Changing Vision (57 page)

That hadn’t worked.
I’d felt all of my centuries bearing down as I’d realized how this turned responsibility for their brief lives back upon me.
If they’d risk themselves to keep our secret, it was up to me to ensure they never were forced into that position.
The Web of Esen protected what lived and thought. To that extent, Paul’s Group was part of me now, whether I’d wanted them or not.

Hence the next step. If these individuals were to be the friends and helpers Paul had intended, rather than terrified keepers or worse, I would need to introduce them to Esen, one at a time. Paul, needless to say, hated this idea, but I’d brought him around to my point of view.
Taking most of the night—and the wine.
He’d been most unhappy. After all, thanks to his betrayal of the rest, their faces were safely in my memory. Paul had carefully ensured that, with the exception of Esolesy Ki’s handsome visage and my Ket-, Feneden-, and Lanivarian-selves, the Group did not know mine.

It protected my identity in thousands of forms, but it was a perilous ignorance. No matter how much they believed
Paul—who was, beyond doubt, exceptionally persuasive—I knew each needed to see me in order to believe, to understand. It was the unknown that bred nightmares in ephemeral species; I’d had enough of being a monster. It wouldn’t be necessary or wise to show all I could do or become.
I wasn’t
, I’d argued relentlessly,
being foolish.

In the end, to convince Paul, I’d cycled into my Human-self. He’d stared at me for a long time, as if I were some apparition, ultimately forced by his own innate honesty to admit that it was this form, this Esen, that no Human could fear.
Underestimate, yes. Become annoyingly overprotective, quite possibly.
But these were judgments I could live with, if it meant those who knew my secret felt safe from me.

Besides
, I thought, a good night’s sleep later, peering out at the clouds rubbing the shoulders of the Sweet Sisters,
it was going to be a great excuse to travel.
Minas XII, however interesting, no longer felt quite enough.

“So, Esen,” Paul said in that dogged tone that meant he was determined to get an answer, “why did you try to leave me behind this time?”

I was surprised he’d waited this long, and showed a tusk in amusement. “Leave you behind?”

“Es.” His eyes were darkening.
Not
, I decided,
a good sign.

A little honesty usually helped.
“I don’t care to risk others anymore, Paul-friend,” I told him, knowing he’d hear the sincerity in that. My ears flicked back and forth. “The Dump isn’t a safe place. I’d have left Meony-ro, too, but he’s about as easy to shake off as a Carasian sandtick.”

His lips tightened. “Since when was the Dump safe for you?”

“For Esolesy Ki?” I shook my head. “But that’s not all I am, is it? If I’ve learned anything from our—vacation—it’s that it’s easier to look after myself without you.” I heard the words fall between us and knew I’d caused him pain. “Paul, I’m—”

“For a being of your advanced years,” he said matter-of-factly, “you still have so much to learn, Es.” Surprisingly, he didn’t look upset. His fingers stroked feather-soft
under my chin, settling my stomachs. I leaned into the caress, half-closing my eyes. “You can’t leave friends behind, just to keep them safe. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’ve noticed,” I sighed.

Paul took his hand away and pulled open his coat to show me the weapon holstered underneath. “Let me take care of myself,” he suggested dryly. “Besides, I bargain better than you do.”

I blinked. “You do not.”

Before Paul could reply, there was a tremendous concussion. I squealed with pain and covered my ears with my hands as the aircar tipped to one side and began to fall, feeling my scales swell and close together in a protective reflex. Paul clawed free of his safety harness and strained forward to slide open the driver’s hatch, revealing Meony-ro, thankfully still conscious, fighting the controls.

I looked up for some reason. Where there should have been a roof was now the underbelly of another aircar, a poorly-maintained and rusty one at that, dripping oils on my head. We spiraled down together, a sickening motion that slowed and finally calmed into something resembling flight.

I drew a shuddering breath, only just realizing I was holding on to Paul’s arm with all of the considerable strength of my Lishcyn-self.
For comfort
, I told myself, refusing to believe I might have instinctively reached for the nearest living mass, unable, in honesty, to dismiss the thought either. I released him with a muttered and fervent apology.

It wasn’t really the time for one. I took back all of my complaints to the fates, overwhelmingly thankful Meony-ro was driving; if we were going to land as anything but a projectile, it would be completely due to his talent. I wiped another drip of oil from my snout and braced myself, holding form with a strength that would surely have impressed Ersh.

What impressed me was how Meony-ro not only brought us down with merely a bouncing lurch to the side that landed Paul on top of me for a strangled minute, but how quickly the Kraal freed himself from his seat to climb up to the
other aircar, weapon in his hand.
Humans didn’t react to accidents well at all
, I thought, dazedly.

“C’mon, Es,” Paul said, hauling at my greater mass without success.
He had
, I realized,
his weapon out as well.

“Not an accident,” I concluded unhappily, stirring myself to move, my body—especially my stomachs—complaining vigorously.

“I seriously doubt it,” Paul agreed, looking out before jumping through what had been a viewing window.

Jumping
. I sighed, considering my present form’s capabilities in that regard, which were nil. The aircar above me chose that instant to sink further with a horrendous grind and screech of metal on metal. I didn’t wait to find out if that was a natural settling process or if Meony-ro was bouncing around overhead. I squeezed through to the window, looked down to be sure Paul was out of my flight path, and launched myself.

The drop was no more than my height and half again, however there was something about a massive hunk of scales meeting the already shattered surface of a rooftop that meant something had to give. I pulled my right foot free as Paul hurried to help. “You okay?” he asked, letting me balance against his shoulder while I tugged at my left foot. That one had gone completely through the roofing material, somehow making a hole narrower than the foot itself. I wasn’t having much luck.

Meony-ro dropped lightly beside Paul.
Must be their primate heritage
, I grumbled to myself, but accepted his help as well. Between the three of us, we managed to free my foot.

I took a minute to wriggle my toes cautiously, keeping an ear tuned to the Humans’ conversation. From their relaxed, but wary stance, we weren’t in immediate danger. The aircar that rammed us had been empty.

“It was to bring us down, Hom Cameron,” Meony-ro was arguing. “If they wanted you dead, they could have simply packed the aircar with explosives.”

At this rate, my scales were going to stay swollen
, I thought, envisioning trying to run while my body was
wrapped in its version of armor plating. Paul was rubbing his arm absently. I’d likely left some bruises, but at least nothing worse. Under the circumstances, I was rather proud of my self-control.

As for my falling into the roof, shoddy workmanship was definitely a factor—unsurprising, since, once I looked around and noticed, we had crashed almost in the center of the Dump, on one of the long, flat warehouses connecting the grounded starships.

“Why here?” I asked, stepping carefully on a surface that begrudged my mass. The intermittent howls of wind, fortunately dry, seemed frustrated they couldn’t push me around as they did the Humans, although what remained of my silks would soon be in tatters. I kept my ears folded to keep out the draft. “If they didn’t want us dead—a happy circumstance we owe completely to your skill, Meony-ro—they must have wanted us somewhere.”

Meony-ro looked uneasy.
The Dump
, I thought,
did that to reasonable beings.
“The com’s functional, Hom Cameron,” he offered.

Paul was staring at me. I returned his suspicious look with my most innocent expression. “Let’s not put out specifics until we know who’s listening,” Paul decided. “The crash will be reported anyway.” I didn’t bother to point out that crashes were reported over Fishertown with remarkable frequency and little result. “There will be someone sent out—if only to check for salvageable parts.”

“Like that?” I said, pointing at the sleek, black aircar dropping out of the clouds. I couldn’t make out much detail. A cloudy day here was twilight dim to my Lishcyn-eyes. Of course, I really didn’t need to see. I’d been expecting something—I’d just planned to meet it on my own.

Paul used some very colorful language. He and Meony-ro armed and raised their weapons with what might have been practiced synchrony. “I take it this isn’t good news?” I asked, ducking under the only existing shelter—the tail end of the tangled pair of aircars wedged into the warehouse roof.

“It’s Tly,” the Kraal grunted as he and Paul joined me.

“So much for your dream of Chase and Logan, my friend,” I couldn’t help saying.

Paul tore his eyes from the now-hovering vehicle, definitely no aircar but a shuttle identical to those on
The Black Watch
, and glared at me. His expression changed from grim to an interesting mix of speculation and dismay. “You’re finding this funny.”

“I am not.” Still, it was hard to keep my tusk under my lip.

He began to frown. “Esen. What have you done?”

“We have a situation here, Hom Cameron,” Meony-ro interrupted testily, patently thinking both his employers were crazy.

Considering the number of uniformed Tly pouring out of the now-landed shuttle and heading in our direction, the Kraal had a point. Paul stiffened as a second group stepped out, one of them head and shoulders taller than the rest. “Logan,” he said, in as close to a growl as I’d ever heard from a Human.

I began looking around impatiently.
The difficulty with ephemerals.
I reminded myself,
was their sense of timing.

Ah!

A fresh burst of wind sent some of the Tly tumbling, but it wasn’t from Minas XII’s incorrigible weather. This wind, I noted with intense satisfaction, came from the two large craft rising from either side of this building as they angled their jets to move inward, flanking the Tly.

“Esen?” Paul sounded as though unsure whether to stomp on my foot or hug me.
It was
, I noted,
a conflict he frequently seemed to experience.
“Who is—” His words were buried by the ear-piercing thrum of the machines as they landed. I hoped the roof could hold them.

I reached out and pulled both Humans farther back, toward me, a precaution against the wind as well as what might occur in a moment. “You aren’t the only one with friends, Paul Cameron,” I shouted triumphantly into his ear. “And you aren’t the only one with gadgets!” I waggled my bag at him.

Meanwhile, the craft—now clearly visible as Ganthor aerial assault carriers—had stopped moving. Their pilots hadn’t trusted the roof either, holding just above the surface. Huge doors along the carriers’ sides slammed opened, much like those of a ’digger, revealing row upon row of heavily armed, snout-twitching Ganthor.

They didn’t move.

The next sound was the Tly dropping their weapons as quickly as they could, some tossing them right off the roof.

I did enjoy a good surprise
, I decided, standing up to see better.

“No, Es!” shouted Paul and tackled me. As this had about as much effect as his running into the side of the wrecked aircar, I obligingly fell over in the direction I presumed he wanted me to go.
Humans
. Then I started as a bolt of energy splashed harmlessly overhead, immediately returned by something throatier issuing from Meony-ro’s weapon.

“No one was supposed to shoot at us,” I complained to Paul. “Who shot at us?”

Paul leaned his elbows on my chest to aim his weapon and fire it. “Not now, Esen,” he grunted.

Being flat on my back and unable to see was bad enough
, I thought.
But to be a table?
“Get off me,” I said, pushing at him.

“No. You—” he bit off the word angrily, then continued, “you just stay down. Logan’s wedged himself in and is shooting at us. He knows the Ganthor won’t interfere in a private fight and I’m not about to fire at them in order to get them interested. Happy?”

He needn’t blame me
, I decided, shifting to move my hip out of a growing hole in the roof.

“Paul.”

“Not now, Es.” Paul returned fire. It didn’t sound very successful.

“Paul,” I insisted. “This is a lousy roof.”

The Human looked down at me, frowning, then a smile spread across his face. “Yes, it is, isn’t it. Meony-ro.” He moved over to the Kraal, who kept up a return fire as Paul spoke urgently in his ear.

I edged myself up so I could see what the Humans would do. The Tly were either flat on their stomachs or crouched out of the line of fire. The Ganthor were shoving each other in prebattle frenzy, mucus glistening like sweat on their upper bodies. I didn’t think the Seconds would be able to hold their Herds much longer—no matter how they disliked interrupting what Paul correctly deduced they’d view as a personal, hierarchical dispute. I did know none of the Ganthor would leave without Logan. After all, there was a hefty bonus, as well as Herd honor, involved.
The Matriarch
, I recalled,
drove a hard bargain.

Paul and Meony-ro wasted no time redirecting their blasts from where bright flashes marked Logan’s position alongside the ramp leading from the
’Watch
’s shuttle, to the section of roof underneath. Almost immediately, the shuttle tilted as it lost support.

Before I could applaud their success, Logan’s next blast took out most of the roof in front of me and I tumbled down into the dark.