smile. She was beginning to like this Kokkaln. “Eighth-minister states that you desire speech prior to assimilation. Is it so?”

  “If it is permitted, yes. I wish to speak with an executive
of the Blind Queen.”

  “This will not help with the assimilation. The Evermother is older than caverns, older than water pockets. Her executives are but eggs without shell in the ripples of her glory.”

  “Nevertheless, I desire speech.”

  The Kokkaln hesitated. Kahihatan and his aides shifted uncomfortably. Kitty remained perfectly still, waiting for the alien’s response.

  “It shall be so,” the Kokkaln said finally. It turned and issued a series of clicks which her translator was unable to decipher. Several smaller Kokkalns scurried away into the blackness. “I will guide you through the deeper tunnels. Inform me if you become distressed.”

  “Thank you,” Kitty said. “May I know your name?”

  The Kokkaln turned sharply and rose on its hind-segments. Kitty backed away, wondering whether she’d committed a social blunder.

  “My name?” The Kokkaln arched its dorsal plates and seemed to sniff in disdain. “Your translation boxes mangle it badly. I will not sully my reputation by releasing it. You may call me by my function: Guardian.”

  Guardian turned and vanished into the tunnel. Kitty followed, trailed closely by Kahihatan and his entourage. The air grew thicker as they descended. Heat wafted upward. Soon Kitty’s clothing was clammy, and her hair stuck in wet clumps to her neck.

  Kokkalns lined the tunnel, watching the trespassers with glittering eyes. There were only a few at first, but within a few minutes Kitty was pressing between russet-colored segments, ducking to avoid dangling appendages of aliens clustered two and three deep along the tunnel’s ceiling. In the dim reddish light, they seemed like a single, massive creature, bristling with claws.

  “Something’s wrong,” Kahihatan’s aide murmured. “There shouldn’t be so many.” He glanced toward the guard detail. Their hands hovered above their weapons, heads swiveling in all directions.

  “I have sent messengers ahead,” Guardian said from his position at the head of the group. “The Evermother’s executives await us in the Bubble of Assimilation.”

  “Bubble?” Eighth-minister Kahihatan pushed his way forward, voice rising several pitches. “Guardian, forgive me, but humans are not equipped to inhabit aqueous mantle pockets. Our bodies require oxygen, you see, and—”

  “We have compensated for your inadequacies,” Guardian said, unperturbed. “Proceed at your usual tempo.”

  Something rippled in the darkness. Guardian moved forward and the lower half of his body melted into the floor. No— not the floor. The tunnel sloped downward into steaming water. Guardian’s body, mostly submerged, vanished with a moist flip of his tail.

  “Wait!” Kahihatan objected. “You don’t understand. We’ll die in there!”

  He tried to squirm backward, but the press of Kokkalns from behind was too powerful. Bodyguards pulled into formation, surrounding the eighth-minister with pistols drawn.

  “Oh, for the love of—don’t shoot!” Kitty said sharply. “Keep your weapons low. I’ll try it first.”

  She stepped to the edge of the water, moisture beading on her face. Kokkalns watched her from the ceiling. The air was sweltering, and rancid scents crept past the edge of her respirator. Kitty took a breath and stepped forward.

  Something pressed against her, flickering. The water parted in front of her foot. She took another step. And another. Water bulged outward, leaving a cushion of air around her body.

  To either side, a pair of Kokkalns chittered, waving appendages as if to motion her forward. Something rippled at the edge of her vision, like a gossamer fabric that could only be seen in periphery. She turned her head, trying to catch sight of it. There, a fragile membrane of gravitically-charged particles pushing away the water. Clever.

  Kokkalns moved behind her, manipulating devices she could not see. The water was as high as her waist, now. As high as her chest. Kitty stepped beneath the surface, and the overlapping voices of Kahihatan and his entourage faded away. Light gleamed from the membrane, soft and shadowless.

  The world beneath the water was far more entrancing than the surface tunnels. Kokkalns swam in graceful arcs, ducking through caverns filled with coral lattices and sheets of luminous algae. Clicks and trills reverberated through the water, sounding far more melodious than the aliens’ airborne speech. Kitty removed her respirator and found that she could breathe freely. She reached a hand toward the rim of her bubble, but quickly drew it back. The water was scalding.

  “. . . highly unconventional,” eighth-minister Kahihatan said, moving into Kitty’s vicinity. Their bubbles merged as he approached, becoming a single unit. “We’ve negotiated with the Kokkalns dozens of times. They never brought anyone below the water’s surface.”

  “You’ve never prepared to speak with their queen before, either. Perhaps the protocol is different.”

  “Miss Kittyhawk, I have a lot of experience with these creatures. They’ve never acted like this before. It’s almost like . . .”

  Dozens of Kokkalns had followed the procession into the water. No, hundreds. They crowded overhead, swimming in intricate clusters, with more still arriving. Guardian swished past, distinctive due to his dorsal calcifications. Cybernetics gleamed along his carapace, and an amplified version of his whistles penetrated the oxygen bubble. “You bring great excitement to our people, Assimilator. It has been many decades since the Evermother last surfaced.”

  “. . . like they expect you to speak with her today.” Kahihatan concluded in a tone of rising panic. “I don’t understand. We merely asked to speak with the executives, we never said you were ready to speak with the Evermother!”

  Guardian circled their bubble, his movements somehow indignant. “You said you wished to speak with the executives prior to assimilation. All is in readiness. The Evermother stirs from her slumber.”

  “But we didn’t mean to complete the assimilation right now. Miss Kitty­hawk requires—”

  “Miss Kittyhawk is the human who will assimilate the shadows. I do not see why this is so difficult.”

  “Because . . . Because—”

  Kahihatan gestured incoherently. Kittyhawk laid a hand on his arm. “Guardian, is it possible to delay the assimilation?”

  “The announcement is made. The Everqueen rises.” The ancient Kokkaln swam in a tight circle. “Death and dismemberment await those who summon her frivolously.”

  “If we don’t assimilate the shadows before she arrives, then we’ll die?”

  “You are young. It will not be difficult.”

  Guardian turned with a flick of his tail, leading the way to the deeper tunnels. He did not respond to Kahihatan’s calls.

  The humans continued down the tunnel in tight clusters. The conversation with Guardian must have been broadcast to all of the oxygen bubbles, because Kahihatan’s entourage had pulled into agitated groups. The security guards had their weapons out, clearly eager to retreat and regroup in the surface tunnels, but also clearly unwilling to start a firefight in the middle of a pocket of super-heated water. Kitty flipped through her datapad, searching for records on Kokkaln biology.

  “This is all your fault!” Kahihatan hissed. “If you hadn’t—”

  “Quiet. I’m thinking.”

  “But you allowed the Guardian to presume that you were ready to begin the assimilation!”

  “I told you, I don’t have a lot of experience with live aliens. Mostly I specialize in dead ones.”

  “Pretend they’re dead, then! Shall I have my security detail shoot a couple?”

  “Please no!” Kitty lowered her forehead to the datapad. “Look. I appreciate that you’re under a bit of stress right now, but I really need to concentrate.”

  Kitty increased her pace, pulling her oxygen bubble away from Kahihatan’s. How did she always end up in these messes? She just wanted to dig up skeletons and reconstruct alien ruins.

  Assimilate the shadows . . .

  She didn’t even know what assimilation meant to a Kokkaln, or whether the “shadows” were literal or metaphorical in n
ature. She was making progress in other directions, though. She was fairly certain that this shadow business was more than just a rite of passage or glorified IQ test. The Kokkalns were an eminently pragmatic species, and not prone to artificial barriers. If they claimed that assimilation was necessary in order to speak with the Evermother, then there was a legitimate, inescapable reason for it. Perhaps the queen’s body emitted airborne toxins, and the sculptures contained an antidote? Kitty checked the materials analysis, but came up empty-handed. As far as she could tell, the stuff comprising the statues was chemically inert.

  “Don’t worry,” said a voice at her elbow. She glanced up to find that Kahihatan’s aide had approached, merging his oxygen bubble with hers. “We have a plan. If they become aggressive, we’ll take the queen hostage!”

  “How is that a plan for anything but suicide?”

  “They’re not going to risk their queen, are they?”

  Kitty glanced at his name tag. “Mr. Johansen, your weapons will barely pierce the shell of a twelfth-molt Kokkaln like Guardian. The queen is centuries older than him. She must be huge.”

  “Um.” Johansen drew his brows down, clearly discomfited. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”

  They passed beneath a mountainous archway into a twining underwater cavern. “This is the Bubble of Assimilation,” Guardian proclaimed, circling back toward the humans. “We now enter the Corridor of The Shadows.”

  Kitty rounded the curve and stood rooted, breath caught in her throat. The passageway was gigantic, so large that the upper regions faded into darkness. Kokkalns drifted in every available space, motionless as driftwood. Amorphous blobs hung in the water, huge enough to dwarf even Guardian. They glowed with a faint amber light, and after a moment Kitty jolted in recognition.

  “The sculptures,” she murmured, more to herself than to the other humans. “These are the originals. The ones given to Kahihatan were just replicas.”

  “It is so,” Guardian affirmed, swimming placidly alongside Kitty’s bubble. “These are constructed from the saliva of our artisans. The glow comes from a species of microorganisms that reside within the excretions.”