Hidden in Sight

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Kearn kept turning to look at me with so much curiosity brimming in his eyes I couldn’t imagine how he contained himself. Once, as if overwhelmed, he’d reached back and touched the scales of my arm. I’d lifted my lip to show him my tusk, with its charming inlay, and he’d smiled back.

  And Rudy. I sighed, hearing the unhappy gurgling of my empty stomachs. He spoke only when necessary, appearing intent on our flight, though the aircar had perfectly adequate automatics.

  I didn’t need to know what Mocktap had told him. What mattered was that only Paul knew the truth of me and accepted it.

  I’d heard the surprising news about Joel Largas—that he’d kept our secret to himself. I thought I could guess why. Like Mocktap, he knew the worst thing would be to be disbelieved, to have his own kin scoff at his ravings. I didn’t dare believe it marked a change in heart.

  I’d seen his face.

  My Human heard me sigh again. Without a word, even though he couldn’t know which of many possibilities troubled me, he rubbed the scaleless spot under my chin in mute understanding.

  I’d expected to be whisked in a side door, secret and safe, to where Alphonsus would have arranged for a com system. There, in private, I’d do what I could to stop the Ganthor.

  I could never, in a thousand life spans, I thought with some horror, have imagined this.

  The area beneath the Port Authority building, between its stilts, was packed with spacers and other beings. Who should have been safely on their ships! It was irresponsible. It was disorganized. It was disruptive. It was . . .

  “A hero’s welcome,” Rudy observed dryly as he shut the aircar door behind us.

  Paul gripped my left arm with both hands, correctly assuming my first instinct after this bizarre announcement would be to run. Kearn wiped his forehead, probably half worried about the size of the crowd and half enjoying it. Rudy had slipped into captain mode, his face a professional mask.

  I was—my scales became so swollen I wondered if I could move.

  “It’s all right, Es,” Paul said softly as the crowd noticed our arrival and began chanting “Cameron & Ki! Cameron & Ki!” counterpointed by some doggerel in Ervickian that had something to do with juice and two straws.

  All I could think of was how very glad I was that Skalet was roaming the mountainside, because she would never have let me live this down.

  Stay hidden, stay safe, indeed.

  “Steady, Esen. Head for the door. Keep it natural. Show some tusk.”

  “Keep it—Paul?” This last a plaintive call as I was surrounded by well-wishers of several species, strangers and friends.

  Being taller than most, I could see the same thing happening to Paul and our other companions.

  Through the hugging, and despite the unintentioned imprisonment of my poor feet under spacer boots, I managed to push my way to the ramp leading up to the building itself. There was a cleared space at the base, centered around an irate Moderan with his hair standing straight out in full threat. Even giddy Humans comprehended that type of body language.

  When I was close enough, he called out: “I’m Bris, second-in-command. Come this way, please, Fem Ki.”

  “Trying—” I assured him, smiling at the happy faces on all sides. Finally, I squirted into the open and almost toppled into Paul, who’d done the same. No sign of Kearn or Rudy, but I presumed they’d fight their way through eventually. “Lead the way,” I urged Bris.

  “What’s the occasion?” Paul asked as we half-ran up the ramp.

  A snarl and spit. “While we appreciated the arrival of the Kraal, these fools took the sight of military personnel deploying around the shipcity as a sign that all was now under control. When word spread that you two were responsible, they left their ships to make this ridiculous display. How did you get Kraal elite troops here anyway?”

  “Long story,” I said, puffing along behind the two of them. Less fudge and more time running, I promised this form. My empty stomachs weren’t sympathetic. I’d have to fill at least two of them soon or be useless.

  We passed through three sets of security doors, each held open by anxious-looking beings in Port Authority uniforms. The implied urgency wasn’t reassuring at all.

  Bris took us straight into the com room, where grim-faced personnel didn’t look away from their screens. Not all were so engaged. “Hom Cameron!”

  Meony-ro? Before I could pick my jaw up from my chest, he’d trapped Paul in some kind of hold. Then I blinked and realized it was a hug. Paul looked at me with a “don’t ask me” expression, but cooperatively patted the other Human on his back.

  I rehinged my jaw and found myself meeting the cold, hard stare of Joel Largas.

  Having released Paul, Meony-ro came up to me, holding out a bag. I heard something about clothing and took it in my hand.

  Joel had aged a decade since the greenhouse. I wanted to weep, knowing it was my doing.

  My Human was suddenly at my side, as he was always. The two of us confronted the one who’d been like a father, without a word, likely mystifying everyone around us.

  Alphonsus broke the silence. “There’s no time for reunions,” he said gruffly. “The Ganthor have started forming up for descent. If there’s anything you can do, Fem Ki, it has to be now.”

  I looked straight into Joel’s dark-rimmed eyes. “If that’s all right with you?” I asked.

  Joel took a step back and to the side, leaving me a clear path into the room. I hurried forward, but when Paul tried to follow, Joel stepped in his way, stopping him with a hand to his chest. “Paul can wait with me.”

  I tilted one ear toward the scan station, hearing the soft bleeps as moving ships announced their presence to traffic control. “You can all wait with Joel,” I told them. “In the other room. I only need one secure com station. Which one?”

  No one moved, as if I’d paralyzed them. I clacked my teeth together with annoyance. “Chief Constable. I have something to tell the Matriarch which should stop all this. Only the Matriarch. Now if you wish to delay me until my intervention is impossible—?”

  Alphonsus knew I was more than a naked Lishcyn trader, holding her new clothes in a bag. His staff, obviously worn-out and close to panic, probably thought I was some lunatic off a ship.

  Paul knew me best of all. “Es can do this, if you let her.” There was no doubt in his voice.

  “Let’s go.” When they didn’t move, Alphonsus raised his voice into a cracked shout. “Move it! Go! The first station to your left, Fem Ki. It’s already tied to the Ganthor Matriarch’s ship. Not that she’s responded to us.”

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely and went to it, waiting as the com-tech abandoned her seat with a reluctance I was quite sure the others shared.

  Paul made himself last to leave the room. As he closed the door, he whispered what he knew my ears alone could hear.

  “Get it done, Old Blob.”

  You can’t escape biology.

  One of Ersh’s favorite sayings. It came to mind as I emptied the sombay from one of the cups near the com station, then rapped it against the console. The sound was too high. I stuffed a crumpled sheet of plas inside. Tap Tap. Much better.

  I located the control to send my signal to the Ganthor, then sought Ansky-memory. My birth-mother, the one who loved ritual and legend. She’d been the one to add this to our Web, those many years ago.

  For the Ganthor were herbivores, with a herd social structure ingrained in their behavior long before they’d become an intelligent, space-faring species. It made them formidable mercenaries, who stayed together to defend the Herd, to the death if need be. Behavior well-suited to protect against being flanked by a predator. Keep it in sight, stay together, stay strong. Charge, trample, and mutilate. It worked for them.

  It gave them a weakness. They needed to see their enemy. More precisely, they needed to know their enemy could be seen. Ganthor made up stories to frighten their young into staying close to the Herd—much like other mammalian species. But their st
ories featured an invisible, creeping foe, one able to slip within the outer ring of any Herd, to lurk inside a home, to strike down any Ganthor at whim, then be gone.

  They called it the *Herd Wraith.* Ansky had witnessed for herself the effect of these stories on Ganthor. They would become uneasy, prone to milling about as if in search of what they couldn’t see.

  I didn’t expect that reaction from trained mercenaries. But I thought it gave me a way to communicate with the Matriarch that others might not have.

  Scent would have helped convey the mood, but I was reasonably sure the ships were so full of battle pheromones that any smell I provided would go unnoticed. Activating the com, I clicked *Danger to Herd* with my thick-nailed fingertip on the countertop, then used the cup to rap a *!!* stamp of emphasis.

  A long moment of silence. Then: *Specify*

  I didn’t let myself feel relief. If they were talking, it was likely because the situation above was close to out of control. *Situation misleads* I clicked. *Herd Wraith*!!*

  *Repeat*

  *!!*Herd Wraith*!!*

  Another pause. Then: *Fleet Matriarch*Specify reference *

  I had her attention. This was where it remained to be seen if the Ganthor wanted a way out, or the Matriarch was herself too close to complete frenzy to see what I offered. *Kraal subterfuge*Weapon test*Observers deployed*!!* Danger to the Herd*!!*

  Another silence, in which I wished for fingers delicate enough to cross in Paul’s gesture for luck.

  *Client status*

  *Satisfied*Kraal exposed*Apology without penalty*Full payment ready*Provide account* I reached over to the next console and waited.

  A stream of numbers flashed across the screen. I accepted the account number and bill for the Fleet, and, with a growl of disbelief from my empty stomachs, transferred forty-three percent of the wealth accrued by Ersh’s Web over two hundred years of varied and successful Carasian mining portfolios. Ansky had received some excellent tips while in the pool.

  *Gratified* The Matriarch acknowledged what she saw on her screen. *Standing down* Then, as if clickspeak could transmit humor, *Herd Wraith??*

  I put down the cup gently, so she wouldn’t hear it, feeling my hearts restarting. *Mutual understanding* I explained. *Clarity*

  *Clarity* she echoed. Then, what I didn’t expect: *Herd friend*

  I’d been right. The Ganthor, or at least their Matriarch, hadn’t been fooled. She’d known something was wrong the moment they’d arrived, but had no way to honorably withdraw without the Tumblers’ consent. Any attempt to ask for that consent would have been frustrated by the difficulty of communicating directly with the Tumblers and the Tumblers’ fear of the flesh-burdened. She’d been trapped.

  Meanwhile, the Tumblers had continued to communicate a great many things. From what I’d been told, very little of it had conveyed its intended meaning to the nonmineral.

  *Herd friend* I sent back, then ended the connection.

  You can’t escape biology, I thought, then shuddered at how very close we’d all come to disaster because of it. Had the Ganthor landed and slaughtered innocents, the repercussions would have reached to the homeworlds of every spacer here—as world war. As for the Tumblers? A Ganthor landing in force would have destroyed countless Tumbler children as well as shattering the bodies of any adults within range.

  And, on a personal note, I would have lost my family. Again.

  *Clarity* I clicked against the console. *Mutual understanding *

  I listened to the words and finally knew what I, Esen-alit-Quar, had to do.

  But first, I had to deal with Skalet and her wish for flight.

  Otherwhere

  A TUMBLER rolled its way along a mountaintop. This was perfectly normal behavior for a life-form made from an aggregation of compatible crystals, if not a perfectly normal mountain.

  This mountain was Her.

  Knowing herself alone, Skalet chimed a familiar chord, the one she’d heard each time the Youngest snuck up to Ersh and struck her with a hammer. She’d never understood why Esen dared; she’d never understood why Ersh allowed it.

  Until today, when she’d taken orders from the Youngest. Skalet tilted back to observe the sky. No Ganthor drop pods. No assault vehicles. Esen-alit-Quar had succeeded.

  What potential. Ersh had seen it from the beginning. Esen-alit-Quar wasn’t simply different from the others of their Web.

  She would be as Ersh, one day. The source and repository of knowledge for a new Web, deciding what to share in flesh and what to keep hidden. And, like Ersh, Esen would make those decisions based on her own Rules.

  Skalet rolled around the scar in the mountain and found her favorite place to wait. The Kraal valued leaders. S’kal-ru had tasted that ephemeral notion of power, been trapped into a longing for it. She’d been wrong.

  Ersh hadn’t ruled her Web nor, one day, would Esen. They were something both simpler and far more potent. And annoying, Skalet added—honest with herself.

  A conscience.

  33: Port Authority Night

  “I HAVE to go.”

  “Because you gave your word. I was there, Esen.”

  I ran the forks of my tongue over my tusks to check they were squeaky clean. The quarters Alphonsus had loaned us had included a small, but most welcome ’fresher. “Then why are you arguing with me?”

  Paul threw up his hands. He looked himself again, albeit a tired self. There’d been time to clean up and dress, but I think what had most improved his appearance was being Paul Cameron again. Neither of us had talked to Joel Largas yet—that worthy had retired to his ship—but so far, life seemed to be reassuringly back to normal. And without Ganthor, I told myself, inclined to feel smug. Paul had even, to my great satisfaction, spoken to his offspring over the com. They’d been charmingly relieved to know we were all right, although busy prepping for launch. It seemed every spacer was anxious to lift as soon as tugs could move their ships into position. The Gem Rush was evidently over.

  A first step, I thought to myself.

  Our own celebration had been a quiet one. Most of the staff had been awake so long they’d fallen asleep over their first beer, although the last time I’d looked, Meony-ro was still holding court with the few left. Before he’d gone home, I’d overheard the Chief Constable virtually threatening a person named Naomi into promising more free drinks when everyone was awake again. Humans could be so odd.

  My Human wasn’t being odd. On the contrary, he was demonstrating a fine grasp of reality. “Esen, you can’t let Skalet have what she wants.”

  I showed a cheerful tusk. “Oh, but I plan to.” Then I relented, seeing him run one hand through his hair, as he did when I was being particularly frustrating. “She doesn’t know what that is, Paul,” I assured him.

  “And you do?”

  “We’ll find out.” I checked the fall of my new outfit. It wasn’t silk, but did cover the required areas. And the yellow wasn’t a bad choice, given the orange lighting. No bag or hand light, I fussed. Paul, of course, wasn’t worrying about something so trivial. “I promised,” I insisted, noticing his frown hadn’t left.

  “You can’t trust her.”

  Typically Human. “Trust isn’t required,” I told him. “Although if you want to talk about trust, she did give you the antidote to the duras.”

  He turned an interesting color. “Don’t remind me.”

  I tilted my head. “I thought Humans enjoyed kissing. I’ve seen you do so many times, with different partners. Did you not enjoy Skalet’s?”

  The color deepened. “You ask the worst—Es—” Words seemed to fail him, then suddenly Paul relaxed and grinned at me. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “Perhaps.” Then I showed both tusks. “But I admit to curiosity.”

  “You?” Paul laughed. “Which means I won’t hear the end of it until I answer.” He tapped me lightly under the chin. “Let’s say it’s not like shaking hands, Old Blob. There’s an emotional context involve
d which can be very pleasant—or otherwise.” His fingers drifted to his lower lip. “Skalet’s? Was—otherwise.”

  “Good. I didn’t enjoy watching either.”

  Another tap, even softer. “I know, Esen. Did I tell you how brave you’ve been?”

  “No,” I said happily, “but feel free to—”

  A knock on the door interrupted my encouragement, which was probably as well. Compliments, I’d noticed, often ended with a discussion of what I could have done better. I went to answer it.

  “Wait.” All the ease gone from his face, Paul waved me to one side and reached for the weapon he’d left lying on the pile of Kraal clothing. He held his finger to his lips when I would have protested. “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened. The night-lighting in the hallway showed me no more than a silhouette. Human-sized.

  Having adaptable eyes, Paul recognized our visitor and tossed the weapon aside with a glad: “Rudy! Welcome. I thought you’d be down in the bar with Meony-ro, helping him drink to the end of Mocktap.”

  I backed away until I felt the wall behind me.

  Rudy wore spacer coveralls, presumably from the Russell III. There was a slight lurch to his steps as he accepted the invitation and walked into the room. Paul put one arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how glad we ...”

  Paul had seen me.

  So had Rudy. His face lost its smile and became troubled. “Hello, Es,” he said, no slur to the words. Not drunk then. A being with something on his mind.

  I was reasonably sure I knew what it was.

  Paul seemed at a loss. He took his arm from Rudy, then looked from one of us to the other with almost comical suspicion. “Something I should know?” he asked, the words deliberately light.

  When Rudy didn’t answer, I did. “Your cousin finally noticed I’m not ‘Bess.’” There was a note of hurt in my voice I could no more prevent than I could settle my third stomach. I shunted its contents to the safer fourth. “He no longer believes I am his friend—your friend. Why do you think I wanted Mocktap’s weapon destroyed?”