Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (20 page)

“Embassy may not be the correct term,” he said apologetically, after hesitating a moment. I suspected the precise Drapsk was embarrassed. “I believe the Humans maintain this building and staff in order to exchange agricultural knowledge with the Makii. They have always been an adventurous Tribe—good traders, if prone to bringing home just about anything.”

Since that last seemed a dig at me, I ignored it. I was learning to enjoy my sparring conversations with the Skeptic. He was opinionated, clever, and—whether deliberately or not—often funny. For my part, I seemed to supply him with all the openings he needed to make his point. If only, I sighed to myself, the being were a bit more forthcoming on the information I needed.

What he did tell me was that I was to stay in the home of Madeline and Cory Brightson, a Human pair apparently overjoyed to host one of the Contestants for the upcoming Festival. Possible Contestant, as Copelup would doubtless remind me. I wondered if the Humans knew any more than I did. I also wondered if I could enlist their aid to get off Drapskii before becoming a Contestant at all.

As I’d expected, though friendly and pleased to have another Human for company—a small and convenient deceit I noticed Copelup allowed me without comment—the Brightsons were as ignorant as I about what being a Contestant entailed. On the other hand, they were far more excited. This year’s Festival, it seemed, would be their first and was touted as the high point of the Drapsk calendar.

“Only happens once every two years,” Madeline had assured me as she showed me my room, a cubbyhole off the main agri-lab, but with refreshingly angular Human furniture, including a comfortable-looking bed without a curve to be seen. “We hadn’t been assigned here in time for the last one, but the Murtrees told us all about it.”

Before I could ask for more details—and more importantly, begin negotiations about my primary goal, to leave—a small voice called impatiently and furiously from somewhere down the long hallway. “Mom, there’s no grats left. Linda ate them all!”

Madeline smiled apologetically. “Kids. You know how they are.” Actually, I didn’t, not having met more than a handful of Clan offspring in my lifetime, and no Human children beyond those avoided underfoot in crowds. Children. I found the entire concept more foreign than the Drapsk.

“Supper’s at five, Fem Morgan. We operate very casually here. Just use the com if you need anything. Coming!” she shouted, moving away at a rapid pace that suggested whatever trouble was ahead had better look out.

I eyed the com panel. As well announce directly to Copelup that I planned to evade him.

During the flurry of introductions in the front office of the Humans’ research facility-cum-residence, I’d been showered with names, duties, and relationships I knew would be impossible to keep straight. The Skeptic had stood silently to one side, plumes atwitch. He was staying as well, somewhere, an accommodation within the overwhelmingly Human-scented building I suspected must be difficult for the Drapsk. I would have also suspected him of being amused by my slight cringing during the effusive welcome from the Brightson family, if it hadn’t been for the tentacle slipping inside his mouth for some discreet, troubled, sucking.

So despite the warmth of the welcome, the confusion and foreboding of entering a mass of excited humanity, and the honest exhaustion I felt, there was room for troubling thoughts. Whatever was going on here was important to the Drapsk. And what was important to them, I suspected glumly, was going to interfere nicely with my plans to leave.

 

“More dessert, Sira?”

“No, thank you, Cory,” I said quickly, discovering no room left for what I’d already eaten, let alone space for more. Then I covered up a yawn. I’d tried for a quick nap before supper, but that attempt failed when Copelup showed up at my door interested in my opinion of several music tapes. I hadn’t been sure if he wanted to test the limits of my hearing or simply drive me mad. The bell announcing this meal had been rescue indeed.

Or would have been, I thought, if supper with the Brightsons had involved more eating and less competitive vocalizing.

Between the bedlam of fifteen adult Humans and their six variously-aged offspring, I found myself seriously wondering if Copelup had tested my hearing to see if I could survive this.

There was one advantage. I’d been given a seat thoughtfully away from the youngest children, whom I observed needed to physically subdue their food before consuming it with owl-like looks of satisfaction. This arrangement put me beside Grant Murtree, the very same person I’d been told had attended the last Festival. Copelup sat with another Drapsk at the end of the table—its placement near an open window surely meant as kindness in a room redolent with food aromas and warm mammal. The Humans politely wore no perfumes, but there was a certain tang to the air even I noticed. After a comment from one of my Human hosts, one of the younger Murtrees was removed, not without a wordless howl of complaint, from the room.

I could feel Copelup’s attention on me throughout the meal, but I thought he was too far away to hear any conversation. Regardless, I kept my voice low as I continued pumping my table companion for information.

“You were saying, Grant, the Festival is attended by offworlders as well as representatives from all of the Tribes?”

Like the Brightsons, and almost all of the Humans at the table, Grant Murtree was short, slightly rounder than most Humans of my acquaintance, swarthy of complexion, and tended to squint fiercely. I found out later this resemblance was due to most of the agricultural staff being selected from the same Human world, Ladin 5, in order to provide the Drapsk with a physically similar Human Tribe. Humans could be very accommodating to local custom when they wished.

Grant’s voice was soft and well-educated, the only accent to his Comspeak a rather charming tendency to lengthen his vowels. “Allie’s the one who really pays attention to the social details here,” he admitted, as if this were a lack I’d find reprehensible. “My specialty is plant engineering. You should ask her, Fem Morgan.”

Since Allie was the Human who’d removed her odiferous offspring moments before, she was unlikely to be back soon enough to answer my questions, but I didn’t bother to point this out. “Call me Sira, please,” I said.

“Sira,” he acknowledged with a nod. “But you’re a Contestant. Surely they’ve told you all about it.”

“You’d be surprised,” I said darkly.

The Human chuckled. “Maybe not. Working with the Drapsk frequently involves, shall I say, unpredictable gaps in information?” He offered, then poured me more sombay. The noise level was dropping as children vanished from the room, but I trusted it would still keep most of what we said private. “Take the Festival,” Grant continued. “A great deal of it is similar to celebrations you’d find on any Human settlement: lots of food and drink, music, entertainment. There’s an exchange of gifts, but we were advised not to participate.”

“Why?”

Grant smiled. “We suspect the gifts are along the lines of betrothal exchanges. Not exactly within the scope of our arrangements here.”

Betrothal? “Then the Festival has something to do with their,” I paused delicately, “reproductive processes?”

Madeline had been leaning over, listening to this last exchange. “We’re not sure about that,” she interjected, with an involuntary glance at the Drapsk at the other end of the room. “Norm’s made a few discreet inquiries—he’s our animal physiologist—but they’ve been very—reticent about their biology.”

“Many species are,” I noted dryly.

She colored. “Well, naturally we didn’t pry further, but from what Allie told us, the Festival does involve some kind of selection or sorting process.”

“We think that in some way they use the Festival to determine the numbers within each Tribe for the upcoming generation,” Grant added. “After the last one, the Pardii Tribe doubled—at the expense of the Tookii, who went from owning mines in the foothills to working on farms near here.”

“They doubled in what sense?” I asked, puzzled. “More offspring?”

“We’ve never seen an immature Drapsk,” Madeline volunteered, again with an uneasy glance at Copelup, who was now thoughtfully sucking most of his tentacles as he sat aimed in our direction. “It’s not something you can ask about, you know.”

Grant explained: “I can’t say if they doubled exactly—Norm thinks so, but we don’t have any stats to back it. But within weeks of the Festival, there were Pardii wherever one went in the foothills, and they’d been rather rare before.”

All this was fascinating, and information I would definitely pass along to Morgan, but it wasn’t helping me. “Grant. Madeline. I need to get to the shipcity and leave Drapskii. Tonight, if possible.”

Both smiled wisely and shook their heads—not exactly the reaction I’d expected. “Please don’t worry, Sira,” Madeline said in a gentle, humoring voice. “Copelup’s told us how nervous you are about competing. He said you might panic a bit as it approached. But it will be all right. You’ll see.”

“And it’s very important to them, you know,” Grant added seriously, as if there could be no doubt of the significance of what the Drapsk wanted.

“Oh, I know,” I replied glumly, glaring down the table at Copelup. Another plan scuttled. I found a smile somewhere and asked brightly: “So, what can you tell me about the actual Competition?”

These Humans had been on Drapskii too long. “We couldn’t tell you even if we knew, Sira,” Madeline answered. “The Drapsk were very specific in what we can talk about with you.”

I waved at Copelup, who was coming my way as supper unofficially drew to its conclusion—most of the Humans rising with mutters of tasks to be done. “Why am I not surprised by that either?” I said, but not accusingly. These were my hosts, after all.

And apparently in charge of my entertainment as well, for no sooner had I stood to return to my room, when Cory Brightson reappeared at my elbow, beaming from ear to ear. “We’re leaving for the game in about thirty minutes, Sira. Okay?”

“Great,” Grant Murtree spoke up before I could so much as open my mouth. “This will take your mind off the competition,” he added with a meaningful look. “Just what you need.”

“Can’t wait,” I said weakly, wondering what I was in for now.

The group had met in secret, made decisions without her, and left this message planted in the mind of her servant. Rael waved one hand in dismissal, having pulled the information from the young Denebian’s thoughts with the subtlest of touches.

It paid to have good help.

Find Sira. Larimar following Morgan. Enlist Pella’s aid for the cause.

The message, such as it was, bore the taste of Ru di Mendolar’s sarcasm. Or perhaps it was Rael’s own interpretation of the likelihood of success for any of its components.

Find Sira? Rael upended her case on the bed where a servant would find the pile of clothing and unobtrusively deal with it. If Sira didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. Simple as that.

Larimar following Morgan? Rael kicked off her shoes, sliding her toes, with their floral stencils, into a pair of slippers. No one could say she hadn’t warned them. Setting a tracker on the Human was about the surest way she could imagine to bring their group—and its aims—to his attention.

Enlist Pella? Rael walked slowly to her balcony, drawing the delicate scent of night-blooming flowers into her nostrils, gazing up at the dusting of stars overhead. The air was, as always, warm and caressing on her skin. She would talk to her sister, for whatever good the group thought it might do. There was little risk; Pella was no more fond of the present Council than any of them and wouldn’t bother to betray them.

But enlist her self-centered, self-serving nature to the cause—or to any purpose that wasn’t of immediate benefit to Pella herself?

Rael thought it more likely the Denebian sun would rise at the snap of her fingers.

Chapter 18

IT was, beyond any doubt, the strangest thing I had ever seen. And while I hadn’t traveled Morgan’s great distances across the known galaxy, I’d lived a good deal longer than most of my kind—having waited unChosen and unchanged for the better part of two generations—so I could truthfully say I’d seen my share.

But this?

I sat on the hard bench, my feet barely fitting on the floor before the back of the next row in front of me, my breath coming out in frosty puffs, and pulled my borrowed coat more tightly around my shoulders. Below me was a perfect oval of white ice; above was an arching roof, well-insulated against the daytime’s remaining heat.

We were here, I’d been informed proudly by Copelup, to watch a game introduced by the Humans and taken up with a passion by the Makii Drapsk. It was called hockey.

“Hot sombay, Sira?” A cup was pressed into my numb fingers and I accepted its promise of warmth gratefully. Madeline Brightson sat down beside me, tossing a corner of a thermal wrap over my knees before tucking the remainder over her own lap.