Changing Vision by Julie E. Czerneda

her chair. It was the sort of carrier spacers everywhere used to bring personal items from ship to planetside accommodations. There were likely identical ones under most tables here. She answered Paul’s question as she arranged the case in front of her onthe table: “Oh, they took the pouch. And the Quebit manuals filling it.”
    She flipped open the center flap of her bag, revealing its contents. Most looked familiar: our mail, some bundles wrapped around with red-and-white Largas’ tape—signifying ship-to-ship messages too personal, too silly, or too sensitive to trust to other means of communication, and an assorted pile that must be new mail the
Vegas Lass
picked up during her stopover at Panacia.
    I laughed before I could help it, but managed to turn my big head aside in time to protect my companions and the table from spraying pyati.
She’d substituted Quebit manuals for our mail?
Quebits took the art of manual writing to such extremes, legend held the first Human scholars who’d tried to decipher their written language had spent a lifetime working through what they’d hoped would be a definitive piece of Quebit culture. No one was quite ready to say it wasn’t, but the huge ancient text had proved to be a manual for installing a sewage system within a city. Quebits were methodical beyond a fault.
    Clever and vindictive.
While I was by no means ready to forgive Chase’s past insults, this went a long way toward burying them.
    Oddly enough, Paul hadn’t so much as smiled. Instead he was staring at the bag of mail as though planning to grab it and run.
What do you know that I don’t, my friend?
I asked myself thoughtfully, saving the question for another time.
    Meanwhile, Chase didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual about Paul’s behavior—a satisfying observation I charitably chose not to take further—instead reaching into the pile of Panacian mail to tug free one piece, a plain data cube such as we routinely used for reports having to travel through more than one system. One of the joys of a multispecies’ society was the lack of consistent communication between any given pair of technologies. These simple tap-and-store cubes were about as reliably transferable as a carving on a rock: the language would vary, but at least every species in the Commonwealth had the brute capability of extracting the script.
    “I knew how important this would be to Cameron & Ki—to you especially, Fem Ki,” Chase said, for once looking directly at me without a frown. Instead, she appeared unusually animated, as if what she held might make up for our past misunderstandings.
    Huh
, I repeated to myself.
    Judging from Paul’s speculative look, this wasn’t what he’d been concerned about. I sensed he was still anxious. There was nothing overt in his behavior, unless it was how he made a bit too much of the challenge of dipping more pyati into his glass, but I could feel alarm doing a fine job on my insides.
    Nonetheless, I chose to be touched by Chase’s care for the message—whatever it was—or at least curious. “What is it?” I asked, making the logical assumption she knew enough about it to save me attempting to read it in this light.
    “It’s an announcement,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially and leaning forward.
As if anyone could see us, let alone hear us back here
, I thought with amusement, but leaned closer cooperatively, if unnecessarily. Obviously, Chase didn’t put much credit in the rumors of my hearing ability—which was just as well. “It’s about the Feneden,” Chase informed me almost breathlessly. “They’ve sent a delegation to D’Dsel. My contact’s heard they are interested in starting up some trade routes. No one expected anything like this so soon after first contact. It’s a fabulous opportunity for Cameron & Ki—”
    Unlike other species, a Lishcyn’s lower jaw could drop almost free on its lower elastic hinge; mine hit my chest with a clunk and a