Beholder's Eye (6 page)

When a hue and cry did not immediately ring about my ears, my mind began to function again. A table blocked my view. It could also hide me. I put one paw ahead of another with painful slowness, reaching the supposed shelter of the table only to find I was not the first to do so.

I was nose-to-nose with the ugliest, most vicious-looking hunting serlet I had yet seen on this world. The monster was grizzled with age, with green, definitely malignant eyes, and horrid black-stained teeth bared in a snarl. Its breath smelled truly remarkable for something still alive. I backed up so quickly that I didn’t see the legs behind me until I crashed into them.

“Saa. Don’t be afraid.” The words were in comspeak, the interspecies’ trade language of the Commonwealth. I looked up a yellow uniform until I met the interested gray-eyed gaze of the Human. His recorder dangled from a strap. He made an effortless switch to quite passable Kraosian: “Easy, pup.”

From this close, I could read the symbols marking the bars across his chest: linguistics and alien culture specialist.
Perfect.
I put on my best tongue-lolling grin and sat so I could unobtrusively curl my tail over my front paws. He patted my head gently, then said softly in comspeak: “What goes on here? I’d wager you know, don’t you.” I tensed, then relaxed as I realized the question was for himself, the Human being too distracted by his situation to really have noticed me.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the two soldiers rapidly and purposefully approaching us, one of whom I recognized with a sinking feeling as Ethrem. I swallowed and dove back under the table, using the momentum to carry me in a rush over the rightful landlord of the place. Teeth snapped closed a hot breath away from my neck as I scrambled out the other side.

Instantly, pandemonium broke loose. I ran, slipping and panting on the polished tiles, fearing I had done more than I bargained for in arousing the old beast. He was bugling his fury in full voice, a fanged demon given respectfully clear passage by the amused soldiers. I kept my tail firmly between my legs and both ears cocked back to my pursuer. I heard laughter and a confusion of commands, although I was too preoccupied to look around. This was hardly the distraction I had in mind, but it would have to do.

Then a crackle of energy blackened the floor in front of my paws. I slid to a halt, a move that threw the old beast off-balance. As if in slow motion, I watched him skid past me, mouth agape in surprise. In that instant, he unwittingly saved my life; Ethrem’s next shot, meant for me, turned him into a charred heap.

There were shouts: angry ones from the officers, and a pitiful shriek from one of the serving staff—perhaps the owner of the ill-mannered and ill-fated beast. I couldn’t take my eyes from Ethrem as he moved to stand before me, an involuntary reaction to the death that had nearly been mine. It was a betrayal of my true nature that narrowed Ethrem’s eyes in triumph as he raised his weapon yet again. I tensed, preparing for his shot.

The weapon was struck aside by a yellow-clad arm. As if released from a spell, I yelped and dove for the nearest table. There was a flurry of voices and sound. I crouched in the dark, panting. The odor of cooked serlet was sickeningly strong.

What was happening? Had they forgotten me?
I wanted desperately to somehow ease through the wall of legs surrounding my shelter and run. If there had been a gap large enough, I might have tried. Time seemed tangible, measured by heartbeats and gasping breaths. I fought to think past my fear and somehow calmed myself.
What had Ersh said?
Beyond courage lay necessity. Necessity meant easing to the table’s edge and peering out.

The Human specialist and Ethrem were standing face-to-face—one calm and the other shaking like a leaf. They appeared to me as mirror images, similarities in form far outweighing any differences between them. Perhaps the Human was more slender, his tanned face flattened and more oval than the Kraosian’s. The rainbow hues within Ethrem’s eyes were locked upon the startling black, gray, and white of the Human’s; this was the most striking difference between them, though Kraosian eyes varied to both these extremes.

Ethrem’s commanding officer, the one he had called his friend, held a hand weapon ready, but pointed deliberately at the floor. There was no mistaking the direction of Ethrem’s aim. The Protark and the remaining Humans were standing. No one moved. “Am I worth your fear?” I heard the specialist say very gently.

Ethrem flinched as though conversation was the last thing he had expected from the alien being. He tightened his grip on his own pistol. I swallowed, aware, as were the others helpless here, that Ethrem was beyond reason. Yet the Human remained still, calm, serene, his voice compelling: “I am as you see me, Kraosian. Nothing more than a man, and nothing less.” He didn’t quite smile, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “And a rather thirsty man. Join me for a glass of beer?”

It was masterfully done. Ethrem seemed puzzled, confused by so ordinary an enemy. He glanced about for help, his aim losing its rigidity as the weapon’s deadly tip dropped slightly. Another moment, and I believe that the Human might have had him calmed and rational again. But I had forgotten that calm rationality was hardly part of the Protark’s plans for this day.

“Kill the alien! He’s bewitching you!” came a harsh command from someone unseen. Ethrem flinched, then moved faster than even the troops to either side of him. But the Human had been ready, and dropped, rolling, seeking the shelter of a table. Ethrem, thwarted, wheeled.

I howled in terror, leaping out to try and stop him. I was a step away when he fired at a new target. Launching myself into the air, I hit him in the torso before he fired again, but it was too little and much too late.

Captain Simpson and the other Human female were dead before they hit the floor.

BOTH wind and memories had taken turns whirling me about, but eventually I cycled from web-form into Lanivarian and went to find Ersh. Her home was actually a cave deep in the rock of this mountainside; Ersh liked to be thought of as living a Spartan life, though her cave contained every modern convenience including a state-of-the-art replicator. I found her with Lesy and Skalet, all three trying the Kraosian form.

Ersh was older than any Kraosian I’d seen on that planet, but her form had good teeth and looked fit, if well-used. She had already ordered clothing from the replicator, and was dressed in the style appropriate to the scholar caste. Skalet could have stepped off a farm truck. Lesy, as usual, looked adorably plump. She was holding up one of a selection of festival dresses. I lifted a lip over one tooth, but didn’t comment.

“Don’t snarl at Lesy,” Ersh said without a glance at me that I caught. “You know she likes clothes; it’s her artistic nature. Skalet will return to Kraos and complete your work—including a report on the impact to their culture by your actions.”

I winced.

“Despite this, you made a respectable beginning in the time you had, Esen. I’m proud of you.”

Proud?
If she’d cycled into a moonbeam, I’d have been less surprised. Suspicious was a better word. I snagged an apple from a bowl and pulled a chair from the wall, dropping on it heavily. I watched them posing in front of the mirror as I considered Ersh’s comment.

“Where’re the others?” I asked finally, still tasting their memories and feelings as if something was missing.

Skalet grinned evilly and winked at me. “You know Mixs won’t go humanoid if she can avoid it, tween.”

I didn’t rise to the nickname—it was an old joke. Anyway, I hadn’t been stuck midcycle once in the last hundred years. “So where are she and Ansky?”

Lesy looked unhappy. “Hurried, packed, left,” she blurted, not yet comfortable with the Kraosian tongue. She turned back to her dresses. I didn’t push the issue, not so much to avoid upsetting Lesy as because I had a pretty good idea myself why the others left so quickly. My shared memory had some very unusual components. My web-mates had left me to Ersh.

I settled back, knowing that Ersh would talk when she was good and ready. At least her kitchen was an improvement over the Kraosian dungeon.

THEY had taken us—the Human, Ethrem, and I—into Suddmusal late that same evening. The Jesrith was in spate, swollen from the mountain storms that had stretched long pale fingers to blot out the stars and rumble deeply in the distance. Always an intermittent boil of mud and froth, at Suddmusal the Jesrith fought its masters, chewing the edges of the rough channel that bound it to two-thirds of the city’s perimeter.

The bridge was stained with rust-colored splatters of mud along its length. I paced in my cage, watching the roiling water as we crossed, permitted this much by virtue of size; in a similar prison, the unfortunate Human was forced to crouch when he stood. I thought it likely that he was in shock. There was no sign that he was aware of what was occurring. Or if he was, he wisely chose not to care. They had taken his clothes, forced him into some threadbare garments suitable for a servant of the rural caste. He looked thoroughly disreputable, and passably Kraosian to eyes that did not measure proportions or matters of grace.

My cage was placed between the Human’s and Ethrem’s on the back of the truck which had awaited us at the base of the mountain.
An empty precaution,
I thought sadly. Ethrem was unable to bother anyone else. More accurately, what was left of Ethrem was unlikely to do so. I avoided looking into his vacant staring eyes. He had finally found a way to flee his fear.

I had no doubts of our destination, nor the purpose for this hurried, after-dark travel. The Protark had been forced to play his hand openly against the offworlders. Whatever blameless treachery he had planned had been laid waste by Ethrem’s public assassination of the Humans. There would be panic-ridden conferences tonight with the heads of the other castes, frantic efforts planned to either appease or eradicate the remaining offworlders—and witness. But first, he needed us securely in his grasp and safely out of sight.

 

I had been correct in my assessment, but I took no satisfaction from it. The heavy overhanging arch of the prison quarter swallowed the light from the few bulbs that lined its ceiling as we waited permission to pass its gate. The rain was near enough to give a damp chill to the evening air. I felt my fur rise in response and pitied my less protected companions. The door opened at last, letting the truck and its foot escort move inside a paved courtyard, closing behind with a sullen thud. I shook myself before forcing my body to lie down.

Something made me glance up. I met the Human’s level gaze. There was pain in his eyes and more—recognition. I considered for a long moment, then eased one of my paws forward, unrolling its slim,
useful,
toes as if in an idle stretch. His eyes blinked slowly, then again. His own hand repeated my gesture before he deliberately turned and watched the advance of a group of four uniformed Kraosians.

Not shock, then,
I decided, chilled by more than the weather. The Human had been biding his time, lulling his captors into believing him helpless and defeated. And he recognized the form I held.

That promised to make things interesting.

“Put them below,” a voice far too cultured for a jailer ordered softly. “His Excellence wishes them to contemplate the future without disturbance.” I yawned as I looked at the officer who had spoken.

“Surely he can’t mean the serlet as well, Commander?” his aide asked in disbelief. I wagged my tail, delighted at his perception.

“It is not our job to question His Excellence,” the gentle-voiced officer said wearily, pulling his night cloak more tightly about himself with a shiver. “Put the mongrel in with the serving boy. It’s probably his anyway.” I tried not to show my relief; being imprisoned with Ethrem’s husk was more than either of us could have borne.

 

The long, narrow cell was damp, though its walls possessed no window to allow in the night air. My nose ran with the strength of odors I preferred not to contemplate too deeply. I also preferred not to think too much upon what the next day would bring. To keep my mind occupied, I began memorizing the number of blocks per wall along with their composition and thickness of mortar.

“They’ve left us for now,” my roommate said in perfect mid-Lanivarian, with all the proper overtones of respect and new acquaintance. I curled my lips back from my teeth; he was a fool after all.

Despite this warning, he continued glibly: “I am Specialist Paul Ragem, First Contact Team Seven-Alpha-Six. I formally request your aid as a fellow sapient and member of the Commonwealth—ouch!”

Specialist Paul Ragem held the hand I had just nipped to his chest and was mercifully silent. I grunted with satisfaction and curled into a ball on a portion of floor less moist than the rest. I resisted the impulse to look up at the peephole I was certain was part of the light fixture above us. Let the Human make his own discoveries.

 

Darkness aroused me. I was pleased that I had rested—I thought it indicated a growing maturity on my part, to sleep when scared half out of my mind. I was also uncomfortably damp and shook out my fur. I rose on two feet, a posture this form managed with an ease certain to startle our captors, and pulled the blanket back up over the one without a naturally warm coat.