by Jeri Taylor
He increased his target practice and kept his weapons scrupulously clean. If there were an emergency, he would be ready.
But gradually the months wore on, and the murky sense of threat began to fade. And when his spots came in, when he was just shy of fourteen, all other thoughts were eclipsed.
He had suspected he was transitioning when he began to feel a slight burning on his face and neck, and for weeks he peered at himself in a reflector, looking for the first hint of spots. Finally, he saw them—a faint, hazy series of halos that dotted his head, neck, back, and extremities.
At last, he was a man.
As the weeks passed, the spots darkened, becoming more and more prominent. He felt a new spring in his step as he walked the corridors of his school, feeling his kinship with those who had already transitioned, and faintly sorry for the boys his age who were still spotless.
And, inexorably, he found his eye being drawn to females.
He’d heard of this powerful lure, but it had always sounded faintly silly to him. Taking pleasure in the sheer act of looking at a female? It was absurd. But now he found that this simple act produced sensations he could not have imagined before. He was bewildered, beguiled, and frightened. Every opposing emotion conceivable seemed to be occurring simultaneously within his young frame.
His schoolwork suffered as a result of his new preoccupation. At night, he found himself recollecting Bibixen’s lustrous tufts or Xela’s bewitching yellow eyes. He heard Uxana’s silvery laughter, smelled the dusky, alluring scent of Maxis’s perfume. His studies lay open, undone, as he indulged these agreeable reveries. His weapons collection, once his pride, was stored away unused.
The only thing that rivaled young women in his thoughts was his desire for a hover vehicle. He hadn’t visited the hut in the woods for many months, preferring to stay closer to home on the chance he might spot his neighbor Vaxi swimming in the pond that separated their yards. But if he had a vehicle . . . he could invite her on rides through the woods. He might even show her the hut, the only person besides his sister who would know of its existence.
And so, as he awaited the Feast of the First Night in the year he was fifteen, Neelix went to sleep each night thinking of whisking through the woods with Vaxi at his side, frightening her a little, perhaps, with his daring maneuvers, whipping around trees and skimming over rocky streams. She would squeal and shiver and cover her eyes, but he would be in sure control, and gradually she would relax, realizing his mastery of the vehicle, and admire his skills. She might even take his arm as he threw her off balance by careering around a particularly sharp curve. He imagined her hand on his arm, clutching it, feeling her exquisite fingertips like hot little brands on his skin.
Finally, the Feast of the First Night arrived. Neelix was in a paroxysm of anticipation. He had prepared all the gifts he was giving his family: lockets he had carved for his sisters, a delicate keepsakes box he had made for his mother, and a strong joiner tool for his father.
But his thoughts—for which he felt only mildly guilty— were all about his own longed-for gift.
“Children, come to the table.” That was the traditional opening statement for the Feast of the First Night. Neelix and his sisters trooped eagerly to their dining table, which had been festooned with garlands of fellin branches. Scented candles cast off the aroma of testle blossoms, a heady fragrance that Neelix associated with the most joyous childhood memories. On this night, he found that he wasn’t experiencing the feelings of his newly acquired manhood, but rather those of the small boy whose eyes had widened at the sight of the gifts of Prixin and whose stomach was sated with the delicious foodstuffs.
He and his sisters took their places, and their father led them in singing the hymn of Prixin, which was an expression of gratitude for peace, for food, and for shelter, but which also spoke of the virtues of the family, and the importance of the bonds of love. Neelix loved this song, which never failed to comfort and inspire him.
“Join our loving hearts together . . . we are not afraid. Join our hands in strong communion . . . we are not afraid. We are blessed to have each other . . . alone we do not stand . . . loving hearts will stay the nightfall . . . loving hands will keep us strong.”
Then it was time for the revelation of the food. His mother, Axa, lifted the coverings from bowl after bowl of the traditional dishes: roast game, dusky tubers, trove bars of course—but best of all, the fruit compotes, soaked in moolt, which even children were allowed to eat because it was Prixin. Neelix ate several bowlfuls, and enjoyed the slightly light-headed sensation that came from the moolt.
“Now it is time for the gifts,” announced his father. Neelix’s heart quickened. He saw his sisters exchanging sly glances, and he was more certain than ever that a vehicle awaited him.
He forced himself to be patient while he and his sisters exchanged their gifts; they were delighted with his lockets, which pleased him, and he appreciated the assortment of games and tools they had given him.
Next came the presentation of the children’s gifts to their parents, which took a very long time because his parents insisted on going on and on about each gift, praising its virtues and thanking the giver at great length. Neelix vowed that when he had a family, he wouldn’t torture his children by making them wait so long for their parental gifts.
Finally, it was time. The parental gifts were given to each child in order of their births. This meant Neelix was last, and he summoned all his patience in order to be properly happy for his sisters as they were given their major gifts.
His parents were generous, and each of the girls received a substantial gift: a flawless gemstone for Raxel, a vacation trip to Talax for Mixin, a valuable piece of sculpture for Alixia, a rare perfume for Xepha, and silk clothing for Melorix.
Finally, it was time for Neelix. His mother and father exchanged a smile and announced that they must all go outside in order to see Neelix’s gift. His heart hammered—he was right. A hover vehicle waited outside. He would ride it this very night to Vaxi’s house.
His father opened the door and all of them trooped out. It took a few minutes for Neelix’s eyes to accustom to the darkness, and at first all he could see was a dark shape in the yard. He moved toward it, realizing that his parents and sisters all hung back, letting him approach it alone.
It wasn’t a vehicle.
It was a large old cannon, of the sort he knew had been used over a hundred years ago. These antiques were highly prized, and he knew his parents must have gone to a great deal of trouble to find it.
But it wasn’t a hover vehicle. And he could hardly expect Vaxi to be enchanted by it.
He forced a smile on his face and turned to face his family. “I’m overwhelmed,” he said honestly. “It’s too much . . .”
He father was beaming. “It’s been fully restored, to mint condition. Except for its firing ability, of course. That cannon is much too powerful to be activated.”
“Of course.” There was a pause as Neelix sought something more to say. “It’s beautiful. I’ve read all about these Xeno-class cannons. They were technological marvels in their time.” Another pause. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“We knew you’d be thrilled,” said his mother. “Your father spent months looking for this.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I don’t deserve such a remarkable gift.”
“We’re proud of you, Neelix,” said his father, his plump cheeks widening in a smile. “We wanted to show you how much.”
“I’m honored. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.” The words sounded hollow in his ears. The conversation was losing all spontaneity and deteriorating into a series of platitudes. He wanted to get away from all of them. He went to his father and laid his head on Papa’s chest in a traditional Talaxian gesture. He did the same to his mother, and she caressed his tufts gently.
“My baby,” she murmured. He shut his eyes, miserable. They did love him, and had gone out of their way to prese
nt him with a remarkable gift. He tried to summon genuine gratitude, but he was empty. He pulled away from his mother and smiled as warmly as he could.
“I’m going to my room. I’d like to look up some of the reading I did on Xeno-class cannons. Thank you so much. I love you.”
He retreated awkwardly, smiling and waving until he was inside the house. Then he fled to his room, conflicting emotions roiling within him. How dare he be disappointed? He was one of the most fortunate people alive. His family adored him and showered him with love. He was smart, and healthy, and capable. The future was limitless. He should be rejoicing every day of his life.
But bitter disappointment was like an insidious acid, oozing its way through him, eroding any sense of well-being and leaving him bereft and miserable. His fantasies of Vaxi had cracked and shattered like a reflector that was dropped. He shut his eyes and imagined Vaxi, whose spots were the most delicate shade of beige, pale and dainty. Her eyes were the lightest yellow, almost a white, giving her a mystic look. Her voice was like the purr of a kimcat, a husky, tender cascade of music.
Vaxi, Vaxi . . .
“Neelix . . . Neelix . . .”
His head jerked up. Was he hearing things? Was someone calling his name? There it was again, coming from outside his window. “Neelix . . . open the window.”
Puzzled, he moved to the window and peered out. Then almost jumped backward in shock.
Vaxi was there, just outside, calling to him. “Neelix, I have to talk to you. Please open the window.”
In his haste, he fumbled with the lock, fingers shaking from the surprise of seeing her in his yard. Finally, he managed to get the window open. A sweet, warm breeze caressed him as he leaned out and stared at Vaxi. “What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”
“Neelix, could you come outside? I need your help.”
His heart began pumping harder. Sweet Vaxi needed his help? Had she had an argument with her parents? Was she in some kind of trouble—or danger? He immediately swung his leg over the sill and scrambled out, a maneuver he’d made many times in his life.
Vaxi was standing near a small grove of fern trees at the back of the property. She was wearing a pale, filmy dress which caught the breeze, shimmering in the light of Talax above; its golden hue brought out the yellow of her beautiful eyes. Neelix thought he had never seen anyone so lovely, and his throat caught unexpectedly.
“Vaxi, what is it? What’s happened?”
She didn’t look worried, he realized. She looked—what? Eager? Expectant? His mind raced around itself, trying to understand this strange unfolding of events. He thought he heard a small rustling within the fern trees, but he could see nothing.
Incredibly, Vaxi was extending her hand to him. He hesitated, but she beckoned insistently toward him. “Come here, Neelix. I have to show you something.”
He approached her carefully, still off balance and wary. This was the most curious behavior he’d ever seen in Vaxi, who was ordinarily a quiet, retiring young woman. She took his hand and immediately turned, pulling him into the grove of fern trees. Bushy fronds immediately surrounded them, and Neelix lifted his other arm to ward them off, but Vaxi marched unerringly forward.
Neelix was palpably uneasy. It was all too bizarre to comprehend, this mysterious plunge into the fern grove. Should he stop and refuse to take another step until Vaxi explained her strange behavior? A large part of him wanted to do just that.
Yet he was forced to admit that he was peculiarly titillated by this odd jaunt, and by the touch of Vaxi’s soft hand tugging at him. He was close enough to inhale her fragrance, a faint scent of sweet grasses which quickened his heart as much as their brisk pace. He decided he would enjoy this unusual closeness regardless of what awaited them at the end of their outing.
What was that? A branch snapping? He jerked his head to the side, peering through the gloom. Was someone else in the grove with them? His feelings of well-being dissolved immediately, and the night was once again filled with ominous portents.
He heard a quiet cough from somewhere ahead. Instinctively, he slowed down, but Vaxi turned and pulled at him. “Come on,” she whispered hoarsely, moving inexorably forward.
A dark shape loomed ahead of them. This time Neelix stopped short. He wasn’t going a step toward that shape. The time had come for answers.
But Vaxi wasn’t pulling him forward anymore. She had stopped, too, and turned toward him, exuding anticipation. He heard sounds of movement off to his side, and a sharp intake of breath, as though someone were containing a laugh.
Then floodlights suddenly snapped on, illuminating the shadowy depths of the fern grove. Neelix squinted, almost blinded by the intrusion of intense light. He shaded his eyes, peering ahead at the now illuminated shape.
It was a hover vehicle.
Simultaneous with that realization came a whoop of laughter, and then there were a lot of people emerging from the ferns—his parents, his sisters, Vaxi’s parents and brother. The scene seemed unreal, incomprehensible. What was happening? His mind struggled to find a context for these inexplicable events.
Alixia’s laughter centered him once more. His eyes were pulled toward the sound, and he saw her approaching him, ebullient. “Oh, Neelix, you should see your face!”
He turned from her to Vaxi, and saw Vaxi, too, giggling uncontrollably, turned back to see his parents almost beside themselves with delight, his father’s tufts bobbing in the harsh white light, his mother’s eyes gleaming golden.
His astonishment wasn’t lessened as he realized what was happening and how elaborate the plan had been. He stared at his father, speechless.
“Well, Neelix, I can tell you’re surprised, all right. I guess we pulled it off.”
“We’ve planned this for weeks,” said Alixia merrily. “Everyone’s been a part of it. I don’t know how we managed to keep the secret so long.”
Neelix, still reeling, turned back toward the hovercraft.
He thought he’d never seen such a magnificent vehicle. It was a two-seated pod, sleek and racy. It wasn’t new, of course, but it was in excellent condition, its diburnium chassis smooth and undented. Well, maybe a small dent on its underbelly, but it was hardly noticeable. It was a deep shade of burgundy, so dark it was almost black, and was trimmed with burnished steel.
“You . . . this . . . is . . . for . . . me?” His voice stammered and shook, a fact that seemed to produce a new round of mirth in the onlookers, his sisters all but squealing in glee.
“Maybe it was a bit cruel, pretending the cannon was your only gift,” said his father. “But these malicious women,” and at that he gestured good-naturedly toward his wife and daughters, “would hear of nothing else.”
Neelix’s legs felt shaky. He had to draw a few breaths of air as he assimilated the enormity of what had happened.
He’d been given a hovercraft!
He looked from one to the other of his family and friends. He felt a giant lump forming in his throat, which deep breaths did nothing to dissolve. “I . . . don’t know what to say. Thank you . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . in shock . . .”
“You tried so hard to convince us you weren’t disappointed with the cannon,” giggled Alixia. “You were so sweet . . . but you looked as though someone had killed your pet kimcat.”
“You . . . you planned all this? The cannon . . . the vehicle . . . ?” Neelix felt himself babbling, but he was still trying to comprehend this extraordinary event.
His mother smiled. “The girls convinced me you would appreciate a hovercraft more if you thought you weren’t getting one. They knew you expected it. So they evolved this whole scheme, and persuaded Vaxi to be a part of it.”
“We knew you’d never guess what was happening if she was involved.” Mixin grinned.
“But I was so nervous,” breathed Vaxi. “My heart was pounding—I was sure I’d mess everything up somehow, and you’d guess what was going on.”
Neelix walked toward the vehicle and ran his hand softly over t
he finish. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I couldn’t have imagined anything better.” He turned to his family, to his neighbors, and his eyes began to sting. He felt surrounded, enveloped by love. How did he deserve such happiness? “Thank you,” he breathed. “I’ll always try to . . . to . . . I’ll try never to disappoint you. Any of you.”
It was an odd little speech, and he didn’t quite know where it came from, but his father embraced him strongly and his mother hugged him; Vaxi’s father clapped him on the back, and—bliss of blisses—Vaxi planted a delicate kiss on his cheek. His skin flushed and his stomach twitched in an unfamiliar but decidedly pleasurable way.
He was happier than he’d ever been in his life, happier than he would ever be. He couldn’t imagine ever being unhappy again.
Four years later, just twelve days before his nineteenth birthday, he stood, terrified, stricken by catastrophe, in the yard of a hidden compound on Talax. The world as he knew it was over, and misery was the most positive emotion he could summon.
How had it come to this? How could everything have crumbled so completely, so dreadfully? Was life truly so unpredictable, so uncontrollable? And could he hope that, someday, it might reverse itself as completely and render him happy again?
And, most important: Was there anything he could have done that might have altered this unspeakable course of events?
And as he asked himself this fateful question, he realized the answer. Yes, things might have been different. He would be dead now, of course. But at this point that seemed a far more comforting possibility than the life to which he was now consigned.
In a strange way, it had all happened as a result of his Prixin gift four years ago. His hovercraft. His liberation.
His fantasies had come true. He mastered the craft quickly, and became a skilled pilot. He took Vaxi for long and exhilarating rides over the countryside of Rinax, and she squealed at his bold maneuvers. She even clung to him, as he had imagined her doing, and her dainty hands were indeed like pinpoints of fire, burning into his skin.