Hidden in Sight (45 page)

“But when Sybil kept looking,” Rudy went on as Kearn stopped, “she found her enemy was more than extraordinary.” He swore softly. “I don't like this, Lionel.”

“You'll like it even less when I tell you who we might be dealing with.”

Rudy didn't see the triumph he expected. Instead, Kearn looked troubled. “You know? Who?”

“I don't know. I'm taking a wild guess. But fifty years ago, a Kraal named S'kal-ru arranged for Esen, as Nimal-Ket, to leave my ship. Paul left me, too.” Kearn hesitated, then put aside all those years of distrust and betrayal, saying: “to help Esen. S'kal-ru's ship was one of those destroyed by the wild web-being; I believed she was dead. It couldn't be confirmed, of course. I couldn't get access to Kraal data banks; difficult people to deal with, Rudy, in every sense. Even my so-called Kraal benefactor.” There were patches of color on his pale cheeks. “I'm sure the information I received from that source was only what the Kraal wanted me to know. But what if S'kal-ru was a web-being? What if she didn't die?”

“Can we compare the image I have to one of this S'kal-ru?”

“There isn't one. Not that we can access. Kraal have an almost pathological aversion to images of themselves, particularly if they'll be seen by anyone else. Portraits are made after death, when an individual's affiliations can no longer change.”

Rudy shoved his plate aside, no longer hungry. “Do you know what you're saying, Lionel? Esen believes she's the only one of her kind left. Paul believes that.”

“What if they're both wrong, Rudy? What if S'kal-ru, for reasons of her own, faked her own death. Hid herself from Esen. A web-being living as a Kraal.” Kearn looked as though he'd seen a ghost. Rudy understood completely.

“And affiliated with Mocktap, the House disgraced in the attack.”

“Exactly. What if someone in Mocktap has found out S'kal-ru's secret and designed this weapon to use against her?”

“Sybil.”

Kearn nodded. “But what I don't understand is why a web-being would want to found a new Kraal House—”

“Or why she'd hide from Esen,” Rudy said grimly. “Or who is responsible for the attacks on Minas XII, if not Largas.”

Kearn wrapped his hands around his cup, as if too tired to lift it. “One thing we must remember at all times, Rudy. Not all of these creatures are like Esen. We've seen at least one capable of dreadful things.”

“Just like humanity.”

“Just like that. But with their abilities?” He shuddered. “I want you to take that weapon. I want you to be ready in case—”

“In case of what?”

Rudy's outrage didn't appear to affect Kearn at all. The older Human looked resolute. “Sybil's enemy might be ours—and Esen's—too.”

“I—” The shrill of the com cut off Rudy's protest. He was at the panel in three quick strides. “Lefebvre. What is it, Bridge?”

“We've received an emergency squeal from Picco's Moon, sir. Every available Commonwealth ship is requested, Priority One.”

Rudy met Kearn's worried look. “Any indication why?” he asked.

The voice became a little breathless. “They're reporting incoming Ganthor assault vessels, sir.”

“Thank you, Bridge,” Rudy said calmly. “I'll be right up.” He switched off the com. “This puts a twist to it. Any thoughts, Lionel, before I go?”

“Only one. Why is it always Ganthor?”

Rudy was tempted to smile at the plaintive note in Kearn's voice, even though an assault fleet heading anywhere was no laughing matter. “Esen's fond of them,” he said.

“I've noticed,” Kearn commented wryly. “Get to your bridge, Captain. I'll be in my office. No, I'll be in my bed. Ganthor, indeed.”

27: Scoutship Night

“ES. Wake—”

The rest of what Paul tried to tell me couldn't penetrate the cold water suddenly covering my ears.
And face.
I flailed about wildly until my left hand caught hold of the side of the tub, my right gripped some fabric, and I hauled myself upward. “I hate water,” I announced firmly, spitting bubbles from my mouth with every word. Paul stood back as I climbed out, shedding more bubbles on the tile floor. “This me hates it, anyway.”

He handed me a huge, thick towel monogrammed O.R.—for
Octos Ra
, I assumed, implying Humans needed help remembering what ship they were on. “You'd have been fine if you'd stayed awake,” he said unsympathetically. “Hurry up. We've things to talk about.”

I peered at him through the folds of the towel as I rubbed bubbles out of my hair. “Where were you all this time?”

“Demonstrating an unexpected talent for mischief.” Skalet leaned in the doorway. She'd gained a sidearm and a knife, with a silver-and-gemstone belt to hold both.

Paul actually smiled. In fact, he looked remarkably smug for someone gradually being poisoned. “It was your order, Your Eminence. ‘Ignore the luggage; it's my concern only.' ”

Skalet narrowed her eyes. “Literal fool. No doubt why Arzul-ro commands a scoutship, at his age.”

I was tempted to stamp my foot. “What happened?”

“I leave your Human alone for a few minutes. He breaks his word to me by leaving as well—then walks on the bridge and uses the translight com as freely as can be without anyone so much as blinking an eye—or contacting me.” Skalet seemed more impressed than angry.

Had she known what Paul was capable of doing with access to that level of communication equipment, she would have been more worried than either. I did my best not to look anxious myself.

“Absolute obedience has its pitfalls, doesn't it,” Paul said, no longer smiling. “I've tried explaining to you, Skalet. You're better off with willing allies.”

“And you'd be better off if you'd never met Esen. Admit it, Human.”

The words were colder than the tile under my bare feet.

“There's never been a second I've believed that.”

“Really. Should we go into the specifics of what your relationship has cost you?” Her voice was like some dark and bitter wine: “Your family. Your career. Your mate. Your offspring. Your—”

“Enough!” I cried, pushing past Skalet and heading for the bedroom, shivering from more than exhaustion.

“Esen!”

“Let her go.” Then Skalet said: “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Human. For all you think you've lost, she's lost more. And her loss will last aeons after you and your kind are dust.”

I turned back, sure I would see the hurt in Paul's face, ready to counter the hateful things Skalet was saying. But he simply looked intent, the way he did when hearing more than words. He took a step closer to Skalet; she straightened and backed one step. He stopped, as if understanding. They were the same height, I noticed, if otherwise as different as two beings could be.

“Her loss,” Paul asked very gently, “or yours?”

None of my memories held this look on Skalet's face, a flash of naked pain, as though Paul had laid open some wound she'd thought healed. It was gone so quickly I might have imagined it, except I knew its replacement all too well. Rage.

Paul, however, wasn't an unsuspecting young fool. He avoided her blow with a smooth tilt of his head, staying where he was as if challenging her to strike again. “Tell me I'm wrong,” he said.

“Wrong?” Her eyes were still wild, but she lowered her arm. “Of course you're wrong. What do you know of me? What can you know?”

She asks this of a being who wants to visit the Ycl
, I thought with a certain sense of fatalism.

“I know you're not Human.”

Neither of us had expected the obvious. Skalet looked stunned, then gave a short laugh, turning to me as if inviting me to share her humor. “Your Paul is a remarkably perceptive creature—”

He hadn't finished. “You aren't Human. Which means you don't belong in this form, no matter how hard you try, no matter how many scars or tattoos you sear into this version of yourself.” When Skalet did no more than whirl to stare at him, Paul went on, his voice grim, low, and utterly implacable. “You aren't Human, no matter how long you've made yourself stay in this form, no matter how many Human reactions and feelings you've had to learn to deal with. It's not enough. I saw you in the ocean. I've seen Esen explode like that when it's been too long. Have you cycled at all since we last saw your true form, on the
Trium Set
?”

Memory rolled over and showed its scars. “She has. Twice,” I breathed, staring at my web-kin. “You were on D'Dsell, weren't you? The Panacian, N'Klet, who helped Kearn hunt us down for the Feneden. That was you. Were-were you the Kraal helping him all along?”

“You talk of what you can't understand, Human,” Skalet replied scornfully. “As for you, Youngest? That leap took you long enough. Of course I was N'Klet. You never did appreciate the value of a disguise to our work. And that fool Kearn—you should be grateful I kept him on a leash.”

I hugged the towel up around my neck, stepping closer. “Paul was tortured because of you.”

“That was your doing,” she said callously. “I was dead, remember?”

“And then Paul almost died. You-you planned that, didn't you! You wanted to force me to fly, to show you how it was done. Tell me the truth, Skalet!” She wouldn't answer. I knew it. There was only one way. I released my hold on this form, cycling into web-form and staying there . . .

The web-flesh in Paul's pendant called to me, despite being frozen. The engines of the
Octos Ra
sang to my perception as they bent space around us. I tasted Human on my surface, as well as the remnants of berry-scented bubbles.

And a cluster of molecules that were Human and not, twisted into a shape that wasn't their origin, a source of tantalizing energy.
Share!
I sent, filling the room with the scent of my urgent demand, my need, my hope. My mouth formed, jagged, open, ready.

Nothing.

Share?
as if I begged.

I let the scent diffuse and dissipate, trying and failing to comprehend refusal. Finally, I oozed up the concentration gradient to the leaves of the duras plants in the cabin, coating them with my web-mass, coaxing the living cells into more of me. I cycled . . .

And howled: “How dare you refuse me! How could—” Pain lanced through my face and shot up my muzzle . . . my eye was blind . . . before Skalet could mock my agony, I whined and cycled again . . .

Human. Pain-free, except for the tears in my eyes. I blinked, only then seeing my web-kin clearly.

Skalet was huddled on the floor, at the far side of the cabin from me. Paul was kneeling beside her, his hands supporting her shoulders. Her face was turned to the wall and her legs were drawn tightly beneath her body, as if she tried to hide.

Paul looked up at me, his face filled with a compassion I'd never expected to see him show my so-powerful Elder.
Although
, I thought distractedly,
I should know better by now.
It was Skalet who'd changed; my own flesh I didn't understand.

“Aren't you—lonely?” I asked her, feeling the dreadful isolation of this small, humanoid me as never before.

Her head moved slowly, as if she had to fight to look at me. Tears leaked from her eyes as well, a curse of this form, distorting the tattoos on her cheeks. “You had no right to do that to me,” she whispered. “I won't cycle. I can't bear it. I can't bear web-form—too alone.”

“But I'm here now.”

Her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl; the black and red of the tattoos transformed her face into something malignant. “You? What are you? Not of Her flesh. Some other thing, but not of Her. There is nothing—nothing left of Ersh.”

Ersh
.

I heard the word and knew it as the tolling of a bell, a single chime built of history and pageant, of garden soil and solar wind, of guilt and penance.

I heard the word and felt it as Skalet must, as the origin, the only boundary, the definition of what we were.

Ersh.
I'd been right, those years ago, when I'd despaired that sharing Ersh's secrets made me different from my web-kin, that it would isolate me forever. It was more than my birth from Ansky's flesh that drove Skalet from me. There was more of Ersh in me now than she would ever have, more trust, more secrets.

I found myself on my knees, helpless to know what to do for Skalet or myself. The Grigari's song came back to haunt me: “a quiet oh so quiet scream.”

“There may be—something—on Picco's Moon,” Paul offered, possibly aware he was the only one presently able to think clearly.

“A trap,” I found myself protesting. “Mocktap will be waiting.”

The lines of Skalet's face shifted from despair to a hunter's fix. Paul lifted his hands from her shoulders as she eased back from the wall; he stepped out of her way as she rose to her feet in a single, sinuous motion. “Why do you say that?”

I stayed on my knees, looking up at the two of them. “You taught me there's no such thing as coincidence, Skalet. So try this. You murdered Uriel-ro that day on Picco's Moon. I was there.” I ignored the sudden cloud on Paul's face.
He should know I edited the nastier bits from my stories.
“And now you're being betrayed by a descendant of his House, a descendant who has seen a web-being attack her ships, who has had access to everything you've done as a trusted affiliate. Someone is mining Ersh's mountain, Skalet. You said yourself you suspect Mocktap. And lo', a Kraal ship of her affiliation as well as yours conveniently waits for us on Prumbinat, ready to take us to Picco's Moon. You're the military genius. Tell me what you see, if not a trap.”