Hidden in Sight

by Julie E. Czerneda

  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.

  Then a fierce concussion drove pieces of plas and stone into every exposed bit of Rudy’s flesh.

  Silence. Rudy ordered the drill to stop, doing his best to wipe blood and dust from his eyes and the bricks. His heart pounded in his ears. When he’d cleared his view into the room, it took him an instant to process what he was seeing.

  Cristoffen sat, untouched, his arms still up in mock surrender, a smile twisting his lips.

  Zoltan Duda, or what remained of so promising a being, lay across the scorched table, wisps of smoke trailing upward from charred flesh and bone as the ventilation system responded to the need to freshen the air. The scorching ended in a perfect half circle in front of Cristoffen, a line of bubbled black he followed with one finger, careful to avoid soiling its tip.

  Rudy stared. He’d heard rumors the Kraal elite were developing an anti-assassin shield to reflect weapons fire at close range. If true, such a device would be restricted to the highest family affiliates, its secret zealously guarded. No one stole that level of technology from the Kraal and lived to use it.

  Which meant it had been given to this young Human of unremarkable past, a former station steward turned Esen Hunter.

  Forget Esen’s secrecy. Paul had to know about this.

  “I’m grateful, Hom Duda.” Rudy stopped trying to free himself at the startling sound of Cristoffen’s voice, feathered around the edges by adrenaline. Or was it triumph? “Yes. Most grateful. Here. A gift.” Cristoffen callously flipped the remains of the data cube to join Zoltan’s ashes. He stood, then bowed to the corpse. “After all, thanks to you, I know my caution in dealing with you fools was justified. Thanks to you, I need only retrace your movements to learn where you met with the Monster. And, thanks to you, indeed, I’m sure that’s all I’ll need to find—Esen.”

  He then strode from the room.

  Rudy writhed in his tomb, digging his fingers into the plaster in a futile attempt to push his way out. Dust filled his mouth and stung his eyes, stuck to the blood on his face and neck. He gagged, then forced away his rage and fear, fighting for calm instead of freedom. He counted under his breath to three hundred, giving Cristoffen time to clear the building.

  Then, Rudy ordered the drill to free him from the wall. It was going to be a race.

  At least he knew how to find the finish line.

  5: Office Morning; Starship Afternoon

  “OH, the easy part’s done. The Tik-shi Matrimonial Knives are back in the warehouse vault, Fem Ki. However, the second authentication?” A pause. Meony-ro, dour at the best of times, looked positively funereal. Mind you, it was a fairly common look for the former Kraal turned office staffer/chauffeur, especially since a memorable interlude that saw his bosses kidnapped, tortured, then ambushed within the same vacation. I think he’d hoped to retire from the military a little more peacefully when he picked this Fringe colony.

  He did liven up at parties—well-lubricated parties. Meony-ro may have sensed my attention wandering, for he tapped the offending memo. “Do you have any remotely conceivable reason I can attach to the request?” he demanded. “Ramirez and company will not be happy.”

  “Double his usual fee. As long as the authentication is made by three Hisnath Priests,” I decided, a spur-of-the-moment improvisation. Paul bit his lower lip. “I’ve a client insisting—a client with religious interests.”

  “Hisnath?” Meony-ro’s eyes widened. The imperceptible tracery of the tattoos removed years ago from the skin of his neck, jaw, and cheeks grew almost legible again as he paled. “Fem Ki! Be reasonable! There probably aren’t two Hisnath who agree on the time of day. How do you expect Ramirez to find three?” I glowered, something my Lishcyn-self did rather well. The Kraal waved his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Double the fee for the impossible.”

  “It’s not as though there’s a rush on it,” I assured him. “The Vegas Lass will be occupied with an urgent—courier job in the meantime. Hom Cameron did brief you?”

  Hom Cameron seemed to be developing a cough, but Meony-ro didn’t look away from me. He appeared relieved. In fact, he began to grin—an expression I found oddly alarming on the sober version of this Human. “The Largas’ ship, Vegas Lass?” he repeated, as though to confirm something delightful. “Can’t say I envy you traveling with Hom Wolla.”

  Meony-ro went on as if unaware he’d dropped a conversational blast globe. “I’ll let Ramirez know he has some time, Fem Ki.”

  I wasn’t letting him get away that easily. “Traveling with whom?” I demanded.

  “Hom Wolla—a pleasant being, of course, but hardly the easiest to ...” The Kraal’s voice trailed away as he went back to frowning at me. Yet another employee who lacked any respect, I thought fatalistically. “The ’Lass is taking him home, right? Joel Largas gave me—I mean, gave Hom Wolla—his word: the next of his ships leaving Minas XII, no matter what.”

  I felt my scales swelling in an automatic defensive reaction. The last thing we needed was a passenger; the last thing we had was choice in the matter, if Joel had promised. Cameron & Ki kept a credibly modest budget—like everyone else, we relied on local operators such as Largas Freight. Flashing too much wealth on Minas XII was like sending unwary tourists for a stroll along the beach—the predators would be on us just as quickly. We didn’t dare run out and buy anything as ostentatious as a private starship. “Surely there’s another ship—” I began weakly. Who was this Wolla anyway?

  It was the Kraal’s turn to look alarmed. “None ready to lift. Fem Ki. Please. You can’t leave Hom Wolla here. I can’t share my quarters with him a day longer.” At m
y doubtlessly blank look, given the Kraal was notoriously private, he explained: “I only took him in as a favor to Aeryn Largas. She needed him to stay long enough to fix the tug pads. Well, he did—over a week ago. I can’t get rid of him. He’s—he’s—ruining my furniture!”

  From the sounds of air strangling in his throat, Paul should be rushed to the med techs. I refused to elevate his playacting with so much as a glance. “Fine, fine,” I grumbled. “Contact this Hom Wolla and have him meet us at the ’Lass. Promptly and with his belongings.”

  Meony-ro, as if his sole desire for the day was to find as many problems for me as possible, shook his head. “Wolla isn’t where we can call him. He’s down in the Dump.”

  “The Dump,” I repeated numbly, then did look at my Human partner. Paul was attempting to look back with polite interest and nothing more. My upcurled lip was just as sincere. “You aren’t surprised,” I accused.

  “I am acquainted with the being,” Paul admitted. “It’s become Hom Wolla’s—habit—in the afternoon. Every afternoon.”

  If there had been any other ship I could commandeer without question—or, for that matter, any other with a captain and crew willing to do what we asked without unreasonable questions—and for only a mildly exorbitant fee—I would have used it. But the ’Lass, and her promised passenger were necessary.

  If I was to reach my mountain as soon as possible.

  And what it concealed.

  I bowed, with a nonvocal snarl, to the fates. “Paul—”

  “I’ll get him,” he told me, suddenly and reassuringly all business, collecting Meony-ro from his desk with a nod. The Kraal was a comfort. He didn’t know my true nature. He didn’t need to—his loyalty was to Paul Cameron. I needn’t worry that Paul would be unguarded in the Dump.

  I should have remembered that Kraal loyalties were tattooed into their flesh for a reason.