Beholder's Eye (53 page)

I was in danger of becoming as paranoid as the Human, a fate I didn’t relish. The signal to attack had come from here. Even Kearn would think to track down its source, to find out who sent it.

Forgive me if I don’t wish you luck,
I said to myself, more than ready for the safety of being anonymous and unknown again. I’d done the best I could, given the circumstances and my lack of expertise. The
Ahab
was registered under Ragem’s alias, Megar Slothe. If Kearn or Ragem tried to trace the funds used to buy the ship, they’d soon find that the accounts were blind ones, newly created and not connected to any I might use in the future. I’d already removed or destroyed all evidence of my presence on the
Ahab,
including the com device.

Kearn would have to deal with Ragem to find out more. I sincerely hoped Ragem would use what he knew of me and my kind to bargain for his old life back, to restore his former Web. He should believe me dead along with my Enemy—safe from any further harm from Kern’s searching. Knowing bureaucracy as I did, it was unlikely Ragem would be able to keep the legacy I’d given him, but I also knew Ragem valued his friendships more than physical wealth.

I used my paw to rub the remaining drops of rain water from my face.
I wish you a long and happy life, my friend,
I thought, staring at his ship, oddly wistful.

 

I was exhausted, mentally and to the limits of my every molecule. But there was the issue of starting my own new life. I’d actually been optimistic enough to think about that during our journey to this world, a presumption Ersh would definitely have blamed on my youth.

First, however, I needed to leave this place.
Traveling under my own power was a temptation I firmly planned to resist, knowing for myself why Ersh had so wisely forbidden that luxury to herself as well as her kin.

As if cued to the thought, the sky above the
Rigus
brightened as if a new sun had peeked through. A second spot appeared, burning its way through a cloud. I shivered with reaction, not yet believing that the final pieces might actually fall into place.

 

By the time I’d edged my way through the bands of shrubbery the colonies had left near the landing field, beings had disembarked from both the
Rigus
and her new neighbors, the Kraal heavy cruiser
Unnos Ra
and the
Quartos Ank.
I wasn’t surprised to see the beings were all stationary.

However, Kearn was likely very surprised. I don’t think he’d any reason to expect to be facing the twitching muzzles and raised weapons of a Herd of Ganthor mercenaries. I was close enough now to see the Kraal captains and their personal guards standing behind the mercenaries, the Kraal looking decidedly triumphant. My old acquaintance, Captain Hubbar-ro, was talking.

“A glorious revenge, Captain Kearn! Surely you don’t plan to spoil the moment by contesting our right to this obviously abandoned world.”

The Kraal were nothing if not predictable,
I grinned to myself, going down on my belly to crawl closer.

The Commonwealth’s man-on-the-spot definitely looked as though he wished himself anywhere but. It didn’t help Kearn’s confidence to be gazing up, nose to mucus-adrip muzzle, at the Matriarch’s battle-scarred Second. I thought he should really have taken the time to put on a dress uniform. The Kraal were resplendent in their best, doubtless a further blow to the Human’s ability to think clearly.

“This is an Inhaven colony, Captain,” Kearn was blustering. I had to give him credit. “While we appreciate your assistance in destroying the Esen-monster,” I lifted one lip in a snarl, changing my mind. “I hope you realize we can’t allow you to simply—take over a registered, working colony of the Inhaven government.”

“Working?” This from the captain of the
Unnos Ra.
“Show me a colonist, my good Captain Kearn. Show me an operational plant—or even a toilet!”

“You can’t do this!” Kearn sputtered. The Ganthor’s immediate *!! * sent him back a quick few steps.

“There’s no need for violence, Hom Kraal,” this from Sas, whose own body language was anything but pacific. “Your troops should stand down from their weapons and help us in our search.”

“Search?”

Kearn wiped his face with a handkerchief and looked gratefully at his security officer. “Yes, yes,” he said, gesturing beyond the
Rigus
to the abandoned
Ahab.
“We have a missing person. Someone who might be injured and need our assistance,” he added sanctimoniously. I tried not to laugh.

The captain of the
Unnos Ra
nodded graciously, his mop of white hair adding to the effect. “As Temporary Administrator of this planet for the Kraal Confederacy, I willingly extend our aid to your efforts.”

I had to put my paws over my muzzle to keep quiet at this. Kearn was going to have to acknowledge the Kraal claim in order to search the colony. I could see he was about to faint at the thought.

But his better sense won. After all, his monster was dead, Inhaven was only loosely part of the Commonwealth, and the mission parameters of a First Contact ship, though already thoroughly fractured by his chase after me, hardly included stepping into diplomatic or other messy negotiations over territories. Passing on responsibility was a Kearn strong point. I could almost read his mind.

 

It took a bit more talking before the details of the search were sorted out by all parties. The Kraal had more posturing to do, and the
Rigus
crew were not in a hurry to commit themselves in any potentially hazardous situation. The Ganthor, relieved from duty, spent the time exploring the immediate surroundings of the ships—something no one else felt obligated to stop.

I had gradually moved until I was safely downwind, having a greater respect for the Ganthor’s natural abilities than for the high-tech scanners on any of the ships.

Inevitably, Kearn caved in and allowed the Kraal to command the search. I kept out of their way, watching from a safe distance as a steady stream of beings marched into the
Ahab
and out again, some carrying objects whose value in their hunt I knew would be minimal. I hope no one mistook the rostra sprouts for anything Human-edible.

It was a well-organized, if boring process. I napped at times, waiting for them to give up. The
Quartos Ank
sent out its aircar, retrieving it just before sunset. Small search parties trooped through the fields, not bothering with the forest, since there were no trails or roadways to follow. If they had, I wondered what they would have made of the vast hole I’d left, all that remained of the fern tree, its neighbors toppled to the ground.

The one piece of excitement came when Ganthor found where Ragem and I had slept, broadcasting this discovery with a volley of armsfire that sent off alarm klaxons on the
Rigus
and likely scared Kearn half to death.

The chance I’d been waiting for arrived shortly after this, the sun having finally set, and the Ganthor having been ordered back to the
Quartos Ank.
I presumed no one wanted to blunder around in the dark with a herd of trigger-happy mercs.

It wasn’t a problem for me. As the herd passed my hiding place, I cycled. They stopped, nostrils flaring as they caught my scent and reacted with pleased surprise.

*Come !!* signaled the Matriarch, almost knocking me flat with her welcome. I had some trouble breathing as the rest of them jostled to get closest to me. The scents were overwhelmingly of welcome; Ganthor rarely exhibiting surprise at anything the cosmos threw at them.
It was a refreshing attitude.

Once we sorted ourselves out, most of the pleasantries involving collision and a certain amount of bruising, I found myself safely tucked in the center of a mass of very content Ganthor, one with the herd. As easily as that, we marched together back to the
Unnos Ra
and boarded right under the unobservant eyes of the guard stationed at her port. Fourteen Ganthor or fifteen. The herd was its own smelly, noisy, potentially dangerous entity. No one in their right minds would argue with it.

I took one last look at the
Rigus
before I was shoved into the ship by my herdmates.

Ephemeral memories were so short.

I hoped Ragem would remember me.
He was,
I thought with a return of overwhelming loneliness,
the only one left who could.

“PUT IT in the other corner, please.” I watched the Human struggle with the heavy table, but didn’t offer to help. I’d tried that earlier and been thoroughly rebuffed.
Proud folks, these colonists,
I thought.

It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed this since arriving on Minas XII. It was a harsh world, rich in minerals and stark beauty, torn by sandstorms at its equator and snowsqualls everywhere else. It seemed to encourage a similarly volatile attitude in those who chose to live here.

The movers departed at last, having put my furniture in approximately the right places, leaving me a ceiling-high stack of boxes to unpack at my leisure. Shipments were finally arriving on schedule, a bonus of the new freight company started by a typically entrepreneurial group of new settlers. Rumor said they were refugees from Garson’s World; but on humanity’s frontier, no one asked or expected specifics of your past.

One excellent reason to live here,
I hummed to myself, drawn irresistibly to the window of my new home. The other reason hung overhead, patterned in the stars revealed by the midsummer’s lull in storm activity. The Fringe.

I stared up at those stars, knowing what they represented. There above me was the path buried in Ersh-memory. It was the path etched in what I retained of my Enemy’s past. It was the path the next invader would follow.
And maybe,
I thought, admitting myself young enough for both hope and folly,
it was the path a different type of web-being might take, a being who could be a friend.
A new idea, and one Ersh would doubtless have disapproved of. It was our way to live alone, I knew.

I had just never expected to be this alone.

I was tempted to cycle and use my web senses to seek what might be out there, friend or foe.
Later,
I promised myself. It was my vigil, my life’s work. The Web of Ersh had sought to collect and preserve the accomplishments of intelligence.

The Web of Esen, I vowed to myself, looking up at those stars, would protect what lived.

 

I was satisfied with my purpose. I was satisfied with my home, perched on a mountaintop the locals warned me experienced the worst possible effects of the coming winter storms. It reminded me of another mountain.
I was entitled,
I thought,
to that,
feeling a trace of familiar aloneness.

I wasn’t, however, satisfied with my latest shipment.
Could no one read an order form anymore?

“Rostra sprouts,” I said for the third time to the person at the other end of the com link, a normally very helpful representative of the Largas Freight Line. “I ordered two cases of fresh rostra sprouts—prepaid!” I calmed myself. “I just want to know when you think they might arrive.”

There was a sound at the other end of shuffling plas. I suspected most businesses prerecorded the sound to reassure irate customers
something
was being done. Even if it wasn’t.

“Your order has been delivered, Fem Esolesy-ki. I have the record right here—”

“Well, it didn’t—” I paused, cocking an ear to a buzzing from outside. “Perhaps that’s it now. I’ll let you know.”

I hurried to the door. Sure enough, there was a delivery shuttle sitting on the pad between my porch and the abrupt beginning of the cliff that afforded me such a magnificent view, as well as a secure entrance. I found I’d lost my fear of cliff edges.
Maybe it had something to do with flying out there.

The driver had already climbed out and was reaching into the back for a crate.

My “Come right in—” dried up and lost itself somewhere in my throat. I knew that shape . . .

Especially when it turned around and smiled at me. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, eyes suspiciously bright.

“Ragem?” I realized my mouth was hanging open after the word and snapped it shut. “What—How?” This with a growl.

“When I heard the order for sprouts, I knew who it had to be.” His triumphant smile faded away, replaced by something more akin to pain. “That’s not true. I didn’t know, Esen. All I could do was hope. I thought I’d lost you.”

“You were supposed to,” I whispered, but felt my tail try to wag. I spared some thought to self-preservation. “Would you get inside! Is Kearn—”

Ragem tucked the crate under one arm—healed then, I noticed—and followed me indoors. “You’re safe. Kearn thinks we’re both dead,” he said in a ridiculously satisfied voice. He dropped the crate down on the floor and came over to take my shoulders in both hands, touching his nose to my muzzle in a quick Lanivarian-version of a hug. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“You are impossible!” I snarled, trying to be upset, but becoming convinced this could be the best day of my life. “I arranged for you to go back to the
Rigus
!”

Ragem ignored this, busy exploring the house. I found myself following behind, arguing to the back of his head. His dark hair had grown long enough to need a clip, I noticed. He was wearing a set of rumpled spacer coveralls. “I like this,” he decided. There was a unwarranted and decidedly happy bounce to his step.

I grabbed his arm to stop him, lips curled so tightly back over my teeth I hoped the words were understandable. “I tried to give you back your friends, your family!” All I had lost, he had willingly sacrificed.
Why?

Ragem disregarded my fangs, rubbing me gently under one ear. “I know. The Largas—great folks, by the way—explained they were sent to pick up a somewhat deranged Commonwealth officer.” He pretended to frown at me. “Not a pleasant description, Es. But anyway, it didn’t take a great deal of persuasion—or credits—to convince them I was quite sane, thank you, and to change their minds. It helped that our Kearn has such a gift for offending people. They told the
Rigus
they couldn’t find such a person, collected their due reward for their efforts, and headed for their original destination, here, with a new member of the crew.”