A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Yihtor didn’t leave us stranded. We’re going somewhere,” Morgan said. “The Torquad has a course set and engines at maximum. A course we can’t change.”

  I walked over to the controls, my feet moving slowly, and gazed down at the congealed metal. “We’re going to Acranam. Yihtor is using the Torquad to bring me to him.” I whirled on Morgan. “Will Yihtor crawl behind my eyes next? Or is he there already, hiding in my dreams, reading my thoughts, controlling what I do?” My voice rose to a shout that echoed in the now-useless control room. I shook my head as Morgan moved nearer. “I’m not hysterical.” As a reassurance, it rang hollow in my own ears, yet eased some of the tension from his face.

  “I’ll know if he tries to attack you.” Morgan appeared to recognize this was less than helpful. “You said you knew his name. What else do you remember?”

  I made the effort to reply calmly, aware that Huido’s eyes were gathering like a storm cloud aimed in my direction. I knew he was less convinced I wasn’t about to act the puppet.

  “Yihtor’s name was familiar when Gistries mentioned him before we left Plexis, that’s all. No, wait,” I caught an errant thought. “When I heard his name, I saw a face, his face. It was angry.” I added slowly, “A face I hoped never to see again.”

  “This is too much for her, Morgan,” Huido broke in, the implied pity bringing heat to my cheeks. “If we must continue, let’s do it where we can sit and have a drink. We’re not needed here.” A click at the destroyed panels said it all.

  “Go ahead, we’ll be with you in a moment,” Morgan agreed almost absently. After Huido left, the control room seemed much larger. I could feel Morgan’s thoughtful gaze resting on me.

  “That’s all I know,” I told him after a heavy pause, thinking that was the next question, looking up at his face.

  “I know a bit more.”

  Sensing his reluctance to continue, I stepped forward impatiently. “Tell me.”

  “Rumors, mostly. Rumors of a powerful Clan outcast who sells his abilities to whoever can afford him. A base on Acranam would fit. That space is full of runners and pirates.”

  “And he wants me.” Time stood still. Morgan’s compassionate yet grim face swam before my eyes. The Clan again. “Why? What does Sira Morgan mean to Yihtor, to Barac, to any of them?”

  “It’s Sira di Sarc they’re after,” he reminded me.

  I was silent. The name was strange yet familiar. I wasn’t fond of it.

  Morgan went on softly: “You’re related to a wealthy, prominent politician. That meant something to Roraqk, at least. I don’t know about Yihtor.”

  “Jarad is my father.” I hesitated; Morgan deserved more. “He brought me to Auord.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  I stared at Morgan, oddly comforted by the thought of my experience safely stored behind those now gentle blue eyes. It was as if he’d been with me, had shared my past instead of just remembering it. “Why did he leave me?” I wondered out loud.

  “Maybe Jarad was injured in the attack,” he paused. “Or, I’m sorry to say, killed. We have only Barac’s version of what happened.”

  I contemplated that night on Auord—explosions, compulsions, fear. My father’s face didn’t belong in it. “He wasn’t there,” I concluded. “But why would he leave me if there was something wrong?” With me, I added to myself.

  Morgan sighed wearily, running one hand through his hair. “Sira, your father has managed to carve out a commercial and political empire in Camos Cluster without acknowledging your existence in any way that Roraqk could find. To hide you so successfully took currency and purpose. To keep you hidden meant that prison you remember.”

  “Why?”

  His mouth tightened. “Why? People hide or imprison what they want to protect. Or what they fear.”

  The Clansman on Plexis had feared me. “I was someone else,” I said carefully, sinking down onto the same bench where I’d been made to wait for Roraqk’s next move. “When her memories were blocked, Sira di Sarc was gone, flushed down an Auordian sewer with the rain. Why do they still care about her?”

  “We’re going at this backward,” Morgan said abruptly, as if fired by an idea. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it. He sat beside me, face intent. “Maybe it wasn’t who you were that mattered, but what you knew. If you knew some secret, something important about the Clan. . . .”

  I tapped my head suggestively. “The body’s buried here? Great. So whoever blocked my memories wanted Sira di Sarc to die. And let me guess: Yihtor and the rest want Sira Morgan to die so Sira di Sarc can come back to life and answer their questions. Any guesses as to who else wants something?”

  “I know what I want.” Morgan tweaked a loose lock of my hair. “I want you to be happy.”

  “Which me?” I arched one eyebrow at him.

  “You won’t stay two people forever, Sira. The block isn’t permanent.”

  I twisted around to look right at Morgan. Despite his light tone of voice, his mouth was set and tight. “I’m going to start remembering everything?” I asked, and wondered at the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

  “I didn’t say that,” he corrected quickly. “What I found in your mind was a series of blocks, imposed one after another—all carefully linked. It would have been much easier to erase your memories altogether. Why bother with something so complicated and fragile? I’d say the blocks are meant to be removed.”

  “Can you?”

  “No.” His disappointment in himself was plain.

  “Jason,” I said very softly, putting my hand on his. “What will happen to me if these blocks are removed?”

  “You’ll remember your past.”

  I searched his face. “No. What happens to this me? What happens to—” I tightened my grip, allowing my sense of him to expand until his heart was all I could hear. Then I drew back.

  Morgan sighed. His eyes were dark and troubled. “You’ve been Sira Morgan so short a time.” He lifted my fingers to his lips before releasing them. Then his mouth worked itself into a smile. “And look at the effect you’ve had on people. Sira di Sarc can’t be that different.”

  I found an answering smile somewhere. It was probably as transparent as his. “We’ll face that when and if it comes.” Knowing it was futile, I couldn’t help wishing I’d found another ship on Plexis, left Morgan as I’d planned. Gistries and all those lost would be alive. We wouldn’t be imprisoned in this ship. And Morgan would have his Fox.

  I shook off the what ifs. Time to worry about the now. “Can you teach me how to protect myself from Yihtor?”

  “Maybe.” Morgan spread his hands wide. “I won’t lie to you, Sira. It may not be possible. We don’t know how strong you are—or were.”

  So. My mouth dried, but my heart beat steadily. I held Morgan’s gaze with my own, reaching one hand to tap the weapon in his belt. “Then I expect as much kindness as you gave Gistries,” I said. “Your word, Captain.”

  Morgan’s blue eyes met mine directly and calmly, though his face lost all color. “I will never let Yihtor or anyone else control you, Sira. I swear it.”

  INTERLUDE

  “Power!” Rael’s voice was sharp as she ran into the galley, startling Barac. He’d been trying without success to adjust the setting on the viswall; he didn’t care for wheeling stars with his lunch. He looked up hopefully.

  “Morgan?”

  His cousin placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, her black hair curling behind her arms to form a cloak. Her nod was brusque, but her dark eyes shone with triumph. “That Human, yes. And some other—an unfamiliar taste. Clan.” Her lips thinned. “They twined around each other like snakes. But through both I sensed Sira!”

  Instead of relief, Barac felt a sudden numbness. “Could you give Terk a location?”

  “Yes. I’ve told him.”

  Barac slid to his feet and walked over to the com panel by the door. He called up the pilot, asked a question, feeling a foreboding that only intensifie
d with the answer Terk supplied.

  Rael had made herself a cup of sombay; she watched Barac return to his seat. “What’s wrong?”

  “According to Terk, this course you’ve given him is taking us to where Kurr was killed.”

  “Kurr?” From the blankness on Rael’s face, she’d forgotten. Barac didn’t bother feeling hurt. He pushed back the image of his brother’s limp body, saving it.

  “Kurr was strong, Rael, a Second Level Adept, probably closer to First. Whoever overpowered him could take either of us. Sira is in danger, too.”

  Rael tapped her fingernails once firmly on the tabletop. “Not Sira. No one could overpower her.”

  Barac shook his head. “If Sira’s still in stasis, even partially, she can’t protect herself.” He paused. “But you say you felt her use her power.”

  “Yes, I did,” Rael admitted reluctantly. “It was unmistakable.”

  “What has happened?” Barac asked.

  “I don’t know.” Rael sipped her drink, once, then again. “Perhaps Sira was never blocked.”

  “I was with Sira on Auord,” Barac countered. “She was blocked then. If her power’s free now, it has to be because of Morgan. Something he’s done. Something about him.”

  As Rael began to shake her head, he went on, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. “Listen to me, Rael. Stasis can be broken. And there’s been no one else close to her with enough power, Human or Clan.”

  Her eyes lowered, then snapped up. “You’re speculating. The Council wouldn’t believe you for an instant.”

  Barac gained hope from the note of indecision in her voice. “But you do.”

  “Morgan is Human. His bastard power can’t affect one of us.” Her teeth were clenched as if the words she spoke had to be forced past an urge to retch.

  “That’s what we’ve been told. Think, Rael,” he urged. “What if that’s not true? What if Morgan’s power is able to truly touch Sira’s? What if he can draw her from stasis, reach into the M’hir and call forth—”

  “Stop it! This is obscene!” Rael lashed out, eyes sparked with anger. “I should take you to Cenabar for total reconstruction. This obsession with Humans—it’s warped your mind, Barac. They are nothing! Morgan is nothing!”

  The galley walls flickered. Barac spared a moment to be grateful Rael hadn’t inherited her grandfather’s telekinetic abilities, or he’d probably be wearing the table around his neck by now. As it was, he gasped for breath, fought to stay conscious against the pounding of her rage through the M’hir. “Stop!” he pleaded. “Just listen, Rael. Please.”

  “Not to more of your wild ideas about Humans,” she warned, drawing so far back into herself she became invisible to his other sense. “They are nothing. Their excuse for power is locked here and now, just like this,” she waved her hand at the galley. “Can any Human send a thought through the weave of space, like a needle through cloth? No. Can any Human summon the strength to pull physical form after their thoughts, like thread? No. Do Human dreams trouble the peace of the M’hir? No.”

  Barac said quietly: “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating them, Rael. There are Humans with respectable abilities. And never forget that their technology lets them accomplish what we do by thought alone.”

  Rael snorted. “Tricks. Humans have no true power.”

  “Kurr believed if they were left to evolve without our interference, some might develop it.”

  “Honor to your brother, but I’d expect Denebians to swim before that!”

  “Think about it, Rael. Is it really impossible? Or have we seen no talent like ours among them because the Council keeps its fingers spread to detect any troubling of the M’hir— and is ready to “alter” any Human mind that approaches it? We’ve been taught that the Stratification took place because the Talent appeared in a few Choosers, then spread to more each generation, until our ancestors no longer had a common goal with the unTalented. What if that development had been stopped? What would we be now?

  “You’re trying to convince me your Human . . . that Morgan can . . . No. It’s not possible.” Rael’s face was pale, but Barac sense she was listening more openly now.

  “We’re all uncomfortable with Humans, Rael,” he said. “They look like us, more than any other species we’ve encountered. But to our deeper sense, Humans are so wildly different, so strange, consumed by needs that are almost incomprehensible to most M’hiray. Their obsession with tools. Their compulsion to crowd together, to coat planets with their kind until the pressure of being together has them erupting outward again. Let’s face it—a species that can love and hate itself at the same time is not easy to live with.”

  “True.” Rael didn’t quite smile. “A sense of humor helps.”

  Barac chose his next words with care. “Let’s find Sira. You can talk to her,” he said quickly, before Rael hardened again.

  “Why can’t we just stop interfering?” Rael said almost to herself. “If Sira’s able to function, it doesn’t matter how or why she can, Barac. What matters is that she doesn’t need us anymore. We could be back within range of Plexis in two days. I could get transport to Deneb; you could come back, pick up your hunt for Kurr’s murderer.”

  Barac reached for her hand. At the same time, he dropped his shields at every level. Rael drew back, made as if to twist her hand free, to refuse the contact. He held on, sending his fear through the M’hir, across their link.

  Sira may not need you, but I do, Rael, he sent, the truth of it filling his thoughts and flooding hers. It doesn’t matter if you believe my ideas about Morgan. You know I’m not strong enough to defend myself from Kurr’s murderer. And I’m not strong enough to escape Sira if her power as a Chooser has been released. I’m asking for your help.

  Barac pulled back into himself, restoring his shields and freeing Rael from the unwanted intimacy of his thoughts, hoping her silence meant she was considering all he’d said. He knew he wasn’t the heroic type.

  But then, what sane person was?

  Chapter 19

  MORGAN had insisted on certain precautions before my lesson in self-defense. While I couldn’t argue with his concern, I wasn’t happy about being locked in the galley, with Huido stationed outside with orders to shoot whichever of us acted odd.

  “Tell me again how Huido is supposed to check us out,” I said to Morgan, eyeing the closed door with considerable doubt. “I thought you said Carasians aren’t telepathic.”

  Morgan grinned. “True. But Huido assures me he’ll know if one or both of us is being influenced. He said our grist would smell off.”

  I allowed myself a deep sigh. My chances of surviving to ripe old age now depended on the olfactory ability of a being whose nose I couldn’t begin to find. “Then this had better work.”

  Morgan nodded, then touched my cheek with the fingertips of one hand. Words, crisp and clear as if spoken aloud, appeared in my head. The idea’s simple enough. You will form a mental shield, a covering that hides and protects your thoughts. His grin bubbled through our mental link. We’ll start with an exercise I learned from an Omacron trader.

  Close your eyes. Good. Now imagine building a wall of stone, a wall which exists solely within your thoughts. Small blocks rest on their neighbors, fitting tightly together; the whole feels stronger than any part. Try to sense the construction as it grows, small piece upon small piece. Good. Now, I’ll show you—

  Show me? A resonance flooded my mind and the process Morgan described formed in its completeness. Had I already known, but forgotten? Or was Morgan supplying me with unobtrusive help? Not so, the voice in my thoughts answered, amusement and pleased surprise coloring it with warmth. It seems I’m merely reminding you. You’re doing marvel—

  I opened my eyes at the total silencing of Morgan’s mental presence. He was smiling down at me, hands spread wide in triumph. “I pronounce you invisible, Sira Morgan! Now if you wish to open your shield—”

  Wait. I closed my eyes again. It was ridiculousl
y easy. A child knew how to alter the protective structure, creating windows for safe communication, forming doorways through which more massive amounts of power could be sent at need. In an instant, the structure in my mind was set in all its complexity. It was as if the pattern had lain dormant, waiting to be recalled to function. If only I had known before Yihtor’s attack. A worried voice called me back to myself.

  “Sira?”

  I laughed. “Try to read me now, Captain Morgan!” I challenged with a toss of my head. I stood motionless as his supple fingers hovered on my brow, sensing the effort which brought sweat to Morgan’s brow, yet feeling no more than an awareness of his mental presence as it groped along my invisible wall for some crack or entrance. I closed my eyes again, seeking with growing confidence an area seemingly solid but in truth a hidden door. Through it I sent his name soaring. Morgan!

  Skill, indeed. I could sense the flow of deeper thoughts, but instinctively knew not to reach for them. Perhaps Yihtor should worry about us! If only we’d time to release more of what you know. His pride washed over me. Pride mixed with something barely discernible. I looked into Morgan’s smiling face, close to my own, and wondered at the strange softness with which he sent my name back into my thoughts.

  Something dark began to stir. I felt a surging, a dangerous and repugnant gathering which became an on-rushing tide sliding up through my deepest thoughts. It snatched at the link to Morgan, then began to pull. . . .

  I was nowhere. And it was beautiful beyond words. I was a planet—no, a sun around which all power revolved. Power flowed like life around and through me, humming in seductive voices, enticing me to stay. . . .

  Another was here. No. This was my domain. I collected strands of force, ready for battle, ready to kill . . . Morgan?

  Somehow I pushed us out of that nothingness. Then I severed my contact with Morgan violently—tearing away to lean gasping against a table, fingers tight on its reality.

  Dimly, I was aware of Morgan’s anxious questioning, of gentle hands supporting me that I pushed away desperately—almost sick with the aftermath of that alienness. I shuddered at the thought of arousing those foul depths again. “Leave me alone, won’t you!” I heard myself snap and was ashamed enough to wave a mute apology.