Free Hidden in Sight by Julie E. Czerneda

can’t say no to your charming, tusky self.”
    â€œOr to you,” I countered, happily abandoning the pot to chemistry in order to follow Paul into our main living area.
    This was my favorite part of our home, cheerfully crowded by chairs of varying size and shape—supposedly as a courtesy to any nonhumanoid guests, but in reality to provide comfort to any nonhumanoid me. Paul had arranged them to offer a choice of view. Either window overlooked the front of our home, which as often as not meant staring at the massive shutters saving those windows from Minas XII’s hyperactive weather. The other focal point was the fireplace, with its stone mantel host to my collection of images of Paul’s offspring sitting on my broad Lishcyn knees at several pivotal moments of their growth, nestled around a set of large, never-used gift candles whose fragrance made both of us sneeze, and, newest addition, a three-dimensional close-up of a truly stunning tusk inlay I desperately wanted but Paul considered a bit extreme for the office.
    I was wearing him down.
    There were shelves loaded with readers, vids, and puzzles. A tall stand in one corner sprouted chilled bottles of wine and beer instead of vegetation. And somewhere, on the floor, I distinctly remembered we’d put down some expensive and colorful Whirtle carpets a while ago—now lost beneath what was a cozy, albeit crowded, place meant for living.
    There were no secrets here, no dictionaries for languages unknown to the Human Commonwealth, no collections of information that would be impossible for Cameron or Ki to explain. Such wealth was safely stored within my mass; any I’d shared with Paul locked either in his memory or in our hidden machines. Yet, given enough wine or a melancholy mood—or both—my Human would talk to me for hours about the library we could build, if we dared. At such times, I believed he truly understood how incomplete my life sometimes felt, without the sharing and assimilation of mass.
    Not that it felt that way now, I thought contentedly, heading for the waiting chessboard. But Paul didn’t take his seat, as I’d expected. Instead, he went straight to the closet beside the fireplace and pulled out our carrysacks, tossing one in my direction. “Packing,” I objected firmly, “gives me indigestion.”
    â€œBeing awake gives you indigestion.”
    Possibly true, but hardly polite. “Fine.” Perhaps if I gave in to his efficiency, we’d have time for a game. “Pass out my other sack.”
    â€œOne is all you’ll need.”
    â€œOne!” I sputtered indignantly. “One?? I’ll need at least two. Maybe,” I scowled, “three.”
    Paul shook his head, grinning at my outrage. “We’ll be in one of Largas’ freighters or climbing rocks for the entire trip. Not to mention we’ll be carrying our own baggage, Fem Ki, which means you’ll be carrying yours. I presume you’ll want one hand free in case it’s night when we disembark?”
    My shudder wasn’t completely theatrical. My Lishcyn-self, having no night sight worth mentioning—unless one wished to say something derogatory to an otherwise peace-loving being covered in tough hairy scales and possessed of a body that could splinter most furniture just by accident—had a healthy aversion to dim light, let alone full darkness. Paul was right, as usual. I must be able to carry my lamp. “One sack,” I sighed. Then brightened. “But I’ll have to go shopping. For the return trip.”
    His lips twitched. “On Picco’s Moon?”
    I’d already thought of that. “The freighter makes another stop on the way home. Urgia Prime!” Low standards, great shopping. Despite my anxiety about what was happening on Ersh’s mountain, I showed Paul both tusks. “Might as well enjoy ourselves.” The first thing I’d buy, I promised