Webshifters 2 - Changing Vision

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Lefebvre didn't bother pointing; he took the broom from me, which looked almost weaponlike in his larger hands, and led the way down the corridor. Given we had no time for explanations, this was fine by me. Given he was obviously hurrying for his own reasons, my mouth dried with fear and I snatched my bag to follow quickly.

  "Wait," I hissed, grabbing his arm as we turned the corner and I could see brighter light washing the floor ahead of us. "Let me go first."

  When the Human looked inclined to argue, I gave him my best glare. He'd better not, I said to myself, start treating me like a child. But Lefebvre closed his mouth and waved me ahead, taking up a position against the wall beside the open door to the med room. Perhaps, I thought, momentarily amused, he'd remembered in time who'd let him out of his cell.

  Heart pounding, I started humming the song, promising myself I'd never sing it again once off this ship, and walked right into the med room.

  I should have considered letting Lefebvre go first.

  There were two things wrong with my entrance. First, I hadn't thought of how I'd react to seeing Paul.

  And second, I hadn't thought at all about his seeing me. The Human me.

  I froze just inside the door, song forgotten, staring at what only my instincts told me was my friend. He, in turn, was restrained upright in a chairlike bed, sipping liquid through a straw held to his swollen lips, staring back at me through slits between his puffed and blackened eyelids.

  Lefebvre told me—later—there had been three Tly in the room. Two had run at the sight of me. The third, the med, whom I presumed was less inclined to believe in ghosts, had gone for the com panel and met the business end of Lefebvre's broom.

  I saw nothing of this. I must have stepped forward, since my hands took possession of Paul's wrapped ones before my mind knew it. This close, I still couldn't sense the medallion and my gift. Stolen. My lips pulled back from my teeth in what would have been dire threat in another me.

  One of Paul's hands freed itself from mine and sought my cheek, the bandaging rough and cold. "I—knew," he whispered hoarsely, oddly triumphant under the circumstances. "I knew this would be you." A flicker within the cavities holding his eyes. "And my friend." His hand left my cheek and raised itself. I felt warmth at my side as Lefebvre stepped up quickly, taking Paul's hand ever so gently in his own, placing his other arm, unexpectedly, around my shoulders and drawing me against him.

  This, I admitted to myself in total disbelief, had not been in my original plan. I was pleasantly surprised not to explode.

  Maybe I was maturing. Paul needed me intact, I realized, assessing his condition as he and Lefebvre worked together to remove the bindings holding him to the bed.

  "I—" my voice cracked, sounding foolishly young even to my ears. I coughed and made myself continue. "I've made arrangements to get off the ship. Can you walk—Mitchell?"

  There was a low mutter that included "dance if I have to," but I couldn't hear the rest. I took that as a positive, grateful not to have to argue with either of them. Lefebvre put his shoulder under Paul's better arm and passed me the broom. I looked up at them both doubtfully, unsure of many things.

  Paul's lips made a flinching motion, as if he tried to smile. "Let's go, old lady," he told me. "My friend Rudy and I need to file a complaint."

  Still, I paused. "Is there anything here you need?"

  Lefebvre answered: "From the dispenser log, they've shot him up with everything available. The only thing more he could use is time in the trauma bed—better yet, a proper Commonwealth med unit. For that, I like your plan. Let's get out of here."

  There was something shattered in his brown eyes, I noticed suddenly, and remembered the terse comments of the med to Logan about "the other one" who had succumbed to the drugs. Perhaps, I thought with a shudder, in that same chair. I touched the back of his hand, lightly, then nodded.

  "Follow me."

  The flight deck was directly outward from this one, something which probably explained how we made it to my hiding place before the Tly responded to the unghostlike activities in the brig corridor and med room. Lefebvre tried to ease Paul to where a heap of packing material made a reasonably clean bed. Paul refused, preferring to lean against a crate of heavy machine parts.

  "You'll need to find another one of these," I instructed Lefebvre, showing him the space-ready suit I'd prepared for Paul. "Two more," I corrected hastily. I hadn't planned to need one.

  While the Human began rummaging through the crates, quickly finding an assortment of gear to lay out on the floor, I went to Paul. His face looked even more battered and bruised through the moisture this form kept generating in its eyes. I blinked it away, embarrassed. "Are you damaged?" I asked, trying to hold my voice steady. My hands weren't, trembling as they touched the bandaging covering one arm and shoulder, wrapping his abdomen. They were all he wore above the pants Lefebvre had taken from the unconscious med. I dumped the dying plants from my tablecloth, standing on my toes to wrap it around his semi-bare shoulders.

  Paul's lips stretched, an answering drop of blood oozing from one corner. "Only my looks—and they'll improve. I wouldn't have believed—" The lips lost their curve. "My interrogator was quite—accomplished."

  I reached up to put a gentle finger over his shattered mouth, shaking. My temperature soared until my heart pounded uncontrollably, this form trying to protect itself by dissipating the heat. "Logan," I managed to say, so full of rage I could barely see, longing for a shape to express my hate. With teeth. And venom.

  Paul gathered me to him with one arm, making a broken sound as he touched the blazing skin of my arm and knew how I struggled for control. "Careful, Esen," he whispered into my hair. "Careful, please. It's all right."

  "What did he want from you?" When Paul shook his head against mine, denying the question, I insisted. "I need to know."

  The words were halting, breathed into my ear. "Logan knew who I was, Es. He knew I was Ragem. Not you. He doesn't know about you. He wanted to know about the attacks—he's after what he thinks is a Kraal weapon. He asked the same questions, over and over again." I shuddered in his grip, and Paul held me tighter. "Don't lose it now. Logan's not worth it—hear me? Es? Esen!" this whispered with a desperate edge to it.

  "I hear you," I said.

  The deep voice from behind surprised us both. "He'll be all right," Lefebvre said to me, with a quick look at Paul's face. "I've seen worse—mind you, that was following an aircar crash into the side of a mountain, but Carasians can take a fair amount of thumping."

  I couldn't help smiling, the urge to destroy something difficult to maintain with the two of them chuckling. How bizarrely Human, to find humor in this.

  "Did you find the suits?" I asked, stepping away from Paul. The air was increasingly foul; it was hard to catch my breath. Another good reason for the suits, I decided, worrying that the flight deck might suffer more from my meddling than the lower ones. Passing out was not going to help matters.

  "Even in your size," Lefebvre said proudly. He seemed to be improving with each moment of freedom, perhaps one of those personalities who suffered most when helpless.

  I reached out my hand in the Human gesture. "I haven't thanked you—" I waited politely for him to name himself.

  "Lefebvre," he said, capturing my fingers in a hand broader and shorter than Paul's. The grip was pleasant, as Humans measured such things, warm and firm yet careful of my smaller hand. "As I recall, I've more to thank you for, Fem. You can call me Rudy, if you like."

  "And you may call me Bess," I replied, giving him my best smile and ignoring a certain rigidity in Paul's stance. The Human knew quite well it was traditional to keep the essential sound of one's web-name, although that was less a Rule than the comfort of retaining some identity regardless of shape. Not that I intended to become used to either.

  "Bess," Lefebvre repeated with a smile. "So, what's with the suits? You aren't proposing we walk off the ship, are you?"

  I raised one eyebrow.<
br />
  "Close," I replied. Then explained.

  Elsewhere

  « ^ »

  "I REGRET you've been inconvenienced, Fem N'Klet—" Kearn began. He'd worn his best uniform for this inevitable and undesired meeting; it always helped his confidence.

  "With all respect, Captain Kearn," the Panacian said graciously, as if she hadn't practically blackmailed her way into his office, "I believe you underestimate what I have endured while waiting for your disposition to—improve."

  "Have you been mistreated by my crew?" The note of outraged dignity was perfect, Kearn told himself, just perfect. It paid to rehearse.

  She arranged her upper limbs in the position that meant composed determination. Kearn recognized it with dismay. "No, Captain. I have been mistreated by you. Why was I brought along when your ship lifted from D'Dsel? I was a messenger, not a passenger. My absence will distress my family and my Queen."

  "A regrettable misunderstanding, Fem N'Klet," Kearn said smoothly, wiping his moist palms on his thighs. "Now, as my officer informed you, we've arranged a stopover at Hixtar Station—"

  "I see no purpose in leaving this ship before I have delivered my message, Captain Kearn."

  He caught himself before his hands lifted to his scalp, instead, picking up some documents to rustle importantly. "Then, by all means, leave your message with me, Fem N'Klet and I'll get to it as soon as I—"

  "It is an oral message, for you only, from the Queen of my family. You had the honor of meeting her before her maturation."

  Despite the urgings of the Feneden to avoid any such messages, Kearn couldn't help but be flattered. A Queen had remembered their acquaintance? Not that he could pull the name or face out of his own past to match, but that only proved the impact he must have made upon this individual. Kearn sat up straighter. Was he not the Captain? he reminded himself. Since when did Captains obey the orders of passengers? "Of course, I remember your magnificent Queen," he said heartily. "Please, give me her message."

  "The Human traitor lives," N'Klet stated, her faceted eyes on Kearn as if her instructions included memorizing his reaction to this news. "The individual you told my Queen was the one who brought the Esen Monster to D'Dsel, so it could murder Her Glory Sec-ag Mixs C'Cklet."

  "Ragem?" Kearn's eyebrows rose, creasing his hairless forehead. "Impossible! My dear Fem—Your Queen's mistaken—"

  "Paul Ragem, the Traitor, stood before my Queen in audience the day before this ship left D'Dsel. He had been known to our kin-group for the past twenty-two standard years as Paul Cameron, a business associate of excellent reputation. He came at our invitation to give his aid, and that of his partner, the noted linguist Esolesy Ki, in our negotiations between the Feneden and the Iftsen. Am I speaking too quickly for you, Captain Kearn?"

  Kearn was indeed waving at her to stop talking, but it had nothing to do with N'Klet's measured and capable comspeak, and everything to do with the fact that he was trying not to choke over the name Esolesy Ki.

  Esolesy, he thought, wildly. It could be shortened as Es.

  Es. Ragem's pet name for Esen.

  "We have to go back," Kearn muttered, fumbling for the com panel on his desk. "I have to find them."

  "You would be unsuccessful. They have left D'Dsel, Captain Kearn."

  "No!" he howled, leaping to his feet and flinging plas sheets everywhere. "No! I can't have been so close and lost them!"

  N'Klet tilted her beautiful head to watch him. When Kearn stopped shouting to draw another breath, she said calmly: "The Queen also wanted you to know that Paul Ragem and Esolesy Ki left D'Dsel on an Iftsen ship. According to Port Authority, this ship was bound for Iftsen Secondus."

  Kearn felt almost dizzy with joy. This was it! "Then we'll catch them there!" He couldn't wait to tell Timri. They'd have to discuss what to do. There had been some general ideas floating about concerning the best containment systems, weapons—but there must have been some new tech developed in the interim—Timri kept up to date on such things. Then there was that special package, the one from his backer, Kearn remembered.

  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."

  Chapter 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 t
he 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.