Changing Vision

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Ideal. Yes, ideal. Part of a formal occasion. It will have to be planned very carefully so the Feneden feel safe.” Then, it was as if the universe had shifted on every axis possible. What Feneden would be familiar with Iftsen sagas? Kearn could sense the blood draining out of his face and head as he looked into her impossibly blue eyes and knew.

  He was in a closet with his worst nightmare.

  “Thank you, Lionel,” his Monster said ever so gently.

  Everything went black.

  48: Storeroom Afternoon; Hydroponics Afternoon

  I LEFT the storeroom door ajar, having no wish to see the poor Human suffocate while he recovered from what I hoped was a simple fainting spell and not a major failure of some body part.

  It was, I hummed to myself, another pleasing symmetry—a state of balance I always attempted in my life, but rarely managed. The fates were so seldom cooperative.

  Walking right into Kearn had been a serious shock, not to mention I hadn’t been overly pleased to find the Feneden had sent him to kill me, if they hadn’t already. But I’d always regretted becoming Kearn’s personal demon. Likely I still was, I thought rather sadly.

  That didn’t matter. Kearn had redeemed himself in my eyes the moment he showed he would leave the chase when a true crisis arose. With any luck at all, he would now be able to redeem himself to his superiors and any doubters by finding a solution to the dispute between the Iftsen and their starry-eyed Feneden thieves. A pleasing symmetry, indeed.

  Ah. The central freight lift was empty. I slipped inside and sent it down. One level. Two. Three. I hit the stop and stood to one side as the doors opened. All clear.

  The hydroponics room. I almost ran, eager to shed this form and return to Esen, to be invisible, hidden, safe. To be where I could gain the mass I needed without sacrificing a friend.

  I keyed open the door, looking over my shoulder. The corridors were conveniently empty. If it hadn’t been for the lighting, I’d have assumed it was shipnight and most of the crew were off-station. Perhaps, I thought with a shudder, they were gathered on the bridge discussing what to do with their Shifter.

  Or, I realized numbly as I entered the tank room and listened to the door close behind me, they could all be here.

  Elsewhere

  “I SAID, wake him up!”

  Lefebvre waved aside the mutely protesting med—from the look of him, more likely an engine-room-tech on temp assignment, typical trader economy—and shook Kearn’s shoulders, careful not to bend the silver epaulettes. “Sir?”

  Kearn’s eyes cracked open. Almost instantly, his hands fastened like claws above Lefebvre’s elbows and he pulled hard, drawing Lefebvre down so their faces almost touched. “I saw her!” he whispered desperately. “I saw her!”

  That certainly explained finding the Project Leader in a dead faint in a storeroom, Lefebvre thought with some disgust. What had Esen been thinking? He broke Kearn’s hold with an easy motion, nodding at the med. “Leave us. And close the door, please.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” Lefebvre then asked, keeping his voice neutral. “I found you passed out in the hallway. Has this happened before?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. No. It wasn’t the hallway,” Kearn said roughly, struggling up. Lefebvre helped him sit, then stand. “And no, of course it hasn’t happened before. Help me up!”

  “Are you sure you should—so soon?”

  Kearn scowled furiously at him. “Are you deaf, Lefebvre? Didn’t you hear what I said? I saw her! Esen’s on this ship! Now!” He began walking to the door, then staggered; Lefebvre steadied him before he toppled to the floor.

  “Now, sir,” Lefebvre said in his most persuasive voice, “you know that’s impossible. She’s not here.”

  “Not here?” Kearn looked ready to faint again. “Of course she’s here. They found her—they found Ragem in the dome—”

  “No, sir,” Lefebvre said in his most reasonable voice. “The Vega Lass came after two of her own crew—they’d been on Iftsen Secondus for the Festival and were caught up by the Feneden. The crewmen aren’t pressing any charges. Timri’s looking into why the Feneden would have mistaken them for—”

  “No!”

  “Please calm yourself, sir. I spoke to them just now. They’re a bit shaken, but none the worse for the experience. I was on my way to inform you when I found you unconscious.” Lefebvre paused. “Maybe you were dreaming.”

  “I was not! The Esen Monster was as close to me as—as you are now! She took me into the storeroom.”

  “The storeroom? Sir, you were in the hallway.” Lefebvre almost choked. Esen!

  Kearn frowned. “I was?” He shook his head, looking troubled. “I remember. I was in the hallway, then she led me into the storeroom.”

  “Why would she do that, sir?”

  “Do what?”

  Lefebvre began easing Kearn back to the cot. “Why would she take you into the storeroom, sir? Are you quite sure that’s what happened? After all, I found you lying in the hallway, alone. You gave me a scare, sir.”

  “The hallway?” Kearn seemed numb as he acquiesced, his hands fluttering about as though he’d forgotten them. Lefebvre wondered guiltily if he should call back the med. “It—it all seemed so real—” Kearn’s voice trailed away. “And She was a Feneden, Captain. A beautiful Feneden, with tiny hands and eyes the bluest blue.”

  “Such things can appear very real,” Lefebvre said soothingly. “I think you should rest, sir. Perhaps the med can give you a sedative. Things might seem clearer if you relax.”

  Kearn nodded, lying back and closing his eyes. His pursed lips moved in and out, as though he was replaying something said in his sleep. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he lunged up, grabbing Lefebvre by the front of his uniform.

  “No time! We have to hurry!” Kearn said almost frantically. “I must arrange an immediate meeting on Upperside between the Feneden and the Iftsen. I’ve learned what’s causing the difficulty between their cultures. It’s imperative they be dealt with promptly.”

  “Learned? How?”

  Kearn’s expression worked its way from pride to shame and settled on deeply perplexed. “My dream,” he admitted. “In my dream, the Esen Monster spoke to me. She had unique insights into the—the physical nature of the Feneden and why it was preventing them from dealing with the Iftsen.” He paused and shook his head, then looked at Lefebvre pleadingly. “I—I don’t understand how or what happened. Why would she tell me—me, of all beings? Why would she do that?”

  “Anything can happen in a dream, or hallucination,” Lefebvre told him, both amazed and appalled by the risk Esen had taken. “Maybe your subconscious used this—image—to pull the facts together from your research. No matter how you’ve done it, sir, this could be the breakthrough in understanding we’ve all been waiting for. Congratulations.”

  “Congratulations?” It was as if a new person was climbing out of the shell of Lionel Kearn, Lefebvre thought, watching the transformation with awe. Kearn sat up, his shoulders rose and straightened, his head lifted. “Captain Lefebvre.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Have the Feneden meet me on the Vigilant,” Kearn ordered sternly. “We’ll be going directly to Iftsen Secondus to get to the bottom of this mess. Meanwhile,” he hesitated, then went on, “meanwhile, I want an immediate and complete search of this ship and the dome for the Esen Monster and her accomplice. I know. I know,” Kearn said, forestalling Lefebvre’s protest. “It had to be some sort of hallucination—I’ve been under a lot of stress, lately. Too much for any one being to bear. But we have to satisfy the Feneden and find out what’s been happening here. You’ll be in charge of it, Captain, until I’m finished with my diplomatic duties. Then I’ll be back on the Russ’.” There was a definite gleam in Kearn’s eye. “Count on it, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lefebvre said, saluting crisply, hardly daring to hope it was going to work, abruptly wondering if it was like this all the time for Esen and Paul.

  Kea
rn took a couple of steadying breaths, then stood. Gathering himself, he went to the door. Lefebvre opened it for him and stood to one side. As Kearn passed, he slowed, then stopped. “On occasion,” he said very quietly, not looking at Lefebvre, “I have received messages—information—from an unknown supporter in my search. This information has always been very accurate.”

  Explaining a few things, Lefebvre thought. “Should I be watching for more of these in your absence, sir?” he ventured.

  Kearn shook his head, once. “With the—theft—of my supporter’s ‘gift,’ I imagine those messages will stop. But I thought you should know, Captain, just in case. I leave how you deal with any future contact to your discretion.” He rose to his full height. “I have a war to prevent.”

  49: Hydroponics Afternoon

  THERE were five Humans waiting for me in the hydroponics room of the Vegas Lass. Those to my left had faces which swam up from my memories of Paul’s gift. One was an older male, lean, with the look of a working spacer despite being dressed like a diplomat or politician about to greet royalty. The other was female, perhaps the same age, tall and dark, wearing a Commonwealth uniform with comp specialist bars on sleeves and legs, and inscribed on one pocket: Russell III. I found myself pitying Lefebvre and Kearn, carrying a spy with them. I wondered, among so many questions, if either knew.

  Two more stood to my right, these faces from my own past: Tomas and Lawrenk Jen, crewmates from Paul’s original ship, the Rigus III. Tomas wore civilian garb as if planning a night out in some insystem bar. His face matched my memory almost perfectly, though its cheerfulness was suggested only by the creases that usually marked dimples. Lawrenk Jen was now a captain, Commonwealth military, with the Vigilant written in small silver script along her collar. Her hair had silvered along both sides and her face looked less open than I remembered, as though more than my secret had burdened her heart.

  Centered, and I doubted by accident, was the director of this play, Paul Ragem, friend, and now, I realized with a sense of despair, my keeper. He’d taken the time to change, wearing a dark blue shirt against which my medallion shone as though on display.

  Being the worst-dressed being here was not helping my mood.

  I took a step closer, then halted. The tanks were stilled; perhaps to check their depths. All of these Humans, I thought with a sudden, intense shame, would know what to look for.

  Paul opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if, having planned all this, he couldn’t remember the script. The older Human shot a glance in his direction, then took a half step toward me. “Ersh wouldn’t approve,” he intoned, as if he could have any idea what he was saying.

  Or how it insulted my memories and hers to hear her name in his Human mouth. I glared at Paul.

  The words, my icy look, or both stirred Paul from whatever reluctance or outright paralysis had gripped him. He took a matching step forward and nodded brusquely at me before gesturing to the Human who had spoken. “Esen, I’d like you to meet Councillor Sandner, member from Inhaven Prime, Comp-tech Mesa Timri from the Russell III,” the woman, “and you know Tomas and Lawrenk.”

  There followed one of those deadly silences in which no one knew what to say that wouldn’t be catastrophic. I certainly didn’t, never having imagined facing a group of aliens who knew the real me.

  Tomas suddenly grinned, complete with dimples. “Quite an improvement over Old Fang Face,” he said slyly.

  I couldn’t quite smile, but I saw Paul’s grateful look to Tomas. The Human referred to a night I treasured and remembered often, even if I’d never learned to relish the nickname he’d given me on our way to celebrate Christmas. “Less than you’d imagine,” I admitted frankly. “Fussy eater and prone to hysterics.”

  Something eased in Lawrenk’s face. “It’s you, Es?” she breathed, a reassuring hope in her voice.

  Paul was trying to get my attention. I gave it to him and saw his lips form the word “please.” His eyes were almost desperate.

  I nodded, feeling there was very little left to lose anyway, being heartily tired of this form and these filthy clothes, especially since gaining a trail of itchy crabcake crumbs down my torso and leg. Releasing my hold, I cycled, passing through web-form quickly enough they should see only a flash of blue …

  And stretched to my less-than-considerable height in my birth-form, the Lanivarian. Fortunately, I thought, this stomach was empty. I shouldn’t get seriously spacesick for a few moments at least.

  Paul’s companions handled it well. Probably better than I, I thought, gripping this form tightly. No outright fainting, very little in the way of shocked looks. In fact, Tomas and Lawrenk looked openly delighted, like children shown a magic trick.

  I relaxed slightly, by no means pleased to perform for strangers, but happier in a form physically braver and far better at growling. And one I understood thoroughly. I looked cross-eyed down my muzzle. I needed a shave; then again, I needed clothing. Nothing was perfect.

  The thought repeated itself as I looked steadfastly into the eyes of the one being I’d admitted into the Web of Esen, the one I’d trusted to the limits I was capable. My lip lifted over a fang and stayed that way. It wasn’t a smile.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, not working hard at sounding pleasant. They, I reminded myself, had more to prove than I.

  Sandner, not Paul, answered promptly. “We came to meet you, Esen-alit-Quar. We’ve been working on your behalf for many years. When the chance came to greet you in person—”

  This arrangement of Paul’s would never be a Web, I thought wildly, taking an involuntary step back. This Human wasn’t sharing with me; he was lying.

  Paul knew. He put up a hand to silence the other, then offered it to me. “Easy, Es,” he said quickly. “Give them a chance. Please.” To the other Human, he snapped: “Esen is older than your grandparents—she’s spent that time living in secret from us. Do you think it’s a pleasure to meet you? Get to the point, or she’ll leave.”

  I cocked my head to one side, just a bit, listening to Paul’s voice. Controlled, smooth, but defensive. I sniffed. Under various perfumes and the cloying green from the tank, I could detect the scent of stress. Not fear. I flared my nostrils slightly, dipping my snout toward his hand. Anger.

  So, I thought, schooling my face into something more patient. Paul wasn’t totally in charge here. There was a threat to me—and a threat to him. I dropped my jaw in an almost smile. This, I could understand.

  “Forgive any misunderstandings, Fem.” Sandner, without benefit of my senses, still appeared perceptive. “If you would prefer me to be blunt, I will. We came here to observe you. We hadn’t planned our observations to—interfere with you in any way.”

  “You were spying on me,” I corrected. “You took advantage of my leaving Minas XII. But you didn’t expect to get caught.”

  Paul smiled that smile I knew gave our competitors nightmares. “The Vegas Lass was tracking me,” he explained. “It was near the asteroid the entire time. They could have pulled us out of the dome the minute I gave the word.”

  “Gave the word—how?” I asked, struggling to put that horrid experience together with what Paul was trying to tell me. Nothing in the combination made sense.

  Paul flipped over his medallion. I remembered him showing me the tiny scrambler device he’d said was to keep a Kraal sensor from detecting the web-mass within. He’d never said that was all it was. “They were listening, Esen,” explained the person who always swept our rooms for eavesdropping devices. Who better to plant one? I thought.

  I curled my lips back in full threat and would have gladly nipped him if Paul had left his hand in range. “Them, I understand.”

  Sandner looked embarrassed. “Don’t blame Paul, Esen. We—those in this room—gave him an ultimatum. We knew what your kind could do if you wanted to. Paul’s belief in you—after a while, it wasn’t enough.”

  “We had to know for ourselves that you were safe,” Timri went on. “We had to know we w
ere doing the right thing by helping you.”

  “Safe,” I snarled. “As in ways to destroy me. As in testing your trap.”

  “No!” This came from more than one. Paul stopped them with an upraised hand, saying, “Esen, I swear to you, that had nothing to do with anyone here. There was no intent to harm you in any way. It really was Kearn’s trap. Timri says it came from a Kraal backer, someone with the technology to follow the Russell III and obtain Kearn’s results.”

  “So what was the point?” One disadvantage to my Lanavarian-self, in addition to the minor complaints beginning in my stomach in response to the artificial gravity, was a need to pace when emotional. I made it appear relaxed, walking to the railing as though contemplating the smelly, green-stained water. Then I turned, my paws wrapped around the railing so I could lean back comfortably. I could see Paul’s eyes narrow in understanding, and he shook his head the tiniest amount. I agreed. I didn’t want to cycle again, but this form would soon become a nuisance. It seemed wise to stay close to living mass that didn’t have a name. “You listened to us in the dome instead of helping us. Why?”

  “The Web—” Sandner started to say.

  I interrupted him, my ears flat to my skull in full threat. “Don’t ever use that word to refer to this group. The Web of Esen does not contain you. My Web—” I glanced at Paul. He gazed back at me with the oddest look of hopelessness on his face. Foolish Human, I thought with exasperation. I’d rarely agreed with my former web-kin twice in the same day. Did he not know by now the strands of the Web are severed only in death? “The Web of Esen consists of two,” I finished, rewarded by the flash of gratitude in his eyes. I kept my ears back, not done glaring at him.

  “The Group,” Sandner continued, the smoothness of this transition likely more to do with his years in politics rather than space, “thought if you were placed in a situation where Paul’s life appeared to be threatened, and you had a clear target, it would show us—”