"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 home-world. 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, Horn 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.
Chapter 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.
"Horn 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.
That was, I reminded myself smugly, just one of the effects of pleal juice on his species.
I'd known the 'Lass stocked it. Chase had insisted on having plenty of the revolting stuff on board. What probably only I, and now Able Joe, knew, was the salutary effect of two glasses on the disposition of any Ervickian. Had he been older, he would have had experience enough with the taste to avoid it unless safely in his creche.
Alas, I had no scruples taking advantage of his youth, especially once Able Joe confirmed certain events and his place in them for me.
I pulled on deliciously clean clothes and nibbled a ration bar.
Nothing, I thought with disgust, had been a coincidence. Skalet had been right.
Chase had gone through Paul's mail before leaving Panacia. She'd cued Logan to board her ship on its way back through Tly space—a convenient excuse to exchange information, coupled with the theft of cargo intended for Inhaven. She'd been a better actor than I'd imagined. I didn't doubt she'd been the one to slip the tracer into Paul's clothing.
What had made her suspect Paul's real identity? When had she decided to share that suspicion with those interested in finding him? Understandably, Able Joe didn't know the answer to these and other pressing questions.
We'd been unwitting allies. My reaction to her aversion to my Lishcyn-self, while in hindsight well-deserved, had blinded me to what I should have seen. Joel Largas might have picked up on the incongruities surrounding his only non-family Captain, had she not been so obviously enamored of his favorite son-in-law. We'd all tried to slot her within our relationships, ignoring the possibility she had never fit for a reason.
"Where was Chase before she worked for Largas Freight?" I asked, cutting into what sounded like Able Joe's valiant attempt to rhyme the names of all his creche-mates. To be on the safe side, I pressed another glass of pleal into the hand next time it waved in my direction. The being managed to pour most of the liquid into its second mouth, adding only a portion to the growing stain on its shirt.
"N'ver guess to look at 'er, would you," the Ervickian said, cooperative as ever. It was part of their mind-set to enjoy showing how much more they knew than others. "Quite the accomplis… the accomplisss—smart Human. Too smart. Stole her family's fortune and was sent to prison to improve her ways. Didn't stay there long either—joined some mercs—say, did you know that stuff sticking out of your head is a different color now? How'd do that?"
"I washed it," I said, although I knew he didn't really hear my answer. So Chase was a career opportunist, explaining much about her skills and lack of morals, as well as her link with the Tly. It was, regrettably, now the sort of Human society that welcomed both.
"Why did she come to Minas XII?"
The answer was prompt, and somewhat reassuring: "Larga-issh Freight. Tly wants to stop their shippings—shipping—to Inhaven Prime. All part of the big picture." Both mouths yawned at once, providing a too-clear view of the otherwise practical Ervickian separation between breathing and digestion. I stared, fascinated by the echoing yellow-greens of mucus and bile. He added, with unexpected clarity, "Nothing like having someone on the inside, y'know."
"Like you?" I suggested. "You were pretty handy on D'Dsel, weren't you?" The eyes blinked, their synchrony off by a few milliseconds. The being was going to pass out on me any second now. "Lefebvre?" I prompted hastily.
"Now, there's a fool for you," the Ervickian declared loudly, arms flinging outward so that I had barely enough warning to snatch the empty glass before it hit me. "The only being who didn't know what that one was doing was Kearn. Now, there's a fool for you."
I didn't try to sort that out—I had a vague impression I'd likely agree, which worried me. "If Lefebvre's a fool, why did Logan want him?"
"Ahhhh," he waggled all eight fingers on one hand at me. "Logan didn't want him. Logan wanted Ragem. But Lefebvre had a key, you see. A key. A key. See me. A key."
"A key," I repeated, feeling as though somewhere along the line I must have lost any control over this conversation. Able Joe blinked again; this time the lower right eye failed to join in at all. "A key to what?" I
asked quickly.
"The proof, you see, was in the key—the proof that he—was who she said he'd be." This little rhyme pleased the Ervickian so much, both mouths grinned, all four eyes stared blankly at me, and it gradually tipped to one side, landing with a soft thwump on the floor beside its chair.
I tossed a blanket over Able Joe, as much to hide the somewhat disturbing effect open-eyed sleep had on my Human-self as to keep him comfortable, and mulled over what I'd learned.
There were the Tly, epitomized by Inspector Logan and his ship. It wasn't new—or unique—to humanity, this urge to subjugate an old enemy. As for Logan's belief that the web-being had been some sort of ultimate Kraal weapon? There had been hundreds of similar rumors following Death's attacks along the Fringe. It was as if Humans found a mysterious weapon of mass destruction a more comforting explanation than imagining themselves prey.
My lips twitched. Maybe it was. Until living hands held the weapon.
While I didn't have to worry about Logan finding his mythic weapon any time soon—since the only thing comparable was currently sitting on the edge of a bed listening to a drunken Ervickian snore off-key—I did have to worry about his attempts to do so. Whatever this key of Lefebvre's had been, Logan must have already used it to prove Mitchell Kane and Paul Cameron were in fact Paul Ragem. And the name Ragem was inextricably linked to the supposed biological weapon, thanks to Kearn.
Lefebvre. I didn't know what to think or plan about him, and Paul hadn't helped. Paul called him friend—something he never did lightly. It had been a message to me that I was to trust Lefebvre.
Trust him? On D'Dsel, Lefebvre called Paul a traitor, with enough anger in his voice for a hundred Kearns. Humans were so confusing.
I did know that an intelligent, resourceful being like Lefebvre was more dangerous to our secret than Kearn could ever be. If Lefebvre ever believed in my existence—I stopped the thought before risking my hold on this form.
Webshifters 2 - Changing Vision Page 25
