The Gate to Futures Past (28 page)

W
HATEVER NEW ODDITY Sira had encountered in the M'hir, Morgan judged, had to wait on the rest. Once she'd regained her composure, she'd pushed him, gently, from her surface thoughts, newly cautious of Tap Tap.

Who'd turned out to be a living sensor called an Oud-Key, and part of a Hoveny religious sect. Fascinating. Brightfall. The System Cooperative. Sects, governments, justice systems, secrets. Their new home promised to be as complicated as any segment of the Trade Pact, the Human thought with growing satisfaction. Complicated allowed for adjustment and change. Complicated, in his experience, meant opportunity.

If you survived the stage where you hadn't a clue and decisions had to be made based on fragments of information, none of it guaranteed to be reliable or complete. Had a great deal in common with flying a starship made of used parts, that did.

He'd done both. Would do this. Sira had found an excellent resource in the Seesor
,
Alisi Di.

Morgan had an idea where to find one of his own.

“What's the play?” Barac kept his back to their quarry.

Pauvan Di had returned after taking Sira to her meeting with his heart-kin. Information of value. Also of value, he was responsible for the care of the new arrivals, by assignment or choice.
The others went to him. He was the only one Morgan had seen giving orders or suggestions.

And the Human liked him. He liked several of the Hoveny. Instinctive, that snap judgment. Potentially misleading, given these weren't his species—

Such judgments hadn't failed him yet. “I'll get him alone. You keep watch in here. Make sure no one follows us.”

The Clansman nodded. He glanced at the rows of cocoons. “Their Healers aren't happy. Did you notice?”

“Hard to miss,” Morgan agreed. Aracel Dis had received a messenger. Afterward, she and the other edicans had clustered, talking in low voices, then she'd sent one to stand by the door. That edican had leaped at Pauvan the moment he'd arrived, drawing him over to converse, heatedly, with the rest.

Another reason to talk to him. “We don't know how remote this area may be. Transport might be more of an issue than they'd like. Keep me posted, if you see anything change.”

“How do I tell? I
taste
it all the time.” Flat, almost lifeless. “Don't you?”

No, but if the Clansman did, it was family. Morgan gripped Barac's wrist, hiding the contact with his body.
Tell me.

Ruti.
With an undertone of
despair
so dark the Human hurried to block it from his Chosen.
What you just told me, about the dead, about them—something using them—trying to lure us to our deaths. It's happening to her. Morgan, she has so many dead.

Gods, no.

Jason, what's wrong?

So much for the effort.
Ruti's hearing the dead.

And if he'd been afraid before, it was nothing to the
anguish
and
FEAR
that seared along their link—

—before Sira locked it away to protect him.
We can't lose them,
with utter calm.

Knowing they could.
We'll do whatever it takes,
he vowed, feeling his Chosen's
agreement
as she withdrew.

Morgan looked at Barac.
Has Ruti tried to leave?

We'd be dead if she had.
The Clansman turned his wrist. Morgan released him.
She promised not to go without me,
grim and full of
pain
. Morgan, we have to keep her away from Andi. The things that child says—believes—it's making Ruti worse.
“I don't blame the child,” the First Scout said aloud. “She doesn't understand.”

Or understood too well, Morgan thought. “Andi's with her parents at the moment.” He'd shamelessly made up a story about Hoveny culture and foreign children; Nik and Josa, already anxious, had been willing to sit on their daughter if necessary.

Unfortunately, they weren't willing to have him question the child. Yet.

In the meantime, if all else failed, well, he'd tranks in his pack; no solution, but if it saved lives—especially these— “Barac?”

The other grimaced. “If you say we should have taken our chances with the Assemblers, I'll have to hit you.”

“I'd let you.” He met the other's troubled gaze, held it. “Trust your Chosen. Tell Ruti what I've told you, that these voices are like the lights of Nightsfire: bait in a trap. Tell her she's the only one who can keep you and your baby safe. It's up to her to protect her family.”

“Why that's—” Almost a smile. “Sly as a Scat, you are,” Barac said with sincere affection. “I should warn my cousin.”

“She knows.” Morgan clapped the other on a shoulder, uncaring what Hoveny or Clan thought of such a Human gesture. “We've a shiny new planet, Barac. It's time we stopped looking back.”

The view ahead being the one they could change.

“Human.”

“‘Hu-man.' Human.” Pauvan had a contagious smile. “And this?” He stroked his own smooth chin, raising a brow.

“A beard.” Morgan dug his fingers in, gave the stuff a tug. “Adult Human males grow facial hair; our females don't.” No point mentioning how quirks of style occasionally put beards on feminine faces—or any body part. He had the opening he'd been after since they'd come outside. “Your turn. The Hoveny. He, she, and—?” A suggestive tap near the comlink resting on the vehicle roof.

The Hoveny was a tech specialist, judging by the sparkle in his eyes when Morgan had offered him a chance to see some “alien” versions. No fool, either. When the Human had suggested they step outside, Pauvan had assigned one of his fellows to stay by the door. Perhaps to signal if something went awry inside.

Perhaps to come to his aid if this stranger proved dangerous. Morgan approved of caution—especially in someone who might be a friend.

Wasn't yet.

His pack, weathered as it was by hard use and time, had several virtues: scan-proof—at least by routine Trade Pact tech; waterproof—he'd used it on Karolus to make a river crossing. Tough—buried for safekeeping, it had rebuffed the efforts of a narbear to rip it open, though he'd had to track the creature to its den to retrieve his property.

Best of all, the pack could be opened in a variety of ways, each without revealing the others, or what he wasn't prepared to share. Anyone who managed to slice it open?

Well, if they didn't do it in a vacuum, or wearing protection, he was hardly responsible for what they'd release from the lining.

He'd shown Pauvan his bioscanner and lens, drawing those from pockets in his vest. His coat was in the pack where it mightn't be noticed. The comlink and ensuing vocabulary game had come next.

White eyebrows climbed. “So it's true? No neuter among these people, despite their being Hoveny?”

Human gender, despite what some aliens thought, was a spectrum. Someone had made very sure it wasn't among the Om'ray, and so the Clan, a design intended to produce breeding pairs. Hindsight, Morgan reminded himself, wasn't what he needed. “Not to my knowledge,” he said, picking his words with care. “Not to theirs.” Sometimes you gave a little. “You aren't what we expected.” And asked, without asking.

“You surprise us, too,” came the answer. “It's not my place to question you, Jason Di, but I am curious how you arrived without any warning from the Hub, the System Comm—they oversee all travel within the system.”

Fair enough. “My guess is we surprised them, too,” Morgan said easily. “Our ship was programmed to bring us here but didn't land. We dropped to the surface in lifepods that disintegrated soon after. I salvaged these.” He brought out the glove, tapping pod flakes into his palm where they gleamed like dark glass, and held out his hand. “You're welcome to analyze them.”

Pauvan gave them a hungry look, but repeated, “It's not my place. Keep them safe.”

Interesting. Morgan nodded, replacing the samples and tucking away the glove. Time to push. “So someone's coming to take charge of us. That's why our wounded are still here.”

“I cannot say.”

He'd take that as a yes.

The Hoveny controlled their expressions; some more effectively than others, all better than any Clan. Didn't matter. They'd each their giveaways: a flicker of the eyelid, tightening of a lip, a shift in body posture. The Human could read faces far more alien than these and, unlike his Chosen, he'd no compunction using his Talent to sniff out any emotions their hosts let slip.

Whomever was coming made Pauvan Di anxious. No, it was more than that. What Morgan sensed was frustrated, almost righteous, anger. Pauvan didn't approve of those coming to take over—and felt powerless to do anything about it.

Not good. Still, it told him he'd been right about this Hoveny. The Human smiled and held out his hand. “Whatever happens next, we've you to thank for our rescue.”

Pauvan gripped it,
relief
flowing across the contact. “And I am grateful to meet you, Jason Morgan Di. Human with a beard. Who else can say that, on Brightfall?”

He laughed. “You're the first.” Morgan waved at his comlink. “Those neuter pronouns?”

The Hoveny bent over the device, enunciating carefully: “She, he,
ne.
Her, him,
ner.
Hers, his,
nes.
” He straightened. “Use the neuter if you're in doubt. It's a compliment.”

“Most appreciated.” Morgan put the 'link in his pocket.

Leaning against the side of the vehicle, Pauvan pulled a small flask from his tunic. “In honor of new words for us both.”
Tipping his head back, he squeezed a stream of amber liquid into his open mouth. He swallowed and smacked his lips before handing the flask to the Human.

Morgan took a sniff of the smoky stuff, eyebrows rising in appreciation. “Much as I'd like to join you,” he said ruefully, returning the flask, “different biology. Another time—when I've learned what's safe for me.” He leaned companionably next to the other. Sunlight filled the tunnel entrance, stroking shadow along the curves of the ancient Hoveny building. The breeze brought the tantalizing scent of growing things and soil. If he'd thought for an instant their hosts would allow it, he'd have walked outside.

With Sira.

“Another time. For now, this is for you, Jason Di.” The Hoveny squeezed another drink for himself, with a relish the Human envied, then put away the flask. “What else should I tell you?” A moment's pause. “We're born with gender or without. Either can have heart-kin; some are solitary, by choice or lack of haisin. You will hear ‘dis' as part of their names. Di, for one heart-kin. Din, more than one. Su, those who have yet to find such a connection.”

How Hoveny had evolved, a revelation of their true nature with, Morgan thought, dishearteningly few points of correspondence to present-day Clan. What about Choosers, driven by the Power-of-Choice clinging to them in the M'hir? Not only those pacing the tent, but those who'd grow up with that same instinct?

One hurdle at a time, Morgan told himself.

“We're given private names at birth.” Pauvan chuckled. “Very long and complicated names, Jason, and no one bothers with them other than in government records, though some attempt to sing them at special occasions. Normally, we use the shortest unique plus our avowed status. I am Pauvanal when my cousin Pauvanor visits; we are both Pauvan when apart.” A sideways look. “Which brings me to the extra names your people gave us. Teerac. Parth. Uruus. Sawnda'at. Why?”

He'd bite. “What do you mean?”

“Those aren't names. Not here. Not for people. Excuse me if I'm too curious,” the Hoveny added quickly. “But anyone with an interest in history would notice.”

Morgan went still. “If they aren't names, what are they?”

“Worlds. Worlds within the Concentrix, before the Fall.”

The past lived here, ripping its claws into the Clan and what they were. The Human kept his face set to neutral interest; inwardly, his mind raced. Understandable, that Cersi's experiment would have needed a way to identify founding pairs, to permit lineage to be followed and traced.

But to use lost worlds? It reeked of hubris—and ambition. The more he learned of those behind all this, the less he liked.

“Those are the only names they have,” he said bluntly. “I'd be grateful if you kept this between us, until I can tell them the source. They've arrived with so little. It'll be—” devastating, to both Om'ray and M'hiray. He settled for, “—hard, to lose what they thought they knew of their family history.”

“It's not my place to ask what happened, Jason Di.” Pauvan paused, then went on in an earnest tone. “The edicans can test for heritage; we've such records back to the Fall. Your people will find family here. And heart-kin.”