This Gulf of Time and Stars (22 page)

“G
ET
OFFWORLD
, she says.” With the
Silver Fox
grounded?

The warning he didn't doubt. The moment the air lock closed behind his unexpected guest, Morgan jogged back to his cabin.

Sira.
He felt the reassuring tightness of their mental link.
Bowman's in action. Keep away from windows and doors. I'm coming to you.

Do you want me there?

About to agree, unease crawled along his nerves.

What's wrong?

What wasn't? He shook his head.
Stay where you are.
The
Fox
was a mess, he told himself.

That wasn't it. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want Sira here.

Stepping into the fresher stall, Morgan turned the top two jets clockwise, then put his shoulder against the tile and pushed. The wall sank inward in a smooth motion, revealing another dark cavity.

Inside was a pack and a loosely tied carryroll. Morgan brought both into the light.

Stripping off his spacer coveralls, he changed into clothes from the pack. A shirt and pants, vest with pockets, a belt. Last, a knee-length supple coat. The vest pockets were already full, as
were the compartments of the belt. The coat? Body armor in disguise. Not enough to stop blasterfire.

Enough to let him take a return shot.

Jason?

I'm bringing a few things.

He stretched out the carryroll. Huido had packed it; the weapons were illegal on most worlds. And deadly.

As were these. After Morgan pulled tight the last strap, he tensed his arm and a blade dropped neatly into his palm.

Finished, he threw open the compartments Sira used for her things. There wasn't much room in the pack, but he shoved in what he thought she'd want.

Jason?

Almost done.
He kept his shields in place; stuck to words.
I'll be there soon.

Leaving the cabin, Morgan took the lift back to the air lock.
CHANGE!
The warning came with unrelenting force. The Human staggered to the door, keyed in his code and the relock sequence with a hand that shook.

Planet air rushed in, heavy with scent and humidity. He followed it out, down the ramp, slipping into his role. A trader with an appointment. A busy man.

Until a sound made him turn.

And look back.

S
UDDENLY,
the platform shuddered beneath my feet, as though trying to shake me loose. At the same instant, the ground
groaned
!

Another collapse? An explosion!? I heard commands. Shouts to stop, return the lift. It wasn't my voice.

MORGAN!
Nothing. No answer. Even as dust filled my eyes and mouth, I concentrated with desperate speed . . .

. . . finding myself still on the platform.

When I should have been on the
Fox.
Why wasn't I on the
Fox?
I tried again, picturing the control room.
Pushed!

. . .
finding myself still on the platform. I stopped moving, stopped breathing.

Morgan?

B
EFORE
THE SHOCK
of the explosion had died away, Barac scrambled to his feet. Above ground. Distant.

Not distant enough. He concentrated . . .

. . . finding himself still in the laboratory.

He didn't waste a second effort.
MORGAN!

Nothing.

“What's happened?” Ruti, helping someone else up. The floor was littered with what had been on shelves or countertops, but they'd been lucky. No windows to shatter inward.

Stay where you are.
Barac scanned the room. No sign of fire. The roof had held. When they'd first arrived, he'd taken a quick look outside. The waste pile had likely kept the building standing.

The explosion had come from the shipcity.

Bracing himself for the worst, for what it meant if Morgan was lost, he reached for another mind.

Sira?

S
IRA?

Barac. I sent quick
reassurance
, feeling some of my own. That I lived, meant Morgan did.

For now.

It was the
Fox.
Sira. It was the ship.

I'd known.

I just hadn't dared admit it.

Only one thing mattered now.

MORGAN!

M
ORGAN
CRACKED AN EYE
, closed it. The ground was still moving—no, he was.

Because he was being carried at a run, held by arms that felt more like steel clamps. “What's—”

There'd been blinding light, percussion. He should be deaf.

He should be dead.

MORGAN!
Desperate. Urgent.

Alive. They were both alive. Which was wonderful, if unexpected . . .

MORGAN!!!

He managed a faint
here.

Where? Show me!

Being carried at a run by . . . Morgan rolled his head and looked up.

“Huido?”

An eyestalk bent over the rim of black shell. “You can thank me later.”

Morgan?

Something stabbed him. Morgan's muttered protest vanished beneath waves of raw, reviving heat. A stim?

From the feel of it, more than that. He twisted. Another eyestalk joined the first. “Good stuff, isn't it? Want another?”

I'll get back to you.

His heart labored to keep up with the “good stuff.” Or was it because the air was full of soot and acrid smoke, so he dared not breathe through his mouth? “S'nuff!” he managed to gasp. “Put me down!”

The Carasian came to a stop and lowered Morgan gently to his feet. The Human reeled, grabbing a large claw to steady himself.

A claw studded with—Morgan touched the nearest metal bit. “Is that my ship?” he asked, aware his calm state wasn't normal.

Eyestalks bent to consider the bit in question. “I think that's from a groundcar,” Huido rumbled thoughtfully. “There were a couple parked nearby.”

Nearby . . . “Where are we now?” Morgan craned his head around.

An immense pile of waste loomed ahead. Recent slides exposed darker, moister materials, already crawling with pox. The lively stench came close to overpowering the reek of the— “Someone blew up my ship.”

“If a starship blew within the shipcity,” the Carasian pointed out reasonably, “this would be a crater and we'd be glowing dust.”

Morgan knocked on the claw. “Tell me what happened.”

Huido sank down until rows of eyes regarded Morgan. “I came too late to do more than pull you out of range. It was set under her fins—” A hum of distress.

“You saved me, old friend,” the Human said gently. “Tell me the rest.”

A claw snapped. “A ship-eater.”

A targeted explosion to crack the hull, followed by a reaction to melt the ship's components from the inside out. Within moments, there'd have been nothing but a puddle of cooling slag. A weapon, Morgan thought numbly, that shouldn't be on this world.

That no one in their right mind would use against a simple trader.

But against the Speaker for the Clan? The most potent of their kind?

“They wanted to kill her,” he heard himself say.

“If you don't get out of the way, they still might.” A different voice.

Morgan turned to meet his own reflection, then the visor disappeared to reveal a glowering Russell Terk.

The constable wore gray battle armor from head to toe. His partner stood on guard, blaster slung at the ready: the Tolian, P'tr wit 'Whix, identifiable only because feathers protruded out the back of his helmet.

Both were Bowman's.

Who'd tried to warn him, Morgan thought.

“Nice gear,” Terk commented.

Huido clattered erect. “The pestilence!”

Morgan followed the claw tip the Carasian thrust past his nose to look up the pile.

Everywhere, pox were scrambling out of the way of a new and moving swarm. Hands and feet and disembodied heads and body parts in contrasting clothing . . .

Assemblers.

After Sira!
Danger!
Morgan sent.
Danger!

Before he could free a weapon, a hand backed by servo motors clamped irresistibly around his arm. “Watch this.”

Terk aimed the stubby rifle he carried vaguely toward the heaving pile, then squeezed. Three innocuous-looking globes shot into the air.

Pop . . . pop . . . pop!

They burst, one after the other, above the slope. Something yellow showered down, adhering to anything alive. Once touched by the mist, pox or Assembler froze in place, limbs or cilia stuck to the waste pile or one another. A chorus of outraged squeals and epithets filled the air.

Within seconds, nothing moved.

Terk holstered his weapon with a satisfied chuckle. “That was fun.”

“It is not appropriate to enjoy the apprehension of—”

“You suck the joy right out of the job, 'Whix. Did I ever tell you that?”

Mournfully, “Often, Partner Terk.”

Morgan ignored the pair, eyes on a slender figure who'd appeared at the top of the pile, no more than a silhouette against the wall. A force blade ignited, sketching a quick salute, then the figure and blade vanished.

Barac, returning to . . .
Sira,
Morgan sent, fighting back grief.

It was only a ship, with seized engines and worn upholstery
.
Not to mention the plumbing—

It was the only home he'd ever had or wanted.

Here.
With such amazing
warmth
and
love
he took a deep breath, felt the world steady. The ship hadn't been home.

She was.

Sira. The threat's over. Come—

'P
ORTING
TO MY CHOSEN
was as simple as answering my heart's greatest need . . .

. . . which was to be in Morgan's arms. He buried his face in my hair and I held him tight.
Don't. Ever!
I sent, half fierce, half terrified, and making no sense.

He understood. Somehow, he always did.
I will never leave you.
That promise made with all his
strength
surrounded me until I could unlock my grip and step back.

“The ship's gone.” Morgan's voice was steady; his blue eyes dark but calm. A bruise covered the side of his face and I guessed there were others I couldn't see, a Carasian in a hurry being less than careful. I was glad of it. Flying debris had buried itself not only in Huido's armor plate but in the pack Morgan wore and one sleeve of his coat.

A pack and coat I'd never seen before, but questions could wait.

However steady and calm my love appeared on the outside, I knew better.
Loss,
heart-deep and weary, filled our link and at that moment I would have given anything to meet those who'd done this.

And drop them in the M'hir.

“Morgan, keep her back!”

The voice was familiar; the note of alarm wasn't. I looked up to find myself standing at the base of the pile I'd climbed mere hours earlier, presently covered in stuck and feebly squirming Assemblers. Two figures in enforcer battle gear stood midway up; if one was Terk, the other, taller one had to be his Tolian partner.

A massive black shape blocked my path even as Morgan took my hand. “I'm not going anywhere,” I assured my too-anxious protectors. “Let me see!” I rapped my knuckles on Huido's shell until he shifted to one side. “What is it?”

“Dunno yet,” was Terk's unhelpful answer.

‘Whix pried something loose. He held it up to a device, then showed Terk the result. Scanners out, the pair searched the slope, a process made easier by how the bodies and waste were glued together, pausing twice more to collect whatever it was before stomping back down to us.

With whatever they'd found now sealed in a bag.

Sira.
Barac, the tone sharp.
They're afraid down here. What's going on?

I'm not sure.

Except that it wasn't good.

Possessing a Talent mattered, but so did Power, the strength to use it. All M'hiray could 'port themselves some distance through the M'hir. Many could 'port objects. Most could bring another person with them, even non-Clan, if in contact; a few didn't need to touch. I'd yet to find my limit; having come all too close on a number of occasions, I wasn't tempted to try.

It was no strain at all to bring Huido, Terk, and ‘Whix with me, as well as Morgan.

Our appearance, however, stunned those already below.

Morgan spoke first. “Chit, introductions are in order.”

Because manners were a trader's mainstay. I took an easier breath. “Jason Morgan, my Chosen”—though the Clan could
sense
our link—“and lifemate.”—for those who couldn't. “Our—” What did I call faceless beings in full battle gear?

Vis-shields dropped. “Constable Russell Terk,” the Human announced. “My partner.”

“Constable P'tr wit 'Whix, at your service, gentle beings.” The Tolian's great emerald eyes rotated, trying to see all the Clan at once. “I regret to bear bad news.” He lifted the clear sealed bag, containing what looked like tubes of e-rations.

From the
loathing
Morgan shared with me, they held nothing so benign.

“Found them on three of the Splits we caught outside. Scan flagged aerosol toxin,” Terk confirmed, his voice rougher than usual. “Reads noxious to theta-class humanoids, but I'm guessing deadly to—” His gaze fell on the child and he hesitated.

“To Clan,” Morgan finished.

A custom poison. For some reason, this didn't appall me as it should; perhaps it was all the ways they'd killed us already.

Mirim shuddered, then gestured gratitude. “Thank you—thank all of you—for preventing a new massacre.”

Her group, reunited, stood or sat in the dust around us, three portlights doing little more than creating a circle within the darkness and a glint from shocked eyes.

With our arrival, we numbered sixteen Clan, two Humans, one Tolian, and one unusually quiet Carasian. While Huido disliked entering the M'hir, claiming it affected his performance in the pool, my bringing him here wasn't what subdued him.

Nor had it been the
Fox.
The ship was a thing, no matter how attached Morgan and I had become to it; having saved Morgan, the proud being should have borne himself with deserved and noisy swagger.

I wasn't the only one to pay attention. I caught Morgan's considering glance at his old friend. Something was up.

Something we'd no time for, not now.
Ruti.
I sent, quick and private.
Check on Huido
. She gave a tiny nod and went close to the Carasian, speaking to him in whispers.

Satisfied, I raised my voice. “Where's Bowman?”

Terk hesitated; Morgan made a disapproving sound. The other scowled, then made a show of consulting a dial on his wrist. He pointed into the dark distance. “That way.”

“She's wearing a tracer?”

“Look, Morgan—”

He stopped because Morgan had taken hold of his helmet and shoved his face so close their noses almost touched. “Why in Seventeen Hells didn't you stop her?” The shout echoed, and everyone turned to look.

“What's the matter?” I looked at Terk, who could have shaken free with a twitch, and saw the pure misery in his face.

I wasn't the only one. Morgan jerked backward, arms dropping to his sides. “I knew it,” he snarled. “It's a setup.”

“Only we can follow. The tracer's secure,” 'Whix protested.

“I doubt that.”

Terk stared at Morgan. After a long moment, he said grudgingly, “Can't say I liked who she picked to implant it.”

Bowman using herself as bait was her choice. She could have done so, as far as I was concerned, on another planet. “Why here?”

Morgan's face lost all expression. “Why are we?”

My turn to stare at him, unwilling to believe what he implied. Would Bowman use us as well?

“Here's been her play all along,” Terk interjected. “When she heard you'd arrived, the commander pulled us to protect you.” His scowl appeared permanent.

The relief of that made my heart pound. “For which we're—”

“Why are we?” Morgan repeated, but in a vastly different tone. He looked around as if paying attention to our surroundings for the first time. “What's here, Sira?”

“Our destiny!” Tle di Parth had a way of appearing in a conversation. “The Origin.”

For once, I welcomed her intrusion. Much as I trusted Terk and 'Whix, their first loyalty was elsewhere; knowledge of a Clan Homeworld wasn't something I planned to share. “The Origin's where our kind arrived in Trade Pact space,” I explained before either Enforcer could ask. “We're looking for—” My hair lifted.

I knew what was coming.

>HERE . . . hereherehere<
louder than ever.

Morgan started. His eyes found mine.
What was
that
?

I confessed to a certain relief, knowing he'd heard it, too.
That, my dear Chosen, was my great-grandmother. According to them.
I tipped my head toward the cluster of Clan near Mirim. Aloud, “Excuse us, everyone. We need to talk.”

By the speed with which he took my hand and led me aside, Morgan fully agreed.

But once outside the circle and out of sight?

We needed no words at all.

A stolen moment was all we could afford, as sweet as it was bitter. My hair lingered on Morgan's shoulders, loath to return to mine; our thoughts parted with greater reluctance. Separate again, I drew my hands down his arms and over his torso, offering strength; I was no Healer, to make his wounds vanish. “I don't remember this coat,” I whispered, to avoid saying anything about the ship.

“I'd tucked it away. I thought for good.” My Human pressed cool lips to my forehead. “It's from Karolus.”

Explaining the aged suppleness of what might have been leather on the outside. I supposed, Karolus having been an unending war, it also explained why Morgan felt as though he was encased in metal. Finished with what I could do, I rested my hands on his chest. “We can't stay here.”

“No. Not with Bowman on the prowl,” he agreed. “We should get everyone somewhere safe—I'll check with Terk to see if the
Conciliator
is in orbit. What is it?”

I was already shaking my head. “Mother's people aren't like other Clan. Barac and the others had trouble holding them together long enough to 'port down here. They're afraid. They've refused to use the M'hir most, maybe all of their lives.” I sighed. “The irony is they aren't wrong. Emotion unsettles the M'hir; panic turns it deadly.”

>Here . . . hereherehere<

“Maybe we should listen to your great-grandmother.”

He was amused. Morgan, I thought darkly, sometimes lacked
reasonable caution. “We don't know what's down there.” Or what spoke, for that matter.

“Let's ask,” he told me, with that grimly cheerful note signifying he'd a plan.

I followed him back to the others; a few were glad to see us, the rest gave me a worried look or hid their faces.

Terk muttered under his breath when he saw us coming. In the shadows, the heavy-set constable was more machine than man, the dull gray of his suit stealing what light reached them, while Morgan, in pack and coat, might have stepped from an earlier age.

>Here<

Had the voice? Not for the first time I questioned whose it was. Naryn? Perhaps. I'd learned to distrust the obvious.

“Whatever it is, Morgan,” Terk rumbled, “the answer's no.”

“He's miffed Bowman's given him guard duty,” Morgan assured me. “Terk, my friend. We've decided to move these people to a less exposed position. What's on your scanners?” He pointed to the floor.

“Our equipment cannot offer reliable indications below this level,” 'Whix volunteered. Soft down fluttered over his throat implant as he spoke, his beaked mouthparts unsuited to verbal communication. “It's puzzling.”

“Only to a featherhead.” Terk's armor scraped the wall as he shifted to lean more comfortably. “That'd be why the chief picked this hole for her game. You'll see. As for moving, we're waiting on an all clear.” A grin. “Port Jellies are mopping up what we left for them. They'll send an escort to take everyone home or wherever.”

My relief faded when I saw Morgan's face. “Call them,” my Human said. “Be sure.”

Terk's grin disappeared. “We can't break com silence for—” Perhaps he saw what I did because he changed his mind and snapped, “'Whix, check what's going on upstairs.”

The other nodded and walked a few steps away, raising his scanner.

Morgan's head lifted, his eyes looking elsewhere for the
briefest instant. Blood going cold, I turned to see Barac do the same.

And my mother. The three with the Talent to
taste
change.

The Tolian turned. “Partner Terk. I read approaching life-forms. Multiple.”

“There. I told you. Should be the Jel—” Terk stopped, eyes dropping to his own wrist. “What the hells? It's the chief. Coming first, and fast.”

He activated his vis-shield, a weapon dropping to his hand and coming live with a throaty whine. 'Whix did the same. They positioned themselves facing where we'd first entered.

“Move!” Morgan ordered, herding everyone back behind those with weapons.

All at once, Terk wheeled on a booted heel, the arm with the scanner rising to point my way.

A pox ran out from between their feet, straight at me, its fur flattened along its thin sides. Before I could dodge, it scurried past to where the others waited.