Beholder's Eye

by Julie E. Czerneda

  I should have taken my own bet. Acting Captain Kearn was the third figure through the gate, a handful of forms in one hand, and a definitely anxious look on his face.

  * * *

  21: Station Night

  « ^ »

  PREVCRACKERS had wonderful crusty bits along their edges. I fondled mine surreptitiously, conscious that most non-Ket considered food-fondling impolite, but I remembered other manners. Quite frankly, the bite, chew, and swallow part of a meal was simple mechanics to me at the moment, especially in a food-service area designated safe for most humanoids and other theta-class beings.

  No sign of Ragem, yet. I had checked, and the Rigus was loose-docked, ready to move on within hours though its supply list suggested at least one day-cycle at the station. Rumor had the Commonwealth ship here to make long overdue inquiries into the problems along the Fringe.

  Maybe, I thought, caressing a fruit peel. But I'd asked Ragem to take me to Hixtar and Kearn would have overheard through the telltale belt.

  "Madame Ket?"

  I'd been waiting for a Rigus crewmember to approach me and was hardly surprised to receive a properly courteous greeting from a member of a first contact ship. Still, I sighed to myself, did it have to be Willify Guire? I carefully curled my fingers around the hoobit and nodded a greeting to the woman.

  She took the seat across the table, promptly holding out a credit chip. More good manners with a Ket. "How may I serve you?" I asked calmly, confident Willify would not connect this form with the Ycl or Lanivarian she'd met on the Rigus. Which was just as well, since she'd never warmed to me in either form. Being suspicious of a Ycl was a reasonable survival instinct; her polite dislike of my Lanivarian-self seemed to have started with my quite necessary alteration of what had turned out to be her only spare uniform. Nobody'd told me, I thought with a twinge of remembered guilt.

  Her nostrils flared delicately, in what I took as pleased anticipation rather than a comment on the remains of my lunch. "Not only myself, madame. There are several on my ship who would appreciate your service. We've had a—difficult—mission recently. Word that a Ket was on-station and practicing her profession caused quite a stir, especially among those like myself who've experienced the wonderful work of your people."

  Too perfect? I dismissed my doubts, having deliberately chosen this form to attract Human contact. "This Ket is yours," I replied, after touching my credit chip to hers to verify it. We Gropers were always careful about new clients.

  The Rigus was subtly different to my Ket senses, textured, curved, altogether more sensuous. The ceiling was definitely lower. I remembered scents, machine and living, but they were irrelevant to this form, as were certain colors. Willify left me alone in the lounge to wait, giving me time to stroke the cool metal walls, and investigate the upholstery of the couches and seats. There was already a pad with a sheet covering it on the floor. I settled myself in a glorious chair of flecked mock-velvet and reluctantly settled my hands around the hoobit.

  My first client was the Modoren. If the security officer was checking my credentials on behalf of the crew, he left convinced. Having been a Modoren myself recently, I soon had him relaxed into a limp pile of fur, utterly a throaty, almost soundless purr. I needed time to suck my poor fingers before my next client—that lovely fur was as coarse as wire.

  Two female Humans came in next, together. I waited more or less patiently for them to sort out who would be first, using that uniquely Human affectation of each insisting on the other.

  When they left, smiling contentedly, I rearranged the sheet then stretched, arching until the back of my head lightly touched my heels. Bidirectional hip joints were not a bonus in this gravity—much more standing around and I'd trade this form's lovely flexibility for a locking pelvis in an instant. I rolled myself upright, then turned my neck gently around from side to side, hearing little clicks of strain as my overtaxed spine moved through its full range to allow me to gaze pensively over each shoulder. No luck with conversation yet. The Modoren had puffed and purred, while the Humans had talked to each other.

  "Are you still taking clients, Madame Ket?" said a soft voice from behind me.

  I was barely able to keep from whirling around, which would not have been a Ketlike response. Instead, I grasped my hoobit, very tightly, and turned with dignified grace. "This Ket is available," I replied.

  Ragem could use a good massage, was my first reaction to his hunched, raised shoulders and strained-looking face. Here was one of the costs of my visit with humanity: Ragem wore the plain blue coveralls of an ensign, without specialty bars or rank to be seen.

  "Madame?"

  I released my death grip on the hoobit and waved at the pad by my feet. "Please make yourself ready, sir."

  He unfastened the upper half of his uniform and shrugged it off his shoulders, before stretching out on the pad with a sigh. Most Humans preferred a full body massage, but it wasn't my place to argue.

  I stood over Ragem before relaxing into the balanced crouch that brought my knees up to my shoulders and my hands to the floor, feeling oddly like a spectator until my long supple fingers began lightly testing the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders. Then pleasure that was more than my Ket nature surged up my arms. I pressed my fingers deep into the warm skin of my friend, content to have this uncomplicated moment to free him from pain, if only temporarily.

  I worked down the sides of his spine, knowing exactly where to find the pressure points to relax and soothe his tension. He groaned with astonished relief, his eyes closed as my Ket hands worked their magic. A shame Ragem hadn't opted for full body. I pushed suggestively downward on the fabric of his uniform, then froze as my fingers touched the hard slickness of the belt locked against his skin.

  Ragem rolled like a fish, and I had to hop to avoid being knocked over. He lay on his back and looked up at me. "Just the waist up, please, Madame Ket."

  They'd put a telltale on him. This man who had tried to save all their lives was being treated like some criminal.

  Did this mean all his friendships were lost? Had I ripped him from his Human web in my flawed efforts to be his friend, too?

  The Human misunderstood my hesitation. His cheeks reddened and he began to rise.

  I placed my hand, fingers spread, on the warm hardness where bone protected his heart. "Wait," I said, trying to keep my voice cool and professional. "This Ket is not finished."

  Ragem settled again as I stroked the tightness from his chest and shoulders, but I no longer took any pleasure in my task. His ribs were too close to the skin. His unhappy state, though my fault, was beyond my ability to repair.

  "What is your use-name, madame?"

  I kept my hands moving over his arm, there was nothing significant in his low voice—this was typically when clients began conversations, sensing their time was almost up and hoping to prolong the pleasure of a Ket massage.

  Still, only Ragem would ask something inconvenient. I glanced down at the hoobit to check my name, knowing it would be foolhardy to assume he couldn't read the Ket script. "Nimal-Ket, sir."

  "Any news from the Fringe, Nimal-Ket?"

  Gossip was another Ket stock-in-trade. "There is fear, sir," I replied, moving to his other arm. "Talk of danger to those in ships and even to those planetborn."

  Ragem's muscles tensed, and I pursed my lips in a Ket frown. "This Ket suggests another topic if this news will undo the good I have done, sir."

  "No, no. This is important." Ragem tugged his wrist from my fingers and sat up. "Can we talk more about what you've heard about this? Please, Nimal-Ket?"

  As a Ket, I should be annoyed by having my client end the session, so I scowled ferociously at him and soothed my rejected fingers on the hoobit. As myself, I was reassured by the spark in his eyes, so dull before. "If it is talk you wish, sir," I said grudgingly, eyeing the door to the lounge. "But this Ket has other clients."

  "A moment only." Ragem courteously offered me his hand. "Sit with me."

&
nbsp; His good manners eased my Ket nature. So invited, I let my fingers explore the palm of his hand as I echoed his cross-legged position on the pad. Ragem extended his other hand, stopping just short of the hoobit swinging from my chest. Quite overcome by his excellent understanding of Ket ways, I nodded. Ragem closed his eyes and ran his fingers lightly over the textured pendant. Since liberties were to be exchanged, I fluttered my fingers over his face, enjoying the bristle of his chin almost as much as the fine lashes of his eyes.

  "Such exquisite politeness," I said warmly, once the moment of sharing passed. "I am honored by your knowledge of my kind. This Ket would know your use-name, Human, so I may share it."

  Ragem almost smiled. "Paul," he said. "Paul-Human," he corrected himself. "And I am honored, too, Nimal-Ket."

  "You wish to know more about the Fringe and its rumors, Paul-Human," I shook my head. "This Ket has heard nothing pleasant."

  "We know about the ships found without their crews—and the miners and others missing. The official story up till now is that it's escalation of the conflict between Garson's World, Inhaven, and the Tly System. Those governments have denied it, as you'd expect." His pause was ominous. "But, this time, we believe the protest—there's more going on. What have you heard?"

  "Beings on this station talk of something evil, a thing that seeks out intelligent life and consumes it," I said, then temporized. "Many races explain disasters with such tales."

  "Perhaps with good reason, Nimal-Ket. Do they say where this evil comes from?"

  "No one knows. But one captain told me it first appeared at a distant point in the Fringe, passed through a Tly mining cluster, and most recently affected ships near Garson's World." I wriggled my fingers dismissively. "There have been battles between those of Tly and Garson. This Ket sees no reason to invoke some mysterious monster," I finished, then found myself abruptly wondering.

  Ragem sighed. "It's been kept quiet so far, Nimal-Ket, but you'll see it on the screens today. Inhaven's colonies and Garson's World have been heavily blockaded by the Tly. It's gone on for months. Things have changed for the worse," Ragem's voice was somber. "The Tly have sent warships to Garson's World in response to what they've called attacks on the blockade. The Commonwealth experts fear they are going to strike at the planet itself."

  "Murder!"

  "The Tly media prefers the word resolution," Ragem corrected, holding my eyes with his.

  The hoobit gave little comfort as I closed my eyes and rocked in place, humming to myself. Foolish destructive beings—were their lives not short enough? This was why the purpose of the Web was so essential. The pattern of extinction at each other's hands was too common. If Garson's World fell, the Web alone would remember the folktales of its people. We would remember the raw exuberance of its settlements, the smell of hops and syrups at harvest, the…

  "Madame?"

  With a shudder, I came back to myself, this form, and this place. I looked at Ragem, recognizing that sharp look of his with dismay. Now I was his focus. A true Ket would hardly blink at such news, being a very self-absorbed race. "It has been a long day for this Ket, Paul-Human," I said quickly but steadily. "And your news does upset me. Garson's World contains many—valued clients."

  Ragem rubbed one hand over his face, then nodded. "My apologies for being so abrupt, Nimal-Ket. I realize how important your clients are to you. We must prevent any more loss of life, whether by war or this evil you speak of."

  "Yes." Keeping one hand on my hoobit, I placed the other over his heart, feeling its beat through my palm, my six supple fingers spanning the whole of his chest. Its warmth was unexpectedly comforting. "If this Ket can help, you need only ask, Paul-Human."

  Again Ragem's eyes narrowed slightly. Before he could react further, I said firmly, "This Ket will explain why I am so eager to take up this challenge, Paul-Human, since you know enough of our ways to find this unexpected. Ket-Prime is not far enough from the Fringe to ignore this danger moving through it. As one whose pouch is not yet ready to fill with life, this Ket must take action against any threat to those blessed." Too true, I thought, aware of the terrible vulnerability of a species whose reproduction was limited to one planet. The Ket ensured their traditions and privacy by becoming fertile only when old enough to retire to their home world.

  If the image of my less-than-powerful form as a protector of the innocent amused Ragem, he was far too tactful to show it. Instead he touched my hoobit with two fingers and bowed his head slightly. "As must we all, Nimal-Ket," he said quietly.

  We stood. I didn't want him to leave, but what could I say? Perhaps Ragem felt the same way, for he smiled up at me and said: "If we stay docked long enough, I hope you are available again, Nimal-Ket."

  I fluttered my long fingers to show amusement. "Your ship's credit is adequate, Paul-Human. This Ket is gratified to serve."

  Once the door closed behind Ragem, my aloneness returned like the cold whisper of wind over skin. I increased my body temperature but still shivered. The cold was inside; for all my years and Ersh's training, I had no idea how to warm myself again.

  * * *

  Out There

  DEATH paused near a system full of life, tempted. The nearest planet was ringed with starships. No obstacle to its hunger. Still it hesitated.

  Suddenly, flares and bursts of soundless explosions dotted the cloud-swirled planet like rot on a fruit. White clouds turned black and red; the dark side of the world blazed with the light of a thousand fires.

  Starships wheeled away in formation, then blinked from view as they engaged translight drives.

  Death soared over the dying world. Nothing left. It tasted the trail left by the fleeing destroyers. Death turned and followed.

  * * *

  22: Station Morning

  « ^ »

  "—A Lanivarian, no less!" Station Chief of Administration Griffin laughed so hard after this that I suspended my hands in midair for a moment to let his generous flesh stop shaking.

  "This Ket was surprised to see the notices, sir," I made the understatement quietly, continuing my work on a back that would have made two of Ragem's. "And you say this being is the danger that has so frightened the people of the Fringe systems?"

  Griffin almost choked. "I say nothing of the kind. This man Kearn is out of his mind, that's what I say. We're up against a military uprising less than two days' translight from here, and they send us a nut. You know, this is the third time he's docked here in the last week. I swear he's worse each time!"

  I had to rework the tension from his upper shoulders, wishing I could do the same for myself. Ersh had been right, I thought. She'd just underestimated how quickly my little escapade would produce further disaster. "And this Lanivarian he seeks?" I asked.

  "Esen Quat something," he grunted. "It's all nonsense. There's never been a Lanivarian with the stomach to travel this far. And look at the pictures Kearn's had his crew spread over my posting boards! Explain to me how this, this pup! could be responsible for gutting ships in the most miserable area of space ever explored!"

  "This Ket has seen the image, sir. I must agree, the being appears unlikely to be the villain they say. But surely this Kearn brought proof?"

  I struck a particularly tight muscle and he sighed gustily. "Wonderful hands, you Gropers. Sorry. Ket."

  "A name is but a name," I said politely, thinking, as all Ket, that a name was everything—which was why only our use-names were shared with the always untrustworthy non-Ket. It was an attitude I valued highly, given my present situation. "Is there any evidence concerning this Esen?"

  "Classified, he says. Secrets. Eyes only. This Kearn is buried in some vid-fantasy and wants us all to play. Well, I put up his signs; maybe that will shut him up. We have bigger problems. A little more on that side, please. Ummmm."

  Although rooms were at a premium, due to the number of ships scurrying to the protection of the station, I'd had no trouble trading my services for a simple cabin. I peeled the Ket symbol from the door
of my rented room after Griffin left, having enough to think about for the moment.

  So Kearn had labeled me as the probable cause behind the deaths occurring in the Fringe. Whether others took him seriously or not, my name was literally up in lights in every hallway. It was pure luck that I'd confronted him as a member of the one species no one in their right mind would believe a threat to other worlds. I'd been quite happy to reinforce the opinion of stationfolk and spacers alike: the man was crazy. The resultant undercurrent of resentment against the Commonwealth ship was something I was less happy about, but could live with.

  I ordered a lunch to be delivered. Four walls felt safer, for the moment. Then I pulled out the station newsmag and studied the chart plastered across most of the front page. Missing ships, unconfirmed attacks, all parts of destruction on a growing scale. Unfortunately, some markings were in colors that barely registered to my current vision. But the headline was clear enough. Mystery Death On Course to Panacia—Hixtar Spared!

  Panacia. A system barely touched during the settlement of the adjacent Fringe by Human and other mining concerns. Three planets of the fifteen circling its swollen star buzzed with life, beginning with Panacia's Hiveworld, the heavily populated D'Dsel, birthplace of Panacia's insectoid intelligence.

  It was Mixs' chosen home.

  It could be coincidence. There were always new and strange discoveries when species first met or unfamiliar areas of space were explored. The Humans might simply have troubled something better left alone. Or it could be war, better disguised than most. Or…