An opening he immediately slammed closed, overwhelmed by what seemed to be blazing arcs of power, as if some deadly collision filled that void. But it was enough to give him directions in this madhouse. Morgan’s eyes snapped open, and he began to run.
A twist, turn to the left, a sprint straight ahead. Morgan glimpsed fabric, stained orange by the strobe lights. Faitlen! Careless of obstacles, Morgan accelerated, flinging himself over a table, rewarded by a second, closer glimpse.
This was it. Morgan grabbed a convenient pipe, hauling himself to a stop. Shields tight, Morgan crept closer, taking advantage of the abundant machinery to hide him, setting his feet with care. Ahead, Faitlen was motionless, as if staring. Realizing the Clansman was totally preoccupied, Morgan dared step out where he could see what was happening.
A figure lay crumpled on the floor a short distance away, a deathly-still figure the Clansman appeared to ignore, his attention on two of the vertical tubes. The tubes were opaque, as all the others, their surface marked with patterns of gauges and dials impossible to read in the flashing light. Morgan looked down at the figure. “Barac!” he cried involuntarily, hurrying forward.
Faitlen ignored him, too, seeming intent on the machines. Careful to keep the Clansman in sight, Morgan stepped over Barac’s body and crouched beside him. Still breathing, the Human noticed with relief, and no outward signs of injury. Then Barac’s breathing caught in his throat, his body arching as it fought for air. Morgan grabbed his shoulders, the contact enough to draw him into that other place . . .
. . . sharing utter anguish . . . utter loss . . . the bitter taste of failure . . . fading . . . fading . . .
Without knowing how he did it, Morgan reached for Barac, collecting the Clansman’s fragmenting personality in a net of his power, striving to bring them both back from that brink. . . .
Success! Morgan shook his head, clearing his vision in time to see Faitlen launch himself at Barac’s throat. The Human angled his shoulder to take the brunt of that assault, his own hands grasping the Clansman’s wrists. He surged to his feet, hauling Faitlen with him—shoving the Clansman against the nearer tube before glancing at Barac.
Breathing, or rather groaning, Barac had already rolled to his hands and knees, head hanging down.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Faitlen shouted at Barac, struggling against Morgan’s steel grip. When he realized he couldn’t break free, the Clansman looked up into Morgan’s eyes, and said in a strangely reasonable voice: “They wanted a body to examine. One of us. They told me he was already dead and I could release the restraint—but they lied. The ignorant fools brought an unChosen within reach,” a note of rising hysteria. “They weren’t supposed to die—understand me—he was!”
“Who has died?” Morgan said, remembering the anguish in Barac’s thoughts. Then he looked past Faitlen at the tube. “Who is in there?”
“No one, now. You. You’re Sira’s Human! You’ll both pay—” Morgan felt Faitlen gathering his power. Instead of gathering his own, Morgan released one hand, stood back a bit, and sent his fist into the Clansman’s jaw.
With distinct satisfaction.
Chapter 46
THE Drapsk had been right.
I hated that. I truly hated the thought of staring into their kind, smug facelessness and apologizing for my folly. Of course, I’d have to survive a while longer to make that happen. From where I lay, stomach-down in a pile of very ripe and soggy refuse, it wasn’t guaranteed I would.
My well-thought out plan had gone awry for one simple reason. I’d assumed I knew who my enemies were, putting them into neat piles of this group of Clan and that group of Clan.
Had it been a symptom of leftover Clan egotism that I’d forgotten the hundreds of other intelligent species in the galaxy?
At least three different ones pursued me now: Retian, Human, and Scat. I didn’t know if they were working together or apart. To some extent, it was a meaningless distinction, since they all seemed to want me in their hands or claws, preferably alive, I hoped, although their willingness to use significantly nasty weaponry to achieve this outcome left me wondering if I was being overly optimistic.
I had only to look down the alleyway to see the glow from the fires lit by that last burst of blasterfire.
The poor Drapsk on the Nokraud were probably frantic. I hoped nothing worse, but given the reptilian snout I’d spotted in the group giving chase, there was little doubt in my mind that the pirates were involved.
I settled myself more comfortably into my pile, thinking back and trying to puzzle out what had gone wrong first.
Rael, Huido, and I had left the Nokraud under cover of darkness and a downpour unusually violent even for this season. Since we could hardly see one another, I’d been confident we could make our way to the groundcar without being observed by anyone else. That may have been the case. Our troubles had started once inside Jershi’s mud walls, not before.
No one had bothered to tell us—and, to be fair, the not-infallible Drapsk probably didn’t know; equally likely, the pirates did—that a torrential downpour coupled with a moonless night and the warmth of the season meant just one thing in the wee hours of the morning on Ret 7. We climbed out of our groundcar, Rael and I with ease, and Huido unloading himself from the back like a disembarking tug, only to find ourselves in a street full of sex-crazed Retians.
There can be a distinct titillation in observing the reproductive practices of other species. I’ve been told the aerial mating dance of the Skenkran makes their world a lodestone for Humans seeking to rekindle romance. The Retians, on the other hand, could disenchant the most loving couples.
We had to trace a careful path through the wallowing clumps; the ones with long chains of amorous males were the worst, since they rolled and thrashed like some fantastic snake completely regardless of whether they were about to knock our feet out from under us or bash themselves into a nearby wall with enough force to leave a pile of unconscious suitors in the mud. From what I could see through the rain and darkness, there was a steady supply of new ones eager to jump, grab, and otherwise dive into the fray.
It wasn’t a particularly romantic-sounding exercise either. Between the thumps and bangs of entangled groups impacting on their surroundings, one could pick out rather violent and somewhat strangled croaking. I couldn’t see which individuals made the noise, but found out later it was coming from the females within the clumps of males as they advertised their availability—implying they had as much trouble distinguishing their sexes as any humanoid visitor.
To totally finish any resemblance to the joyous coupling of other species, the handlights we brought out in self-defense revealed that the mud and puddles were coated with what looked like knotted strings of slimy beads, coated in a fine spray of some oily purple substance I didn’t want identified and I hoped would wash off my boots. The strings, when not collecting on the wheels of parked groundcars or squishing underfoot, were floating away with the rainwater, presumably to end up in the marshes surrounding Jershi. I wished the next generation of Retians luck—they appeared to rely heavily on it.
Wouldn’t it have been easier to do all this out on the mud-flats? I thought, but just to myself. The Retians were too busy to answer questions.
None of us believed all in the city would be so occupied; for one thing, less mature Retian adults were presumably keeping things running while their seniors caroused through the streets and alleyways. But there were enough here to make it difficult for us to reach our destination. Huido’s bulk was a definite liability, since this time the Retians took no notice of him, making it necessary for Rael and me to lead in order to find the safest route.
Even worse, his low-slung frame acted like a rake. Within minutes, the Carasian was festooned in tiny glistening beads. I refused to look at him again once I caught Huido cleaning off his lower handling claws by simply consuming what he accumulated.
So when the Carasian was no longer behind Rael and me, we didn’t notice f
or a few moments. The latest writhing Retian grouping had cut between us and I used my handlight to search the shadows. It shouldn’t have been hard to spot him; his body armor might have been black, but those eyes reflected light like tiny circular mirrors.
There was no sign of him. “When did you last see him?” I shouted at Rael, holding onto her arm as we were almost pushed apart by another cold mass of writhing bodies. I gestured urgently at the protection of a doorway and we struggled our way to it.
“I don’t know,” she shouted back. She was gasping and beads of sweat covered her forehead after she drew back her hood to see me better.
“Did any of them scratch you?” I demanded, Huido’s disappearance thrust aside by a new fear. Among their many virtues, adult Retians were poisonous. I’d seen the result once and would never forget it. I grabbed Rael, pulling her about so I could shine my light over her clothing, looking for any sign of a cut or gash.
“No,” she said faintly, then jerked free of my hold to turn away and bend over, retching miserably.
Poor Rael, I reminded myself. Her experience with aliens—especially the messier sorts—had been confined to civilized Humans. A few days with Huido or the Drapsk hardly broadened her education, since both were very careful to act according to humanoid norms when in our company. Most of the time, I corrected myself, thinking queasily of Huido’s latest snack food.
Had the Retians noticed and attacked him? I didn’t think so. The number Huido had eaten, or even could, were insignificant compared to the millions being crushed under the press of passion in the street.
“Come on, Rael,” I urged her, seeing she was either recovering or running out of stomach contents to share with the mud. “It can’t be far now. Huido will meet us there if he can.” And there wasn’t much the two of us would be able to do, if the Carasian couldn’t handle himself, I thought grimly. He was the one toting enough natural and technological weaponry to take out a small army. Rael and I had only our wits, our Talent being firmly off limits until the Drapsk were certain it was safe—a restriction Rael found ridiculous and would likely start to ignore any moment; a plea for common sense on my part I planned to take very seriously indeed.
We had only two blocks to walk to our goal, a reasonable-sounding distance in most humanoid cities. Unfortunately, the map the Drapsk had obtained for us had neglected to include the astounding number of stairs—currently waterfalls—in our path. This explained why most roads were marked as foot traffic only. From the occasional purr of an engine overhead, aircars were the vehicles of choice in this part of town. I spent a moment wishing I’d listened to the Drapsk and allowed them to follow us by air, but they were stretched thin as it was to keep the Nokraud secure, keep shifting through information, and hold the Makmora ready to lift if necessary. I’d been adamant, not wanting to have some Drapsk anxieties stop me so close to Morgan. They’d been convinced, not by me, but by Huido’s cutting comments on the inability of the white and plumed beings to travel inconspicuously anywhere at night.
The lower Rael and I went—moving very carefully for, despite the lack of mating traffic here, the amount of water pouring over the stairs made the footing treacherous—the clearer it became that the Retians valued their real estate by its depth below the waterline. The buildings on either side of us, though still predominantly plas-coated mud, began to boast such expensive amenities as gilded doors and saddle-shaped ort-perches by the round windows.
It was a particularly silly place to put any research building, especially one housing damp-sensitive equipment. I began to sweat myself.
“Rael,” I said, pulling her to the side of the stair just shy of the bottom, both of us reaching one hand to the wall beside us as if afraid of being swept down with the latest clump of Retian offspring. “This can’t be right. This isn’t the place.”
“Why would your Drapsk give us the wrong address?” she argued reasonably.
“Where did they get it?” I replied with my own question. “I’m sure this can’t be it. We’ve been led into a trap.”
She turned to look back up the stairs and I followed her gaze. The rain had slowed enough to allow the feeble streetlights to make some progress in illuminating the city. There were figures, still impossible to distinguish, at the very top. Individuals who moved as though they planned to stay that way. These were not, I realized with a sinking feeling, more sex-driven locals.
“I think it’s time to get out of here,” Rael said, her fear pushing against my thoughts like a strong, cold wind. I felt her form a locate, concentrate—I knew she planned to take me with her and I pulled free at the last possible moment, using a burst of my own power to stay where I was. She vanished . . .
And that’s when I had started to run.
And they’d begun to chase me.
So here I lay, catching my breath and probably a multitude of tiny pests and fungal spores, trembling in an alleyway while my sister tried explaining herself to the Makii. I kept listening for the comforting rattle of Huido’s plates.
But all was quiet, including, the realization sank in slowly, the footsteps and shouting from the nearby roadway. Either they’d passed by me, or they were much better at walking silently over broken glass than I could believe. It had been, I congratulated myself, a stroke of genius to scatter the bits I’d found in the refuse within the first part of this tunnellike space between buildings.
Standing, I did the best I could to scrap off the larger clumps of mud and filth from my clothing. Spacer coveralls were made from tough, stain-resistant fabric, but I’d managed this night to tear holes in both knees and permanently discolor their blue into something closer to black. At least, I decided, I was less conspicuous. My hair, for a wonder, had remained cooperatively within its hood and so was dry, if inclined to act morose and tangle itself.
My appearance improved to the best of my ability, something I could hardly check in this city of windowless walls, I cautiously stepped out into the street. There was no sign of either mating Retians or any traffic at all, something easily explained, I decided, pressing the display on my chrono, by the fact only an hour remained until Ret 7’s excuse for a dawn.
If I stopped to think about it—as if it mattered at all—I was exhausted, cold, wet, and tended to stagger when I wasn’t giving strict orders to my feet to pay attention. But as I looked more carefully up and down the street, I saw something which took my mind off my state completely: a public vidphone. There were a few things less important to the Clan and few things more likely to help me now. I could make a list, and did as I walked casually toward it, looking over my shoulder every few steps: I could call the Makmora, I could call the Enforcers, I might be able to contact Baltir himself.
All of these things and more would have been possible, had procreating Retians not smashed the thing beyond any hope of usefulness. Garlands of dying eggs hung over the remains of the front plas panels. The inside was in worse shape.
The spurt of energy hope had provided was gone, leaving me feeling worse than before. I found a sheltered doorway as the rain started up again, shooing away the cluster of fungi busy slobbering over something in the opposite corner. I didn’t see what it was: they must have somehow engulfed it at my approach or dragged it away.
What now? I asked myself, looking out at the deserted street, its puddles stirred by the now-heavy drops, the buildings to every side dark and full of incomprehensible things. I had no idea where I was. I could be leaning against the door of the building housing Baltir and his experiments right now, or be half the city away. As I recalled, there had been a great deal of blind running tonight, and very little careful observation. Morgan would not be impressed.
Morgan. There was temptation. He might be near enough to hear my voice if I called out in the night, a thought which quickened my heart rate until I was almost deafened by it. Of course, any shouting was more likely to bring back my pursuers.
Any other call might bring Morgan the instant attention of our enemies.
It was as though a sun—a decent yellow sun—had burst through the darkness and warmed me inside and out. There it was, within the darkness of the M’hir, that golden richness my power knew as its own and my mind knew as Morgan. Not his mind, not contact, but the scent, the flavor of his specific energy remained here.
Here? To be so strong, so immediate a presence, Morgan would have to have been physically near me. He could still be here. No longer caring about eavesdroppers, I was on my feet before I knew it, reaching out without being able to stop myself. Together we could defeat anyone. Together I could be whole again.
I touched . . . madness, rage.
It’s Sira, I sent to him, beating with all my power against the wall between us, sensing—as though here I could see all around me at once—the simultaneous arousal of the M’hir’s life, its hunger. Jason!
It was as if he turned an inner eye to look right at me. Through me. Time stopped. . . .
Then I fled the M’hir, not from the beasts and their deadly appetite, but from the terrible knowledge that behind his rage, Morgan could no longer see who I was.
INTERLUDE
When he found himself with a body again, the first thing Barac noticed was the one crumpled at his feet. Hard on that gruesome discovery was the observation that the world was being illuminated by disorienting and powerful flashes of reddish light: an alarm? Last, but not least, he realized he was standing upright solely because of the grip of two strong hands.
Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) Page 37