Hidden in Sight (44 page)

Otherwhere

 

 

THE strong upsweep ended with a flourish. Not flamboyance—a statement.
This handwriting
, Kearn thought,
said as much about the author as the words.
Confidence. Determination. An attention to detail verging on obsessive. They were all there.

The words? He stretched, feeling and dismissing the complaints from his neck and lower back from hours spent hunched over his desk. Perhaps he'd been a little obsessive himself, to want every word translated. But there'd been no page he dared ignore. The key, some revelation, could be in front of him, waiting for him to recognize it.

Rudy had tested the pages for biological tracers, proving the book had been in the possession of Sybil's enemy.

Kearn allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The translation was complete—his contribution, his expertise.
Now they knew why.

“You haven't slept.”

He glanced up to find his office door ajar, Timri standing in the opening. “You never knock,” he said mildly, smiling.

Timri didn't smile back, but then, it wasn't an expression she used often. She was prone to seriousness, the fine lines edging her mouth and eyes those of concentration, not mirth. Right now, they were deeper than usual. “Rudy's still complaining you didn't give him his old cabin back.”

“It's yours now,” Kearn pointed out. “How's the crew taking the switch in command?”

“As you'd expect. They can't imagine you doing something as bizarre as pulling in a civilian, so there's a rumor Rudy has been working undercover as a freighter captain to catch smugglers. I think he probably started it.” She hesitated, then came to sit in the chair across from his desk. “About the cabin. Rudy says you play favorites. Why would he say that, Lionel?”

“I have no idea.” Kearn felt his cheeks warming and hastily put his hand on the book. “You came at a good moment. I just finished the translation. We've imaged the pages, taken all the samples Rudy can imagine. It can be returned.”

“To this Sybil. Cristoffen's Kraal contact.” Timri narrowed her eyes. “I hope you aren't suggesting we let him go through with this meeting. Beyond the fact that he can't be trusted—he's a wreck. He'd throw up on her boots.”

“I really shouldn't have lied to the poor boy,” Kearn shook his head. “Being shot at must have jarred loose my morals.”

“That's what I came to talk to you about, Lionel. I haven't had a chance to—”

Kearn shook his head. “No. There's no need.”

Timri scowled. “There's every need. Shut up and let me thank you for saving my life.”

He fussed with sheets, managing to send several to the floor by accident. As he bent to pick them up, he mumbled: “I didn't save it. The weapon didn't work.”

“That doesn't change what you tried to do.”

Kearn replaced the dropped sheets, patting them into alignment with their mates on his desk, putting others on top and patting those. “I happened to see him first, that's all. Either of you would have done the same. A reflex.”

A slender hand pressed on top of his, trapping it on top of the pile of notes. He met her eyes reluctantly. “Lionel. You knew I was a member of Paul's Group. You knew I've spied on you since coming on board—lied to you. Yet you put yourself between someone who believed in you, and me, who didn't.” There was the beginning of anger in her voice; she hated puzzles.

Her hand was warm and strong. He'd thought it would be. “You heard what I told Rudy.”

“That you've come to your senses about Esen and Paul? I heard.” Timri withdrew her hand; his felt suddenly cold. “Puts me out of a job,” she added lightly, “if you weren't lying.”

“Lying?”

“Relax,” the corner of her mouth lifted. “You've always been a terrible liar, Lionel. Your face goes all red. You sweat. You even stammer if it's going to be a really big lie.”

“I d-do not—” Kearn began, then blushed furiously as he stumbled over the words. “Rank insubordination,” he complained weakly.

“So kick me off the ship at Picco's Moon.” The moment of humor faded, replaced by a look he knew very well indeed: obstinance. “I want to know why you let me keep spying on you. I want to know why you stepped in front of Cristoffen's weapon. In all our years on this ship, no matter what ridiculous thing you've done, I've understood why, Lionel. Now I don't.”

Kearn let his eyes travel over her face, lingering on the perplexed creases above her eyebrows, savoring the line of cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes briefly to keep it all.

Then opened them, and abandoned fantasy. “My reasons are my own, Comp-tech,” he said briskly, despite feeling as if he stood in front of Cristoffen again and stared into the muzzle of his own death. “If you have a problem with not knowing, I suggest you consider a transfer. I will provide a message of recommendation, of course.”

“A transfer? I was joking, Lionel.”

“I'm not.” Somehow, Kearn found the strength to keep his eyes on hers and his voice even. “It's time you considered your own career and life as well as the needs of your—friends. There will be serious repercussions at the end of this—not just because of my putting a civilian in command of a Commonwealth ship. Cristoffen. I don't intend to let him to walk away from what he's done, but we both know I will be held at least partially responsible. And should be.”

“You couldn't have known what he was capable of—”

Kearn shook his head at her protest. “I knew he was trouble. I brought him on board thinking I could control him, to protect Esen and Paul. And don't forget that my name is on the orders taking us to Urgia Prime, bringing us here—and who knows what else he's done using my codes.” He managed a smile. “It doesn't matter. Not really. I was planning to retire anyway.”

“I hadn't thought—” she paused, seeming to look inward. The creases on her forehead gradually eased. “The captain of the
Resolute
offered me a post last month. It's an explorer. When I saw it, I thought it would be a chance to look for web-beings beyond the Fringe.” The creases reappeared. “It's ridiculous to talk about things like this now, Lionel. We're in the middle of—”

“It's not ridiculous to look ahead, Timri,” Kearn said, wondering if it was lack of sleep or the emptiness of his own future that thickened his voice. He coughed to clear it. “The
Resolute
would be a wonderful opportunity. You've turned down too many offers already. I know.”

“Probably more than I do. Seems to me you blocked most of them to keep me here,” she said, but without bitterness. “It's all right. I couldn't have left before. Not while I was, well, before you—This really does change everything, doesn't it?” A note of wonder crept into her voice. “I am free to go.”

From the look on her face, she'd already left. Kearn opened the book and riffled pages. “I should get back to this. It isn't long until we reach Xir. Was there anything else, Timri?”

“Get some sleep before you fall over,” she suggested, almost jumping from her seat. “And, Lionel—”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Good night.”

The smile of someone who used it rarely was a wonderful, dangerous thing. Kearn knew he'd remember it, always.

Even after she was gone.

 

Rudy was taking a late supper—or was it breakfast?—when Kearn walked into the otherwise deserted galley, book in hand. “You're up late,” the new captain of the
Russell III
commented. “Or is it early? My system's not running on shiptime yet.”
Never went to bed, given the purple bruising under those eyes.
“You finished the translation,” he guessed, pushing the sombay across the table as Kearn sat to join him.

Kearn nodded and poured himself a cup. “Yes. The bridge told me you were here. I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible.”

Rudy waved the hand that wasn't full of toast. “Please. As long as it isn't something that will spoil my appetite.”

“It might if you were Sybil.”

“Go on.”

Kearn placed the book on the table between them, moving his cup a cautious distance away. “As I told you, very few could read this.” His tone was tired, but triumphant. “If I hadn't attended that lecture—with a fine luncheon, I might add—and Professor Strasig hadn't kindly shared his data on Naskhi script with me? Plus this is an older style of Kraal. But once I knew the corresponding lettering, it was quite straightforward to decipher.” Rudy waited patiently as Kearn carefully turned pages until he reached the beginning. “It starts by listing the founding Kraal Houses. That's not unusual; the culture is obsessed with genealogy. But here they are named in order of their inheritable flaws, with blunt comments on the viability of each line and the most potentially successful alliances. And here.” He chose a page near the middle. “This describes a property: hills overlooking a seashore. No location, but everything else you'd need in order to build a substantial estate there, from fortifications to designs for gardens. The rest of the book is filled with notes about materials, personnel, supply lines.”

“I don't want to diminish your accomplishment, Lionel,” Rudy was forced to say when Kearn finished. “But what do plans for a new house have to do with Sybil hiring me?”

“Not a new house,” Kearn corrected, eyes glowing with excitement. “A new House. This is a blueprint for the establishment of a new power within the Kraal.”

“That happens?”

Kearn traced a gilded skull on the book's cover with his finger as he spoke. “Often enough to spawn most of their wars. I did some research. There are various methods, almost all involving the destruction of an existing House.”

“Why doesn't this surprise me?” Rudy asked grimly.

“The founding of the Lysar is fairly typical. They claim to have won their status through battlefield heroics. True, in a way. They captured the flagship of their own ally and affiliate, the Noitci, killed every member of the family they could find, then made off with the Noitci Artifacts. A House proves its legitimacy within the Kraal hierarchy by possessing ancestral relics that link it to the time of the founding families. Those relics were in the artifacts—which now belonged to the House of Lysar.”

Rudy lowered his cup of sombay so he could regard Kearn through the steam. “Sybil's information included a report on the recovery of the long-lost Kraslakor Artifacts. It meant something to her—or her enemy.”

Kearn stared at the book. “We dated the inks. The person writing in this book did so at intervals over the last forty to fifty years. The most recent passage is days old. We can't be talking about the original thief.”

“Of course not. The crypt was robbed over three hundred years ago. But a descendant could be carrying on a dream. Not to mention Kraal feuds are passed down bloodlines, aren't they?”

“Yes.” Kearn lifted the book. “But it's more than that. Sybil and, presumably, her enemy are pursuing Esen. Why? What could this possibly have to do with her? Do you know anything that might help? Has she told you anything?”

Rudy hesitated, a pause that caught Kearn's attention. The older Human set the book down, and put both hands on top of it. “You find it hard to talk to me about her, don't you?”

That,
Rudy thought,
was putting it mildly.
“It's not that I don't trust you now. It's, well, it's a habit, Lionel.”

“I understand. Well, let me start with the obvious. Even if she's not a living weapon, Esen possesses attributes any Kraal would value: the ability to camouflage herself, for one. Then there's blood feud—the desire for revenge. The Kraal came out of their first encounter with Esen with flags waving in triumph over an Inhaven colony, but they lost ships. More importantly, they lost the crews of those ships: thousands affiliated to the House of Mocktap. Mocktap is still considered disgraced.” Kearn smiled at Rudy's expression. “You didn't know?”

“No. Paul and Esen don't talk about those days. How do you know?”

“The Kraal have academics, my dear Rudy, and they are as prone to gossip as those of any species. The disgrace of a noble House is an irresistible topic.”

“So we have an entire House of Kraal who would blame Esen for their misfortune if they knew of her existence.” Rudy didn't like where this was leading. “And two Kraal who do know.”

“Not to mention Kraal tech developed specifically to affect a being of her nature.”

“You think that's what Cristoffen fired at you?” Rudy frowned. “You think it's a weapon designed to be used—on Esen?”

“Or another web-being. Yes, I do.”

“Then we must destroy it!” Rudy pulled the weapon from its concealment under his shirt.

Kearn was shaking his head. “It goes with you, along with this book.” At Rudy's look of surprise, he gave a weary smile. “You're planning to meet Sybil on Picco's Moon. She expects both. She needs both to deal with her enemy.”

Ice seemed to form along Rudy's veins. “Why?”

“Think about it. She gave the book to Cristoffen in order to hide it, here, where her enemy wouldn't find it. Why would she want it back now?”

“She feels ready to confront her enemy.” Rudy looked at the ugly weapon in his hand, wishing he could make it disappear. “Because she'll have this. You're saying Sybil believes her enemy is a web-being. Then why worry about the book in the first place?”

“Maybe Sybil began by suspecting something simpler—something Kraal. If she knew her enemy wrote secrets in this book, she'd want to steal it, to find someone to read it for her. This book would confirm her suspicions. A new House would impact on her affiliations. From what I've heard, it could change affiliations across the Confederacy, alter the balance of power—especially if the founder was someone extraordinary.”