Beholder's Eye (44 page)

“A noble purpose,” he said, eerily echoing Ersh’s words to me on Picco’s Moon.

“We have never done harm,” I said firmly, then added: “never deliberately.”

“No? Explain that to the families on Tly and other Fringe worlds who’ve lost loved ones. Explain that to the kin of those slaughtered on Portula Colony.” Ragem’s eyes bored into mine. I found one hand straying to my hoobit, a reach for comfort he understood very well.
At least he was still talking to me.
“Esen, I’ve reached my limit, all right? I want the whole truth about you, your kind, and about this killer. Now.”

“I know. What truth would you like first?” I said, sitting down on the bunk once more, taking a moment to arrange my skirt so my fingers could soothe themselves and so my nerves.
Time to be careful,
I thought, aware of his quickness and species’ loyalty, despite his attachment to me,
truthful, but careful.

Ragem propped himself in the corner, obviously not finding it easy to settle into a comfortable position. I eyed his bandaged arm but knew better than to remind him of the
Trium Set
’s fine med equipment a few steps down the corridor. Skalet was unlikely to let him use it unless I convinced them both our alliance could be restored. “What truth?” he sighed, eyes suddenly wistful. “Fundamental ones, Esen. Are we friends?”

The unexpected question hurt somewhere deep inside me, but I had no problem answering. “We are friends, we are one, until flesh rots and time ends,” I said.

He looked relieved, a bit puzzled, but relieved. “Between friends, then. Maybe you think I’m overreacting to all this, Esen. I don’t. Your kind is unbelievably powerful. The idea of you living among us, unknown, hidden, is—well, I know why Kearn has nightmares. Until now, I reassured myself by thinking I knew you, what you were like. To suddenly find out what you’re really capable of: ripping through starships as though they were butter, traveling through space without a ship, wanton murder—”

“I’m not!” I denied furiously. “We’re not. This Enemy isn’t what we are.”

“You said it was,” he said as hotly. “Is it a web-being or not?”

“Yes, yes. But it’s not of our Web. It’s not of Ersh.”

“Ersh?”

Her name from his Human lips shocked me to silence. I fought to recover my calm. This conversation was important—for both of us. “I warn you, Ragem. Never say that name in front of Skalet,” I said urgently, touching his knee in emphasis.

“Why?”

In this far,
I decided, aware but unafraid I was about to place all of my trust in this being.
Time to worry about Ersh’s opinion of my judgment in the future, if we had one.
“Ersh is Eldest,” I began, trying for the first time in my life to put into words what I knew in my flesh. “She is the origin, the First of us all. Our mother,” I added, and was rewarded as comprehension lit his eyes.

“I told you there was only one of us, Paul, and that is the literal truth. Together with Ersh—Mixs, Lesy, Ansky, Skalet, and I—we are one flesh; in many ways, one being.”
No longer,
my grief intruded. I pushed it aside. “We shared one another’s memories and lives as the Web of Ersh; we shared the purpose she gave us.” I tapped my concave chest. “We just happen to spend most of our days as you’ve seen us, separate and individual. Ersh binds us into more.” I paused. “This thing we seek is similar in biology, but it is not of our Web. It is not us. And by its very nature, it is deadly to us and to any other life in its path.”

He groped for what made sense to him, a Human. “A war?”

I shuddered. “An appetite. The Web of Ersh is intelligent, aware, bound by Rules. This being is awareness only.”

I drew an unsteady breath, oddly able to share my fears with him, when I couldn’t with my web-kin. “I don’t know its capabilities. Neither does Skalet. I assume it can cycle into different forms, but there’s been no proof of it. I do know it can find us. It can move without a ship. Something I can’t do.” I stopped for an instant, collecting myself. “And it can—consume—us. It desires this more than anything else. It’s taken Mixs and Lesy. It will come after the rest, after me—” I couldn’t finish.

Something eased between us.
Had I only needed to confess my fear to him?
I wondered. Ragem leaned forward, eyes bright. “Where did it come from?”

“We don’t know.” Then I added honestly, “But Ersh herself is not native to this galaxy. She remembers millennia spent traveling the void between, barely surviving the passage.” I resisted the sudden flood of Ersh-memory threatening to distract me. “I think this being has made the same journey.”

Ragem remembered to close his mouth, before opening it again to utter one squeak: “Millennia?”

My fingers fluttered. “You wanted the truth, Paul-Human. I offer it.”

“How—how old are you?”

Finally, a being who wouldn’t consider me youngest.
“Five hundred standard years, plus a few. Though I feel much older after what’s been happening.”

I watched him total up what that meant: a life span begun when his grandparents were babies, a friend who might perhaps not be the inexperienced callow youth he’d thought. Unfortunately, I was, for my kind.

“And all that time you’ve been spying on other species.”

I bristled at his choice of words, then relaxed as I noticed his eyes were starting to sparkle with curiosity. “Actually,” I said proudly, “Kraos was my first assignment.”

Ragem burst out laughing. After a second feeling affronted, I had to join him. I had no idea what the guard thought we were up to, but my hands were so sore by the time we stopped, mutually exhausted, Ragem had to knock on the door himself.

Somehow I’d convinced Ragem to trust me.

THE doors vanished sometime in the night. I missed them as I padded down the corridor to the
Trium Set
’s central lift; such a harmless pleasure, running my fingers over the doorknobs and hinges. But Captain Longins had decided his ship was about to go into battle, ordering the switch to metal, blast-resistant portals throughout. Their slickness was boring, if prudent.

The warship was massive, easily ten times the size of the
Rigus
; still, I couldn’t get lost. Skalet-memory gave me complete schematics, something I didn’t bother explaining to the helpful crewman directing me to the bridge.
Late, not lost,
I thought, hurrying a little more.

Skalet had allowed Ragem out of the brig and into the med facilities, reluctantly and after what amounted to shouting and other undignified behavior on my part, but didn’t extend the Human an invitation to join her and her officers at this strategy meeting. Fair enough, but I’d delayed in order to make sure Ragem, waiting in his cabin, had the other half of the com device I carried in my pouch, easily requisitioned with the right codes from Skalet-memory.
Not really eavesdropping,
I’d eased my conscience,
merely saving the effort of repeating all that might be said.

The lift was empty. I ordered it to the bridge, waited for the servo to confirm my right to do so, then was swiftly whooshed downward to the core of the ship. The bridge, the vital engines and grav units, as well as firing controls, were all located as far within the physical protection of the
Trium Set
’s bulk as possible. As a helpless passenger about to be dragged to war, my Ketself couldn’t help but approve.

“There you are, Madame Ket,” Skalet’s rich voice carried not the slightest hint of impatience, but I could see from the replacement of the beverages and other ceremonial accoutrements by maps and pads of scribbles I was later than I’d thought.

“This Ket apologizes for any delay, S’kal-ru-Kraal,” I panted, rushing up to the remaining seat.

“We didn’t delay,” she purred. “Admiral Mocktap? This is Nimal-Ket, a valued associate of mine, connected by affiliations of tenth degree reliability.”

The admiral, an older Kraal whose extensive tattoos had been etched in white to show against her dark skin, looked surprised but didn’t hesitate to rise slightly in her chair—a feat I appreciated from experience—and bow in my direction. Tenth degree reliability put me closer in Skalet’s counsel than this woman, her commander-in-chief, a declaration that, while true, definitely put me uncomfortably in the Kraal spotlight. I would have liked to glare at my web-kin, but settled for returning the bow and taking a seat. Captain Hubbar-ro of the
Quartos Ank
leaned back with a grin, as ready to bask in my newly revealed status as it worried Longins of the
Trium Set.

“Madame Ket,” the admiral said, gesturing to the maps scattered over the table. “We have been discussing the best strategy to use when we engage this biological weapon.”

Biological weapon?
Skalet hadn’t shared this part of her plan with me yet. I glanced at her and received a sardonically raised brow. True, she’d had to call it something the Kraal military would find interesting. “This Ket is not an expert in such matters, Mocktap-Kraal, but I will give you what assistance I can.”

“What did the Commonwealth ship try against it?” this from Captain Longins of the
Trium Set.

“There was no contact while this Ket was on the
Rigus,
” I started to explain, but was interrupted by Skalet.

“They were able to make it flee the convoy with a directed burst from their ilium guns, but there’s no confirmed damage to the B.W.” The Kraal nodded wisely at this, Longins making a note.

B. W.? Ersh save me from the military mind and its compulsion to abbreviate.
“They’ve fought it? Where? When?”

“You should be on time,” Skalet said in her best drillmaster voice. She raised her hand in apology, as it likely dawned on her the Kraal had no reason to expect us to have a teacher/student relationship. I was satisfied to omit it myself. “Forgive me, Madame Ket,” she said more graciously. “But we had no time to spare and I wanted to bring everyone up to date. Hubbar-ro, please pass Madame Ket the messages we intercepted.”

Great.
Ragem would be anxiously awaiting this news and I couldn’t think of any reason to read out loud. At least I could be sure of remembering all the details.

What the
Trium Set
had intercepted was a series of translight communications between a refugee convoy led by someone named Largas and the
Rigus.
Kearn, the eternal idiot, had responded to their cries for help by questioning their refugee status—I hoped Skalet found that embarrassing, though I doubted it. He hadn’t so much been convinced the ships were legitimate refugees from the remains of Garson’s World as he was drawn by the description of the danger Largas provided.

When I reached the line “blue, shapeless alien life, fastened like a parasite to the outside of a life pod,” I looked up and met Skalet’s eyes. From her grim expression, she’d been waiting for me to get there. The Kraal officers were busy discussing something in low voices and didn’t pay attention to the slow nod she gave me or the way I almost dropped the pages.

So.
The
Rigus
had found its monster. Small consolation that Kearn had to believe it wasn’t me now—or did he? I hurried to read the rest of the flimsy plas sheets. The convoy had already lost two ships. The
Rigus
had rushed to engage the monster, succeeding in scaring it off at least, though Kearn’s boast to the convoy was that they’d seriously injured the creature and sent it running for cover. He planned to follow and destroy it.

The last intercepted message was from the convoy, asking the
Rigus
to delay the chase and provide medical aid. The action against the creature had left several dead and injured, as well as one of the larger ships unable to sustain translight without repairs. I crumbled the mass of plas in my fingers, feeling strangely numb.

“Do you have a position, S’kal-ru-Kraal?” I asked.

Skalet waved to a crewwoman standing nearby. She switched on an image projector, setting the display to hover above the cluttered table. The captains and admiral stopped their discussion to watch with keen interest.

“The
Rigus
sustained no damage and is now chasing the—biological weapon?” I continued, not for confirmation but for Ragem’s sake, making sure I sat so the com device in my pouch wasn’t buried in the folds of my skirt.

“As far as we know, Madame, Ket,” affirmed Mocktap. “She’s fast. I’m astonished, in fact, that the B.W. is capable of such speed.”

So was I,
I thought, then realized it wasn’t surprise I felt, but envy.

“Here’s the situation, current to one hour ago Standard.” Skalet manipulated the controls, creating an intestinelike curl of yellow winding its way through the upper third of the stars floating in the image’s volume. “The Kraal Confederacy,” she identified. I didn’t bother mentioning several of the systems she blithely included would dispute her claim. Ephemeral border squabbles were hardly the issue here.