Kort, the only indispensable member of Roraqk’s crew and so the only one impervious to his leader’s rages, looked up from under the panel he was repairing. “The Enforcers are making our contacts here very nervous.”
“Then go and reass-ssure them that angering me sssshould make them even more nervous-ssss.” The pirate ignored Kort’s departing salute, turning to pace the now-empty control room, claws making tiny pricks of sound as they pulled free of the deck mats. He paused to stare out at the darkness beyond the prow of his ship.
“Nothing like crew trouble,” commented a dry voice from behind. Roraqk’s whirl was inhumanly swift, but his drawn pistol remained pointed at the deck when he saw the twin weapons already aimed at his midsection.
Confidently. “How convenient, Morgan of Karolus-ss.”
Morgan’s face was expressionless, but the blue of his eyes shone cold and deadly. “You seem shorthanded, Pirate. And I assure you one of us will fry you before you touch any of those controls.” The almost imperceptible backward movement of Roraqk’s thin hand ceased.
“What are you after?” he hissed. “The female?” A blink of yellow eyes. “Or ss-some payment?”
Huido clicked a threat. “Your tongue could shorten your life span, lizard. Where’s Fem Morgan?”
A fanged grimace. “Fool. You ss-should know better—”
“You should,” countered Morgan very softly, moving close enough to gather up Roraqk’s weapon, then stepping back. “I can take the answers I need, Roraqk. But I’d prefer to stay clear of the cesspool in your skull.” Morgan allowed a thread of his power to invade the surface thoughts of the scaled creature.
“Mindcrawler!” accused the lizard, visibly shaken.
“I’ll know if you lie to me,” Morgan promised evenly, keeping the effort he expended from his face, keeping his emotions equally well-concealed. “And I see no reason to let you live if you do.”
“Then take her,” Roraqk hissed. “And ss-see how long you can keep her!” With that, he gave a deep, visceral cough, spitting out a thin spray, catching both Huido and Morgan by surprise. They ducked, Morgan throwing up one arm to protect his eyes. Huido lunged forward, claws snapping. Too late.
“Where did he go?” Huido bellowed, spinning around. Two eyestalks stretched out and down to examine the smoking holes in the chitin of his chest. “Look what he did—those will stay till I molt!” he complained.
Morgan had torn off his jacket and stood looking at the ruin of it. “Nasty little creature, isn’t he? We’d better find—” A klaxon sounded, deafeningly loud in the narrow control room. The floor began to vibrate. “The lift warning! Help me here, Huido, quickly!” Morgan ran to the control panel, began laying in overrides, trying everything he knew to interrupt the launch sequence, snapping commands to Huido. The klaxon died away, its place taken by shrill voices on the com as Plexis station protested desperately.
“Hang on to something,” Morgan ordered, tight-lipped. “I can’t stop her.”
The Torquad shivered once, delicately, as she pulled free, shaking off the scaffolds and lines tying her to the station, in the process cracking the seals that protected Plexis the way the tap of a spoon cracks an eggshell and spills its contents. Emergency bulkheads slammed into place, locking in the precious air, locking out vacuum as well as the unlucky station personnel, passersby, and spacers in the corridor when the Torquad made her departure.
Morgan looked at the viewscreen for a moment longer, sick but unable to turn away, watching bodies drift and bump their way out the gaping hole that had been a docking ring.
“Who’s going to shoot at us first?” Huido asked without expecting an answer, claws still locked around a pillar in the center of the control room. “Plexis or the Enforcers?”
Chapter 16
WHAT was going on? The alarm continued to shrill, making it hard to think. I fought panic, knowing there was nothing I could do locked in here anyway. And if the Torquad blew apart, I’d probably never notice.
The door burst open. Roraqk himself, not a crewman, stood there. Streams of spittle hung between his teeth, spittle that smoked and gave off a sulfurous odor. I stepped back.
“Come.” He motioned me into the corridor impatiently. Swallowing, I moved past him, careful to stay away from his dripping jaws. I thought suddenly of Auord and the Enforcer raid on the recruiters. There was the same air of pursuit and purpose about him.
We hurried down those almost familiar corridors, passing two sealed doors before Roraqk stopped, pointing down a spiraling ladderway. I climbed as quickly as I could, his needle-clawed feet threatening to step on my hands. After only one level, the ship heaved. I flung my arms around the nearest rung, hanging on with all my strength. Above me, Roraqk did the same, hissing what sounded like his laugh. A sudden, heavy vibration thrilled from the wall into my bones. This was no gentle release and acceleration from the station. The Torquad was powering up for an emergency lift.
A giant’s hand crushed my neck into my shoulders as the ship threw herself from the station and its gravity field with a total disregard for normal procedures or for the lives of those aboard. I gasped, close to blacking out.
The world steadied. “Get out at the next level,” Roraqk ordered.
Another identical corridor. This time, Roraqk went ahead of me, stopping to open a storeroom door. He pushed me in, then followed, sealing the door behind him. I pressed against the far wall, trying to keep from touching any part of him.
I sneezed. The air was dusty and full of an acrid odor. A tiny rustle and squeak made me turn to look at what I leaned against. The wall, and the one opposite, were lined with small crates, no, cages, stacked one upon the other. I could see hundreds of tiny eyes peering at us. They made no sound beyond a restless patter and shifting of cage litter.
With an absent air, Roraqk flipped a door open on a cage near him, reaching inside to capture a bit of struggling pink fur. He tossed the animal between his teeth, the crunching sound almost as loud as the squealing.
Next, Roraqk flung open a locker, tossing evac-suits from it onto the floor. “Get into one, quickly,” he hissed.
What was he up to? As I obeyed, I watched him pull on his own suit. Roraqk spared a moment to clean his jaws with a twist of cloth before putting on his helmet. I sealed the last clasp on mine, automatically activating the air and comlink. Through the com, Roraqk’s breathing filled my ears, out of sequence and shallow.
We went back into the corridor, this time Roraqk leading me by one arm and swinging his heavy head in a constant search. I tried briefly to struggle free of his grasp. He cuffed my helmet hard enough to make my ears ring. For the moment, I marched along without further argument.
Then I saw the air lock ahead. I began to struggle again, this time with everything I had. The Enforcers must be attacking; he was going to dump me into space!
“If you do not cooperate, you will die,” Roraqk hissed over the link, grip firm on my arm, my struggles useless. “I’m voiding the ss-ship.”
“Your crew—” The foolish question died on my lips. I watched Roraqk punch in a complex number sequence, overriding the safety on the air lock. Why? What did he hope to gain by killing everyone else on board?
Then, I knew. Morgan was here. And Roraqk was going to kill him.
I threw myself on the pirate, his surprise allowing me to knock him away from the panel. He twisted, incredibly supple despite the suit. I clenched my gloved fingers into fists and pounded on any part of him I could reach. His arm swept up in a swing that cracked the seal of my helmet. I could see his jaws snapping, frustrated by the clear plas between us.
I pulled back, then butted my helmet down on his chest with all my strength. Roraqk’s gasp sounded through the comlink with satisfying clarity. Again I struck, hard enough to make my ears ring again. Then hands from behind yanked me away.
Roraqk’s slender lieutenant shoved me to one side. “What’s going on?” Kort demanded, his gaze flashing from the winking panel to
where Roraqk was rising to his feet.
Roraqk snatched the weapon from Kort’s hand. He turned and flipped a final control on the air lock panel. Kort screamed and launched himself forward, dying instantly in the attempt. The still glowing muzzle of Roraqk’s weapon swung to point at me. I stood there trembling with rage and the aftermath of our struggle. “Always-ss you surprissse me, Kisssue,” he said, his voice tinny through the helmet.
I pulled off what was left of my helmet, defiant. “I’m no good to you dead. Reset the air lock. I’ll tell Morgan to leave you alone.”
Roraqk’s teeth chattered in one of his laughs. His meaning was unmistakable.
“You should have listened, Roraqk,” said a very cold, deliberate voice from behind me. I closed my eyes for an instant, shaking. I suppose I hadn’t truly believed until now.
The pirate didn’t hesitate. He moved rapidly, jerking me around until I was hard against his chest. I was looking directly at Morgan at last, and met his eyes with a totally unwarranted sense of security. He was unarmed, standing loose-limbed and relaxed before a small hatchway. His eyes didn’t leave Roraqk after that one quick reassurance to me.
“We wait. How amussing.” Roraqk’s voice boomed through the helmet. His arm pressed against mine, lifted to aim his weapon directly at Morgan. I was afraid to move in case he fired in reaction. “I will ss-so enjoy ss-seeing you die, Morgan of Karolus-ss. And this-ss annoying little pet of mine.”
Morgan’s eyes became slits. There was a sudden unnatural calm all around us. We three could have been alone in the universe. I stared at Morgan, watched his face begin to gleam with sweat, saw the artery along his throat pulse.
Roraqk’s arm fell away from me. I dropped, rolling away. Neither he nor Morgan moved; somehow they were locked together. I didn’t try to understand. I hurried to the panel, hitting the emergency seal button, sagging back with relief as the lights went a reassuring green.
Roraqk’s jaws were agape within his helmet, his thin black tongue flailing. I stood, awed and a bit afraid, glancing from Morgan to the pirate. Slowly, Roraqk folded at the knees, crumpling down to the deck. He stared up at Morgan, one hand keeping him from complete collapse, the other falling loose and releasing its weapon. I grabbed it as it rolled.
Morgan’s hands clenched spasmodically. Roraqk’s head drooped forward until it rested by its snout on the floor.
Morgan staggered and I went to him, offering my shoulder. He leaned on me, without a word. With the touch, the sense of him flooded me, his pulse wildly fluctuating, strength almost sapped.
“You could’ve waited for me,” rumbled a new arrival. Huido stooped through the smaller doorway, training a nasty-looking rifle on Roraqk, then gave the pirate’s body an appraising push with one huge round foot. “I’ve settled what crew were left.”
“Help me with him,” I demanded.
“I’m supposed to be helping you, remember?” I twisted to meet Morgan’s eyes, seeing what I was astonished to recognize as uncertainty.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked finally.
I could only nod. There was something unfamiliar between us, something tense and strained. As I sensed it, it was gone. Morgan drew his other arm around me, enfolding me with a comforting tightness that also supported most of his weight. I burrowed my face against his chest, willing to stay for a moment, unwilling to allow my mind any questions. Not now. Not yet.
INTERLUDE
Commander Lydis Bowman squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them deliberately, determined not to lose her temper. After all, she worked with beings of every shape and talent, bending and flowing around their customs until her own humanity was, frankly, a bit rusty. This business with the Clan required only an extension of that attitude, an accommodation or two.
But, Bowman thought bitterly, ’Whix and all her subs knew she expected eye contact during a report—it was the one cultural need Bowman refused to give up. Holding ’Whix’s shifting emerald gaze was aggravating enough at the best of times; his eyes were fitted to the sides of his feathered head so that light from behind sent distracting prisms through their bulging lenses. ’Whix usually did his best to keep an attentive, forward focus for his commander, but in recent days the Tolian had developed a habit of keeping one huge eye on whichever of the Clan were present. Bowman was left to hold the gaze of his other eye with both of hers.
“A female answering Fem di Sarc’s description was seen in a Turrned Mission, sublevel 384, spinward third,” P’tr wit ’Whix reported, rounded beak open to pant slightly in the, to him, overly warm ship’s air. A veteran spacer, he normally wouldn’t have shown distress, but the expression on Bowman’s face was enough to throw off his equilibrium. His inner lids irised half-closed, then opened. When he stopped speaking, the feathers flattened over the tiny speaker embedded in his throat.
“If Sira is here, why haven’t you found her yet?” Rael demanded.
Bowman glared at the Enforcer, at least at the one eye obediently bent in her direction. “What about Roraqk?”
“Unclear, Commander.” If sighing were part of the Tolian’s repertoire, he would have sighed. “I am encountering the usual lack of cooperation from Plexis. Their security insists Roraqk’s a regular, reputable customer. The first story was that the Torquad blew dock by accident. Now they are suggesting that Roraqk’s ship was taken over by pirates.” ’Whix ignored Terk’s derisive snort. “According to air tag records, Roraqk was aboard when the Torquad blew dock, but, in support of their claim, most of his crew was on station, heading for the Torquad.”
“And died for their efforts,” Bowman said, “Along with twenty-five others, a number likely to increase when Plexis restores the seal and can do a proper count. Not to mention the damage to the station.” Bowman added, more to herself than to anyone present: “Why?”
“More to the point, why are you wasting our time with local matters, Commander?” Rael’s voice was dangerously sweet. “Why aren’t your people out trying to find Sira?”
“Piracy’s a Trade Pact violation, Fem di Sarc,” Bowman said, wondering how many more times she’d have to repeat it. “Roraqk may have paid for a clean slate here, but I’ve enough on him to warrant a sweep. And I won’t let him throw this in my face and lift clear away. I’m sorry you’re going to be inconvenienced.” Her mouth tightened, a signal that straightened Terk from his casual stance. “My cruiser will be going hunting. We’ll be back to pick you up when we’re done.”
“So now what?” Rael asked. “How do we find her? Who do we go to now? Where’s your Morgan?” Her lips thinned over the Human’s name.
Barac tilted his cup to drain the last of its contents into his mouth. He swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste. “If I knew the answers, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Still, the Clansman regarded their new surroundings with a certain satisfaction, treasuring this one small victory. Morgan had used both bribery and a touch of mental persuasion worthy of the Clan to muddy the records of his arrival and ship. His efforts to disguise the Fox as the Wayfayer, Omacron registry, might have worked.
Except that Barac had been desperate. He shuddered inwardly at the risk he had taken. Passage through the M’hir sidestepped normal space. But there were limits. It took power to keep the focus, to hold the visual image that was all that would pull one safely out of the M’hir again.
Though no one had ever measured real time elapsing in the M’hir, subjective time increased with the distance of real space traveled. And the longer one’s mind had to dwell in the M’hir, the more power it took to keep focused.
If the distance outmatched the power needed, well, the Clan called it dissolving, that instant when thought and form fragmented within the M’hir. What was left was a faint disturbance to haunt other Clan minds, a chill signal of the consequence of overreaching one’s ability. A ghost. Barac’s first teacher had ended that way, providing a far more effective warning to her class than she’d likely intended. Aspard di Sawnda’at, convinced th
at mental disciplines she’d learned from the Omacrons had enhanced her power, had tried to set a personal endurance record in the M’hir.
And, as anyone traveling through the M’hir near Omacron found out, quite a bit of Aspard was still there.
Yet Barac had taken his own version of that same risk, visualizing the familiar galley of the Fox and pushing himself through the M’hir at that vision without knowing for sure if the Fox was remotely within his range.
You could have luck like that once in a lifetime, Barac decided, determined never to take that chance again. The Clan expression for something irrevocably lost, dropped in the M’hir, was too close to reality.
The only flaw in Barac’s victory had been the almost immediate arrival, by quite ordinary means, of Constable Russell Terk.
“It’s an old trick,” Terk had explained brusquely, passing through the air lock with innocent presumption. “I checked station records for ships posting a bond against their docking fees.” Seeing their lack of understanding, Terk had grinned, an expression that did nothing to brighten his heavy features. “Plexis won’t unhook a bonded ship and send it spinning when a payment’s late. And what popped up but a bond supplied by Morgan’s friend, the Carasian.”
Now they sat together, in the galley of the Fox, outwardly civil, but Barac, for one, ready to strangle the smug Enforcer.
“All this doesn’t explain why you are here,” Rael asked. “To spy on us?”
Terk’s eyes simmered with some emotion Barac couldn’t read. “Hardly. How am I supposed to watch you when you pop in and out whenever you choose?”
“Why are you here?” Barac insisted.
Terk looked from Barac to Rael suspiciously. While he knew they couldn’t affect his thoughts through his mind-shield, his awareness of their capabilities put him on edge, made him unconsciously hunch his thick shoulders. Finding the Clan on the ship ahead of him had badly shaken him. He couldn’t understand why the Clan had so far tolerated his presence. Diplomacy. Well, it wasn’t one of his faults.
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