Джулия Чернеда - Changing vision

It didn't hurt our business relations with Largas Freight that the founding ship-families had been from Garson's World. Even fifty years later, the company's captains took distressing pleasure in any deal that boded loss to Tly.

I fought melancholy, the mere thought of the tragedy enough to call up web-memories of the Human culture of Garson's, a young, frontier world well on its way to being distinct before its end under the Tly bombardment. I'd had to stop myself from correcting Paul's children as they learned already corrupted versions of folk songs from their grandfather's lost home; it would have been impossible to explain how my memory could be better than the original refugees'.

In turn, Tly had suffered to its core in the aftermath of that ghastly mistake.

Evidence later proved the attacks against Tly forces, furiously attributed to Garson's World and the justification for their revenge, had in fact been made by some mysterious creature. It was, of course, mysterious only to those who hadn't encountered my predatory counterpart. Convicted of destroying an innocent population, Tly's government had fallen, its military fleet discredited and stripped of

its former role, its reputation damaged beyond repair for generations to come. The Guilds and other organizations had surged into the gap until, today, Tly was ruled by a more-or-less stable assortment of merchants, crafters, and crooks of varying abilities and disposition.

Few of which had kind words for survivors and witnesses of the tragedy, such as Largas Freight or, by association, Cameron & Ki. But nothing overt until now.

Profits were profits, after all. I'd noticed Humans could be quite pragmatic about their grudges when necessary. Except I doubted the Tly or Garson's refugees would be so forgiving if they encountered one of my kind again.

Which won't happen , I promised myself and all Humans, as I had done every day since.

"What excuse did they use?" I said, putting my gift carefully on the side table before rising to pace. This form didn't stay put well when disturbed, being more inclined to action than thought. "Chase wouldn't give them cause—she's by the book." Considering the type of freighter captains who voluntarily chose the Fringe to work, this was an exceptional quality indeed. Largas Freight had been delighted to find her. Rumor had it, they'd dug up something or other from her past in order to keep her, but such sour tales were cheap out here where every being had something they preferred to leave behind.

"She didn't want to say much over the com." He turned one hand over expressively.

I nodded. The in-house system couldn't be as well-shielded as we'd have liked—such protection could itself arouse the suspicion of the local authorities, or, worse, the interest of those who assumed ideal security went with something ideally worth liberating from its owners.

"So what about the record?"

Paul grimaced. "No luck there. The Tly insisted on filing a smuggling complaint against the ship and against us. Minas Port Authority got it translight before Chase came insystem."

I didn't feel the outrage I expected. Lies, undeserved fines, tarnished reputations: these were all quite likely. There was too much furniture in this room , I thought distractedly as I paced around it, and too many connections between us and this life to make any scrutiny, deserved or fabricated, safe .

"We can't do anything about it tonight, Es," Paul gently reminded me. "Why don't you open your present?"

Present ? I shook myself free of darker thoughts until my fur fluffed itself with static, and picked up my bag. "You first," I said, trying to lighten my voice. "For making me wait."

The Human smiled and put out his hand. I held the bag slightly out of reach, then bent so my nose met the warm, delightfully Paul-scented skin of his palm. I took a quick sniff, feeling him twitch as the breath tickled, then backed away. It was a

formal gesture, one of identification and trust. "Here." I passed him my gift.

Paul's smile faded into a more thoughtful expression, as though he recognized something special in my gift, as I had in the giving of his. He worked the bag open carefully, pulling out the box. Although the wind chose that moment to attempt to peel a few more layers off the exterior of our house, I could hear his chuckle at the wrapping I'd used.

He unwrapped and opened the box. I sat down on my haunches and rested my chin on his knee, blinking slowly. Would he understand its significance? Could any being not of the Web ?

The medallion looked woefully small and unimpressive between his fingers. When the Human didn't move, I straightened up, searching his face. His expression was oddly unfamiliar: his gray eyes were hooded, his lips worked as though incapable of forming words at first.

"Es—" my name came suddenly as a soft, drawn-out breath. "Is this what I think it is?"

"What do you think it is, Paul-friend?" I asked reasonably, if unsteadily.

If my voice was prone to fluttering at the edges, I had all the response I could ask for in the suddenly husky tones of his: "You. You've shared… this is your mass in here… for me, isn't it? As if I were… as if I were truly your web-kin."

"Don't eat it," I cautioned him hastily. "You know web-mass is corrosive to your tissue."

Paul smiled, but there was moisture leaking from his eyes. As he seemed to ignore the phenomenon, I didn't mention it. "Is it alive?" he asked in wonder, supporting the medallion in the palm of one hand. The faint blue glow within the silver showed more clearly against his skin.

I considered the question, feeling the bond between that speck of mass and myself as the faintest of drawings; it would be vastly stronger if I were in web-form.

"In a sense," I said finally. "It could not survive for long outside the cryounit unless I assimilated it. Within the unit, it should last."

"How long?"

"As long as you wish." It was part of my gift as well, this power over some of me.

Paul quickly slipped the slim chain over his head. The medallion disappeared beneath his shirt. It should , I thought with pleasure, nestle over his heart , Human anatomy being what it was. "What do I do in return?" he asked, only now noticing the moisture from his eyes and wiping it away with one hand.

I hadn't thought of that. A true sharing included a precise exchange of each individual's mass. He'd been the only alien to witness sharing between my web-kin and me, although it hadn't exactly been such, since Skalet had chewed away most of me before running off to fight her battle. Thinking about that moment, I grinned

toothily. "I won't ask you to donate the tip of a finger for tradition's sake. I'll settle for your gift."

"Done," Paul said. To his credit, there wasn't a shred of relief in his voice. "You'll have to sit—over there."

Intrigued, I did as he commanded.

The large, flat package was replaced on my lap. This time I didn't delay, ripping open the wrap. If this was his portion of our sharing, I would give it the respect and attention Paul had granted mine.

Which would have been easier had I known what to make of the plain piece of wood the plas had disguised. I ransacked my memories, and those of my kin, searching for any hint about such a gift and its ceremonial meaning. Nothing. It was a well-polished piece, with rounded corners and a smooth finish. The wood itself was a pale yellow, a native species of hardwood, nothing extraordinary except for its ability to grow almost Human-waist high in the valleys of the southern hemisphere. I flared my nostrils. It smelled like—wood. At last, I gave up trying to guess its meaning and looked up in defeat.

"Place your hands on the outer edges, here and there," Paul instructed, a smile hovering around his lips but not quite there, as though he were too anxious about my reaction to let it out. "Press firmly, then let it go."