It was masterfully done. Ethrem seemed puzzled, confused by so ordinary an enemy. He glanced about for help, his aim losing its rigidity as the weapon's deadly tip dropped slightly. Another moment, and I believe that the Human might have had him calmed and rational again. But I had forgotten that calm rationality was hardly part of the Protark's plans for this day.
"Kill the alien! He's bewitching you!" came a harsh command from someone unseen. Ethrem flinched, then moved faster than even the troops to either side of him. But the Human had been ready, and dropped, rolling, seeking the shelter of a table. Ethrem, thwarted, wheeled.
I howled in terror, leaping out to try and stop him. I was a step away when he fired at a new target. Launching myself into the air, I hit him in the torso before he fired again, but it was too little and much too late.
Captain Simpson and the other Human female were dead before they hit the floor.
* * *
Out There
THE dome glittered from within, the sun of this system too distant to be more than a navigation hazard. The Tly mining consortium did its best to counter the lack of a true day for its miners, knowing the importance of a diurnal rhythm to productivity.
So, day cycle, the dome shone with its own radiance like one of the fabled gems from its shafts. A promise of welcome and wealth to travelers.
There were lights, but no life, to welcome the next supply ship. She arrived and docked, automatics receiving the grapples and connecting lines. The bewildered, then anxious, visitors walked the empty domes and shafts; they found no sign of the two dozen who should be there.
Fortunately for the searchers, Death had already left.
* * *
5: Moon Afternoon
« ^ »
BOTH wind and memories had taken turns whirling me about, but eventually I cycled from web-form into Lanivarian and went to find Ersh. Her home was actually a cave deep in the rock of this mountainside; Ersh liked to be thought of as living a Spartan life, though her cave contained every modern convenience including a state-of-the-art replicator. I found her with Lesy and Skalet, all three trying the Kraosian form.
Ersh was older than any Kraosian I'd seen on that planet, but her form had good teeth and looked fit, if well-used. She had already ordered clothing from the replicator, and was dressed in the style appropriate to the scholar caste. Skalet could have stepped off a farm truck. Lesy, as usual, looked adorably plump. She was holding up one of a selection of festival dresses. I lifted a lip over one tooth, but didn't comment.
"Don't snarl at Lesy," Ersh said without a glance at me that I caught. "You know she likes clothes; it's her artistic nature. Skalet will return to Kraos and complete your work—including a report on the impact to their culture by your actions."
I winced.
"Despite this, you made a respectable beginning in the time you had, Esen. I'm proud of you."
Proud? If she'd cycled into a moonbeam, I'd have been less surprised. Suspicious was a better word. I snagged an apple from a bowl and pulled a chair from the wall, dropping on it heavily. I watched them posing in front of the mirror as I considered Ersh's comment.
"Where're the others?" I asked finally, still tasting their memories and feelings as if something was missing.
Skalet grinned evilly and winked at me. "You know Mixs won't go humanoid if she can avoid it, tween."
I didn't rise to the nickname—it was an old joke. Anyway, I hadn't been stuck midcycle once in the last hundred years. "So where are she and Ansky?"
Lesy looked unhappy. "Hurried, packed, left," she blurted, not yet comfortable with the Kraosian tongue. She turned back to her dresses. I didn't push the issue, not so much to avoid upsetting Lesy as because I had a pretty good idea myself why the others left so quickly. My shared memory had some very unusual components. My web-mates had left me to Ersh.
I settled back, knowing that Ersh would talk when she was good and ready. At least her kitchen was an improvement over the Kraosian dungeon.
* * *
6: Dungeon Night
« ^ »
THEY had taken us—the Human, Ethrem, and I—into Suddmusal late that same evening. The Jesrith was in spate, swollen from the mountain storms that had stretched long pale fingers to blot out the stars and rumble deeply in the distance. Always an intermittent boil of mud and froth, at Suddmusal the Jesrith fought its masters, chewing the edges of the rough channel that bound it to two-thirds of the city's perimeter.
The bridge was stained with rust-colored splatters of mud along its length. I paced in my cage, watching the roiling water as we crossed, permitted this much by virtue of size; in a similar prison, the unfortunate Human was forced to crouch when he stood. I thought it likely that he was in shock. There was no sign that he was aware of what was occurring. Or if he was, he wisely chose not to care. They had taken his clothes, forced him into some threadbare garments suitable for a servant of the rural caste. He looked thoroughly disreputable, and passably Kraosian to eyes that did not measure proportions or matters of grace.
My cage was placed between the Human's and Ethrem's on the back of the truck which had awaited us at the base of the mountain. An empty precaution, I thought sadly. Ethrem was unable to bother anyone else. More accurately, what was left of Ethrem was unlikely to do so. I avoided looking into his vacant staring eyes. He had finally found a way to flee his fear.
I had no doubts of our destination, nor the purpose for this hurried, after-dark travel. The Protark had been forced to play his hand openly against the offworlders. Whatever blameless treachery he had planned had been laid waste by Ethrem's public assassination of the Humans. There would be panic-ridden conferences tonight with the heads of the other castes, frantic efforts planned to either appease or eradicate the remaining offworlders—and witness. But first, he needed us securely in his grasp and safely out of sight.
I had been correct in my assessment, but I took no satisfaction from it. The heavy overhanging arch of the prison quarter swallowed the light from the few bulbs that lined its ceiling as we waited permission to pass its gate. The rain was near enough to give a damp chill to the evening air. I felt my fur rise in response and pitied my less protected companions. The door opened at last, letting the truck and its foot escort move inside a paved courtyard, closing behind with a sullen thud. I shook myself before forcing my body to lie down.
Something made me glance up. I met the Human's level gaze. There was pain in his eyes and more—recognition. I considered for a long moment, then eased one of my paws forward, unrolling its slim, useful, toes as if in an idle stretch. His eyes blinked slowly, then again. His own hand repeated my gesture before he deliberately turned and watched the advance of a group of four uniformed Kraosians.
Not shock, then, I decided, chilled by more than the weather. The Human had been biding his time, lulling his captors into believing him helpless and defeated. And he recognized the form I held.
That promised to make things interesting.
"Put them below," a voice far too cultured for a jailer ordered softly. "His Excellence wishes them to contemplate the future without disturbance." I yawned as I looked at the officer who had spoken.
"Surely he can't mean the serlet as well, Commander?" his aide asked in disbelief. I wagged my tail, delighted at his perception.
"It is not our job to question His Excellence," the gentle-voiced officer said wearily, pulling his night cloak more tightly about himself with a shiver. "Put the mongrel in with the serving boy. It's probably his anyway." I tried not to show my relief; being imprisoned with Ethrem's husk was more than either of us could have borne.
The long, narrow cell was damp, though its walls possessed no window to allow in the night air. My nose ran with the strength of odors I preferred not to contemplate too deeply. I also preferred not to think too much upon what the next day would bring. To keep my mind occupied, I began memorizing the number of blocks per wall along with their composition and thickness of mortar.
&nb
sp; "They've left us for now," my roommate said in perfect mid-Lanivarian, with all the proper overtones of respect and new acquaintance. I curled my lips back from my teeth; he was a fool after all.
Despite this warning, he continued glibly: "I am Specialist Paul Ragem, First Contact Team Seven-Alpha-Six. I formally request your aid as a fellow sapient and member of the Commonwealth—ouch!"
Specialist Paul Ragem held the hand I had just nipped to his chest and was mercifully silent. I grunted with satisfaction and curled into a ball on a portion of floor less moist than the rest. I resisted the impulse to look up at the peephole I was certain was part of the light fixture above us. Let the Human make his own discoveries.
Darkness aroused me. I was pleased that I had rested—I thought it indicated a growing maturity on my part, to sleep when scared half out of my mind. I was also uncomfortably damp and shook out my fur. I rose on two feet, a posture this form managed with an ease certain to startle our captors, and pulled the blanket back up over the one without a naturally warm coat.
The contact woke him, though the Human immediately huddled into the blanket's shelter as he sat up. My eyes could just make out his shape, picked out of the deeper darkness only by the light seeping through cracks along the edges of the door. Insects scurried across the floor. Such dark-loving scavengers lived everywhere; they didn't bother me. This young and likely grief-maddened Human did. "I'm sorry about your shipmates, Specialist Ragem," I whispered, my voice grown unfamiliar from lack of use. I used comspeak; if I was revealing my nature as a cultured, civilized being, it was only polite to use the common tongue of the Commonwealth.
"I saw you try to save them," he responded as quietly, but with an urgent haste. "I can understand how they died—but not why I'm here, imprisoned…" he paused.
"And what is your place in all this, Huntress? Forgive my bluntness, but yours is about the last species I'd expect to find so far from home. Everyone knows Lanivarians avoid space travel. How did you come here? Were you shipwrecked?"
My first unmonitored conversation with a non-Web life-form, and I had to get one with curiosity. The truth was safe, I decided, at least some of it. "I was left behind and chose to hide. Kraos and its government are no strangers to offworlders. But you must have realized this when you met the Protark."
Ragem was silent for a moment, then moved over so I could sit beside him on the dry stone bench. I accepted, though his clothing smelled almost as foul as the cell floor. "I was suspicious—but we were in their midst from the moment we landed. Trust has to be on both sides," he said at last, in a voice so full of controlled pain that it hurt to hear it. "And Luara—my Captain—what could she have done differently? The negotiations had come too far; we'd agreed to make direct contact. Kraos is so vulnerable, so young a world. Who would have expected a madman—to be his target—" another pause.
"But we weren't his first choice of target," Ragem said all at once, a note of conviction firming his voice. "You were."
"We weren't friends," I admitted. "But poor Ethrem wasn't the only danger in that room, Human. The Protark has been against you all along. His talk of trust and aiding mutual communication was a lie. Haven't there been unsuccessful missions here before?"
"Three," his voice was very low. "But they were private expeditions seeking trade. As often as not, those don't report back for their own reasons. Your ship—was it one of them?" When I ignored the semiquestion, he continued. "Captain Simpson and Senior Specialist Kearn expected a routine first meeting. All we hoped to achieve was a mutual interest pact—perhaps an agreement to leave a signaling station on Kraos. A beginning—"
There was an unsteadiness to his voice. To distract him, I pushed my shoulder into his and received an unnecessary but companionable share of the blanket. No xenophobia in this being, I decided, impressed. "You speak excellent Lanivarian," I offered in that language. "It is a gift to hear it again, Ragem; I have been here a while."
"What does the Protark plan for us?" Not distractable. Well, perhaps he was right to worry at the main problem immediately.
"We won't have long to wait," I told him bluntly. "Or rather, you won't. They believe I'm a Kraosian animal—a serlet—and just aren't sure about my connection to you. I'll be released." Or they'll expect me to guard some farmyard or other, another part of my mind said. The job sounded very appealing at the moment. "What will your ship do?"
His shrug brushed my shoulder. "Nothing," Ragem said. "What can they do? If the Kraosians don't want us on their world, we—they—must leave." A pause. "And why not? The Protark can spin any tale he wishes. Contact Teams are supposed to lick their wounds and know when to make a hasty exit. The Commonwealth can wait lifetimes if necessary."
I'd been afraid of that. "What about you? Don't you carry any communications devices or signalers?"
"They searched me quite thoroughly, and took all I carried. They knew what they were looking for—" he stopped, sounding offended. "This wasn't supposed to be a high risk world. We were given our shots and standard gear. Implants are expensive as well as uncomfortable."
"Might not have worked under all this rock, anyway," I comforted him, while trying to control my own rising anxiety. There was no rescue for either of us, then—no stellar champions waiting to sweep him back into space where he belonged so I could get back to my now-attractively boring assignment. "How long will your ship wait before it leaves Kraos?"
Silence for a moment. The cell was becoming stuffy as well as damp. I tried not to think of the weight of rock over our heads. "As long as it takes the Protark to convince them that we're all dead, I expect," he said matter-of-factly.
I jumped down, as much to put distance between myself and the sound of doom in his voice as to pace. "I'm without resources, as you know," I confessed, making sure his hopes were not turning in that direction. "It seems we're a good match for each other, Human."
"There must be something we can do. Can we bargain with them?" Ragem asked abruptly. I thought he leaned forward. There were glints of reflections marking his eyes. "You must know this world and its people better than I do. What are their weaknesses, what do they value?"
"You have nothing to offer them that will persuade the Protark to release you," I growled. "You aren't a hostage, Human; you're a threat. Ethrem was more typical than you realize. Kraos is a world of structure, of inborn place and predictability. They simply can't believe in you and keep their pattern of the universe." I kept to myself the logical extension of that thought: What would they think of me?
He was quiet for a long time. I respected his need to think, to search for some way out. I had done that already, and disliked the options I saw. When his voice came again out of the dark, I was startled from a preoccupation with scratching a gathering host of passengers. "Then we must escape, Huntress."
"We?" I asked. Had he forgotten who was in danger here? Beyond the fleas, of course.
He misunderstood me. "I can't leave you here. You've been incredibly lucky the Kraosians keep an animal in their cities so similar to you in form. That's no protection now that I'm here, close to their own appearance, but alien. You must leave before you are discovered by more than that poor soldier."
His naive concern settled around my neck like a noose. Despite my annoyance, I had to be gracious in return. "Kind of you to think of me, Specialist Ragem. But it's one thing to recognize another humanoid as a threat; it's quite another to suspect a dumb animal. I assure you I'm quite safe. However, you have a problem."
And are a problem, I added to myself. Orders never meant for this set of circumstances, nor my frame of mind, were whirling in my thoughts, contradictory and confusing, and all unhelpful. I was forbidden to act on his behalf; at the same time, the underlying philosophy of my training forbade me to ignore his plight. "Someone's coming," I snapped, backing toward a corner and sitting down.
Lights came on, blinding and overly bright, underscoring the futility of trying to surprise our jailers. Dourly, I lowered my muzzle and watch
ed the cautious entry of two guards, one bearing a tray, the other with a weapon aimed and ready for use. Obviously, their experience in this environment was greater than ours. I pricked up my ears, recognizing the delicious fragrance fighting its way through the stench of our cell. Sausages!
"Watch out you don't get another bite," one of the guards cautioned Ragem, an unnecessary confirmation that we were watched at least when the lights were on. The Human remained hunched within his filthy blanket, a figure of abject misery, eyes hot and red-rimmed in a face chalk-white between its smears of dirt. "Those curs know how to steal from a man's plate, they do," the guard continued with relish. "And take a finger or two on the way." I showed a tooth resentfully as I lowered my head even farther; though my stomach was cramped with hunger, I knew there was nothing for me from these two.
"You are kind to warn me. Thank you for the food," the Human said softly in the local Kraosian dialect, exquisitely polite as if to compensate for my failure to demonstrate which were the civilized races here. He took the tray, clinging with one white-knuckled hand to the blanket. It was an awkward, clumsy move born of stiffness and the damp night. Little wonder the plates slid onto the floor with a noisy crash.
Ragem looked down at the mess almost stupidly, somehow still clutching the small jug that had been on the tray. I took my cue and rushed forward, seizing the string of sausage, then wheeled back to my corner, a deep singsong growl advertising my intent to defend this treasure.
The weapon-bearing Kraosian laughed. The other, the one who had spoken, shook his head quite sadly. He gestured at the floor and, picking up the tray and plate, bowed to Ragem. "There'll be no more today." They left.
The betraying light remained, keeping me locked in my role of beast and the Human to his weary silence. Ragem dutifully ignored me, drinking deeply from the contents of the jug before gingerly fishing a piece of bread from the slops on the floor. I ate ravenously and noisily, accepting his gift with the only thanks I dared.
Beholder's Eye Page 5
