Hidden in Sight (57 page)

Paul pushed his hair from his eyes and gazed at me fondly. “And what is that?”

“That I owe Joel Largas a home free of his nightmare, even if he is willing to accept me back.”

“You're sure?”

I watched another starship seek its future.

“It's time to make a fresh start,” I told my web-kin.

Otherwhere

 

 

IT WAS standing room only at the Circle Club, which was fine for those species who'd never developed an interest in chairs. Rudy made his way around a few, careful of feet, tails, and other, more sensitive appendages. Friday nights were busy ones, in the Dump.

A couple of questions gave him directions to the back; spacers knew where to find each other. Rudy eased by a waiter balancing a huge bowl of cream-drenched pyati, then spotted his goal.

He hesitated. His visit to Minas XII had been a quiet one. Paul and Esen had wanted some personal belongings from their office. He'd offered to pack them up and arrange shipping, not really thinking what it would be like to come back. Then, the message from Silv to meet here.

At first, Rudy had ignored it. But there were few things more boring than sitting in a passenger compartment waiting for a transport to lift, especially if you were used to being on the bridge of a ship like the
Russ
'. The bridge would be full of strangers, now. They were all gone. Timri had taken a new post; Kearn had retired; even Resdick was apparently off on his own. Cristoffen? He hadn't stood trial after all, having come to believe everyone around him was a monster. Rudy could almost feel sorry for him.

Plus, he'd had enough of his own company. So here he was, avoiding being trampled by customers with larger feet—or none—and wondering if it was too late to head to the bar and blend in with the crowd.

It was.
“Rudy! Over here!”

He found a smile and wore it as he went to the table where Silv was waving, because Silv wasn't alone, or with his crew. He sat with Joel Largas.

Worse, the moment Rudy sat down, Silv got to his feet and hurried away.

Amazing,
Rudy thought,
how suddenly too-intimate a table in a busy bar could become.

“Joel. You look well.”

The old spacer signaled the waiter, then regarded Rudy. “Seen you look better. What happened with the Commonwealth ship?”

“My reinstatement hadn't been approved by anyone but the Project Leader. They didn't look too kindly on his ignoring the chain of command.”

“You're too good a captain to waste because of protocol.”

Rudy took the glass of beer that arrived and poured a third down the back of his throat. “Thanks. They didn't think so.”

“I do. You can have a ship with Largas Freight. Just say the word.”

The Botharan stared into his glass for a moment, then looked up. “Not without the truth between us, Joel,” he said heavily. “Whatever you've decided to tell everyone else—even if it's what you've been telling yourself—it isn't going to work with me.”

Joel's eyes were bright under his bushy eyebrows. “No, I didn't think it would. The truth?” He tossed back a shot of something amber, and followed it with a pour of beer himself. “I drove away two friends as dear to me as any son and daughter could be.”

“You thought you had reason.”

“Yes. I did. And I would have killed them if I'd had the chance. I was sure they planned to do the same to me. In fact, Rudy,” Joel leaned forward, his face gone pale, “I thought they did. Last thing I remembered was them arguing about what to do with me, then Paul's face—” Joel closed his eyes.

Rudy traced a circle on the table. He knew what Joel meant. He'd seen Paul defend Esen.

“I wasn't dead. I woke up in bed. My own,” the spacer continued, his voice growing unsteady. “Might have been a bad dream, but the entire family was crowding around, worried and all talking at once. Paul and Es had brought me home. They could have been—should have been—running from the Kraal. Why, I asked myself, would they do that? You know, don't you, Rudy?”

Rudy helped himself to a shot, then nodded. “Because they were the same people you'd always cared about. What you found out didn't change them. It changed you.”

Joel pressed both hands flat on the tabletop. “Changed me? Changed me for the worse. I thought—terrible things, Rudy. Horrible things. I couldn't sleep or eat. I didn't dare tell a soul. Who would believe me without proof? Then, when Char called translight, frantic and ready to turn her ship around—I made up a lie that they were safe and hiding. How could I tell the truth then? I did what I could to track them down. All the while my family thought I was some kind of hero, risking my health.” His eyes filled with moisture. “A hero, when I was trying to hunt down my own friends.”

“You were a hero, on Picco's Moon. The Chief Constable told me what you did.”

“You know who saved us all.”

Rudy leaned forward. “Tell me. Say it.”

Joel's lips worked, but no sound came out.

“Who, Joel?”

“Esolesy Ki.” The older Human shuddered and took a quick drink. “Es. The Esen Monster.”

“Bess,” Rudy added.

Joel looked stunned. “Your—niece?”

“Didn't you wonder what she was doing in the Dump, being held at gunpoint by that Tly maniac, Logan? Esen went after him herself, trying to keep Paul out of trouble. She—” Rudy found himself grinning, “—she has a tendency to miscalculate sometimes. She means well.”

“Es and those damn leaves—” Joel stopped, and wiped his eyes. “They need a new ventilation system in here.” He stared at Rudy, looking suddenly lost. “Why haven't they come home? They have to know I've kept their secret. I will keep it.”

“For one thing, you scared them off the planet. You're a formidable enemy, Joel Largas. And now? They don't want to upset you any more than they have. Esen tends to worry about such things.”

“I've survived a war and seventeen marriage contracts. I don't upset that easily. Rudy, I want to understand how I could have been so wrong. I need to.” Joel's voice became husky and thick. “I want to see them. I want to be able to look them in the eyes and not be afraid.”

So.
“Let me tell you a story about a blue blob, a dungeon, and a young alien language specialist named Paul,” Rudy began. Then he smiled, a wide, honestly happy smile. “And after that, you can tell me about my new ship.”

35: Barn Afternoon

THERE were worlds where vegetation crowded the sky and others where you had to dig in sand up to your shoulders, if you had them, to find something to bite. And, more rarely, there were worlds like this one. I patted the turf with my paw and drew fragrant, lively air through my healed nostrils. A world like a greenhouse, welcoming and rich, where the life of a thousand other worlds could thrive. I put my chin on my shoulder to look up at Paul. “What do you think?”

He hadn't smiled since I'd told him our destination, remaining the next best thing to grim throughout the trip. I'd have worn out my cheerfulness on him days ago, if I hadn't had so much stored up.

My good mood
, I decided unrepentantly,
was probably making him worse.

This world liked him, too. A breeze was playing with his hair, and trying to interest his lips in a smile. The warm sun had already taken off his jacket, which was lying on top of the belongings I'd insisted we pack for our excursion. Some seeds were hanging on to his pants, hoping for a ride.

“What do I think? That you arranged all this to torture me for something. Care to tell me what?”

There was real pain in his voice and I relented. Standing up, I put one paw on Paul's shoulder and used the other to draw an imaginary line. “I bought it. All of it. From there to,” I squinted against glare from the lake below, “there.”

“Esen. You know where this is—Pardon?”

I let my tongue hang out with glee. My muzzle had distressingly bare patches—and the meds suspected the new fur could grow in dappled—but some clever use of cosmetics helped disguise that and protected the new skin from the sun. “I know exactly where we are, Paul. Botharis. Your homeworld. That's the farm where you attempted to fly. That's the farm where Rudy grew up. That's the road to the—”

“Shut up, Fangface, and tell me what you did.”

“Bought it. All of it.”

Paul seemed unable to find even the unlikely adjectives he used on occasion. “We shouldn't be here,” he gasped finally. “We can't stay here.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because—”

When he appeared stuck on the word, I went on: “In case you are wondering, the title is registered to Paul Antoni Ragem Cameron and me, Esen-alit-Quar.”

He pressed his hands to his eyes. I wasn't sure if this was to hide from me or avoid the lovely view. “Esen. Did sharing with Skalet cause you to lose some part of your mind?”

I poked him gently in the stomach. “Silly Human. I checked all this with Lionel and Rudy. There's no reason we can't use those names. The Botharan government has changed seven times at the planetary level since your family lived here. Fifteen times locally. There are no continuous records worth considering. And, best of all, Botharis is presently very loosely affiliated with the Kraal Confederacy, for now anyway. So Skalet can come and visit, but there shouldn't be any occupation. She didn't think so, anyway. She'll let us know.”

Paul sat down rather abruptly. I dropped on my stomach beside him. “You're planning to live here?” he asked numbly.

“Well, I'm a little more ambitious than that. See that barn? The white one?”

A touch of asperity. “I know my family's barn, Esen.”

“Just checking.” I put my chin on my paws, wiggling my nose to discourage an adventurous insect. “What you don't know,” I told my Human, “is what's inside. Rudy moved in the system you'd given him. He has another on Minas XII now.”

“You've been busy.” That suspicious voice.

My tail beat down the grass. “Oh, it gets better. Want to know what happens next week?”

“I'm not sure.” But he'd gone from numb to thoughtful.
At any moment,
I thought happily,
there'd be curious.
Sure enough. “What happens next week?”

“The servos and contractors arrive. I shop for comfy chairs. And gardeners. Everything is lovely, but we do need some landscaping around the new building.”

For a peace-loving being, Paul could move very quickly. He had me by the scruff of the neck before I could blink, his nose almost touching mine. I gave it a quick lick. “The short and highly informative version, Es,” he demanded, giving me a shake.

“Your library.”

“But—” Paul sank back down, his hands trailing along my fur. “I thought you hated the idea.”

“Skalet hated it. She's getting better. I worried about it. That's not hating.”

“And you aren't worried now?”

I sat up, resisting the urge to scratch away a freeloader. It was a moment for dignity.
Never easy in this form.

“What happened—what almost happened—on Picco's Moon could have been avoided if there was a dictionary of the Tumbler language and customs. Or the Ganthor. Ideally both. The problem didn't need a shapeshifter to solve it. It needed understanding. I decided you were right. That what I know, what we learn, is better shared. And not just with my annoying web-kin.” I gave him a chance to say something. He seemed paralyzed, except for something shiny about his eyes. “This will also let me keep watch for any more web-beings. Lionel is coming to help. We can continue to process incoming information as before. Expand that. All in the open.”

“In the open. Esen, you said it yourself. Safety is being hidden. You can't risk revealing what you are—”

I shook from my mane to my tail, setting free a cloud of hair and grass bits to sparkle in the air. “Not for a moment. But, isn't this a better way? To be hidden in sight, free to be who we choose, do what we wish? To be ourselves?”

Paul looked at me, then out over the fields. “It's a wonderful dream, Esen. You know I want this, believe in this. If we could—” his breath seemed to catch in his throat. Then, “It's too dangerous.”

“Tried safe. Didn't like it. Dark and soggy—remember?”

“Esen.”

“You wanted me to act for myself,” I reminded him. “I have. So my question for you is a simple one. Will you help me?”

I thought I'd seen every expression of his dear face, but I'd never seen such achingly vulnerable joy, as if he'd protected himself so long against it, it threatened to overwhelm him. “There's a lot to do,” I warned, gruffly.

Paul took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He did it again. “We'll need architects,” he said almost calmly. “Permits. I realize funds aren't an issue, but there's—” I could see the ideas starting to take hold in his eyes and held up one paw.

“So the answer is yes?”

Paul dug his fingers behind my left ear, unerringly finding the perfect spot, and said: “Yes.”