Beholder's Eye (25 page)

I flexed my fingers, wincing only a little. It made sense for a ship engaged in the risky business of exploration and first contact to carry the latest in healing acceleration technology. I was properly grateful. At this rate, I would soon be able to cycle back to this form without dreading the pain.

Though I would never forget it.
I traced the curve of my trouble-causing hoobit with an intact finger, finding its texture doing little to soothe my emotions. For the first time I truly understood why ephemeral authors so often referred to a perfect memory as a curse.

Tap. Tap.

I squinted up past the lights and saw Ragem’s grin. The ship’s med had assured me I could safely lift the lid for visitors. Having had none till now, I hadn’t tried it. Fortunately, Ragem could see my hand fumbling for the control and did something outside that lifted the box with a soft whoosh of air. I sank deeper into the mattress as the gravity climbed back to Human-norm.

“How are you feeling, Nimal-Ket?” he asked as I sat up, carefully unfolding my limbs. It had taken a fair amount of contortion to fit me into this too short, too wide space. I’d been comfortable, but had no wish to crack a knee or elbow against any solid objects on my way out.

I also used this time to carefully examine this new, improved version of my first friend.

Gone were the blue ensign coveralls. Ragem was back in uniform, complete with an upgrade to his alien specialist bars. The tunic was snug enough to prove he no longer wore a telltale underneath. Still too thin, his face was much more like the one I remembered, with a familiar glint of curiosity and interest in his eyes.

Ket were typically unaware of the significance of clothing or rank to other beings, so instead of commenting directly, I reached my hand, very carefully, toward his face. Ragem moved closer so I could travel my intact fingers over his cheeks and brow. “Your life has improved, Paul-Human,” I announced with satisfaction after this examination. “Is it because of your brave action to save this Ket?”

Ragem ever-so-lightly touched the hoobit, then perched on the cot across from mine. “If a Ket calls me brave, I consider that a great honor.”

I laughed, which as a Ket entailed a painful amount of finger fluttering, so I stopped almost at once. “Every being knows we are not brave, Paul-Human. How does the expression go? ‘Gropers are afraid of everything, but most especially bad credit?’ ”

“I know better, Madame Ket.”

“Perhaps.” I paused. “Or perhaps you simply witnessed that point beyond which I, as a Ket, was unable to go. Every species has its limit, Paul-Human, including yours.” I took a moment to curl most of my fingers around the hoobit for comfort. The three broken ones were artificially stiffened to encourage correct healing, but I did what I could to achieve the proper positioning.

“True. But I reserve the right to my own opinion, Nimal-Ket. And I have only once met someone with your courage.”

Ragem’s lips tightened briefly, then he went on, his voice oddly flat, eyes intent on me. “Her name is Esen-alit-Quar.”

“The one you denied was a friend?” I countered, suddenly unable to avoid temptation.

“Esen was and is my friend. A good friend.”

“Then why do you hunt her with this ship?”

His hands curled into fists on his knees. “I don’t command the
Rigus.
”

“Yet you hunt her, too,” I pointed out.

“I have something to tell her, Nimal-Ket. That’s all.”

Tell me what?
All I wanted in that moment was to ask him. I could feel my double hearts pounding a confused beat as my Ket body did its best to interpret my turmoil.

And, suddenly, I knew.
Ragem suspected.
How or why, I didn’t know, but I could see it in his eyes, in the way he leaned slightly toward me, the tilt of his head. He suspected, but wasn’t sure. I couldn’t allow his suspicion to become anything more.

Concentrating on being no more or less than a true Ket, I pulled a plas cube from under my pillow and showed it to him. “Has the station located the Queeb and his accomplices yet, Paul-Human? This Ket would like to file suit against their property as soon as possible.”

“No. There’s no sign of them beyond some traces of Human blood in the room where we were held. They must have had some bolt-hole ready we didn’t notice.” He took the cube. “I’ll see if Station Claims will look after this for you. After all, they should be responsible for your safety.”

“This Ket is grateful, Paul-Human. Between my own suffering and inability to service my clients, you can imagine my state of mind.”

Ragem wrapped his hands around one knee, rocking back in a deceptively easier position. “Do you remember any more about what happened?”

Tenacity was one of Ragem’s less useful virtues.
“The Humans in the pay of the coarse Queeb tried to capture this Ket, no doubt to force you to release their benefactor,” I repeated what I’d said earlier to authorities, as well as once already to Ragem. “They must have collided with sharp objects in the pile you left.”

He wasn’t satisfied. “Nimal-Ket,” Ragem said earnestly, leaning forward again. “I really need to talk to my friend.”

“We Ket value friendships, Paul-Human. I consider you and I to share that. Do you?”

He nodded, eyes gleaming as though he believed I was about to confess.

“Then let me advise you, Paul-Human,” I said evenly. “There is a wise saying among Ket, ‘To chase friendship is to lose it.’ If your friend Esen prefers not to be found, you risk much by this pursuit.”

He bowed his head, hiding his face from me. Then he said in a low, intense voice. “You spoke of a point, the limit beyond which none of us can go because of our very natures. Have I pushed Esen to that point already?”

“I am Ket, Paul-Human. I know only my limit.”

“Answer me!” He flung up his head and I was stunned by the frustration in his face. “I’ve driven Es away once. I won’t do it again.”

“I have no answer for you.”

“Yes, you do!” he almost shouted. “Why won’t you give it?”

I stroked the hoobit. “Are you this difficult with all your friends, Paul-Human?”

“The ones I care about.”

It was my turn to bow my head, to collect my thoughts and emotions before I made another mistake with this being. Then I looked at him. “Perhaps you should try trusting, as well as caring, Paul-Human.”

Ragem stood, and gazed down at me. His eyes were troubled. “If I’m wrong in what I believe, someday I’ll explain all this to you, Nimal-Ket.”

I fluttered one hand in a careful chuckle. “This Ket would appreciate that, Paul-Human.”

He touched the side of my long face gently. “But if I’m not wrong, my friend, please think about what I’ve said. It’s a sad and dangerous thing to be alone.”

Ragem left.

I repeated his words to myself as I lay back in my healing bed: “A sad and dangerous thing.”
He was right.

Which didn’t change a thing.

THOUGH we were no longer roommates—as a guest I rated my own cabin, particularly so I could ply my trade among the crew once my hands healed sufficiently—Tomas considered me his responsibility. His attachment didn’t surprise me, knowing his kindly nature. He wasn’t the only one to attempt to lure me into friendship. I’d noticed the tendency of this tightly-knit crew to rapidly engulf newcomers into their social life. My Ketself was considerably discomfited by so much affection, and I often found it necessary to retreat to this private space.

Tonight, Tomas had thoughtfully supplied me with the latest station newsmag along with my supper. The headline read:
Mysterious Disappearances Haunt Panacia; Government Refuses to Name Cause.
I read the article below, wincing at the number of missing, and nodded to myself. Unlike the Panacian Hive Government, I had no doubts about the cause. And neither did the reporter.
“The monster from the Fringe has not left or been destroyed,”
the article continued with the appropriate note of barely concealed panic.
“It is now a killer right in our midst. And it will continue taking lives unless the Commonwealth acts!”

So, the Enemy was becoming almost subtle. “Not reassuring at all,” I muttered to myself. A quieter carnage implied a need for concealment, perhaps even secrecy.
Why?
I had a uncomfortable certainty it was to allow the thing time to search for specific prey. I worried even more about Mixs. If this thing was Ersh’s Enemy, as I was beginning to suspect, it was distressingly adaptable.

Ersh memory bubbled up through my consciousness of this room, the paper I read, and myself. . . .

Too large. Too slow. Too much of me.

I writhed in remembered agony, facing with Ersh her first crisis. She hadn’t known to control her appetite, to leave those she lived with in peace. She sensed the distinction between nonsentient tissue and that which thought, but didn’t yet care . . .

 

...
Murderer
, I thought, feeling again the guilt Ersh gave me as well as the exquisite taste of the deed.
Parasite
. Such names had no meaning to the life I shared through memory . . .

 

... Appetite.
I felt sick and excited by the hunger.
Something’s wrong!
Can’t cycle any more into the safe form.
Fear.
Too much of me.
Hide!

Wise in the ways of her hosts, if not her own body, Ersh disappeared from their view, hiding in web-form, lurking in out-of-the-way places: feeding, growing, feeding, hoarding her mass like treasure. And finally, growing too large to survive.

Pain. Fear. What is happening?
The body demands a choice; the mind must loosen its hold and permit the escape of mass, or accept the death which beckons. Divide, or become solid, thoughtless, a rock: death by density as web-mass collapses permanently into itself.

I must live!
Survival is all that matters. Selection begins on a microscopic scale. I shudder, reliving the battle of flesh against flesh, consciously experiencing reproduction for the first time both as Ersh and as myself. How much stays to maintain the parent? What escapes to a life of its own? Which will have the advantage . . .

 

... I found myself Ket again, a species whose reproduction seemed uncommonly civilized after the self-centered passion of Ersh. Relaxing my grip on the hoobit, I kept my lips pursed in a frown.
Why that memory?
Ersh’s gifts to me resurfaced at the oddest moments, but I had no doubt there was a reason here, if only I was clever enough to spot it.

Deliberately, I closed my eyes and sought out that disturbing past, thousands of years older than my own . . .

 

... keep what’s mine!
Preserve self-awareness. Grasp and hold form memory. The battle wages, tormenting at every point.

It’s done.

Tremble. Learn the new size. Perfection.

Not alone.
Another web-form, smaller still, trembles nearby, sending confusing messages into the wind, troubling.

And incredibly appetizing . . .

 

I jerked myself free of the memory. Too late. Saliva made a cold runnel down my chin.

Ersh had remembered for me. The sweetest taste of all was torn from web-flesh.

“LOOK OUT!”

I didn’t blink at Tomas’ alarmed cry. A blur of speed, the hoverbot raised itself just in time, and just enough, to clear my head without so much as a breeze on my bare scalp. The personal transports were everywhere on D’Dsel, the Panacian Hiveworld; I hoped the Humans would hurry up and learn that they were more likely to collide with the local shrubbery.

“Glad to have such an experienced guide, Nimal-Ket,” Ragem commented. The three of us had been sent out to sample the opinions of the local population, Acting Captain Kearn unconvinced by the assurances of staff from the ambassador caste, the only group authorized to contact other governments, that nothing was wrong and why didn’t his crew simply enjoy a shore leave?

I wore a cloak here, sufficient to keep the, to a Ket, chill evening air from my bare shoulders and upper body. “This Ket’s experience here, Paul-Human, is simply due to the fact that D’Dsel is worthy of several visits,” I answered calmly. “Given the civilized and gentle nature of its inhabitants.” Ragem rarely missed any chance to question me, to probe for something hidden behind whatever I said or did. Even Tomas, otherwise totally oblivious to anything subtle, was beginning to notice something odd in Ragem’s manner toward me. Secure in my disguise of flesh, I found myself enjoying the game.

“Incoming!” Tomas seemed unlikely to appreciate the precision avoidance controls of the hoverbots either. His latest unnecessary lunge to the pavement left his normally pink complexion rather pale. “Don’t they see me?” he complained, dusting off his knees and glaring at the receding globe.