Free Changing Vision by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

her lips.
    “—Fem Ki predicted his reaction to threat, I’m sorry to say.”
Huh
, I thought. “Myers almost lost it, but I got him under control before there was an incident. But he was right, Paul. They had no grounds for boarding—”
    “Pardon me,” I interrupted. “Captain Chase, would you mind going back to the very beginning? This is most exciting and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
    Captain Chase had undergone a vision enhancement procedure, one that allowed her to receive feed from her ship’s internal and external systems when activated. It was not common out on the Fringe, and the unusually large, violet irises she turned on me were another mark of her origins in wealthier, more settled space. She blinked. “Of course, Fem Ki.” My hearing easily detected the sound of her teeth grinding together. I showed her my other tusk, suddenly in fine spirits.
    My feet invaded so much of the space under the table Paul could tap a warning on my toes without appearing to stretch. I flipped an ear innocently at him as he said: “We don’t have all morning, Esolesy Ki. We should go over the documents Janet brought and see if there’s anything to help us predict Port Authority’s stand on all this—before we have to bribe somone.”
    “Fine, fine.” I waved cheerfully at the passing Octarian, hoping it was our waiter and not—as happened occasionally—a bemused patron wandering around with a dirty towel still stuck to its chins. “I don’t know about you,” I announced to my companions, “but I find it very hard to read without a morning libation. And,” this to the being who had obediently lumbered to my side and laid its auditory tendrils on the table, “do you have those really fresh green insects on a stick? You know the ones I mean?”
    Paul’s “Es—” came at the same time as Chase’s complexionturned an obligingly green tinge itself.
Was I to help it that she had some sort of phobia to food that wriggled?
    Still, there was more to deal with than any pleasure I gained manipulating this poor female, whose only crime was the look in her eyes whenever she glanced from Paul to me. I swiveled my large ears thoughtfully. If I hadn’t overheard their argument a year ago—which included “interfering shaggy-scaled hunk” as her kindest (and most anatomically believable) reference to my handsome self—I might have taken that look to be one any uneasy employee might pass between a favored boss and his less-than-predictable partner.
    But I had heard and, regrettably for Chase, was physiologically incapable of forgetting a word. I smoothed the pleats of my issa-silk caftan over one broad thigh.
However, I, at least, was civilized.
Paul hadn’t signed any contract with this female, although I’d been disappointed by his lack of offense at her insults. To confuse me further, when he found out I’d listened to their argument, he’d been angry with me for a planetary week.
Humans could be incredibly difficult.
    So
, I thought, gathering my dignity,
it was up to me to deal with this one.
I passed the sheaf of plas sheets Chase gave me to Paul, not bothering to squint at them in this light, then turned my attention from her past faults to a suspicion I’d had since hearing of the
Lass’
s confrontation. “Was there any hint or sign that the Tly inspectors knew what you carried?” I asked her.
    Violet eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?”
    We paused while the waiter gingerly placed a bowl of pyati in the middle of our table, a true feat to accomplish without sloshing the steaming liquid or its floating dollops of cream. Then the Octarian reached into a large pouch and rummaged noisily for a moment before bringing forth a cup for Paul, a long, troughlike spoon for Janet Chase, and a tall glass for me. With a satisfied-sounding mumble, the waiter left us.
    We sorted out the tableware. The spoon was for me, of course, and the glass a complete mistake: typical Circle Club service. Paul