“It’s not what is here,” I said, raising a finger to the side of my head. “Or what we can or cannot do. We are not many and we are becoming less, while you Humans are filling up world after world.” Bowman and I both ignored ’Whix’s sudden fit of choking. “And you have another strength we lack. Your kind work together,” I said grimly. “The Clan can readily picture a future in which bands of Human telepaths hunt us down, one by one, no matter where we try to hide.”
“But that’s not why you collected these particular names.”
“No. These were—” I took another hasty sip. “These were the possible Human candidates for my Choice.”
“Including Jason Morgan.”
I nodded, mute, not needing to read it all to find his name. That Morgan had become my Chosen, through his own wish as well as mine, didn’t absolve me from the crime of having plotted to force him or any of those others into attempting that Choice without knowing if a Human could even survive it.
My past wasn’t important at the moment, so I shook it away impatiently. “Where did you get it?” I demanded. “Who gave it to you?”
Bowman’s smile was as hungry as any Scat’s. She took the list from me and smoothed it on the table, before plunging down one blunt finger to hold it in place. “What’s really interesting about all this, Fem Morgan, is that I made this one up myself.”
“W-what?” I couldn’t control the stammer in my voice. “That’s my list—I know those names—”
’Whix replied for his Chief. “This set of names is based on an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of several Trade Pact citizens, all Human, all male, and all telepaths. These disappearances have occurred in this sector of space, within the last three standard months.”
“Jason?” I asked, lips gone numb. “Why did you say his name, then? He hasn’t disappeared—the Fox is docked, cargo requests posted.”
That finger moved down the strip, stopping as if at a name. “Morgan? You’re right. He hasn’t vanished like the rest. Not yet, anyway. In fact, your Morgan has left a trail a Skenkran could follow in the dark.” The hand raised, the pointed finger making a dagger’s thrust in my direction. “And why might that be, Sira Morgan? Is he leaving this trail for you? Or to keep someone from you?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“No matter,” Bowman continued. “He’s gone to ground—or rather to mud—but hiding a Human on Ret 7 is almost impossible, even for him. And when I find your Morgan, I’ll have sufficient questions to keep him out of circulation for some time.”
“Has he communicated with you, Fem Morgan?” this from ’Whix. “We know he wasn’t on Drapskii with you.”
“How?” I asked, dazed as much by their questioning as by the implications of the list. “How did you know about Drapskii?” Then I shook my head. “The Enforcer sitting in the dock. It had surveillance on the Nokraud. I should have known. You saw me there.”
’Whix held up the vistape. “It was my ship,” he explained matter-of-factly. “We did record your entry into the Nokraud, to what purpose we do not know—”
“I was,” I said unsteadily, “trying to find a way back to Morgan. The Drapsk wanted me to stay for their Festival. I was desperate enough to try almost anything.”
“You could have come to us,” Bowman said. I glanced up at her and shook my head.
“Perhaps. I won’t say I was thinking clearly. Anyway, the Drapsk would have been prepared to counter anything I tried. You can’t imagine how important their Festival was to them.” I raised a hand to forestall her questions. “Ask the Drapsk to explain it, Chief.
“Were you following the Nokraud?” I continued warily, looking at ’Whix, my fingers smoothing the fabric of clothing that was definitely no bargain if it came from a pirate raid these two were investigating.
“Not this trip, Fem Morgan,” he answered dolefully, as though the high-risk pursuit of pirates would be a vast improvement over any time spent on Ret 7. I could agree.
“We aren’t after them,” Bowman confirmed, then surprised me by adding: “I’m here looking into some Pact business—and tracking down Morgan. ’Whix has been following you since Pocular.”
“With the exception of your stop at Plexis,” ’Whix corrected carefully. “I was ordered to change course to Ret 7 instead.”
“Pocular?” I said. “Why? And how?”
Bowman didn’t misunderstand me. For the first time since I’d known her, she looked uncomfortable, delaying her answer to wave over a waiter and ask for sombay.
I drew my own conclusions, and didn’t like any of them. “You’ve been watching us, haven’t you?” I accused her once privacy was reestablished. “All the time, since Camos. Morgan and I thought we were being left alone and in peace. But that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
“You believed you’d be left alone. Morgan—” she sipped her sombay, “—Morgan knew better. He was worried about you, about the Clan Council and how it might retaliate against you for standing up to them. So he—called in a debt, you might say. At the time, I told him no. But in reality, we shared an interest in your safety, Fem Morgan.” A sober look. “I’ve been keeping an eye bent your way. We’ve been watching.”
My world narrowed to a focus consisting of the Human across from me and no more. If I’d been able to use any power against her besides simply pushing her into the M’hir, I would not have been able to restrain myself. As it was, I felt a thrill of pain as my unresolvable fury tore at my inner controls. My hair squirmed on my shoulders as if it could reach out and wrap around her throat. With a prudent movement, ’Whix shifted as far from me as his chair permitted.
“So you were watching when they attacked us and killed the villagers,” I snarled in a low voice, careful of listeners even now. “You were watching when I was ripped apart. You were watching when Morgan almost killed himself trying to find me. And you were sitting, just sitting and watching when I sent him into hell alone.” I gripped the table edge until my fingers went white. “How dare you admit it!”
The Chief Enforcer for this tumultuous sector of space was as calm and collected as I was inflamed. I might have imagined her discomfort of a moment ago. She added spice to her mug before saying evenly: “You overestimate the closeness of our scrutiny and dismiss its good intentions, Fem Morgan.”
“Good intentions,” I growled.
“We did not wish to bring attention to your presence on Pocular, Fem Morgan,” ’Whix said, panting oddly as though he at least felt stressed by the hostile turn of the conversation. Good, I thought, still glaring at the imperturbable Bowman. “Our surveillance consisted of adding an extra pass through the system by certain ships, such as mine. Our contacts planetside were to keep their eyes and ears open, but there was no use of vid equipment or remotes.”
“One of our contacts is fond of gambling,” Bowman clarified. “So we did know when Barac sud Sarc, your cousin, arrived. We also,” she paused to consume a sweet, “we also heard reports about the Drapsk ship, the Makmora, and how her crew were routinely making fools of themselves in attempts to have you with them.” Then her voice deepened, and I saw what might have been outrage in her eyes. “We found out about the village and the attack after you’d left. Sent in some meds and equipment to help the village. Tried to turn up some information on the attackers. But our main witnesses? You and Morgan? Nowhere to be found. Even Barac was gone.”
And so you never saw Rael, I added, but just to myself. Where did you go, Sister, after I’d left? What did you do?
’Whix’s panting had improved, but still affected his voice. “Several of our ships became involved at that point,” he said, “mine being first. I’d been stationed in orbit, under the guise of conducting standard contraband checks on outgoing ships—” Bowman’s impatient wave sent him past this digression. “I was ordered to follow the Makmora. It was reasonable to conclude that if you had voluntarily left in any way other than through the use of your—abilities—it would have been with the Drapsk. An hy
pothesis I was able to verify.”
“What matters is the present,” Bowman said accurately. “I didn’t know you’d been injured. What happened? Are you all right now?”
I blinked at Bowman, startled by what might have been honest concern in her voice. I wasn’t about to jump to that conclusion. She had more than my health to worry about, starting with that list lying between us and ending with an entire sector of beings who would not be pleased by the latest Clan activities in their space. “I’ve healed enough to get around, thanks to the Drapsk.” I considered, then added: “Someone performed surgery on me. Whether there’s permanent damage—I don’t know. Once all this is resolved, once Morgan is safe again, then I’ll find out.”
“Surgery? What type of surgery?” Bowman’s voice had the snap of an order.
“If I knew—”
Bowman reached up to her face, tapping her left eyebrow sharply with two fingers. It appeared an absent gesture, but I knew by the sudden concentration in her eyes it meant something more. “What is it?” I asked.
“You haven’t been examined by a humanoid med—or even gone into a Human-based med unit, have you?”
“No. I told you, there’s been no time. But I’m all right. The Drapsk took good care of me.” I leaned forward in emphasis. “We were talking about finding Morgan. I hardly think this is the time—”
She looked at ’Whix, who swiveled both his eyes to meet hers, then returned his left eye to its stare at me. “Fem Morgan,” Bowman began, and there was no mistaking the note of concern, “I want you to come back to my cruiser where you can be examined by my med staff. Please—”
Her voice and my alarm over what they intended faded from my immediate concern. Just behind Bowman was a half-wall, meant to provide privacy without blocking the movement of air through the restaurant. It was topped by a metal latticework, encrusted with the lichens and mosses Retians considered houseplants.
In each of the bottommost triangular openings in the lattice, a bright, black, and glistening eye looked back at me, making a row of about ten. Once I’d spotted them, they disappeared below the solid part of the wall.
I wasn’t going to have to keep my Drapsk hunting for Huido, I realized with a relief so deep I was almost shaking with it.
He’d found me.
INTERLUDE
A guarded flash of light let Morgan check his bearings on his homemade map. The next right-hand corridor should lead to the ramp down. He closed his hand back over the lens, dousing all but the minimum glow he needed to see the floor in front.
It wasn’t the Retians’ fault the emergency lighting hadn’t kicked in the moment the building’s illumination went dark, necessitating the evacuation of the few beings still at work inside. Morgan checked his wrist chrono. It should take a while to find any repair specialist at this hour of the night, let alone one capable of deciphering the reprogramming he’d done to the environmental controls, assuming they were able to spot his tampering in the first place. And he’d timed his intrusion to take full advantage of a night when all he knew of Retians suggested most would be—fully occupied.
In the interval, he had the building to himself, dark and vid free. There were some skills too useful to leave behind in one’s past.
Down the ramp, this one set with regular steplike treads, as if designed for use by non-Retian feet. Morgan slipped down them, moving noiselessly but rapidly to his target. There. The door was just where he’d marked it on the map.
Through it and he was in the final corridor; it was below ground level and damp, despite what were, for Retians, heroic efforts to scrub the air of excess moisture. Morgan risked removing his hand from the lens completely for a moment, training the full beam from his light on what lay ahead. Nothing but bare walls and locked doors.
Another check of the map. It was the third door on the left he wanted. Morgan switched off his light, using his fingertips against the wall to feel his way along.
Past one closed door. Smooth plaster, broken only by the outline of an inset cupboard. The stalker had shown him one cubbyhole stuffed with dormant Retians on this level, further along. That didn’t mean there were none packed behind the doors. Regardless, they weren’t a concern without an adult to awaken them.
Morgan’s fingers encountered the second door. As they passed over the rim marking the frame and reached the panel itself, it was as though he’d touched a live circuit. Morgan reeled back, startled.
As quickly, he returned to the door, tucking his light into his belt so he could place both hands on the panel. His eyes closed as a further aid to concentration.
The stalker hadn’t tried this door; knowing its batteries were low, Morgan had sent it to the most promising of the three. Now he regretted the lapse, forced to rely on a more intimate and dangerous method. He reached out with the utmost delicacy, sending a questing tendril of thought, no more than a wisp, past the panel to seek what had called to him.
Power. Strangely familiar. Morgan took a deep, steadying breath, then opened his inner sense to the M’hir as Sira had taught him, just the thinnest crack.
Three glowing masses in the darkness, dimly lit, like embers banked on a dying fire. Brighter lines he somehow recognized as restraints.
Morgan pulled his mind back from that awareness, his fingertips leaving the door panel and seeking the controls to open it instead.
Then he stopped himself, standing there in the dark, his head turning to look where he knew the other door stood locked and waiting. Beyond that door might be what had been stolen from Sira, what she’d asked him to recover for her. Beyond that door might even be the thief. His hand twitched as though around a throat.
Why should it matter to him or to his purpose if the Baltir also contained three unconscious and power-bound Clanswomen?
It shouldn’t, his rage answered for him, impatient so near its target. They were strangers—not even his species—likely her enemies and his! There was no guarantee the Retians wouldn’t restore their lighting and security systems at any minute. He’d be a fool to be distracted.
Morgan shuddered once, then turned on his light so he could find the tools he’d need to open the door.
So he was a fool.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Chapter 41
I SUPPOSED Bowman and her constables had meant well. I supposed, on sober reflection, I may have been too extreme in my urgent desire to be left alone, so I could join Huido and find out where Morgan was. But that was the kind of thinking that follows, not precedes, an impulse.
Such as the one which had almost certainly ruined the restaurant behind us. “Will you hurry, Sira!” Huido rumbled, clattering along beside me like some wagon loaded with loose pots.
“I hope no one was hurt,” I said wanly, looking over my shoulder at the flames now roaring skyward with remarkable enthusiasm, given the pouring rain, the chronically soaked building walls, and the efforts of several firefighters already on the scene. I truly hadn’t expected merely ‘porting a bottle of brandy into the business end of the stove—the kitchen door having been conveniently ajar for me to see it—would result in quite so much chaos. It had had the desired effect of allowing me to give Bowman and ’Whix the slip, the two of them hurrying toward the “accident” as rapidly as the rest of us exited the scene. Huido had been waiting outside and snagged my arm with a claw as I ran out with the other panic-stricken customers.
“I just hope we make it off this road to somewhere less conspicuous,” my companion grumbled. He didn’t ask me to transport us—a lack I knew had more to do with his dislike of the M’hir than with any caution about attracting attention. Since our earlier adventures together, in which I had somewhat freely hauled him back and forth through that other space, Huido had grown of the opinion that the M’hir was responsible for a decline in his poolside performance for some weeks afterward, something I hardly wanted to debate with him and which Morgan found vastly entertaining.
I had to admit, running with a Car
asian through the foot and wheeled traffic of a busy city had its entertaining side as well. There were few Retians, or other beings for that matter, willing to stand their ground before an onrushing armor-plated behemoth, claws snapping erratically in the air as though this helped Huido’s thick legs scuttle faster, and eyestalks whirling in an absolute frenzy. Retians were not quick, graceful creatures by any stretch of the imagination, being well-suited to their muddy world and placid lifestyle, yet these individuals were moving out of our path in a combination of death-defying leaps, desperate rolls, and last-minute dives to either side. The pouring rain and huge mud-filled puddles underfoot everywhere just added to the effect.
It was, I was ashamed to confess, hilarious.
Mind you, the wheeled traffic was a bit more of a concern. Not so much to me, because the drivers of the small and mid-sized groundcars allowed in this portion of the city were just as anxious as the pedestrians to avoid the Carasian—possibly because he outmassed most—but the pedestrians themselves were at risk from the wild movements of the vehicles. If Huido had wanted to broadcast our route to the Enforcers, he couldn’t have done a better job with weeks of advance planning.
“In here.” My giant partner didn’t wait to see if I was complying, a reasonable assumption as he hadn’t released the claw locked firmly around my arm since the restaurant. There would be, I was sure, an interesting bruise as a souvenir.
Huido’s “here” was an alleyway, or rather an overflow channel between buildings, at the moment filling nicely with the water running from rooftops as well as from the street behind us. His sponge-toed feet found anchorage easily. Perhaps recalling the fragility of my species, he kindly opened his claw to release me, but I found I needed both hands gripping his arm to keep upright as he continued to thunder forward at a gallop, spraying me from my head down with oily, muddy water.
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