FINGERS stroked death. They ran lightly along its edge, explored its flawless surface, caressed its hilt. Finally, they opened. The knife fell on the tabletop with an angry ring of metal to stone. Failure was inefficient.

"I was expecting more -- progress." The voice was like the knife, flawless, smooth, and as deadly.

The one bringing the report nodded. "As were we. There is an admirable level of paranoia in our subjects, Eminence." The Kraal touched the tattoos on both cheeks, bowing deeply. "We regret our lack of success."

"As do I." Inconvenient, to find the Youngest this careful. Yet reassuring.

Another sat at the stone table, reflected by its polished black surface; her hands, almost as dark as the stone, pressed themselves flat on the tabletop. Pa-Admiral Mocktap, tattoos glowing white against her skin, waited with unusual patience. Her ships did the same. The tattoos were marks of loyalty and obedience; the patience -- perhaps -- came from familiarity. Trust wasn't a word used by Kraal. A comforting congruence.

An ally of her own would be expedient. The trap into which foolish Esen had fallen -- continued to fall.

She would not make that mistake.

"Time to flush our prey from its lair," the deadly, flawless voice decided.

"YOU made that up," I accused.

"It's the truth, Es. I swear on my father's grave."

I eyed my Human friend with deep suspicion, all too familiar with that too-innocent look. "Your father isn't dead," I reminded him.

"Picky, picky," he grinned. "Okay. I swear on my grandmother's grave. Noah and I really did swim in the Chidtik Ocean without suits."

"The body of your paternal grandmother was sent into the sun of her birth system, Hendrick," I countered. "That of your maternal grandmother was recycled, by her wish, into an exact replica of her favorite sofa. She is now gathering dust in your Uncle Sam's attic because no one in the family can bring themselves to sit on her. So you can't use their graves either." I paused to scowl. "No Human -- even one so reckless as you seem to have been in your youth -- would swim in the Chidtik without an environment suit."

The fine lines at the corners of Paul Cameron's eyes crinkled ever so slightly. "How do you remember all that trivia -- No, stop. Dumb question. You remember everything." He leaned back, stretching his arms up to cushion his head against the stone. We were enjoying a rare moment of peaceful weather -- in other words, the wind curling the clouds in front of our porch was whining instead of howling -- and Paul was relishing every moment. Including this latest effort to persuade me of yet another impossible feat from his past. If he'd actually done all the things he claimed, it was quite remarkable he'd lived long enough to meet me, Esen-alit-Quar, Esen for short, Es in a hurry, or between dear friends.

"There may have been some mitigating circumstances," Paul ventured peacefully.

"Such as?" I rolled over on my stomach to better watch his face.

"A night of rain, a surfboard, and a keg of local beer." He paused, then nodded. "And some tall boots. I distinctly remember there were boots. I've no idea whose, but they did come in handy."

I was growing convinced despite my common sense, and shivered though the sun was warm on my shoulders and back. A temporary layer of fresh water on top of that caustic ocean, a board to keep most of his body from the depths, boots to protect his feet from the scalpel-sharp crystals that passed as beach sand to the unwary visitor. It was possible after all.

It was supremely stupid. "Was it worth it?" I asked him.

The Human's eyes gleamed. "Every minute. Even with my souvenir." He showed me the underside of his left arm. I'd noticed the faint swath of a scar there before, but had never asked about its origin. "Noah was a little drunker than I was and splashed me as we were coming out. I dodged most of it -- but he had burns on his hand and wrist. Not that he remembers how he got them."

"I will never understand the ephemeral urge to risk shortening an already too-short life span by taking such risks," I said primly. "It is gratifying to know you grow out of it."

Paul chuckled. "Which is why I'm sunbathing on the side of a sheer cliff, my feet almost at the edge of this ledge, trading stories with a shapeshifting monster."

I didn't argue, although it was no accident I was stretched out between Paul and that edge. My Human form might be that of a slight young girl, but I would never let harm come to my friend. My Web.

"Speaking of trading stories, my ancient Blob, I've a request."

I raised an eyebrow. "Shall I describe the undersea ruins in the Chidtik, given you were so close to joining them?"

He wagged a finger at me admonishingly. "Not so fast. Yesterday you promised to tell me your very first memory, or did you forget?"

I'd hoped he had. Paul had an excellent mind, but I'd noticed if I left an idea alone long enough, or offered sufficient distraction, he would occasionally lose his train of thought. "Yours was far too interesting," I told him. "How could my earliest thoughts compare with your effort to fly from the roof of the family barn?"

I wasn't going to deflect him this time. I could tell by the gleam in his eye that Paul's curiosity was fully engaged. "C'mon, Es. What's the first thing stored in that perfect memory of yours? There has to be something at least a bit embarrassing in your youth. I've confessed my sins -- what were yours? It's only fair, Fangface."

"My first memory," I repeated, giving in as always. There was no resisting my Human web-kin when he was this determined. I confessed curiosity. I hadn't thought back to that time since living it. Unlike my current form's sake, unlike Paul's, I had no need to reminisce over and over again to make my past permanent in my own mind.

I had no ability to change or romanticize my past either. Whatever I'd experienced, whatever I learned, became part of my flesh. The only way to lose a recollection was to lose part of my mass before I could withdraw the memories from it -- a painful and highly disorienting experience I'd suffered only once.

"Well, Esen?"

I sat up, moving to lean shoulder to shoulder with Paul against our cliff, and stared out over plains and mountain-tops of wind-tossed cloud, imagining the landscape beneath, the cluster of beings busy with their presents, their futures, their pasts.

"It was five hundred and fifty-three standard years ago, and a smattering of days . . ." I began.

Copyright © 2003 by Julie E. Czerneda