Wincing, Rael focused all of her power into a reply, knowing Morgan’s mental voice beyond any doubt. Her efforts were in vain.
But when she lay back down, she felt unexpectedly comforted.
If Sira chose to count on this Human, so would she.
Chapter 49
THE boxes had possessed alarms of their own, I suspected, listening to the rush of footsteps past my hiding place, concentrating on making my mental presence into a ghost, less substantial than the minds of those near me.
They’d have trouble repairing what I’d done, I firmly hoped, starting with the plasterlike substance filling the damaged access panel and ending with the empty tissue dishes. If they thought like Retians and looked down the drain for the missing bits of me, they might find some. If.
On the other hand, I had indeed thought like a Retian, it being the only possible way of eluding Faitlen and the Scats in this place. I squirmed, easing the cramp starting in my right hip, hissing involuntarily at the spurt of pain. There had been more benefit from having pushed myself into this closet of dormant Retians than merely hiding in plain sight. Too worn to feel any xenophobia—or care if I did—I found the dozens of soothingly cool bodies provided a gentle pressure that helped keep me on my feet when I’d otherwise have oozed to the floor like something boneless. The support was so firm I could doze a bit. I didn’t, all too aware these sleeping juniors could be aroused to serve their elders at any moment. It was unlikely they’d be summoned during any search for me, however. Morgan had told me the juniors were none too bright and couldn’t be given any creative tasks.
I didn’t know how long I should wait here. But, I told myself, wrinkling my nose at the musty smell and feeling lumps of rubbery skin against mine, I’d been in worse places.
My world quivered, as though I were embedded in a bowl of gelatin tapped by a giant. I forced my mind to something closer to being alert, fearing at first the juniors were waking, the quiver being the outermost layer popping free into the corridor.
No further movement; perhaps the momentary shiver that had passed from one to another was a shared dream, remembering a childhood of mindless searching for food in the swamps before pulled by instinct to march onto land and capture by waiting adults.
Regardless, it was a warning giving me the energy to slide my way free, a task made much easier by the light coating of slime over each Retian. When I half-fell into the corridor, the space I’d left was immediately filled as my former closet comrades pushed themselves back together. I wouldn’t miss them either.
I was, I thought, growing remarkably light-headed—a consequence of internal bleeding or possibly simply my body attempting to shut me down so it could survive. Walking down this corridor, under the now-bright lights, didn’t seem a sensible course.
Something brushed past me; I raised a hand as if to sweep it away before recognizing the touch was inside my head. It didn’t feel like a threat. I risked widening my perceptions.
This way, sighed the inner voice, a voice I didn’t know, so weary it could have been my own. This way.
It was as good a guide as any. One hand on the wall for support, I began following the faint tug of that call, wondering what I’d find.
I didn’t know the name, but I knew the House behind that face with its lean, haughty features: Parth. Whichever daughter she was, I felt the power flowing to and from her within the M’hir, the link to her Chosen unquenched by the imposed sleep holding her motionless within the box.
There were two others in this room I’d entered, a passage achieved by the simple expediency of slipping through as the Retian leaving it struggled to maneuver an overloaded cart. One of the disadvantages to having independently mobile eyes was their tendency to converge on problems and so lose any peripheral range.
All three Clanswomen were in some type of coma; all three were adult and Commenced. All three carried the tiniest of offspring, provided, I had no doubt, through the services of the Baltir, not their Chosen.
I wondered what they’d think upon awakening to find those offspring linked to my power, not theirs.
The other two were known to me; I’d met them briefly when they were Choosers, during the time when I conducted my research into our population. Neither had much power of their own. Demer sud Parth. I hadn’t known she’d Commenced and so had no knowledge of her Chosen. The other, Est sud Parth, had Chosen Shedlat di Mendolar, taking the name of the more powerful partner as her right in the Joining to become Est sud Mendolar. Est had given birth to one child, a disappointing sud.
Three Clanswomen, I summed to myself, two of them suds and probably the third as well, all originally from Faitlen’s House. Each bore what could potentially be my genetic double—an enterprising and original theft for di Parth, had the Retian technology been capable of overcoming one simple problem.
What was being attempted here was obvious to me. They—I didn’t credit Faitlen with the resources or nerve to do this alone, although he was perfectly capable of substituting his own kin into positions of gain—were trying to increase the number of di’s, specifically those duplicating my deadly power. At the same time, they were trying to increase the potency of the mother-offspring link in these Chosen using my flesh. It probably was irrelevant whether the Clanswomen had been willing or not. It wasn’t going to work.
I could feel the power of the link fading, like three candles guttering in a wind. It was an invisible umbilical cord, forged through the intimate contact of pregnancy; without its steady strengthening until close to birth, the offspring would die. It had happened recently enough in our past to be one of the few medical details the Clan did know. Here was proof that it wasn’t the physical location of the tiny unborn within the body of any of our species that mattered, but something deeper and more unique. These stolen bits of me had been doomed the moment Baltir took them and encouraged them to grow within another’s power and out of range of mine.
I probably hadn’t needed to destroy those in the incubators, but given the Retians’ interest, I was grateful to have left nothing of mine for their experimentation.
My abdomen cramped in twin lines of fire just then, as though to remind me of one last subject to check. I felt no link to whatever might be inside me; I’d known the moment I awoke. What else could the Retian have done?
The other question, what was I going to do about it, required a certain amount of luck, energy, and bluff. I leaned on the case holding Demer sud Parth, knowing she wouldn’t mind, and wondered if I could convince my feet to move another step.
INTERLUDE
Don’t reach for her. Bitter advice, with the taste of Sira’s despair layered within his own, but Morgan knew Barac was right. He couldn’t yet conceal the use of his Talent in the M’hir—a Talent Barac referred to as blatantly obvious and undoubtedly Human. Trust Sira’s power, the Clansman had urged him. She’ll reach you if she must. Don’t lead trouble to her.
Shaking his head at what wasn’t an option, Morgan turned his attention back to what was. “Let’s go through this again,” he sighed, sweeping up the wrappers that constituted the remains of their practical, if decidedly tasteless, meal of c-rations. He glanced at the com system with its tally of messages—over seven hundred. Who’d have guessed his query for local artifacts would trigger so many prospects? Shame he was in no mood for business. He went on: “You don’t know who grabbed you away from Huido. Let’s assume Faitlen, shall we? You don’t know why. He said something about having donated you for some research or other to the Retians.”
“A role I’m quite grateful to have avoided.”
Morgan gazed at Barac. He noticed again the Clansman’s resemblance to Sira, a similarity that showed best when Barac’s elegance was rumpled and he was too tired to put on the excess of charm he apparently donned like a mask for Humans. “And you don’t know who might have killed the Clansman on Plexis or Bowman’s contact here if I didn’t. Did you meet any other Clan in the Baltir? Or on Ret 7, for that matter?”
“No—” Barac hesitated only a second. “There were no others.”
Morgan decided to let that one alone. He could guess what had happened; Sira had given him ample warnings of the risks Choosers posed to the unChosen. “So,” he passed Barac a cup of sombay. “We have a lot of questions without answers, my friend.”
The answers to several of these arrived before Morgan could take his first sip from his own cup, announced by a ferocious pounding on the small air lock, a pounding forceful enough to set off alarms, if not to echo through the bulkheads.
A second later, Morgan leaned back from the vid screen showing the Fox’s ramp and laughed softly. He waved Barac to the screen, quite delighted to share the first positive news since he’d arrived on Ret 7.
There, looking thoroughly wet, muddy, and miserable in the current deluge, raising his free handling claw to hammer against the Fox’s innocent hide while the other held a limp humanoid form barely out of the mud, was a very agitated Carasian.
Huido was home.
“I didn’t desert you! Morgan, tell him!”
Morgan looked up, amused to see Huido still holding the Clansman overhead by the waist. “Put him down, Brother,” he said calmly, returning to his efforts to bring Huido’s companion back to consciousness. “I’m sure Barac would have preferred your company to what he’s been keeping lately.”
A grunt and thud from behind signified that Huido had listened, but remained in too foul a mood to be gracious about it. Leaving a trail of mud and water, he’d trudged through the Fox to drop his prize in a chair. He hadn’t spoken yet—though overjoyed to see Morgan, a response Morgan’s own bruises would attest to—the Carasian apparently was too anxious to deal with what he obviously considered the Clansman’s disappointing sense of teamwork.
Before Barac could take further offense—to which he was probably entitled, considering what he’d been through—Morgan added: “I’ll apologize for him, Barac. Being out in the rain like that? It’s not a healthy thing for a Carasian. Tends to make them irritable, as well as swelling up the vocal membrane.”
Released from Huido’s grip, and quite likely sore about the ribs, Barac came to look over Morgan’s shoulder. “I know him,” he proclaimed in surprise. “What’s he doing here?”
Morgan studied the wiry and very wet Human propped in the galley seat. He’d searched him already, the result being a nasty trio of force blades now safely sealed in a cupboard. The eyes remained closed, the head with its thinning gray hair lolling back. It wasn’t his sparse grizzled beard or unwashed state so much as the deep lines etched by suffering around the mouth and eyes that gave Morgan pause. Despite the good quality clothing, somewhat torn by Huido’s quaint method of encouraging the Human to accompany him, this was not a person who’d had an easy life. “Who is he?”
Barac came closer, staring as though to make absolutely sure of his identification. “Well, it’s hard to believe, but this is one of the Humans who tried to kidnap me on Plexis. A telepath.” He turned his head to Morgan. “I can show you,” he offered.
Morgan jerked a thumb back at Huido, the Carasian now more peacefully occupied tampering with the galley’s servo-kitchen. “Let’s not leave him out of any revelations, Barac. He’s not in the best mood to deal with the, shall we say, less tangible aspects?”
Barac nodded a heartfelt agreement. Meanwhile, Morgan watched Huido. He wanted to be sure he could reset whatever the master chef was altering on the Fox’s perfectly functioning servo. More than that, despite what he’d said to Barac, Morgan worried why the Carasian hadn’t spoken yet. A satisfied slurping as Huido sampled the beer he’d requested reassured Morgan that his friend’s vocal apparatus was working. A slurp and a sly roll of a dozen eyes at their guest.
Of course. The telepath. An eavesdropper in their midst. “Barac, watch him, will you?” Morgan said, grabbing a willing Huido by an upper claw and tugging the giant to the wide galley door. “We’ll be right back.”
“My pleasure,” Barac said grimly, taking up a perch on the table. Morgan raised one eyebrow. This story about the telepaths and the Clan promised to be interesting.
He just hoped Huido’s secrecy meant the Carasian knew something about Sira.
Chapter 50
IF there was one thing I knew about myself by now, it was that anger gave me strength. It was an unreliable ally, with a tendency to disappear suddenly and leave me worse than before. But for now, I nursed the small flame inside me as all I had.
I’d found a closet of the white coatlike garments I’d seen the Retians use when they worked in their laboratories, helping myself to the smallest. It fit, after a fashion. They had no perceptible breadth of shoulder, their bodies starting where humanoids bore their ears. There were stacks of protective headgear, such as one might need to work in areas of potential infection. One of those disguised my definitely non-Retian neck, if it limited my range of vision. Fortunately, the species as a whole were shorter than most Humans, so my coat draped over my feet.
My smooth, slender hands were a different story. I spent precious minutes hunting for any type of glove, finally locating a pair near a sink. The extra fingers would just have to hang empty. Despite the difficulty of any added burden, I arranged some sharp-looking implements on a plas tray. It made sense to me that a busy worker wouldn’t be accosted for another task.
I couldn’t straighten without pain, and walked with a shuffle at my most energetic, a posture and pace which should pass a casual inspection. Of course, I sighed to myself as I made my slow way up the ramp, there was no telling if the Retians relied on signals I couldn’t duplicate, like my dear and clever Drapsk. The Makii, I knew, would not accept the treatment given one of their Tribe. It was another thought keeping me in motion.
My imposture passed muster as three separate groups of Retians hurried by me on errands of their own, none of whom gave me so much as a glance. I shuffled slowly up the ramp to the next level, pausing to collect my breath and remember who was responsible for my condition before shuffling up the next. I thought wistfully of finding a lift and being whisked up the remaining floors to ground level, knowing perfectly well any such convenience would be a primary focus of their search for me.
At some point, having turned myself into an automaton as numb to my surroundings as the dormant juniors, I noticed there wasn’t another ramp across the hall from the top of the one where I paused. Instead, there was—from what I could see past all of the Retians, Humans, and others gathered here—a set of doors through which passage was firmly linked to physical searches and the close inspection of Captain Rek.
I leaned forward so my feet had to move in order to save me from falling on my face. No time to hesitate and no point in retracing my steps. It was out this door or not at all.
I wasn’t the only Retian in laboratory garb and there were others carrying trays and various packages. I was, of course, the only one on this level wearing a head covering. So I shuffled out as boldly as I could manage, mimicking the posture and demeanor of most Retians, aiming my steps directly at the Scat.
As I expected, that heavy snout swung until her predator’s gaze fixed on me, slit-pupiled eyes blinking with menacing interest. I gave her a slow nod, using my tray to gesture toward a nearby door, ajar so that I could see it opened into some sort of maintenance room and was empty.
Rek stalked in behind me, the clicking of her claws louder than my soft steps. “What do you want, Toad?” she hissed. “Or—is-ss it?” The hood lifted abruptly from my head, pinching my ears as it went.
I turned to face her with what I hoped was an air of complete confidence, forcing my unhappy body to stand as tall as possible. “We meet again, Captain Rek,” I said. “To our mutual profit.”
The frills behind each eye pulsed with color, reds and purples supplanting the quieter yellow and blue. The tip of the long black tongue collected a stray bit of froth from between her teeth. She tossed the hood to one side, but made no other movement.
I had he
r interest; now to use it.
As an ally, the pirate had a great deal to offer—starting with a refreshingly no-nonsense approach to leaving the Retians’ building.
She took me by one arm and hauled me through the crowd of those guarding the door and those wishing to pass the guards, snapping her jaws in threat when one of the guards looked about to speak.
It wasn’t a plan that would have occurred to me, but I enjoyed it in spite of the agony it caused my abused middle.
Outside, the sky was bright by Ret 7’s standards, with the clouds thinned to a pale, sun-edged gray. The temperature was soaring, sucking up moisture until the air was as thick as the drying mud underfoot. Rek’s frills expanded, and her long jaw hung slightly open. I wasn’t sure if this was to relish the heat or cope with it.
Her momentum carried us all the way to the side of a parked aircar on the other side of the street, three Humans who must have been Nokraud crew snapping to alertness as we arrived. “Get in,” she ordered me. “With has-sste.”
I did my best, helped by a strong shove from behind as I tried to ease myself into the farthest seat.
“Stop!” The word, and an upwelling of power against my shielding came simultaneously. I peered out of the aircar, just able to see past the pirates to where Faitlen had appeared from thin air. The Retians with him looked quite unhappy to have been transported, but after a moment’s paralysis, began to rush at us.
From behind, I could see Rek’s scaled sides heave and expand before she gave a strange cough, spraying a dark, smoking spittle over the nearest Retians. They screamed, wiping frantically at their faces. One fell writhing on the ground near enough for me to see the flesh dissolving.
I backed farther into the aircar.
A tingle warned me. Faitlen, standing out of range of the Scat’s personal artillery, was trying to port me away. I relocated frantically, feeling the effort arousing the M’hir life as it drained my meager strength.
Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) Page 39