8: Library Afternoon; Bedroom Afternoon
OF all the times for Lesy, as Lesley Delacora, to be engrossed in the job she supposedly held but rarely performed, I should have known it would be now, when we needed her not to be.
“I must finish the response for the Dwelley,” she informed me for the second time, not bothering to look up.
“That’s coming along well, Esen. Don’t you think?” Ally Orman gestured wildly at me from behind Lesley.
Humans. She might have been chasing biters from her ears, and I angled mine to show I’d no clue what she was trying urgently to convey. Except that “well” wasn’t how I’d describe the three-dimensional object my web-kin’s long fingers were busy constructing. An animal of some kind?
No, more like a tiny servo cleaner—and why Lesley was building it out of sticks and wadded gum when the Response Room fabricator stood waiting—
Ally dropped her arms in exasperation and whirled to her desk. “I’ll get you the question.” Lesley gave her a sidelong look through her hair. “So Esen can see how special your response is,” the real Human added quickly, pressing her noteplas into my paw. Reassured, my web-kin focused on whatever it was.
I might have missed what the waving meant, but when Ally used how special, it was her code for that can’t be right. Which she’d said fairly regularly early in our acquaintance and still whispered to herself at times, unaware of the sensitivity of this me’s hearing. Not as often anymore. Overall, Ally’d come to believe I was curator for a reason and not just cute.
It’d be Esolesy Ki here tomorrow, meaning more “how specials” and “why don’t we show that to Lionel or Paul firsts.” Fortunately, my Lishcyn-self had a thicker hide. And scales.
Not what mattered now. I read the Dwelley’s question aloud, hoping to accelerate the process. “What binds the ancient Treaty of Chweci, Spat 238 BD, Dwellalish Singular?”
Dwellalish Singular was their homeworld. The “spat” was, well, mouth secretions, Dwelley possessed of exceptional tastebuds. Spit had been used on official documents of import since Dwelley had imports to document. “BD” was commonly believed to refer to “Before Dry” with the year zero assigned to when the first Dwelley strode onto land and true civilization could begin.
As the amphibious species more cautiously tiptoed back and forth for a few millennia, according to Ersh, developing a perfectly acceptable civilization within the wetter edge of tidal mud flats, this was a case of history rewritten by mutual consent. For “BD” originally meant “Before Drought,” a cataclysmic climate event that baked away most of Dwelley culture, along with those Dwelley unable to endure being out of water for long periods. A point of pride, now, to do so, later generations serenely unaware it had once meant survival.
Ally had written: The collection has nothing on this treaty. Meaning an alarm should have notified me and Paul, except that Lesley had been here. She’d known the answer.
As for how she’d convey it? I pulled up a stool, moving my tail out of the way, and sat where I could watch my web-kin. With context, I realized what she was making for our Dwelley scholar.
A spawn catapult.
When water became the limiting resource on their world, those Dwelley survivors forced farthest from it resorted to flinging their fertilized eggs over the heads of those hoarding the last suitable pools. By so doing, according to Ersh, the catapulters ensured their species would continue.
In my opinion, something ephemerals most often accomplished without thinking much about it.
What Paul wanted me to accomplish had to be done the instant our Dwelley scholar and the rest got on the final train, so I gave Ally a confident nod and snatched the miniature catapult from under Lesley’s nose. “It’s perfect,” I exclaimed.
“I’m not done! The Chweci Sigil!” Surging to her feet, my web-kin tried to snatch it back.
I dodged behind Ally, who outmassed Lesley and stood her ground. “Better without,” I said glibly. “Irrelevant and confusing. The response is that the treaty is forever bound by the transfer of eggs by those who spat and as such cannot be—” Lesley’s hand snaked around and almost had it, but I jumped aside. “—cannot be broken without calamity to their descendants. The Dwelley can’t wiggle out of it, sorry.”
As I said “sorry,” I tossed the spawn catapult to Ally who slipped it into its case and dropped it into the delivery tube.
Panting, Lesley pushed back her hair and gave me a Very Disappointed Look.
I grinned, unrepentant. I knew how to make her happy again.
“Like to make something bigger?”
Paul’s plan, he later told me, was inspired by something he’d witnessed on Urgia Prime during the 300th Festival of Funchess the Unrestrained and Gloriously Joyful, when Evan and I, with Prela, were being kidnapped by an odious Hurn. Not that my friend would have willingly paused to enjoy a spectacle during our plight, especially had he known the particulars of this one, but he and Rudy had been trapped by the seething crowd.
Suffice to say, they were trapped in the right place to see one of Kateen’s famed performing mechanicals—enormous, fanciful creations operated by dozens of multi-tentacled Urgians in steadily worsening stages of inebriation and exhaustion—walk off the street and right through a brick building, reappearing on the other side to enthused applause. Knowing his insatiable curiosity, I wasn’t surprised Paul had wanted to find how they tricked the audience.
Only that he had. Kateen’s street artists were notoriously proud of their secrets. Then again, Paul could charm anything.
His idea?
To permit—as demanded by the Hamlet of Hillsview’s Preservation Committee, and they’d sneakily sent Lionel a memo on it mere moments ago—Special Envoy Niala Mavis and her assistant Onlee Naston to roam at will through the Library and its grounds, Onlee with vid in tow and activated throughout. Nothing would be off-limits, should Nia deem it pertinent to her inspection, nor could any agency alter or edit the resulting official record.
When I’d heard that part, even knowing he’d a plan, I’d whined. The only positive in any of it was they’d wait for the train to leave before getting started, to protect the privacy of our scholars. At least the record wouldn’t include any Heezles.
Then Paul told us the rest.
“Hurry up. Careful!”
Ally, holding the heavy end of what Lesley called her “masterpiece,” muttered something uncomplimentary. I snuck her a quick lick of sympathy, a Lanivarian not the ideal form to be lifting either heavy or wide. She tasted of Human sweat and paint.
And fabrication plas, making me sneeze repeatedly. All three of us were coated in a floury dust of the stuff, courtesy of Lesley’s thorough approach to her art. When we’d realized why she wanted the grinder, there’d been no time to don whatever protective gear might be in maintenance or Duggs’ aircar.
My lick was rewarded with a grimace. “Little gritty, Es.”
“Sor—”
“We’re here. Stop,” Lesley commanded. “Ease it down. More left. Down. More right and gently! Down. There. Put it there. No, over—”
“It only fits one way,” Ally told her. “Esen, move your toes.”
Hastily I scampered back, not wanting to risk my tail either.
“Esen.”
At the sound of my name, I waved the bag of adhesive patches to prove I hadn’t left them in the Response Room. Elders. “Ready!”
“You’re on the wrong side.” Ally sounded muffled.
I blinked, discovering I was alone in the corridor. Not that I was— “It works!” I yelped, quickly shutting my mouth in case someone overheard.
But it did. Work, that is. Paul’s plan. By the evidence of my eyes, the admin corridor stopped just past Lionel’s office, the length I knew continued beyond—and the door to the Response Room—seemingly erased.
The wall turned like magic to reveal Lesley’s impatiently beckoning arm. “Hurry up. We need to secure it.”
“It works,” I repeated numbly. I hadn’t believed the Urgians had given my friend their secret.
“Of course it works.” Lesley’s face poked around the wall, laughing silently. “My masterpiece is flawless. Except for that.” Her fingers wiggled at my feet. “Hurry. Ally says they’ll be here in five minutes.”
I looked down to find a distinct line of dust prints, my prints, broken by a jump, right to the wall, appearing to come from it. I looked up in time to receive a cloth in the snout. “Tidy your mess,” my helpful web-kin ordered.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of moving walls—more accurately, moving a wall. Lionel, who’d been thrilled to hear there was a plan, used Skalet’s snoops to tell Ally where the small convoy of Nia, Onlee with her recorder, Paul, and—trailing well behind, Duggs—would arrive next. I’d have loved to be part of it, especially as it seemed Paul’s plan might actually work.
Not that I’d still doubts, but the phrase “too good to be true” had been a favorite of Ersh’s.
But my place was peeling and sticking adhesive patches because I wasn’t, at present, Human. That was a key part of the plan, not to draw attention to why the Library existed in the first place, namely the incredible diversity of intelligent life beyond Botharis who came to us. We’d lull the Preservation Committee to sleep with the plain, Human, and uninteresting, hoping they’d turn their full attention back to the post office porch.
Poor Duggs. I couldn’t help but be disappointed for her. The creativity and craft she’d lavished on our non-Human zones, unique on this world and worthy of awards on most others, would not be part of Onlee’s recording. On the other hand, given where we’d set up our “wall” and where we hadn’t, the record should do justice to her plumbing and airducts—
“They’re about to leave the Chow,” Ally whispered, lurching to her feet. “C’mon. Last one and done.”
Lesley stroked the back of her masterpiece lovingly. “Good job,” she told it, then grabbed the center support with both hands and pulled with all her might.
Our precious wall snapped in two, falling with a final puff of plas dust.
So much for the plan. Ally and I exchanged looks of horror. I shifted mine to my web-kin, who was aglow with satisfaction. “What have you done?!”
A flicker of confusion. “Ally said done.”
The real Human smacked her palm against her forehead, then spoke quickly into her com. “Change of plan, Lionel. We can’t block the Iftsen Habitat Zone.” A glare at Lesley. “Don’t ask.” She listened for a second, then turned to me. “Es, he says you’ll have to provide a distraction, but how—”
The Iftsen Habitat Zone, starting with its airlock filled with green smog. “Meet us in the Lobby—what will you need?” I asked my web-kin.
If I’d thought Lesy glowed before, this expression was incandescent joy. “You want more art?”
Not in the least, but— “The Library needs its Artiste in Residence to put on a show.” What would Paul say? I tried not to wince. “One they’ll never forget.”
Lesley pursed her lovely lips, then nodded. “Ally, bring the spray guns, all the spatulas, and the bottle of soap.” She waved her hands in a shooing motion. “Go! Go! Go!” Ally managed to shake her head even as she set out at a run.
Drawing herself to her full height, my web-kin regarded me with impressive dignity. “All shall be astonished.”
Just this once, I hoped so.
“They didn’t make it to the Iftsen Habitat Zone.” If my tone had an anxious whine to it, I felt entitled. Paul hadn’t said a word since Niala and Onlee fled the Lobby.
Duggs hadn’t stopped laughing, while Lionel sat on a bench shaking his head, making it more difficult than usual for me to interpret my Human companions’ reaction to Lesy’s creative distraction.
I quite liked it, a response admittedly having something to do with being out of range when it activated.
Lesley Delacora, who wasn’t Human, was reacting precisely as I’d expect. Carefree. Triumphant. Singing and dancing in the midst of it all, skin and hair changing color each time she moved through another giant floating bubble of paint and it burst. Lesy, become her art.
Astonishing covered it.
More bubbles, of varied sizes and thus loads, drifted and jiggled through the air. The majority had burst and the Lobby floor resembled either a kaleidoscope or—I tilted my head—a serious chemical spill. A bubble contacted the overhead walkway, spattering it with yellow.
“It’s water soluble,” Ally offered, eyeing Paul warily. “There’s already soap.”
A bubble of blue had caught my friend on his right shoulder. Red from the one that had smacked into Nia’s face had sprayed over his head as well, resulting in fetching streaks of purple. He’d clawed the stuff from his eyes and mouth, but not bothered with the rest.
I’d a sneaking suspicion he’d left it so I wouldn’t lick him.
Lionel, mostly yellow, complemented Duggs’ combination of greens. Ally wore most of her color on her arms, a consequence of discovering she could waft a bubble away if she stroked through the air vigorously, if not the ones arriving from behind.
Duggs ran out of laughs, or realized she was the only one finding this funny. Which it was, I thought, lowering my ears in annoyance. It had worked, no one was hurt, there hadn’t been property damage—color didn’t count—and Lesy was happy.
Not that the last was a major factor, but opportunities to productively gratify my web-kin were becoming rare.
Paul nodded, as if to himself. With a start, I realized he’d been silent because he was listening to something not here.
Sure enough, catching the angle of my ears, he beckoned me over. If Paul wanted the petty satisfaction of seeing my beautiful fur doused with paint—
I was not going under wet nasty bubbles. To emphasize the point, I stayed put, safely seated beneath the wide leaves of the plants in one of the Lobby’s planters. My fur had been through too much yesterday, between two coats of mud and sticky gemmie glitter. With water!
As if hearing the thought, or feeling some reasonable level of contrition, Paul stopped beckoning and started coming to me. Before he got too close, I rose to all fours, ready to spring should he attempt contact. Even his clothes were dripping blue—and water soluble with soap didn’t make that any more appealing—
He halted a reassuring distance short of me. “Excellent job.”
Words to make my tail thump, except for what I could see of his face beneath the paint. Consternation. Worry. “What’s wrong?” I’d a horrible thought. “Are Nia or Onlee allergic to paint? Is that why they moved so fast?”
The quirk of his lips vanished almost at once. “They’re fine, Es. This is fine. Lionel,” louder. “Duggs. Ally.”
As the other Humans approached, watching for bubbles, a large one sank down overhead. Duggs dodged one way, Ally the other, and Lionel walked straight through it, immediately turning from mostly yellow to mainly brown. I hadn’t known our administrator used that sort of language. Duggs gave him a wet slap on the shoulder.
Lesy continued to dance and sing, reinforcing my observation she’d lifted self-absorption to an art form of its own.
“Something’s come up,” Paul said. The crisp edge in his voice brought me to my feet. “Duggs and Ally, please coordinate the cleanup with the night crew. Best you can,” he temporized. “If we need to lay down mats—”
“We’ll get it done,” Ally promised.
“Almost a shame to stop her.” Duggs jerked a thumb at our delirious artist.
“You can’t,” I assured her. Unless— “Pop the rest of the bubbles. She’ll get bored and leave.”
“That’s cruel.” Wiping paint from her cheek, Ally frowned at me. “Lesley’s work is a remarkable achievement, from her knowledge of chemistry to modifying the sprayers to generate the bubbles—and so quickly.”
Practice helped. I flicked an ear. “It’s on the vid.” Everything before a bubble burst on the recorder, ending the inspection.
Giving up on me, Ally turned to Paul and pleaded, “They’ll finish on their own in a few minutes.”
“I leave it in your hands,” he said. “Lionel? With us.” Paul set off without looking to see if we followed.
“What’s wrong?” Lionel asked me as we hurried to keep up.
I shrugged to show I’d no idea and moved faster.
Something certainly was.
The showers were deserted, staff having left for the day, not that I participated. From a prudent distance, I listened while the Humans cleansed themselves of paint.
Lionel was protesting. “I haven’t had time to scan Nia’s maps—”
“We can’t wait.” At this, my heart gave an odd little skip of dismay. Something had changed. Something big. Sure enough, “Es and I are leaving tomorrow on Rudy’s ship. As fast as he can do the turnaround. Let everyone know Esen has a family emergency.”
A pause, then, from Lionel, “Are you coming back?”
The grim question shocked through me, followed by a close-to-hysterical babble of my own. Was this it? The moment we were no longer safe on Botharis? Had we lost the Library? How?
And a possibly pertinent, which family?
Paul’s brisk, “Nothing like that,” let me breathe again. “Esen was right.”
I was? I felt even better and waited impatiently to know what I’d been right about—not that I wasn’t right often, but lately it hadn’t seemed as often—
“We’re not the only ones looking for the Framers. The Mistral just picked up Evan Gooseberry, and her cabins are crowded with experts in several fields. Wherever she’s going, we need to be. It’s time to work together.” With that, Paul stepped from the stall, wrapping a towel around his lean middle.
“‘Evan’?” I echoed weakly. I shouldn’t have been surprised; our young diplomat’s knack for landing in the thick of things rivaled my own. “He’s got his ship back?” That would be a surprise. Likely to Evan, too.
“No, he’s a passenger. I don’t know why.” Anticipating my next question. “But Evan was here, Old Blob. That might be the reason.”
Here during both Victory Johnsson’s incursion and the Sacrissees’. We had to work on our timing.
Paul’s gray eyes found me, a question in their depths.
Much as this me loathed space travel, I deliberately lifted my ears, tongue lolling to one side. Ready when you are! After all, we’d an Evan to find.
Paul went to one knee. Understanding what he asked—shuddering inwardly at the damp—I dropped to all fours and came to where he could wrap his arms around me, resisting the urge to stick my cold nose in his ear. He whispered in mine, “Can Lesy take Esolesy’s place while we’re gone?”
I squirmed, gawking at him in disbelief. “Paul, she’s old.”
He stopped the hugging, which was awkward and Human—and damp—in favor of rubbing under my ears, which was pleasant but cheating. “We’ve no time for finesse, Fangface. You can’t be in two places at once.”
“OLD,” I growled warningly. It was ridiculous. No one would mistake us—
Paul dared chuckle, right in my face. “C’mon, Es. How old a Lishcyn does she appear? Comparatively speaking.”
Despite the laugh, his breath held a tang of anxious, not that I’d tell him. Reluctantly I made myself consider the question. “She has more . . .” the last word came out a mumble.
He took hold and shook my head gently. “More what? Hair in her ears?”
Come to think of it, Lesy would. And have a greater girth. And— “Last time I saw her Lishcyn-self, Lesy had more inlays,” I admitted. “In her tusks,” in case my friend forgot where that telling accessory belonged. “They were stunning.” And grown into each tusk, making them part of form-memory. Hers, not mine.
“Then when this is over, you’ll need even more—equally stunning—to keep anyone from noticing the switch.”
Also cheating, because I couldn’t believe even Humans would fail to see the difference between Esolesy Ki’s callow youth and Lesyole’s statuesque maturity—let alone that my web-kin had missed the entire Lishcyn fascination with all things Dokecian and lacked a “Ki”—not as important.
Against my better judgment, and that me certain to lust after more inlays regardless if deserved, I found myself warming to the idea. “I’ll have to convince her,” I warned. “She’s not fond of the stomachs.” Few were.
Paul grinned and stood. “If anyone can, it’s you.”
Lionel came out of his shower stall, combing his mostly paint-free hair back with his fingers. “Can what?”
“Convince Lesy to impersonate Esen’s Lishcyn-self while we’re gone.”
“What?!” He stood dripping on the floor as if transfixed.
“Exactly,” I said approvingly. “Sounds impossible, but Paul says no one will be able to tell us apart, especially since we’ll be apart.” Not that I doubted Paul, especially when it came to his own species, but this? “What do you think?”
Lionel finally moved, if slowly, to obtain a towel. He shot us a sober look. “I think Duggs has to be warned. We can’t risk—she can’t afford a mistake.”
Paul’s eyes flicked my way then back. “Where’s this coming from?”
My heart sank. “It’s about Lesy.” I didn’t need Lionel’s tiny flinch, his cautious breath as he looked at me, to be sure. “I’m guessing she’s shown you her—” I searched for a word and went with, “—not-nice side, hasn’t she.” Family.
The brave Human managed a wan smile. “Let’s say I no longer consider her fragile or childlike.”
Paul carefully didn’t look at me. We’d discussed Lesy; he knew I felt—I was—responsible for her despite our ages. It hadn’t seemed the complete reassurance I’d hoped. “Did Lesy threaten you?” There was an edge to his voice, meant for me. It’d be my fault.
“No. Not at all.” Lionel appeared to gather himself. “It was more—I found it disturbing, to be frank, hearing her speak openly of time. Of us as flickers in it.”
“Well, now you see what I had to put up with, growing up.” I gave an annoyed huff. “Lesy’s not just our Elder, she’s OLD.” At Paul’s be serious look, I lifted my ears in defiance. “She is. With OLD habits. Among them, surviving.” Admittedly, she hadn’t escaped Death, but neither had Ersh.
As I’d intended, Lionel’s expression grew thoughtful as he absorbed this. “By remaining secret. But Esen, because of you, she accepts Paul. And me. Surely the safest approach would be to tell Lesy about Duggs—”
My “No” came out a yelp.
At Paul’s grim nod of agreement, I continued more normally, “It wouldn’t work. Lesy accepts you because I’ve shared years of my memories of you with her—how you’ve earned my trust. Duggs and I—don’t have that history. Not yet.”
And what we did have? Duggs surprising me while I cycled. Duggs letting me fall into the pit. Blobbie.
I shuddered. “Duggs is smart. She guessed my other form and Skalet’s true nature at once.” No need to go into my admitting to the Human we’d a third web-kin at the Library. Not my finest moment as Senior Assimilator. “That’s what Lesy would get from me, and she’d—she’d panic.” And if she couldn’t escape, she’d eat Duggs, then I’d have to—
Whatever happened, it wouldn’t end well.
“Duggs can do it if anyone can,” I said firmly, hoping I was right. “We just have to explain to her she has to convince Lesy she believes her to be me.”
Assuming I could convince Lesy to be just that. My head wanted to spin. There were so many ways this could go sideways—and it wasn’t even my plan.
I looked at Paul, seeing determination in the set of his jaw, a burning anticipation in those eloquent gray eyes, and knew we were committed. “It’ll help,” I told him resignedly, “if Rudy’s brought very nice clothes.”
And if my web-kin had done sufficient art today to satisfy that strange need to change itch of hers.
So many ways . . .
The race to be ready, on every front, began immediately. Lionel went to draw Duggs aside for a now-urgent conversation, and Paul would follow up with her later to be sure. First, though, my friend would be busy. He was to contact Rudy to tell him that, while he was to bring a “Lishcyn” passenger to the Library as arranged, he’d be leaving with us, and quickly. That done, Paul would dash to the Hamlet of Hillsview Pub, where Nia and Onlee were spending the night, to explain why the Library’s director and curator were heading into space when they should be trembling under beds—or equivalent—to await the Preservation Committee’s response to the Special Envoy’s inspection. As for any questions, we’d do what we could over coms, but what couldn’t be deferred until we came back—a thought I clung to while doing my own racing—would fall into Lionel’s lap.
Because, as Paul said, I’d a family emergency on Lanivar. Plausible, in a sense. Conceivably this me had living relatives on that world—if my sire had continued his winsome ways and if his lineage had survived down through, conservatively, twenty-two generations of Lanivarians—suffice to say it was the sort of drop-everything commitment Humans, being family-inclined, should believe.
As for why Paul would accompany me?
Everyone—even on Botharis—knew Lanivarians were terrible spacefarers. I’d need his help. And anti-nausea meds, a dark corner, a bucket—
Not looking forward to that part of it.
Our fabrication should convince Duggs as well, though no doubt she’d assume any “family” emergency I had involved Skalet and the Kraal and not be happy about it. Poor Lionel.
Meanwhile, Henri was coming back to the Library and Ally asked to linger, so Paul and Lionel could meet with our seniormost staff and dump everything we wouldn’t be here to do on their capable shoulders. The All Species’ Library of Linguistics and Culture must stay open and function.
On the bright side, this made an excellent dry run to let us take a vacation offworld more than the once—maybe to Minas XII, or with Evan. Not that I mentioned that out loud.
What mattered most was we’d a chance to learn what Survey was hiding about the Framers—knowledge being the essential step before “hello” led to understanding and, hopefully, conversation—ideally before any more dead ships showed up in frames and crews disappeared. Which was why Paul sent us scrambling to complete our separate vital errands.
But as I ran to find Lesy, it occurred to me my friend challenged Skalet herself when it came to layers of motivation and outright cunning. Paul was never obvious.
Suggesting another, not mutually exclusive, reason Paul had us dashing around like newly spawned Carasians. To postpone an explanation of how, suddenly, he knew where we had to go. More to the point, who’d told him about Evan and the Mistral.
Leading to a suspicion that made me run faster.
Was his Group involved?
I found Lesy where I’d thought I would, naked and draped languorously over the lounge chair—formerly Paul’s—in her bedroom—formerly Paul’s—humming contentedly to herself. My Elders did smug better than any ephemeral I’d met. The warm colors of sunset filled the room, bathing her flawless skin in light. Flawless but for a stylish new blue question mark peeking over a shoulder at me and what was that about?
Focus, I reminded myself. “Lesy?”
A finger’s twitch invited me closer.
Confront or coax? Perhaps a combination—No, with Lesy it’d have to be coaxing. I sidled up beside the chair. “Paul said your art in the Lobby was excellent. And it was. You saved the day for the Library, Lesy. Thank you.” Because it was true, I licked the side of her wrist, then laid my head on her arm.
Her other hand stroked my dappled snout from nose to the top of my head. “And were all astonished, Youngest, as I said they would be?”
“No doubt about it.” I chose not to tell my web-kin the vid record might make Lesley Delacora famous, should the Botharans see fit to share her portion of it and likely they would, this world barely past a fixation on once-useful craft pieces and large items made from string. That was more Esolesy Ki’s opinion; Grandine had several respectable galleries, and the southern half of Lowesland boasted a healthy community of painters and glass blowers, inspired by vineyards and the products thereof. But they’d never have seen anything like our Lobby and Lesley’s bubbles before.
A vain hope, that she’d satisfied her disturbing itch to change things and could pause her art while impersonating me. That me. Explain later, I decided. There’d be a great deal of that going around once our mission to the planet or system of the Framers was done.
Back to coaxing. “Lesy, we need your help—eep!” I yelped as her hand clenched on my snout, the arm beneath gone rigid. “A different kind of help—a not-art help—”
“No.” She withdrew her appendages, almost dropping my tender snout on the chair arm. “I’m exhausted.” Her yawn struck me as contrived, but I hadn’t been the one dancing through paint bubbles.
“There’ll be new clothes.” Ersh, I was shameless.
“I’ve some arriving tomorrow.” Another fake yawn, this time with graceful stretching. Lesy closed her eyes, waving me away. “Go play with your Human.”
Any other word and I might not have snapped, teeth closing on a finger. Unless deep inside, I’d known a little confrontation would be required.
As we cycled into web-form, mouths gaping open, all I had to say for myself was she’d started it.