Hidden in Sight

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Then I noticed my web-kin was staring at the floor. She was standing where the flask had broken open. No blue remained. I could have told her it was hopeless, having tried to taste Ersh in stone before.

  A drop of red cratered the dust at her feet.

  Another.

  I pulled free of Paul and moved to where I could see Skalet from the front. Her own knife was in her hand. Why was another hilt protruding from her waist? Even as I tried to find a way through to reach her, she straightened and looked right at me, then above me to the Kraal. “To whom are you affiliated?”

  A roar of “S’kal-ru! S’kal-ru!” went up immediately, fingers lifting to tattoos.

  When they paused for breath, Mocktap said, loudly and clearly: “Rudy.”

  Rudy Lefebvre, who’d been like a statue through all of this, moved quickly enough now. He took two steps to find a clear line of sight and raised an odd-looking weapon, aiming it at Skalet. She dropped her knife to the floor then. Pressing one hand around the hilt in her flesh, she straightened, as if daring him to fire.

  The room seemed to fill with insects as every Kraal powered up his or her weapon, bringing it to bear on Rudy.

  Looking back on the moment, I might have acted a little impulsively. But I’d had more than enough of tall, black-garbed figures getting in my way. So it made perfect sense to me to duck between the nearest set of long legs and dash to my web-kin.

  Skalet, in her own way as wise about my idea of sensible behavior as Paul, simply grabbed me by the neck with her free hand as I arrived and gave me a shove in the direction of my momentum, so I skidded along the floor well out of range.

  And on my face.

  I rolled over to glare at her. She raised a brow in dismissal, then returned to the new threat. “Rudy Lefebvre. I hadn’t realized you were an affiliate of—this.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe this story about monsters?” Skalet asked, her voice its usual blend of magic and steel. I could see the cost as blood coated her fingers like a glove, soaking into the black of her clothing.

  “I believe you tried to harm my friends. I believe you tried to have Paul killed at least once, maybe more than that.”

  Well, I thought without surprise, so much for the Human’s first impression of Skalet.

  “A misunderstanding.” This from Paul, who’d worked his way through the crowd with a little more dignity than I. Kearn, I was glad to see, had stayed behind the first row of Kraal. “Stand down, Rudy. We’ve other problems right now.”

  As if he hadn’t heard, Rudy’s eyes flickered to me, then back to Skalet. “How old are you?” he asked quite desperately.

  The question puzzled the Kraal and brought a smile to Mocktap’s face.

  I climbed to my feet and brushed dust from the front of my clothes, wishing, not for the first time, to be anything more impressive. How Skalet could stand this form, I couldn’t begin to fathom. “I am, Rudy Lefebvre,” I told him impatiently but kindly, “exactly as old as you see me, as is S’kal-ru. If that worries you for some reason, I suggest we sit down and discuss it like reasonable a—” The word “adult” just didn’t work. “—beings. Later and hopefully with supper, because no one’s fed me anything but appetizers today and I shall probably faint soon.”

  Something slowly eased in his face. “I’d forgotten what you looked like,” he said, making no sense at all.

  Or too much. “Put that away,” I suggested, understanding Paul’s look of dismay and sharing the emotion. This isn’t what I am, Rudy, I wanted to tell him. Now was not the time. “We have to talk to the Ganthor and Tumblers. You know we can do it. Let us try to settle this before anyone is hurt. Think about the beings at the shipcity, those here. The Tumblers.”

  The nasty thing lowered until it pointed at the floor. The Kraal nearest Rudy snatched the weapon from his hand and he didn’t protest.

  “Ah, Rudy. You had so much potential.” This from Mocktap, who’d wisely remained on the floor given the significant number of Kraal gun sights steadied on her. “Still, if you want something dead—” a weapon identical to the one taken from Rudy appeared in her hand, like some conjurer’s trick “—kill it yourself.”

  Skalet lifted her arms away from her body, in a gesture of surrender. Blood dripped from her right hand. “And you think you can kill me with that toy?” she asked. I thought I heard a faint huskiness in her voice. “Explain to my affiliates, Pa-Admiral. I’m sure you have their complete attention.”

  Mocktap’s eyes gleamed as she eased to her feet, weapon locked on Skalet. “A new toy, of your own design, S’kal-ru. You should enjoy the irony of being destroyed by it. In case you wonder, I had a second prototype made at the same time as the first. You taught me that. Always have a backup plan.” She laughed. “This is exactly that. A weapon to kill a monster.”

  “So kill me with it,” Skalet said. The Kraal were so quiet her words must have carried to the back of the room.

  If this was her plan, it was the worst yet. But before I could do more than start to protest, Mocktap’s eyes narrowed and she fired.

  Never be vulnerable—unless it’s to your advantage. Mocktap should have remembered that teaching of Skalet’s, too. For there was nothing but surprise on her face as it tumbled to the floor, most of the rest of Pa-Admiral Mocktap having disappeared in a contained backlash of energy.

  Skalet would have followed, except that Paul was there to take her weight as she collapsed.

  “Let the child approach.”

  Child. I forced a smile on my face that likely had no dimples whatsoever as the Kraal hovering around Skalet moved out of my way. They’d pushed Paul aside to take care of Her Eminence and were now bickering over which of them deserved the honor of carrying her to her ship. And which ship she’d take.

  That wasn’t part of my plan.

  “Privacy, if you would be so kind, S’kal-ru,” I asked politely, standing beside the platform where they’d laid her, cushioned by bits and pieces of battle gear.

  Skalet took one look at me, then waved the Kraal away. They hovered unhappily. Paul was watching me, from where he’d stood to talk urgently with Rudy and Kearn. “Do you have what I want, Youngest?”

  “Order the Kraal to the Port City. All of them.”

  She was pale, with sweat beading her tattoos. Shock, I thought, callously calculating the time she had left in this form without medical help. “Why?”

  “You know why. They’re the only troops on Picco’s Moon. Kearn’s told me there are spacers trapped in their ships. Your newly devoted affiliates can be of use there if the Ganthor do attack, perhaps hold them back long enough for an evacuation.” She started to shake her head. “Listen to me, Skalet,” I said fiercely. “You used these Humans. You owe them a chance to survive. The Ganthor will shoot down their ships before they can get to orbit.”

  Her eyes closed and opened. Agreement. Then, weakly: “I’ll go with them. The ship—med-techs. I need—this form needs—”

  “No,” I said coldly.

  She stared at me, her pupils dilated. “What are you saying—this form—I’ll die—”

  “You won’t die,” I told my web-kin. Then I told her the rest of my plan.

  “I take it back. There’s a lot to be said for blind obedience.” Paul stood in the doorway, watching the two scoutships slip from the mountain and head to the Port City. All the Kraal were on board and accounted for, except for three small patrols Mocktap had sent to discourage Tumblers from curiosity. We’d decided they could take their chances. “Alphonsus is expecting our new friends. He sounded surprised, but grateful.”

  “Any word about the Ganthor?” Kearn asked.

  “Nothing. But no news is good news.”

  “They can’t delay forever. It has to come soon,” I muttered to myself. Louder. “Are you two sure you want to watch this?” Rudy hadn’t wanted to see it. He’d helped bring in the duras plants from the Octos Ra, but now waited by the aircar. We would, I thought
, worried about this among so much else, have to talk.

  Paul frowned at me. “If you think I’ll let you near her alone—?”

  “Don’t—don’t underestimate the Youngest,” Skalet wheezed from the hall. The two Humans rushed to help her reach a chair. “I did.” She looked half-dead.

  “At least I wasn’t the one to make a weapon against web-flesh,” I accused. We’d made sure the one Mocktap had given Rudy had been retrieved from the Kraal. Its pieces were now so much slag. I think Paul had enjoyed doing that.

  “There was a time it seemed—advisable.”

  I picked up an armload of duras and shook off the soil from their roots. Our eyes locked together over their leaves. Hers glittered with pain and determination. “I do this for Ersh—” Skalet paused for breath, “—because she wanted a home as badly as either of us—and this form, this species, was her choice. They deserve my help. Not your ephemeral web-kin, your ‘friends,’ or these strangers. Not you, Esen-alit-Quar.”

  The name echoed in the kitchen, becoming the tap of a spoon as Ansky cooked, an argument between Mixs and Skalet, Lesy’s giggle. Then a low, resonant—and unexpected—chime, followed, as usual, by a bellow of Esen!

  I saw Skalet remembering. “When this is over, wait for me on the peak where we have shared before, web-kin. I will be there. You have my word,” I promised, laying the plants on her knees then stepping back. “Good luck.”

  Her next breath seemed too labored, and the hilt embedded in her fleshed jerked, as if the knife tried to dig itself deeper. Then, S’kal-ru and the duras winked together into the blue of web-form. There was scarcely time for me to hear Kearn’s gasp before the blue became sapphire and diamond . . .

  And Skalet became Tumbler.

  She didn’t bother with conversation or delay. One moment she was standing on the ruin of a chair, the next Paul and a somewhat numb-looking Kearn were dodging out of her way as she leaned forward to tumble out the door.

  “My turn,” I said with relief, reaching for another plant.

  Paul coughed. I eyed him suspiciously. He returned an innocent but meaningful look. “You aren’t planning to be Ganthor, are you?” he asked.

  “You can be Ganthor,” Kearn echoed in a delighted singsong, his eyes glowing. “Ganthor. This is amazing. Amazing!”

  “She can,” Paul confirmed. “And our Esen is a very fine Ganthor. But—”

  “But what?” I glowered.

  “You aren’t exactly—it’s not going to impress the Matriarch of a battle fleet if our representative is—well—cute.”

  There were several conceivable replies to this. I chose to be mature and civil, which meant using none of them. “I wasn’t going to be Ganthor anyway,” I informed him haughtily.

  It was Esolesy Ki who left Ersh’s mountain with three Humans in a Kraal aircar, a somewhat testy, very hungry, and anxious Esolesy Ki. We were off to save Picco’s Moon from the Ganthor. I had a plan.

  A plan that depended on what I knew and how well I could use it. Unfortunately, the consequences of failure weren’t usually so high. I struggled to stay confident, and keep my stomachs—and form—under control.

  Being naked, I thought glumly, didn’t help.

  Otherwhere

  THE path was known. The mission clear. It was only the why that eluded Skalet. Why had she listened to the Youngest? Why had she tossed aside her newly confirmed affiliates and their technology to become this vulnerable being, alone and exposed?

  Why had she let Esen rob her of herself?

  The thought eased her tumble to a stop. Herself? This was herself as much as any form. Wasn’t it?

  Perhaps the Youngest sought revenge for the damage to her own favored form—her so-called birth-form. She couldn’t understand that birth came in the severing of mass, in the struggle to take as much as possible, yet escape the origin. No, not escape, to become another of the One, a moon to its planet, forever in orbit. Safe.

  What remained of Ersh lay within this rock.

  Instead of grief and loss, Skalet suddenly found that—appropriate. A Tumbler included the inorganic in the cycle of life, found rightness in Ersh’s decision. Her Human-self could not have understood, would never have felt this peace.

  Had she been S’kal-ru too long? Could the Youngest have been right to insist on this form?

  Skalet chimed discontent. Unacceptable.

  A pebble shifted, knocked another loose, and became a tinkling of stones rolling down a slope. Pebbles shifted and stones rolled all the time.

  Again. Closer. Pebbles didn’t shift at regular intervals.

  Click. Slither. As if refined metal brushed against rock.

  Skalet tumbled forward, her angle of descent easily anticipating the next switchback in the path. Once around its bend, she stopped, rising up to stand against the hard, eternal comfort of Ersh’s mountain.

  All Tumblers were good at waiting. Her pursuers would be aware of that. They’d know Tumblers were peaceful creatures, unable to defend themselves with other than long-winded rhetoric and futile chimes of dismay. They’d know how easy it was to shatter a helpless Tumbler into dust.

  Skalet lifted her hands, gemlike fingers at the ready. If this form had had a mouth, she would have been smiling.

  Time to teach them something new.

  Skalet reached the entrance to the Edianti Valley, noticing the new landslide marring the smooth ramp-way. It didn’t matter; her goal was higher, on the heights. Picco’s reflected light was failing, losing not to night, but to the brilliant wash of sunlight as this side of the Moon turned away. Fortunate timing, as the way to the sounding stones was perilous enough by the light of true day. Skirting the crumbling valley edge would be impossible in the dark.

  The stones, twinned and shaped as much by nature as the craft of Tumbler, leaned against one another, as if already sharing secrets. Skalet pressed her back to the nearest, looking out over the mist. It rose from the valley like too much stuffing from a crate, those it protected and nourished deep within its folds. Out of sight—but not beyond hearing.

  She began to talk to them.

  Tumblers listened to one of their own. A stranger—by the timbre of the voice, an Elder, a wise one.

  A hermit, perhaps, like Ershia the Immutable. There was a rhythm suggesting similarity; a confidence that resonated with those who’d climbed her Mountain.

  The message was accepted, considered, shared.

  There were two kinds of flesh-burdened: those who had been and those who would come. Past and Future.

  Tumblers chimed with comprehension. They felt the orbit of Picco and their Moon. They understood the passing of time.

  Those who had been? They were dangerous. They had been cleansed from the Mountain. They had been cleansed from the Moon and its skies.

  Tumblers felt a deep relief. Many, impatient for bliss, rolled to the rampways and began clearing the rubble.

  Those who would come? They would be mannerly and live in the Port City, conducting business at all times in a way to protect Tumblers.

  Tumblers experienced a sense of order restored and expressed their gratitude to the mysterious Elder as a chorus of chimes that gradually spread from valley to valley.

  The Elders who had arranged for the Ganthor chimed happily to themselves, secure in the knowledge that they no longer had to deal with the flesh-burdened “who had been.”

  Skalet listened to the varied responses and would have shaken her head, had she possessed one. You were right, Youngest, she admitted to herself, ruefully aware Esen would taste this from their sharing to come.

  If she dared.

  Fear was irrelevant. She must possess the ability to move through space, to be independent of all other life. That was the key, to never have to depend on others, to never have them abandon you.

  As Ersh had abandoned her.

  Skalet rolled a little faster. The Youngest would deal with the Ganthor and return. The sooner they could exchange mass and leave this place, the better.
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  And with any luck, she’d find more flesh-burdened along the way.

  Otherwhere

  THE Fleet grew dangerously impatient. The only word from the Moon had been messages from the Specified Adversary—obvious attempts to subvert their contract. The Matriarch had ignored them.

  She wasn’t to be trifled with.

  The battle frenzy always started with the weak and expendable ones, the outer ring of the Herd. With luck, battle could be won without more than culling the unfit, leaving the rest scarred and experienced. It took time for the frenzy to spread deep into the Herd, to reach the Seconds and Matriarch within each ship. Longest of all for it to reach her.

  She’d done her best to stay aloof and delay. This wasn’t an ordinary situation. They’d detected no massing of troops, no clusters of starships. The surface scans showed no weapon emplacements other than a pitiful set of cannons on a mountain. Ganthor weren’t hired killers. They were hired mayhem.

  But against what?

  If it hadn’t been for the price offered, she would have ordered the Fleet home long before this. Instead, she’d let them sit here, waiting for signs of a real enemy. The arrival of the Commonwealth, the Kraal, had held promise. But their ships could only have been couriers, of no value as opponents.

  She’d waited too long.

  The Matriarch of the Fleet snorted hot, blood-streaked mucus from her nostrils, feeling the urge to attack rippling through her muscles, the drive to defend the Herd pumping hormones and courage throughout her body.

  Time’s up, she told the small orange-and-black dot on her viewscreen.

  32: Port Authority Night

  RUDY flew us fast and straight to the Port City. I knew the trip well, having done it in various forms. It would have been nostalgic, except for what waited for us.

  And what we brought. I found myself studying my companions. Paul sat beside me, slouched and resting. He still wore Kraal battle gear, stained—again—with blood, although this time it was Skalet’s. There was no doubt he was aware of who waited for us, but I knew he focused on what we had to do to the exclusion of personal concerns. Stop the Ganthor.