Hidden in Sight (9 page)

Paul ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, surely an uncomfortable procedure, then glared at me. “We agreed long ago there would—
never
—be lies about my family. Esen. You promised.”

“I didn't lie,” I protested, confused by his distress. “I only hinted. I said it had been too long since we'd seen Luara and Tomas. That's true—it has been years. And their ship does the Urgia run from Omacron—you told me that. I'd like to see them, too. They're so much older now—they must be different. I thought ...” Something quite desperate in his face stopped the words in my throat. I swallowed, hard, knowing what I hadn't until now. “You don't want to see your offspring again.”

My web-kin turned over one empty hand; his eyes seemed just as hollow. “I said good-bye, Esen, when they left home. That wasn't for a week, or a year, or a handful of years. It was forever.”

“Why?” Aghast, I stood up, clutching the blanket because my Human-self needed the comfort, trying to make some sense of what Paul was saying. I'd helped raise the twins—a very pleasant series of memories. And more. “How can you say that?” I heard my voice cracking. “You love them—I love them! Why?”

“I have my reasons, Es,” Paul said heavily, getting to his feet. “I'm going to pack.”

A younger me would have let him leave, afraid of the truth. I counted it as the penalty of maturity that I reached for his arm and grabbed it with my too-small hand, that I looked up into his troubled gray eyes and insisted: “Why?”

“Because—” Paul hesitated, studying my face—a version he could read all too easily—before coming to a decision. “I don't mean to upset you, Es,” he said in a low voice. “But it's because when they left, they were beginning to ask questions. Questions I couldn't answer.”

There was such a thing as too much truth.
I dropped my hand and backed away, but my Human continued as if he hadn't noticed, or as if he felt further mercy unnecessary to us both: “It's bad enough I lie to everyone else. Did you think I could bear to lie to my own children?”

“About—me.” This Esen had an annoying habit of leaking fluid from her eyes. And hiccuping.

“No, Es,” Paul said very gently, though his face had grown pale and stern. “About me. They wanted to know my past. It's what Humans do, at the age when we start to contemplate our own futures. It gives us continuity . . . and a way to measure our own accomplishments. We talk to the older members of our family, gather the threads of their lives, make sense of our place in its history. But Paul Cameron has no past. I couldn't, for their own safety, give them Paul Ragem's.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then said, almost lightly. “For all my practice with lies, I couldn't utter one to answer them.”

“Paul, I—”

“It's all right,” he interrupted, as if it was his turn to fear what I'd say. “I keep track: where they are, how they are doing. It isn't hard. They've become good, strong people, busy with their own successes. I've simply—faded—from their lives. It's all right,” he repeated, more quietly. “They have their mother's heritage. That's something to be proud of, being a Largas.”

I considered this from every angle, then made a rude noise. “So you have no past—many of your kind are orphaned. It's you they deserve to know, foolish Human; you, they should measure themselves against. How can you possibly fail to see that?” I repeated the rude noise, seeing the truth quite clearly.
Ephemerals.

Paul shook his head, whether at what I said or the noise I couldn't be sure, but his eyes had warmed. “Esen-alit-Quar,” he said fondly. “Just when I forget how fortunate I am, you remind me.” He opened his arms in invitation and, after an instant's consideration, I stepped awkwardly into his embrace. He laid his cheek on top of my head and we stood like that for a long time. I was content, if this comforted him, though I couldn't see how.

What I also couldn't see, yet, was how I could alter this terrible choice Paul had made. I might be Youngest in our Web, but I knew he was wrong.

A shame he was also the most obstinate of beings, I thought, remembering our argument about the Ycl.
This wasn't going to be easy.

Otherwhere

 

 

THE crisp, clean bite to the air, the glow of the sunrise, were Urgia Prime's promises of a day perfect for any outside activity—particularly those involving large muscle movements. Instead, here he was, once more packed inside the wall, barely able to scratch his nose.
They could have picked another meeting place
, Rudy grumbled to himself.

Not that he was complaining. Another location might have been more difficult to infiltrate or, worse, been in public where he'd risk being seen. Cristoffen had complete access to ship's records—Rudy's face was one of those he'd memorize. The
Russell
's former captain had left soon after Kearn's almost successful monster chase. A success that wasn't—and was. Rudy felt truly sorry for Kearn sometimes.

Zoltan Duda and Cristoffen must have arranged to arrive separately. The officer was unexpectedly late, judging by the frequency with which Zoltan had checked the time since entering. He didn't sit, pacing around the room as if he'd come to some important decision and was impatient to act on it.

The meeting room's protections might scramble recording devices, but Rudy had no trouble remembering the salient parts of their previous conversation. Not that it mattered, since what they hadn't said seemed more telling than they had. No word of Esen. No whisper that a web-being might still be alive and at large within Commonwealth space.

Instead, and with impressive gall—assuming Cristoffen knew exactly with whom he was dealing—Kearn's protégé had attempted to recruit Zoltan for the crew of the
Russell III.
Rudy had almost choked. Cristoffen had claimed Zoltan could complete his remaining courses while acting as a research assistant to Project Leader Kearn himself. He spoke persuasively about Kearn's groundbreaking work. He blithely described one aspect of this research—the legends describing mysterious shapeshifters—and Zoltan had-n't so much as blinked.

The second was true, as far as it went, but Rudy knew how well Kearn guarded his work from outside eyes. Kearn might appear to share his research with academics, accept speaking engagements on the cross-species' commonality of myth, but he never shared what lay at its core. He would never allow a complete stranger to work with his data. More to the point, he'd never allow a subordinate to bring a stranger on board. Kearn might be a fool about many things, but that lesson he'd learned.

So Cristoffen lied.

Rudy couldn't imagine what excuse the officer had made for meeting in secrecy to make his outrageous offer, but Rudy suspected Zoltan had been easily convinced. Every member of the Group had a vested interest in secrecy, especially about this particular topic. Zoltan would have recognized Cristoffen before any introduction—all of the Group had received information about Kearn's crew at Esen's insistence. As she'd put it:
best to know who not to invite for dinner.

A warning Zoltan hadn't taken to heart. Or, Rudy thought, studying the younger Human's back,
he'd decided to act on his own. But for or against Esen and Paul
? The jury—himself—was still out on that one. Zoltan had acted every bit the interested and flattered candidate to Cristoffen's offer, stopping short of committing himself, but apparently eager to meet again.

Cristoffen, unfortunately for them all, was no fool. Rudy knew Paul considered the Human a serious threat. Oddly, Esen didn't, claiming—even more mysteriously—that Kearn would keep him in line.
Ineffectual Kearn, controlling this passionate and determined individual?
Rudy's mind wouldn't wrap around the concept.

The door opened, startling Rudy as much as Zoltan, who immediately confronted the new arrival with an angry-sounding: “You're late.”

Cristoffen's eyes were strangely bright; he was breathing rapidly and lightly through his nostrils.
Now what's got you all excited?
Rudy wondered, pressing his face closer to the brick.

The officer hadn't bothered with much of a disguise today, tossing aside the cloak he'd thrown over his uniform as he strode into the meeting room, his other hand closing the door behind him. “And for good reason, Hom Duda,” he crowed. “Look what I have here!”

With a flourish, Cristoffen produced a data cube from his pocket.

Zoltan looked at the cube as if it had teeth. “What is it?”

“Proof.” The other dropped into a chair, grinning broadly. He tossed the cube onto the table, where it bounced twice, then slid to a stop near the center. It was impossible not to stare at the tiny thing, alone on the polished surface.

Rudy felt as though ice settled into every bone of his spine.
Proof of what?

“Proof of what, Hom Cristoffen?” Zoltan echoed, seeming to have regained his composure. He took up the opposing seat. “More about your offer to conduct research? I have to say—”

Cristoffen reached out his hand and flicked the cube toward Zoltan with a finger. “Proof your Esen wasn't the only shapeshifter to invade our space. Proof another monster has been here even longer.” He leaned back, eyes glistening and spots of red on his otherwise pale face. “And is still here.”

“I've no idea what you—”

Cristoffen surged from his seat, pounding both fists on the tabletop. “Shut up! Shut up!”

Zoltan obeyed, his face showing nothing more than dignified affront as he waved an impatient hand for the other to continue.
Perhaps his cousin had chosen well after all,
Rudy thought, impressed.

Cristoffen took a deep breath, his face relaxing almost too quickly, as if his outburst had been a feint. “Top of your class in alien cultural studies,” he said, putting a strange twist to each word, as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. “You know exactly what I'm talking about, Hom Duda. You know I didn't arrange our meetings to discuss some ridiculous academic study. You know I contacted you because you are one of Them—one of those misguided fools protecting the Esen Monster.”

Later, Rudy would play this scene over and over in his mind, trying out different possible outcomes based on things he might have done.

Zoltan shrugged. Rudy could see his face, but couldn't understand its expression of calm confidence. Personally, he counted himself doing well to be still inside the wall and not out there, with one hand around Cristoffen's thin neck and the other aiming a biodisrupter at Zoltan's head. “Say, for the sake of discussion, I do understand you. If I'm who you think, why bring me this—proof?”

“Because you need to know—you all do.” Words tumbled out of Cristoffen's mouth as if a dam had burst. “You're wrong—misled. These creatures are abominations. They hide among us—as us! It's all here.” He snatched up the cube and brandished the fist holding it. “This is only one more. How many others wait in their perfect camouflage, ready to strike without warning? We must find and destroy them all, before they destroy more of us! You can help. You can lead me to the Esen Monster. We'll make her lead us to the rest of her kind—”

Regret could be distilled and poured into a voice. Zoltan's was the purest Rudy had ever heard. It brought up the hairs on the back of his neck, and froze Cristoffen in his seat, mid-tirade. “To my everlasting shame, I would have agreed with you once, Hom Cristoffen,” that voice said. “Then I met Esen for myself. Not a monster. Not a danger. Just the most amazing and gentle of beings, intending no harm to you or anyone, wanting only to be left in peace. And she is alone, whatever old trail you think you've uncovered. More alone than any of us can possibly imagine.

“You and those like you won't ever understand her. I know it. Others know it. But Esen-alit-Quar isn't wired to accept that—she'd keep trying to win you over.” Zoltan glanced toward the ceiling, as if looking for someone. “Part of her charm, you could say. Which is why I agreed to meet with you, Hom Cristoffen. Oh, don't look so surprised. Several of us were—prepared—to take you up on your offer.” He looked down at Cristoffen, still apparently transfixed by the unexpected—a reaction Rudy sympathized with completely—and drew a blaster from the pocket of his coat. It was a smooth, practiced move that left the weapon aimed directly at the other's head. “All swore you would no longer be a threat.”

At that distance,
Rudy thought with a strange detachment,
aim hardly mattered.

Cristoffen lifted his arms. “Kill me, then.”

It might not be the wisest choice, but Rudy couldn't stay imprisoned in the wall while these two played at murder. Even if he'd been able to fight his own instincts, he knew full well Paul and Esen would count on him to intervene before things became worse.
If he could.
He squirmed frantically, having planned a stealthy exit outside, not to burst into the room.

The drill he wriggled from his hip pocket was servo-controlled, smart enough to know the difference between flesh and wallboard, and able to respond to whispered commands as well as its preprogramming. Once activated, it would recarve a body-sized exit for him through the outer wall into the alley behind the meeting room, where a groundcar waited. Since he knew he'd be stiff after his sojourn in plaster, and had to consider the possibility of discovery and pursuit, the groundcar had its own servo-control. When it detected the drill activating, it would retract its roof so Rudy could drop inside, then would, unless countermanded, immediately move away at a discreet yet rapid pace.

Now he had a new plan, to force an opening into the room quickly enough to avoid being shot himself. The drill had never been designed to cut at speed through brick. It muttered a machine protest, showering him with dust. He covered his eyes with both hands and waited.