Hidden in Sight (51 page)

Pain
! Cradle the ruined end, seared closed. The emptiness remembers fire. It always will . . .

... I gasped clear of the past, finding myself cradling my right arm as though mine had been amputated by blaster fire, not Ersh's, weeping with her anguish, her anger for the Tumblers.

“Esen! What's happened? Are you hurt?” Urgent questions, yet from a distance. Footsteps and the rattle of stone. I shook my head to reassure my worried Human, although Ersh-memory still burned along my nerves.

The sounds of someone falling brought me fully into the here-and-now. I focused my eyes on Paul as he hauled that someone up and back from me, to his feet. “Answer me, Esen!” Paul panted.

“It wasn't my arm,” I assured us both. “Yes. I'm fine. But who—?”

Paul jerked his captive around to face me. “Look who I found spying for the Kraal,” he said, in that voice I could never recognize as his, the one promising dark and deadly things.

“Lionel?” The battered and very worried-looking Human blinked owlishly at me, semi-suspended in a grip I suspected was much tighter than it needed to be. “Paul, let him go.” When Paul simply stared at me as though I'd lost my mind, I scrambled up beside them both and tugged at his arm. It felt like metal. “Let him go. You're hurting him.”

“That's the general idea,” Paul growled. “Stop it, Bess.”

Ersh
. “It's Lionel, not the Kraal. He's here to help us. Aren't you, Lionel?”

“Esen?” Kearn croaked. “Is this you?”

I ignored the now-apoplectic expression on Paul's face. “Of course this is me. What do you think?” I did a quick pirouette, careful not to trip.

“Thank g-goodness, you're all right. And you're—this you—why, I never dreamed you'd be—c-cute.” This with quite commendable enthusiasm, under the circumstances.

Paul let out a string of highly expressive, if implausible adjectives—none of which included “cute”—ending with my name and a profound sigh. Then: “What have you been up to now?”

Lionel craned his head to look at Paul. I smiled, knowing there would be dimples.
Cute dimples
. “Making friends, Paul.”

 

I was reasonably sure being this happy with frenzied Ganthor above and my untrustworthy web-kin ahead—not to mention everything else Kearn told us in hurried, desperate bursts as we climbed—was likely to call down the notice of the Cosmic Gods. But I didn't care.

And, from the look of him, Lionel Kearn had restored himself. Each time I glanced around, he was keeping up—not easy on a steep slope scored by cracks and tumbled with rock. Even more surprising was the strength in his voice as he talked about difficult and dangerous things.

Those things should have wiped the smile from my face and joy from my heart, but couldn't. There was a rightness to seeing the two Humans together, even if they'd never been friends. Kearn knew Paul Ragem and that knowing linked Paul to his past, his real past, again.

And Rudy was here!

“Careful, Es.” Paul's admonishment from behind was hushed but kind. He hadn't said anything to Kearn that wasn't a prompt for information or demand for more detail. I thought it likely both Humans had too much they wanted to say, and knew it would have to wait.

The only good news was that Rudy Lefebvre was on Picco's Moon. Paul might worry about his cousin being in harm's way, but not about his ability to cause some of his own. My grin faded slightly. I wasn't looking forward to trying to explain Skalet's recent behavior to the hot-tempered Human. It was something I might leave to Paul, who seemed to have reached his own accommodation with the nature of my web-kin.

Rudy was here, now, meeting Mocktap—explaining why Paul had caught Kearn on the mountainside. Kearn had been too worried, in the end, to let Rudy come alone. He'd followed the Kraal aircar, counting on their preoccupation with Rudy and the Ganthor overhead to let him approach safely.
It was probably
, I decided with pride,
the dumbest and bravest thing Lionel had ever done in his life.

Paul had been silent for a moment after hearing this. Then he'd put his hand on Kearn's shoulder.
Perhaps
, I'd thought smugly,
he'd start to regret some of those colorful adjectives he'd used for me.

What hadn't been good news, in any way, were the stakes. Joel Largas had followed us, on one of many ships crewed by friends. Worse, the
Largas Legend
was already fin-down. With Tomas and Luara.

Of those who lived here? I knew Paul thought about Phonse and Maggie; he cherished their friendship. I hadn't met Alphonsus Lundrigan myself, having been reluctant to come back here for many reasons, but knew he was another of those guarding my secret. Now, he was guarding this tiny world.

I lost the urge to skip.
Add to the total all of the other innocents trapped here, with their friendships and family.

“Here.” I told them at last. “Here” was the spot I knew Skalet had had in mind. It had a view of the landing pad and front of the house, but was conveniently shielded from any window by boulders.
Unless one had attractive but inconveniently tall ears.

The Kraal presence became suddenly and sickeningly obvious, from the nine armored figures stationed around the broad ledge, to the aircar, to the tracks their machines had scored in the stone, to and from the doorway.

Two guards stood beside the door.

My door. I found myself growing more angry than melancholy. The Kraal didn't belong here. This had been our home.

The guards were alert, but not paying any more attention to the downslope than any other direction.
Maybe we'd done it
, I thought hopefully, having not bothered to discuss with Paul my gamble that the Kraal wouldn't bother setting automatics to watch portions of the mountainside too steep for Tumblers. I glanced at Paul and almost jumped. He'd pulled on his hood, erasing his face, and had become a perfect match for any of the guards posted ahead of us.

He motioned me closer. “I want you to stay here,” he said very quietly. “With Lionel.”

What was he up to?
Skalet's plan had called for Paul to stay here, too. She wouldn't find it reasonable for Paul to substitute Kearn for himself. I didn't either. I shook my head at him vigorously, brushing back the hair that landed in my eyes.

“Esen. I have to get that weapon—the one Skalet warned us about.” The hood was maddening, but I didn't need to see his face to know it was set and stubborn. “And Rudy could be in there. Stay out of the way until I'm sure it's safe.”

“You can't pass for one of them,” I protested, trying to avoid sounding hysterical.
It was close.
“They'll know—”

“Look!” This from Lionel.

We peered around the boulder in cautious unison. I had an almost irresistible urge to giggle and bit my lip to quell it.

Three Kraal were walking down the staircase, one with the ease of long practice.

There were subtle changes among the Kraal in front of us, the automatic response to look alert and efficient for authority, the self-preserving instinct to be on guard around an individual who might be a target for assassination—or be preparing to conduct one of her own. Skalet reveled in it; I could see the satisfaction in her eyes even from here.

It was easier still as she kept coming in our direction.

Paul, Lionel, and I ducked as one. Paul yanked off his hood, presumably to better glare at me. Lionel went pastier than usual.

It was easiest of all when Skalet leaned on the boulder and gazed down at me, her elbows on the stone. I looked up at her, remembering exactly why I'd always hated her plans.

Otherwhere

 

 

“NO change, Chief Constable.”

Alphonsus ignored the tremor in the voice.
Half exhaustion, half apprehension.
The wait was taking its toll on everyone.

Maybe not everyone.
He glanced at the Human sitting with the off-shift com-techs, offering sombay and a moment of conversation, and smiled to himself.
Joel Largas might have spent that week in a med box.
Alphonsus had known many beings who coped valiantly with emergencies; he'd known a very special few who rose to them like this, gaining and giving strength as the situation worsened. Joel had already accomplished the impossible, moving even the most stubborn, knuckle-brained spacers into the evacuation ships. Now, he was here, seemingly inexhaustible—ostensibly to be the eyes and ears of the ship-bound; in reality, finding another place to help.

No matter what was going on between Joel, Paul, and Esen, Alphonsus was grateful.

“Keep me posted,” he told the scan-tech calmly, as if this was an ordinary day, and collected Bris with a look.

Back in his office, Alphonsus closed the door before turning to his second-in-command. “It can't be much longer, Bris. We have to be ready. As ready as we can be.”

“Do you want me to issue hand weapons?”

The Chief Constable tugged a brown, wrinkled leaf from one of his plants, then looked around in vain for a place to put it. He tucked it in a pocket. “We'd look like combatants. Project Leader Kearn didn't recommend it.”

“We're combatants already, whether we want to be or not,” the Moderan spat. Bris was too civilized an individual to seek battle unless there was a mating opportunity involved; that didn't mean he was passive about the prospect. “Your Cultural Expert said the messages from the Tumblers could be interpreted as hostile,” he pointed out. “We're the only ones here they could be angry at!”

“Maybe not.” Alphonsus plucked another dead leaf and stuffed that with the first, hoping he remembered to clean his pockets before going home—if he went home. “There's the illegal operation on that mountain—the mine.” In a way, that report had marked the start of it all.

“What difference does that make? After all our years here,” Bris argued, “have you known a single Tumbler who could tell you and me apart? How can you expect them to distinguish between a group of miners and the rest of us? They'll send the Ganthor against everyone.”

“And you think issuing weapons will make any difference?”

Bris hesitated, then his fur gradually subsided from its outraged halo behind his ears. “No.”

Alphonsus nodded. “Nor do I.” He ran his hands along the plant's lush new growth, admiring its softness. “Make sure all nonessential personnel get to their transports and stay there. Stand by to squeal the launch alert to all ships. We'll wait.”

“How long, sir?”

“As long as we can,” he told Bris. “As long as we can.”

31: Mountain Afternoon

“THINGS change.”

Skalet's cryptic excuse, whispered in my ear as we were marched into our own house by invaders, suited more than her revealing our presence to the mortified Kraal guards. I was reasonably sure we would have been shot and dragged away on the principle that a mistake covered up hadn't happened, if she hadn't immediately taken charge. Since it was her fault we were discovered, I wasn't inclined to be grateful.

Things change.
Paul and I had last seen Ersh's home after her struggle with Death. The kitchen looked tidier, thanks to the Kraal's deft use of a shovel. I didn't see my favorite jacket. I'd left it behind; it should have been here. The Tumblers would have respected Ershia's home, however strange to their ways.

Skalet took my hand in hers. In a Human this might have been a gesture of protectiveness; from her, it was a reminder of her intention to hold me to my word.
Or was it her Human-self's reach for comfort?
I felt her temperature soar to fever range as she dumped energy to hold form. I was surprised mine was under control.
Perhaps her attacks on us had been valuable practice,
I thought bitterly.

We were first to enter Ersh's house, but not the last. Paul and Kearn came behind us, behind them came the two from the
Octos Ra
who had accompanied Skalet, and, behind them, more Kraal until the last arrivals couldn't fit inside. All had removed their hoods, perhaps anticipating a crisis of affiliation.

“Take us to the Pa-Admiral,” she told the lone attendant waiting inside. The Kraal touched fingertips to cheeks and turned to lead the way down the main hall.

To the greenhouse!
I must have balked. Skalet gave my hand a sharp tug to move me forward.

Thirty-three steps for this me. Twenty-seven for my Lanivarian-self, although I'd done it once in a mere sixteen bounds—using all four feet and being highly motivated to escape the kitchen.
Not that the fire had been completely my fault.
Ten tumbles for Ersh. I would hear her coming and count them down. Ten, nine, eight . . . ending with her crystalline self collecting and refracting the light.

There was light, still, in this place that had been our only source of living mass on Picco's Moon. Light, but nothing else I knew.

For I had no memory of it looking like this.
It never had.
Ersh had started her plants within a low-ceilinged crevice at the back of the cave she'd made her home. From that start, it had always contained green and growing things, always smelled of moisture, soil, the fine aroma of living decay, even as the walls themselves were carved farther and farther back, leaving portions of themselves as new platforms, even as the ceiling was chipped higher and higher, with Tumbler children planted between the fixtures.