Changing Vision (59 page)

They were interrupted as three newcomers to the bar, working spacers from their look, veered close for no other reason than to clap Largas on the back. One of them bore a remarkable resemblance to the old trader. “Luck? I don’t believe in luck,” Largas said emphatically, once they were alone again. “I believe in people. Take you and Paul. Great job. Why, if you hadn’t warned him, he might never have realized what those Ganthor were doing in the Dump. We could have had a minor war break out—not that I’d mind. There’s some who live there we could do without, if you know what I mean.”

“How did you know about the Ganthor?” Lefebvre
asked curiously. “They were pretty well hidden—especially for Ganthor.”

Largas waved to the bartender, before turning his piercing eyes on Lefebvre. “Information is always the key, Rudy. Remember that. People like to talk. And I listen to every bit that comes my way. You never know what will matter.”

The presence of a Ganthor Herd had certainly mattered to Paul. He’d realized immediately what Esen was up to—trying to capture Logan by herself. He’d arranged for Largas, with a vested interest in Logan’s activity and his uncanny knowledge of the Dump, to bring Lefebvre to the right place at the right time. Fortunately, the Matriarch had been very reasonable about local talent.

Esen
, Lefebvre recalled,
had probably been even more surprised than Logan
, He smiled into his glass as he remembered the look she’d given Paul.
And that blush?
She’d insisted on running for cover as quickly as possible, particularly to avoid Joel Largas.

The more time Lefebvre spent with Largas, the more he liked the being. But Largas was trusted by Esolesy Ki, not Esen. Paul had made that quite clear. So the mysterious young girl being held by Logan was his niece, Gloria, a fiction reinforced by the unwitting Meony-ro.

It had been convincing.

It had been close.
Too close.
Lefebvre put down his drink. No point risking what had been achieved. “I have to get back to my ship,” he told Largas. “Nice meeting you, Joel.”

Largas’ eyes were keen under their bushy brows and he offered Lefebvre his hand. “I happen to have an opening for a Captain,” he said as their hands met. “If you’re ever tired of working for cruise lines, that is.”

Lying to this being wasn’t right
, Lefebvre knew as he released Largas’ hand, not surprised by the firmness of his grip. But Paul had warned him. When Lefebvre had casually brought up the topic of the Monster of the Fringe, to see for himself, Largas had grown unusually tight-lipped, revealing only that the monster was very real and
that Lionel Kearn was a blithering idiot incapable of finding his own nose.

No wonder Esen kept her secret.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lefebvre said quite sincerely. “I don’t know what’s ahead, frankly.”

If there was anything he could predict about his own future, it was going to be something he’d never have imagined before meeting Esen-alit-Quar.

WINTER was coming. I stood on the porch and watched my breath float upward, looking beyond its faint mist to admire the thick crown of stars overhead. There would be a cold snap tonight, and doubtless a blizzard ready to kill the unwary tomorrow. I fluffed my fur in anticipation. Minas XII was like that. You had to catch its beauty on its terms, not yours.
And be ready to duck.

Paul should be home soon. The minor distraction in the warehouse I’d arranged to keep Paul from accompanying me to the Dump—doomed to failure, since he’d already outflanked me completely—had turned into something a bit more complicated. All I’d done was open a few cages of pollinating insects. Peaceful, but large and noisy insects. They should have been a harmless-enough nuisance.
How was I to know the things were being shipped pregnant and would vigorously defend their new nesting territories throughout the warehouse?
The importer had kindly supplied antivenom, which hadn’t put Paul into a better frame of mind.

His aggravation wouldn’t last.
Especially with his favorite supper in a bag on the table
, I thought happily. After picking up my order, I’d left Lefebvre and Largas at the Circle Club, looking as though they planned to drink all night. I had no idea of Lefebvre’s capacity, but knowing Joel’s, I winced.

Lefebvre had promised to visit: a friend I’d made on my own. I treasured that newest gift, like the starry skies above me.

It had clouded over before Paul’s shuttle touched down outside. He’d hurried in to avoid the growing cold, heading straight to the ’fresher to, as he put it, wash off bug guts. I didn’t dare ask who’d won the battle of the warehouse.
Some topics
, I knew,
were best left alone.

This delay gave me time to prepare, so when Paul returned a few moments later, futilely trying to rub some order into his damp hair, I had all the reaction I could have wanted.

The Human stopped dead in the doorway to the kitchen. He wasn’t, I was pleased to note, looking at the less-than-artfully arranged meal on the table. Instead, he was looking at me.

I turned completely around, then back again. “Well?” I’d bought the clothing at a children’s store on my way home. It had only been a matter of assuming this form to suit. My hair wasn’t much better than his at staying tidy, but I’d already become resigned to that.

When Paul didn’t speak, my new heart gave an odd and uncomfortable lurch. I studied his face. There was plenty of emotion there—his eyes were glittering as if about to leak, and I saw him swallow—but I was suddenly unsure it was a happy one and lost some of my own joy.

He saw it. “Esen,” he said very gently. “You don’t have to be Human for me. We’ve been together all this time without it. I understand your reasons and they’re good ones.” He paused. “I’m your friend in any form. You know that.”

I nodded, feeling my own eyes beginning to fill.
It was
, I told myself sternly,
no worse than oozing mucus as a Ganthor.
“This,” I touched my cheek, “is me as well.”

Paul leaned his back against the doorframe, folding his arms like someone who’d had a very long, very tiring day.
With bugs.
“What do you want me to say, Esen?” he asked. “I’ve never asked you to be anything for me and I won’t now. Do you want me to admit this version of you is special? Yes. It is. I admit it. That doesn’t mean I require it or expect it or even think it’s a good idea. You have a purpose and a life beyond our friendship.”

Being Human meant lacking so many senses to help me
puzzle out his mood, an insight of itself, I realized, into how very good Paul was at understanding other species as well as his own.
Unless it was something that occurred as this form aged
, I thought. This time, however, he was wrong.

“You misunderstand me, Paul,” I said just as gently as he’d spoken to me, moving close and putting one hand on his folded arm. “We share a closeness built from our differences. How could that change? My assuming this form can’t change my thoughts into Human thoughts, my viewpoint can never be exactly as yours.” I smiled up at him, knowing this face had rather attractive dimples in each cheek. “But when I’m with you, this form returns to me something I was in danger of losing, something you valued in me even when I did not.”

Paul’s mouth curved up at the corners and his eyes were warm on my face. “And what might that be, old friend?”

“I may be the Eldest in my Web,” I informed him. “But I’m also Youngest.”

It was after supper, the first meal we’d ever shared as the same species—although I couldn’t share Paul’s delight in slimy mollusks—that we bundled up and went outside. There was snow tumbling down, a silent heavy drift that coated the mountainside in treacherously soft white. It was hard to discern where the snow ended and the clouds began.
The hail
, I thought philosophically,
would start with the wind.

“Am I supposed to send you to bed, Youngest?” Paul asked through a pretend yawn, stretching his arms up. One promptly dropped to dump a handful of snow down my neck.

Startled, I glared at him until I saw the mischief in his face. “I’ll cycle into Ganthor if you want a snowball fight,” I threatened.

His hands went up in mock-surrender. “Cheat.”

“Bully,” I answered contentedly, digging snow out of the robe I’d thrown on—given it was Paul’s, I wasn’t too concerned.
’Course, if I was going to wear this form more regularly, I’d have to have a coat. And boots.
“I’m going to
have to do some shopping,” I reminded Paul. “And we’ll have to build another hidden closet. Mine’s already full, and I can’t imagine explaining a child-sized set of Human clothes to anyone outside the Group.”

I’d said it deliberately. Paul knew it, and flashed me a surprised and grateful look. Perhaps he wondered why.

Perhaps one day, I’d tell him.

I used to look ahead and believe I knew the future, that I could predict and become whatever my chosen task demanded.

Now, thanks to Paul and his larger vision, I had absolutely no idea what the next fifty years might hold.

I smiled at my first friend, Paul Ragem, and felt free.

FIFTY years.

N’Klet examined her carapace critically in the mirrored tiles. The fading pits and scars were still noticeable. She would need more time like this to heal completely.
Inconvenient
.

But expedient.
The accident had served its painful purpose. Scentless, she’d gained admittance to the School of Alien Etiquette; scentless, she’d easily taken the identity of the D’Dsellan whose body now drifted in honorable, if anonymous, burial in space. The Iftsen,
worthless clowns
, hadn’t even noticed.

The Youngest had been the only risk. Physical contact might have exposed the truth; a suspicious mind might have seen—incongruities.
As expected
, N’Klet nodded to her image,
the distraction provided had been adequate.
Esen was still easily manipulated.

One of the young rezts left its littermates, rubbing its side sleepily against N’Klet’s lower limb. Absently, she picked it up with a midlimb and stroked it.
Yes
, she thought,
Esen still followed the Old One’s Rules. Significant.

With a flash of blue, almost faster than the eye could follow, there was no longer a D’Dsellan holding a sleepy rezt, but someone—something—else.

The room was dark, lit only by an antique chandelier. Its circle of light fell partly across an inlaid table, revealing a pair of hands, five-fingered, long, supple, and
strong. They toyed with a knife, its handle ornately etched, its blade catching the light in fierce, quick bursts. One of a priceless pair, now solitary.

Two Kraal officers stood within the light as well. “We are grateful for your return, Eminence,” said the first Kraal, touching the tattoos on each cheek, bowing deeply. “We regret to have no news.”

“The transmissions ceased, Eminence,” added the second, with an equally deep bow. “Sooner than predicted.”

“No matter,” answered a deep, rich voice from the shadows, a voice like velvet.
There were other ways to watch a web-being
, the owner of that voice knew. “Resume course.” There was no need to confirm the order. Discipline on a Kraal ship was absolute. The first Kraal left immediately.

“Was there success, Eminence?” this from the second Kraal. “We regret we were unable to confirm her ability to—fly. The test had seemed foolproof.”

“Partial success, Holt-ru,” replied the shadow. “The Feneden were bait she couldn’t resist. It was her response that was—unpredicted.”

“Will there be another opportunity, Eminence?”

The hands lifted the knife, turning it upright. One fingertip delicately met the point, anointing it with a single drop of bright, red blood.

“Oh, yes.”
The Youngest of the Web of Ersh would share her secrets. It was only a matter of when.