Nor of the surface!
“No!” I shouted, choking as water splashed into my mouth, watching in horror as Skalet’s sides expanded violently, then as suddenly collapsed inward. Her swim bladders had exploded, their contents no longer compressed by the depths of the ocean. “Hurry!” I urged, trying to swim to her as if somehow I could poke her into cycling faster, then I stopped, bobbing up with the waves as she convulsed and rolled on one side, her huge beautiful eyes turning milky and dull—blinded by light this form had never evolved to witness.
A wink of blue . . .
And the ocean was empty of giants.
”Over here, Es.”
I swam to where Paul’s arm showed above the water. As if the universe had tired of abusing me and mine, the waves were starting to subside into swells rather than minor mountains. I was still breathing hard by the time I reached him and seriously considering a change of form.
“She’s alive.”
“You sound surprised,” I panted, helping Paul pull Skalet’s Human-self over so her respiratory organs could obtain air. He increased the buoyancy of his suit to support us both and I settled myself against him, regarding my web-kin soberly as she coughed and sputtered. “The only reason she isn’t giving orders already is because she’s swallowed more than her share of ocean. Give her time.”
“She saved our lives, Esen.”
I let my legs float up, my toes becoming tiny pink archipelagos kissed by the now fully risen sun. “Who put us at risk?”
The answer to that question decided to speak for herself, though in a thready voice. “The plan—remains feasible. Paul has the ident. Covers the three of us.”
Paul, was it? I spat salt from my mouth, unsettled by a polite Skalet. To be fair, I reminded myself, she’d recently blown up. She’d also lost a magnificent form to memory. I wondered if any Prumbin had seen Skalet’s Refinne-self; if so, she’d added another chapter to the legend Ersh had begun.
Now she was Kraal. Whatever disguise she’d applied to her skin, to alter the structure of her face and the color of her eyes, hadn’t been part of form-memory. The person lapped at by the ocean along Paul’s other side, held safely in the curve of his arm despite all she’d done, was the Skalet of my memory. Her tattoos splashed like so much red-and-black paint from where neck met shoulder to the top of her shaved head.
This time, I bothered to read them, her memories informing me of the House names and bloody histories behind every whorl and sequence, the links she’d forged with lies. Skalet knew what I was doing and lifted her chin to show me her newest markings. Not full affiliation—there were subtle modifications that made this more an acceptance of service, with connotations of mutual interest. “Mocktap,” I acknowledged. “So your admiral survived the loss of her ships.”
“A momentary reprieve,” she answered. As if suddenly realizing her dependence on another ephemeral, she pushed away from Paul to tread water for herself. “The good admiral has recently become—inconsiderate—of her affiliation.”
“To you. Why?”
“I don’t recall inviting you to question my life, Youngest.”
“I don’t recall inviting you to meddle in mine—”
Before I could finish, I found myself looking at Skalet’s outraged face through the clarity of seawater. Up again, but before either of us could do more than sputter, Paul said calmly, but firmly: “Save it for dry land, Fems. Unless you’d prefer to wait for the next Busfish?”
The look of outrage on Skalet’s face was the best thing I’d seen in days.
Otherwhere
THE office of Project Leader Kearn contained two worried Humans, a nondescript envelope and a black book, and a diminishing bottle of brandy. What it didn’t contain, Rudy thought glumly, were answers.
“So that’s all of it. Thanks to your codes and my ingenuity, we’ve Port Authority reports of attacks on their warehouse—and home,” Rudy grimaced. It hadn’t been pleasant reading, though it could have been worse. “No reports of fatalities. Paul and Es disappeared from the map sometime before Cristoffen had his fatal meeting,” Rudy said, then sighed. “I hope of their own accord, to safety, but there’s no way to be sure.”
“Paul is resourceful.”
The remark, coming from Kearn, felt strange. Rudy supposed it would for a while, until he grew accustomed to being on the same side as his former antagonist. “Oh, he’s that,” Rudy agreed. “But it will be difficult to get any answers. There’s the Largas family involved—you know that history. They’ve shut down any other source of information I’d dare approach. Maybe they’re at fault. At first, I thought it was Cristoffen—” He didn’t bother admitting he’d also thought it had been Kearn.
Kearn shook his head. “I’ve kept the ship—and him—well away from the Fringe. And there’s nothing left in the data banks to lead him to Minas XII. I’m sure Timri looked after that.”
“Good.” Rudy paused, then smiled ruefully. “Esen told me not to worry about Cristoffen—that you’d handle him. I couldn’t understand why at the time.”
Kearn’s face darkened. “I didn’t handle him well enough. Had I known about Paul’s extended family before this—Cristoffen has a damn list!—I might have prevented one tragedy. Are you part of—no,” he said quickly, holding up one hand before Rudy could answer. “I know more than I should already. These aren’t safe times for any of us, not with Kraal involved.”
“More than you know.” Rudy told Kearn about his meeting with Sybil. When he finished, the Project Leader shook his head.
“What’s the connection?” he said thoughtfully. “The Kraal are the key. I feel it.” Kearn counted off on his fingers. “There’s the one you suspect on Minas XII, this Meony-ro. The Kraal who contacted me forty years ago. The Kraal who is now leading our Cristoffen by the nose. Your ‘Sybil.’ And this enemy she wants you to find.”
“Five,” Rudy nodded.
“Or are there? If we discount Meony-ro—since he isn’t in a place to act freely—there are four. My contact with the Kraal,” Kearn seemed to hunt for words, then said, “differed in style from what I’ve learned of Cristoffen’s. A pair, interested in Esen.”
“There’s another pair,” Rudy offered. “Sybil and her enemy.”
Kearn steepled his fingers and nodded. “So. What else do we know about the Kraal?”
“They’re self-destructive lunatics.” Rudy had moved to the chair; now he lifted his feet to Kearn’s desk, careful not to disturb either book or envelope. “Lunatics who spend far too much time learning how to kill each other.”
“Each other. Yes. That’s significant, Rudy. Kraal feuds are always internal. They rarely travel outside their own space. When they must, they do so in groups and never keep households on alien worlds. Important, yes,” Kearn stretched out the words as though checking their flavor. “I find it highly improbable there could be four separate Kraal engaged with outsiders. We are dealing with two individuals—I’m sure of it. Sybil and her enemy. Both of whom are interested in Kearn’s Folly.”
Rudy regarded Kearn with new respect. How had he worked with this being for years and never seen this side of him? Then again, he thought honestly, he hadn’t bothered to look, believing, like the rest, that Kearn was nothing more than a joke. “Which one is which? There’s no way to know.”
“We can speculate. Something has changed to make Sybil need your help to find her enemy.” He put down his glass too quickly, his face stricken. “Rudy. You don’t suppose—could Esen become Human? Could she be the Kraal in your image?”
Rudy smiled into his glass. “She can be Human,” he acknowledged. “But not that one. There’s nothing Kraal about Es.”
“Good, good.” Kearn wiped his forehead and scalp before taking a drink. “That would have made things much too confusing. I’ve so many questions about her as it is—not now, I know.” He paused. “But the timing—I still believe there’s some link here. Trouble for Esen and Paul on Minas XII, then the incident with Cristoffen,
then Sybil hires you to find her enemy. An enemy no longer in Kraal-controlled space, or she wouldn’t need you. It’s as if a battle is being waged, with Esen at its core. But why?” He looked a little embarrassed. “Surely the Kraal don’t believe the rumor about a biological weapon any longer.”
“Sybil didn’t mention it. I had the feeling she was after blood, not secrets.” There was that other complication. Rudy came to a decision. He reached under his shirt and tugged the scorched data cube from its hiding place. “Cristoffen brought this to his meeting with Duda. He baited him with it, saying it contained information about—” he took a steadying breath, “—about another of Esen’s kind, living in this part of space. That if Duda and the rest of the Group knew about this being, they wouldn’t be helping Esen.”
Kearn stared at the tiny thing almost hungrily. “Were you able to read any of it?”
“Not yet, not with the equipment I had available. You might have better luck.” Rudy put it down beside the envelope and book, lining the three items in a row. “It could be a Kraal fabrication. It might be misinterpreted information or material related to the real monster—the evil one you mentioned. Or—” he paused suggestively.
“Or it could be exactly what Cristoffen claims.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
Kearn glanced up from the data cube. “Why would I be? Esen is a living being. She had to come from somewhere; there have to be others of her kind there at least. My discussions with other academics suggest there have been many contacts over the years, given the number of folktales about ’shifters. Why would Esen be the only one?”
There was no point in secrets, not now, Rudy told himself, although he winced at Paul’s probable reaction to what he was about to reveal. But Kearn’s obsession might mean he actually knew more than any of them, maybe enough to help if he had all the pieces. “Esen believes herself to be,” he explained. “Her species—she calls herself a Web-being—isn’t from this sector of space. The only others living here were members of her family, six altogether. All but Esen died as a result of that same monster you hunted. Esen told me it was a member of her species, but mindless— driven by instinct to hunt them for food and killing any other intelligent life it encountered during its pursuit. She called it ‘Death.’ ”
Kearn’s eyes might have been riveted on his, but Rudy thought the other Human was looking inward, adding this information to other pieces, watching it rearrange what he knew into new shapes. He didn’t interrupt.
Finally, Kearn pursed his lips and gave a quick nod. “Well, if there is a second web-being involved in all this, it isn’t a predator. I think we’d know that by now. ‘Death’ wasn’t subtle.”
“Agreed. But if there is one, is it Sybil’s enemy or someone else? Or is this a ruse to enlist Cristoffen, to help the Kraal find the real thing—Esen? Or—We don’t even know the right questions,” Rudy growled in frustration.
“We might have the answers and not know it,” Kearn said calmly. “Leave the cube with me. I must examine what Sybil gave you—and I want to look into this book immediately. Can you open the envelope without blowing up my ship?”
“Of course,” Rudy told him, pretending to be offended.
“Let’s do it before Cristoffen returns. I’ll have someone from the crew seal up his room so he doesn’t find the mess before we have a chance to talk to him. For what good it will do.” This last seemed to come from bitter experience.
“He probably doesn’t know much, but there should be something in his comp from Sybil. We should have a look at whatever Timri pulled from his files.”
“Yes, yes. You know, we missed lunch. I’m sure of it. There isn’t time to waste, but I have some crackers ...”
Rudy’s eyes narrowed. He watched as Kearn bustled over to a cupboard, glass still in one hand. Something isn’t tracking, he told himself. “Timri has searched his comp, hasn’t she?”
“She’s been busy. I’ve asked her to check Cristoffen’s messages using my codes and arrange for him not to receive any more. Which I assume explains the envelope.” Kearn seemed to be having difficulty opening the cupboard. “We don’t need her to be further involved. That’s why I wanted you here. You have the expertise—”
“Yes, but two—”
“No.” Having found his box, Kearn slammed the cupboard shut with unnecessary force. “Cristoffen’s friends are too dangerous. I won’t take chances with the Kraal. I don’t want you saying a word to Timri. Not one. Why do you think I had you remove her—” he stopped, but it was too late.
Well, well. Rudy put his hands behind his head and leaned back to study his former commander’s flushed face. “The only people in danger from Cristoffen or his ‘friends’ are the ones on his list—or those who should be,” he observed dryly, then shook his head in wonder. “How long have you known, Lionel?”
Kearn seemed to sag. “That she spies on me for Paul? Since that day I overheard you both. That she’s part of this group of his?” Kearn tossed the box of crackers on the table and the brandy left in his glass down his throat. “I didn’t know it existed until Cristoffen showed me that abominable list. At least he believes Paul dead.” His voice became husky. “I had no idea I’d driven Paul to anything so desperate. I knew he’d put his life on the line, but not that he’d convinced others to join him. It’s what Timri would do, risk everything for a cause. I can’t let her come to the attention of the Kraal—”
There were two doors into Kearn’s office. Rudy’s feet thudded to the floor as the one leading to the bedroom burst open, then he relaxed. This, he decided, was going to be entertaining. Timri’s fury looked remarkably self-righteous for someone who’d taken the ultimate low-tech route to eavesdropping. Kearn had some explaining to do.
But Kearn, who’d been startled enough to drop his glass, was staring behind Rudy. Rudy whipped around in his chair to see Cristoffen standing in the now-open door to the corridor, the weapon in his hand aimed at Timri.
Before Rudy did more than tense, stuffy, nervous, ever-so-foolish Kearn—whom Rudy had misjudged at least twice today, not to mention innumerable times during their years together—stepped into the weapon’s path.
Cristoffen fired.
23: Shoreline Afternoon
“IT’S not open to discussion.”
Ersh. I glared at my web-kin even as I wondered if there’d ever been a more ridiculous argument—or place for one.
Not in any memory I’d assimilated, that was certain. Bad enough the three of us were roped together, but Paul was floating on his back looking like a rotting corpse about to explode, while Skalet and I hung in the water, our arms draped across his chest for support.
“We cycle, swim to cover—there have to be some rocks or barges in the harbor we can use for shelter. We rejoin Paul on the shore.” Something nibbled my toes and I drew up my feet, doing my utmost to avoid looking into the water. “There’s definitely mass to spare in here,” I added somewhat breathlessly.
The warm, sun-bright waves of Prumbinat’s ocean were carrying us inexorably toward her shore. From the look on Skalet’s face, it was more likely those waves would switch direction than that she’d change her mind. Not just her face, I thought, wincing inwardly at the pain she must have endured to gain that set of three scars, parallel and deep, running from shoulder to breast on her right side. Ceremonial marks, made with a dueling claw. She must have stayed Human while they were inflicted, Human while they healed—carefully anointed to produce the maximum amount of scar tissue—and, as adamantly, continued to refuse to be anything but Human now.
Nor, she insisted, should I.
It didn’t seem to be penetrating her bald skull that her preference meant two of us without means to stay afloat while fighting the line of breakers between us and shore, with only Paul immune from the peril of swallowing seawater until forced to cycle into something that could breathe it.
“I have an idea,” Paul informed us. Skalet looked startled, as though she’d forgotte
n our tiny green raft had a living core. Understandable, since the goggles had darkened to protect his eyes, leaving no external clues. I was surprised only that he’d waited so long to intervene, being somewhat used to my Human taking charge when our plans—altered—unexpectedly.
Paul’s idea involved more technology than biology. Given what had got us into the water in the first place, that was probably just as well. He had me use the small knife from my belt—something that occasioned squirming over him and sinking all three of us for a moment—to reset the servo propulsion system originally intended to retrieve his suit, and presumably its occupant, from the Abyss. With the right timing, a lack of Busfish in our path, and some luck—my personal contribution to the plan, though I didn’t tell Skalet—he felt the system should provide enough thrust to push the three of us through the worst of the surf and into calmer water.
I trusted Paul, who’d sounded confident. Mind you, he sounded confident whenever trying to convince me of anything I doubted, including his recent proposal to visit the Ycl.
Skalet had no reason to trust Paul or accept his plan. I expected her to argue—or at least express various dour opinions on our chances—while we waited to drift closer. Instead, she submerged herself so that only the arm holding onto Paul’s suit, and her face, showed above the surface. I presumed this was to protect her skin from the sun. I’d experienced a severe reddening of the tip of my nose in this form once before and understood such caution.
There had been freckles.
“Make sure you’re both secured,” Paul said after a few moments of stoic breathing, birdcalls, and the slapping of water against suit and skin. “It won’t be long. Our speed’s picked up.”
Judicious kicking kept us centered in the main channel leading to Gathergo, following the churning wake left by the Busfish. As we passed between the first set of tall yellow warn-offs—a somewhat pointless precaution since the surf made it impossible to see the warnings unless aimed straight at them—I could spot the Busfish’s fin drooping beside the wharf, framed by rows of tethered Carcows. The beasts were waiting to pull long, segmented carts jammed with those passengers opting for quaint and unforgettable over convenient and odor-free. I hoped, as I spat salt water, that my companions were planning on the latter. I was all in favor of trying a mode of transport that wouldn’t want to eat me. Once we were on land. Something my Human-self anticipated greatly.
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