This Gulf of Time and Stars (7 page)

W
E
COULD GO.

Barac met Ruti's somber gaze, the distress she hid from the others coursing like tiny needles beneath his skin. Being the center of attention unsettled her at the best of times. Being the cause? Worse.
Aren't you curious?
he sent, keeping it light. A First Scout's training concerned Humans and, while unfamiliar with the baby shower custom, he understood the significance of ornately wrapped boxes.
They've brought gifts.

Her eyes flicked to the table.
For us?
As if it were unimaginable others cared about them. The new life within her made them both more protective. He hadn't guessed it would start Ruti building this shell of distrust around them, but that had been her response to her parents' outrageous demand.

Give them their baby?

He'd give them his force blade first.

After that, the bland-faced uncle who'd cut off his funds—

A touch on his knee. Barac turned to meet Enora's knowing gaze.
So much anger.

Forgive me.
He strengthened his shields. She couldn't help but feel the emotions of those close to her, and no one could care more.

If anyone could comfort his Chosen—he stopped himself. A mother wasn't someone Ruti was willing to have.

For now.

We're always here for you.
Enora gave the tiniest of nods.

“Ruti, you haven't told us the name of your Birth Watcher.” Rael tilted her head, smiling. “Anyone we know?”

Ruti gave a tight little shrug, the ends of her hair fitful. When she didn't answer, Barac spoke for her. “We don't have one.”

Silence spread from Clan to Clan. Even Huido noticed, pausing mid-pour. His eyes clustered to stare at Ruti. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ruti's lips pressed together and Barac hoped his cousin would leave it at that.

As well hope to be rich again while he was at it, for Rael frowned and snapped, “‘Nothing'? This is ridiculous. You must have a Birth Watcher. To protect the baby. To help her be born.”

“Don't you think we know?” Taking a breath, Barac gestured apology for his tone. His cousin didn't deserve it. “Thank you for your concern, Rael. We're working on it.”

She gave a gracious nod, though she let him feel her
worry
and wasn't done, not Rael, but she'd wait. His father turned to Ruti and asked her a harmless question—

—Barac didn't hear, his mind abruptly tugged by another's vastly greater Power into the M'hir.

Explain this.

In the M'hir, Sira was brilliance and heat, as if a sun had found its way into the darkness, her mind voice like the clean scent of rain before a storm. And a storm brewed; he could sense its terrifying
edge
.

Barac kept his eyes on Ruti, dwelling on the face he loved.
They're trying to force her home. Her family's forbidden their Birth Watcher to leave Acranam. Anyone else we've approached has either turned us down or demanded more than we can afford. You know why.

Regret
rang through the M'hir, distant and soft. Then
RESOLVE
filled it
.

What was Sira in this place brightened until he gasped without sound and would have covered what weren't eyes if he could.

The instant passed and they were no longer alone. Ruti was with him. And—

—another presence, like a pool of still calm water.
Ruti di
Bowart, my name is Quessa di Teerac. I offer my service as Birth Watcher to your daughter-to-be, if that's acceptable to you and your Chosen. I can be on Plexis tomorrow, unless you need me immediately.

But—you're—
Ruti's mind voice firmed.
Tomorrow would be fine, Quessa. Thank you.

The presence vanished.

Their Birth Watcher would be the Chosen of the Clan's foremost Healer, Cenebar di Teerac, her own skills in such demand Barac couldn't remember the last time Quessa had left Camos.

My gift,
Sira sent, and the M'hir released him.

Barac blinked, finding himself still staring at Ruti. In the span of three heartbeats, their lives had changed for the better, their greatest problem solved. His Chosen gazed back, her generous mouth starting to curve up at the corners, her eyes moist.
Sometimes, I forget who she is.

Family,
he insisted, for his beloved cousin was that
.
Above all, Sira was that.

And the Speaker of the Clan.

B
EING
ABLE TO HELP BARAC
and Ruti made me happy.

The need for it did not. It meant a visit to Acranam in my near future and I'd no friends among its Clan. I'd Chosen a Human over their leader, after all, not to mention rudely shoved their little kingdom back under Council authority. At least there were no di Caraats to poison the mix. Yihtor's House had been exiled by Council; the few remaining, including his vile mother, had vanished from sight. Doubtless they cursed me in their spite, but that was all. Exile had consequences, foremost being banned from traveling the M'hir.

The Watchers saw to that.

The strange disembodied things had their uses, I thought with distaste. Clan scholars—I'd been one—remained divided on what the Watchers were: some unconscious projection from living Clan; the dead whose minds had dissolved in that other space; the M'hir itself, expressing opinion. What mattered to most was that the Watchers protected the M'hir from unwanted intrusion and, somehow,
listened
to Council dictates.

They left Morgan alone. When I'd the choice, I left them alone, too. It was better for all concerned. Acranam, though—

“You going to eat that?”

I looked up, realizing I'd been transfixed by my egg-shaped pastry. “No.”

“Allow me.” Bowman held out her hand. I passed her my plate only to watch her give it to Terk. “Enjoy that,” she ordered brusquely. “Take your time.”

Terk's dour look expressed his opinion; that didn't slow his fork.

She rose to her feet. “That moment, if you will.”

The Human had picked her “moment” with care. Barac and Ruti, having shared the news of their new Birth Watcher, were in the midst of an animated discussion with his parents and my sister—no doubt about babies—while Morgan, followed by the balloons, had joined Huido at the gift table to sort the order of presentation.

Having no choice, I stood as well. “Whatever this is about, we didn't do it,” I said firmly, there having been certain instances otherwise in the past.

“Good to know.” Her smile didn't touch her eyes. “I need a drink.”

I accompanied Bowman to the beverage cart where she ordered a cup of sombay and scalded cream from Tayno. Given the jaunty tilt to his carapace and random motion of his eyes, this was brave or foolish.

She was never foolish. Brave, yes, I thought, studying her. As well as devious, complicated, and brilliant. The metallic tang to my inner sense near her—and Terk—warned against mental touch. They'd artificial shields implanted in their scalps, making their minds invisible to Clan. Brave, indeed, both to have the implants . . .

And to be so very interested in my kind they were necessary. Not for the first time, I wondered how Bowman had survived that interest.

I'd expected her to go into the hallway where we'd have some privacy. Instead, the sector chief took a few steps beyond the cart, as if to wait for her drink, then pulled out a thumbnail-sized disk, affixing that to her collar.

Silence. I could see lips moving, Tayno drop a spoon, but heard not a sound.

“Excuse the precaution,” Bowman said evenly. “What we've to say shouldn't be overheard. I'm sure you agree.”

I'm listening.

I smiled at that. Bowman's eyes narrowed. “Morgan, I take it?”

No need to confirm what she knew full well; my Chosen and I were partners in all things. “Why the secrecy?” Not that we weren't obvious. I sensed
interest, concern
from my kin. I sent a quick
reassurance,
feeling none myself. Rael stared back, unconvinced. “What's this about?”

Her disarmingly amiable features grew still. “You don't know?”

She'd a way of making you examine your past for misdeeds. It wasn't that we'd done anything wrong, I reminded myself, and Bowman knew it. Morgan and I had simply kept a prudent distance since our adventure on the Rugheran homeworld, White. The Rugherans were, presumably, happy with the result. The Drapsk definitely were, having experienced a procreative frenzy.

Ren Symon had died in Morgan's arms, having helped him do the unthinkable.

For Jason Morgan had
pushed
his starship through the M'hir to bypass normal space and reach me in time.

Something I couldn't do.

Something no Clan had ever done.

And something to never do again, lest Morgan become the target of every species in the Pact.

If that was why Bowman was here, let her try—I buried the cold dark thought deep inside, where my Chosen wouldn't feel it, schooling my expression. We'd scraped together repairs for the
Fox
and gone back to work. There'd been no sign anyone had paid attention; no reason to suspect Bowman even knew.

Until now. “That would be why I'm asking,” I said as calmly as I could.

“I gave you time. Waited for you to get in touch. When I heard you were on Plexis, I was done—” Bowman broke off with a humorless laugh. “You really don't know. Here I'd half-convinced
myself you'd decided against our arrangement and was prepping for the consequences. Should've trusted my instincts about you.”

Arrangement? Consequences?

So this wasn't about what had happened, I thought with sickening relief, but I shared Morgan's puzzlement. “Is this about the treaty?” I hazarded. “I thought everything was going well.” Or as well as could be expected with a bureaucracy the size of the Trade Pact. I'd honestly lost count of the Board Members who'd approached the Clan Council “off the record” with an offer of help; none had been worth the price.

“Treaty's solid.” Her brows met, then lifted. “You haven't spoken to your father.”

“Jarad di Sarc's been exiled.” I could no more keep the chill from my voice than make sense of this. “He's no longer part of the Clan.”

“Damn.” Bowman unfastened her collar with a twist of her thumb and tugged it open. She didn't dislodge the device keeping us in a bubble of silence. “That's inconvenient.”

What's Jarad know that we don't?
Morgan asked.

Nothing that matters.

Nothing I cared to hear was more the truth. “If you've something to say to me, Chief Bowman,” I told her, “please say it. Otherwise, I'd like to rejoin my family. It's time for the gifts.”

Bowman's gaze went to the boxes, paused thoughtfully at the silly balloons, then returned to me. I couldn't read her expression at first. Curiosity, I decided.

Or was it wonder?

“All this,” she said slowly. “Your doing, Sira di Sarc. Huh,” a soft grunt. “What have I to say? You're the best of your kind. Oh, not because of your Power. How you use it. I'll admit, till you came along, I was ready to give up on the Clan, but you—Clan like you? You're why I'm here. Why I'm staying.”

Bowman, complimentary? “Someone's not about to die, are they?” I glowered at her. “Or blow up? Because if that's what this is, you're wasting time.”

A chuckle. “I imagine I am. This'll be interesting, me briefing the new Speaker. You'll have to take a lot on—” She stopped, eyes
momentarily unfocused. In Clan, that sudden distraction signified communication mind-to-mind.

In Bowman, it meant one of her many implants was delivering a message.

Her eyes closed for an instant. When they opened, what I saw in them made me hold my breath and any questions.

For what looked out was deadly.

“We'll do this later, Sira. Got to go.” Bowman yanked the device from her collar and dropped it in a pocket, alerting Terk with a nod, then paused, her expression easing. “Don't worry. You and me, we've something new. Trust. Hold on to it.”

She didn't wait for me to answer, raising her voice. “My sincere apologies, Fems, Homs, but duty calls. Barac and Ruti, congratulations. Huido? Decent meal. I'll be back.”

Sector Chief Lydis Bowman spun on her heel, her eyes raking me one last time as if a look alone could convey meaning, then was out the door, Terk pounding behind.

The dining hall felt smaller.

“But it's ready,” Tayno announced plaintively, a steaming cup in one claw.

W
ITH
BOWMAN'S ABRUPT DEPARTURE
, the room fell silent. If the Clan
sent
to one another, Morgan wasn't included, but they didn't hide their consternation. He shared it. Bowman in a hurry was never a good sign. Enforcers dealt with trouble at the species-species interface. With thousands in the Trade Pact, that trouble ranged from misunderstanding to major threat. The Sector Chief wasn't called for misunderstandings.

Sira walked back, red-gold hair twitching at the ends. She shrugged as if to say “Humans,” and smiled. “Is it time for the gifts?” she asked, detouring to relieve Tayno of the cup.

Huido snapped his claw. “It is! Bring our guests.”

Tensions eased as Ruti and Barac were herded, the pair adorably embarrassed, to the gift table and Morgan dared a quick sending of his own.
What's your read on this?

That we'll be seeing Bowman again and soon.
Her gray eyes crinkled at the corners.
Are family occasions always complicated?

He had to laugh.

Chairs were brought for Ruti and Barac, the others standing to watch. The Clan appeared mystified, even Sira. Morgan paused, the first gift in his hands, wondering why. “Is this so different from how you give gifts?”

Rael lifted a shapely brow. “We don't.”

“Not like this,” Enora corrected, smiling. “For us, gift-giving is private, arising from impulse more than occasion.”

“It's not as if we can't buy what we want,” Rael stated. It was no idle boast.

Barac's flinch was almost imperceptible, but Sira noticed, too. She must have
sent
to her sister, for Rael looked at her. Her beginning frown turned to something appalled.

She hadn't known. “A baby shower's special,” Morgan explained quickly. “These gifts are for your daughter as much as for you,” he told Ruti. “Tayno?”

He was amused to see Tayno stay out of his uncle's reach as he came forward, though he knew full well the youngster was in no danger. Huido was blissfully content. The younger Carasian approached Ruti, his package pinched between both claws, stopping before risking her feet to lower the box into her hands with commendable care. “Happy Shower Anniversary,” he boomed, the wrapping adding a cheerful “Have a Great Trip!” “You open it,” he said helpfully, claws at the ready, every eye on the box.

“Thank you.” Ruti waited.

Huido snapped a claw and Tayno scrambled backward.

Ruti undid the paper, which promptly refreshed its offerings to a repeated: “On Sale Now, Best Ever Party Favors, Level 3, Spinward ¼,” and opened the lid of the box inside. Her face worked for an instant, settling into a bright smile. “How—useful. Thank you, Tayno.”

She passed the box to Barac, who reached in and pulled out a tangled mass of string and, yes, spoons of various sizes.

“You hang it in a breeze,” Tayno said eagerly. “It sounds like home. I made it myself.”

Barac gave the contraption a dutiful shake, producing a clinking susurration that might, Morgan thought charitably, sound like waves on rock to a homesick Carasian.

“A treasure,” Ruti said firmly.

Tayno stood a bit taller, self-esteem restored.

“Ours is next,” Agem indicated the dotted crate with a proud smile.

“It's not new,” Enora forewarned. She gave a small sniff, her smile tremulous.

With a curious look at his mother and father, Barac unlatched the lid. He gasped. “This was my cradle. And Kurr's.”

“That's—” Ruti ran straight into Enora's arms, sobbing.

No one spoke. By their stricken faces, the Clan felt as he did. Morgan hoped so. This glorious ache, this belonging. How long had it been? Best not, he decided wryly, count the years.

A small hand slipped into his.
Good custom, this baby-rainshower.

Good family.

“There's something else in there.” Rael's voice was less than steady. “From me. Well, not in there, but there's a card—”

The card, it turned out, was promise of delivery for an anti-grav stroller, a Denebian model so new and eagerly anticipated the waiting list, Rael explained, could fill a city. She'd obtained the prototype for them, an extravagant gift.

One she now regretted. “If there's anything you need more, cousin,” she began.

Barac gestured his gratitude, echoed by Ruti. “This is perfect. We won't need it for a while.”

“I'll 'port it to you when you do,” she promised, her smile like sunshine.

Huido's pile of presents took the pair over an hour to open and exclaim over. None, to Morgan's relief, contained Retian eggs, preserved or otherwise, but rather what appeared a complete wardrobe, in several sizes, as well as bedding and other necessities.

Every item was practical and well-made. He'd bet Hom M'Tisri had done the shopping.

Though likely not the bibs adorned with tiny smiling crustaceans.

Bowman's gift sat alone on the table. Sira brought it to Barac, who opened it as though afraid it might explode. Inside was a new rattle, shaped like a starship. And—“Morgan?” He held out a small cylinder.

The Human took it, letting out a low whistle. “This is a voucher stick.” A Trade Pact Enforcer Travel Voucher, to be precise, with
an authentication chip on the base. The indicator read full. By treaty, such a voucher must be accepted, regardless of species.

So he wasn't the only one to suspect Barac and Ruti were homeless. His guess? The former First Scout was identifying vacant hotel rooms, taking that first look they'd need for a locate. Simple, then, to 'port in and out. “It entitles the bearer to accommodation and food, no questions, no record.”

Barac took the stick back, turning it over in his hands. He looked at Morgan, eyes full of doubt.

“It's for the baby,” the Human told him and risked sending,
No strings attached
. Ruthless as Bowman could be, this gift he trusted.

Whatever Barac read in his face reassured him. He nodded. “For the baby.”

“Your turn,” Sira said, smiling.

Huido'd talked him into going last. Morgan retrieved his pack from under the table. His fingers fumbled at the fastenings. A little late for self-doubt, he told himself, taking a deep breath. The second attempt succeeded and he pulled out the roll.

“I didn't wrap it—” he began, offering it to Ruti, who spread the canvas over her lap and stared.

Morgan surveyed the painting, critical of his own work. If he'd had time, he'd have gone back and done more sketches, tested color against light, refined a line—

Ruti's fingertips brushed glowing white petals, stroked a deep green leaf, followed the curl of a vine. She breathed out a word. “Nightsfire.”

He hadn't known the name. Apt. The flowers unfurled after sunset, trapping hapless flying things. He'd—

“I thought I was willing. To pay the price. Leave it all behind. My home, its beaut—” Ruti choked and Barac moved behind her chair, resting his hands on her shoulders. Her hair coiled up his arms, the image of misery.

He'd never meant to—Morgan sank to a knee in front of her. “Ruti, forgive me—”

She frowned. “For what, Captain? You've given me what I needed.” She took his hand, lowered shields to share with him a fierce
determination.
“I let fear guide me. Rob me. No more, I say!”
She twisted to look up at Barac. “We answer to Sira and the Clan Council, not my parents. Acranam is my home as much as theirs. I will claim it for our daughter.”

Barac gave a grim smile and nodded. Morgan squeezed her hand. He rose to his feet and bowed. “I've no doubt you will.”

Not alone.
He wasn't the only one to
hear
Sira's promise.

“After she's born,” Ruti added practically.

“Time for more babyful punch,” Huido exclaimed, rattling his carapace. “Who'll be first?”

There was punch for those who wished it, sombay for the rest, and by the time Rael 'ported away with Enora and Agem, after fond farewells and vows for more visits, Ruti was half-nodding in her chair. Barac regarded her fondly, then turned to Morgan, shaking his head. “You might have warned us.”

Tayno hiccupped, which in a Carasian produced a prolonged metal chain-through-ring sound. “Surprise was ess—seeential!” Another hiccup.

Morgan wasn't sure if it was the punch or the fact that the eggs on the walls had mysteriously vanished during the gift-giving.

“Have to agree, cousin.” Sira sat cross-legged on the table—elbows on her knees, chin in her palms—and grinned. Her hair shimmered in contented waves down her back. “Human custom.”

Barac gestured profound gratitude. “Thank you. Thank all of you.” He hesitated, looking at the gifts.

Before he could confess—to not having a home, or anywhere to store them—Huido put down his beer glass. “Leave your gifts here for now. I insist. And,” more slowly, as if thoughts took their time moving through that immense head, “the balloons. Tayno will put everything away with the greatest care.”

The nephew hiccupped again, eyestalks drooping. Morgan raised a meaningful eyebrow.

Huido shrugged, tipping his carapace from shoulder to shoulder. “Tomorrow. He'll put everything away tomorrow.” He swept a great handling claw through the air as though removing any
possibility of worry. “Tomorrow,
Yipping Prawlies
shall once more grace the menu, and you and Ruti will return. I insist.” Eyes milled furiously, then settled all at once on Ruti. “Tomorrow,” very quietly, “everything will be as it should be.”

What does he mean?
Sira asked.

Morgan let her
feel
his smile.
The old softie. He's going to take in our homeless parents-to-be. They just don't know it yet.

Her gray eyes surveyed him.
And Bowman?

His smile faded.
The less we cross paths, the better.
Something was up, something more than some new relationship between the Enforcer and the Clan. The last thing they needed was to be drawn into one of the sector chief's convoluted investigations.

The best way to avoid that?

“Party's over. Time we lifted fins, chit,” Captain Morgan announced cheerfully.

The sooner the
Silver Fox
hit open space, the safer they'd be.