N’Klet raised her upper limbs in a gesture of negation. “You have a shipful of Feneden who will not wish to go to Iftsen Secondus. Neither do I, Captain Kearn.”
“Ah, but there you are wrong, my dear N’Klet,” Kearn crowed. “The Feneden are vitally interested in my hunt. They take it very personally. Very.”
“How so?” N’Klet asked, head tilted in curiosity.
“Were you not aware that their term “Shifter” refers to the Esen Monster’s species? Oh, yes. The Feneden have been as decimated in the past as I’ve always warned we may be soon. The Feneden—” Kearn paused, imagining the glory to come, “—they’ll want to be in for the kill.”
24: Flight Deck Morning; Shuttle Afternoon
IT had been such a good plan.
If I ever had a tombstone, such as some Human cultures erected, that could be the inscription, I said to myself.
All had started so well.
Lefebvre and I had climbed into our suits, then dumped all of the lifepods into space. That was the easy part—the tiny craft were designed for quick, no-questions-asked release.
We’d already helped Paul into his suit; a task made both simpler and more difficult by Paul’s fainting as Lefebvre tried to gently slip his injured arm into its sleeve. According to Paul, the arm wasn’t broken. The shoulder had merely been repeatedly dislocated and reset. I began shunting these moments into my most private memories, into the cold, dark place that held the final thoughts of my web-kin and the taste of Death.
Timing was critical once the pods left the ship. Klaxons had sounded immediately, heralding the pounding of feet as the Tly shuttle crews hurried to launch their three craft. It was irrelevant to my plan if they were being sent to retrieve the valuable lifepods or to search them for us.
I just wanted them launched—especially the one with the three of us hidden in its belly.
This had been the reason for the suits. Our hiding place was the vacuum hold beneath the pilot’s compartment, used for anything from extra fuel to personal effects. There was just enough room for the three of us—given that I was small and folded easily, and both Humans were reasonably compact.
We had oriented ourselves, after some arguing on my part, so Lefebvre would be the first to leap out. I could see his face inside his helmet, lit by the indicators under his chin. It was serene, as though hijacking a shuttle in flight was an everyday part of a captain’s life. Paul’s face was too swollen to show anything at all, but he’d managed to nod at me. I took that to mean he understood completely that I—as the more resilient life-form here—should have been the one to take any risks, but he appreciated my sacrifice to keep in character.
I didn’t have to like it.
The cruiser used a catapult system, firing its shuttles as though they were missiles. I’d known this in theory, but the reality was quite exhilarating. Well, it was for me, being lightest, and more or less on top of our pile of flesh. Lefebvre let out a strangled grunting sound for the few seconds of full thrust, which might have had something to do with the juxtaposition of my foot and his throat. Paul remained silent—I hoped because the medications the Tly administered to speed his healing process were finally dulling the pain.
The instant the force on our bodies began to ease up, Lefebvre had fired the opening pins on the hatch, scrambling out through a cloud of condensation. I slid into his spot, careful to avoid pressing on any part of Paul, and followed.
I needn’t have hurried; Lefebvre was at the shuttle’s controls before I stepped over the nearest body. There were two of them, both male, both—I was relieved to see—still breathing. We hadn’t actually covered that point in the plan. I lifted off my helmet and put it to one side, impressed. “You’ve done this before,” I observed, turning to help Paul climb out.
I could make out the corner of a smile as Lefebvre continued to work the panels, by plan setting us a course to casually swing out of range of the cluster of lifepods and the other shuttles before kicking in the translight. “Everyone has talents, Bess,” Lefebvre said lightly.
Paul took off his helmet as well, making a soft whistling noise through his teeth. Those, he’d assured me, were intact. “Not everyone can do this,” he commented, studying the unconscious Tly. “Handy.”
I wondered if Paul was thinking the same thing that I was—how fortunate we’d been that Lefebvre hadn’t used this particular talent to its fullest when we’d had our confrontation on D’Dsel. Of course, there had been the small matter of the biodisrupter.
I took a deep breath and began stripping off my suit. It wouldn’t fit either of the Humans lying at my feet, but taking it off gave me more room to move as I put them into their own. We had no particular interest in taking crew from The Black Watch with us, and it had been Paul who suggested the option of simply suiting up the crew and leaving them behind. This wasn’t the callous act it seemed; the suits carried emergency beacons which would guide their shipmates to recover them.
Before we could accomplish this final step, the shuttle’s interior lights flickered and died.
The console lights remained, reflecting patterns of gold, red, and blue over Lefebvre’s arms and hands as he lifted them slowly from the panels. “Disabler,” he hissed. “Everything’s knocked out.”
A disabler was a pirate’s weapon of choice and highly illegal. “Look,” Lefebvre said, pointing out the front viewport.
I went to his side.
We had a spectacular view of the ominous, self-illuminated tube that was the ’Watch, including the sparks of moving light as the pods we’d released tumbled blissfully in every direction. I could spot one of the other two shuttles, busy pursuing a target.
But much closer, and coming closer still, was the silvery sleekness of a ship I knew very well indeed—her grappling arms at the ready. Hands settled on my shoulders as Paul came to stand behind me.
“The Vegas Lass,” he said, something in his voice I thought Logan would have enjoyed causing.
I would, I told myself bitterly, have preferred to be wrong about Captain Janet Chase.
Elsewhere
“HUNTER Kearn, we have disagreement,” Anisco’s voice, through her translator, held no emotion, but waves rippled down the cilia from forehead to shoulder as if she stood within a waterfall.
A very pretty effect, Kearn thought, imagining those silken strands between his fingers. It was a fantasy he kept very guarded—the more one knew about alien species, the less likely it was to have such fantasies be anything but dangerous. For all he knew, the cilia were feeding mechanisms that could strip the flesh from his bones in an instant.
“There’s no need for concern, Fem Anisco,” he said soothingly, unable to resist shooting worried glances between each word at the other Feneden despite the presence of the two largest members of the Russell’s crew at his back. “I’m sure we can resolve any disputes.”
“I concur,” this from the second Feneden carrying a translator, Sidorae. Kearn was still uncertain who led the group—or even if they had a leader—but he had noticed Sidorae and Anisco usually disagreed on every topic. There was no consistency, however, no way Kearn had found to predict which side of any issue each Feneden would choose. It was as if they argued by convention, not conviction.
Regardless, Kearn suspected the two of them of a perverse enjoyment when they could put him in the middle of their debates, as now.
He sighed deeply, pulling his heavy coat more tightly about himself as he looked around the transformed cabin. It had been Lefebvre’s, a choice made in the captain’s absence but before he had been declared missing. Timri’s choice, in fact. She’d noted—quite reasonably—that Lefebvre’s was the largest space available after Kearn’s and that the furnishings had been significantly upgraded. She’d been emphatic about how Lefebvre would himself agree. And not only to this, but to her taking the comp system from his room to add to her own.
Kearn doubted this, but was willing to let Timri face the daunting Lefebvre about the loss of his
quarters and equipment.
Timri had supervised the refit to suit the Feneden’s requirements. They’d liked the huge jelly-bed, but apparently used it for dining, not sleeping. The ceramic tables now graced Kearn’s own quarters, as the set of five swings—part of the odd requests they’d had to fill before leaving D’Dsel—required quite a bit of space to use safely. At the moment, the three silent Feneden were rocking back and forth gently, bare feet just touching the floor.
The floor. Kearn sighed again. The Feneden had brought some of their slimy carpeting along. It appeared to grow outward, and with dismaying enthusiasm, from patches they’d fixed at intervals throughout the cabin, already meeting in several spots. He’d insisted that Timri have the crew assigned to the door check regularly to be sure the stuff didn’t grow into the rest of the ship.
There weren’t chairs. When Kearn suggested he bring his own, Anisco and Sidorae had concurred, amazingly enough, that he must not. Kearn had ventured several times to have their meetings in his office, a place where he felt much more at ease—not to mention significantly warmer.
The Feneden preferred to meet here. In fact, the guard at the door might have been unnecessary, since their guests refused to leave their room at all. Not that he’d want either the Feneden or their carpet left to their own devices, Kearn told himself.
“The report I have is most reliable,” he said out loud, in his firmest tone. “The Esen Monster—the Shifter,” he corrected quickly, having learned by now the word elicited a much stronger reaction from the Feneden, “and her accomplice have accompanied the Iftsen to their homeworld. I don’t see why you object to following.”
“There are no such beings,” Anisco said, as she had a truly frustrating number of times already. N’Klet had warned him to expect this response in the Feneden.
Kearn still couldn’t fathom it. How could such reasonable and civilized beings refuse every imaginable evidence? One thing he did know: there was no point trying to argue with them about the existence of the Iftsen—which was the source of his present state of near-panic.
Sidorae uttered a spate of liquid words which caused the device in Kearn’s hand to pause in a crackle of static, as though the translator tried to digest something unfamiliar.
“Sidorae is trying to convey,” Anisco interjected, “his disappointment in your source of information, Hunter. He wishes you to know there is much to be gained by examining the ancient ruins of our home. He is in error, of course. The truth is to be uncovered, not under vine and moss, but within the preserved texts and folklore of our people.”
Kearn wrung his hands together, wishing he’d brought gloves. “I can’t waste time looking for clues from the past when the monster is within reach now!” Then he had a brainstorm. “I believe I was mistaken, Fem Anisco, Hom Sidorae.”
“Concerning?” This from Sidorae.
“The Shifter is traveling in a Human ship—yes, a freighter. She is trying to hide in a lifeless system, the one the Panacians call Iftsen.”
The cilia of all the Feneden slowly came erect. “This is much more satisfactory information, Hunter Kearn,” Anisco said carefully. “We will consult, but I believe we would be eager to accompany your hunt to this place.”
“Eager,” repeated Sidorae. Indeed, Kearn could see all of the Feneden looking more alert, as though he’d finally reached them. Or, he thought uneasily, as if they’d finally convinced him of something.
Sidorae came closer, putting one long-fingered and graceful hand on Kearn’s forearm—a feather’s touch. Then he gestured to the others, who slipped down from their swings and moved to stand beside Anisco and Sidorae in a line. Afraid to move, Kearn took comfort from the silent, watchful crew behind him.
“We hunt the Shifter,” Sidorae said. As one, the Feneden went to their knees, pressing their foreheads deeply into the moist carpet at Kearn’s feet.
Kearn was even more grateful he’d thought to bring crew—now, maybe Timri would believe him when he told her the respect the Feneden offered him.
A shame no one else seemed to feel it, he thought bitterly, then smiled slowly. They would, once he’d tracked down the Shifter. And Ragem.
25: Freighter Morning
PAUL and I weren’t the only ones to meet an old friend.
“If it isn’t Able Joe,” Lefebvre said, in a voice so completely expressionless it made me nervous.
“Hom Captain,” the Ervickian didn’t seem affected, although I thought perhaps he should be. From my viewpoint, a step behind Lefebvre and discreetly trying to prop up Paul as we walked through the air lock to board the ’Lass, the muscles of the Human’s neck were doing some interesting contortions, as though he fought to keep himself from punching a certain small someone in all four beady eyes.
Paul pushed me behind him, refusing my help as he stepped over the portal’s rim, an attempt, I concluded, to prevent anyone waiting from assuming a connection between us.
I did my best to look every bit the helpless, terrified Human child. It wasn’t hard.
Lefebvre turned to help Paul, putting an arm around the taller Human. I thought it was also a way for Lefebvre to control his anger; I’d noticed he and Paul had this need for action in common.
“And this is the ghost who terrorized Logan’s crew?” the voice, dripping with scorn, could only come from one individual. I looked up into Chase’s violet eyes. “Who is she?”
Lefebvre spoke before I could: “My niece. Gloria.” He held out his free hand to me. Quickly remembering the appropriate Human custom, I put mine into it. I gazed at Lefebvre, seeing mostly his chin with its outline of dark stubble. Why was he claiming me as family? I had a feeling it had something to do with Paul.
The ship-to-ship air lock of the ’Lass was amidships, in an area accessible only during flight, and then by crew wearing gear against the cold. It opened into a large oval space, bisected by a mammoth rack of servo-handling arms used to transfer goods to the holds below. They loomed overhead like the limp arms of something dead, tossed in a tree by a hunter. I could see my breath.
Chase had arranged a welcoming committee. She stood, fists on her hips, the Ervickian shivering in front of her, flanked by four burly, well-armed Humans. I was pleased not to recognize any of them, confirmation she hadn’t convinced the crew of a Largas ship to serve the Tly. Were any of the former crew on board? I wondered, sure Paul did the same.
Paul. My hand in Lefebvre’s seemed all at once to be a betrayal, like the one I expected any moment from Chase as she studied the three of us.
“You must be the Commonweath flunky,” she said to Lefebvre, careful not to come too close to any of us. “I hear you had quite the song to sing.”
“And who might you be?” Lefebvre replied evenly. “Logan’s?”
Chase smiled. “I might be a friend,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Isn’t that right—Mitchell?”
I’d held my breath, convinced she’d been about to name Paul and trying to prepare myself for Lefebvre’s reaction. I let it out again as inconspicuously as possible. What was she up to?
“If you’re a friend,” Lefebvre said, when it was plain Paul wasn’t about to speak, “then you can see he needs a med—now.”
Something flickered across Captain Chase’s otherwise composed features. I thought her quick look at Paul might have been the first time she’d let herself see the damage done to him. Fear, I decided, having had a great deal of experience reading emotions on her face. No help there. To be fair, I’d met Logan; hers was the reasonable reaction.
“Even an hour in a med unit could help,” Lefebvre urged, possibly misinterpreting her look as reluctant compassion. “Please.”
Perhaps seeing this as a safe option to a cell, Chase nodded to her crew. Two of them came and took Paul from Lefebvre. Paul sagged, as though willing to give these strangers more weight to bear than he’d put on Lefebvre’s shoulder. I tensed, ready to follow them, only to find my hand trapped in what was now a steel grip. I looked up and met Lefebvre
’s eyes, seeing both understanding and warning. This form betrayed me again, filling my eyes with moisture that spilled down my cheeks.
Able Joe noticed—those extra oculars rarely missed anything of potential use. “Niece, is it? You didn’t have a niece on D’Dsel. Did you forget this niece? Yes?”
“You met me in a bar, remember?” Lefebvre said scornfully.
Chase watched this interchange with what appeared to be sudden boredom, almost as if with Paul having been dealt with she had little use for the two of us. “If you’re so interested, Ervickian, take the child and clean her up,” she ordered.
Lefebvre’s “Wait a minute—” crossed over Able Joe’s smug “Of course, Captain Chase.” I wrenched my hand free and walked to the Ervickian quite willingly. I glanced over my shoulder and smiled reassuringly at the frowning Human.
Not only could I really use a bath, I thought, following Able Joe, it was a distinct pleasure to look down at someone for a change.
Of the three of us, housed temporarily on the ’Lass as The Black Watch worked on her environmental systems, I probably had the best of it.
I ducked my head under the stream of foam one last time, cleaning out the last of the fake blood I’d anointed myself with, and hit the dry cycle. Able Joe’s voice still rambled on, easy to hear over the fresher.
“We were watching for that Human—the one going by,” a suspicious hiccup “by Kane—Mitchell Kane. What a silly name. Kane, name, Kane, vain name.” This went on for a while. Once dry, I stepped out into what was a typical freighter cabin, set up for passengers or extra crew depending on the route and cargo.
Able Joe might have been seeing something of me through what showed of his eyes. I wouldn’t have bet on it. Their lids were almost closed, and his long thin arms drifted back and forth as if stirred by a breeze. The rest of him had sunk into the cushions of a chair, one foot at an angle that should have hurt, but obviously didn’t.
Changing Vision Page 25
