This Gulf of Time and Stars (13 page)

T
HE
TRADE PACT
had grown too large, with species' interests too wildly diverse for any one bit of news to catch fire and sweep through; not so the Inner Systems. Morgan listened to the incredulous chatter of his own kind, sought what confirmation he could from any Human traders downworld, and tried to sift facts from speculation.

Incident reports. Assemblers destroying private property here. There. Assemblers causing disturbances in theaters and meeting halls. Assemblers rioting or going rabid or whatever their species did. Port Authorities on hundreds of worlds issuing travel bans.

As well ban rats.

No mention of the Clan, not by name, but he'd Sira for that sure and terrible truth. His heart ached for her, for all of them. He wanted her here, with him.

As if he could make this better.

A patiently blinking light caught his eye. Morgan pushed the button to open the link. “I wondered when you'd call.”

“What's going on, Morgan?” For once, Constable Russell Terk didn't sound gruff or bothered.

“How secure's the line?”

A pause. Terk's voice filled the control room again, regaining some of its customary edge. “Should be tight. No promises.”

Like that was it? Morgan tapped a finger on the panel, half inclined to end the call. No. He had to risk it. “The Assemblers targeted the Clan. The attacks were planned. They'd idents, locations, whatever they'd need.”

Something short and profane answered, then the quiet question, “How bad?”

Morgan leaned back his head and closed his eyes,
feeling
along his link to Sira.
Preoccupation
. The layer of unshaken
calm
didn't fool him; it was a façade, maintained by dreadful will. “Some survive. That's all we know so far.” He opened his eyes. “What's the official line?”

“What you'd expect. ‘Classic Species Incompatibility.' Next they'll call in a bunch of fancy muck-muck experts to explain how these Assemblers were stressed out of their collective minds and had to kill people to feel better.” A spitting sound. “All while our people are being grilled about the chief or out chasing her tail.” A note of pride crept in. “Wish'm luck with that.” Somber again. “So what can I do?”

Not what could “we” do. Catching that, Morgan pursed his lips, then nodded to himself. “Someone started this. There aren't many who could . . .” he let the rest trail away.

“Understood. My advice? Stay offworld, Morgan. They'll have your—wait.” Terk didn't bother to mute his com; Morgan heard the rapid staccato of a coded report.

Terk came back on. “Bold little monsters. They went after your friend's restaurant on Plexis. Word is—are you sure?” to someone else. “Knew I liked the big guy,” back to Morgan with dark good cheer. “There weren't enough bits left to question.”

Why Huido? Morgan thought furiously, unless—“Was anyone hurt?” He refused to count the Assemblers.

“None reported, but it's Plexis. Most customers prefer not to talk to us.” A considering pause. “I can get there. Check on Ruti and Barac.”

“They're fine.” He had to believe Sira would have told him otherwise.

Whatever had happened there was over and done. “Do your digging, Terk,” Morgan told him. “Do me a favor and be careful when you turn over those rocks.”

A grim laugh. “I'm touched.”

Morgan forced a chuckle. “Just thinking of those beers you owe me. I plan to collect.”

“You owe me,” Terk corrected. “Terk out.”

The control room fell back into machine silence, its soft, peaceful whirrs and clicks no longer soothing. Morgan dismissed the impulse to contact Sira again. She knew Camos wasn't safe. She wouldn't linger.

Even should this prove the sum of the attacks, with no more casualties, he feared the worst was yet to come. Karolus, the battles lost, the families destroyed. Hadn't he almost lost himself, after that? In grief.

In rage.

Sira mustn't—wouldn't. Whatever it took, whatever she'd need, he would be there.

Until then . . . Morgan picked up the disk that would send the
Fox
to Plexis, turning it between his fingers. He put it aside and reached for the com. He had to risk it. Huido would tell him what he wouldn't anyone else.

Pointless, maybe, but he wasn't going anywhere. Not until Sira came home.

H
OME.

I stood in the main corridor of the
Silver Fox
, wondering why my feet refused to move.

Jacqui, who'd 'ported herself and her bags, was looking everywhere at once.
This is your ship, Speaker?

Before I could correct her or draw another breath, Morgan appeared in the control room door.

He looked so alive. Hair mussed, his face bright and glad, even a warm glow to the tan of his cheeks. The once-blue spacer coveralls he wore were his favorite shipboard: faded to gray, with patches at elbow and knee. I'd given up trying to replace them. The collar stood open at the neck; the sleeves were rolled past his strong wrists. A stylo and wrench jutted from his pocket. My captain. My love. I was home.

And didn't dare touch him.

If I did, I thought desperately, if I let myself hold and be held, if I selfishly took any comfort now—

I'd lose control. I'd be useless to those who needed me.

“Captain,” I said, putting that distance between us. Pleading for it.

Morgan stopped, out of reach, and nodded. “Chit.”

His understanding surged through me like a stim shot. I
nodded at Jacqui. “Captain Morgan, I'd like you to meet Jacqui di Mendolar. Our new passenger.” Any other time, I'd have asked him first; he'd understand that, too.

Master trader that he was, Morgan bowed his head as gracefully as any Clan, his hands miming the welcoming gesture suited to equals. “Whatever we can do, Jacqui di Mendolar,” he told her, “we will.”

Did the young Chooser realize he meant not only the hammock in the galley storeroom and shared meals, but the saving of the Clan?

“You're Human.”

Without typical Clan disdain, which would have seen her no longer a passenger and lucky not to be spaced, but I felt
anxiety
leak through her shields. Had she not encountered one up close before?

It was, given her family and my father, entirely possible.

Morgan half smiled. “That I am.”

Jacqui gave me, then him, that quizzical sidelong look. “Yet Chosen.”

His smile widened. “That, too.” He offered his left hand, palm up, well aware the right was fraught with meaning.

Between Clan, touch was an invitation: to mingle surface thoughts; to be sure of one another. It took courage to accept one from a greater Power.

While Morgan's shields, natural and trained, were a match for any of my kind, I wasn't happy to see him risk himself. Not today.

Courage she had, laying her left hand atop his alien one without hesitation.

An instant later, Jacqui let out a small gasp, her eyes wide and fixed on Morgan's, then her lips curved in the beginnings of a smile.

“The bags?” I said rather grumpily, picking one up.

Their hands parted, Jacqui coming to help; she took appreciably greater care with the second bag.

“Anything that needs special stowage, chit?” This said in his captain voice, Morgan ever-vigilant when it came to the safety of the ship.

Or its living cargo. Such hazards not having occurred to me while gathering what the assistant curator refused to leave behind, I looked to Jacqui. “Is there anything dangerous in here?”

“Knowledge can be,” she said, more at ease. “But in terms of transport, no. Nothing reactive or biologic. These are,” with a forlorn look at the bags, “were, simple belongings.”

And her treasures. “There's room where you'll be sleeping,” I ventured, giving Morgan a hopeful look.

He didn't quite frown. “See they're secured.”

I nodded, relieved by so small a return to normalcy. “Come,” I told Jacqui. “I'll make sure you're comfortable.”

“Join me when you're done, Sira.” Morgan turned toward the control room.

“Wait, please,” Jacqui asked.

He paused and glanced back, an eyebrow raised.

“Are there more Humans here? Others like—” She faltered, looking at me as if expecting disapproval.

I knew where her thoughts had started to turn, having been a Chooser myself, longing for completion. Morgan's Power in the M'hir was a warm heady presence. “No. It's a small ship,” I explained gently. “There's just us.” Beneath I sent,
there is no other like Morgan
.

She kept any
disappointment
to herself.

“If that's all, then?” Morgan left us, but words formed in my mind.
Come as soon as you can.

Piercing blue eyes searched my face when I stepped into the control room. I didn't attempt to smile. My Human would have seen through it even without our bond.

“How's our passenger?”

“Alive. Safe.” I closed the door behind me. I'd gone to our cabin first, to change back into Sira Morgan. I'd stuffed my Council robe deep in a drawer only to pull it out again to retrieve the crystal with its scrap, for no particular reason other than it didn't belong there. It sat in a new pocket, where my fingers found it.
“I've asked Jacqui to begin the list.” Of those she could
reach
. “Of survivors.” It wouldn't be a long one.

Sira
. What my Chosen shared with me was his strength and resolve, nothing of pity. Nothing of his own fury and outrage.

Morgan was perched on the copilot's couch, one knee drawn to his chest. I sat beside him, the position familiar except for the space I kept between us. My hair, having no willpower worth mentioning, slipped up his arm and broad shoulder to caress his cheek, curling around his neck.

As if I wouldn't notice. “I've heard from Rael.” I kept my voice steady. “Pella—” our youngest sister “—isn't . . . She isn't,” as if that made sense. As if the absence of family could be a stated fact and not a gaping hole.

I didn't have to look at him to feel his hard swallow, the effort made not to speak and interrupt what I would say.

What need did we have for words? I took hold of Morgan's boot, giving it a little shake.

Then closed my eyes, opening my mind to his, sharing it all.

So when the ghost came, it found us both.

N
UDITY
WASN'T UNCOMMON
on Deneb, skin being considered the finest canvas, but was hardly normal attire for business.

At the office of
Michi and Booth
, the assistant didn't so much as blink when Rael and Janac materialized in front of her—the former naked and the latter looking as though he'd been through a meat grinder—merely coming around her desk with a professional smile. “Fem di Sarc. Hom,” to Janac. “I'll let Fem Michi know you're here. May I get you anything while you wait?”

“Some clothes, please,” Rael said promptly, her teeth still chattering. “And shoes. You have my preferences.”

A nod. “At once. And for you, Hom?” Her eyes surveyed him.

Janac grimaced. “My shoes are fine. Anything conservative.”

“Anything from
Flock
,” Rael put in.

“An excellent choice. Please, wait here.” She disappeared behind an ornate screen.

I don't like this.

The windows look out, not in
, Rael reassured him.
We can't go anywhere like this, without funds.

We won't be the only ones tapping resources. Our enemies will expect it.
With a chilling certainty.
The sooner we're gone from here, the better.

The assistant returned, followed by a pair of Tulis, one carrying
robes, the other pushing a cart of covered serving plates, complete with steaming carafes and delicate cups.

“Fem Michi apologizes,” the assistant told them. “There will be a very short delay. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

“Very well,” Rael said, having no choice. They let themselves be herded, courteously, into the waiting lounge.

When the assistant left, Rael helped Janac into his robe, then donned hers, hugging it close. The lounge, tastefully furnished complete with choice of easi-rest or padded bench, felt like a trap.

They chose the bench without a word, sitting so their shoulders touched.

Tell me about the baby shower.

She stared at Janac.
What?

His mouth quirked.
It wasn't that long ago.

It had been forever, Rael thought, feeling empty. Nonetheless, she
shared
her memories of what the Human had called a “family occasion” with her Chosen. Done, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
I'll need another gift for Ruti and Barac's daughter.
Easier to think of that, than of the future their daughter faced. If she had one. Rael rested a hand on her waist. New life hadn't quickened in her yet, that she could tell.

Good.

Balloons. I remember those. Here.
Memories flooded her mind: a house beside an ocean, toes in warm sand, hitting balloons—larger and stronger—over a net. Laughter.
We had our occasions.
A bonfire on the beach. A voice. Music.

So much they didn't know about one another.
You sing.

I don't anymore.
Shields tightened, ending the moment of intimacy.
Does this Human usually make you wait?

No
. The firm handled Rael's affairs with the prompt dedication due a major client, whether investments or arranging the seamless care of her properties on Deneb.
I trust her discretion.

‘Trust'?
Janac turned to face her, incredulous.
That's it?

Rael flushed.
Michi's an excellent employee. I've never had to find one to
influence
.

Which wasn't the whole truth. Before Jason Morgan, Rael had considered Human telepaths an abomination, the mere idea of
entering such a mind repugnant. She could have invited a Clan Scout to do the work for her, but afterward, to deal with such a—a thing? She'd chosen to hire, as Humans did.

What if she'd been wrong?
Maybe we should go
.

Before Janac could respond, an older woman entered the room and closed the door behind her. Her hair was glossy black, sculpted to frame her face, and black had been tattooed on her heavy eyelids, elongating her oval eyes. Shell-like iridescence dusted the pale gold of cheekbones and brow, and more tattoos, done as a delicate amber lacework, crusted the skin of her neck and what showed of her arms and hands. A long straight dress of understated elegance completed the image of competence and wealth.

The Denebian bowed. “Fem di Sarc, Hom, my sincerest apologies. My assistant assures me your requests are being seen to as we speak.” She took a seat facing them, settling a screen on her lap. “What may I do for you?”

Rael fought a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. They'd discussed what to say, what not to say, what might work, what might not. Facing help at last, she abandoned it all. “Sell my properties, Janina. Everything. Put the credits in a fluid account, one I can reach wherever I go in the Trade Pact.”

Careful. Don't sound desperate.

She made herself sit back, crossing her legs. “I appreciate it may take some time.”

Michi nodded. “To obtain the best prices, certainly. If I may ask, does this have anything to do with the fire?”

“‘Fire'?” Rael echoed numbly. “What fire?”

They must have come after you—your home—too
, Janac suggested grimly.

Her shoes. Dresses. Jewelry. Foolish to mourn things, but she couldn't help it. They'd been her outer self, her safety—

“My mistake.” Michi consulted her screen briefly and looked up. “I could start by liquidating your prime investments. The funds would be available immediately, but I must warn you there will be some loss on the—”

“Yes. Please, do that.”

The Human stood and brought over the screen. “I'll need an additional authorization, if you would, Fem. The sums involved are substantial.”

This is too easy.

What do you mean?

You stand to lose more than half your worth this way, wealth that goes through this firm. She should be protesting.

Be glad she's not
. Rael breathed on the device, then pressed her hand, palm down, where Michi indicated.

“That should do it.” The Human smiled pleasantly, putting the screen on a sidetable. “Allow me to pour you a drink while we wait for your clothes.”

“Something hot,” Rael replied. “Sombay. With cream.”

“The same for me,” her Chosen said. “With honey.”

When handed her cup, Rael quickly wrapped her fingers around its warmth.

“Wait, please.” Michi knelt by the cart, opened a door, and brought out a bottle of Brillian brandy. “I'd like to offer a toast, in honor of our long association, Fem di Sarc.”

Humans
, Janac sent, with
impatience
. He held out his cup nonetheless. “By all means.”

So Rael did the same.

Michi added a generous amount to each, then poured herself a small glass. She lifted it, light catching the rich brown liquid. “Thank you for letting us be of service. It's been a privilege.”

They drank together.

Warm, the liquid. Soothing, the brandy's burn when it hit the back of her throat and traced a path downward.

Cold followed.

Rael's cup dropped, her fingers without strength. “I trusted—” Her heart seized as if gripped by ice, she couldn't breathe—

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janac reel and topple sideways. She couldn't move to stop him—tried to
reach
him.

Tried to 'port.

It was like slamming into a wall.

“Thank you for the funds, Fem di Sarc,” Janina Michi said, tossing back the rest of her drink. “And yourselves.”

Through their link, Rael sensed Janac's heart
stutter
. Weakened by his injuries, she despaired. Only partly healed.

His heart
stopped.

“Hells! You—” Michi called out in gibberish. A Tuli came. Rael watched the alien lift her Chosen's head by the hair. Let it drop with a thud to the floor. Shrug its thick shoulders.

“Ah, well. I've you, Rael. They'll be—”

Sounds became nothing. Dark triumph surged through Rael di Sarc as her Chosen
called
her,
pulled
her mind after his. Into the M'hir. This was right.

This was how it should be. To die together, in that darkness.

A hiss. Colder, impossibly colder. Rael fought to
hold
their link
.
Tried to
follow.
But something interfered. Something
VILE—

Their link
snapped.

Leaving her empty. So terribly empty.

And here.

Her eyes couldn't blink. Couldn't. Rael stared her rage at Michi and understood, then.
You can't have me.

As ice stole her sight, her heart slowing, Rael di Sarc
threw
herself into the M'hir, abandoning her doomed flesh.

Dissolving
, as everything
ended.

Alone.

Adrift.

A ghost.

Yet with
will
of a sort. What remained, reformed.

Coalesced.

SIRA! . . .

Sira . . .

s.i.r.a . . .

DON'T TRUST . . .

don't trust . . .

d.o.n.'.t . . .

There was nothing more.