"I must get to them—" Even as the words left his mouth, Ragem was moving, running down the slope at a pace sure to break his neck before the Kraosians could shoot him. I snarled and followed, choosing four legs over two for steadier footing.
Ragem's rush took us to the bottom of the hill in a jumble of rock, soil, and noise. I froze, aghast at how close we had come to the area lit by the Kraosian encampment. I could hear voices, smell hundreds of soldiers. At any moment, I expected to be revealed by a searchlight; my flesh quivered at the thought of weapon fire following that betrayal.
Ragem, possessing more courage or less imagination, hadn't stopped. Instead, he was creeping steadily around the edge of the camp, not once looking through it to his ship, so near and so impossible to reach. Shamed, I pulled farther into the shadows and trotted in his wake.
The Kraosian camp was massive, with a chaotic lack of organization that reminded me of Suddmusal's marketplace—was it only yesterday morning? But then, why should this camp be more than a collection of tents, lights, casually parked transports, and the odd bonfire? The Kraosian soldiers were not the real threat. They were there to reassure the Humans, a native welcoming committee obviously incapable of harming a starship. As Ragem had perceived, they were also pawns.
Ragem. Where was he now? I stopped, growling to myself which at least sounded better than whining. Then, to my horror, I spotted him among the tents of the camp, zigzagging through shadow and light, taking chances to reach his ship as quickly as possible. I winced as he stumbled over a line and hunched down beside a pile of boxes. In a blink, the Human was gone again.
I was neither as courageous, nor as desperate; I guessed at where he would come out and aimed my own course to meet him, running with the ground-swallowing speed this form could produce over short distances. The pace drove a cramp into my side. I panted, ears pricked to catch the sound I dreaded, twisting to avoid loose rubble. Then it came—just as I had begun to feel some hope—shouts from inside the camp.
The Human had been discovered.
I slid to a halt, trembling in shadows nowhere near as dark as my thoughts. Now was definitely the time to cut my losses and leave. But the Rigus sat in plain view, vulnerable, ports sealed as a person would hunch over a wound. She was full of unknown and unknowing beings, people worried about their missing companions, but complacent in their technology.
The sense of responsibility crushed me, squeezing out every thought but a kind of dull resentment. All of them, those on the starship as well as the expendable soldiers in the camp, were in my bloodstained and inadequate hands.
Of course, the Humans would listen only to Ragem—in that respect I needed him as much as the Protark. Yet the only shape that could get me inside the camp to find him was forbidden.
Silence, ominous after the uproar of Ragem's discovery, drew me into the shadowed edge of the nearest tent before I thought. What was I to do? The rules I had broken so far were trivial compared to assuming a form before it had been assimilated by the Web. I hesitated, then sagged. I could not force myself to make the attempt. Becoming Kraosian, even to preserve intelligent life, was beyond me.
I accepted the dictates of my conscience with some relief. I had begun to wonder if I was still bound by any rules. Helpless and heartsick, I backed slowly into the shadows then continued to circle the camp. At least I could see what the Kraosians planned. Maybe I would find some way to alarm the ship's crew. And maybe I could fly home, I thought with disgust.
The Rigus towered above the camp, her polished globes and sleek superstructure so complete a statement of technological superiority that I wavered as I gazed at her, doubting for a moment if any of my guesswork about the Protark's intentions was correct. The Kraosians, for all their years of civilization, were barely past caves and firepits compared to the Commonwealth. Yet the evidence beneath the new-formed hillside was a chilling reminder not to underestimate them.
I crawled beneath a parked transport, seeking an unobstructed view back inside the camp. Good. By turning my head, I could also watch the cleared area at the base of the Rigus' still-deployed ramp. Night made a velvet canopy overhead. It was warm, quiet, and expectant.
I didn't have long to wait. A column of officers, led by the Protark himself, marched from between a pair of larger than average tents, soldiers snapping to attention as the party passed. As they drew closer, I saw in their midst a stretcherlike sled, pulled along by a queu. There was no need for the beast; the camp stank with the fuel and oil consumed by their vehicles.
So the queu was a strategy—a deliberately disarming quaintness. I shook my head. The Humans weren't to be fooled by anything so obvious.
I reluctantly turned my attention to the motionless figure on the stretcher. It was Ragem; I knew him, though he was naked and bound, unconscious or likely worse. My lips curled away from my teeth and I actually considered using them on a leg or two. The cavalcade paused right in front of me, booted feet kicking dust to tickle my nose, as the Protark and some of his officers continued on and shouted up to the ship.
I didn't hear what was said, nor did I care. I could see their plan for myself. A tall Kraosian—head, face, and body wrapped in white—walked quickly up from the end of the column. His hands were gloved. The men around Ragem drew well away as he raised a small vial and sprinkled its contents over Ragem's bare skin.
The queu-drawn cart was sent on its way immediately afterward, Ragem its innocent and deadly passenger. The Protark waved it past, getting no closer than he had to, and began retreating slowly toward his camp. I could see the main port of the starship beginning to open.
I really hated acting on impulse.
I tore past the surprised Kraosians, feeling more than hearing a burst of fire close to my heels as they tried to stop me. I lunged at the head of the queu, snapping my teeth, trying to drive it away from the ship and the people starting to emerge from within it. The stupid beast reared in panic and fell, tipping the sled and rolling Ragem's limp body to the ground.
Sliding to a halt, I looked down at my new friend for a timeless instant, watching his chest rise and fall with light, peaceful, unconscious breaths. I knew beyond anything else Ragem would rather die than carry whatever death was planted on him to his crewmates. As a serlet, I could kill him, but it would be futile; how could I prevent his body and whatever Kraosian poison coated it from being taken on the Rigus?
Under the cover of the flipped stretcher and tangled, groaning queu, I gently laid myself on top of the Human's warm limpness and cycled.
The form I chose was the same as that which had released us from the prison cell. In contact with Ragem's skin, the cells of my new body automatically dispersed, coating, entering his every pore. He began to gag as I filled his mouth and nose. I continued, grimly ignoring his convulsions, completing the process of covering but refusing the natural inclination of this form to then begin to feed. Instead, I began absorbing everything my refined sense of taste determined was not Human from Ragem's skin into my own substance. What I gathered, I automatically digested and destroyed.
I sensed movement, hands touching and repelled by what they felt. I knew panic myself then and fought it—I couldn't cycle; the process of cleansing Ragem's skin was not yet complete. Something punctured me, causing intense local pain as it damaged cells. Realizing it was only a breathing tube being thrust into Ragem's mouth, I held on, refusing to defend myself. I would prefer it if he could live.
Then we were lifted and carried—a not unexpected outcome, had I had the time to think through the consequences of my actions. I didn't need the feel of artificial lights, nor the different and metallic taste to the oxygen in the air, to tell me when we entered the bowels of the waiting Rigus. The ship was welcoming back her own—along with an unsuspected, and most unwilling, passenger.
How was I going to explain this to Ersh?
* * *
9: Starship Morning
« ^ »
QUIET, professional voices consulted, pu
zzled, reported—there was always a face peering into this enclosed, sealed place. They had put Ragem's unconscious form in quarantine, locked in a clear box, with precautions taken to the extreme of ensuring that even those outside the seal wore the twinkling aura of personal shields. Given warning, the Rigus' crew seemed deflatingly capable of protecting themselves after all.
Of course, I was in quarantine, too—which I supposed was at least slightly amusing, since I was the reason they really didn't need to bottle Ragem in the first place.
But hours had worn the irony thin. Long after I finished cleansing Ragem's warm outer surface I was still waiting for an unobserved moment in which to detach myself.
Of course, observers were always too close, and too interested. The med staff were particularly concerned about me, or rather about the opalescent slime coating Ragem's skin. Their concern had meant some rather uncomfortable attempts to remove me. These ceased with Ragem's obvious distress as caustic fluids passed through my tissues to scour his bare skin.
At least no one suspected me of being more than a disease. What I needed was a moment when Ragem and I were left alone; all I wanted was a dark corner somewhere by myself. I needed to do some productive brooding.
The ship had left Kraos. There'd been no mistaking the vibration and surge of acceleration minutes after the outer lock closed behind Ragem's rescue party, let alone the klaxons and flashing lights Humans always felt necessary to mark such a moment. The moment I'd been kidnapped, shanghaied, stolen from my work; it wasn't my fault I was leaving Kraos before I was finished.
Ersh would hardly accept that as an excuse. My planning so far revolved around how to avoid facing Ersh at all. I was sure I could hide somewhere on the Rigus. I was pretty sure I could sneak off at her next planetfall. Trouble was, I wasn't the least bit sure how to make my way back to Kraos, now that the Commonwealth had proof visitors were not welcomed by the locals.
Plans come, plans go. I felt the tremors begin in Ragem's flesh; tremors followed by a growing rigidity signaling his return to consciousness. I wasn't the only one to notice. A warning tone from nearby machinery brought a figure to lean over our casing. With a gentle hiss, the lid and side released, floating upward to a resting place against the wall.
"Aiee!" The force of Ragem's scream sent ripples of pain through me. His abdomen heaved, sucking air in through the breathing tube, then another scream tore out of his lungs. Alarms shrilled as Ragem sat up, fingers clawing at me, fighting the restraining hands of the person striving to calm him, to hold him still.
Ragem's terror horrified me. Quickly I gathered my dispersed tissues, pulling free of his skin, even in my desperate haste knowing a tinge of reluctance to leave his warmth. With a shudder, I slid away, plopping onto the floor. There. A crack beneath the bed beckoned. Somehow I pushed my tissues through in a rush and huddled inside what must be a drawer or cupboard.
I could hear Ersh now: After all I had done, what was the point of quivering under someone's spare clothes? I was beyond worrying about her opinion, however. It was that held by the two now-ominously silent beings outside which concerned me.
A slit of light appeared. I touched the hard slickness of the material forming the rear of my refuge and knew it would be far more difficult to pass through than the porous door in the Protark's prison cell—even if I knew where I would find myself on the other side. The slit widened. I felt a warm breath, tasted familiar scents.
"Es. Is that you?" No more than a hoarse, incredulous whisper.
I had never been so astonished by anything in the whole of my life, short as it had been by Web standards. What was this Ragem? Humans were much more adaptable than I had appreciated. Or was this acceptance part of Human friendship?
I extruded a filmy pseudopod, firmed it with an effort, and lightly pushed at the cupboard door. More light came through, almost immediately thrust away by shadow as Ragem's face filled the opening. "It's all right, Es," he said very softly, as though not to be overheard. "Please come out."
This form, regardless of its many other talents, couldn't sigh; I contented myself with a mental version. I flowed out into the almost painfully bright light of what I could now recognize as an ordinary ship's cabin—probably Ragem's own. The sleeping bench on this side was overhung by some complex medical apparatus, blinking frantic warnings to itself as if the medic had neglected to inform it that its patient was again on two feet and independent.
Two feet, independent, and pink verging on red, would be a complete description. My somewhat ruthless first aid, combined with the meds' removal tactics, had stripped away several layers of Ragem's skin. Despite this, I thought he looked well, if tired. His companion, obscured within his shield, seemed less relaxed. "Ragem?" he began, voice cracking on the word. "What—?"
"Who," Ragem corrected, never taking his eyes off me. "Her form is unusual, Tomas, but this gentle, intelligent being has saved my life. And," he added very slowly, "I think she may have saved all of our lives." He held out one hand to me.
I excised the harmless residue of the disease-spores as discreetly as possible before extruding a thinner, wavering pseudopod to touch his fingers briefly. Ragem's intent was clearly to establish my harmless nature immediately, before alarm could spread among his crewmates. Good plan, I thought, but for both our sakes, I hoped no one on board was better acquainted with the Ycl.
"We're on the Rigus," Ragem said to me with a sigh of relief, as if for him that solved all things. I supposed it did. Then he glanced down at his glowing skin. "What did you do to me?" He touched his feet, still red-looking but now free of blisters. "Or do I want to know?"
The man called Tomas laid a gloved hand on Ragem's shoulder, removing it at Ragem's wince. "Can we talk, Paul?" Tomas ventured cautiously, eyes on me.
Ragem took his friend's hand in both of his own. "Tomas—the Kraosians planned to kill every one of us—they'd planned it all along. Their leader, the Protark, told me—" here Ragem's quick intense delivery faltered. "They caught me, you see, trying to get back, to warn you. The Protark gloated of how he could defeat us despite our technology. He said they were going to infect me with the spores of a native fungus, something we couldn't be vaccinated against, something our devices wouldn't detect in time. Judging by what happened to the other ships' crews, it would have been quite—lethal." Ragem pointed to me. "My friend here must have removed the spores from my skin somehow before you or the others could be infected."
"We thought you were infected by—" Tomas broke off, apparently finding it difficult to complete his sentence. I could understand that.
"By my friend?" Ragem laughed, but I could sense a feather of remembered panic in the sound. This second time, I was certain he was avoiding the use of my name. Such a clever being, I thought warmly, then chilled as I wondered what he was anticipating in the future. I'd need my name as a Lanivarian; if Ragem expected me to cycle into that form on demand, he was going to be waiting a few lifetimes.
"I'm not surprised," Ragem continued as I fussed to myself. "I was—startled. But my friend has a habit of finding unusual solutions to problems." His attention shifted back to me. "Did you leave me any clean clothes?"
By way of answer, I flowed to one side, allowing him access to the cupboard. Tomas stared from one to the other of us, unsure who was more alarming, I decided. Meanwhile, Ragem gingerly eased a loose shirt over his head, following this with a footed pair of sleek red pants similar to those worn by his crewmate but bearing modifying stripes denoting his specialty. His skin seemed to cause him less discomfort than its redness suggested. Ragem caught Tomas' stare and stopped in the midst of wrapping a belt about his lean middle. "Don't look so worried. I'm all right, Tomas. And I want to talk to Senior Specialist Kearn right away."
"It's Acting Captain now. And he's been in and out a dozen times," Tomas said with a wan smile. "Took it as a personal affront that his own second was unconscious when the waves are burning with orders to report. Everyone will be glad to hear you've—recov
ered." A slide of his eyes in my direction. "I—" Tomas' voice faded. His next words had nothing to do with me.
"Ragem," he said somberly. "The Kraosians brought out two bodies before you—unidentifiable bodies. With no word from you or Captain Simpson, Kearn wouldn't open the ship; policy was clear enough. Once we had you on board, he ordered lift to parking orbit. But we've all been wondering if there was any chance—if we should have stayed grounded—" Tomas' face was pale and agonized.
Ragem flinched but moved to take his friend's shoulders in his hands. "They were both killed," he said awkwardly. "Luara and Shen felt nothing—it was too sudden, too unexpected. There was nothing I, nothing we, could do to save them. Believe me, Tomas."
"I do," Tomas acknowledged sadly. "I'd hoped for the best, the way one has to, until I saw you, alone and like death itself on that stretcher—then I guess we all knew."
I pressed myself into a small sphere, sharing their grief. It had been a useless waste of life—the Humans, the soldiers at the prison, the serlets, any Kraosians caught in this ship's blast. I found myself consumed by longing for the companions of my Web, for the cleansing ceremonies that acknowledged those whose lives were cut short of their natural end. If we had a worship, it was of the struggling brilliance of life—regardless of form or purpose.
If we had a primeval terror, it was of being the cause of ending that brilliance. I went still to my very core, looking up at the suddenly foreign shapes of the Humans. I was unsure which chilled me more: fear for myself, or fear for what they might force me to do.
"Ragem!" This cry of delight announced a new arrival on the scene. Great, I thought to myself, why not invite the whole crew to meet me, Ragem? "You're better! Thank the—" The joyous smile on the face of the slender woman in the doorway settled into something fixed and unnatural as her eyes fell on me. I waved a pseudopod graciously.
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