Aboriginal Science Fiction, Issues 57–58 — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Hespeler has received the Torg’s pledge of hospitality. He is here to perform the Christian sacrament for me.” With an impatient shrug, Repchal opened the shut- tle door and gestured outward. A group of Pelen awaited them just beyond a high gate. It was covered with rhythmic mosaic forms that sparkled merrily in the midday sun. Behind the gate, eccentric structures blended with the sinuous flesh of giant mushroom trees: chocolate brown against buff and gray. Gene thought that the great Catalan sculptor Gaudi would have loved this place. It would have reminded him of his Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. When the Pelen came forward, surrounding Ursula, Gene felt like a piece of inconvenient baggage. At last the Torg made a show of personally greeting him. After she had placed a garland of delicate blue and lemon col- ored spoor-cases around his neck, the others dutifully took notice of him — if without enthusiasm. The Torg was a daughter of Ursula’s sister. The resemblance was strong. Ursula’s skin was perhaps a shade more violet, and the startling mane of goldenrod which framed the Torg’s slender face, in Ursula’s case was trimmed to the current Canadian fashion. Otherwise, they were as alike as twins. The Torg said, “The Most Reverend Eugene Hespeler delights us with his knowledge of our Pelan speech.” Gene attempted to reply with the filigreed defer- ence required, “That is to the credit of Yeracl’s patience and regard for the tradition of her sacred clan.” The Pelen exchanged hopeful looks and visibly relaxed. “And now,” said the Torg, “we will leave it to Yeracl to show you our home creche.” With that, the Torg led everyone thorough the sparkling gate and into Dimitsarmyh’s park. Gene deliberately brushed against the thick meaty leaves of a Pelan mint tree. The slight high one could get from their spores would help him to relax. Those mint trees had become popular on Earth until the Yanks outlawed them and sprayed a fungicide into Canada’s air. As they headed up the sandy ramp toward the creché, there was a small crustacean struggling with a daub of fresh stucco twice its size. It seemed headed toward a chipped place in the wall near the door’s mold- ing. As they entered the creché, Ursula said, “ I feel alone here now. The last of my sisters was wed twenty years ago.” Gene saw a cart with a dozen newborn Pelen in it. Gene held out his finger toward one. It seized onto his finger and started to climb up his hand. “They’re so alert. When do you start with their edu- cation?” “That must wait until after they recover from epos.” As a nurse came out of the door at the end of the cor- ridor, something cried out in agony. He turned to Ursula to see her change color and stiffen. The nurse went past them into another room. While the door was open, Gene could see that the room was filled with large, casket-like boxes. Strange rustling and clicking sounds underscored a random chorus of high-pitched squeaking. There was also the sound of sobbing. When the door was closed, Gene noticed that Ursula was gasping painfully for air. Gene practically carried her 48 Aboriginal Science Fiction — Summer 1998 outside through the nearest exit. “Ursula, what was in that room?” She answered in a thick, husky voice, “The nests.” He had brought her into a courtyard filled with Pelan children being shepherded by a few nurses. The young Pelen wore no clothing and yet, without the usual punctuation such as one finds on human bodies (nipples, genitals, etc.), Gene felt no sense of their being naked. The children had small buds protruding from the central base of their pectoral muscles. The buds were barely noticeable in the smaller ones and were the same violet-mauve as their skin. In the older children they grew proportionately larger and gradually changed to fuschia. To Gene, Ursula seemed out of place among her family. Perhaps it was in part because she was still wearing Canadian clothing. The Pelen he had seen went about nearly as naked as their children, wearing only ankle-length cloaks, shoes, and a sort of shield over their solar plexi. Ursula had always worn such a shield under her clothing, but nothing like these heavy metal ones the nurses wore. “Ursula, I think one of the children is playing some sort of game with us,” said Gene. After he said it, he thought that “child” was an odd word for someone just a bit taller than himself. One of the Pelan youngsters appeared to be stalking them. Gene turned around abruptly when he sensed the Pelan was just behind him. Its bud was moving. The Pelan leapt onto Ursula’s back, knocking her down. Gene tried to pull it away from her, but the young Pelan was strong and agile. As it clawed at Ursula’s shield, she made no attempt to resist. At last, Gene managed to twist the frenzied adolescent off her. As he struggled with the creature, he felt its bud claw- ing or gashing at his shirt and chest. It bit him just once and then broke away. As it pulled from him, Gene saw that the bud had a set of sharp, spiny teeth beneath its lips. A nurse quickly cornered the Pelan adolescent and stunned it with her baton. It collapsed as soon as she touched it. Ursula sat up, closing her blouse over the pale blue shield. One of the nurses scolded her as she helped her onto her feet, “You should have put on a breastplate before coming in here!” Gene watched the nurses carry the unconscious youngster away. “Why in God’s name didn’t they help you?” Ursula replied in English, “It was my fault. I'll be all right again in a minute. Sometimes they reach epos before the nurses notice. For that reason, no one ever comes into the nursery without a breastplate.” She was still breathing heavily as she led Gene down a cobblestone pathway toward a gate that led out of the playground. He tried to follow her through the gate, but some sort of force barrier held him back. Ursula returned for him and drew him close beside her. She said, “The barrier is keyed to shields so that only adults can go through. That keeps everyone safe.” Gen wondered what was supposed to be safe about that sinister place. There was a steep ramp that led down into what looked rather like a zoo. Around a raised circular plat- form there were a number of force-cages. In each of the Gomicbooks' com