The Gate to Futures Past (7 page)

My hair, having expressed its opinion, settled politely down my back.
Put you in a net,
I warned it, rewarded by the
feel
of Aryl's smile.

Powerful Chosen females had hair that could be a nuisance—none, in my experience, as much a nuisance as mine. A di Sarc trait.

I'd left the name behind, Sira Morgan having a happier ring. Strange to think it was unknown, now, among the Om'ray. The M'hiray of Cersi had swept the name from the planet, along with its Power.

To be reborn,
Aryl commented dryly.

As an infant. To me, Aryl di Sarc stood strong and proud, a black-haired Clanswoman of vast Power and shockingly new Talents—for her time. A natural leader. My confidante. “Reborn?” I couldn't imagine it. How could she be as she'd been?

She'd followed the thought.
Being born will do, Sira. Trust me
.

Aryl had walled away her
grief
at losing her Chosen; the blood red of that inner barrier ample warning to stay clear. Behind it lay, I suspected, her desperate need for freedom, too. She'd traded a stone prison for one of flesh. Could hear, after a fashion; see through my eyes when I helped, though that made her dizzy.

My fingers would turn the wide bracelet on my wrist without my intent. Carved and hammered to resemble water curling over stone, it had been Aryl's once, made by Enris from the Oud's green metal.

None of it a replacement for a body of her own. None of it what she deserved.

You're welcome to hurry things along in there,
I sent, keeping it light.

Amusement.
It will help if you feed us both. Where's our breakfast?

Working on it.

The ship's other modifications either mystified or inconvenienced. Not this. Gone from the former Council Chamber were the tall arched windows that had looked out on the grove, replaced or covered by a featureless wall of pale blue. Tables of gleaming green metal sprouted from the chamber floor, complete with benches. The benches themselves were topped with a
yielding material patterned in swirls of the same varied hues as the floor. Our ancestors had relished color.

Or known its importance to those born under a sky.

Unchanged was the raised dais. When we'd arrived here, there'd been a solitary, innocuous-looking pillar set into it. Called a Maker, it was a machine allowing a Cloisters to manipulate the minds of its Clan. Not that Om'ray thought of it that way. Generations of Om'ray Keepers had used theirs to provide teaching dreams, or to break the connection between Om'ray—a last resort to protect healthy minds from a damaged one. Aryl and the first M'hiray had used this very same Maker not only to sever themselves from all other Om'ray, but to erase their memories of Cersi, allowing them to take Passage to Stonerim III and the Trade Pact.

Aryl's mother, Taisal di Sarc, had remained behind, sacrificing herself to operate the machine. We'd found her clothing and Speaker pendant by the pillar's base.

Our arrival, and my touching the pendant, had awakened the machine. Without Morgan and Aryl, our true selves would have been lost in the new personas it forced on us, and all likely would have died trying to fit into a Sona that didn't exist. For the Maker's real function was to prepare volunteers for their part in an appalling experiment: to see if isolated groups of Om'ray, put under different stresses, might develop the ability to access and control the M'hir.

The meddling in our reproduction had started early.

The Maker no longer stood alone. The ship had instructed me where to find two more such machines, these shorter and wide. Once told what they were for—one to open and warm food packets from the ship's stores as necessary, the other to produce a supply of hot or cold water—we'd rushed to put them in place, watching eagerly as they sank into waiting depressions on the dais and came to life. Here was technology we all could appreciate.

And desperately needed.

I hadn't looked for my Birth Watcher, but she found me. A fair-haired child appeared steps away, eyes of gray-green sparkling with delight, and Andi sud Prendolat ran into my open arms with a glad, “Sira!”
Aryl!

I bent to press my cheek against her soft round one and to smell the sweetness of her hair.

Greetings, Birth Watcher,
Aryl sent
warmly
.

“It's been the best morning ever,” Andi said happily, dancing away again. “See?” She spun in a circle, holding out the ends of the filmy white gauze she wore as a scarf over her yellow ship coveralls. Her sleeves were carefully rolled up and fastened with thread, exposing her small arms from elbow to wrist. The sight always made me smile. Andi'd wanted her sleeves cut off like Morgan's; with so few child-sized garments in the ship's stores, he'd persuaded her this was the way young spacers wore them.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of the children to demand the same.

Knowing Aryl's interest, I let her
see
through my eyes.
You've received a fine gift, little one,
she remarked.

“Gricel gave it to me. She's happy I'm teaching Dre to 'port.”

Even happier, it wasn't hard to imagine, to have her active son occupied until her baby decided to be born. Any time now, according to Jacqui.

Still, Andi teaching? She'd learned to 'port only recently.

She has the Power as well as Talent,
Aryl reminded me, privately.
And I believe our Andi is very fond of Dre.

A Candidate?
How automatic, that assessment. How inappropriate, I scolded myself. These were children. More importantly, we weren't the Clan of old.

I let Aryl feel my
embarrassment.

Our Birth Watcher will be a potent Chooser, when her time comes,
came the steady reply.
If you're looking to the future, Rasa di Annk has become our Andi's heart-kin. Not an infallible prediction, in my experience, but a welcome start.

Let's leave her a child a while.
“Dre's lucky to have you for a teacher,” I praised, rewarded by a smile that lit Andi's gray-green eyes. Gloom hadn't a chance around this joyful child. “Join me for breakfast? I'd like to hear about Dre's lessons.”

“I'd like to, but oh—I can't, Sira. I promised Rasa I'd find his grandmother.” Andi spun again and stopped, the gauze settling around her like closing wings.

My heart thudded in my chest. “Andi.” I crouched to meet her eyes. “Rasa's grandmother is dead. She's gone.”

“The dead aren't gone, Sira.” With sympathy, as if I were confused. Her gaze was guileless and bright. “I
hear
them.”

We've told you not to
listen
.
Aryl, carefully not sharing the alarm I knew we both felt. Alone among the M'hiray, Andi had the Om'ray Talent to
sense
where others were in space. I'd suspected hers extended to finding them through the M'hir, a gift my sister Rael had had. But this?

The M'hir contained voices—none were safe to
hear,
the Watchers first among them.

The child's smile faltered. “But I promised Rasa.”

I put my hands on Andi's little shoulders, sending
reassurance
. “Rasa can't have his grandmother back, no matter what you
hear.
” The Clanswoman was lost, as Rael was lost to me—

As so many were lost. I fought to keep the tide of
grief
from the child; sent a plea for help.
Aryl
—

An instant response, patient yet firm.
Your friends are sad and you want to help, Andi. This won't, trust me. You'll hurt yourself and them.

A lower lip quivered.
I don't know what else to do. I promised.

Ask Rasa and your other friends to share good memories of those who are gone. Write down the names they share. The most important help you can give them is to be happy. Play together. That most of all.

Then, with a little
snap. And teach them some manners when they 'port before you startle your poor elders.

Dimples returned.
Yes, Aryl.
Her head tilted. “Dre's calling me, Sira. May I go now?”

As if I'd a choice. “Have fun.”

My hands dropped through empty air.

We did what we could. Children must leap to learn to safely fall.

In the canopy,
I countered as I stood, uneasy at having let Andi go without a sterner warning. Vines and giant fronds could be grabbed by small hands; only strength of will and personal Power mattered in the M'hir.

I opened my sense to that other space, sought a particular mind. There.
Ruti.

Sira.
Power in abundance here. Along with an air of
distraction
the young Clanswoman put aside at once to focus on me.
What is it?

I shared the memory of our conversation with Andi, finishing with,
what do you think?

That I should keep an eye on her,
came the prompt reply
, and will. What about her parents?
An afterthought, but Ruti was right. Nik and Josa should be made aware.

Presenting its own difficulty. Like Holl and her Chosen, Leesems, the pair had been M'hir Denouncers, convinced its use would lead to the downfall of the Clan. Unlike them, Nik and Josa clung to my mother's teachings. To have a daughter ready and eager to leap, as Aryl put it, into the M'hir couldn't be easy on them.

Did they even understand the risks? There'd been a time I'd had to relearn everything, from the existence of the M'hir to its dangers—

To what I was.

Pointless, to regret any of it. I couldn't have stayed half of myself. Couldn't have loved Morgan as I did—or helped my people. Still, the part of me that empathized with Nik and Josa and the rest of my mother's people knew what I'd given up in return. Had I stayed that person—been, as I'd believed, Human—I felt the M'hir
churn
and slapped it down.
I'll talk to Nik and Josa.

Let me,
Ruti sent, adding matter-of-factly,
You'd scare them.

Amused
agreement from Aryl.

Go ahead,
I conceded.
Keep me informed.

I will, Sira.
I could almost see Ruti's grin.
Now go eat.

The answering growl from my stomach prevented a more dignified response.

Food packets were stored on a lower deck, dispensed twice daily through a wide opening from rotating racks, to be collected and brought to those waiting in the galley.

Sona
's helpful distraction had been to send those racks spinning out of control, littering the storeroom floor. A little too helpful, I decided, wincing at the growing stacks on the tables in
front of me. Two Clan, arms full, appeared, left their burden, and disappeared. More to come, then.

The galley had seating for our number and no more,
Sona
somehow aware how many it carried. Most of those seats were empty. During shipday, with warmth restored, the Clan spread out. There were tasks to be done: some essential, such as moving packets and refuse or caring for children; some, in my opinion, less so, but they helped pass time. Our lack of records inspired several. Those mapping out potential matches between unChosen were doing their best to create a genealogy, and a trio of Om'ray scholars had begun a history of the Clan. This group's approach being to question at tedious length anyone who'd sit still, I made myself busy elsewhere.

I'd no idea how the rest spent their days.

They couldn't all still be picking up in the storeroom.

“Sira!” Holl di Licor beckoned me to the table where she and four others were sorting the flat silver packets. As I came up to her, she pressed one into my hands. “Here.”

With so many to choose from, I'd looked forward to a guilt-free indulgence. Certain packets contained something very like nicnics; this wasn't one of them. “Thank you,” I said, swallowing my disappointment. “What are you doing?” They weren't sorting, as I'd first thought, but inspecting each packet closely before putting it into one of two groups.

“Look at this.” Holl indicated a hair-thin crack along the side with every evidence of disgust. “Striking the floor damaged the wrapping.”

“So don't eat it,” I ventured hopefully, starting to hand the offending packet back.

Frowns from all five. “Yes, eat it. A compromised packet must be consumed as soon as possible,” the scientist informed me. “We've no means to return them to stasis or even keep them cold. In my judgment, the contents won't last more than a few hours at best.”

Most of what was here could spoil, then. I lowered my voice. “How serious is it?”

She blinked. “I wouldn't call it serious. The Om'ray think it shameful to waste what could be used. Rather than waste these, we should use them. That's all.”