Beholder's Eye (52 page)

Ragem groaned beside me, flinging one arm over his head and muttering something I couldn’t make out clearly. I eased myself away, pausing to pull the senso-screen more completely over him.

Dear Human,
I thought, watching him settle back into a deeper sleep.

I stepped cautiously, unsure what might wake him if the singing things in the nearby fields couldn’t, but not wanting to take any chances. Something inside me said this was the day. And I had preparations to make.

 

They didn’t take long. I set the last of the signalers into the soft, moist soil, driving it in the final distance by jumping on the top twice. There were four of the devices; I hesitated only briefly before activating them all with the control on the final box.

A sullen red light glowed up at me from its surface, like the opening of an eye. I stared back, waiting. After what seemed far too long a delay, the light began to blink in a pattern.
No turning back now,
I acknowledged with a pang. I stretched my long spine, rotating each hip, remembering the same movement from another world, another me.

 

My first confirmation I’d set things in motion came during breakfast. Ragem wore the senso-screen as a cloak-and-hood affair—at least confusing to the Enemy, if no longer as effective as I’d planned. We were sitting in the shade of a fern, munching on ration bars, when a roar from overhead announced visitors.

“Who’s that?” Ragem exclaimed, one hand shading his eyes as he stared up at the descending ship. It was going to set down right beside the
Ahab.
I took a final bite of my breakfast and got to my feet.

It wasn’t the
Rigus.
I recognized the design, if not the individual vessel. Human-made. A freighter. Not particularly large as those things went, but dwarfing the
Ahab.

I knew what he’d done. He’d coerced some poor captain into taking the risk for him while he hung safely in orbit.

Ragem shook his head. “Of all the luck. Want to bet it’s some farmers from Inhaven, checking on their crops? I’d better see what they want.”

“Good idea,” I said, running my tongue around my teeth and trying not to pant.“I’ll stay here.”

He gave me an odd look. “Why?”

Figures were already emerging from the ship, heading in our direction. I took a step back. “It’s safer for me,” I said.

“Go on. Find out what they want.”

Ragem looked at the approaching trio, then back to me. “What should I say?”

I memorized the shape of his face, including the wisp of black hair the breeze tumbled over one puzzled eye. “I think you should offer to tell them the truth, my friend,” I advised him, as serious as I’d ever been. “But don’t sell it cheap.”

“Es?” Ragem reached out to me, his face stricken. “What have you done?”

“There he is!” shouted a voice, almost too close. “Hold it!” shouted anther.

“Good-bye, Paul Ragem,” I said, turning and sprinting into the cover of the forest, trying not to listen to the sounds of struggle from behind as Ragem’s pursuers caught him before he could follow me.

Of all my plans, this had been the hardest to do,
I admitted to myself. I circled back to a vantage point where I could see what was happening.

Ragem hadn’t taken kindly to being detained. He stood upright and defiant between two considerably larger Human males; I could see blood on the chin of one of them. I was relieved to see there was no animosity on their faces. The third figure, a female, was standing in front of Ragem and telling him something, emphasizing her points with waves of her hands. All three wore faded spacer coveralls and, I was thankful to see, had no weapons.

I cocked my ears to listen. The breeze carried some of what was being said to me, but I didn’t dare move closer.

“—here to rescue you. Why did you hit Denny?”

“I don’t need to be rescued. Who sent—” I snarled at the upwelling of happy song from overhead that drowned out the rest of Ragem’s furious question.

It didn’t matter. I knew the answers, or thought I did, and those I watched were in a hurry. Since Ragem didn’t appear to want to be rescued, his would-be rescuers solved the problem by simply picking him up. The woman surveyed the small amount of gear we had, then picked up the senso-screen from where it had landed during Ragem’s manhandling. It seemed to fascinate her; she rolled it into a bundle under her arm before following the men into the ship.

It lifted moments later. The crew must have held the engines on standby. I raised my muzzle and howled as it disappeared into the cloudy sky.

Now Ragem was safe.

 

I didn’t think I’d have long to wait for my Enemy. It could have been an instinct, some unexpected carryover of web senses into the form I currently used to trot deeper into the forest. I tried to identify my feelings.
Dread,
I decided, but no fear. I had none left.

I stopped beneath my ally, the ancient fern tree, and stretched my long arms around its fibrous stalk as far as they would reach. It would have taken three of me to encompass its girth. The stalk had rows of tiny hooked spikes running up its surface, something my Ket-self would have enjoyed and my Lanivarian-self found snagged the fur of my belly.

I knew why I felt dread.
If all went in my favor, I would have ensured I was the only web-being alive in this part of the universe. I, who had never killed an intelligent being, could be about to exterminate the only other member of my kind.

I rubbed my chin and side of my face against the spikes, smelling a not unpleasant vegetable muskiness as I bruised a few. There must be a stronger breeze up above. I felt an almost imperceptible motion within the fern as the immense stalk transferred its resistance to the whims of the air into the ground’s solid anchorage.

My plans took whatever made me different from my kin and made those differences into weapons against my Enemy. Mixs had reacted instinctively, losing form explosively as she tried, too late, to fight. Lesy had tried to hide. Skalet had planned to meet the creature on its own terms, flesh and tooth. Ersh had tried to trick it into suicide with her.

As I released my form, cycling into web-mass, I thought my approach at least had the virtue of being different.

I was going to give it exactly what it wanted.

IN WEB-FORM, I was terrified of the nonsentient mass touching me, overwhelmed by its sheer volume. The terror was familiar and I suppressed it.

I took a moment to savor my surroundings, listening to the throbbing heart of this planet, detecting its life as patterns of pleasing regularity and order amid the chaos of chemical reactions and change. Extending my senses outward. I could just barely detect the specks of artificial gravity and harnessed power marking ships in orbit.
Which one are you, dear friend?
I wondered to myself.

And then, I felt it. My Enemy was coming.

No time for second guessing or doubts. If I was wrong, I wouldn’t live to know it.
Ersh, too short a life,
I sighed, beginning to thin myself.

The fern had a primitive internal circulatory system for so large an organism. No matter. I forced my way upward, splitting off into its hundreds of fronds, dividing myself even further to course into its tens of thousands of small leaflets. Up here, I could feel the heat from the sun, could lose myself in the complex ticktock of photosynthesis, rejoice in the harvesting of energy.

Not my purpose. Not me!
I fought the fern’s nature, ever-so-grudgingly turning its mass into more of me. More. More. I had to have it all.

My thoughts slowed, became almost paralyzed. It was as though they operated on a different time scale. I struggled to hold myself.

This would be a fine life,
the traitorous whisper started as I reached downward and began converting the rhizomes holding the fern, holding me, to the ground.
Free of trouble or pain. Stay.

I might have lost the battle to retain myself and my purpose then and there, if it hadn’t been for gravity. I’d modified enough of the fern to make it unstable. A breeze tossed my crown of leaflets and web-mass, the force multiplied a thousandfold over my entire new body, pushing until I lost my grip on the soil and began to fall.

It took several seconds. My fronds slid between those of my intact neighbors, slowing my descent if not halting it. Three, four others—almost as large—joined me in my majestic plunge.

I didn’t stay to the end. With a final effort, I pulled myself out of the mass of vegetation, all web-mass now, larger than any of my kin had become with one exception.

My thoughts were sluggish.
This wasn’t how I was supposed to be.
There was too much. Too much.

I remembered my purpose and summoned Ersh-memory. It was time to fly.

 

I spent mass prodigiously, some part of me aghast at the waste, and launched myself away from the planet almost before I realized what I was doing.

The last traces of atmosphere slid away from my outer surface like condensation being wiped from a window. Suddenly I could sense all that was around me with incredible clarity. Radiation sang through my being.
If only I wasn’t so large, my thoughts so heavy.

Ships.
Shells,
corrected an old Ersh-memory, a memory tainted by hunger as well as guilt.
Friends,
I insisted.

And there was my Enemy.

She was perfection,
I moaned to myself, feeling a weakening of my resolve.
How could I resist?

My Enemy rushed toward me, broadcasting her hunger, her need. I sensed her jaws opening.

Now!
a tiny part of me, a part I knew as the core of my individuality, insisted. There was one last task.

I sorted my mass, frantically collecting all that was me, all that was Ersh, Ansky, Lesy, and Skalet into one place, my private place, that place where only I and Ersh could hoard our secrets.

Pain! Teeth ripped into my flesh, tore away a mouthful, returned to slice deeper. This was nothing like the sharing of self with my web-kin. This was violation. This was a threat to my existence.

This was what I’d hoped.
I bore the pain, endured the horror of it.
Eat!
I urged silently, concentrating now on sending one memory shuddering through all there was of me.

Too large. Too much!

Ersh-memory had taught me how to reproduce, how to release my grip on excess web-mass and allow both to live. So now I relaxed my hold, spinning what would be Esen from now on away from what would be something new. Agony and relief made me dizzy. My thoughts became crystal clear again.

I answered the call of gravity, plunging down toward the planet; behind me, my Enemy radiated its continuing satisfaction, its obscene delight in every bite of what had been Esen.

Just before I touched the atmosphere, I felt something new from it:
confusion.
Too much. What to do! What to do!

I knew, but hadn’t left the information behind with my other gift. I had to hurry. My Enemy could simply burn the mass away if it chose. Its need to fission, the instinct to sort itself into two or solidify, would last mere moments at best.

Down to the
Ahab.
I cycled into Ket, commanded the port to open, and ran inside. Up to the lift.
Why couldn’t we pick a ship that reoriented its deck to planet gravity?
I fussed, fearing every instant of time wasted.

There, the control room. I tripped over the maps on the floor, scrambling for the com, fearing I was already too late.

I sent the message.

I’D KNOW those sleek globes and immaculate hull anywhere.

The
Rigus
touched the surface of Inhaven Ag-colony 413 like a feather, her engines shutting down immediately, the dust she’d kicked into the air washed away by an errant gust of rain-filled wind. The makeshift spaceport here was getting a fair amount of traffic these days.

I shook myself, adding my own little rainshower to the drops rolling off the ferns above me. It was almost over. The clouds were scarred with brilliant blue pockets of clear sky, the color one of so many regrets. One of those clearings had glowed hot white not so long ago. I didn’t need to cycle to confirm my Enemy was gone.

Almost over,
I repeated to myself, staring at the
Rigus.
No one had come out yet; her port remained sealed. I imagined Sas and his scan-techs were busy, remotes scouring the countryside.
For what?
I’d hoped Kearn would have been too intent on the web-being he could see above the planet to notice a small bit of one flying away.