Changing Vision (55 page)

“Yes, sir,” Lefebvre said, saluting crisply, hardly daring to hope it was going to work, abruptly wondering if it was like this all the time for Esen and Paul.

Kearn took a couple of steadying breaths, then stood. Gathering himself, he went to the door. Lefebvre opened it for him and stood to one side. As Kearn passed, he slowed, then stopped. “On occasion,” he said very quietly, not looking at Lefebvre, “I have received messages—information—from an unknown supporter in my search. This information has always been very accurate.”

Explaining a few things
, Lefebvre thought. “Should I be watching for more of these in your absence, sir?” he ventured.

Kearn shook his head, once. “With the—theft—of my supporter’s ‘gift,’ I imagine those messages will stop. But I thought you should know, Captain, just in case. I leave how you deal with any future contact to your discretion.” He rose to his full height. “I have a war to prevent.”

THERE were five Humans waiting for me in the hydroponics room of the
Vegas Lass.
Those to my left had faces which swam up from my memories of Paul’s gift. One was an older male, lean, with the look of a working spacer despite being dressed like a diplomat or politician about to greet royalty. The other was female, perhaps the same age, tall and dark, wearing a Commonwealth uniform with comp specialist bars on sleeves and legs, and inscribed on one pocket:
Russell III.
I found myself pitying Lefebvre and Kearn, carrying a spy with them. I wondered, among so many questions, if either knew.

Two more stood to my right, these faces from my own past: Tomas and Lawrenk Jen, crewmates from Paul’s original ship, the
Rigus III.
Tomas wore civilian garb as if planning a night out in some insystem bar. His face matched my memory almost perfectly, though its cheerfulness was suggested only by the creases that usually marked dimples. Lawrenk Jen was now a captain, Commonwealth military, with the
Vigilant
written in small silver script along her collar. Her hair had silvered along both sides and her face looked less open than I remembered, as though more than my secret had burdened her heart.

Centered, and I doubted by accident, was the director of this play, Paul Ragem, friend, and
now
, I realized with a sense of despair,
my keeper.
He’d taken the time to change, wearing a dark blue shirt against which my medallion shone as though on display.

Being the worst-dressed being here was not helping my mood.

I took a step closer, then halted. The tanks were stilled; perhaps to check their depths.
All of these Humans
, I thought with a sudden, intense shame,
would know what to look for.

Paul opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if, having planned all this, he couldn’t remember the script. The older Human shot a glance in his direction, then took a half step toward me. “Ersh wouldn’t approve,” he intoned, as if he could have any idea what he was saying.

Or how it insulted my memories and hers to hear her name in his Human mouth. I glared at Paul.

The words, my icy look, or both stirred Paul from whatever reluctance or outright paralysis had gripped him. He took a matching step forward and nodded brusquely at me before gesturing to the Human who had spoken. “Esen, I’d like you to meet Councillor Sandner, member from Inhaven Prime, Comp-tech Mesa Timri from the
Russell III
,” the woman, “and you know Tomas and Lawrenk.”

There followed one of those deadly silences in which no one knew what to say that wouldn’t be catastrophic. I certainly didn’t, never having imagined facing a group of aliens who knew the real me.

Tomas suddenly grinned, complete with dimples. “Quite an improvement over Old Fang Face,” he said slyly.

I couldn’t quite smile, but I saw Paul’s grateful look to Tomas. The Human referred to a night I treasured and remembered often, even if I’d never learned to relish the nickname he’d given me on our way to celebrate Christmas. “Less than you’d imagine,” I admitted frankly. “Fussy eater and prone to hysterics.”

Something eased in Lawrenk’s face. “It’s you, Es?” she breathed, a reassuring hope in her voice.

Paul was trying to get my attention. I gave it to him and saw his lips form the word “please.” His eyes were almost desperate.

I nodded, feeling there was very little left to lose anyway, being heartily tired of this form and these filthy clothes, especially since gaining a trail of itchy crabcake crumbs
down my torso and leg. Releasing my hold, I cycled, passing through web-form quickly enough they should see only a flash of blue …

And stretched to my less-than-considerable height in my birth-form, the Lanivarian.
Fortunately
, I thought,
this stomach was empty.
I shouldn’t get seriously spacesick for a few moments at least.

Paul’s companions handled it well.
Probably better than I
, I thought, gripping this form tightly. No outright fainting, very little in the way of shocked looks. In fact, Tomas and Lawrenk looked openly delighted, like children shown a magic trick.

I relaxed slightly, by no means pleased to perform for strangers, but happier in a form physically braver and far better at growling. And one I understood thoroughly. I looked cross-eyed down my muzzle. I needed a shave; then again, I needed clothing.
Nothing was perfect.

The thought repeated itself as I looked steadfastly into the eyes of the one being I’d admitted into the Web of Esen, the one I’d trusted to the limits I was capable. My lip lifted over a fang and stayed that way. It wasn’t a smile.

“Why are you here?” I asked, not working hard at sounding pleasant.
They
, I reminded myself,
had more to prove than I.

Sandner, not Paul, answered promptly. “We came to meet you, Esen-alit-Quar. We’ve been working on your behalf for many years. When the chance came to greet you in person—”

This arrangement of Paul’s would never be a Web
, I thought wildly, taking an involuntary step back.
This Human wasn’t sharing with me; he was lying.

Paul knew. He put up a hand to silence the other, then offered it to me. “Easy, Es,” he said quickly. “Give them a chance. Please.” To the other Human, he snapped: “Esen is older than your grandparents—she’s spent that time living in secret from us. Do you think it’s a pleasure to meet you? Get to the point, or she’ll leave.”

I cocked my head to one side, just a bit, listening to Paul’s voice. Controlled, smooth, but defensive. I sniffed.
Under various perfumes and the cloying green from the tank, I could detect the scent of stress. Not fear. I flared my nostrils slightly, dipping my snout toward his hand.
Anger
.

So
, I thought, schooling my face into something more patient. Paul wasn’t totally in charge here. There was a threat to me—and a threat to him. I dropped my jaw in an almost smile.
This, I could understand.

“Forgive any misunderstandings, Fem.” Sandner, without benefit of my senses, still appeared perceptive. “If you would prefer me to be blunt, I will. We came here to observe you. We hadn’t planned our observations to—interfere with you in any way.”

“You were spying on me,” I corrected. “You took advantage of my leaving Minas XII. But you didn’t expect to get caught.”

Paul smiled that smile I knew gave our competitors nightmares. “The
Vegas Lass
was tracking me,” he explained. “It was near the asteroid the entire time. They could have pulled us out of the dome the minute I gave the word.”

“Gave the word—how?” I asked, struggling to put that horrid experience together with what Paul was trying to tell me. Nothing in the combination made sense.

Paul flipped over his medallion. I remembered him showing me the tiny scrambler device he’d said was to keep a Kraal sensor from detecting the web-mass within.
He’d never said that was all it was.
“They were listening, Esen,” explained the person who always swept our rooms for eavesdropping devices.
Who better to plant one?
I thought.

I curled my lips back in full threat and would have gladly nipped him if Paul had left his hand in range. “Them, I understand.”

Sandner looked embarrassed. “Don’t blame Paul, Esen. We—those in this room—gave him an ultimatum. We knew what your kind could do if you wanted to. Paul’s belief in you—after a while, it wasn’t enough.”

“We had to know for ourselves that you were safe,” Timri went on. “We had to know we were doing the right thing by helping you.”

“Safe,” I snarled. “As in ways to destroy me. As in testing your trap.”

“No!” This came from more than one. Paul stopped them with an upraised hand, saying, “Esen, I swear to you, that had nothing to do with anyone here. There was no intent to harm you in any way. It really was Kearn’s trap. Timri says it came from a Kraal backer, someone with the technology to follow the
Russell III
and obtain Kearn’s results.”

“So what was the point?” One disadvantage to my Lanavarian-self, in addition to the minor complaints beginning in my stomach in response to the artificial gravity, was a need to pace when emotional. I made it appear relaxed, walking to the railing as though contemplating the smelly, green-stained water. Then I turned, my paws wrapped around the railing so I could lean back comfortably. I could see Paul’s eyes narrow in understanding, and he shook his head the tiniest amount. I agreed. I didn’t want to cycle again, but this form would soon become a nuisance. It seemed wise to stay close to living mass that didn’t have a name. “You listened to us in the dome instead of helping us. Why?”

“The Web—” Sandner started to say.

I interrupted him, my ears flat to my skull in full threat. “Don’t ever use that word to refer to this group. The Web of Esen does not contain you. My Web—” I glanced at Paul. He gazed back at me with the oddest look of hopelessness on his face.
Foolish Human
, I thought with exasperation.
I’d rarely agreed with my former web-kin twice in the same day. Did he not know by now the strands of the Web are severed only in death?
“The Web of Esen consists of two,” I finished, rewarded by the flash of gratitude in his eyes. I kept my ears back, not done glaring at him.

“The Group,” Sandner continued, the smoothness of this transition likely more to do with his years in politics rather than space, “thought if you were placed in a situation where Paul’s life appeared to be threatened, and you had a clear target, it would show us—”

“Show you what?” I interrupted again, completely exasperated. “For all you knew, my species might not have had comparable emotions to yours at all. An Ervickian in a life-threatening
situation with beloved crèche-mates will eat them, and they’re civilized! How humanocentric are you?”

“It wasn’t that, Es,” Paul said carefully. “I had to prove to them once and for all that you were incapable of violence against others. The Feneden’s trap was the perfect opportunity.” Paul seemed to become oblivious of the others, stepping forward until he could reach out and run his hand along the side of my jaw. I growled warningly, but permitted it. “Esen, it wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t a trick. I was prepared to die if that’s what it took. I knew you’d show them your true nature—and you did.”

“However,” Paul continued with a measuring look at the others, “You weren’t the only one being tested. And I believe I failed.”

“Of course you did,” I said.
Sometimes
, I thought almost happily,
the universe could suddenly rearrange itself into something reasonable.
I licked my friend’s hand. “I wasn’t to know about them—was I? They were supposed to remain a secret from me. That’s why Tomas came so quickly to our rescue.”

“I came as soon as I realized he was going too far,” Tomas protested, his normally ruddy complexion pale with the memory. “We were convinced, Paul. You didn’t need to keep going like that.”

“No,” I said gently. “You may be Paul’s friend, Tomas, but you didn’t come because you thought Paul was about to die. You came because you heard Paul start to tell me about you, about all of you.” None of them appeared to even breathe. Paul’s hand was on my shoulder, firmly aligning himself with me.
And I with him, as it should be, I thought almost contentedly.

“You didn’t know until you overheard us that he’d given me your faces,” I went on, seeing it clearly, “so I’d recognize you before you could recognize me. Paul gave you to me in case I needed you—or you turned on me.”

“I don’t see why any of you were surprised,” Paul said to them, looking from one to the other. He didn’t sound angry, only disappointed.
Like Ersh
, I thought,
the Human had sufficient personal charisma to turn that into something
completely devastating to the recipient.
“I warned you when this started, if you ever threatened Esen, if this Group of ours began to turn from support and help to anything else, I’d stop you. No matter what it took.”

To their credit, all four looked ashamed. My stomach lurched, an unnecessary reminder my time in this form was limited. I surveyed the unhappy Humans, perceiving the Web-like bonds between them. None had meant any harm to me or to Paul. All, like Kearn, believed they were protecting others.

No wonder Paul had been angry when I mistrusted the source of his gift
, I thought, replaying that scene. But it hadn’t been anger at me. It had been anger at those he had trusted, who’d forced him to take this step against them.
And
, I thought,
it was anger at himself, for taking my side against his own.

It was
, I growled to myself,
a typically Human mess.

As the most civilized being present, I would have to do something about it.
I took my paws from the railing, thinking wistfully of the restful depths of the tank, and stepped forward. “Allowing Paul to know my true nature was the most difficult thing I had ever done,” I told them. “If it hadn’t been a matter of life or death, I wouldn’t have been able to take that risk.