Beholder's Eye (54 page)

“Why did you come with them here?”
As cosmic coincidences went, this was a whopper.

He turned his attention thoughtfully to my other ear. I’d stopped snarling at some point. “You’d left the maps out, Es, one night on the
Ahab,
” he chided gently. “I guess you thought I was asleep. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out that Minas was that Fringe colony you hoped to go to, if—” Ragem’s voice roughened, “—if you survived battling your Enemy.”

He paused. “That was the worst of it, Esen. That you pushed me away and went off to die alone.”

“I wasn’t planning to die,” I rebutted, backing out of his hold. “And you didn’t believe me dead for an instant, did you?”

The Human grinned. “Any being who can get in and out of as much trouble as you have couldn’t possibly be defeated by one creature. I never doubted you.” He spread out his hands. “I only doubted if I’d find you.”

“Now that you have, what do you want?” I said, suddenly knowing the answer I desperately needed, but knowing it was his choice.

Ragem patted the wood trim around the fireplace. “My own room, for starters. I’ve got a lot of stuff in that shuttle outside.”

 

It was much later, after we’d moved in Ragem’s belongings and caught up on old news, the way friends do, that he broached the other thing he wanted. I’d been waiting for it, and it came midway through the second bottle of Inhaven wine.

“Esen, you can become any form you’ve assimilated, right?”

I stretched out my paw for a refill and peered over my muzzle at him. “So?”

“There’s a form you might find less conspicuous and easier to live in—on Minas, at least,” Ragem began. There was a charming uncertainty in his face, a combination of the wine and an unspoken hope.

“Can I be Human?” I said for him, quite aware where this was heading. After all, he’d given up friends and family to keep me company in my self-imposed exile. It was reasonable for Ragem to wonder if he had to give up his species, too. “It’s not a form I do well,” I went on matter-of-factly, pretending not to see the disappointment, then amused resignation on his dear face. “Mixs had the same problem,” I continued. “I should tell you about the time she . . .” As I finished my story, Ragem began to laugh.

I was relieved he’d been able to accept the parameters of our friendship so easily. There would be Human companionship for him on Minas. I would make sure of it. And he would always be part of the Web of Esen. It would be enough.

 

Later, when he’d gone to sleep, the last bottle of wine cradled under his arm, I stood somewhat unsteadily myself and went to the mirror by the door. There, I took a deep breath then cycled into that one form, the mirror showing me the image of a young girl, perhaps not quite ten standard years of age, who gazed back at me with eyes like ancient oceans.

I stepped out on my porch, seeing the future and completely content with what I saw. We would guard this gateway together. He would show me how to enjoy life as only an ephemeral could. In return, I would share with him whatever he wished to learn of other species, possibly even satisfying his inordinate curiosity—though I somehow doubted that.

We would be together as long as he lived.

And after that, I would remember Paul Ragem, my first friend, until the hearts of stars grew cold.