“What?” If he’d been Lishcyn, I would have expected to see Rudy’s jaw on his chest. “No—that’s not true!”
“Ah.” Paul schooled his expression into the attentive, noncommittal one he used when negotiating for Cameron & Ki—or when he had reason to believe I’d hidden fudge—and gazed at both of us in turn.
“He was planning to kill Skalet,” I said, glaring down my snout. “He listened to that Kraal. Ask him what he thinks of my kind.”
Suddenly, Rudy looked as angry as I felt. “It’s one thing to be told you’re almost six hundred years old and quite another to see a staircase worn down by footsteps! Footsteps! Do you know how long that takes? How long someone must have lived there?”
Actually, I did, but something in Paul’s face warned me against reciting facts at the moment. “So I’m on the—young—side of the family,” I said instead, unwilling to leave the wall just yet. I knew Rudy too well not to fear him, if he’d become my enemy. “That doesn’t mean we’re a threat. That doesn’t mean you should—”
“Es. Calm down. Explain to Rudy. Tell him about the mountain.”
I was tempted to burp something unpleasant, but Paul stopped me with that look. “It’s where I grew up,” I said grudgingly. “Ersh’s home. I told you she was the first of our kind in this section of space. She lived a very long time, but you won’t find records of her. Like all of us, she stayed out of sight. The rest of our web-kin would come to visit, share what they’d learned, then leave again. The mountaintop was Ersh’s favorite gathering place. She,” I swallowed, “she liked the view.”
I didn’t think it would help to add how she’d also thrown me off her mountain to bring out my web-nature, or how she viewed my subsequent terror of the sheer cliff as an aid to faster assimilation. “The room where you and the Kraal waited for us was our greenhouse. The material Mocktap had refined into the flask—” I couldn’t find the words and looked at Paul.
He understood. “Ersh died by spreading herself throughout the stone of that mountain, Rudy. The blue substance was part of her body, stolen from its grave.” Rudy sat down rather suddenly and Paul took the seat across from him. “Not some secret weapon,” my Human went on gently. “Not some new and powerful material. The remains of Skalet’s and Esen’s—mother. Now do you understand why we had to come to Picco’s Moon? Why all this mattered so much we couldn’t stay away?”
Rudy rubbed his hand over his face, then looked up at me. “I thought—I thought I was handling it all, that I understood. Then Sybil—Mocktap—told me about S’kal-ru, how she’d played this game with her family for centuries, how she did the same with you. I saw the staircase—guessed how old your kind could become. It was as though you were playing with all of us—like—”
“—blob-shaped gods?” I offered helpfully.
“Something like that.”
Paul’s lips quirked and I flopped one ear at him. “Skalet’s unique,” I told Rudy, taking a cautious step from the wall. “She chose the Kraal form to explore their obsession with strategy—those games. But as much as our true nature dictates how we appear in each form, each form has an effect on who we are. After a time, I believe she began to think as a Kraal. I,” I added soberly, “do not. Do you understand?”
“I think so. I’m trying. But, Esen, please believe me. I didn’t come here because I had any doubts about you. You’re my friend—my family. I can handle your—unique abilities. I came because—” It was Rudy’s turn to halt and look at Paul helplessly, then back to me. “I almost killed your-your sister.”
I blinked.
“Can you forgive me?”
For a being who could resolve a conflict among Ganthor, Tumblers, and Humans—plus a variety of others—I could be remarkably obtuse when it came to my own friends. Of course Rudy had been anxious about how I’d react. I felt all my stomachs settle, along with the universe in general.
But, of course, a Human in full confession mode never knew when to stop. “And, Paul, can you forgive me?”
Paul didn’t ask, “for what?” No, he turned his full attention on me, and said in that firm, “there will likely be consequences” voice he and Ersh did so well: “Esen?”
“Rudy did me a small—favor,” I admitted.
The Human in question nodded. I wondered if he had had a little too much to drink tonight after all. “She was concerned you were too gullible—that Group of yours. I could understand why. I mean. Really, Paul. To trust all those people with Esen’s secret?”
“So you spied on them for Esen.”
“Well. Yes.” Rudy looked apprehensive. I would have been as well, except the smile spreading across Paul’s face was nothing short of beatific.
Ersh. “You knew,” I accused him. “All along.”
“What sort of conspirator would I be, if I couldn’t keep track of the two of you?” Paul said comfortably, ignoring Rudy’s frown and the grumbling of my stomach.
“Why let me think I was—that we were—”
“Because,” his smile faded, “I recruited the best people I could find to help us—to help you in the future, Esen. But there was no point unless you trusted them. How could you, unless you checked them for yourself, without me? And it was worthwhile,” he said very grimly, “given what Rudy learned about Zoltan and some of the others.”
Needless to say, his approval was better than being scolded, if puzzling. “You knew I asked Rudy to spy on your friends,” in case Paul had missed the essential detail. “And you’re happy?”
“Impatient, might be the better word. I’ve been waiting for some time.”
“For what?”
Rudy, as befitted a member of the same species, understood first. “For you to act on your own.”
“I do that all the time,” I said rather huffily.
“Not against Paul,” Rudy countered, nodding as if this made perfect sense.
I glowered at both of them.
My Human smiled back, looking vastly content. “Consider it a consequence of my Human parenting instinct, Old Blob. I needed to be sure you’d think for yourself, even if it meant you’d refuse to take something I told you for granted. There’ll be no new members of the Group, Esen, unless you pick them. And no more surprises for your own good either.”
I began to sense the possibilities. “So you’ll listen to me.”
“I’ll always listen.” Paul raised one eyebrow. “I won’t always agree.”
Fair enough. I showed both tusks. “True day starts in half an hour, gentlemen. I’d like to be on the mountain by then.”
Where someone who always planned surprises for me waited.
Otherwhere
“I KNOW you’re there.”
Startled, Kearn slipped at the edge of the rock cut. The voice spoke comspeak, but was made of bells. He looked in vain for its source, his hand light sending its beam coursing over strange shapes and producing irregular shadows that moved across his view as if alive. And waiting to pounce. “Is that Fem Skalet?” he whispered.
“Kearn?” the voice grew startled as well. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, yes.” Kearn relaxed as his light found the Tumbler, squinting up through the reflections. Then he saw where the crystal wasn’t gleaming. Something on the hands and arms ate the light, something dark.
Skalet lifted one long hand, as if to show him. “Fools’ blood.”
“I—” he decided he didn’t really want to know. “Esen was able to send the Ganthor away. She didn’t tell us how ...” He left room for her to answer. When she didn’t, he shone the light to find a safe path for his feet, feeling the darkness press on every side, and went closer.
Bells could toll in warning. “Why are you here, Kearn? Do you think to kill a monster?”
“No. I have something of yours. I wanted to bring it back to you, before you left.” He halted to pull the book from his pocket, then played the light over the gilded bones and scales of its cover.
Bells could tinkle with laughter. “You came h
ere, in the dark, to bring my book to me? Why?”
“I—I read it, Fem Skalet. You have lovely handwriting, by the way. The other you,” Kearn fumbled for whatever terminology a web-being might prefer, then settled for: “S’kal-ru.”
“A scholar. I’m impressed.” A pause. “The book isn’t necessary. Esen and I. Did you know we never forget? Not a molecule, a whisper, a sunrise.”
“No. I didn’t know. I guessed. Hypothesized. To remember each form, there had to be a mechanism. There—”
“We are memory.” Another pause. “Still, I should like the book. Thank you for its return.”
Kearn found himself as close as he dared, and found a boulder on which to sit. He set the light down, so it splashed against another rock and back over them both, then drew his coat more tightly around his shoulders against the chill night air. “It was fascinating to read. I gained valuable insights into the Kraal—”
“And into a web-being?”
Caution, not warning. He went on before his courage failed. It almost had twice before: when leaving the Russell III and when landing here. But this was his only chance. “I believe so. I have so many questions. I—” Then, the truth poured out, as if the dark made it safer. “They’ll take my ship away. My research funds. But I thought, if I could talk to you for a while, I’d know enough.”
“You can talk to Esen all you like. I’m sure the Youngest would be pleased to reveal all manner of secrets for the asking. Why come here? To me?”
“This.” Kearn patted the book. “This—this is how I am. I put pieces together, fill in every detail. Reading it, I thought we were alike in that. And—” he hesitated. “I don’t wish to cause offense, Fem Skalet, but ...”
“Go on.”
“This was written by an adult.”
Definitely a laugh. “Do tell Esen you said so. I can see her face now. Whichever one she’s wearing.” A chime as the Tumbler moved, seemed to look up. “She’ll come soon—when true day restores safe passage. When our business is done, I don’t plan to return.” A minor chord. “Like you, Lionel Kearn, I find myself at a loss for a future.”
He lifted the book. “Your House?”
“Events here have made me—conspicuous—among the Kraal. It is not conducive to establishing a home. Or safe, for that matter. I can wait.”
Kearn licked his lips, tasting acrid dust. “How long? How long can you wait? Another two generations? Three?”
“You do have questions.” Another minor chord.
He closed his eyes briefly. “My apologies, Fem Skalet. My enthusiasm gets the better of me.”
“Your enthusiasm—your passion—kept you searching when no one else believed. I valued it then. I value it now.” A pause. Then, “How long before the Kraal settle? What do you know of the House of Bryll, and its conflict with ...”
Kearn leaned forward, intent on the magic of that voice.
34: Mountain Dawn
ESEN-ALIT-QUAR! Esen-alit-Quar!
I’d always hear their voices on this mountain, I thought as I took the last three steps to the top. The Kraal had left enough scars on the peak; I’d asked Rudy to land the aircar on the pad below. He and Paul followed me now.
“Skalet!” I called, walking to the place where I’d always walked.
She appeared, but not alone. Kearn, of all beings, walked beside her as she tumbled toward us. I gave my jaw a strong push to keep it in place. “You’re late, Youngest.”
Some things never changed, I thought.
Paul, who knew what to expect, had warned Rudy. They both looked concerned, if for different reasons. Rudy had resolved to learn more about the “non-Bess” me, and worried about what that might be.
Paul? He worried about me. I could see it in the way he stayed calm and reassuring, helping me remove my new clothes before I could cycle and leave their molecules as a fashionable stencil on the ground.
Paul, Rudy, Kearn. Skalet and me. The mountain. Some part of me found it fitting that we were again six.
The rest of me knew exactly what Ersh would have said about the presence of the Humans and winced.
Skalet tumbled to her accustomed place and waited. Paul and Rudy, without knowing, took positions where Mixs and Ansky would be. Kearn was closer to Skalet than Lesy ever stood, but on that side. The place for Ersh remained empty.
“Where is what you promised me, Youngest?” She held up one bloodstained hand. I found it didn’t trouble me, this once, that Skalet had fought and likely killed. The Tumblers had been without a champion.
I nodded at Paul. He held up a cryosac, opening its mouth to show a brilliant blue, then closing it again.
Skalet leaned toward him, as if to roll. “Wait.” I told her. “I have something to say to you first.”
“Why should I listen?”
“Because Paul has his thumb on a control that will heat and destroy what’s in his hand.”
She chimed amusement, then settled back. “Very well. Say what you wish.”
“Not like this,” I told her, then cycled . . . moving through web-form too quickly to change my mind . . .
... until the cold thin air burned its way into every part of my damaged muzzle. My good eye watered as I braced my feet. I heard Rudy gasp and Paul’s snapped order for him to stay still. He’d known I planned this. The Web of Ersh met in their preferred forms. It was her Rule.
Skalet didn’t hesitate. Crystal blurred and flashed blue, then . . .
... fierce eyes surrounded by black-and-red tattoos met mine. She dropped to her knees, naked, the knife gone. The wound fountained blood until Kearn gave Skalet his gloves to press over it, then it merely welled out and over, puddling in the diamond dust. He wrapped his coat around her shoulders, then stood back, shivering.
I spoke even as Kearn cared for her, knowing her time in this form was short, feeling my own form grow weak. “You never asked why Ersh shared with me alone, Skalet. It was because I was the only one who could protect the rest of you from her secrets. Things about her and her beginnings. Things that changed me forever.” I tasted blood as my wound reopened. “It was no gift. It was a penalty of my different beginning she used to spare you—all of you.
“I am the Senior Assimilator of our Web, Skalet,” I continued, taking an unsteady step into the center of our circle. “If you would now share what Ersh chose not to give you, I will provide it. But you will no longer be who you are. And you will lose the Ersh you remember.”
Her hand plunged down to grip the stone. Not to brace herself, but as if asking a question. “I want to—fly.”
From somewhere, I found the strength to look down at my trembling web-kin and tell her the truth. “No. You want the Ersh you knew. I can give that much, Skalet. If you trust me.”
I saw the answer in her eyes even as she cycled to save herself . . . I did the same . . .
... sensing the perfection of her teardrop shape, beyond it the throbbing heart that was Picco’s gravity, courted by the echo of her Moon, beyond that the singing spin of stars and atoms . . .
Share . . . I released the message to the winds, offering my flesh.
Feeling Skalet’s jagged teeth rip through me as proof I was again as I was meant to be . . .
Tearing free bites of Skalet-mass, to replace what I’d lost. Assimilating her memories into mine . . .
... as proof I was no longer alone.
Humans were perhaps the most adaptable species to ever develop self-consciousness. I had further evidence, if I needed any, when I found duras plants conveniently nearby when I was ready to cycle from web-form into something that could sit in an aircar.
Comfortably Lishcyn again, I looked for Skalet, finding a magnificent Moderan lifting its fangs at me—an expression of happiness. But her memories in mine were like shattered crystal, edged in grief and need. I found I had to push away the emotion in order to assimilate the rest.
Most I knew, or guessed. Her life within the Kraal hierarchy had become a desperate struggle to be Human,
to fit in and succeed. She’d done her best, but I could have told her being Human wasn’t as easy as slipping into that flesh. Memories of her manipulation of Kearn were overlapped by their conversation of this morning, colored by a new and rather perplexed respect.
She’d feared Death, that another mindless web-being might attack us, and planned weapons to defeat it. But she’d been Kraal enough to assume her worst enemy would be her closest ally, and made the design include a trap keyed to Mocktap. Rudy could have killed her. She’d believed he would.
Her impressions of me ranged from infuriating to embarrassing, but, like Kearn, I’d earned something approximating respect.
I thought I’d keep her impression of Paul to myself.
What I’d shared kept Skalet quiet as well, on the trip back, although she’d had an implant grown into her throat to utter comspeak. I knew what she was assimilating.
Memories of Ersh. I’d had hundreds of years living with her, while Skalet collected information on other species for the Web. I gave every minute of them back—including the ones where I was in trouble.
It seemed only fair.
We were, in the end, family.
There was a balcony attached to the Port Authority cafeteria, for those who didn’t mind the looming presence of Picco. I stood there, watching the shipcity disassemble and move itself back into space—one more amazement in a day I wouldn’t forget, even if I could.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Paul rested his elbows on the rail. “Any sign of a Tumbler? Alphonsus tells me the sanitation workers are getting worried. Something about pensions.”
I pointed to a glint of light on the horizon. “They’re out there. Should I tell Alphonsus they believe he’s been replaced? That everyone here is—new?”
Paul’s laugh was low and contagious. I bent my ear to enjoy it. “Will it matter?”
“I suppose not.” I curled my lip. “But I do like the irony.”
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