Webshifters 2 - Changing Vision

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Logan shook the device. It lengthened and began to make a hissing sound. A blister stick.

  Paul tried to shove Lefebvre out of his way. They had to be related, I decided. Certainly they showed the same lack of sense when it came to avoiding danger.

  Enough was enough. I reached into the locker and threw the main power switch, plunging the room into pitch darkness.

  It was a good plan. I heard a tremendous splash as I hurried forward, one hand on the railing so I wouldn't join whoever was already swimming in broth, congratulating myself on my timing.

  Then again. The emergency lighting came on at the same moment a wet hand wrapped itself like a band of steel around my leg and dragged me into the tank.

  "Welcome, Ghost."

  The liquid lapped about Logan's waist; it would have reached my chin, but he'd switched his grip from my leg to my hair to yank me up from under the water. I hung from his hand, tears of pain in my eyes, and thought quite seriously of the living mass now drying on my arms and swirling past my legs.

  Paul's "No, Bess!" came right about the moment I'd thought of the ideal form. I rolled my eyes to glare at him.

  Perhaps I was being hasty, despite my current discomfort, I decided. The steady aim of the biodisrupter in Lefebvre's hand was a factor I hadn't considered.

  "Let her go," Lefebvre ordered. "Now."

  In answer, Logan swept me up in his massive arms and held me cradled against his chest in a parody of care that would have been more believable if he hadn't been squeezing the breath out of this form. I glared harder at Paul, wondering how much of this he expected me to put up with, and raised my body temperature to cope. "Shoot me, then," Logan suggested. "Maybe the ghost won't die."

  Lefebvre's aim didn't alter. "You aren't leaving with her," he stated.

  Logan ignored this, looking down at me, his eyes hard and triumphant. I didn't care much for his breath either. "Real. I knew you had to be real."

  "You'd be surprised," I muttered with what little air I had in my lungs.

  Most Humans couldn't have done what he did next. Logan waded to the side of the tank and, keeping me against his chest as a shield, climbed out using one of the jet intakes as a step, lifting his leg easily over the rail. I found myself amazed Paul and Lefebvre had managed to throw this behemoth into the tank in the first place. Perhaps they'd just dodged and Logan tripped himself.

  Paul walked over to the door and stood in front of it, his eyes hard as ice. "Put her down, Logan."

  Logan obeyed, setting me down in front of him with his hand curled loosely around my neck. For the first time, I felt a twinge of personal fear and my temperature began soaring out of control. He could conceivably snap my spine before I cycled from this shape. I could die, I thought in disbelief and with a certain amount of aggravation. The alternative, to cycle before he tried, meant exposing my web-self to his eyes and Lefebvre's.

  As if reading my thoughts, Paul said very softly, "Careful, Bess," which probably seemed an odd thing to say, given the situation as Logan and Lefebvre likely saw it.

  "You don't need her, Logan," Paul said next. "I'll tell you what you want to know."

  At this, Lefebvre—who'd joined Paul in front of the only exit, keeping his weapon aimed at Logan for whatever good he thought it might do in the present standoff—nodded as if unsurprised. "You heard him," he said.

  Logan shifted his hand to my shoulder, engulfing most of it and my upper arm. I swallowed tentatively, resisting the impulse to feel my throat. "All right, Ragem. Where is the Kraal's living weapon? You took it, didn't you?"

  "Yes. I was working with the Kraal." I took comfort from Paul's expression, there being something in the combination of intent gaze and deliberate calm reminiscent of several instances in which his gifts had exploded in my face. "What you want is on an asteroid in the Iftsen System."

  Logan laughed, a chilling derisive sound. "You'll have to lie better than that, Ragem. The Iftsen have no weapons. Or need for them."

  "They do now. You know about the Feneden—Rudy would have told you." I saw Lefebvre's lips press into an even grimmer line at this reminder. "They've been raiding Iftsen Secondus. Why do you think Kearn is so ready to deal with the Feneden?" Paul continued. "He's not after me—he's after what he thinks is his monster." A dramatic pause. "We both know what it really is. A biological weapon of unheard-of power. And the Iftsen have it. The Feneden—and Kearn—are going to try and get it."

  "The Iftsen." Logan rolled the name over his tongue. "You're telling me you no longer have this weapon. They do?"

  "They needed something deadly—and now—to deal with the Feneden's attacks. That's why they brought me to their ship—to arrange delivery." Paul paused. "Let her go. I'll give you the exact coordinates."

  Logan's hand slipped caressingly down my arm, making me shudder. "Horn Ragem. Really, you remain such a fool."

  "He can't let her go, Paul," Lefebvre said angrily. "Don't you see? How else can he control us?"

  Since I was reasonably sure Paul was more worried about controlling me, I didn't view this as much of a concern, although I found myself quite warmed by Lefebvre's inclusion of himself.

  Then, with the sort of artless symmetry many species called luck, the Vegas Lass chose that moment to remind us we were not, in fact, alone.

  A shrill, doubled whistle sounded, accompanied by a strobelike increase in the lighting intensity: the proximity warning, usually a signal to the freight handlers to head midships to prepare for the exchange of cargo with an incoming ship. I presumed, in this case, it signaled the arrival of the ship I'd sensed earlier. Such a routine docking did not bode well for it being rescue.

  Logan, who perhaps knew more about this than I, picked me up, wrenching my arm painfully in the process. At my cry, Paul rushed forward and Lefebvre looked torn between guarding the door and helping us.

  I blew up.

  It wasn't my fault. I'd done my utmost to control the urge to cycle, but the stress of the conflict was too much to bear. All the energy building up as my molecules resisted their imprisonment in this shape released simultaneously.

  Feeling much better, I scrounged enough living mass from the puddles on the floor to return to Human form within a heartbeat and peered around to see what had happened.

  Logan wasn't dead. Thank Ersh. I had no wish to see him live, but I also had no intention of becoming a murderer. He appeared somewhat bent, hanging unconscious over the railing. A little discomfort served him right.

  I went to check on the other two. Paul must have had some inkling—he'd managed to cover his face and duck, so only his clothing and arms were blackened. He shook his head at the sight of me, then shrugged off his shirt with a wince and tossed it into my hands. I took it, putting it on as I waited for the groaning, sooty lump that was Lefebvre to look up.

  There were several ways this could go, I thought uneasily. It didn't make me feel any more confident to see how Paul's hand snaked out and surreptitiously recaptured his weapon from the floor.

  Lefebvre blinked like an owl, the whites of his eyes startling against the ring of black coating his face. He rolled to his feet and faced me in a lithe movement that brought Paul to attention, his own eyes narrowing dangerously. Another of those pivotal moments, I noted, wishing to have avoided this one altogether.

  "Kearn's Monster," Lefebvre named me, breathing heavily and teeth flashing in an unidentifiable grimace. "You're Kearn's Monster. The Esen Monster."

  "I'm no such thing," I answered primly, still trying to do up the shirt. "I'm a sensible, civilized being." I ignored a choking sound from Paul.

  Lefebvre appeared to consider this statement for a moment, then tilted his head, still staring at me. "Do you—explode often?" he ventured, as if fearing a repeat performance.

  I felt my face heat up, blushing being another Human inconvenience. Beside Lefebvre, Paul visibly relaxed, a smile starting at one corner of his mouth. I glared at him. "Of course not," I snapped. "That was an unfortunate accide
nt. I was a little stressed at the time, if you remember?"

  Like someone in a dream, the Human walked over and reached out his hand as though to touch me, then dropped it to his side. "I didn't believe in you," he admitted, appearing as embarrassed by this as I felt about my indiscretion.

  Paul's voice had definite laughter under it. "Rudy Lefebvre," he said formally. "Meet the remarkable and utterly unique Esen-alit-Quar."

  "Es," I informed my new Human friend, "for short." I held out my hand and, after a brief pause, Lefebvre took it in the warmth of his larger one and began to smile broadly—a striking effect on his soot-streaked face.

  "Now," I said briskly, relieved to have passed this hurdle without further mayhem but knowing the next lay beyond the locked door. "May I have your belt, please?"

  Elsewhere

  « ^ »

  WITH any luck, he'd soon face the Esen Monster.

  At the thought, Kearn rolled over and keyed up the light in his cabin. He pulled the blankets higher on his shoulders, a cold sweat having broken out all over his body. It wasn't easy getting to sleep these shipnights. It wasn't easy waking up either, so he'd had to stop using the sedatives.

  Fifty years of searching and failure—of mockery. Victory and vindication in one!

  So why was he terrified?

  Timri assured him the Russell III was armed and ready. Sas was quivering with delight—and allergy medication. His Kraal backer had confirmed the Monster's vulnerability. They could kill it, Kearn reminded himself, curling his body into a miserable ball.

  But no. He had to risk his life and catch the damned thing.

  His mysterious backer had been most—adamant.

  The Feneden, Kearn knew, weren't going to like this modification to their common goals. They'd responded to the idea of confronting and destroying their culture's legendary demon with what amounted to religious fervor.

  The ship would land on Iftsen Secondus in the morning. N'Klet had locked herself in her cabin, citing a lack of guidance from her Queen and her determination to avoid participating in anything Kearn had planned. There would be Panacian ships in the Iftsen system to take her home. Kearn looked forward to that.

  The Esen Monster was a different story. He whimpered and pulled the blanket right over his head, leaving on the light. He'd spent fifty years chasing down the creature.

  He just knew their meeting was not going to go well. Not well at all.

  Chapter 30: Hydroponics Afternoon

  « ^ »

  NATURALLY, the belt was too long. My next form would be one that considered an earring or two to be well-dressed, I promised myself. Paul helped me loop the ends so I wouldn't trip, while Lefebvre stood with his ear to the door. None of us expected a very long reprieve.

  The Humans had cleaned themselves, after a fashion. The cells had again settled to the bottom of the tank, so they'd been able to splash relatively clear water over themselves. Lefebvre had found some cabling in a locker to tie up Logan. I glanced over to where the giant lay against one wall. Considering it had taken both Paul and Lefebvre straining at their limit to haul him off the railing and secure the cables around his arms and body, I was just as happy Logan remained unconscious.

  Paul stood, looking down at his former tormentor. I watched him, understanding all too well the rage and revulsion making the muscles on his bruised arms and back shudder. He reached down to unclasp his medallion, careful not to touch the other Human at all, as though any contact between them would snap Paul's mastery over himself. I doubted any other Human I knew, including Lefebvre, could have succeeded as well.

  "Es?" he handed me the medallion, stooping so I could put it back around his neck, soot stains and all. "Thanks, old friend."

  Old friend. Is that what he still thought of me? Despite our situation, and the real need to do something about it, I put my hands on Paul's forearms to keep him close. "How long have you know this was me?" I asked him.

  "Known? Not long." He smiled, then bent his head to press his lips gently on my forehead. "I've suspected for many years, Esen. You told me you would be yourself, no matter what your shape. But you kept finding valid reasons not to use certain forms, so I started keeping track, just out of curiosity."

  Excessive curiosity, I grumbled to myself, but kept listening. Lefebvre was paying attention, too, looking fascinated and appalled at the same time. I felt much the same.

  "All of them had one thing in common: visibly distinct younger stages," Paul continued. "That didn't quite answer the question, until I had some experience with my own youngsters and began to notice some—behavioral signs," he said with a chuckle that invited me to share, rather than mocking me. "I confess, I wasn't sure you were this young until it was plain you'd never molted as a Panacian before."

  "My age is relative," I said stiffly, lifting my hands from his arms.

  "I know," he answered quickly, as if concerned about my reaction. And so you should be, I thought, once I know what it is.

  Lefebvre started to say something, then stopped, shaking his head as if he'd decided he didn't want to know.

  I frowned warningly. "I'm not a little girl." Well, to be technical, I was, I reminded myself honestly, but that wasn't the point. Or rather, it was.

  "You are almost six hundred years old and not Human," Paul said. "I understand that—"

  "Really?" I asked. "As a Human—and an adult—you have biological imperatives hardwired into your very being. Trust me, Paul, I know about such things. I never wanted to be Human with you—to have those instincts affect our Web, our friendship." This last came out past a lower lip that had started trembling. My eyes were filling up with moisture again. "See!" I complained bitterly. "This form is—" my voice broke in frustration.

  Paul nodded. "I don't deny I feel protective. And proud. But that's not biology alone—you know I feel those things all of the time, whether you have fangs, fur, or scales." His eyes gleamed. "Not to mention aggravated, confused, impatient—"

  My lips stretched into a smile, as he'd meant them to. There was that about both of us being Human—this cell-deep connection between us that couldn't exist when I wore any other form. It was seductively like sharing.

  It was so much less. I was suddenly more alone than I'd ever been, a desolation so piercing I almost cycled to try and find my own kind. I'd understood the dying Ganthor too well.

  Whatever Paul read in my face, it made him wrap me tightly in his arms. "I know, Es," he murmured into my hair. "It isn't enough. I'm sorry."

  "If you know that much, my Human friend," I said, bearing the embrace because it comforted him and my Human-self. Perhaps, I confessed to myself, it comforted something in Esen as well. "If you know that, you know how much I wish it were."

  There was a knocking sound.

  "While I hate to interrupt," Lefebvre said dryly. "We do have some problems a little more pressing."

  "Yes, of course," Paul replied, ruffling my hair as he released me and went over to stand by Lefebvre at the door. "Esen?"

  "It's Largas, or it isn't," I said with a shrug.

  "There's only one way to find out," Lefebvre said briskly. He held the blister stick with what looked like expertise, while Paul stood ready with his unfortunately permanent form of persuasion. I moved to stand so I couldn't be seen immediately by someone entering, but didn't bother hiding. It wasn't as though I could hide the others with me, I told myself.

  Paul unlocked the door.

  Meony-ro, looking every bit Kraal military and not at all the happy-go-lucky party goer of my more recent acquaintance, took a long step inside, sweeping the muzzle of a very unpleasant-looking example of the latest in nonprojectile rifles with a smooth twist of his body. The muzzle settled itself pointing toward Logan.

  Even his speech patterns seemed to have undergone this metamorphosis, becoming clipped and curt: "Received your message, Horn Cameron." I thought Meony-ro paled ever so slightly as he looked at Paul and saw the abundant signs of abuse marring his face, neck, and
upper body. His voice hardened. "We have this ship."

  Lefebvre didn't even blink on hearing yet another name for his infamous cousin. "What about the 'Watch?"

  Meony-ro looked to Paul, waiting for a nod before answering: "The Tly cruiser has remained a nonparticipant." He paused. "Sir, we have not been able to locate Fem Esolesy Ki. Do you know if she's all right?"

  Paul gave a great sigh, staggering and then catching himself. "The Fem was never involved in all this, Meony-ro, thank you for your concern. She's safe and waiting for me on Iftsen Secondus. This is Captain Rudy Lefebvre of the Russell III," he indicated Lefebvre, who'd wisely put away his stick. The Kraal's weapon began to lift, and Paul added hastily: "A fellow captive and friend. I owe him Clan Debt."

  Meony-ro let his rifle rest on its shoulder sling, aiming it with his left hand while pressing the fingers of his right hand to the faded tattoos on each of his cheeks—the indelible marks that linked Clan to Clan among the family-conscious Kraal. Clan Debt was something that maintained itself through successive generations, had frequently spawned wars, and was considered by the Kraal to be the only meaningful currency between individuals of honor. By invoking it, in Meony-ro's eyes Paul had basically adopted Lefebvre and any offspring he might have—or had—into his family.

  Considering what Lefebvre knew, I thought practically, we might as well.

  The Kraal looked interrogatively in my direction. I waved. "My niece Gloria," Lefebvre volunteered, impressively quick on the uptake. "And that's the one responsible for Horn Cameron's present state," he added, pointing at Logan.

  From Paul's immediate frown, I knew he hadn't planned to tell Meony-ro for reasons that were abundantly clear as the Kraal went over to the unconscious Tly and rammed the mouth of his weapon into the approximate area of Logan's stomach.

  "No!" Paul ordered. "We may need him." Meony-ro's expression was definitely doubtful, but he listened.

  "First things first," Paul went on, looking more and more like a being on the verge of collapse. "Let's get out of here, get Logan locked up, and see what our status is. Then we need to head to Iftsen Secondus as quickly as possible."