Beholder's Eye (32 page)

“There’ll be a briefing. Come on!” Impatiently. Tomas shoved him toward the door.

“This Ket fears, Tomas-Human,” I protested their leaving in a way I knew would slow the kind-hearted crewman. “What refugees? Where are we going?”

“Kraal System.”

It’s after Skalet.
I cringed at the traitorous relief coloring the thought.
All web-flesh was shared,
I scolded myself. Ersh would say my youth was at fault; ephemerals sorted their kin into more-or-less-loved, not us. But I couldn’t help worrying most about Ansky.

“Stay here,” Ragem ordered over his shoulder to me, meaning, perhaps, more than for my safety’s sake.

Numbly, I waved him on, watching the door close behind them, listening to the ship taking me to meet my Enemy at last.

THE
Rigus
screamed through the night, leaping to translight with a deep trembling even more pronounced than during our journey to the Nebula. Either something was about to break down, or the Commonwealth had secrets of its own tucked in the engineering of her engines and hull. Skalet, with her passion for military hardware, would definitely be interested in sharing this with me.

I’d had an unexpected visit from the Modoren, Sas. After hissing a curt query after my health—which probably had more to do with my availability in the future than any other concern—he told me about the current situation, a courtesy I also attributed more to Kearn’s anxiety over the possible reactions of a passenger I’m sure he no longer wanted on board.

Sas explained the
Rigus
was monitoring a series of distress calls originating from a small group of ships traveling outsystem from Kraal only to find themselves trapped before reaching translight by an ambush. Although the Commonwealth was neutral in the struggle for control of the immense Kraal holdings and the string of lesser systems that made up the so-called Kraal Confederacy, its policy of rendering humanitarian aid to any side of a conflict was well-known.

Imagining Kearn’s probable reaction should the ambusher prove to be, as I believed, a web-being of unknown powers and definite malevolence wasn’t good for my health. He already had that damning vistape of my cycling on Kraos, not to mention what he’d had opportunity to observe for himself at regrettably close range. My Enemy could provide all the proof Kearn needed to convince his government, and most others, that my kind was a danger to be hunted down and perhaps even destroyed.

“You will be safe in this cabin, Madame Ket, if you choose to remain here,” Sas concluded cheerfully, at total odds to my own train of thought. “Seek the protection of the med unit in the event of a hull breach alarm. If you prefer, go to the lounge or galley areas, where you can easily reach one of the life pods. Someone will be there at all times to assist.”

Sas seemed to positively quiver with delight as he intoned my choices for self-preservation should the ship see action. I’d known the hardwiring myself in that form: Modorens vastly preferred attack to stealth, bluntness to tact. Ket were not so forward in their approach to life.

“Sas-Modoren,” I said, hands wrapped around the comfort of my hoobit. “This Ket trusts there will be no untoward or hazardous procedures taken by your ship. This is not a combat vessel, is it?”

His broad nose twitched once, likely a hint of disdain for my anxiety at this glorious turn of events, but answered politely enough. “We will only offer medical aid, Madame Ket. Unless attacked first.” A subvocal growl. “Then, you may be assured that the
Rigus
is capable of self-defense.”

I fixed a look of complete disapproval on my face, in case he could read it. “And how long until we reach this place of hazard?”

“Six hours, Madame Ket. As I have advised, please keep to an area of safety.”

 

Maybe it was the Modoren’s pleasure at the prospect of battle, or maybe I was finally shaking off the shock of discovering both Mixs and Lesy gone, but the longer I stayed in the cabin, braiding socks to keep my healing hands busy, the more I began to think of waging war myself. While I thought it likely the
Rigus
would fight my Enemy, I also doubted it could. Web-flesh wasn’t invulnerable. I could swear to that. But I believed I could probably survive a blast from an energy-based weapon in web-form, especially out in space where I could absorb and release energy as rapidly as necessary.
Not something I planned to test,
I promised myself firmly.

What I expected was a chase, with only my Enemy knowing the course. Tracking it.
That ability would be handy to have.
I deliberately forced my thoughts from my other, greater need: to be able to pursue it on my own, without pulling these fragile non-Web beings into a risk they couldn’t imagine—and I couldn’t explain.

Certainly the pattern of its attacks suggested my Enemy knew better than to stay where it might be discovered. Perhaps we shared that urge to secrecy.
That was all,
I said grimly to myself, involuntarily remembering what I’d assimilated from the Enemy’s flesh.
Appetite become gluttony. Living chaos, without law or conscience.
It was a glimpse, I realized numbly, at what Ersh had been eons ago.

At what I could be if unrestrained, had I grown without the Web, without assimilating the First Rules into my very flesh. It was a sobering thought; another to add to the nightmares Ersh’s memories had already given me.

Understanding the nature of my Enemy was all well and good, but it didn’t help me do more than realize how woefully unprepared the Humans were to deal with one of my kind. Any encounter between them was likely to have only one long-lasting result: becoming humanity’s worst nightmare. An unnecessary reminder of how wise I’d been to keep the identify of our Enemy from Ragem.

 

An hour before our projected arrival at the outskirts of Kraal space, I grew tired of my own company. As Sas had promised, there were crew in the galley, their presence and noise reassuring, if the ready-to-suit clothing wasn’t. It definitely fit some of them far better than others. I sincerely hoped Lawrenk Jen, for one, never needed to don her space suit. Her arms protruded from the ends of too-short sleeves and she’d given up even trying to fasten the ankle clips. I had the impression most of the crew hadn’t worn these outfits before, nor been in such a situation. Crises for First Contact ships must generally occur on planets, not in space.

Ongoing conversation rose and fell, most of it speculation, some of which I sampled. I knew as much or more than any here, whether posted to assist with the life pods or simply taking a spell away from duty. Tomas showed up for a snack, then disappeared again with an uncharacteristic somberness to his usually cheerful face. I hadn’t seen Ragem yet, but Willify, who’d appointed herself my personal entertainment, explained that Ragem, as their best Kraal linguist, was needed in the nexus room to handle the messages coming to the ship.

It was all I could do to stay and make idle conversation when any one of those messages might be from my kin. I stroked the flecked surface of the chair and tried to keep my expression pleasantly attentive.

“—so you see, Nimal-Ket, that’s why I’ve had trouble convincing my sister to—” I lost the train of Willify’s story again, but this time as the one I’d been waiting for finally appeared in the galley doorway. Our eyes met across the crowded room. Ragem nodded once and left.

“This Ket asks your pardon, Willify-Human, but I have recalled an appointment. May we continue this conversation about your family at a later time?”

I hardly waited for her bemused nod before getting up with most un-Ketlike haste and going to the door in search of the Human.

“Nimal-Ket!” the urgent whisper came from beside the door. Ragem’s eyes gleamed as he held out a message cube.

“What is it?” I demanded, staring at the cube as though it could talk immediately.

“A message from someone who identifies herself as S’kal-ru, Diplomatic Courier for the Kraal Confederacy.”

The name and title were right.
Skalet.
I glanced around quickly. We were alone for the moment, the buzz of voices from the galley more than sufficient to cover our own. To play the cube for myself, I’d have to return to my cabin. I wasn’t prepared to be patient. “Tell me what it says, Paul-Human. Is she all right?”

One side of his mouth quirked upward. “Well, she’s all right until Kearn finds out this refugee convoy is nothing of the sort.”

I clutched my hoobit. “What do you mean?”

It was his turn to glance around.
A fine pair of inconspicuous conspirators we made.
“After S’kal-ru received your message, she up-shipped from Kraal Prime with an escort of Confederacy heavy cruisers. The refugee distress calls were apparently her way of getting the
Rigus
to bring you to her, rather than risking her fleet beyond Kraal borders.”

Typical,
I thought with disgust. Skalet preferred manipulation over any other type of interaction between beings. “I take it this clarification isn’t in the messages Kearn has been receiving.”

“No. This arrived secretly, under the same protocol as ours went out—tucked within the regular signal stream. Kearn is still receiving a distress call. In fact, it’s getting even more desperate.” The Human waggled his eyebrows suggestively and lowered his voice. “Pirates have been mentioned.”

“Pirates?” My fingers fluttered weakly. “We’re trying to save her life and prevent catastrophe and she’s playing games?”

“Is this something you’d expect?” Ragem frowned, suddenly grim. “Or is there a possibility this message is from your Enemy? Is it intelligent enough to use technology?”

I crouched, dangling my hands to the floor so I could tickle my toes: a childish gesture, but soothing. “I’ll listen to the message myself to be sure, but it’s exactly what Skalet’s capable of doing. It must be her. Unless—” I rose with a new thought, straightening to step closer to him, placing one long-fingered hand on his chest.
Had it assimilated that knowledge from Lesy and Mixs? Should I warn him?
“Ragem, I haven’t told you this, but—”

“There you are, Madame Ket!”

“Acting Captain Kearn,” I acknowledged, surreptitiously taking the message cube from Ragem and tucking it into the waist of my skirt. It poked into my skin, cold and comforting.
Skalet was alive. So far.

Kearn hurried toward us, his hands suspended in midair as though he wanted to rub them over his gleaming head but knew the moment wasn’t quite right. Equally unfortunately, from the point of view of command presence, his suit coveralls fit even less well than Lawrenk’s, being far too long in both sleeve and leg. He’d had to roll them up, completely obscuring the vital connectors on wrist and ankle. I perceived conspiracy and barely kept my fingers from fluttering in appreciation.

“Just the being I wanted to see,” he paused and peered up at Ragem, pouting as if in thought. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the nexus, Specialist Ragem?”

“Just down for a drink, sir.”

“Then get one and take it back to station with you,” Kearn snapped. “There’s a stack of new messages just arrived. You know I can’t waste my time translating. I’ve a ship to prepare for possible combat!”

Ragem touched his fingers to my hoobit courteously, then walked away.

“This Ket is troubled by your talk of hostilities, Captain,” I said sternly, deliberately avoiding his use-name to stress my Ket disapproval of hazard.
Not to mention my personal dislike of this Human,
I added to myself, only partially ashamed of this descent into ephemeral behavior. “Is this not an errand of mercy?”

Kearn sighed theatrically. “We must be prepared for any eventuality, Madame Ket. Which is why I wanted to check on your safety personally. You are our only passenger, you know. Quite a responsibility. I wanted to ask you for next-of-kin information—just a precaution, but things could get dangerous.”

Next of kin?
My mind went blank as my hands gave a painful clench on the hoobit that belonged to a very dead, hopefully still very buried Nimal-Ket.

“I’m sure you mean you’d like Madame Ket to prepare a sealed data file, to be opened only in the event of the worst, sir,” corrected a quiet voice from behind me. “Given the cultural imperative against revealing true names to non-Ket.”

Kearn’s face worked its way through several possible expressions before deciding on pompous. I maintained a dignified stillness with an effort. “Naturally, Specialist Ragem. I’m fully aware of the culture of our distinguished guest. I intended no discourtesy, Madame Ket.”

I bowed. “This Ket felt none. Perhaps you would honor me with a visit shortly, Captain. Your increasingly great responsibilities must cause you tension,” I suggested with lips pursed in a frown and carefully still hands. Ragem had to pretend to cough. “These surely need to be eased for full health.”

Kearn bowed, too. “I assure you I will come to you, my dear Madame Ket, the instant those responsibilities allow me a moment of my own. In the meantime,” he glared at Ragem, “I must ensure that my subordinates fulfill their duties properly.”

“On my way, sir, Madame Ket,” Ragem gave a hint of a salute and left, unable to restrain the occasional cough as he strode down the corridor. Kearn rubbed his head, uttering another deep sigh.

“My apologies, Madame Ket, but I must get back to my own duties,” he said, distractedly. “There’s so much to do. There may be wounded personnel to transfer to the ship. We don’t have the space for more than a few without total disruption to quarters. Then the forms to be completed . . .” The acting captain of the
Rigus
wandered away in the opposite direction, taking a turn into an adjacent corridor, his muttered list of tasks and complaints trailing behind. “I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this . . .”

“Behold our Great Leader.”