Changing Vision (36 page)

Lefebvre released his death grip, throwing himself up and back until he half-leaned on a desk. “I don’t understand,” he whispered in horror, feeling the deck ready to
open under his feet as he watched Paul take a wheezing breath.

Paul Ragem.

Paul rose as well, every movement cautious and planned as though the outward healing masked inward damage that hadn’t been repaired. Or maybe it was the memory of pain—the accelerated healing of a med unit sometimes fooled the mind.

No
, realized Lefebvre,
it was to give
him
time to adjust.
Paul had always been good at communicating with others, alien or Human. Now it was as if he’d spent the past years honing that skill, learning to control every part of his body, every expression, even the timbre of his voice.
Why?

He didn’t realize he’d asked that out loud until Paul repeated gently. “Why? Which one, Rudy? I’d think you’d have quite a few for me by now.”

Lefebvre shook his head. “For me,” he said, faintly surprised by the normal sound of his voice. “I’ve spent all this time trying to find the truth—trying to clear your name and memory.” He faltered. “Why do I—”

“—feel like killing me?” Paul finished, not appearing alarmed, though he gingerly rubbed his neck. “I’d say it was a natural reaction, Rudy. You’ve every right to be furious. I’ve deceived you and everyone else. I abandoned you fifty years ago. On D’Dsel, I did it again, leaving you unconscious and so this—” he waved his hand as though indicating the ship, “—happened.”

Lefebvre made a short, violent gesture of negation. “Logan would have found some other way to trap me.” Even as he said the words, his heart pounded with frustrated rage, rage that seemed all at once to have too many targets, including himself. “He’d have done anything to get at you.” Lefebvre’s fists clenched. “And I helped, didn’t I? He couldn’t have known it was you for sure without my key, without what I told him. He wouldn’t have—”

“Enough,” Paul said sternly. “Nothing would have changed, Rudy.” He dipped his head, then raised it, saying
somberly: “Logan—and the rest of this—it all comes back to my actions, not yours. I let them spread lies about me—and let you believe them.”

“I never did. I knew they were lies,” Lefebvre found himself almost tripping over the words to say them quickly enough, as if they could atone for his actions of a moment before. “You’d never endanger your ship, your crewmates.”

Paul’s face grew pale and determined. “They weren’t all lies, Rudy. I didn’t harm anyone, but I did have a choice to make. Part of that choice was to let Paul Ragem die—to leave you and everyone else. I made it willingly.”

“Why?” Lefebvre breathed. “What could matter to you that much?”
More than your family
, he added to himself, aching with the hurt of that loss as if it were fresh and not buried in their pasts.

Paul slowly reached out his hand. “I had a good reason, Rudy,” he said simply. “And I have a good reason now. Trust me.”

Lefebvre stretched out his own hand to meet and grip Paul’s, then closed his eyes and pulled the other into a rough embrace. “I still think I should kill you,” he decided as he let go.

“I think you just did,” Paul said, wheezing, but with a feather of a laugh in his voice, one hand keeping hold of Lefebvre’s shoulder as though he needed the support. “I wouldn’t want to wrestle you these days, cousin.”

“So what’s changed? You couldn’t beat me when I was a kid,” Lefebvre retorted, then found his gaze trapped and held by Paul’s, his mind caught by memories of a kitchen filled with friendship and wondrous stories. “Trust you, is it?” he said, hearing the ragged edge in his own voice. “Just like that? No explanations.”

“Just like that, Rudy,” Paul repeated, not pleading, the way Lefebvre imagined some mythical king would demand an oath of loyalty before battle. There was no doubt in Paul’s voice or expression: none of himself, none of his right to ask, and, Lefebvre realized with an inner shock, no doubt of Lefebvre’s answer.

Lefebvre gave a sigh that felt as if it came from his very soul, shuddering its way through his body until it washed the burn of anger and tension away, leaving something closer to control. “As I said,” he offered not-quite-casually, “what’s changed?” He took another, steadying breath and felt the universe firm itself around him. “We’ve been here too long already. You able to move around? Bess will want to see you.”

Not quite smiling, Paul nodded once, as if hearing more. His grip on Lefebvre’s shoulder tightened briefly before letting go. “Is she all right?” he asked almost lightly, except for the intensity of his gaze. “Do you know where she is?”

“I believe, Homs, I can help in that regard,” Logan said from behind them both. Lefebvre whirled, then froze, the biodisrupter in Logan’s giant hand looking as familiar and deadly as it had on D’Dsel, if smaller. Noticing his attention, Logan waved the weapon casually. “A gift from my good friend here—Paul Ragem.” When Lefebvre didn’t react, Logan pretended to scowl. “Not a surprise, I see. And no blood on the floor. How thoroughly disappointing, Captain Lefebvre. You really don’t know how to properly hold a grudge, do you?”

“Try me,” Lefebvre said, even though he knew better than to bait Logan.

“Perhaps, later, Captain. Right now we are all going to meet a young lady.” Logan’s attention shifted to Paul. “Who may have had a little accident, I’m afraid.”

“If she did, you’d better be, Logan,” Paul said, as if oblivious to which hand held sudden death, his face grown so ashen its skin showed fingerprints within the bruises.

Lefebvre remembered that voice, with its utter and convincing undertone of threat, whispering into his own ear. Then, Paul had been protecting his Panacian companion and his own identity from Lefebvre.
It was ironic
, Lefebvre found time to tell himself,
that Paul’s act had indirectly brought them back together.
Now, they were both desperate to protect another of Paul’s friends.

Some thoughts were the slippery, fish-underbelly sort—the kind that tried to surface at moments when other things, including saving one’s life, should have been paramount.

Lefebvre had that kind of thought now, a bizarre thought attempting to coalesce three names into meaning: Ragem. Kearn.

And a young girl Paul was willing to die for, named—Bess.

Lefebvre refused to think it.

It was easy, when Logan began to smile.

TWO of my latest nightmares walked through the open door together: Logan being the one and Lefebvre in the presence of a completely recognizable Paul Ragem being the other.

Interesting how the cosmic gods worked overtime, just for me.

I hid behind the meager protection of the open locker door, and watched through the crack between the hinges.

Paul looked much better, something I would have found vastly more encouraging if there hadn’t been a biodisrupter pressed into his cheek.
There were reasons
, I said to myself in frustration,
not to carry lethal weapons when traveling.
I trusted he’d listen to me next time.

The three of them were alone. Logan reached back to close the door and lock it. With anyone else, I would have thought this gave us the advantage.

I trembled.

Paul’s eyes were searching; I saw them linger over the hydroponics tank, then move on quickly as though afraid to reveal too much.

Lefebvre’s eyes were riveted on Logan, which surprised me. I’d have thought he would focus on his long-sought prey, so close at hand. There was something fragile about him, as though he’d had one too many shocks lately.
I could sympathize.

All of us jumped when Logan said, “Call her.” His precise voice was frayed around the edges. “Now.”

Of the three Humans, Paul was the most composed—perhaps the closest to falling flat on his face as well, but
he’d always been good at hiding That sort of thing from me. “You know I won’t,” he answered as if humoring a madman.
Careful
, I said to myself.

“Then I will,” Logan said easily, though his sweating face was anything but calm. He tightened his free hand into a fist the size of my head and swung it at Lefebvre. The Human ducked, but not in time to miss all of the blow. It sent him against the railing. He whirled, crouched as if to spring, but stilled as Logan stepped back and waved the biodisrupter between them both.

“Which one, Ghost?” Logan said loudly, the words echoing around the pipes and dampness. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to kill your Paul later—he and I haven’t finished our conversations.”

“You’re talking about a little girl, Logan,” Lefebvre objected, his face flushed. “She’s no ghost.”

“Ah, but only ghosts can disappear. Am I not correct, Hom Ragem?”

Paul was wonderful. “You’re the expert on vengeful spirits, Inspector,” he said, with just the right touch of sincerity.
Keep him uncertain
, I agreed silently.

“An expert. Perhaps.” Logan kept the weapon aimed as he walked over to the tank controls and killed the jets. The water seethed, then calmed. The comparative silence rang in my ears. “I pushed this little girl of yours. She fell into the tank. And disappeared. Is this how a spirit behaves?”

Lefebvre said something incoherent and turned to look frantically into the water. Paul reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “He’s baiting us, cousin. She’s not in there.”

Cousin?
I almost fell out of the locker.

“Ghost girl!” Logan called, sweeping the room with his pale eyes. “You’d better show up soon. I won’t wait here all night.” He pulled out a small stick from his pocket. “Unless I have something to do,” he corrected, as if a child offered a new toy.

I couldn’t tell from here what the stick might be, but I could read enough in the abrupt way Lefebvre moved to stand in front of Paul to understand it wasn’t anything pleasant.
Not that it would be
, I chided myself,
with Logan looking happy about it.

Logan shook the device. It lengthened and began to make a hissing sound. A blister stick.

Paul tried to shove Lefebvre out of his way.
They had to be related
, I decided. Certainly they showed the same lack of sense when it came to avoiding danger.

Enough was enough.
I reached into the locker and threw the main power switch, plunging the room into pitch darkness.

It was a good plan. I heard a tremendous splash as I hurried forward, one hand on the railing so I wouldn’t join whoever was already swimming in broth, congratulating myself on my timing.

Then again.
The emergency lighting came on at the same moment a wet hand wrapped itself like a band of steel around my leg and dragged me into the tank.

“Welcome, Ghost.”

The liquid lapped about Logan’s waist; it would have reached my chin, but he’d switched his grip from my leg to my hair to yank me up from under the water. I hung from his hand, tears of pain in my eyes, and thought quite seriously of the living mass now drying on my arms and swirling past my legs.

Paul’s “No, Bess!” came right about the moment I’d thought of the ideal form. I rolled my eyes to glare at him.

Perhaps I was being hasty, despite my current discomfort
, I decided. The steady aim of the biodisrupter in Lefebvre’s hand was a factor I hadn’t considered.

“Let her go,” Lefebvre ordered. “Now.”

In answer, Logan swept me up in his massive arms and held me cradled against his chest in a parody of care that would have been more believable if he hadn’t been squeezing the breath out of this form. I glared harder at Paul, wondering how much of this he expected me to put up with, and raised my body temperature to cope. “Shoot me, then,” Logan suggested. “Maybe the ghost won’t die.”

Lefebvre’s aim didn’t alter. “You aren’t leaving with her,” he stated.

Logan ignored this, looking down at me, his eyes hard and triumphant. I didn’t care much for his breath either. “Real. I knew you had to be real.”

“You’d be surprised,” I muttered with what little air I had in my lungs.

Most Humans couldn’t have done what he did next. Logan waded to the side of the tank and, keeping me against his chest as a shield, climbed out using one of the jet intakes as a step, lifting his leg easily over the rail. I found myself amazed Paul and Lefebvre had managed to throw this behemoth into the tank in the first place.
Perhaps they’d just dodged and Logan tripped himself.

Paul walked over to the door and stood in front of it, his eyes hard as ice. “Put her down, Logan.”

Logan obeyed, setting me down in front of him with his hand curled loosely around my neck. For the first time, I felt a twinge of personal fear and my temperature began soaring out of control. He could conceivably snap my spine before I cycled from this shape.
I could die
, I thought in disbelief and with a certain amount of aggravation. The alternative, to cycle before he tried, meant exposing my web-self to his eyes and Lefebvre’s.

As if reading my thoughts, Paul said very softly, “Careful, Bess,” which probably seemed an odd thing to say, given the situation as Logan and Lefebvre likely saw it.

“You don’t need her, Logan,” Paul said next. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

At this, Lefebvre—who’d joined Paul in front of the only exit, keeping his weapon aimed at Logan for whatever good he thought it might do in the present standoff—nodded as if unsurprised. “You heard him,” he said.

Logan shifted his hand to my shoulder, engulfing most of it and my upper arm. I swallowed tentatively, resisting the impulse to feel my throat. “All right, Ragem. Where is the Kraal’s living weapon? You took it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I was working with the Kraal.” I took comfort from Paul’s expression, there being something in the combination of intent gaze and deliberate calm reminiscent of several
instances in which his gifts had exploded in my face. “What you want is on an asteroid in the Iftsen System.”

Logan laughed, a chilling derisive sound. “You’ll have to lie better than that, Ragem. The Iftsen have no weapons. Or need for them.”