Beholder's Eye (19 page)

Hands reached up and seized my legs, pulling me down into a mass of warm concern. All of them, including the Matriarch, tried to touch me at once, to make certain I was safe. I closed my eyes for a moment in bliss and inhaled their welcome.

The ship made a sound I’d never heard from metal and plas before. One of the Ganthor clicked *Grapples*!!*

The herd broke away from me to lunge for their weapons. I found myself looking up at the Matriarch; she alone hadn’t moved. *Safety* she clicked, her scent adding the overtone that meant I belonged in the herd core, surrounded by those older and stronger—and in this case, armed and capable of herd defense. Her snout flared, mucus dripping as she assessed both my response and the emotional state of her herd.

The lights faltered, going to emergency backup systems, cut in brilliance by half. The force field isolating this section from the rest of the hold dropped at the same time. The door burst open and fourteen weapons hummed like angry insects ready to protect a hive.

I couldn’t see past the Ganthor encircling me like a living wall, but since they didn’t fire I assumed the intruder belonged to the
’Dip.
In confirmation, a hoarse Human voice rang out. “We’re being boarded by the Tly warship
Avenger.
Captain wants you to put down your weapons. The Tly promise immunity to noncombatants. Do you understand me? Put down your weapons!”

The Matriarch clicked and stamped immediately, her Second translating almost simultaneously. *I accept terms for this herd. We disarm*!!*

I wasn’t certain if this meant these Ganthor were under contract to the Tly and so had nothing to fear, or if they considered this situation to negate their contract with the Tly’s enemies and were confident the Tly would agree—not something I’d assume with Humans. However, judging by the continuing wail of the klaxon and the now-flickering emergency lighting,
Serendipity’s Luck
didn’t seem worth fighting for anyway. I let out a scent of relief that I didn’t care if the other Ganthor shared.

 

The Matriarch had been right in her assessment. The
Avenger
’s captain was quite willing to confiscate the weapons and other military hardware in the
’Dip’s
hold in exchange for safe passage for the Ganthor, myself, and the
’Dip’s
crew to the nearest neutral system, Ultari. No one commented on Ultari’s myriad worlds and lax laws making its central spaceport, located on Ultari XIV, a logical place for the
Avenger
to sell off the contents of the
’Dip
’s hold without question, turning the flavor of the deed closer to polite piracy than protecting a blockade. But then, Ganthor vastly preferred a barter system, and the
’Dip
’s crew knew not to question the mellow good nature of a captain who could as easily have them charged and executed for transporting mercenaries. Or left them on their cracked-open ship—which would have been just as certain a death.

I wasn’t inclined to complain either. Once I knew we’d be dropped on Ultari XIV, the greater part of my problems were solved. I’d be able to access Ersh’s account and buy passage direct to Picco’s Moon without any difficulty.

Except the one surrounding me. The herd was still anxious, the Ganthor rightly suspicious of any communication with beings who couldn’t clarify their meanings by scent. Anxious Ganthor meant stubborn, herd-preoccupied Ganthor.

Just my luck,
I thought, when the
Avenger
’s port opened at last, allowing us to exit onto Ultari XIV—all of us: myself jostled into the core position almost involuntarily by the others. I had a great view of Ultari’s beige-and-russet morning sky and that was about it.

Fortunately, I had been able to convince the Matriarch I’d been a victim of *herd theft!!* that is, ceremonial kidnapping. It was commonplace among Ganthor to coax or outright steal promising offspring from other herds to join their own. The system was an admirable solution to inbreeding and it was considered an honor to be stolen by a herd of accomplishment. If one was stolen by a lesser herd, one could protest by trying to leave that herd and journey back to one’s own—a task so difficult for the average Ganthor as to be almost legendary. I fabricated a tale of suffering and effort so convoluted it convinced them all, my conscience assuaged by the knowledge my entire story was based on one of their own folktales.

As result, this herd was willing to help me return to my home, though there was continuing gentle effort to coax me to change my mind and stay with them. I admitted to temptation, but held firm.

 

At last.
I settled my long spine deeper into the passenger seat—first class, having deserved it by this point—and allowed myself to believe the worst was over. The Ganthor had bid their farewells to me at the spaceport, intent on seeking another merc contract. I’d made the moment of separation quick and in a crowd, so the scents of other beings would immediately disguise my own. Then I ducked into the humanoid section of the restrooms by the gate, cycled in privacy, donned the clothing I’d bought earlier, and stepped out, Lanivarian and independent once more.

At last,
I repeated to myself, carefully chewing on the spacesickness lozenges the attendant brought, and holding the bag that came with them nearby. I didn’t care if I did get sick. It was a short hop now to Picco’s Moon. A short hop with no blockades or suspicious Humans in the way.

My stomach spasmed ominously, but it wasn’t the flight.

I’d just remembered it was a short hop until I saw Ersh. And had to explain, somehow, why I was no longer on Kraos performing the duties of my very first mission, but was instead fleeing the attention of the Commonwealth government.

I SHUDDERED myself free of memory.
What was done, was done.
I’d exposed my kind to the dangerous attention of humanity and its allies. And, to my mind far worse, I’d managed to terrify the one Human who could have spoken for us. All that remained was to see if Ersh could come up with a punishment equal to the crime. I doubted it.

The memories I’d eaten and assimilated were quickly becoming mine. Skalet had added another dialect to the language of her favorite avian form.
As if any species needed forty-three hundred and seventeen ways to express itself,
I thought with a mental snort. Lesy-memory contained the pattern for Security Officer Sas’ species, the Modoren. A bit late for that to be useful. Ansky had spent the last year composing rather shocking love poetry to a trio of Urgians she’d met. Mixs had mostly gossip and little more. So my accomplishment of the Kraosian form was not shabby at all.

I cycled into the Modoren form. My vision was nicely enhanced, extending well into the ultraviolet. Ersh needed to wash her tablecloth. Unfortunately this form’s sense of smell was dead compared to my nose as a Lanivarian. Well, it explained how Sas tolerated Kearn’s choice of cologne.

“You look ridiculous,” Skalet burst out laughing. “Better wait for that one, ’tween.”

I walked over to the mirror and hissed at my reflection. The translation of relative species’ age was not in my favor. I was maturing unusually quickly for my kind, but never quickly enough to suit Ersh or myself. Lesy-memory in mine labeled me perfectly.
I was an overgrown kitten.

“But it works nicely for me,” Ersh said from behind. She cycled, her change so rapid that I could barely catch the moment. As a Modoren, Ersh was in her prime: powerful, sleek, with a distinguished peppering of gray on her facial fur. She batted at me playfully. Though we were close to the same size, the blow knocked me off my feet.

I cycled back to the Lanivarian, and found to my dismay that I was furious. It was an effort to get the growl out of my voice. “Why did you do that?”

Ersh cycled, too. It was the ancient Human who cocked her wizened face at me. Skalet and Lesy snatched up their Kraosian clothing and retreated from the room without a word. I stood my ground, having nowhere else to go.

“I said I was proud of what you salvaged from your posting. That has nothing to do with what you did afterward—with the Humans.” She took up her cane. “And if you’re ready, it’s time we discussed the consequences of that.”

I nodded reluctantly.

“Come,” she said, shuffling to the door that led to her private chamber. I sent off a quick prayer to the Snaggle-Toothed God of my present form and followed.

The chamber had one chair, Ersh’s. It had one light, controlled by Ersh’s hand. And it had one exit, with Ersh’s permission. Duras plants lined the walls, growing under lights in precise measured ranks. Ersh didn’t believe in scrounging for mass.

I knew this room, having spent a lot of time in here during my formative years. It was Ersh herself who seemed new and strange, her unfamiliar Human shape out of place. I couldn’t read her face at all.

Ersh-memory floated up as I waited. As usual, it was full of gaps and edits. It was one of the reasons Ersh was still the center of the Web—her talent at not-sharing. She’d left in her reaction when I’d arrived unexpectedly on her doorstep. I tried not to wince.

“You’ve made us famous,” she said after a soul-destroying pause that Kearn would have died to achieve.

There wasn’t much to say to that, but I met her glittering eyes. “I didn’t see any choice in the matter.”

“Choice?” she sputtered, tiny flecks of saliva appearing at the corners of her thin lips. “I trained you. We all trained you. When did we say, in this or that situation, the choice will be up to you?” She waved her stump of an arm.

There was a time when I would have lain on the floor and showed my belly then and there. Even crippled, withered by this form, Ersh crowded the room with her age and wisdom. She dominated us all by her position in the Web. Her memories were the oldest we shared; she had been the First.

But I’d been on my own. In a way, I’d formed my own Web, a fragile little web of friendship, even if it had been cut. I spoke quickly, before my brand new courage failed.

“Tell me, Oldest. What would you have done differently? Should I have let Ragem die? Should I have let his crewmates perish instead? To keep our moldy secrets, should I have forgotten the Rules of the Web, to find and preserve
intelligence
?”

Ersh sucked in her cheeks. For a moment I was startled, then realized it was a smile—she didn’t have many teeth left. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. “You quote rules to me, Youngest?” she said, tiger-soft. Then a spittle-coated roar: “I made up the damn Rules!”

“Don’t you believe in them?”

“Don’t you talk back to me!”

“Fine,” I said, turned, and walked to the door. Inside I shook like jelly and wanted to cycle into something with a lot of body armor.

“Wait.” The voice was suddenly the deeper one I was used to, and I stopped. I knew what she was now without looking, the form Ersh used most. “You shared deeply and well, Esen. We are each other’s flesh. Let’s honor that by not bickering, at least.”

I went out to the other room, picked up a kitchen chair, and brought it back. Deliberately, I sat down and looked at Ersh.

The Tumblers were native to this moon, which gave Ersh both cover and company when the strands of the Web were stretched by distance. In Tumbler-form, she was more mineral than meat, looking like a tower of spun plas. Her deep, musical voice emanated from resonating crystals.
A dignified, capable body.
When I’d been very young, I used to sneak up and tap her quickly with a hammer of stone—she’d ring like a bell. Ersh had never been impressed by this habit.

“What do you want me to do, Ersh?” I asked quietly. “The past is done.”

“True. A past with a foul, poisonous taste.”

“It’s not that bad,” I protested. “A few Humans with a wild story—a hint of a mysterious life-form. This kind of contact was bound to happen sometime.”
But why to me,
I thought with a significant amount of self-pity.

“Some have asked that I excise you, cut you forever from the Web.”

Really bad news takes time to sink in, so I didn’t bother dwelling on it. “They all shared with me,” I countered, bitter.
Mixs and Skalet, no doubt.
At least those two, though I hoped no others.

Ersh chimed, a discordant sound. “They appreciated the necessity of knowing what you’d done.”

“What I did was—” I hesitated. “I saw no other way, then or now. Ersh, the Humans don’t know anything important about us—you shared my memory of it.”

“Your sharing wasn’t complete, Esen.”

I worked at keeping my ears up. “What do you mean?”

“Did you think to fool me?”

This seemed like a dangerous question to answer so I kept quiet. Ersh made a wind-over-sand sound—a Tumbler sigh. “I know you well enough, Esen, to fill in some of what you didn’t share. Ragem, Tomas. These names come with a taste of friendship. This tells me you’ve forged connections with these ephemerals. They will search for you; you are now of their Web.”