Changing Vision (14 page)

Had they ever watched swarms of tiny winged insects above a pond in the afternoon’s heat, or seen them clustered within a ball of warmer air, perhaps they would have understood the Panacians’ love of this mode of flight.

Or,
I thought, gazing at the nervously aggravated Humans nearest me,
they might only see what was strange and therefore potentially dangerous.
It was a protective response I’d long known existed, if couldn’t fully comprehend for many years. Ersh had regularly despaired I’d appreciate the need for secrecy it compelled in us, who were arguably the strangest of all.

She would,
I told myself with a momentary wish to be that old, unknowing Esen,
be satisfied with me now.

There was Paul—
well, given the reliability of my vision in the dimming light, it could have been Paul.
He’d appeared out of a door considerably farther down from the one nearest me, implying a lineup inside as well. As he left the archway, I thought I could make out a smile as he shook the appendage of the other being, a Panacian, who escorted him.
A roof,
I thought with satisfaction,
with lights
—this last with a slight tremor of relief.

It was premature, I discovered, once Paul rejoined me. Apparently, we weren’t to stay with our fellow passengers and sort this out.

“No rooms. No roof,” I repeated, trying not to sound overly upset as I followed his lead. “Most of our luggage—”
my luggage
“—in storage.” The Human was unusually silent, merely motioning me toward the second-to-last walkway. “What’s going on?” I asked, one hand straying to the bag on my chest. I didn’t really need my lamp yet; the various fountains and the pavement itself were self-illuminated, forcing back the sunset-tinged shadows of the buildings and taller vegetation around us. While I could see where to plant my big feet, it had the unpleasant side effect of plunging door arches and side alleys into an almost terrifying gloom.

As if cued, a pair of hoverbots waltzed overhead, momentarily brightening the area around us with their radiance, thrusting back the shadows and letting me see Paul’s face clearly for a moment. He flashed me a smile, as though unwilling to show me the expression his face had carried in the darkness.

I moved closer to Paul, avoiding his feet. “Is something wrong?” I asked quietly.

The hoverbots chose that moment to slip skyward, but not before I saw him shake his head. My ears, opened to their fullest, caught the words he breathed: “I can’t be sure. I think we’re being watched.” Louder, so suddenly I winced my head away from him: “Port Authority couldn’t explain the mix-up. Doesn’t matter. I’ve found us a better lodging than the one from the travel company.”

“Where?” I asked, trying to twist my ears to listen for following footsteps without being obvious.

“There’s a residence for the Ambassador caste at the edge of the All Sapients’ District. They’re willing to put us up—they don’t take in regular tourists, but as the founders of Cameron & Ki Exports, we have sufficient reputation to qualify. I’ve dealt with some shipments for them in the past. They’ve sent a ’bot to meet us at the end of this lane.”

“D’Dsellans don’t take aliens into their homes,” I protested, now having a comparison to make of something less likely than being hit by a careless hoverbot.

“This place is an exception,” Paul said, pulling me forward when my feet seemed inclined to plant themselves. “Something new. They use it as a training area for individuals going offworld, or who will be working directly with other species for prolonged periods. Should be fine. By tomorrow, our other arrangements should be straightened out and we can pick up the rest of our things.” He paused. “Aren’t you pleased?”

There were two layers of meaning to that, I realized abruptly, attuned to the inflections of his voice. More exactly, he was reminding me there could be two audiences for my response. Paul himself hoped this closer contact with the Panacians would please me—and it did. That he also wanted my enthusiasm for any eavesdropper was far less pleasant.

“It’s an amazing opportunity, Paul,” I enthused obediently, deciding to keep my last meal in the fourth stomach despite the hollowness of the others. “I’m very pleased. Thrilled, in fact. You could say I’m—”

A discreet tap on the scales of my arm ended what I admitted might have been a little too much enthusiasm, but
the sun was definitely down now and my Lishcyn nature was populating the evening shadows with more than sufficient threat for calm. My friend must have known, because he picked up our pace to bring us to a widening in the walkway.

The area we entered was flooded with light, to my intense relief, the reason being a sizable number of purple-carapaced Builders ripping down the front of the building to our left. They were larger and bulkier than other Panacians—since the effective extinction of the warrior caste—and possessed incredible strength in each of their six limbs. Triple-hinged claws in the upper two pairs gripped an assortment of tools, most spouting flames of one color or another. They paid no attention to us, keeping their gleaming, faceted eyes on their task. As I watched, several clambered easily on the shoulders of others, even more repeating with their free claws locked between neighbors’ leg segments until the building was coated to its roof in a living scaffold, each component burning away at the existing wall until it appeared to be vanishing before my eyes.

The coordination of effort and ceaseless, glittering movement were breathtaking. Paul tugged on my arm. “Let’s go, Es. Our ride’s here.”

I looked where he was leading me and hesitated. There were three hoverbots suspended an easy step from the ground: one for each of us, and the other for our luggage. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Panacians, especially the more old-fashioned families on D’Dsel herself, did not allow more than one individual per ’bot. They told offworlders it was a safety precaution. In truth, it had significantly more to do with the joys of dancing in a swarm while totally anonymous. These calm, practical beings had their wilder side.

Which didn’t mean I relished the idea of being separated, especially with Paul’s suspicion we were being watched. I made a pretext of brushing construction dust from Paul’s shoulder, the proximity allowing me to sense the medallion. I’d need to be in web-form to find him at any distance, an exposure I couldn’t risk except as a last
resort. But his wearing my gift reassured me enough to climb into the ’bot with only a slightly anxious: “Is it a long trip?”

Paul leaned in, checking what he could see of the hoverbot’s minimal controls. Apparently I wasn’t the only one concerned about being separated. “A few minutes, unless you have to wait for a spot,” he answered almost absently, then turned his head. At such close quarters I could only see him with one eye, and at that could only glimpse the downturned edge of his mouth. “If we get separated, Es, I’ll meet you at the usual place. Don’t start hunting around on your own. That’s how the tourist wound up going in circles until he passed out in a park—”

“And woke up inside the new steam bath,” I finished. “I told you that one, remember? The usual place goes for you, too. I’m more concerned about the luggage anyway. I have three new outfits in there.”

He smacked my knee companionably. “That explains the extra mass charges.”

The door of the hoverbot closed as Paul backed out, the vehicle immediately leaping upward. The Lishcyn, while not the best with heights, was a reasonably good traveler—especially with the internal antigrav working. I studiously avoided looking straight down, instead enjoying the way my ’bot jigged and danced its way into position within the seemingly random flow of aerial traffic. As all appeared identical, I didn’t bother trying to guess which one was Paul’s. There wasn’t much I could do at this point regardless.

The Human had been right. It wasn’t a long trip. Almost before I’d indented the cushioning, the ’bot dropped from the sky, sighing to a stop beside a well-lit balcony.

Interesting effect,
I thought to myself, cautiously assessing my stomachs. The ’bot opened and the seat pushed me out. Fortunately it hovered sufficiently over the balcony that I wasn’t in immediate danger of free-falling, although I might have gripped the offered claws more firmly than was truly polite.

“Welcome, Fem Esolesy Ki of Cameron & Ki Exports,”
this soft, accent-free comspeak from a slender Panacian of, predictably, the Ambassador caste. She was approximately one third the size of the Builders I’d seen, her carapace a shiny, almost iridescent blue flawed only by an unusual patterning etched into the left side of her abdomen. She was standing in the entranceway to the interior of the building. Two more Panacians stood at my side, one whose upper claw I released with a quick apology.

“I am N’Klet, Fem Ki,” the speaker continued. “I have been assigned to welcome you. Please let me know how we can help you enjoy our home.” She bowed, an incredibly gracious movement involving not one but two body divisions. The other two echoed her.

I returned the bow, an accomplishment for my Lishcyn-self involving a practiced compromise between a moment of semi-graceful balance and a swift recovery before tipping completely over. “I wish all honor to your home, N’Klet. Is my partner here yet? Hom Cameron?”

Another spoke, with an equally melodious voice. I began to feel like a rusty servo by comparison. “I am C’Tlas, Fem Ki. I have been assigned to your care. Hom Cameron is about to arrive, Fem Ki. We would ask you to move farther into the room now.”

That mildly delivered advice seemed wise to follow—I wasn’t worried about being swept from the railless balcony by the hoverbots dropping from the heavens, but if Paul was launched from his seat as abruptly as I’d been, the willing claws waiting to catch him could use my absence. I followed C’Tlas from the balcony.

I’d caught the merest glimpse of the exterior of this building, but enough to notice it was taller than most and unusually old. One didn’t ask questions about architecture except of the creators of an individual building—it was considered deeply offensive to discuss art without the artist present, leading, I recalled from Mixs’ memories, to some interesting semantic twists when debating what to do with the structures of deceased Builders. Perhaps that was where the Panacian belief in reincarnation in each generation had originated. Many of those newly emerged (or, in Mixs’ case,
those pretending to be new) assumed the name of a famous ancestor of their family, in this culture thus gaining both the identity and the accomplishments of that individual.

It was certainly linked to the presence of the “old Queen,” the mummified corpse kept in the basement of every household to figuratively represent the rights and opinions of previous generations. On other Panacian worlds, the old queen was a statuette, often crafted in the likeness of an exalted forebear. On D’Dsel herself, the old queen was literally that.

Still, this building’s age was unusual. I recognized the style as being in use over a hundred planet years ago. By Panacian standards, did this mean the school had been housed in what passed for a slum?
Or,
I suddenly concluded with an inner grin,
was this how the Ambassador caste dealt with the confusion of aliens?
It had to be difficult to host meetings when your guests couldn’t recognize the building from visit to visit. If my supposition was correct, the Ambassador caste had made some significant advances in dealing with other cultures since my last visit. I was impressed. Of course, that’s what they’d been designed to do, from their smaller, starship-sized bodies to the suppleness of their vocal apparatus and quick, adaptive minds. Panacians were as boldly experimental with themselves as with their living space.

This particular living space was just as unique. Compliments were acceptable, if properly phrased. “This is most considerate of your guests, C’Tlas,” I said warmly, admiring the huge room with its assortment of furniture. It wasn’t pretty, or well-matched. In fact, I doubted there were two pieces of furniture from the same planet, let alone the same manufacturer. But, at a glance, there was something worth sitting, lying, oozing, or squatting on for almost every species known to the Commonwealth. Those missing were the ones who couldn’t have breathed the atmosphere here anyway—a practical and perfectly logical omission.

“I serve the Hive in all things,” C’Tlas murmured in a pleased tone. “There are sleeping accommodations through the passageway, Fem Ki. Food preparation,” she paused as if to frame a delicate topic, “and other biological needs are
in different areas. All is within easy reach. Should you require anything we have not provided, you need only ask.”

“Exceptional courtesy,” this from Paul, whose gray eyes found me before looking around the room. I flashed a tusk at him as the Human entered with N’Klet, who must be his assigned guide, the remaining D’Dsellan in their wake carrying our few bits of luggage.

“Hom Cameron. Fem Ki,” said N’Klet. “Welcome to the School of Alien Etiquette. I express the extreme delight of our Queen and family that you so kindly accepted our invitation. Our Queen also wishes me to thank you for your discretion in this important matter.”

Invitation?
I felt my ears try to touch the ceiling.
Discretion?
It was amazing how two words could so dramatically change one’s perception of certain recent events. I looked over at Paul, suddenly convinced I’d been thoroughly manipulated into leaving my work, coming to this place, and becoming involved in something yet to be revealed to me by the one being who knew me well enough to succeed.

A vacation, indeed.

“FOR once, I agree with Kearn. You can’t leave now.” Timri folded her hands together neatly as she spoke; she’d explained the nervous habit years ago, in a bar they’d both forgotten, on a night they’d said too much to each other for comfort. She’d wanted to fit in to her father’s culture, which frowned on personal excesses such as the expressive hand gesturing of her mother’s upbringing. That culture had also frowned on military service, making it necessary for Timri to choose between planet and parent. The planet may have won, but the habit remained decades later.