Beholder's Eye (13 page)

Ersh.
I couldn’t think of a safe, clever response to this, too busy remembering warnings, too late: warnings about involvement with cultures comparable to our own, about the dangers of revealing our abilities to any outside the Web, about the abyss of direct communication with any intelligences as ephemeral as these.

Ersh would excise me from every strand. I would be alone, exiled for as long as my life would stretch. Which now promised to be far too long.

Shaken by the dark turn my thoughts had begun to take, I forced myself back to the here and now.

“There is only me,” I said flatly, quite certain I wanted this overheard.

From Ragem’s expression, he didn’t think this was a clever response. But he didn’t argue. “And where is your home?”

“Take me to Hixtar VII, if you won’t return me to Kraos.”

“Hixtar VII?” Ragem repeated blankly. “I know it— there’s nothing there but a station. It’s just a quadrant stopover for miners and traders. Why there?”

“Did I ask you questions before I saved you from the Kraosians?” I spread those slim-fingered paws flat upon the table, eyeing their calluses with a feeling of nostalgia. It had been so simple when my hands were only feet. “They could have killed all of you,” I reminded him, “despite your weapons and ship. Perhaps I should have asked your terms first!”

Ragem stood up so abruptly he knocked his chair over. It made a muffled thump as it bounced on the plas-coated floor. For a moment, I thought he would leave. I pointed down at my belt in warning.

His lips twitched, then he came around to my side of the table and knelt beside me. I realized this gesture was meant to add another layer of meaning to what he said next. “Esen, you know I’m grateful. And I’ll do what I can to help you get to wherever you want to go. But I’m not the captain of this ship. And my superiors don’t always consult me before they make decisions.”

His superiors. I didn’t know who else I had to deal with, but I realized that Kearn couldn’t be a total idiot—though I had my suspicions—and he was undoubtedly ambitious. The man badly needed to recover something from this disastrous voyage to Kraos. I could understand, if not sympathize.
So.
I searched Ragem’s face before I nodded. “I know about orders, Ragem,” I admitted grudgingly. “What do your superiors want?”
Besides my home,
I added to myself.

Ragem let out a ragged breath, as though he had been unsure of me after all. “You’re unique, Es. Unique and powerful. The Commonwealth has arranged a meeting between you and the Quadrant Minister when we reach Rigel II. They need an assurance that your species—you—poses no threat. You’ll be asked to join the Commonwealth itself—or at least to permit an ambassador of ours to accompany you home.”

Not for the first or last time, I wished I had left the Humans and their business alone. Ragem was coming close to pushing me into very regrettable action, and I resented that most of all.
Hadn’t I’d done enough adventuring for one lengthy lifetime?

“I’m not interested in meeting officials of your or any other species, Ragem,” I said at last.

Righting his chair, Ragem sat back down, this time on my side of the table, and tilted his head to regard me with what appeared to be simple curiosity. “We’ve been ordered to bring you to our quadrant base, Rigel II, failing an offer to go to your home system.”

I reached for a piece of fruit and peeled it, admiring the flexibility of claw tips and paws as I worked, pausing to lick juice from my palm. I wouldn’t be ready for polite Lanivarian society for some time—
as if I cared at the moment.

I broke the peel into smaller and smaller pieces as I spoke. “I find you Humans curious, Ragem.”

“In what way?”

“I saved your lives. Now you are taking me with you against my will.” I began to arrange the peels on the table. “Being-napping is against most species’ laws, is it not?”

“It’s only for a conversation, Es,” Ragem said, watching my paws. “No one intends any harm to you.”

I finished my work. Ragem read it, then closed his eyes tightly for a moment as if considering a variety of unpleasant options.
I’d already done that.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and bent his head to touch his flatter Human nose to mine. In Lanivarian culture, the gesture meant several things, not the least of which being a promise of loyalty through difficult times. I peered into the alien gray, black, and white of his eyes and hoped for the best.

A sound behind us warned of the end of our privacy. Ragem jumped up and swept the peels from the table.

Erasing the only word I’d written.

THERE was a tingling under my paws, flattened on either side of the port, each time the engines worked to maneuver the starship in the approach lanes. I twisted my head around once in a while, feeling a bit foolish. None of the
Rigus
crew looked my way. I pressed my nose against the port again.

I’d never seen anything like this before. We were suspended over the night side of Rigel II, an intricate bead-work of light marking cities and transport grids on the surface. Most of the curve of the planet was lost, black on black, except for a hint of a glow where her sun was slipping with playful slowness over the top rim. Suddenly, an arc of white gold traced out the edge of the world. With a click, the port closed, shielding me from the full glare of Rigel’s sunrise.

I closed my eyes also, remembering every detail, storing the image as well as my feelings. I included self-consciousness as well as rapture; my “grounder” fascination at the port a source of amusement to those playing cards or relaxing in the lounge. Yet how alive that awareness of others made me feel!
Another moment Ersh wouldn’t understand,
I reminded myself, carefully shunting the memory to my private storehouse.

I moved away from the viewport and tried to ignore the entrance of a crewmember bearing a tray of sweets. At least she was thoughtful enough not to offer me any. Following my disgraceful eruptions after my first meal aboard, probably everyone now appreciated why Lanivarians hated space travel.

I’d known, but hoped I’d be spared. Spacesickness wasn’t enough to make me cycle within range of Kearn again. Looking on the bright side, being sick was a novelty in its way. I’d undoubtedly remember every miserable detail. Something I could share with Ersh. I ran my paw over the faint bulge marking the telltale belt under my clothing. And something I’d definitely shared with any eavesdroppers.

“There you are, Es.”

I grinned toothily at Tomas as he made his way past tables full of his fellows, slapping shoulders good-naturedly as he went, pausing only to pilfer a chocolate from the plate of one of his friends. The protest that followed him was a cheerful one. I’d met puppies with the same mischievous, company-loving nature.

“So, Es. What do you think of Rigel II?” he said around bites, peering over my shoulder to look out the port, shrugging without much disappointment I could see when he realized it was closed.

My stomach gave one great threatening lurch at the smell of chocolate. “Beautiful,” I said quickly, trying not to breathe through my nose.

“Well, from up here they all look good,” Tomas said thoughtfully. “Hate to disillusion you, but this world’s a hole—even if it is home.”

“You were born there?” Now that the offending food was no longer in evidence, I followed Tomas to the nearest unoccupied couch and curled up comfortably in one corner, wiggling my toes at another new friend, Lawrenk Jen, the redheaded engineering specialist. She waved back and quickly returned her concentration to the cards in her hand, the grin on her broad mouth causing the others at her table to exchange glum glances.

I edged one leg over my tail in an attempt to stop its thumping. The position wasn’t comfortable or dignified, but then neither would be the reactions of a true Lanivarian to my behavior. Irresponsible tail-wagging was equivalent to a Human running about naked, except possibly on Hinesburg II.

“Born on Rigel?” Tomas repeated. With the ease of an unconscious mimic, he curled his thin frame into the other corner of the couch. His mouth curled up, too. “Oh, none of us are Rigellian—or at least admits it. Home is what a First Contact Team calls its quadrant base. Helps keep things simple. Our current ‘home’ happens to be Rigel II.” Tomas sighed melodramatically. “You watch. It’ll be boring from orbit on down, Esen. Absolutely nothing disgraceful to do.”

I pulled a file from a pocket of my coveralls. The clothing actually fit to some extent. I’d had to make some minor adjustments, such as cutting off the sleeves, trimming the collar, and, of course, snipping a hole in the rear to accommodate my tail. Fortunately, when I showed off my tailoring, Willify assured me she hadn’t wanted the clothing back anyway.

Being dressed made one feel incredibly civilized. I stretched out the toes of my right paw, inspected the calluses on my knuckles, and resumed the tiresome process of filing away at them. It would take some time to remove the evidence of six hundred days on all fours.

“Lots of important types at this base?” I asked Tomas with what I thought was a properly casual note of interest.

His blue eyes twinkled, their natural state. “Will be once the
Rigus
makes orbit. You’ll stay for a while at least, Esen? We could use an excuse for a party.” Predictably his mobile mouth drooped. Tomas’ face, ever transparent, never failed to show when he was thinking of his murdered crewmates.

“We’ll see,” I hedged.

“Hey, Tomas—we need a fourth. Lawrenk’s deciding to lift her haul while she’s ahead.” With an apologetic shrug to me, Tomas got up and joined the cardplayers, taking the seat the engineering specialist had vacated.

I watched the bustle contentedly. This had become my favorite place, a combination of refuge and entertainment. During on-duty shift, it was lonely in the room I shared with Tomas and Ragem. But people came and went in the
Rigus’
rest lounge like flotsam on a tide. At some point or other in the shipday, each crewmember would drift in, to socialize or sit alone, eat or just stretch out on a couch to enjoy the sense of activity. Only a few shared my fascination with the viewports. I had begun to suspect that Humans were capable of becoming used to anything.

They’d gotten used to me. There weren’t many non-Humans aboard, just Sas, who was a Modoren, and a couple of dozen Quebits floating in the null grav parts of the engine room when they weren’t climbing around the exterior of the hull. Sas didn’t trust me, and I already knew Quebits had the conversational abilities of doorknobs. Fortunately, most of the twenty-two Human crewmembers of the
Rigus
were friendly, especially here and off duty.

And here was the source of Ragem’s desperate courage on Kraos—the connections between these people, connections as strong in their way as those of my Web. Ragem’s sponsorship admitted me to this group, although their welcome was based on a somewhat creative explanation of our relationship.

I appreciated that Ragem and Kearn had to explain my arrival, since I could hardly be hidden for the week-long translight voyage from Kraos to Rigel II. And, since I’d lied to Ragem in the first place, why should I quibble? So I somewhat philosophically accepted my role as a semi-crazed Lanivarian trader foolish enough to land on Kraos. I was even grateful that the secret of my shape-changing was being kept by Sas, Kearn, and, certainly, Ragem, at least on this ship, though I was sure reports had burned the com links. Tomas and Willify, the only other crew to meet me as Ycl, had been told that being was safely hibernating in a stasis box in the hold. The entire fabrication seemed to satisfy all questions.

It was the constantly expanding details of Ragem’s heroic rescue of me from the depths of a Kraosian prison I was beginning to detest.
Who had saved whom?

I replaced the file in my pocket, promising the reddened skin of my knuckles some cream, and scratched discreetly behind one ear. Though I’d left my insect passengers behind on Kraos when I cycled, the habit was soothing. I stroked the sides of my muzzle, pleased at the smoothness of a good trim.
Couldn’t pass for a serlet today.

A shout of dismay from the cardplayers meant that Tomas had inherited a lucky chair. I considered joining the game, sure of my welcome, then changed my mind. Watching our approach to Rigel II had brought to focus my own predicament.

The crew accepted me; knowing more of the truth, Kearn and his superiors did not. My fingers couldn’t push between the telltale and my skin, though it was comfortable enough.

I couldn’t see the use of it, unless it was to help Kearn avoid facing me. Certainly, we’d never encountered each other since that first day, and it wasn’t that big a ship. His suspicion was as valid an indicator of how I would be received on Rigel II as the friendship in the lounge.