* * *
BEHOLDER'S EYE
By
Julie E. Czerneda
Their existence is the best kept secret in the universe—until one Human learns the truth…
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Contents
Out There
1: Moon Morning
2: Planet Day
3: Market Morning
4: Mountain Afternoon
Out There
5: Moon Afternoon
6: Dungeon Night
7: River Morning, Caravan Afternoon
8: Valley Night
9: Starship Morning
Out There
10: Starship Afternoon
11: Galley Evening
Out There
12: Lounge Evening
13: Planet Night
14: Spaceport Night
15: Freighter Morning
Out There
16: Freighter Afternoon and Night
17: Warship Night; Planet Morning
Out There
18: Moon Night
19: Moon Night and Day
20: Station Afternoon
21: Station Night
Out There
22: Station Morning
23: Subfloor Night
24: Starship Morning
25: Starship Evening
26: Hiveworld Twilight
Out There
27: Hiveworld Night
Out There
28: Starship Morning
Out There
29: Nebula Midnight
30: Nebula Afternoon; Colony Night
Out There
31: Nebula Morning
Out There
32: Starship Afternoon
33: Galley Night
34: Shuttle Morning; Cruiser Morning
Out There
35: Cruiser Afternoon; Scout Ship Night
Out There
36: Scout Ship Night
37: Spaceport Afternoon; Shrine Sunset
38: Valley Morning
Out There
39: Inn Evening
40: Shrine Night
Out There
41: Orchard Night; Forest Night
42: Valley Dawn; Spaceport Morning
Out There
43: Galley Evening
Out There
44: Cruiser Night
45: Brig Morning
Out There
46: Bridge Afternoon
Out There
47: Cruiser Morning
Out There
48: Cruiser Afternoon
Out There
49: Bridge Afternoon; Shuttle Afternoon
50: Shuttle Night
Out There
51: Shuttle Night; Moon Morning
52: Moon Morning
53: Concourse Afternoon
Out There
54: Taxi Night
Out There
55: Taxi Afternoon; Colony Afternoon
Out There
56: Colony Night
Out There
57: Colony Morning
Out There
58: Colony Morning: Orbit Afternoon
Out There
59: Colony Afternoon
60: Mountain Morning
* * *
THE WEB
United in their natural form they are one, sharing all their memories, experiences, and lives. Apart they are five, the only existing members of their ancient race, a species with the ability to assume any form once they understand its essence.
Their continued survival in a universe filled with races ready to destroy anyone perceived as different is based on the Rules.
And first among those Rules is: Never reveal your true nature to another being.
But when the youngest among them, Esen-alit-Quar, receives her first independent assignment to a world considered safe to explore, she stumbles into a trap no one could have anticipated. Her only means of escape lies in violating the First Rule. She reveals herself to a fellow captive—a human being. While this mistake might not ordinarily prove fatal, the timing of the event could not be worse. For something new has finally made its way into this Universe, the Enemy of the Web, bringer of death to all forms of life. And the…
* * *
"OUR PROBLEM IS IMMEDIATE. AND NEEDS A DRASTIC SOLUTION."
"Does this mean you are planning to excise me from the Web?"
"Pointless," Ersh responded. "Close the door and lock it."
I didn't see how she did it, but a small rectangular space opened in the rock wall. A puff of mist slipped out and sank. Ersh reached one hand inside the opening, and carefully brought out a well-wrapped object, then resealed the hidden compartment before turning to me.
"Take this."
It was cold, cold and heavy.
"Some might call what you're holding a gift, Esen," Ersh said quite sadly. "You are at least wise enough to know better. Lock the door behind me. We will talk again when you are ready."
I did as she asked. After what Ersh said, I wanted nothing to do with it. But would it do any harm to see what I was refusing?
A smooth, blue drop winked at me, its flawless surface like some fabulous gem. An irresistible hunger surged through me and I snapped up the morsel before I had time to think.
Ersh-taste exploded in my mouth, scalding like acid. I cycled desperately. Web-form. Blind, deaf, and dumb, I huddled as Ersh-memory burned through me. She had been right. This was no gift.
I now knew what I had done. It wasn't the Humans Ersh feared.
The Web had mortal enemies. Enemies Ersh had fled by traveling across a galaxy. Enemies she had hidden from for thousands of years. We'd been safe.
Until I'd introduced myself to a Human…
* * *
The Finest in DAW Science Fiction
from Julie E. Czerneda:
BEHOLDER'S EYE
A THOUSAND WORDS FOR STRANGER
* * *
Julie E. Czerneda
BEHOLDER'S EYE
DAW BOOKS, INC.
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM. FOUNDER
375 Hudson Street New York, NY 10014
ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM
SHEILA E. GILBERT
PUBLISHERS
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Copyright © 1998 by Julie E. Czerneda.
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Luis Royo.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1100.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Putnam Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
First Printing, October, 1998
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT OFF AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U S A
PRINTED IN THE USA
* * *
To Aleksander Antoni Maciej Czerneda
There are many people who have faced challenge and change throughout their lives, but I can't imagine anyone who has faced adversity with such grace, adventure with more gallantry, or indeed has experienced all life offers with so much wonder and joy. My love and this book are for you.
Aleksandrowi Antoniemu Maciejowi Czernedzie
Jest wielu ludzi, ktorzy stawiali czola wyzwaniom i zmianom przez cale swoje zycle, ale nle znam nlkogo, kto przeolwnosol losu przyjmowalby bez gnlewu, szarmanoko pokonywal przeszkody, ozy tez z entuzjazmem I radoscia zakosztowal wszyst-kiego, co zycie mu zaoferowalo. Moja milosc I ta kslazka jest dla Cleble.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My second book! Thank you, Sheila Gilbert, for your belief in me. (And thanks, Debra and Amy, for answering those neophyte questions.) Thank you, Luis Royo, for your wonderful book
covers. We have indeed "connected across the kilometers." Thank you, Scott Sellers of Penguin Canada, for putting so much effort into an unknown. The entire Czerneda family would like to thank Maria Strarz-Kanska for kindly providing the Polish translation of the dedication. And, most importantly, my thanks to all those readers who took a chance on a new author's first book. I hope you had fun with it, too.
I've been overwhelmed by the support I've received this past year from professionals and fans alike. Thank you, Josepha Sherman, for the "Js' Tour," where I learned to spot a bookstore in any language. Thank you, Lois McMaster Bujold, for showing your fans my book during my first pro panel. Thank you, Larry Stewart, artist and friend, for being even more excited than I was. Thanks Allysen Palmer, for my first fan letter, Merilyn Vyse, for offering to be my first fan club president, and to all at Orillia Smith-books. Thank you, Anne Bishop, Alison Baird, Robert J. Sawyer, Ken Day, Barbara Saxberg, and Marion Hughes for your support. And to Guy Gavriel Kay, for explaining how to graciously handle comments from readers, even related ones.
Thank you, Scott Czerneda, for your help in planning the strategy and weaponry used in the battle scenes. You're hired! And thank you to the rest of my family: Roger, Jennifer, my Dad, Tony, Maureen, Colin, Bryan, Philip, Veronika, and Mum. If it seems a long list, it's because I'm one of those fortunate folk who could never give back as much love as she receives.
* * *
* * *
Out There
YOU could die here. Repair shops and the law were a week away, translight. And the hazards of the Fringe arrived in the blink of an eye: a blocked air hose, a cracked panel, a visitor tempted by opportunity.
Of course—flip side of risk—you could strike it rich. You could even live long enough to enjoy it. So you cared for your equipment—and tried for crew that valued their own hides.
The crew of the starship that nestled against the mid-sized asteroid, sharing its skewed orbit around sister stars, knew all this. They lay awake in their bunks, counting on their future, listening to the ship's mauler as it chewed into the metal-rich rock like the teeth of a lamprey into the body of a hapless fish. Few more weeks—the ship's stomach would be full, and they'd all be rich.
Counting on a future in the Fringe was dangerous. That asteroid night, Death came in along the ecliptic, undetected until it cracked the starship's hull and began to hunt.
"Mayday… May—" The screams for nonexistent help ceased almost at once.
The mauler didn't pause. It ground its way deeper, the rich ore tumbling into the holds, that growl the only sound echoing in the empty corridors.
The corridors where Death searched, still hungry.
* * *
1: Moon Morning
^ »
"ESEN-ALIT-QUAR." Those with mouths chanted my name for the third and last time, echoes rattling down the cliff like loose stones.
Welcome home.
I tried to savor the moment, then gave up. There were too many new memories intruding on the familiar. Maybe it was the aftermath of all that had happened, not the least being the return trip from Rigel II. I'd gone from barely escaping with my life to almost being enlisted in a war. About the only good thing had been the relief of being anonymous again.
So now I was home, which to some species meant a birthplace. To me, and those with me, home was wherever the Web gathered. Today's home was Picco's Moon, early morning, and bitterly cold.
Everyone present, except Ersh. I suspected glumly she'd sent the meeting call from her rocky moon the day I'd left on my disastrous mission to Kraos.
"Esen-alit-Quar," intoned the voices again, as if impatient.
"I'm ready," I mumbled, which was technically true.
I stood, tongue loose and panting, and watched the members of my Web take their places around me. Ansky was over to my left. She was agitated enough to be midcycle, more rainbow than flesh, likely radiating heat as she fought to control the energy waiting to be released by her every molecule. No support there. Still, I found it reassuring one of my Elders could be in such a state. Whenever we cycled into other forms, it required a sacrifice of our mass into energy to distort and bend our essential structure, energy that in part remained within that structure, a potential like the compression of a spring. Releasing form, like releasing that spring, had its inevitable results. Learning to return to web-form without damaging the neighborhood with pyrotechnics was the first, basic lesson of our kind. If Ansky was struggling with this, I decided uncharitably, maybe my own recent performance wasn't so bad.
As usual, Mixs had been late, scampering to her place on the six legs of her preferred form. Personally, I found her about as compassionate as the Hive species she lived with most often. There's one who wouldn't forgive a loss of control.
The other two, Skalet and Lesy, stopped chanting my name, abruptly in web-form. They looked revoltingly cheerful. As if none of the others had ever made mistakes, I thought to myself, making sure the memory remained private.
Where was Ersh?
The wind was damp and stank of sulfur. The Web met where Ersh decided; today's decision did not bode well for me. I avoided the cliff edge, knowing from experience that its jagged plunge made me queasy. There wasn't a scrap of vegetation in sight, not that Picco's Moon was overly life-endowed; what there was huddled in the immense cracklike valleys girdling the equator. The rising bulge of Picco itself on the horizon was its usual eye-straining orange and purple. When fully exposed, the giant gas planet's lurid reflection did truly nauseating things to the local landscape. The distant white sun gave up the struggle to produce color except during the occasional eclipse.
But the place was old with tradition. The footsteps, or whatever, of the Web had worn the path up to this rocky pinnacle smooth during the last millennia. It was remembered by all of us as "the peak where truth is shared." There were other, nastier connotations, but I refused to remember them.
A soft thump and shuffle. Then a wheezing sound. The sequence repeated, growing louder. Louder to me, anyway, since I was the only one currently with ears. I watched the edge where the worn stone stairs led to the top.
First the knobby end of a stick appeared, thump, then the wispy gray-haired head of the very, very old Human female using it as a cane. Her breath wheezed in, fluttered as if stuck, then wheezed out again. Her feet shuffled along the rock as if reluctant to part from it.
There were reassuring gasps, twitters, and color changes around me. Ersh, in Human form? She hadn't used it in at least three hundred years—certainly never in front of me. When I was very young, I used to wonder why. When Ersh judged me old enough to share her memory of Humans, I knew.
Ersh's years didn't translate well as a Human. Her steps were as labored as her breathing. She was naked despite the wind, her skin hanging like tatters of cloth on her bones as she made her slow way to the sixth and last place in the Web.
Her bright black eyes found and impaled me. I felt my ears go flat against my head and my tail slip between my legs; I panted as my body temperature soared, an instinctive dump of energy as I fought the urge to cycle. To lose form because of an emotional response would not impress Ersh.
Those eyes were anything but feeble, despite her form. And the other message about Ersh and the Human species was plain before us all, aimed at me, no doubt. Form-memory was unforgiving. Her thin right arm ended halfway above the elbow in a smooth blunt tip—a reminder that as a Human Ersh had sacrificed her flesh rather than cycle before aliens.
No, this wasn't going well. I straightened up. "I'm ready to share, Senior Assimilator," I said as steadily as I could. I released my hold on the molecules of my body with relief, cycling back into my web-form, feeling echoing releases of energy warm the air as Ansky and Mixs did the same. I concentrated on maintaining my outline in the proper flawless teardrop.
No touch, no hearing, no sight, no sense of smell. Yet in my web-form I was exquisitely sensitive to other, rarer things: the complexities of chemical structure, the dizz
ying spin of stars and atoms, the pervading harmony of electro-magnetism. The gravity of the planet was like a deep throbbing heart above me, the moon's a soft counterpoint.
The wonder of it all usually took me a moment to grasp. Today, I almost ignored the change, busy interpreting information about my Web. Skalet and Lesy were struggling to keep their shape integrity, losing it once or twice. Typical—they were easily rattled by Ersh. Then Ersh herself, next to invisible to me as a Human, became clear in all the perfection of her web-form.
I tasted her message in the wind. Share.
This was it. I shunted my private memories deeper within. There was no point taking chances with Ersh in this mood. Then I spread, elongating myself from teardrop to five reaching arms, offering one to each of the other web-forms, keeping central only the minimum mass I needed to maintain personal survival. I sensed their mouths form and open wide, tooth ridges sharp and uneven. They closed in and began to feed.
For an instant, I wondered what beings of other species would think if they could see us now, like this. Could those outside the Web possibly understand? We had no equivalents for words like agony or pleasure. In sharing, the giving of mass has more to do with endurance than pain, and certainly is more like duty than ecstasy. Even for us, being consumed is a fundamental threat to life, and the instinct to cycle and survive has to be fought. How could I explain that winning that battle, to offer life in trust, brings a wonderful joy, an intensity of belonging and acceptance? Without this understanding, all that would be seen was the horror of their feasting.
Why had I thought horror? The urge to flee suddenly threatened to overwhelm me. I kept myself whole by remembering the joy and belonging from other times, holding it like a shield against each hungry bite, each slice of tooth through my flesh.
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