Janet Chase was gone. She and her mercs had arrived in the shipcity, but their transport had been jumped as it passed over the far edge of the Dump. Joel Largas had a reward out—and expressed his personal interest in her capture. Paul and I thought it most likely the combination drove her out-system immediately. Even the Dump didn't have that many hiding places.
As for things hidden, most of our luggage, including the dreadful hats, returned piece by piece from wherever it had traveled without us. There were several odd stamps on the outsides, and a streak of purple slime on the inside of my largest trunk. I sent it all to be cleaned and settled into picking up the threads of my life as Esolesy Ki.
It was on the fourth day, when the events of the past weeks might have seemed like a dream to anyone with a lesser memory, that Paul came into my office and closed the door behind him.
"It's been done," he said, dropping into the chair across from my desk. It was one of his favorites, lumpy and with a fuzzy texture even a Ket might find obnoxious. "All we have to do is visit Diales and set things in motion." Paul yawned, stretching both arms over his head, and slouched deeper into the chair. "Had a great dream last night," he announced, grinning at me. There appeared to be very little of the executive, father, or deep, dark conspirator in him this morning. Humans back in their own beds, I thought affectionately, feeling quite rested and inclined to be cheerful myself.
I showed a tusk. "What about?"
The grin widened. "There was a lab—a really dirty, smelly lab—hidden on a really dirty, smelly planet so far off the beaten track you probably couldn't get spurl if you tried. And in that lab, our good friends Chase and Logan were feverishly trying to get The Messenger to work, full of evil plots to take over the universe and corner the market for those hideous porcelains. Needless to say, they weren't having much luck."
"Porcelains?" I repeated doubtfully.
"Dreams are like that," Paul explained unhelpfully. This entire dreaming business was confusing.
"I like it," I decided after some consideration. The Ganthor were certainly looking for Logan—and would make a considerable noise when they found him, having every intention, I knew, of both celebrating and letting other employers know the penalties for betrayal.
"I have news—it isn't from a dream," I told him contentedly, "but you'll like it. Sandner and Joel Largas have been invited to meet with the Tly Deputy Minister." Joel had described it as a long-overdue bootlicking and, from the look in his eyes, planned some blackmail as well. "High-level negotiations about shipping and Inhaven," I temporized. "It's a start."
Not fooled for an instant, Paul's eyes twinkled. "Joel will have them cleaning freighter holds by the time he's done. I'd love to be there."
"You could go," I said, flicking my ears in his direction.
"Not," he slapped the arms of the chair and rose abruptly, "not until I'm satisfied things have settled. You ready? Diales is skittish about clients being late."
I put an unbeaded bag around my neck, a suitably plain accessory for a visit to the Dump. It had to be in person, given the inconvenient issue of having Diales set the idents to my Lishcyn eyeballs, blood, and bone. Later, Paul would have to reset the system to obey several other biological Esens, something the notorious but respected Diales didn't need to know.
Just then, the com on my desk buzzed. I glanced at the code. "It's for you—from the warehouse."
Paul looked at his chrono and muttered under his breath, but came anyway. There had been several—interesting-occurrences during his absence, including the, to him, mysterious return of some fleeceless Rillian sheep, and I knew he'd be unable to resist finding out what else might have gone awry.
I casually strolled to the office door to give him privacy, then paused to check the fall of my least favorite silks. I flicked one ear. Whatever the call was about, the voice on the other end was certainly excited about something. I watched Paul throw out his arms in exasperation.
I slipped out the door altogether.
While my Lishcyn-self's platter-sized feet weren't good for sneaking, they could cover a fair amount of distance in a dignified hurry. I waved good-bye to the staff, who barely noticed me, and made record time reaching the lift to the aircar parking. No sign of Meony-ro. Even better. His Kraal training seemed to be coming out more and more lately, so I'd anticipated some difficulty avoiding his company. Definitely, I thought again with some satisfaction, not an office clerk. One day, after a large amount of wine, I might ask him why his tattoos were so faded, and why he was in the Fringe.
The Kraal popped his head out of the aircar. Fates and the laughter of cosmic gods, I muttered to myself, was nothing going to work today? I didn't have time to argue with him.
"Meony-ro, I'd like to leave immediately—" I began. "Nothing's wrong," I puffed hurriedly as the Kraal looked alarmed. I supposed my running was a bit out of character, although you'd have to know Lishcyns well to recognize this shambling gait as a run. Ersh, this form was slow. "I don't want to be late."
" 'Bout time you got here," said Paul, coming out from behind the aircar.
How'd he—? Then I noticed the door to the stairs was still open. I managed to slow my momentum in time to stop before running into either of them. "Paul," I said intelligently. "I thought there was some crisis in the warehouse."
He waved me courteously into the aircar, smiling for Meony-ro's benefit, then said for my ears only, "Nice try."
Wei, it had worked once, I thought, tempted to be petulant, but aware I had about as much chance now of getting Paul to stay behind as I had of getting my unhappy first stomach to settle. But I'd tried. There hadn't exactly been a lot of time to prepare. Around ephemerals, I noticed, events seemed to happen considerably faster than anticipated.
As Meony-ro drove us from Cameron & Ki to our meeting place, I thought about last night. Paul and I had shared concerning the Group, as they now seemed to be called. Anything, I'd decided, was better than thinking of that conglomeration of strangers as members of my Web. It had been Human-style sharing, a long, slow conversation over more than one bottle of Inhaven wine, free of apologies. What was done, was done, as Ersh had been overly fond of saying.
And, we'd decided, what was done had to be dealt with. First, a new security system, hence today's appointment in the Dump. Paul couldn't be sure what might have been compromised by those members of his Group who'd felt driven to test my limits, and agreed with my somewhat hysterical wish for privacy. It would have to be state-of-the-art, he warned me. Some of the Group were quite expert in such matters—including those responsible for the definitely illegal treatment Paul had received to protect our secret from truth drugs. Not news I'd taken well, I recalled. He'd tried to reassure me by revealing that every member of the Group had undergone the treatment.
That hadn't worked. I'd felt all of my centuries bearing down as I'd realized how this turned responsibility for their brief lives back upon me. If they'd risk themselves to keep our secret, it was up to me to ensure they never were forced into that position. The Web of Esen protected what lived and thought. To that extent, Paul's Group was part of me now, whether I'd wanted them or not.
Hence the next step. If these individuals were to be the friends and helpers Paul had intended, rather than terrified keepers or worse, I would need to introduce them to Esen, one at a time. Paul, needless to say, hated this idea, but I'd brought him around to my point of view. Taking most of the night—and the wine. He'd been most unhappy. After all, thanks to his betrayal of the rest, their faces were safely in my memory. Paul had carefully ensured that, with the exception of Esolesy Ki's handsome visage and my Ket-, Feneden-, and Lanivarian-selves, the Group did not know mine.
It protected my identity in thousands of forms, but it was a perilous ignorance. No matter how much they believed Paul—who was, beyond doubt, exceptionally persuasive—I knew each needed to see me in order to believe, to understand. It was the unknown that bred nightmares in ephemeral species; I'd had enough of being
a monster. It wouldn't be necessary or wise to show all I could do or become. I wasn't, I'd argued relentlessly, being foolish.
In the end, to convince Paul, I'd cycled into my Human-self. He'd stared at me for a long time, as if I were some apparition, ultimately forced by his own innate honesty to admit that it was this form, this Esen, that no Human could fear. Underestimate, yes. Become annoyingly overprotective, quite possibly. But these were judgments I could live with, if it meant those who knew my secret felt safe from me.
Besides, I thought, a good night's sleep later, peering out at the clouds rubbing the shoulders of the Sweet Sisters, it was going to be a great excuse to travel. Minas XII, however interesting, no longer felt quite enough.
"So, Esen," Paul said in that dogged tone that meant he was determined to get an answer, "why did you try to leave me behind this time?"
I was surprised he'd waited this long, and showed a tusk in amusement. "Leave you behind?"
"Es." His eyes were darkening. Not, I decided, a good sign.
A little honesty usually helped. "I don't care to risk others anymore, Paul-friend," I told him, knowing he'd hear the sincerity in that. My ears flicked back and forth. "The Dump isn't a safe place. I'd have left Meony-ro, too, but he's about as easy to shake off as a Carasian sandtick."
His lips tightened. "Since when was the Dump safe for you?"
"For Esolesy Ki?" I shook my head. "But that's not all I am, is it? If I've learned anything from our—vacation—it's that it's easier to look after myself without you." I heard the words fall between us and knew I'd caused him pain. "Paul, I'm—"
"For a being of your advanced years," he said matter-of-factly, "you still have so much to learn, Es." Surprisingly, he didn't look upset. His fingers stroked feather-soft under my chin, settling my stomachs. I leaned into the caress, half-closing my eyes. "You can't leave friends behind, just to keep them safe. It doesn't work that way."
"I've noticed," I sighed.
Paul took his hand away and pulled open his coat to show me the weapon holstered underneath. "Let me take care of myself," he suggested dryly. "Besides, I bargain better than you do."
I blinked. "You do not."
Before Paul could reply, there was a tremendous concussion. I squealed with pain and covered my ears with my hands as the aircar tipped to one side and began to fall, feeling my scales swell and close together in a protective reflex. Paul clawed free of his safety harness and strained forward to slide open the driver's hatch, revealing Meony-ro, thankfully still conscious, fighting the controls.
I looked up for some reason. Where there should have been a roof was now the underbelly of another aircar, a poorly-maintained and rusty one at that, dripping oils on my head. We spiraled down together, a sickening motion that slowed and finally calmed into something resembling flight.
I drew a shuddering breath, only just realizing I was holding on to Paul's arm with all of the considerable strength of my Lishcyn-self. For comfort, I told myself, refusing to believe I might have instinctively reached for the nearest living mass, unable, in honesty, to dismiss the thought either. I released him with a muttered and fervent apology.
It wasn't really the time for one. I took back all of my complaints to the fates, overwhelmingly thankful Meony-ro was driving; if we were going to land as anything but a projectile, it would be completely due to his talent. I wiped another drip of oil from my snout and braced myself, holding form with a strength that would surely have impressed Ersh.
What impressed me was how Meony-ro not only brought us down with merely a bouncing lurch to the side that landed Paul on top of me for a strangled minute, but how quickly the Kraal freed himself from his seat to climb up to the other aircar, weapon in his hand. Humans didn't react to accidents well at all, I thought, dazedly.
"C'mon, Es," Paul said, hauling at my greater mass without success. He had, I realized, his weapon out as well.
"Not an accident," I concluded unhappily, stirring myself to move, my body—especially my stomachs—complaining vigorously.
"I seriously doubt it," Paul agreed, looking out before jumping through what had been a viewing window.
Jumping. I sighed, considering my present form's capabilities in that regard, which were nil. The aircar above me chose that instant to sink further with a horrendous grind and screech of metal on metal. I didn't wait to find out if that was a natural settling process or if Meony-ro was bouncing around overhead. I squeezed through to the window, looked down to be sure Paul was out of my flight path, and launched myself.
The drop was no more than my height and half again, however there was something about a massive hunk of scales meeting the already shattered surface of a rooftop that meant something had to give. I pulled my right foot free as Paul hurried to help. "You okay?" he asked, letting me balance against his shoulder while I tugged at my left foot. That one had gone completely through the roofing material, somehow making a hole narrower than the foot itself. I wasn't having much luck.
Meony-ro dropped lightly beside Paul. Must be their primate heritage, I grumbled to myself, but accepted his help as well. Between the three of us, we managed to free my foot.
I took a minute to wriggle my toes cautiously, keeping an ear tuned to the Humans' conversation. From their relaxed, but wary stance, we weren't in immediate danger. The aircar that rammed us had been empty.
"It was to bring us down, Horn Cameron," Meony-ro was arguing. "If they wanted you dead, they could have simply packed the aircar with explosives."
At this rate, my scales were going to stay swollen, I thought, envisioning trying to run while my body was wrapped in its version of armor plating. Paul was rubbing his arm absently. I'd likely left some bruises, but at least nothing worse. Under the circumstances, I was rather proud of my self-control.
As for my falling into the roof, shoddy workmanship was definitely a factor—unsurprising, since, once I looked around and noticed, we had crashed almost in the center of the Dump, on one of the long, flat warehouses connecting the grounded starships.
"Why here?" I asked, stepping carefully on a surface that begrudged my mass. The intermittent howls of wind, fortunately dry, seemed frustrated they couldn't push me around as they did the Humans, although what remained of my silks would soon be in tatters. I kept my ears folded to keep out the draft. "If they didn't want us dead—a happy circumstance we owe completely to your skill, Meony-ro—they must have wanted us somewhere."
Meony-ro looked uneasy. The Dump, I thought, did that to reasonable beings. "The corn's functional, Horn Cameron," he offered.
Paul was staring at me. I returned his suspicious look with my most innocent expression. "Let's not put out specifics until we know who's listening," Paul decided. "The crash will be reported anyway." I didn't bother to point out that crashes were reported over Fishertown with remarkable frequency and little result. "There will be someone sent out—if only to check for salvageable parts."
"Like that?" I said, pointing at the sleek, black aircar dropping out of the clouds. I couldn't make out much detail. A cloudy day here was twilight dim to my Lishcyn-eyes. Of course, I really didn't need to see. I'd been expecting something—I'd just planned to meet it on my own.
Paul used some very colorful language. He and Meony-ro armed and raised their weapons with what might have been practiced synchrony. "I take it this isn't good news?" I asked, ducking under the only existing shelter—the tail end of the tangled pair of aircars wedged into the warehouse roof.
"It's Tly," the Kraal grunted as he and Paul joined me.
"So much for your dream of Chase and Logan, my friend," I couldn't help saying.
Paul tore his eyes from the now-hovering vehicle, definitely no aircar but a shuttle identical to those on The Black Watch, and glared at me. His expression changed from grim to an interesting mix of speculation and dismay. "You're finding this funny."
"I am not." Still, it was hard to keep my tusk under my Up.
He began to frown. "Esen. What
have you done?"
"We have a situation here, Horn Cameron," Meony-ro interrupted testily, patently thinking both his employers were crazy.
Considering the number of uniformed Tly pouring out of the now-landed shuttle and heading in our direction, the Kraal had a point. Paul stiffened as a second group stepped out, one of them head and shoulders taller than the rest. "Logan," he said, in as close to a growl as I'd ever heard from a Human.
I began looking around impatiently. The difficulty with ephemerals, I reminded myself, was their sense of timing.
Ah!
A fresh burst of wind sent some of the Tly tumbling, but it wasn't from Minas XII's incorrigible weather. This wind, I noted with intense satisfaction, came from the two large craft rising from either side of this building as they angled their jets to move inward, flanking the Tly.
"Esen?" Paul sounded as though unsure whether to stomp on my foot or hug me. It was, I noted, a conflict he frequently seemed to experience. "Who is—" His words were buried by the ear-piercing thrum of the machines as they landed. I hoped the roof could hold them.
I reached out and pulled both Humans farther back, toward me, a precaution against the wind as well as what might occur in a moment. "You aren't the only one with friends, Paul Cameron," I shouted triumphantly into his ear. "And you aren't the only one with gadgets!" I waggled my bag at him.
Meanwhile, the craft—now clearly visible as Ganthor aerial assault carriers—had stopped moving. Their pilots hadn't trusted the roof either, holding just above the surface. Huge doors along the carriers' sides slammed opened, much like those of a 'digger, revealing row upon row of heavily armed, snout-twitching Ganthor.
They didn't move.
The next sound was the Tly dropping their weapons as quickly as they could, some tossing them right off the roof.
Webshifters 2 - Changing Vision Page 43