Джулия Чернеда - Changing vision

from minor explosions to time-release fluorescent dyes which had turned my fur into a spectrum for weeks, my approach to opening any of his gifts included a fair amount of prudent inspection.

I glanced over to where the Human sat on the edge of his chair—a large overstuffed thing with gruesome carved paws for feet—and didn't see the grin of anticipation I half-expected. Instead, his eyes were serious and fixed on me, as though the opening of this particular gift held special meaning.

He'd aged well , I thought fondly, taking a moment to gaze at my friend, memory slipping effortlessly into the present. The lean, mobile features of his face had subtly altered with time and experience, lineless still but matured into a nobility and compassionate strength the Human would doubtless deny holly. The curiosity and intelligence hadn't changed—sculpted across his brow and dancing in his bright eyes. If anything, the Paul Cameron incarnation of my friend was even more adventurous and eager to learn than Paul Ragem had been, having grown accustomed to a life unrestricted by the demands of officers and the opinions of peers.

No, the time had been good to my friend . I was pleased. So if his gift to me was a celebration of this, I would open it in that spirit.

And if it contained anything that exploded, shrieked, flew apart, or stained my beautiful new tunic, I would plan a suitable revenge.

The box, while fairly light, covered my lap—what there was of it. When Paul and I were at home, in private like this, I indulged myself with my birth-form: that of the canid-like Lanivarian. The others of my kin had had no such preferences, choosing their form based on their needs of the moment. The amorphous web-form made it awkward to do much more with technology than ooze cautiously around it without leaving sticky bits.

But I was the only web-being to have been the product of a union between my kind and another's, the result of my birth-mother Ansky's endless loves and lusts—hopefully unique, as there was no room on any planet for a species which was prolific as well as semi-immortal. There were no Lanivarian components to my structure, as Ersh had exhaustively and painfully tested before accepting Ansky's surprise addition to her Web, but I'd always found an odd comfort in assuming the shape.

I knew myself to be sentimental, too. This was the body I had worn when I first met and was befriended by Paul. Although I'd never asked him, I suspected this was what he really believed I was, regardless of the thousands of other forms he'd seen me assume over the years.

His gift was thin and rigid, devoid of any potentially revealing lumps or ridges.

The wrapping was plain, brown, shipping plas, the sort of material we used in the warehouse for the least and most expensive shipments. I poked at it again.

"Clothes?" I guessed, raising my snout in his direction and dropping my jaw in a toothy grin. The Lishcyn had a fondness for silks and, as Esolesy Ki, I enjoyed a

shamelessly extensive wardrobe.

"You could open it," Paul retorted, the corner of his lips turning up. For some reason, his hands had clenched his knees. He noticed my attention and relaxed a little too deliberately. I hadn't misjudged his interest in this gift.

I chose one end and started pulling apart the plas. As if cued, the com buzzed, its interruption barely perceptible over the renewed howling of the wind. Paul lunged up and hurried to the panel beside the fireplace, holding up one hand to stop me. "I'll get rid of whoever it is," he promised.

I tapped the top of my present with my toes, but waited. More or less patiently. I eyed the bag on the table by the door. I hadn't taken out his gift yet. What were the odds … ?

"What?"

I shifted my ears to Paul, caught by the total outrage contained in the one word.

He was holding the remote receiver to his own ear, attempting to hear over the sudden rattle of gale and stone. No , I decided, we'd achieved hail .

"Cancel it." This with a quick frown in my direction, as though the mysterious call had something to do with me. Oh, oh , I thought, carefully composing my features in their most innocent configuration. I hadn't done anything Paul would disapprove of lately, unless one counted the order for organic fertilizer I'd inadvertently shipped with some Rillian sheep. Who knew the sheep were allergic to the slightest trace of methane and would shed their precious fleece in transit? Livestock and such were not our usual trade anyway. I'd only been doing a favor for an acquaintance of Joel Largas; hardly my fault—

"Did you keep it off Port Authority's records?"

That bit of the one-sided conversation put a totally new face on matters, and I felt a new expression wrinkle my snout: worry. The caller had to be one of Paul's offworld contacts, a ship's captain, an officer, or crew. Such had brought us trouble already this week. "It better not be another Ganthor," I advised him, fighting a tendency to snarl.

Paul waved impatiently, obviously having difficulty catching something being said.

I took it as reassurance and made myself settle back, running my slender toes very lightly across the top of my neglected gift. I had an intense dislike of interruptions, particularly ones that arrived when I had every right to expect some peace and privacy. I'd have to speak to Paul about whom he gave permission to reach us here.

"We'll meet you in the morning." This with an abrupt drop in volume as Paul no longer had to compete with Nature. "Bring whatever you have with you." A pause and another look toward me, this time a considering one. "Yes, she'll be there, too."

"She," I repeated as he ended the link and came back to his seat. "Meaning me."

"You know Chase."

I couldn't help snarling under my breath. I knew Captain Janet Chase: a Human

female who thought Paul's devotion to a shaggy-scaled hunk of Lishcyn a serious drawback to a closer relationship. Chase had been more determined than most of Paul's acquaintances, a trait which I would have appreciated had I not been the hunk of Lishcyn in question.

Had there been others I didn't know about ? I asked myself suddenly, examining Paul's now-composed face as if there'd be some clue written in flesh and bone. He'd seemed happy. He had contact with his kind, his own apartment near the shipcity when that contact required privacy. Was it enough ? "Does she still want a temp-contract?" I worked at a casual tone. "Or has she found some other interest?"

It didn't fool him. It never did . "I'm perfectly capable of managing my own affairs, Esen," Paul answered with predictable impatience, deliberately using the form of my name he saved for our moments alone. "Besides, Chase's call had nothing to do with me. The Vegas Lass was boarded and searched insystem by Tly inspectors.

They confiscated our shipment for Inhaven Prime."

He didn't bother describing the shipment, aware I'd know. One of the curses of perfect recall was the perpetual clutter of memory with bureaucracy, including every numerical record that passed over my desk. To avoid undue attention, I made a point of asking staff for information I didn't need. Paul, on the other hand, had taken years to lose the habit of checking minute details with me rather than carrying around lists, though he'd politely stopped short of using me as a walking calendar.

So I knew the tonnage and type of cargo filling the holds of Captain Chase's ship this trip as well as any of the comps back at Cameron & Ki: marfle tea, a number of Human-specific antibiotics, some indifferent but pretty porcelains I thought had promise as seasonal goods, the cargo's bulk a purified chemical catalyst called reduxan 630. All were innocuous, mid-to-low-end sellers in most markets, though we'd been taking advantage of a local rarity of the catalyst, a key industrial import on Inhaven Prime since the Tly had blasted its former source, Garson's World, out of existence as a source of that or anything else.