Hidden in Sight (54 page)

Skalet rolled a little faster. The Youngest would deal with the Ganthor and return. The sooner they could exchange mass and leave this place, the better.

And with any luck, she'd find more flesh-burdened along the way.

Otherwhere

 

 

THE Fleet grew dangerously impatient. The only word from the Moon had been messages from the Specified Adversary—obvious attempts to subvert their contract. The Matriarch had ignored them.

She wasn't to be trifled with.

The battle frenzy always started with the weak and expendable ones, the outer ring of the Herd. With luck, battle could be won without more than culling the unfit, leaving the rest scarred and experienced. It took time for the frenzy to spread deep into the Herd, to reach the Seconds and Matriarch within each ship. Longest of all for it to reach her.

She'd done her best to stay aloof and delay. This wasn't an ordinary situation. They'd detected no massing of troops, no clusters of starships. The surface scans showed no weapon emplacements other than a pitiful set of cannons on a mountain. Ganthor weren't hired killers. They were hired mayhem.

If it hadn't been for the price offered, she would have ordered the Fleet home long before this. Instead, she'd let them sit here, waiting for signs of a real enemy. The arrival of the Commonwealth, the Kraal, had held promise. But their ships could only have been couriers, of no value as opponents.

The Matriarch of the Fleet snorted hot, blood-streaked mucus from her nostrils, feeling the urge to attack rippling through her muscles, the drive to defend the Herd pumping hormones and courage throughout her body.

Time's up,
she told the small orange-and-black dot on her viewscreen.

32: Port Authority Night

RUDY flew us fast and straight to the Port City. I knew the trip well, having done it in various forms. It would have been nostalgic, except for what waited for us.

And what we brought. I found myself studying my companions. Paul sat beside me, slouched and resting. He still wore Kraal battle gear, stained—again—with blood, although this time it was Skalet's. There was no doubt he was aware of who waited for us, but I knew he focused on what we had to do to the exclusion of personal concerns.
Stop the Ganthor.

Kearn kept turning to look at me with so much curiosity brimming in his eyes I couldn't imagine how he contained himself. Once, as if overwhelmed, he'd reached back and touched the scales of my arm. I'd lifted my lip to show him my tusk, with its charming inlay, and he'd smiled back.

And Rudy. I sighed, hearing the unhappy gurgling of my empty stomachs. He spoke only when necessary, appearing intent on our flight, though the aircar had perfectly adequate automatics.

I didn't need to know what Mocktap had told him. What mattered was that only Paul knew the truth of me and accepted it.

I'd heard the surprising news about Joel Largas—that he'd kept our secret to himself. I thought I could guess why. Like Mocktap, he knew the worst thing would be to be disbelieved, to have his own kin scoff at his ravings. I didn't dare believe it marked a change in heart.

My Human heard me sigh again. Without a word, even though he couldn't know which of many possibilities troubled me, he rubbed the scaleless spot under my chin in mute understanding.

 

I'd expected to be whisked in a side door, secret and safe, to where Alphonsus would have arranged for a com system. There, in private, I'd do what I could to stop the Ganthor.

I could never, in a thousand life spans,
I thought with some horror,
have imagined this.

The area beneath the Port Authority building, between its stilts, was packed with spacers and other beings.
Who should have been safely on their ships!
It was irresponsible. It was disorganized. It was disruptive. It was . . .

“A hero's welcome,” Rudy observed dryly as he shut the aircar door behind us.

Paul gripped my left arm with both hands, correctly assuming my first instinct after this bizarre announcement would be to run. Kearn wiped his forehead, probably half worried about the size of the crowd and half enjoying it. Rudy had slipped into captain mode, his face a professional mask.

I was—my scales became so swollen I wondered if I could move.

“It's all right, Es,” Paul said softly as the crowd noticed our arrival and began chanting “Cameron & Ki! Cameron & Ki!” counterpointed by some doggerel in Ervickian that had something to do with juice and two straws.

All I could think of was how very glad I was that Skalet was roaming the mountainside, because she would never have let me live this down.

“Steady, Esen. Head for the door. Keep it natural. Show some tusk.”

“Keep it—Paul?” This last a plaintive call as I was surrounded by well-wishers of several species, strangers and friends.

Being taller than most, I could see the same thing happening to Paul and our other companions.

Through the hugging, and despite the unintentioned imprisonment of my poor feet under spacer boots, I managed to push my way to the ramp leading up to the building itself. There was a cleared space at the base, centered around an irate Moderan with his hair standing straight out in full threat. Even giddy Humans comprehended that type of body language.

When I was close enough, he called out: “I'm Bris, second-in-command. Come this way, please, Fem Ki.”

“Trying—” I assured him, smiling at the happy faces on all sides. Finally, I squirted into the open and almost toppled into Paul, who'd done the same. No sign of Kearn or Rudy, but I presumed they'd fight their way through eventually. “Lead the way,” I urged Bris.

“What's the occasion?” Paul asked as we half-ran up the ramp.

A snarl and spit. “While we appreciated the arrival of the Kraal, these fools took the sight of military personnel deploying around the shipcity as a sign that all was now under control. When word spread that you two were responsible, they left their ships to make this ridiculous display. How did you get Kraal elite troops here anyway?”

“Long story,” I said, puffing along behind the two of them.
Less fudge and more time running,
I promised this form. My empty stomachs weren't sympathetic. I'd have to fill at least two of them soon or be useless.

We passed through three sets of security doors, each held open by anxious-looking beings in Port Authority uniforms. The implied urgency wasn't reassuring at all.

Bris took us straight into the com room, where grim-faced personnel didn't look away from their screens. Not all were so engaged. “Hom Cameron!”

Meony-ro?
Before I could pick my jaw up from my chest, he'd trapped Paul in some kind of hold. Then I blinked and realized it was a hug. Paul looked at me with a “don't ask me” expression, but cooperatively patted the other Human on his back.

I rehinged my jaw and found myself meeting the cold, hard stare of Joel Largas.

Having released Paul, Meony-ro came up to me, holding out a bag. I heard something about clothing and took it in my hand.

Joel had aged a decade since the greenhouse. I wanted to weep, knowing it was my doing.

My Human was suddenly at my side, as he was always. The two of us confronted the one who'd been like a father, without a word, likely mystifying everyone around us.

Alphonsus broke the silence. “There's no time for reunions,” he said gruffly. “The Ganthor have started forming up for descent. If there's anything you can do, Fem Ki, it has to be now.”

I looked straight into Joel's dark-rimmed eyes. “If that's all right with you?” I asked.

Joel took a step back and to the side, leaving me a clear path into the room. I hurried forward, but when Paul tried to follow, Joel stepped in his way, stopping him with a hand to his chest. “Paul can wait with me.”

I tilted one ear toward the scan station, hearing the soft bleeps as moving ships announced their presence to traffic control. “You can all wait with Joel,” I told them. “In the other room. I only need one secure com station. Which one?”

No one moved, as if I'd paralyzed them. I clacked my teeth together with annoyance. “Chief Constable. I have something to tell the Matriarch which should stop all this. Only the Matriarch. Now if you wish to delay me until my intervention is impossible—?”

Alphonsus knew I was more than a naked Lishcyn trader, holding her new clothes in a bag. His staff, obviously worn-out and close to panic, probably thought I was some lunatic off a ship.

Paul knew me best of all. “Es can do this, if you let her.” There was no doubt in his voice.

“Let's go.” When they didn't move, Alphonsus raised his voice into a cracked shout. “Move it! Go! The first station to your left, Fem Ki. It's already tied to the Ganthor Matriarch's ship. Not that she's responded to us.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely and went to it, waiting as the com-tech abandoned her seat with a reluctance I was quite sure the others shared.

Paul made himself last to leave the room. As he closed the door, he whispered what he knew my ears alone could hear.

“Get it done, Old Blob.”

 

One of Ersh's favorite sayings. It came to mind as I emptied the sombay from one of the cups near the com station, then rapped it against the console. The sound was too high. I stuffed a crumpled sheet of plas inside.
Tap Tap.
Much better.

I located the control to send my signal to the Ganthor, then sought Ansky-memory. My birth-mother, the one who loved ritual and legend. She'd been the one to add this to our Web, those many years ago.

For the Ganthor were herbivores, with a herd social structure ingrained in their behavior long before they'd become an intelligent, space-faring species. It made them formidable mercenaries, who stayed together to defend the Herd, to the death if need be. Behavior well-suited to protect against being flanked by a predator. Keep it in sight, stay together, stay strong.
Charge, trample, and mutilate.
It worked for them.

It gave them a weakness. They needed to see their enemy. More precisely, they needed to know their enemy
could
be seen. Ganthor made up stories to frighten their young into staying close to the Herd—much like other mammalian species. But their stories featured an invisible, creeping foe, one able to slip within the outer ring of any Herd, to lurk inside a home, to strike down any Ganthor at whim, then be gone.

They called it the *Herd Wraith.* Ansky had witnessed for herself the effect of these stories on Ganthor. They would become uneasy, prone to milling about as if in search of what they couldn't see.

I didn't expect that reaction from trained mercenaries. But I thought it gave me a way to communicate with the Matriarch that others might not have.

Scent would have helped convey the mood, but I was reasonably sure the ships were so full of battle pheromones that any smell I provided would go unnoticed. Activating the com, I clicked *Danger to Herd* with my thick-nailed fingertip on the countertop, then used the cup to rap a *!!* stamp of emphasis.

A long moment of silence. Then: *Specify*

I didn't let myself feel relief. If they were talking, it was likely because the situation above was close to out of control. *Situation misleads* I clicked. *Herd Wraith*!!*

*Repeat*

*!!*Herd Wraith*!!*

Another pause. Then: *Fleet Matriarch*Specify reference *

I had her attention. This was where it remained to be seen if the Ganthor wanted a way out, or the Matriarch was herself too close to complete frenzy to see what I offered. *Kraal subterfuge*Weapon test*Observers deployed*!!* Danger to the Herd*!!*

Another silence, in which I wished for fingers delicate enough to cross in Paul's gesture for luck.

*Client status*

*Satisfied*Kraal exposed*Apology without penalty*Full payment ready*Provide account* I reached over to the next console and waited.

A stream of numbers flashed across the screen. I accepted the account number and bill for the Fleet, and, with a growl of disbelief from my empty stomachs, transferred forty-three percent of the wealth accrued by Ersh's Web over two hundred years of varied and successful Carasian mining portfolios. Ansky had received some excellent tips while in the pool.

*Gratified* The Matriarch acknowledged what she saw on her screen. *Standing down* Then, as if clickspeak could transmit humor, *Herd Wraith??*

I put down the cup gently, so she wouldn't hear it, feeling my hearts restarting. *Mutual understanding* I explained. *Clarity*

*Clarity* she echoed. Then, what I didn't expect: *Herd friend*

I'd been right. The Ganthor, or at least their Matriarch, hadn't been fooled. She'd known something was wrong the moment they'd arrived, but had no way to honorably withdraw without the Tumblers' consent. Any attempt to ask for that consent would have been frustrated by the difficulty of communicating directly with the Tumblers and the Tumblers' fear of the flesh-burdened. She'd been trapped.

Meanwhile, the Tumblers had continued to communicate a great many things. From what I'd been told, very little of it had conveyed its intended meaning to the nonmineral.

*Herd friend* I sent back, then ended the connection.

You can't escape biology,
I thought, then shuddered at how very close we'd all come to disaster because of it. Had the Ganthor landed and slaughtered innocents, the repercussions would have reached to the homeworlds of every spacer here—as world war. As for the Tumblers? A Ganthor landing in force would have destroyed countless Tumbler children as well as shattering the bodies of any adults within range.