Hidden in Sight (47 page)

The old spacer's eyes had lost their distant focus, as though the urgency pulled him back from some abyss. His tongue moistened his lips. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Get the captains ready. Yours. The ones you know are steady. Quietly. Quickly. The ships are a mess out there. I can't send some to the field without causing a panic among the rest. Most are too bottled up to move. But I have to be ready to evacuate as many folks as I can. That means priority one lifts to ships on the outer edges and those squatters on the field. I don't want people to die arguing over property. You've done this before, Joel. You've made it work.”

“Fifty plus years ago,” with a note of desperation. “I'm old, Phonse. Surely you have someone else.”

Alphonsus gripped Joel's other shoulder, looked him in the eye. “There's no one I know who could do this better. There's no one else they'd listen to without wasting time arguing. They know you. I know you. You're fair, you're honest, and tougher than any of them. But more than that. You wouldn't turn away anyone who needed help; you wouldn't abandon your worst enemy. You didn't on Garson's World. You won't here. Can I count on you?”

Did age put the tears in Joel's eyes—or something he didn't understand?
Alphonsus waited until Joel nodded, then let go of his shoulders. “I'll do my best,” Joel said, his voice growing firmer with each word. “We'll make room on the ‘
Loyal
for Maggie, and the families of your people here. Send them over when-when you like.”

“Thank you.”

The door opened as Alphonsus reached for the control. It was Bris, his nose twitching at Largas. With typical Moderan bluntness, he didn't bother with greetings. “You have an urgent incoming on your secure channel, Chief Constable, and I've updates on ship movements insystem of Nerri. The transmission from Mason and Trit is due in five. There are—”

“I can see myself out,” Joel said quietly. His big hand rested on Alphonsus' back for a moment. “Take care of us, Phonse.”

 

For the first time, Alphonsus wished he'd taken that cushy security job Maggie's uncle had offered him. Sitting a com desk at a marfle tea plant, confronting hideous dangers like insect infestations and in-laws.

His eyes kept straying to the chair where Joel Largas had sat and lied to him.

The secure call had been Paul. Curt and brief, in his persona as Paul Cameron. Phrases with hidden meanings for those who knew.

“Esolesy Ki's fine, too.”
Esen was all right.

“See you're a little overcrowded down there, Chief Constable. Watch for pickpockets.”
A threat to them, already on the ground, here.

Largas. How much of what he'd said was true? Were the Kraal the threat—or was he?

“Understand your concern and would comply with the warn-off, but our ship carries essential perishables for the Tumblers. We have an off-site landing planned. Don't worry. We know what we're doing.”
They knew the situation and were coming to talk to the Tumblers.

The brightest spot of his day. Mason and Trit hadn't found a Tumbler, let alone talked to one. The beings were staying deep inside their valleys—forbidden turf without an invitation.

He rested his eyes on the vid of his granddaughter, watching her twirl and dance—and bump into her neighbor, both girls consumed by giggles that spread through the rest of the class until all that remained of the original choreography was the finale, when they all bowed together.

There were children in the Port City. More on board the ships locked to the ground.

There were children scattered over the Moon's surface, waiting for the next Eclipse to start their new lives.

If Paul and Esen could do anything to help them, they would. Alphonsus believed that. And he wouldn't let anyone get in their way.

He looked back at the chair and his expression turned to the one his wife had never seen.

Deadly.

28: Scoutship Morning

There should be voices, not the ghosts of memory, to greet me here.

“Bess.” Skalet's voice interrupted. “Pay attention.”

I tore my attention from the viewscreen, a faint blue afterimage of Picco's vivid orange burned into my eyes, complete with the dark, insignificant spot that marked her living moon. I hadn't expected the sight of two hunks orbiting, however large, to affect me.
Perhaps,
I comforted myself,
it was a consequence of this form.

If so, Skalet should be staring into space as well, not hovering in front of a Kraal battle display peppered with moving dots.

“That's a lot of Ganthor,” I offered helpfully, swallowing hard as Skalet-memory rose up and made sense of what looked random.
Holding patterns. Retreat routes. Invasion formations.

“Expensive.” This dry observation came from Paul. He was sitting, one knee to his chest, on the bench that ringed the upper level of the small bridge. From there, he overlooked the display and us. His skin was startlingly plain among the tattooed Kraal, its paleness emphasized by the black crew uniform Skalet had given him. A Kraal my apparent age would be too young for affiliations, but I caught several of them staring at Paul despite Skalet's orders that we were “luggage” and invisible.

“Expensive—and one-sided,” Skalet added almost under her breath. The bridge crew, each within a force field and locked to his or her station for battle, were following her stalk around the display with their eyes. Trained, but not experienced, I decided, and hoping for news they were on the side with the Ganthor and not otherwise.

I hoped so, too. But as I couldn't imagine any side of anything that could need this many Ganthor, it didn't seem likely.

Skalet, as befitted a Kraal noble, wasn't giving her affiliates any hints. She was, I knew, enjoying their efforts to second-guess her.

“Any further signals?”

“More warn-offs from Port Authority, Your Eminence. They are getting quite vehement about it. Nothing from the Ganthor.”

“They aren't talkers.” Skalet stopped moving in front of Paul. She tilted her head in question. “And your sources?” She'd let him make one more call once we arrived on the bridge. Monitored, this time.

“You heard Port Authority. They're too busy to shoot us down, if that's what you're worried about. They don't need to, do they?”

“They need our help,” I said quietly, unable to avoid daring this much in a room full of strangers.

“One scoutship?” Skalet's laugh was low and rich. She was back in her element again. “What help do you imagine that would be?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” Archly. “Let me tell you the usefulness of this ship, little one. It's going to take us where we need to be, then lift us away again with what we've come to find. Before the Ganthor shatter this miserable rock into dust and memories.” She turned away from me and snapped: “Take us down, Captain.”

Whatever else you could say about the Kraal, their way of life fostered an ability to follow the most ridiculous orders, when delivered by a superior in whom they had belief. Arzul-ro didn't even flinch. “Do you have a specific landing site in mind, Your Eminence?” Challenge offered.

“You have the coordinates.” Challenge accepted. I took a discreet step away from my web-kin, not being one of those present in battle armor.

The two faced each other, both tall, thin, and dressed in black, both living weapons. Arzul-ro may have thought himself to have the edge in weight and reach. It didn't matter. He lasted five seconds before dropping his eyes from Skalet's and lifting his hands to his tattoos.
Challenge withdrawn.
“Of course, Your Eminence. The admiral awaits you at the mine.” The bridge lighting began to dim, replaced by a rise in that of the tactical display and from each control panel. A flurry of orders and directions circled the room. I didn't bother paying attention to either. There was a more pressing issue.

“S'kal-ru, may I have a moment please?” I said calmly, resisting the temptation to either walk up behind her and poke her in the back—unwise when my web-kin was so thoroughly aroused—or to shout—also unwise on a bridge where all but two individuals were armed to the teeth and contemplating Ganthor.

And outnumbered one hundred and thirteen to one. I didn't bother counting the individuals within each ship, since it was unlikely to matter in space, although I was quite sure everyone here was aware that a battalion carrier could hold upward of ten thousand stamping and excited Ganthor plus their gear.

Quite a sight, really.
Not to mention the drooling and bumping.

Not that I wanted to see it for myself. Skalet-memory was enough. She'd spent many years as a Ganthor Matriarch on behalf of the Web, and Ersh had made sure I'd assimilated all of them. She was fond of the species herself. As I was—usually.

“What do you want?”

I stepped close enough that our conversation had some chance of not being overheard by everyone present. “Suits. For Paul at least.”

Skalet put her hand against my cheek. An affectionate gesture to those who didn't know better, or who couldn't see the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Dear Bess. Don't worry so—this is the easy part. Now be a good child and keep yourself out of the way.”

“Out of—” words failed me.

There was no point attempting to argue
. I went up the stairs, noticing absently they were inlaid with freshwater shells from Jylnicia and edged with wood carved into playful waves. Kraal ships abounded with paradoxes.

“I'm to stay out of the way,” I informed my Human as he made room for me on the bench, sitting in a position that would be comfortable if its restraint field engaged without warning.

“I heard.” Paul's eyes didn't leave the display, now showing the
Octos Ra
as a tiny yellow dot. It looked like a Mendley shrimp heading for a school of Busfish.
A suicidal shrimp
. “S'kal-ru sounds confident,” he said, as if hearing my thoughts.

“She always does.” I hoped it was loud enough to carry.
“Child,” was I? “Dear Bess?”

I had some idea of what Skalet was planning, or more precisely, I knew what she knew about the Ganthor. It remained to be seen if she knew as much about the Kraal.

“Let's make this a quick approach,” Skalet ordered, her lovely voice raised just enough to penetrate every corner of the bridge. “No point wasting time.”

The pilot looked to his captain. Arzul-ro spoke up immediately: “Best speed that lets you maneuver around the—”

“No,” she countered happily. “Straight ahead. Ignore their ships. If they get in our way, they can move.”

Paul was nodding to himself. The Kraal seemed stunned.

“I don't have all day, Captain.”

It hung on the moment. I leaned my chin on the rail to watch, reluctantly admiring Skalet's command of Human body language as she stood waiting for them to obey. There was no doubt, no fear in that spine or shoulders. Nothing but confident anticipation on her face. Slowly, she raised one eyebrow.

No coincidence that eyebrow was etched with the affiliation binding her to the House of Arzul and it to her.

Captain Arzul-ro bowed his head slightly and said: “Pilot, take her in.”

It took the
Octos Ra
five minutes to reach the outer ring the Ganthor had established, passing close enough to a cruiser that it occluded two viewscreens until the tech adjusted.
No reaction.
Except for the sweat I saw furtively wiped from some brows.

“Steady,” Skalet crooned.

Twenty of this form's heartbeats until we passed another; ten to another; then we seemed to pass so many they blurred together.
No reaction.
We disappeared from the display, too close to other, larger ships to be resolved as distinct by the scoutship's device.

I was quite sure we hadn't disappeared from the Ganthor's scanners.

“Keep going,” Skalet sang softly. The Kraal were beginning to relax, perhaps believing the Ganthor were letting us through.

I could have corrected that impression. It was more that the Ganthor were too busy rousing themselves into battle frenzy to bother. But this image hardly reassured me, so I didn't think I'd share it with anyone else.

Our brave little dot showed again, almost clear of the waiting fleet. Then, suddenly, a lone ship appeared, moving directly into our path.

Skalet was actually humming under her breath. “Stay on course,” she told the pilot.

“But—”

“She'll move—or you'll make her move.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” His reply seemed to come through gritted teeth.

Our dots grew closer and closer. Then were one. Collision alarms tolled. The lighting switched to reserve, plunging portions of the bridge into darkness. The restraint field sucked me into the bench even as I felt Paul take my hand. Skalet stood in the display's glow, her head up and back, smiling. She'd hooked her arm through the railing, in case the grav failed.

“Make it clear to them,” she said. “Push harder.”

“Yes, Your Eminence!” From the fierce joy in his voice, the Kraal seemed to have caught whatever disease inflicted my web-kin.

There was a gonglike ringing through the hull, then nothing.

The display showed two dots, the yellow one leaving the other behind.

“Three orbits,” Skalet said, her voice deep with satisfaction. “Make sure we're not bringing company on our tail, then land. You two—with me.”

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