I would never know which of us resented those lessons more; I certainly learned how to hide well. Fortunately, Skalet didn’t seem to be called to account as frequently once I hit my four hundredth birthday, either because she adhered better to the Rules or Ersh had other things for me to learn.
At the moment, I was hiding quite well, and not accomplishing much by it. I’d managed to enter the kitchen undetected and stretch myself underneath the cupboards. What would Skalet do now? I wondered.
I had two problems, one related to the other. I couldn’t stay Ycl much longer without feeding. And I couldn’t leave this form without gaining mass.
Well, I reminded myself, I could become a Quebit again. And likely end up living happily as a mechanic on The Black Watch, which, while appealing on one level, wouldn’t help Paul in the least.
Thinking of Paul sent a tide of despair along my body, a longing that was growing significantly more like hunger with each exertion. Moving myself through the carpet had used up almost all my stored energy.
So I needed mass—preferably before my Ycl-self found something moving, warm, and prone to screaming. While my web-self assuredly didn’t have the moving, warm, or screaming requirement, it had to be living mass if I was going to make more of myself from it. The kitchen had seemed the most logical place to look.
Except that all of its counters were spotless and empty, and the cupboards contained nothing but dishes, cleaning supplies, and a selection of mediocre wines probably left here in hopes of being forgotten.
I sighed and pressed a little harder against the cupboard. Waiting was something else Ersh had tried to teach me, I thought wistfully. I deliberately avoided thinking about Paul—or the other prisoner in the hands of Inspector Logan. If ever there was a time when I must remember who and what I was, it was now.
Since all I dared do was wait.
Elsewhere
THEY’D brought someone else. Motionless on his cot, Lefebvre strained to hear more than overlapping footsteps and a curt order from a guard. A low voice responded. Lefebvre couldn’t catch any words, but the tone seemed unusually calm for a prisoner.
His cell, low-ceilinged and possessing a curved outer wall as if to deliberately remind inmates of their proximity to the outer hull and hard vacuum, had two doorways, side-by-side. The first, save for its massive locking mechanism, might have been any portal in the ship. The second was for servos only, being too narrow for a Human to pass through and—if Lefebvre’s recollection of the specs for such things served—rigged with force blades set to react to Human tissue. He didn’t plan to find out.
But its opening gave a view, of sorts, into the corridor. If he stood to one side, he could see three cells to the left of his, one directly across. Lefebvre didn’t look to the right. That way, the corridor turned to the emergency med area—where he’d babbled away everything that mattered to him at the prick of four needles.
The monitoring vids along the walls seemed superfluous.
Lefebvre waited until all was quiet, then went to the servo door. “Psst,” he hissed softly between his teeth. “Who’s there?”
“Kane. Mitchell Kane. Do you know what’s going on here?” the voice was the one he’d heard, still low, still calm—not the calm of indifference or bravery, Lefebvre suddenly decided, but the calm of someone totally in control of their reactions. The kind of control developed with practice. “What are the Tly up to—kidnapping honest traders?” There was just the right hint of honest outrage in the voice.
“What makes you think these are the Tly?” Lefebvre asked, trying to see into the other cell. The voice came from the one directly across from him. Why wasn’t his fellow prisoner standing where he could see and be seen?
A matching tone of surprise from the voice: “They identified themselves. I see no reason they’d lie about it. This ship is The Black Watch, assigned to the Tly inspectors in this quadrant. They boarded us to look for contraband. Personally, I think they were shopping.” This last piece of information was delivered with a wry chuckle that brought an involuntary twitch to Lefebvre’s lips. “So, why are you stuck here, Hom—?”
Lefebvre looked up at the vid in his cell; the Tly hadn’t bothered disguising the things. “Why am I here, Hom Kane?” he repeated. “I’d dearly love the answer to that. And I’m sure so would the Commonwealth! Kidnapping and interrogating a Captain on active service is going to be noticed—you can be sure of that!” Lefebvre closed his mouth, abruptly afraid he’d sounded almost desperate. Kearn would file a missing being report, he told himself, refusing to doubt it. Or Timri. Despite their personal differences, they were all officers who knew their duty to one another. Weren’t they?
“Interrogating?” There was a pause, and Lefebvre steeled himself for meaningless sympathy, mortified he’d revealed so much to this stranger, but Mitchell Kane simply asked: “They keep it clean?” There were those who used the truth drugs to expose more than information, uncaring how that damaged both mind and personality.
“I’m all right. It was all very professional,” Lefebvre answered bitterly. “Very thorough.”
“What are they after, Captain? I told you, I’m just a trader. I don’t know any military secrets.”
Lefebvre shook his head. “Neither do—neither did I. They didn’t ask about such things, Hom Kane. Mitchell. They—” he choked on the words, then tried again. “I couldn’t—”
“Don’t say anymore. You don’t have to tell me.” The voice roughened with compassion. “Listen, Captain. The drugs get to anyone. There was nothing you could do, hear me? They get to anyone. It’s not your fault.”
Lefebvre drove his fist against the wall without gaining more than a burst of agony to match the blood on his knuckles. He pressed his hands against either side of the servo door opening. “I don’t know why,” he said, unable to say what in the calm, faceless voice made him keep talking. “Why would they want to know everything about me? Everything…” He paused, breathing raggedly, then went on almost desperately, “I couldn’t stop, Kane. I couldn’t shut myself up. I heard myself telling them all of it, everything I’d kept safe. I couldn’t spew it out fast enough!” Lefebvre choked on bile. “I’d have died first,” he gasped, finished.
“You didn’t have that choice,” the voice returned, still compassionate but now with a steely edge, as though the other understood all too well. “The only shame here belongs to those who gave you the drugs. I want you to remember that.” A pause. “What’s your name, Captain?”
“Lefebvre. Captain Rudy Lefebvre of the Research Ship Russell III. I was on D’Dsel—I must have been grabbed from the shipcity.” How had he come here? Lefebvre asked himself, reliving that night. Had the Panacian and her Human companion arranged this—to get him offworld and learn what he knew? If so, they’d succeeded. He felt himself shaking with the aftermath of the drugs and an anger deeper than any he’d known before.
“Be very careful, Captain Lefebvre,” the low voice said, as if its owner could see through the walls between them and knew how close to losing control he was. “What seems a small, accessible target may well be the tip of something much larger and more deadly. Choose your enemies wisely.”
Lefebvre drew in a deep breath, then another, feeling steadier by the moment. “Well, Hom Kane, I don’t seem to have done that very well,” he said, attempting to lighten his tone. “What about you?”
“I have never chosen my enemies, Captain Lefebvre,” the other prisoner said, his voice oddly regretful. “They chose me.”
19: Galley Afternoon; Cabin Night
I’D been desperate.
I didn’t think that would be sufficient excuse for Paul, who was very fond of small creatures, but I was prepared to argue the relative value of one fat and lazy rezt against his life and potentially the billions on Fened Prime.
The rezt, a vermin-hunter evolved on one of the worlds colonized by the Human Tly, were fairly common fixtures on their ships. The creatures were kept as pets—usually at a safe di
stance, being mostly teeth and attitude wrapped in an otherwise appealing fur coat.
This particular rezt had wandered into the galley’s kitchen on the heels of the cook, staying behind while that individual went in search of her assistant.
There wasn’t much rational thought involved. I’d barely managed to restrain my famished Ycl-self from attacking the Human. If the rezt hadn’t been available—well, some things just didn’t bear thinking about.
I’d allowed my Ycl-self to feed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to safely return to this useful, deadly form unless it was satisfied. Not that I could have stopped myself, I admitted honestly, remembering the glorious taste.
So now I lay, an unobtrusive coating on the underside of a table in the galley, feeling an interesting combination of guilt and comfort as I watched the cook look for her pet. At least the pet wasn’t looking for her, I reminded myself.
The Human left the room, doubtless to convince others of how a rezt managed to activate the door controls. Finally, I thought, extending a filmy pseudopod to see over the top of the table.
Perfect! There must be quite the celebratory feast planned for later. I thought I’d detected the aroma of fresh-cut flowers. Each of the ten tables in the galley bore a helmet-shaped vase bursting with colorful petals and lush stems.
Given what the Tly might want to celebrate, I headed for the nearest vase as fast as I could ooze.
I could really use some clothes. Very few intelligent species found themselves comfortable trotting about in public without some sort of adornment. Ersh had a theory that most ephemerals were so new to self-consciousness, they covered their bodies to remind themselves they were the thinkers on their planets. She elected to prove her case by pointing out that her preferred form, the Tumbler, had matured beyond that need. I’d gained myself a trip to Lesy by using the same argument to run around naked in any form I chose. Ah, to be that young again.
Lesy delighted in clothing, jewelry, and whatever else she could drape around, hang, or wrap over her current flesh. From her, the lesson “you have to dress appropriately to the current species’ culture” became more along the lines of “and isn’t this one fun?” I’d often been confused by how Lesy could seem so impatient with the most serious things yet be so serious about what the other web-kin took lightly. Ersh hadn’t so much explained, as added to the puzzle when she’d replied to my complaint about Lesy’s approach to life, delivered with the impatient dignity of all my two hundred years of experience. Lesy, Ersh had told me, was the only one of us who dreamed.
I understood more about Lesy once I assimilated the memories Ersh had bequeathed me. Lesy had been the first of Ersh’s offspring to survive. There were no details, but deep in my flesh, I knew the struggle facing a web-being who had to divide, to relinquish mass to another. I think Ersh had been unable, that first time, to give Lesy all she needed. There would never be a way to prove it, but I thought Ersh had instinctively shunted what she herself found difficult to her offspring, keeping herself fit and ready to survive, leaving such irrationalities as dreams behind.
I shook myself free of such thoughts; no matter how vivid the memory, I was alone now, and had to deal with my current crisis as only Esen could. Or would, I thought, amusing myself.
I tucked the tablecloth more tightly under my arms. A second cloth held the plant material I hadn’t needed in order to assume this form. So far, I’d been able to move unseen through the ship—a pleasing circumstance I owed to the fact the ship itself was almost deserted.
In fact, most of the areas I passed through were closed up, doors tagged with perm-seals dated almost fifty years ago. It was as though there were two ships here at once: the ghost of the mighty Tly Defender—the name still inscribed on doorplates and cutlery—and the reality of The Black Watch. The entire crew’s section was tagged and dimly lit; by that, it was likely those now running the ship used only the officers’ deck. Which was fine by me.
I picked a cabin at random and twisted the seal free. It was a standard four-person room, with retractable bunks, a fresher, and a central table with benches. I went directly to the drawers on one wall, hoping for something better than the tablecloth.
As I did, I passed in front of the mirrored surface of the stall and stopped.
My Human-self had grown a little, I decided, examining the body in front of me critically. Nothing else had changed perceptibly in fifty years. I tugged my fingers through unruly reddish-brown hair, blinked eyes that were occasionally green and usually an indeterminate hazel, and pulled my lips back from even, small teeth. The skin was on the pale side—partly because I’d last used this form during a winter with Ansky—and the spots I seemed to gain on the snub nose were faded. A straight, healthy body.
I sighed. What a shame this form showed my relative age so clearly. The reflection gazing back at me might be as old as eleven. Twelve would be pushing my luck with any being who knew Humans well.
Too young, was the reaction I feared from Paul, who had never seen me like this and never would, if I had my way. He might know I’d lived almost six centuries, though I was young for my kind; that knowledge would pale under the biological programming sure to kick in if he ever met the Human-Esen.
I left my reflection to search the drawers, pleased to discover they were filled with clothing and personal effects. I hesitated, slender fingers caught on fabric as I sensed an incongruity. Why hadn’t the crew packed their things? Why leave in such a hurry? It didn’t make sense.
Unless the ’Defender had been one of the ships that had destroyed Garson’s World. The Tly had claimed to have decommissioned all six immediately. If they’d lied, and Humans could, the crew might have been hustled away to keep quiet—possibly thankful to leave anything connected with this ship and that deed behind. But those who served her now had to know. This was a murderer’s ship.
I pulled out a small white shirt, likely to be a dress on me, and began to smile.
Elsewhere
“HOM Kane.” Lefebvre kept his voice to the barest whisper, as if the cells had heard enough sound to last them a lifetime. “Mitchell.” He sucked in a breath, seeking control. “Answer me, please.”
“I’m here.” The faint voice was hoarse. It had to be, Lefebvre thought. No one could scream like that, as long as that, without almost ripping apart the cords in the throat.
He turned from the servo door and, putting his back against the cold wall, slid down to sit on the floor. He leaned to one side to keep an ear to the opening. “I wasn’t sure,” Lefebvre admitted. What he didn’t say filled the air between them as loudly as any of the curses and threats Lefebvre had shouted—trying to stop them, trying to drown out the sounds of pain until they’d come in and stunned him. All very professional.
“Don’t worry—” a careful pause, then more strongly: “They don’t plan to kill me. The med-techs were quite clear on that point.”
Lefebvre dropped his head back against the wall and cursed to himself.
“Are you all right?”
“Me?” Lefebvre was surprised into a humorless laugh. “I’m fine. They put me to sleep for the worst of it.” Then he listened to the waiting silence and cursed himself this time. “Remember what you told me?” he said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. “It’s not your fault. The shame—the shame is theirs.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” returned the voice, with a reassuring warmth. “Since I have another appointment with the polite and painful Inspector Logan tonight.”
“What does he want, Mitchell?” Lefebvre asked desperately. “What’s worth all this?”
The voice sounded as though Mitchell smiled. “A friend, Rudy.”
“A friend.” Lefebvre closed his eyes tightly, but nothing seemed to stop the echoes in his mind. He was numbly grateful now for the relative kindness of the drug—he may have revealed his secrets, but at least he hadn’t had to prove himself like this. He hadn’t imagined what it would be like. No one could.
“Rudy?”
>
“I didn’t leave,” he said, surprised to feel himself growing angry at the patient, unseen being.
“I may need you to do something for me—if things go badly.”
Lefebvre couldn’t hold it any longer. “What can I do in here?” he raged, uncaring who heard him. “Tell me that, Mitchell. What use am I? To you or anyone?” He was aghast at himself but couldn’t stop; it was as though the truth drugs still infested his blood. “You have this friend to die for—who have I got that will even care? Kearn? He’s probably made himself Captain and said good riddance! My cause? Do you think Ragem even knows I’m alive?”
“I know,” Mitchell’s voice said calmly, warmly, like a hand reaching across the empty corridor. “And I care. This isn’t over, Rudy. You and I are not alone. We aren’t going to die here.” An attempt to chuckle that ended in a ghastly, pain-racked cough. “Well, not for a while.”
“You’re crazy,” Lefebvre said darkly, pulling his knees tightly to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, as if holding himself together. “I’m crazy, talking to an invisible crazy man. An invisible crazy man with a death wish.”
“If we’re both crazy,” replied the voice, “perhaps we’re friends.”
Lefebvre swallowed what he’d been about to say, the impulse stayed by a rush of emotion he hadn’t expected and didn’t understand. “As a friend,” he said slowly, cautiously, like someone venturing on to an unknown thickness of ice, “do you think you could tell Logan something—anything?” Lie, if you have to, he added to himself, wary of the vids. Please?
“I don’t dare,” the voice said, hoarse as it was, conveying commitment and respect, as well as a tinge of regret. “If I ever answer him, even one word—I’m not sure how I could stop. I’m sorry, my friend.”
They were both silent for a moment, then Lefebvre heard the voice ask softly: “So, who is this Ragem?”
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