Two guards stood beside the door.
Ersh’s door.
My door. I found myself growing more angry than melancholy. The Kraal didn’t belong here. This had been our home.
The guards were alert, but not paying any more attention to the downslope than any other direction. Maybe we’d done it, I thought hopefully, having not bothered to discuss with Paul my gamble that the Kraal wouldn’t bother setting automatics to watch portions of the mountainside too steep for Tumblers. I glanced at Paul and almost jumped. He’d pulled on his hood, erasing his face, and had become a perfect match for any of the guards posted ahead of us.
He motioned me closer. “I want you to stay here,” he said very quietly. “With Lionel.”
What was he up to? Skalet’s plan had called for Paul to stay here, too. She wouldn’t find it reasonable for Paul to substitute Kearn for himself. I didn’t either. I shook my head at him vigorously, brushing back the hair that landed in my eyes.
“Esen. I have to get that weapon—the one Skalet warned us about.” The hood was maddening, but I didn’t need to see his face to know it was set and stubborn. “And Rudy could be in there. Stay out of the way until I’m sure it’s safe.”
“You can’t pass for one of them,” I protested, trying to avoid sounding hysterical. It was close. “They’ll know—”
“Look!” This from Lionel.
We peered around the boulder in cautious unison. I had an almost irresistible urge to giggle and bit my lip to quell it.
Three Kraal were walking down the staircase, one with the ease of long practice.
Skalet.
There were subtle changes among the Kraal in front of us, the automatic response to look alert and efficient for authority, the self-preserving instinct to be on guard around an individual who might be a target for assassination—or be preparing to conduct one of her own. Skalet reveled in it; I could see the satisfaction in her eyes even from here.
It was easier still as she kept coming in our direction.
Paul, Lionel, and I ducked as one. Paul yanked off his hood, presumably to better glare at me. Lionel went pastier than usual.
It was easiest of all when Skalet leaned on the boulder and gazed down at me, her elbows on the stone. I looked up at her, remembering exactly why I’d always hated her plans.
They’d always involved embarrassing me.
Otherwhere
“NO change, Chief Constable.”
Alphonsus ignored the tremor in the voice. Half exhaustion, half apprehension. The wait was taking its toll on everyone.
Maybe not everyone. He glanced at the Human sitting with the off-shift com-techs, offering sombay and a moment of conversation, and smiled to himself. Joel Largas might have spent that week in a med box. Alphonsus had known many beings who coped valiantly with emergencies; he’d known a very special few who rose to them like this, gaining and giving strength as the situation worsened. Joel had already accomplished the impossible, moving even the most stubborn, knuckle-brained spacers into the evacuation ships. Now, he was here, seemingly inexhaustible—ostensibly to be the eyes and ears of the ship-bound; in reality, finding another place to help.
No matter what was going on between Joel, Paul, and Esen, Alphonsus was grateful.
“Keep me posted,” he told the scan-tech calmly, as if this was an ordinary day, and collected Bris with a look.
Back in his office, Alphonsus closed the door before turning to his second-in-command. “It can’t be much longer, Bris. We have to be ready. As ready as we can be.”
“Do you want me to issue hand weapons?”
The Chief Constable tugged a brown, wrinkled leaf from one of his plants, then looked around in vain for a place to put it. He tucked it in a pocket. “We’d look like combatants. Project Leader Kearn didn’t recommend it.”
“We’re combatants already, whether we want to be or not,” the Moderan spat. Bris was too civilized an individual to seek battle unless there was a mating opportunity involved; that didn’t mean he was passive about the prospect. “Your Cultural Expert said the messages from the Tumblers could be interpreted as hostile,” he pointed out. “We’re the only ones here they could be angry at!”
“Maybe not.” Alphonsus plucked another dead leaf and stuffed that with the first, hoping he remembered to clean his pockets before going home—if he went home. “There’s the illegal operation on that mountain—the mine.” In a way, that report had marked the start of it all.
“What difference does that make? After all our years here,” Bris argued, “have you known a single Tumbler who could tell you and me apart? How can you expect them to distinguish between a group of miners and the rest of us? They’ll send the Ganthor against everyone.”
“And you think issuing weapons will make any difference?”
Bris hesitated, then his fur gradually subsided from its outraged halo behind his ears. “No.”
Alphonsus nodded. “Nor do I.” He ran his hands along the plant’s lush new growth, admiring its softness. “Make sure all nonessential personnel get to their transports and stay there. Stand by to squeal the launch alert to all ships. We’ll wait.”
“How long, sir?”
How long did it take a Ganthor to pass the point of sanity?
“As long as we can,” he told Bris. “As long as we can.”
31: Mountain Afternoon
“THINGS change.”
Skalet’s cryptic excuse, whispered in my ear as we were marched into our own house by invaders, suited more than her revealing our presence to the mortified Kraal guards. I was reasonably sure we would have been shot and dragged away on the principle that a mistake covered up hadn’t happened, if she hadn’t immediately taken charge. Since it was her fault we were discovered, I wasn’t inclined to be grateful.
Things change. Paul and I had last seen Ersh’s home after her struggle with Death. The kitchen looked tidier, thanks to the Kraal’s deft use of a shovel. I didn’t see my favorite jacket. I’d left it behind; it should have been here. The Tumblers would have respected Ershia’s home, however strange to their ways.
Skalet took my hand in hers. In a Human this might have been a gesture of protectiveness; from her, it was a reminder of her intention to hold me to my word. Or was it her Human-self’s reach for comfort? I felt her temperature soar to fever range as she dumped energy to hold form. I was surprised mine was under control. Perhaps her attacks on us had been valuable practice, I thought bitterly.
We were first to enter Ersh’s house, but not the last. Paul and Kearn came behind us, behind them came the two from the Octos Ra who had accompanied Skalet, and, behind them, more Kraal until the last arrivals couldn’t fit inside. All had removed their hoods, perhaps anticipating a crisis of affiliation.
“Take us to the Pa-Admiral,” she told the lone attendant waiting inside. The Kraal touched fingertips to cheeks and turned to lead the way down the main hall.
To the greenhouse! I must have balked. Skalet gave my hand a sharp tug to move me forward.
Thirty-three steps for this me. Twenty-seven for my Lanivarian-self, although I’d done it once in a mere sixteen bounds—using all four feet and being highly motivated to escape the kitchen. Not that the fire had been completely my fault. Ten tumbles for Ersh. I would hear her coming and count them down. Ten, nine, eight . . . ending with her crystalline self collecting and refracting the light.
There was light, still, in this place that had been our only source of living mass on Picco’s Moon. Light, but nothing else I knew.
For I had no memory of it looking like this. It never had. Ersh had started her plants within a low-ceilinged crevice at the back of the cave she’d made her home. From that start, it had always contained green and growing things, always smelled of moisture, soil, the fine aroma of living decay, even as the walls themselves were carved farther and farther back, leaving portions of themselves as new platforms, even as the ceiling was chipped higher and higher, with Tumbler children planted be
tween the fixtures.
Now the platforms held dust and most of the children had been stolen.
Skalet wasn’t moving. I wasn’t sure she breathed until I heard a tiny gasp. I squeezed her hand as tightly as I could, all too aware we weren’t alone and that memories of Ersh or home weren’t going to help us now. We’d been—expected.
Pa-Admiral Mocktap. I knew her face, even if she wouldn’t know this one of mine. We’d sat on the bridge of the Trium Set together, those years ago, attempting to defeat a web-being with Human technology.
She knew Paul’s. I saw the recognition in her eyes as they slid past Skalet. A slight widening of surprise as she saw Kearn.
Rudy Lefebvre. I wanted to feel reassured by the sight of his face, but it wasn’t familiar. He stood at attention beside the chair where Mocktap sat enthroned, dressed in a formal Commonwealth uniform, and only his lack of tattoos made him look other than Kraal. His face was pale and set into hard lines, as though he faced an unpleasant but necessary task. He didn’t look at me or Paul or Kearn. His eyes never left Skalet.
Kraal. The rest of the room was filled with black-garbed figures—tattooed with allegiances to Mocktap as well as other House names—as well as their machines; the former ominously intent on us, the latter droning busily to themselves.
“Welcome, Your Eminence,” Mocktap said. “You honor us with your presence.” Her eyes locked on mine for a moment, and she frowned as if unsure what I was. Or sure, but confused why I was here. Either, I thought with a chill, implied she knew too much.
I might have imagined Skalet’s dismay at our surroundings. Her voice was controlled and level, with a nice touch of irritation. “If so, where are your manners, Mocktap? I see no serpitay. I hear no respect. You delayed this meeting.”
“My apologies, Your Eminence. There were matters to attend to—matters pertaining to your arrival.” There was a small table flanking her other side, with two cloth-covered objects on it. Mocktap lifted the cover from one, revealing a black-and-gold-bound book. “Including this. I believe I’ve found something you lost. Interesting reading, S’kal-ru.”
Skalet’s temperature rose so quickly I thought she’d explode, so I pressed my foot against hers. Otherwise, I did my utmost to seem exactly as I looked: young, harmless, and above all, Human.
As a disguise, it had the benefit of being true—at the moment.
“Fool.” That one word, in Skalet’s rich, throaty voice, echoed around the chamber. A few Kraal looked worried.
“How so?” Mocktap leaned back, crossing her booted feet. Overconfident, I added to myself. “Surely not because I know a traitor and confront her with proof. Or is it my seeing advantage for my House and taking it that so offends my mentor?”
“Fool. How many times more before you become a liability to your affiliates, Mocktap? Saying this once will do: killing Tumblers without understanding their nature. Your carelessness has brought a Ganthor battle fleet and will very shortly eradicate what remains of Mocktap along with whatever ‘advantage’ you think you’ve found.” Skalet’s skin cooled against mine as she spoke, despite the heat of her words. “As for that book and its contents?” She smiled. “When did it become treachery to raise my value to my affiliates? To strive for a House of my own? If so, then most here are descended from traitors.”
Mocktap surged to her feet. The Kraal nearest her put their hands to their weapons but I judged it too early to tell why. “Did you think you could—” an almost imperceptible hesitation and a glance at me, as if my presence made her change what she planned to say at the last possible instant, “—you could plot to abandon us, to strip power from your former affiliations? Undermine my command?”
“Do you actually believe you command here?” The scorn was vintage Skalet.
Mocktap took a step closer, away from her chair and Rudy. It wasn’t by accident that this put her in the brightest spot of light. I’d noticed a trend to theatrics in all Kraal, including my web-kin. “These are my affiliates, S’kal-ru, not yours.”
Skalet opened her fingers, releasing my hand. I didn’t move, beyond easing my hand to my side—not wanting to draw further attention to myself or, more importantly, draw attention from Skalet. We had no other way to win, besides words.
I refused to consider the alternative, not with the only living mass within reach walking on two feet and having a desire to live another day.
“Affiliation is earned, not claimed.” S’kal-ru turned as she spoke. “It is deserved, not taken.” She moved slowly, making sure to catch and hold the eyes of each Kraal in the room. Then she stopped, facing Mocktap again. “I should think the answer to that is quite clear.”
“Do you deny dropping off these—these spies!—before landing?”
Skalet smiled. “My valued informants? Considering you’d ordered them shot on sight, of course I did. Hubbar-ro?”
Another face familiar to my Ket-self. He stepped forward as though giving a report, not looking at Mocktap. “I was made aware of Her Eminence’s concern for their safety in the event of any confusion. She informed us where to watch for their arrival.”
Ersh. I would have given anything to be able to kick Skalet’s shin.
As if I’d said this out loud, I suddenly had Mocktap’s attention. “You—you—” her finger stabbed at me. “You now affiliate with your own Enemy against us all?”
“My niece?” I felt Kearn’s hands grip my shoulders as he spoke up, a tight hold as if he needed the support. I spared a moment to be amazed he dared touch me, a web-being, let alone attract the interest of over a hundred potentially hostile Kraal. This particular me did seem very reassuring to Humans, I concluded, although I worried about the potential complications of having another avowed uncle. I looked at the first to claim that title, Rudy, but his eyes remained in their disquieting fix on Skalet.
Kearn was still talking, in his fussiest, most worried voice. “Fem S’kal-ru promised me safe passage for her off this Moon. There are G-Ganthor, you realize. I really don’t think there’s time for all this talking.” This drew grim nods from more than a few.
When neither crew member of the Octos Ra volunteered that I’d arrived with Paul, not Lionel, I took an easier breath. Skalet had been right about their loyalty, at least.
Mocktap must have sensed her support slipping away, but there was no sign in her bearing. Kraal nobles acquired that erect, confident stance early—or didn’t make it past puberty. “Niece?” she repeated, with a scornful laugh that utterly failed to measure up to my web-kin’s standards. “Hom Kearn. There’s no need for pretence here. You are safe from them, with me. I promise you. Now. We both know this isn’t your niece—or a child at all. Tell them.”
He kept his hands where they were; I could feel their trembling and admired him even more. “I think I should know my own—”
“Yes! You should! This ‘child’ isn’t Human. Nor is S’kalru! If anyone should know that, it should be you, Kearn. You’ve hunted them for years! They are monsters! Shapeshifters!”
There are some laughs that are so rich and full, you can’t help but smile to hear them. Such a laugh came from my web-kin, surrounded by enemies and the evidence of our own mortality. I felt a chill run down my spine.
“Not Human?” Skalet raised her arm and ripped the fabric of her sleeve. Taking her knife, she used the tip of its blade to draw a fine line of red down the skin of her forearm. “Quite the disguise,” she said, some of that laugh still in her voice.
The Kraal were convinced. It wasn’t a movement away from Mocktap’s side of the room so much as a shift of body weight, as each decided the more probable target should violence erupt.
Mocktap wasn’t done. “You were here,” she shouted. “Here! Three hundred and forty-three years ago, to hide what my ancestor Sybil-ro gave you. In payment, you killed one of my House and poisoned her.” There were mutters now, ranging from incredulous to impatient. Mocktap must have sensed she’d lost them, for she suddenly whirled and grabbed what had bee
n on the table, holding it up. “This is what we found here. This is what you are!”
If the mutterings grew louder, I didn’t hear them. Nothing mattered but the flask in her hand and its brilliant blue contents. I felt Skalet tense herself to move, knew her hunger matched mine. Perhaps it was greater, since this was Ersh. But Skalet’s needs no longer mattered, only mine. My flesh burned to cycle and acquire the web-mass before me. I dimly heard Kearn’s yelp of surprise as his hands left me. I ...
There was only one other being in that room who knew what might happen—what was happening—although how a Human made the leap of understanding to grasp that Skalet and I could no longer control ourselves even Paul couldn’t explain later. But he didn’t hesitate. The knife he threw glanced against Mocktap’s arm, startling her into dropping the flask. It fell to the floor, smashing open, blue splashing in broad arcs across the floor . . .
... where it sank into the stone, until nothing remained but fragments of plas.
I think Skalet would have killed him, if she hadn’t been busy defending herself from Mocktap. The Kraal had leaped forward even as the flask shattered, her own knife in hand and a look of fury on her face.
Confusion and shouting erupted from all sides. Black-garbed figures blocked my view and I did my best to plunge through them, only to be grabbed from behind and held. “Are you trying to get killed?” Paul accused, not letting go. “Let her handle it.”
Calm descended, and silence. Too quickly, I worried, but then, these were Kraal. The situation hadn’t been resolved, not yet, or they would be touching their tattoos to vow affiliation to one leader. Instead, they backed away, leaving room around the two rivals.
Skalet was standing. I sagged a little with relief, even though I’d been sure my web-kin could handle one aging admiral. Mocktap lay at her feet, propped up on an elbow, teeth drawn away from her lips in a snarl. I was surprised she still lived. Skalet must have had a reason; it wouldn’t be mercy.
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