Beholder's Eye (23 page)

“No, no. This is important.” Ragem tugged his wrist from my fingers and sat up. “Can we talk more about what you’ve heard about this? Please, Nimal-Ket?”

As a Ket, I should be annoyed by having my client end the session, so I scowled ferociously at him and soothed my rejected fingers on the hoobit. As myself, I was reassured by the spark in his eyes, so dull before. “If it is talk you wish, sir,” I said grudgingly, eyeing the door to the lounge. “But this Ket has other clients.”

“A moment only.” Ragem courteously offered me his hand. “Sit with me.”

His good manners eased my Ket nature. So invited, I let my fingers explore the palm of his hand as I echoed his cross-legged position on the pad. Ragem extended his other hand, stopping just short of the hoobit swinging from my chest. Quite overcome by his excellent understanding of Ket ways, I nodded. Ragem closed his eyes and ran his fingers lightly over the textured pendant. Since liberties were to be exchanged, I fluttered my fingers over his face, enjoying the bristle of his chin almost as much as the fine lashes of his eyes.

“Such exquisite politeness,” I said warmly, once the moment of sharing passed. “I am honored by your knowledge of my kind. This Ket would know your use-name, Human, so I may share it.”

Ragem almost smiled. “Paul,” he said. “Paul-Human,” he corrected himself. “And I am honored, too, Nimal-Ket.”

“You wish to know more about the Fringe and its rumors, Paul-Human,” I shook my head. “This Ket has heard nothing pleasant.”

“We know about the ships found without their crews—and the miners and others missing. The official story up till now is that it’s escalation of the conflict between Garson’s World, Inhaven, and the Tly System. Those governments have denied it, as you’d expect.” His pause was ominous. “But, this time, we believe the protest—there’s more going on. What have you heard?”

“Beings on this station talk of something evil, a thing that seeks out intelligent life and consumes it,” I said, then temporized. “Many races explain disasters with such tales.”

“Perhaps with good reason, Nimal-Ket. Do they say where this evil comes from?”

“No one knows. But one captain told me it first appeared at a distant point in the Fringe, passed through a Tly mining cluster, and most recently affected ships near Garson’s World.” I wriggled my fingers dismissively. “There have been battles between those of Tly and Garson. This Ket sees no reason to invoke some mysterious monster,” I finished, then found myself abruptly wondering.

Ragem sighed. “It’s been kept quiet so far, Nimal-Ket, but you’ll see it on the screens today. Inhaven’s colonies and Garson’s World have been heavily blockaded by the Tly. It’s gone on for months. Things have changed for the worse,” Ragem’s voice was somber. “The Tly have sent warships to Garson’s World in response to what they’ve called attacks on the blockade. The Commonwealth experts fear they are going to strike at the planet itself.”

“Murder!”

“The Tly media prefers the word resolution,” Ragem corrected, holding my eyes with his.

The hoobit gave little comfort as I closed my eyes and rocked in place, humming to myself.
Foolish destructive beings—were their lives not short enough?
This was why the purpose of the Web was so essential. The pattern of extinction at each other’s hands was too common. If Garson’s World fell, the Web alone would remember the folktales of its people. We would remember the raw exuberance of its settlements, the smell of hops and syrups at harvest, the . . .

“Madame?”

With a shudder, I came back to myself, this form, and this place. I looked at Ragem, recognizing that sharp look of his with dismay.
Now I was his focus.
A true Ket would hardly blink at such news, being a very self-absorbed race. “It has been a long day for this Ket, Paul-Human,” I said quickly but steadily. “And your news does upset me. Garson’s World contains many—valued clients.”

Ragem rubbed one hand over his face, then nodded. “My apologies for being so abrupt, Nimal-Ket. I realize how important your clients are to you. We must prevent any more loss of life, whether by war or this evil you speak of.”

“Yes.” Keeping one hand on my hoobit, I placed the other over his heart, feeling its beat through my palm, my six supple fingers spanning the whole of his chest. Its warmth was unexpectedly comforting. “If this Ket can help, you need only ask, Paul-Human.”

Again Ragem’s eyes narrowed slightly. Before he could react further, I said firmly, “This Ket will explain why I am so eager to take up this challenge, Paul-Human, since you know enough of our ways to find this unexpected. Ket-Prime is not far enough from the Fringe to ignore this danger moving through it. As one whose pouch is not yet ready to fill with life, this Ket must take action against any threat to those blessed.”
Too true,
I thought, aware of the terrible vulnerability of a species whose reproduction was limited to one planet. The Ket ensured their traditions and privacy by becoming fertile only when old enough to retire to their homeworld.

If the image of my less-than-powerful form as a protector of the innocent amused Ragem, he was far too tactful to show it. Instead he touched my hoobit with two fingers and bowed his head slightly. “As must we all, Nimal-Ket,” he said quietly.

We stood. I didn’t want him to leave, but what could I say? Perhaps Ragem felt the same way, for he smiled up at me and said: “If we stay docked long enough, I hope you are available again, Nimal-Ket.”

I fluttered my long fingers to show amusement. “Your ship’s credit is adequate, Paul-Human. This Ket is gratified to serve.”

Once the door closed behind Ragem, my aloneness returned like the cold whisper of wind over skin. I increased my body temperature but still shivered. The cold was inside; for all my years and Ersh’s training, I had no idea how to warm myself again.

“—A Lanivarian, no less!” Station Chief of Administration Griffin laughed so hard after this that I suspended my hands in midair for a moment to let his generous flesh stop shaking.

“This Ket was surprised to see the notices, sir,” I made the understatement quietly, continuing my work on a back that would have made two of Ragem’s. “And you say this being is the danger that has so frightened the people of the Fringe systems?”

Griffin almost choked. “I say nothing of the kind. This man Kearn is out of his mind, that’s what I say. We’re up against a military uprising less than two days’ translight from here, and they send us a nut. You know, this is the third time he’s docked here in the last week. I swear he’s worse each time!”

I had to rework the tension from his upper shoulders, wishing I could do the same for myself.
Ersh had been right,
I thought.
She’d just underestimated how quickly my little escapade would produce further disaster.
“And this Lanivarian he seeks?” I asked.

“Esen Quat something,” he grunted. “It’s all nonsense. There’s never been a Lanivarian with the stomach to travel this far. And look at the pictures Kearn’s had his crew spread over my posting boards! Explain to me how this, this pup! could be responsible for gutting ships in the most miserable area of space ever explored!”

“This Ket has seen the image, sir. I must agree, the being appears unlikely to be the villain they say. But surely this Kearn brought proof?”

I struck a particularly tight muscle and he sighed gustily. “Wonderful hands, you Gropers. Sorry. Ket.”

“A name is but a name,” I said politely, thinking, as all Ket, that a name was everything—which was why only our use-names were shared with the always untrustworthy non-Ket. It was an attitude I valued highly, given my present situation. “Is there any evidence concerning this Esen?”

“Classified, he says. Secrets. Eyes only. This Kearn is buried in some vid-fantasy and wants us all to play. Well, I put up his signs; maybe that will shut him up. We have bigger problems. A little more on that side, please. Ummmm.”

 

Although rooms were at a premium, due to the number of ships scurrying to the protection of the station, I’d had no trouble trading my services for a simple cabin. I peeled the Ket symbol from the door of my rented room after Griffin left, having enough to think about for the moment.

So Kearn had labeled me as the probable cause behind the deaths occurring in the Fringe. Whether others took him seriously or not, my name was literally up in lights in every hallway. It was pure luck that I’d confronted him as a member of the one species no one in their right mind would believe a threat to other worlds. I’d been quite happy to reinforce the opinion of stationfolk and spacers alike: the man was crazy. The resultant undercurrent of resentment against the Commonwealth ship was something I was less happy about, but could live with.

I ordered a lunch to be delivered. Four walls felt safer, for the moment. Then I pulled out the station newsmag and studied the chart plastered across most of the front page. Missing ships, unconfirmed attacks, all parts of destruction on a growing scale. Unfortunately, some markings were in colors that barely registered to my current vision. But the headline was clear enough.
Mystery Death On Course to Panacia—Hixtar Spared!

Panacia. A system barely touched during the settlement of the adjacent Fringe by Human and other mining concerns. Three planets of the fifteen circling its swollen star buzzed with life, beginning with Panacia’s Hiveworld, the heavily populated D’Dsel, birthplace of Panacia’s insectoid intelligence.

It was Mixs’ chosen home.

It could be coincidence.
There were always new and strange discoveries when species first met or unfamiliar areas of space were explored. The Humans might simply have troubled something better left alone. Or it could be war, better disguised than most. Or . . .

I crushed the newsmag in my hand slowly.
Had Ersh’s Enemy been lurking in the Fringe, intercepting signals, waiting for betrayal? Had it somehow caught Kearn’s messages about a shape-changing being discovered on Kraos?

I straightened it out again, turning once more to the chart, folding and unfolding the newsmag’s sharp, delicate edges.
I had to go to Panacia.
Ersh hadn’t shared with me the form or strategy of our Enemy—only that its goal was the destruction of the Web. If this evil ripping through the Fringe was that Enemy, I had to warn Mixs.

If I was wrong, I still had to do something,
I decided. Ragem and his fragile ship were prepared to hunt whatever it was in order to save lives. Even misbegotten Kearn had the right motives in labeling me the monster and pursuing me. Something was destroying intelligent life, and all that I was demanded it be stopped.

My lunch arrived. I looked up at the grinning being who stood beside the delivery servo and snaked my long arm out to grab his sleeve and drag him inside.

“What are you doing here, Paul-Human?” I said sternly.

He put the bowl of salad on the table near the door and looked apologetic. “I need to talk to you, Nimal-Ket.”

“If you still wear that belt,” I said bluntly, “this Ket hopes you have permission to be here. I cannot afford to lose clients by spending time in your ship’s brig.”

As I spoke, Ragem’s hands dropped self-consciously to his waist.
So. No reason to doubt we were being overheard. Ragem’s gift for inconvenience continued.

But he was already shaking his head. “Acting Captain Kearn sent me.”

“Here?”

“He wants me walking around the station. Looking for someone. I thought you could help me.”

At the resigned note to his voice, I reached for my hoobit rather than comfort him as my Ket nature would have preferred. “Have you had lunch, Paul-Human?”

The answer to that being no, as I’d expected, we shared my salad—Ragem wisely heeding my advice and leaving the rostra sprouts for me. I crunched the last of these between my blunt teeth with satisfaction, enjoying the nut-sweet cyanide tang. It took a lot to stimulate the few taste buds of this form.

And it seemed, it would take a lot to stimulate Ragem out of his current slump.
A conversationalist he wasn’t.
Then again, if the device he wore carried all conversation to his superior officer, Ragem probably didn’t feel much like talking. Out of habit, I slid my fingers around the empty bowl, even though I knew Human dishes were sadly unornamented. “So, Paul-Human. Who is this someone you are looking for? Would this Ket know this being?”

“I doubt it. But you’ve probably seen her image on the postings around the station, Nimal-Ket.”

“Ah. The vile and dangerous puppy,” I said in a suitably hushed voice.

Ragem’s eyes hadn’t lost all their fire. “Esen is not vile or dangerous—” he began angrily, then stopped as if remembering where he was or at least who might be listening. “The Captain believes Esen may know something about the problems in this area. We just want to talk to her.” This in a voice quite without hope.

I clenched my hoobit, holding in my delight at the same time.
Ragem still believed in me.
I hadn’t destroyed our friendship with my foolish display on Rigel II—or my flight. “You sound as if you know this Esen well, Paul-Human,” I commented as I folded a napkin around my fingers.