I knew how to stop that. Fighting pain, I encompassed and buried the blackness, shivering as it rumbled and complained. Done. But my preoccupation kept me from withdrawing before Yihtor regained consciousness. Suddenly, I was aware of him at every level of my mind.
His emotions threatened to drown me. I barely flung one off when another hammered at my deepest shields: lust, hatred, pride, ambition. Overlying them all was need and triumph. He was free!
Then, I shared his horror as he discovered his power dwindled into its drugged coma. Or was I remembering my own despair? I was shaking, my head whipping back and forth, my teeth puncturing my lips. No. I was being shaken, that recognition enough to bring me completely back to myself.
When I opened my eyes and looked at Morgan, he released his bruising grip on my shoulders and gathered me close, muttering something that was part apology and part scolding. I tasted the blood in my mouth. My neck felt like rubber and I ached from spine to forehead. But I was free of Yihtor. I pushed myself back so I could meet Morgan’s concerned eyes. “Was that the easiest method?” I asked him, rubbing my head. He shrugged.
“It worked.”
Yihtor sat hunched before the fire, eyes squeezed shut, barely breathing. Huido stood behind him, close enough that his sponge-toed feet were on either side of the Clansman. Yihtor didn’t appear to notice. Barac stared at me, an odd mix of resignation and longing in his firelit face.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Barac,” I said. “Rael was right; I’ve learned to control what she called the Power-of-Choice. You’re safe. And so are you, Jason,” I added, holding out my hand. Ignoring Barac’s choked warning. Morgan wrapped his fingers around mine confidently, looking down at me with that warmth deep in his eyes.
“No!” Yihtor’s hoarse shout surprised us all. I felt a jolt of fear as I watched him leap to his feet, power and grace in every move. But Huido’s clawed arms moved even faster, the heavier, larger handling claws spanning Yihtor’s waist and lifting him overhead as the two finer arms clamped the Clansman’s arms to his sides. Paired needle-sharp points slid from the shadow of the Carasian’s head carapace, their tips aglitter in the firelight.
“No. Don’t hurt him,” Rael said quickly. “Please. He can be helped by our people. We mustn’t waste his power.”
The Carasian ignored her, busy turning Yihtor this way and that, angling those killing fangs as if deciding upon the best spot to strike. His movements were ponderous, his violence inevitable rather than sudden. The Clansman yammered something.
I watched, my first reaction of hot satisfaction dissolving. Were we no better than Roraqk now, to kill a helpless prisoner? I eyed Huido’s immense form dubiously. Convincing him wasn’t within my ability.
Meanwhile, Morgan had slipped close to his friend. He rapped his knuckles on one armored shoulder to get Huido’s attention. One eye bent to look at him, unwillingly, I thought.
“You know you always get sick afterward,” Morgan said very calmly, though he had to shout to be heard over Yihtor’s screams.
Huido shuddered, making a rain on tin sound. Morgan put his foot into the Carasian’s knee joint, using it as a stair so he could reach over to grab the Carasian’s fangs. Huido froze, all his eyes whipping down to Morgan. His claws opened slowly, dropping Yihtor to the ground where the Clansman huddled groaning, arms tight around his middle.
Morgan let go and jumped down. Huido’s eyestalks parted, his fangs vanishing into shadows. With another shudder, he lurched away into the dark. “You’ll thank me later,” Morgan called after him.
Rael had watched curiously as Morgan bandaged Yihtor’s broken ribs, then sedated the morose Clansman. She apparently could have healed him using her power, but, in her words, she wasn’t a charity. Huido stood guard, Yihtor having been put into the escape pod once I’d finished changing into real clothes again. The Carasian seemed totally recovered from his killing frenzy, and spent his time transferring a nutrient broth Morgan had found for him from handling claw to mouth.
The flowers’ light faded quickly in the predawn glow. We shared a breakfast of emergency rations with a false camaraderie, avoiding the arguments to come. Afterward, Morgan took Barac with him to scout the immediate area; the Human, despite his own abilities, carried an assortment of tiny detecting devices which Barac viewed with scorn.
Rael and I could see them occasionally through gaps between the trees. I stretched lazily, soaking up the peacefulness of the growing things around and above us. The air was fresh, scented, and warm.
“You know him better than we do,” Rael said suddenly. I rolled over to look up at her.
“Morgan?”
She checked the ground before sitting on a corner of blanket. “His shielding is remarkable—for a Human.”
I kept my grin to myself. “Frustrated?”
Rael’s full lips curved in a rueful smile. “Totally. I’m used to our kind, to sharing emotions, reasons, arguments. With Morgan, I have to look at his face before I know if he’s going to agree or disagree—and then I’m never sure anyway. Tell me, Sira. What does he think of us? And why has he helped you?”
I rolled onto my back again and studied the puzzle of leaves overhead. The flowers were closed into tight shiny globes. I watched as a furred animal hung by its tail to pick and chew one with relish. “Morgan’s my Captain. Spacers take care of their own.” Before Rael choked on that, I added: “I expect he thinks you’re arrogant, self-centered, and beautiful.”
She laughed. “And I think you’re impossible these days, Sira di Sarc!” I peered at her, my peace of mind shattered by the name. Rael didn’t seem to notice. She was gazing around the campsite and surrounding forest. “I can’t wait to get back to Deneb,” she said abruptly, giving an exaggerated shiver. “This overgrown garden is no place for civilized beings.”
“I like it.”
Rael laughed again, a sound like tinkling bells. “You’ve never been one to enjoy outsystem lifestyles, Sira. You’ll know better once Cenebar restores your memories.”
I made some excuse so I could move away from her. I didn’t want to hear any more. I liked the sound of Sira di Sarc less and less. I was Sira Morgan. I would stay Sira Morgan.
I looked over to where Morgan and Barac were returning to the camp. Morgan found me immediately, seeking unerringly between the massive root buttresses to where I sat in their shade. A wave of understanding slipped across the surface of my mind, then away, leaving behind a companionable warmth. All this while Barac argued with him, his patronizing tone carrying, if not the words.
Rael stood and moved aside as Morgan came near, a graceful and, I thought, involuntary motion. She, like Barac, found Morgan’s humanness almost intolerable.
Restore my memories? If they would make me see Morgan the way Barac and Rael saw him, if they cost me the smallest part of my feelings for him—I didn’t want them.
Chapter 31
“I BELIEVE you believe what you say,” I conceded, trying hard to sound interested.
Rael and Barac had finally brought their discussion of my future to a halt. Huido was apparently asleep standing up, though somehow I doubted the Carasian’s inattention was as blatant as it seemed. Morgan was, to all appearances, engrossed in carving a piece of soft wood with a small knife; he leaned lazily on an elbow at my side.
“You’re trying to ignore the truth!” Rael was close to exasperation. “I don’t understand you. Why won’t you let us discuss this with you properly?”
I didn’t bother to answer that again. Rael and Barac were, or at least acted, deeply insulted by my insistence on verbal communication. Their reaction was understandable, though I disliked making them angry. In a way, it was their own fault. They’d convinced me of their desperation that I accept their decisions. So how could I trust them in my mind?
They’d abandoned hints or veiled meanings quite early, once it was plain I couldn’t understand them. What I could understand, as plainly as if it were shouted, was that both Rael and
Barac had secrets, secrets they especially wanted to keep from Morgan.
“Come with us. You must return to Camos,” Rael said, perhaps mistaking my long pause for wavering. “It’s possible Cenebar can even do something about your condition.” Her eyes flicked over my coveralls.
I see nothing to improve, a sly mental voice intruded. I glanced down to see Morgan’s warm grin. A rush of blood to my cheeks brought an answering smile. The innocent exchange didn’t escape Rael.
“How can you be so blind!” It was almost a shout. I faced her again, my own anger rising only to be quelled as her passionate outburst continued. “You haven’t made Choice, Sira, either by Council sanction or by the realities of life. You’re somehow hanging in the midst: kept from killing the unChosen—and your precious Human—by the most unnatural self-control ever conceived! How long can it last? Another hour? A day?”
Morgan impaled a flat sliver with unnecessary force. “You’re forgetting something, Clanswoman.”
Rael’s lips tightened at Morgan’s unwelcome contribution. “This isn’t your affair, Human. You’ll be paid—”
I bristled, but Morgan’s low chuckle was more effective. “There’s only one person who can send me away.” The knife was thrust deep into the moss; the carved wood tossed accurately to join others in the growing woodpile beyond Barac. “And until this matter is settled to my satisfaction, not even you, Sira, could force me to leave.” The sudden sternness of his voice was a more telling commitment than any flowery speech. I drew one hand in the air above Morgan’s brown hair, watching the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck relax, enjoying my ability to affect him.
“What do you think we’ve forgotten, Human?” Barac demanded, an unusual heaviness in his tone and expression. “Your feelings?”
“Look past Sira and me for once, Barac,” Morgan said, straightening. “And tell me something: Who invaded and so thoroughly blocked Sira’s mind, despite her power? Who took Sira from her refuge and dumped her on Auord?”
“My father.” They all looked at me. I was a bit surprised at myself, then continued: “I remember him taking me to Auord.”
Rael and Barac looked from Morgan to me in comic unison. “Jarad?” Barac exclaimed with disbelief. “He’s a member of Council himself. He’d be the last to disobey—”
“It was him,” I kept my voice level. “I remember. But I don’t remember why.” Nor did I know why I was continuing to try and explain myself. To the two of them, I was damaged, not responsible. I could sympathize; certainly I wasn’t behaving as expected. I should get rid of them both, simplify life again.
No, Sira, Morgan’s thought intruded gently, his hand on mine. We need them.
I didn’t question his ability to know my thoughts. We could take the Fox. I could block them from the M’hir until we were too far for Rael to reach.
We could, he agreed. And we may yet. But not now. There’s more they’re hiding. We need—
A low-pitched whistle sounded, a startling interruption to the inner speech. Morgan drew a comlink from his belt, holding it close to one ear. He spoke into it briefly before restoring the instrument to its place.
“Terk,” he said, aloud, looking at me with a small frown. “He wants me on the ship. Something wrong with the orbit stabilizer.”
I stood with Morgan. He gave a shrug. “It’s possible. Terk doesn’t have the patience for the old girl.”
Rael and Barac rose, too, their suspicion plain. “I’ll take Morgan,” Barac said to me. Their doubt scraped along my nerves.
“Fine,” Morgan accepted easily. “Knowing Terk, he’s probably annoyed with all the locks he’s encountered while snooping.” A flash of blue eyes to me, a quick whisper to Huido, and he and Barac disappeared.
Almost instantly, I was riveted in shock. Morgan’s anger and surprise burned through my mind. A trap! Without a second thought, or heed to Rael’s frantic voice, I pushed . . .
. . . and stood in the control room of the Silver Fox for the first time since Plexis.
“So you did find Fem di Sarc, Barac.” The woman’s brow lifted. “Or has she found you?”
“What have you done to Morgan?” I didn’t look at the crumpled figure at my feet. I didn’t need to—my other sense had already begun a thorough check.
“Took a stun,” Barac answered, his tone implying a stupidity beyond belief. “How the trigger-happy fool missed me, I don’t know.”
A groan from Morgan made me bend down. Barac helped me raise him to his feet. “A misunderstanding, Clanswoman,” the woman said smoothly, thumbs tucked into her belt, her eyes missing nothing of me, narrowing a bit at the outsized coveralls I wore. “Captain Morgan was regrettably swift in drawing his own weapon—”
I returned her stare, no longer intimidated by the insignia of a Trade Pact Enforcer. “What else did you expect, finding you on our ship!” I said furiously. “Who are you? What right—”
“This is Commander Bowman, Sira,” Morgan said, his voice thick but clear. His attention was on a man standing to one side. This must have been the one who fired the stun. “And I think I told you about Russell Terk. I thought you’d call reinforcements.” Morgan smiled. “Good.”
Barac and I looked at Morgan as if he’d taken leave of his senses, or perhaps the mild stun hadn’t quite worn off. Bowman scowled. “I’ve a few questions for you, Morgan,” she said sharply, “beginning with the disaster on Plexis.”
Morgan’s tanned, regular features assumed the almost angelic innocence I knew signified full-speed plotting. “Let me explain,” he offered. And did.
No place like home, I decided, turning the fresher to warm air, listening contentedly to the Fox’s throbbing engines.
True, I reflected, lifting my hair to let the air dry my back, it was somewhat crowded on board. But not as much as it would have been before the timely arrival of Bowman and her cruiser. Morgan had persuaded the rather testy commander to transport Yihtor to Camos— to be charged there with the murder of Kurr, among other things. Huido and Barac went along as his keepers. They were hostages for our good behavior as well; the latter a politely unstated condition. Fortunately, Bowman remained sufficiently intrigued by the Clan and Clan business to tie her ship to Barac’s comet for a while longer.
The Clan enclave on Acranam had somehow never been mentioned as part of Yihtor’s plot. Not only were the Enforcers woefully overmatched, despite their mind-deadening devices, the existence of so many Clan revolting against the Council was, to quote Barac, not Human business. I was glad, and maybe a touch sympathetic— Acranam was a beautiful world, especially with Yihtor gone.
“My turn!” I obediently slid into my cleaned coveralls and opened the stall door. Rael smiled and rumpled my hair. “I thought you were going to wash yourself away,” she teased, sensing my relaxed mood.
“Nothing wrong with a little cleanliness,” I said primly, squeezing to one side in the small cabin to let her pass. After the fresher closed, I paused a moment, brush in hand, admiring the luminous white flowers Morgan had somehow found time to paint along the ceiling’s edge. They might even have fooled the hapless insects of Acranam. I went forward to the control room, smiling to myself.
It’s good to be home, I sent to Morgan. He was busily checking controls, obviously enjoying the feel of command again. My cheeks began to burn; why had I used home, as though I had some right to stay here? Sitting on the copilot’s couch, I started brushing out my hair, sensitive to a tension that for once had nothing to do with my tightly suppressed power.
Morgan’s lean, brown hand took the brush from mine, drawing it through my hair with long, slow strokes. He hummed quietly to himself as he groomed the heavy stuff lock by lock. I found the process almost unbearable and wasn’t sure why. “Stop it, Jason,” my voice belonged to a stranger.
Morgan immediately put down the brush, then sat beside me so that we faced each other across the seat. “What’s wrong, Sira?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, then stopped, confuse
d. Why should I feel uncomfortable with Morgan? He was my friend and more. I hated to admit it, but Yihtor was right about me. I was a half-thing, not Chosen or Unchosen, not Clan or Human.
“Rael’s quite beautiful,” I said, rather than delve further in my own turmoil. The question brought back some of my fierce jealousy and I instantly regretted it. Morgan smiled.
“So are you,” he replied softly.
“Now,” I reminded him, feeling an odd pang. “I wasn’t before.”
His smile grew, as if Morgan read more into my words than I’d intended. “That’s your opinion,” he said firmly. “You haven’t really changed.” A quick tug on a waving strand of hair. “This.” A downward gesture. “That. But you’re still who you were, Sira.”
“For how long?” I closed my lips tightly after the question, too many thoughts clamoring to be heard, too many fears waiting to pounce.
The bleakness in his face echoed the dread of my own thoughts. His mind touched mine. Barac and Rael are right about one thing. You must recover what was taken from you, Sira. Even if it means I lose.
I wished I could borrow some of Morgan’s courage. I leaned toward him and he swept me close in an embrace almost painful in its strength, as if his fear was as great as my own.
Chapter 32
“PSST. Sira. You awake?”
The soft whisper startled me until I recognized the voice. “Rael? What’s the matter?” I peered into the darkness of the cabin, trying to see her. I must be half-asleep. I ordered on the portlight.
Rael stood looking down at me. She was dressed, which I expected, since it was my turn to sleep. What I found unexpected was the pale and set expression on her face. “What is it?” I repeated.
“I have to talk to you, Sira. Please let me stay.”
“You might as well,” I said, trying not to sound unfriendly, trying to remember if ruining a good night’s sleep was what sisters did to each other. I made myself comfortable in a corner of the hammock. Rael pulled out a crate from those lining the opposite wall of the galley cubby and perched on it, her whole body expressing a need for action. “Well?” I prompted, yawning.
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