“I REGRET you’ve been inconvenienced, Fem N’Klet—” Kearn began. He’d worn his best uniform for this inevitable and undesired meeting; it always helped his confidence.
“With all respect, Captain Kearn,” the Panacian said graciously, as if she hadn’t practically blackmailed her way into his office, “I believe you underestimate what I have endured while waiting for your disposition to—improve.”
“Have you been mistreated by my crew?” The note of outraged dignity was perfect, Kearn told himself, just perfect. It paid to rehearse.
She arranged her upper limbs in the position that meant composed determination. Kearn recognized it with dismay. “No, Captain. I have been mistreated by you. Why was I brought along when your ship lifted from D’Dsel? I was a messenger, not a passenger. My absence will distress my family and my Queen.”
“A regrettable misunderstanding, Fem N’Klet,” Kearn said smoothly, wiping his moist palms on his thighs. “Now, as my officer informed you, we’ve arranged a stopover at Hixtar Station—”
“I see no purpose in leaving this ship before I have delivered my message, Captain Kearn.”
He caught himself before his hands lifted to his scalp, instead, picking up some documents to rustle importantly. “Then, by all means, leave your message with me, Fem N’Klet and I’ll get to it as soon as I—”
“It is an oral message, for you only, from the Queen of my family. You had the honor of meeting her before her maturation.”
Despite the urgings of the Feneden to avoid any such messages, Kearn couldn’t help but be flattered. A Queen had remembered their acquaintance? Not that he could pull the name or face out of his own past to match, but that only proved the impact he must have made upon this individual. Kearn sat up straighter. Was he not the Captain? he reminded himself. Since when did Captains obey the orders of passengers? “Of course, I remember your magnificent Queen,” he said heartily. “Please, give me her message.”
“The Human traitor lives,” N’Klet stated, her faceted eyes on Kearn as if her instructions included memorizing his reaction to this news. “The individual you told my Queen was the one who brought the Esen Monster to D’Dsel, so it could murder Her Glory Sec-ag Mixs C’Cklet.”
“Ragem?” Kearn’s eyebrows rose, creasing his hairless forehead. “Impossible! My dear Fem— Your Queen’s mistaken—”
“Paul Ragem, the Traitor, stood before my Queen in audience the day before this ship left D’Dsel. He had been known to our kin-group for the past twenty-two standard years as Paul Cameron, a business associate of excellent reputation. He came at our invitation to give his aid, and that of his partner, the noted linguist Esolesy Ki, in our negotiations between the Feneden and the Iftsen. Am I speaking too quickly for you, Captain Kearn?”
Kearn was indeed waving at her to stop talking, but it had nothing to do with N’Klet’s measured and capable comspeak, and everything to do with the fact that he was trying not to choke over the name Esolesy Ki.
Esolesy, he thought, wildly. It could be shortened as Es.
Es. Ragem’s pet name for Esen.
“We have to go back,” Kearn muttered, fumbling for the com panel on his desk. “I have to find them.”
“You would be unsuccessful. They have left D’Dsel, Captain Kearn.”
“No!” he howled, leaping to his feet and flinging plas sheets everywhere. “No! I can’t have been so close and lost them!”
N’Klet tilted her beautiful head to watch him. When Kearn stopped shouting to draw another breath, she said calmly: “The Queen also wanted you to know that Paul Ragem and Esolesy Ki left D’Dsel on an Iftsen ship. According to Port Authority, this ship was bound for Iftsen Secondus.”
Kearn felt almost dizzy with joy. This was it! “Then we’ll catch them there!” He couldn’t wait to tell Timri. They’d have to discuss what to do. There had been some general ideas floating about concerning the best containment systems, weapons—but there must have been some new tech developed in the interim—Timri kept up to date on such things. Then there was that special package, the one from his backer, Kearn remembered.
N’Klet raised her upper limbs in a gesture of negation. “You have a shipful of Feneden who will not wish to go to Iftsen Secondus. Neither do I, Captain Kearn.”
“Ah, but there you are wrong, my dear N’Klet,” Kearn crowed. “The Feneden are vitally interested in my hunt. They take it very personally. Very.”
“How so?” N’Klet asked, head tilted in curiosity.
“Were you not aware that their term “Shifter” refers to the Esen Monster’s species? Oh, yes. The Feneden have been as decimated in the past as I’ve always warned we may be soon. The Feneden—” Kearn paused, imagining the glory to come, “—they’ll want to be in for the kill.”