Webshifters 2 - Changing Vision

by Julie E. Czerneda

  "Don't say anymore. You don't have to tell me." The voice roughened with compassion. "Listen, Captain. The drugs get to anyone. There was nothing you could do, hear me? They get to anyone. It's not your fault."

  Lefebvre drove his fist against the wall without gaining more than a burst of agony to match the blood on his knuckles. He pressed his hands against either side of the servo door opening. "I don't know why," he said, unable to say what in the calm, faceless voice made him keep talking. "Why would they want to know everything about me? Everything…" He paused, breathing raggedly, then went on almost desperately, "I couldn't stop, Kane. I couldn't shut myself up. I heard myself telling them all of it, everything I'd kept safe. I couldn't spew it out fast enough!" Lefebvre choked on bile. "I'd have died first," he gasped, finished.

  "You didn't have that choice," the voice returned, still compassionate but now with a steely edge, as though the other understood all too well. "The only shame here belongs to those who gave you the drugs. I want you to remember that." A pause. "What's your name, Captain?"

  "Lefebvre. Captain Rudy Lefebvre of the Research Ship Russell III. I was on D'Dsel—I must have been grabbed from the shipcity." How had he come here? Lefebvre asked himself, reliving that night. Had the Panacian and her Human companion arranged this—to get him offworld and learn what he knew? If so, they'd succeeded. He felt himself shaking with the aftermath of the drugs and an anger deeper than any he'd known before.

  "Be very careful, Captain Lefebvre," the low voice said, as if its owner could see through the walls between them and knew how close to losing control he was. "What seems a small, accessible target may well be the tip of something much larger and more deadly. Choose your enemies wisely."

  Lefebvre drew in a deep breath, then another, feeling steadier by the moment. "Well, Horn Kane, I don't seem to have done that very well," he said, attempting to lighten his tone. "What about you?"

  "I have never chosen my enemies, Captain Lefebvre," the other prisoner said, his voice oddly regretful. "They chose me."

  Chapter 19: Galley Afternoon; Cabin Night

  « ^ »

  I'D been desperate.

  I didn't think that would be sufficient excuse for Paul, who was very fond of small creatures, but I was prepared to argue the relative value of one fat and lazy rezt against his life and potentially the billions on Fened Prime.

  The rezt, a vermin-hunter evolved on one of the worlds colonized by the Human Tly, were fairly common fixtures on their ships. The creatures were kept as pets—usually at a safe distance, being mostly teeth and attitude wrapped in an otherwise appealing fur coat.

  This particular rezt had wandered into the galley's kitchen on the heels of the cook, staying behind while that individual went in search of her assistant.

  There wasn't much rational thought involved. I'd barely managed to restrain my famished Ycl-self from attacking the Human. If the rezt hadn't been available—well, some things just didn't bear thinking about.

  I'd allowed my Ycl-self to feed, knowing I wouldn't be able to safely return to this useful, deadly form unless it was satisfied. Not that I could have stopped myself, I admitted honestly, remembering the glorious taste.

  So now I lay, an unobtrusive coating on the underside of a table in the galley, feeling an interesting combination of guilt and comfort as I watched the cook look for her pet. At least the pet wasn't looking for her, I reminded myself.

  The Human left the room, doubtless to convince others of how a rezt managed to activate the door controls. Finally, I thought, extending a filmy pseudopod to see over the top of the table.

  Perfect! There must be quite the celebratory feast planned for later. I thought I'd detected the aroma of fresh-cut flowers. Each of the ten tables in the galley bore a helmet-shaped vase bursting with colorful petals and lush stems.

  Given what the Tly might want to celebrate, I headed for the nearest vase as fast as I could ooze.

  I could really use some clothes. Very few intelligent species found themselves comfortable trotting about in public without some sort of adornment. Ersh had a theory that most ephemerals were so new to self-consciousness, they covered their bodies to remind themselves they were the thinkers on their planets. She elected to prove her case by pointing out that her preferred form, the Tumbler, had matured beyond that need. I'd gained myself a trip to Lesy by using the same argument to run around naked in any form I chose. Ah, to be that young again.

  Lesy delighted in clothing, jewelry, and whatever else she could drape around, hang, or wrap over her current flesh. From her, the lesson "you have to dress appropriately to the current species' culture" became more along the lines of "and isn't this one fun?" I'd often been confused by how Lesy could seem so impatient with the most serious things yet be so serious about what the other web-kin took lightly. Ersh hadn't so much explained, as added to the puzzle when she'd replied to my complaint about Lesy's approach to life, delivered with the impatient dignity of all my two hundred years of experience. Lesy, Ersh had told me, was the only one of us who dreamed.

  I understood more about Lesy once I assimilated the memories Ersh had bequeathed me. Lesy had been the first of Ersh's offspring to survive. There were no details, but deep in my flesh, I knew the struggle facing a web-being who had to divide, to relinquish mass to another. I think Ersh had been unable, that first time, to give Lesy all she needed. There would never be a way to prove it, but I thought Ersh had instinctively shunted what she herself found difficult to her offspring, keeping herself fit and ready to survive, leaving such irrationalities as dreams behind.

  I shook myself free of such thoughts; no matter how vivid the memory, I was alone now, and had to deal with my current crisis as only Esen could. Or would, I thought, amusing myself.

  I tucked the tablecloth more tightly under my arms. A second cloth held the plant material I hadn't needed in order to assume this form. So far, I'd been able to move unseen through the ship—a pleasing circumstance I owed to the fact the ship itself was almost deserted.

  In fact, most of the areas I passed through were closed up, doors tagged with perm-seals dated almost fifty years ago. It was as though there were two ships here at once: the ghost of the mighty Tly Defender—the name still inscribed on doorplates and cutlery—and the reality of The Black Watch. The entire crew's section was tagged and dimly lit; by that, it was likely those now running the ship used only the officers' deck. Which was fine by me.

  I picked a cabin at random and twisted the seal free. It was a standard four-person room, with retractable bunks, a fresher, and a central table with benches. I went directly to the drawers on one wall, hoping for something better than the tablecloth.

  As I did, I passed in front of the mirrored surface of the stall and stopped.

  My Human-self had grown a little, I decided, examining the body in front of me critically. Nothing else had changed perceptibly in fifty years. I tugged my fingers through unruly reddish-brown hair, blinked eyes that were occasionally green and usually an indeterminate hazel, and pulled my lips back from even, small teeth. The skin was on the pale side—partly because I'd last used this form during a winter with Ansky—and the spots I seemed to gain on the snub nose were faded. A straight, healthy body.

  I sighed. What a shame this form showed my relative age so clearly. The reflection gazing back at me might be as old as eleven. Twelve would be pushing my luck with any being who knew Humans well.

  Too young, was the reaction I feared from Paul, who had never seen me like this and never would, if I had my way. He might know I'd lived almost six centuries, though I was young for my kind; that knowledge would pale under the biological programming sure to kick in if he ever met the Human-Esen.

  I left my reflection to search the drawers, pleased to discover they were filled with clothing and personal effects. I hesitated, slender fingers caught on fabric as I sensed an incongruity. Why hadn't the crew packed their things? Why leave in such a hurry? It didn't make sense.

 
; Unless the 'Defender had been one of the ships that had destroyed Garson's World. The Tly had claimed to have decommissioned all six immediately. If they'd lied, and Humans could, the crew might have been hustled away to keep quiet—possibly thankful to leave anything connected with this ship and that deed behind. But those who served her now had to know. This was a murderer's ship.

  I pulled out a small white shirt, likely to be a dress on me, and began to smile.

  Elsewhere

  « ^ »

  "HOM Kane." Lefebvre kept his voice to the barest whisper, as if the cells had heard enough sound to last them a lifetime. "Mitchell." He sucked in a breath, seeking control. "Answer me, please."

  "I'm here." The faint voice was hoarse. It had to be, Lefebvre thought. No one could scream like that, as long as that, without almost ripping apart the cords in the throat.

  He turned from the servo door and, putting his back against the cold wall, slid down to sit on the floor. He leaned to one side to keep an ear to the opening. "I wasn't sure," Lefebvre admitted. What he didn't say filled the air between them as loudly as any of the curses and threats Lefebvre had shouted—trying to stop them, trying to drown out the sounds of pain until they'd come in and stunned him. All very professional.

  "Don't worry—" a careful pause, then more strongly: "They don't plan to kill me. The med-techs were quite clear on that point."

  Lefebvre dropped his head back against the wall and cursed to himself.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Me?" Lefebvre was surprised into a humorless laugh. "I'm fine. They put me to sleep for the worst of it." Then he listened to the waiting silence and cursed himself this time. "Remember what you told me?" he said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. "It's not your fault. The shame—the shame is theirs."

  "I'll keep that in mind," returned the voice, with a reassuring warmth. "Since I have another appointment with the polite and painful Inspector Logan tonight."

  "What does he want, Mitchell?" Lefebvre asked desperately. "What's worth all this?"

  The voice sounded as though Mitchell smiled. "A friend, Rudy."

  "A friend." Lefebvre closed his eyes tightly, but nothing seemed to stop the echoes in his mind. He was numbly grateful now for the relative kindness of the drug—he may have revealed his secrets, but at least he hadn't had to prove himself like this. He hadn't imagined what it would be like. No one could.

  "Rudy?"

  "I didn't leave," he said, surprised to feel himself growing angry at the patient, unseen being.

  "I may need you to do something for me—if things go badly."

  Lefebvre couldn't hold it any longer. "What can I do in here?" he raged, uncaring who heard him. "Tell me that, Mitchell. What use am I? To you or anyone?" He was aghast at himself but couldn't stop; it was as though the truth drugs still infested his blood. "You have this friend to die for—who have I got that will even care? Kearn? He's probably made himself Captain and said good riddance! My cause? Do you think Ragem even knows I'm alive?"

  "I know," Mitchell's voice said calmly, warmly, like a hand reaching across the empty corridor. "And I care. This isn't over, Rudy. You and I are not alone. We aren't going to die here." An attempt to chuckle that ended in a ghastly, pain-racked cough. "Well, not for a while."

  "You're crazy," Lefebvre said darkly, pulling his knees tightly to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, as if holding himself together. "I'm crazy, talking to an invisible crazy man. An invisible crazy man with a death wish."

  "If we're both crazy," replied the voice, "perhaps we're friends."

  Lefebvre swallowed what he'd been about to say, the impulse stayed by a rush of emotion he hadn't expected and didn't understand. "As a friend," he said slowly, cautiously, like someone venturing on to an unknown thickness of ice, "do you think you could tell Logan something—anything?" Lie, if you have to, he added to himself, wary of the vids. Please?

  "I don't dare," the voice said, hoarse as it was, conveying commitment and respect, as well as a tinge of regret. "If I ever answer him, even one word—I'm not sure how I could stop. I'm sorry, my friend."

  They were both silent for a moment, then Lefebvre heard the voice ask softly: "So, who is this Ragem?"

  Chapter 20: Warship Night

  « ^ »

  I'D outdone myself this time, I decided cheerfully. The very first crewbeings I'd encountered had run away, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

  This was not a typically Human response to their children—but, I looked down at myself with satisfaction—I was not your typical child.

  I'd pieced together cast-off clothing to create a shabby nondescript outfit, something that emphasized how small I was, how young. I'd chosen white, then found the perfect accessory: a beaded belt such as was once given as harvest gifts on Garson's World. A bit of creative damage completed the costume, such as shredding the sleeves and adding some bright red stains to cloth and my skin courtesy of a bottle of some liqueur I'd found.

  The Tly, as I knew very well, were among the most superstitious of Humans. The stories of missing ships and the mass guilt following the tragic attack on Garson's World had only fueled their fixation with the dead. You couldn't travel on Tly without seeing evidence of charms and potions for sale on every corner. Most citizens were convinced they had to protect themselves from vengeful spirits, or at least thought it wise to be prepared.

  So no one on this bloodstained ship should take the impossible appearance of a child from Garson's World as anything less.

  I had a plan, now that I had the means. Skalet- and Mixs-memory contained the information I'd need to tamper with the 'Watch. The door in front of me should open into the environmental control room.

  I gathered up all of my courage—having remembered at the last minute that I wasn't actually the bravest creature and this form had no defenses whatsoever—and knocked on the door.

  The door whooshed open before I could seriously rethink my actions and I stepped in, moving quickly to one side. Then I simply stared at them.

  There were two females and one male at their stations, dressed in the same simplified version of the old Tly military uniform as the guard, Manuel. They stared back at me. None of us so much as blinked.

  This wasn't going well, I decided. I shifted my cloth-wrapped bundle of plants on my shoulder and did the first thing that came to mind.

  I sang.

  It was too old a song to have originated on Garson's World—colonists had brought it—but they'd adapted the ancient melody to their needs. It was a simple thing, a rhyme comparing love to the sowing and reaping of hops.

  After a verse or two, tears were running down all of their cheeks, but they still hadn't budged.

  Now what? I wondered. Frustrated beyond caution, I took a step toward them.

  That did it. All three leaped to their feet and surged past me out the door, one screaming at the top of his lungs.

  There was something intensely satisfying about a plan that not only worked, I congratulated myself, but was fun.

  Once my ghostly self had removed the crew, it took hardly any effort to lower the temperature, raise the humidity, and decrease the effectiveness of the carbon dioxide scrubbers. Nothing major: I wanted the atmosphere inside the ship to become unsettling, not dangerous. But I made sure my tampering wouldn't be easy to find or correct.

  For a moment, I rested my hands on the controls, so familiar to my memory. This type of ship had been known to my web-kin; I understood its workings exactly as well as they had. What if this had been newer? Abruptly, I saw Paul's urgings to have me travel with him, to see the universe beyond Minas XII, in a completely different light. Had he realized I needed to upgrade my knowledge? That I was wasting invaluable opportunities watching my machines watch the stars? He'd brought me everything he could record, but it was a pebble compared to the mountains of information the Web collected and shared. How much had I already missed? How much did I need to learn?

  How could I do it all, when there
was only me left?

  A droplet hit the back of my hand. I looked up, thinking moisture had already condensed on the cooling metal, then saw it had been a tear.

  I couldn't, I told myself, hearing Ersh in the harsh, sensible truth of it. I could only do my best.

  Starting with haunting The Black Watch.

  Elsewhere

  « ^ »

  KEARN stared at the message in his hands, noticing the trembling of his fingers as a distant phenomenon, unrelated to the way his breath wheezed in and out through his lips, or the way his heart was trying to pound its way into his mouth, bringing the taste of his supper with it.

  "You've confirmed—this."

  "Yessir. It came in on a secured beam. Codes read intact." Com-tech Resdick stood near the door, as if he'd taken a step or two in that direction while Kearn was reading. "Will there be a reply, sir?"

  "No."

  "Sir?"

  Kearn waved one hand irritably: "All right, then. Yes. But later. Can't you give me a moment of peace? I have important matters to think about—I can't waste my time talking to you."

  Resdick nodded and left. He missed salutes, Kearn thought. There was something so—reassuring—about a salute. Of course, Paul Ragem had been expert at giving the bare minimum, a subtle flick of his fingers that showed his scorn while never stepping beyond the bounds of acceptable behavior in front of others. Until Ragem allied himself with the Esen Monster and joined her reign of terror. Kearn pulled his thoughts to the present with an effort, not sure why he'd remembered a dead man.

  The message was from the Commonwealth—the Deputy Minister of Research, in fact. It was the one Kearn had always feared. A recall. Some trumped-to-gether nonsense about his responsibility for Captain Lefebvre, reported attacked and now officially listed as missing on D'Dsel. As if it was Kearn's fault the Human had chosen to desert his ship.