While that Sira went on to other concerns, minds accustomed to action and control began to worry away at her pronouncement of doom. She was believed by, or at least made uneasy, enough of those on the Council to set in motion a test of her proposed solution. And who better than the daughter of di Sarc?
But never to interbreed with another species—that heresy was too much for any of them. The Choice offered would be in the ancient manner. Knowing I would kill them, Council still suggested I be exposed to any and all unChosen males, one after another if necessary, in hopes of inducing Commencement. Once Commenced, Sira di Sarc would at least be physically capable of bearing young. Her incredible strength must not be lost from the M’hiray.
And the drive of the Power-of-Choice for a Joining through the M’hir? The Council proposal rushed from Jarad’s emotionless and clear memory, to the horror-filled turmoil of my own. An erased mind can’t heed the dictates of Choice.
My father had had barely enough warning. He’d come to her—to me—determined to outmaneuver his fellow Councillors and their plan. Together, he and that Sira selected a promising Human telepath, Morgan of Karolus. Then, to lessen the effects of training and prejudice, as well as to protect any unChosen she might meet by accident, Sira ruthlessly suppressed her power and memory beyond normal stasis—aided in the final stages by Jarad and Cenebar.
Suicide with no certainty of resurrection, I judged it, wondering if I could have made that choice.
A touch of the past—Jarad’s, not mine: Barac, delicately probed for information; a programmed mob of overzealous cutthroats, intended to separate me from Barac’s guardianship. And a last image of myself through Jarad’s eyes: my face holding only a faint puzzling at the sound of thunder in the night air.
“I had to inform Council, once you were safely away, Sira,” Jarad took up aloud. “Though displeased enough to bar me from the chambers, they were willing to await your return.” Jarad stroked my hair again gently, thoughtfully. “But you must understand, Sira, that unless your mission turns out to be totally successful, they will order you erased and mated to their selection. You need Morgan. You must finish what you’ve begun.”
INTERLUDE
“I don’t like this,” Huido grumbled, eyes close to tangling in their effort to scan every direction at once.
“You have received clearance for lift, Homs,” the servo-gatekeeper repeated for the third time, a suspicious rise in volume suggesting an unmachinelike impatience.
“There they are,” Morgan charged forward, snatching the preferred clearance disk from the machine’s appendage and hurrying through the gateway. “Come on!”
The Carasian rocked his wide head in a shrug and followed the smaller Human. The being in line behind the alien moved up with an audible sigh of relief.
“I don’t like this,” Huido repeated when he caught up to Morgan. The Human was dodging through the crowd entering the spaceport terminal. The Carasian’s path opened automatically as passersby registered his natural armament. “How do we know who’s who?” Huido continued plaintively, eyes spread apart in a futile attempt to watch every face they passed. “Camos could be swarming with them. The grist is overwhelming. Can you tell Clan from Human?”
Morgan had stopped in the eddy between the main doorways. “Not unless I use power—which would gain us a quick and not so pleasant welcome. We’d best stay as inconspicuous as possible, old friend. No unnecessary inquiries—and no door-knocking. Barac will lead us where we must go.” Cautiously, Morgan peered out, then signaled Huido to follow behind as the Human darted to the line of waiting transports.
An endless stream of vehicles was landing, disgorging passengers, and taking off with new fares. “There,” Morgan said grimly, pointing to a transport just airborne. “And here we part. Take the clearance, and keep the Fox ready, Brother.” There was time for no more than Huido’s quick assent before Morgan pushed his way into the next-in-line transport and took off in pursuit.
Chapter 35
I WAS making some progress in the restoration of Sira di Sarc, despite the fact that I didn’t like her. I’d begun to feel at home in my rooms, more a sense of comfort and knowing what was behind cupboards than really remembering. Unfortunately, every step closer to my former self pushed Sira Morgan further away, into some place that hurt when I probed it.
Like now. I tightened my arms around Rael again briefly, breathed in her clean warmth, truly glad to see her. It wasn’t something Sira Morgan would have done. Rael pressed her cheek to my hair, her power enveloping us both for a moment, cutting off the world. More to the point, she deliberately excluded our father who stood to one side.
Morgan’s safe, sister, her mental voice said, warm and comforting. I kept my promise.
I pulled away, turning to Jarad. “Morgan’s gone, Father.”
Rael looked aghast. “Sira!” She whirled on Jarad, taking visible notice of him for the first time since her appearance in the main room of my chambers moments before. “What have you done to Sira? I warn you, I won’t stand by and—”
“Silence.” Jarad looked more weary than angered. “Sira’s attachment to the Human remains intact—just as when it convinced you to interfere with the will of Council. Regrettable, but true.”
“They want me to find Morgan and bring him to Camos, Rael,” I said. “Morgan holds the key to releasing my memory.”
“And her power,” Jarad growled. “Without Morgan, there’s no way to repair Sira’s mind. If she remains this half-thing, she’ll be erased by Council decree.”
Rael looked from one to the other of us. “Erased? What in Seventeen Hells for?”
I seesawed for a moment between laughter and a curse of my own. “It seems, my dear sister,” I explained, choosing neither, “that I was supposed to produce a fully Commenced and Chosen Sira upon my triumphant return from this adventure. Even if a Human were the Choice!”
“But why . . .” Rael’s voice cracked. On her face, disgust warred with horror. Disgust won. “Council wants to bypass the Power-of-Choice,” she whispered. “They hoped a Choice made with a Human—” her lips twisted around the word, “that such a Choice would induce Commencement without the linkage of a true Joining. But what if that hasn’t happened? What if you’re unable to—if you can’t—” She turned red and stopped.
I politely filled the ensuing silence, since my father didn’t appear interested in doing so. “The Council will eliminate the dangers of Choice by simply eliminating the Choosers. Of course, that means they need some way to retain the power contained in the Choosers’ genes. Oh, Yihtor had the right idea.”
Rael turned to our father. “Stop this!”
Jarad spread his hands helplessly. “I carry no other Councillors with me anymore. Sira’s calculations have sent them scurrying for any shelter, any reprieve, no matter how repugnant. I can’t influence or change their will in this.”
“It doesn’t help that there are no Choosers on Council,” Rael spat almost viciously. “And as for your influence on Council, Jarad, how was it used seventy years ago when your firstborn was ordered imprisoned? What are you going to do this time except grovel?”
“You’re unfair, Rael,” I objected, having decided it was time to step in. Their feuding made me feel responsible, as if I’d once had a role in soothing their anger; I no longer knew how. “I’d have been erased already if it hadn’t been for Jarad.”
“Where is the Human?” Jarad demanded impatiently.
Before Rael could object, I spread my hands pleadingly. “Where is he?”
“Halfway to Deneb, maybe,” she said with a sigh, dropping into the nearest easi-rest. “Or halfway to anywhere.” Jarad took a seat also, the physical signs of a truce reflected in the mutual subsidence of their power.
“Sira, you must summon the Human now,” Jarad’s voice was grim. I blinked, then regarded him narrowly.
“You heard Rael—”
Jarad looked exasperated. “You say this Human has feelings for you. Hu
mans are not rational thinkers, Daughters. I find it difficult to imagine him leaving Camos without making some attempt to see Sira.”
Rael and I exchanged quick looks. There was enough doubt on her face to arouse some in my own mind. Morgan’s capitulation really wasn’t in character. The only surprise was that my father had seen what I should have known.
“If I agree to contact him,” I said, counting each “if” on my fingers. “If Morgan is still on Camos; if he’s willing to come. Then what happens to him when he does?” There was no answer from either of them, but the regretful look in Rael’s expression told me enough. I shook my head slowly. “No. I have a better idea. Help me leave Camos.”
“You must reconsider, Sira.” Jarad let me feel the pain under his firmness. He leaned forward, liquid eyes pleading. “Your mind is in such a shambles now even the most reluctant Councillor will be able to justify whatever they plan. Your affection for this alien can only harm you.”
“So I must use Morgan as they would use me?” I countered. “Why can’t you understand one’s as bad as the other?”
Rael threw up her hands. “I’ve had my fill of arguing with this Sira, Jarad. You know the defenses on Camos. Can we get her offworld?”
Jarad’s lips tightened and there was a heaviness to his power. “Camos is our center. The M’hir dips deepest here to form what we are—here the M’hir is watched at all times. I’ll help,” he added quickly, forestalling Rael’s outburst. “I’ll share your fate before condoning it with my silence.” I was uneasily aware of Rael’s skeptical silence.
Our plotting began and ended in the same instant. There was a sudden tug in my mind. A quick glance at my father showed he felt it, too; the grim set to his face only too revealing. I didn’t need him to explain that Council had convened and that we were feeling its summons.
Where was Morgan? I was glad he was out of danger— that I’d been able to resist calling him back to Camos. Well, part of me was glad. The rest wished desperately to go to him, wherever he was, regardless of who or what would follow.
INTERLUDE
A final leafy branch hid the last traces of the rented air-car. Morgan eyed his handiwork critically. He had little hope of leaving as easily as he’d come. The hidden machine might make a difference, even against the Clan.
He turned and headed upslope, making his way cautiously but quickly through the bands of ornamental shrubs which encircled the busy scene below. The Human paused in the shelter of a clump of fruit-laden trees. The large ornate building before him, abuzz with activity on the ground and in the air, was nothing less than the Human government seat for the Camos Cluster.
Morgan checked the homing device in his belt and was reassured by its strong pulse. He was very close to Barac and so to Yihtor, but what were they doing here of all places on the planet? The government of Camos was Human. Why did the Clan come here? His mouth tightened in a thin line as he considered the possibilities. Bowman would be very interested.
But the only way to solve the riddle was to mix with the crowd. Morgan smoothed his dress tunic almost as carefully as he checked his mental shielding. Then he stepped nonchalantly onto the cream-colored pavement, immediately becoming lost in a stream of pedestrians.
Chapter 36
STEPPING off a cliff would be easier, I thought, staring from the windowless entrance chamber into the Council Chamber itself. Under my feet was a solid floor. Ahead was something perspectiveless, shifting, the only solid focus being a dais with seven hooded figures. The hall somehow existed both in the M’hir and in real time. The power needed to balance that existence was expended with a casualness even more intimidating than the fact.
I took the necessary first step, trusting my foot would find something solid under that whirling play of color, using my own awareness of myself within the M’hir— and a dose of healthy fear—to keep myself anchored.
Among those waiting, an indistinct head nodded slowly. I took another step forward. Then layer upon layer of anxiety and fear gently peeled away from me like pieces of too-tight clothing.
There was a welcoming here, a warmth that disarmed . . .
. . . until I found I had accepted betrayal without protest. Band upon band of unseen restraint enclosed me abruptly, tightening its hold upon my mind until my steps faltered and stopped. A cold wave of hostility flushed the last remnants of the soothing welcome from my thoughts. Lights brightened above the Councillors, whitening their robes to a harsh brilliance. The shifting boundaries of the hall solidified into real walls, ceiling, and floor. The magic was gone. It had, I told myself bitterly, never existed.
“Offspring of di Sarc. The not-Chosen.” I couldn’t decide which of the still faceless Councillors made the acknowledgment—or wasn’t it more of an accusation?
I knew my father had followed me and now stood as paralyzed as I did. Subtly, a pressure eased and I found I could speak. “You know me,” I said. “Who—”
A different voice, deeper, broke across my words. “Answer our questions, not-Chosen. We have not yet decided as to your right to question us.” There was a placating note to this voice, a humoring that sent a thrill of fear rippling through me. I’d been trapped so easily by their combined strength; they controlled me despite the power I was supposed to command.
The message under the voices was clear: I was theirs to deal with and there had never really been any doubt as to the outcome of this meeting.
“Ask your questions,” I said finally, firmly enough. There was certainly no point in inviting any more drastic form of inquiry.
“Why did you refuse the Choice offered by Yihtor, son of Lorimar and Caraat?” a third voice asked.
A betraying heat warmed my cheeks. “Choice is my right! I didn’t have to accept him.”
Two hooded heads conferred noiselessly, then the one on the right seemed to look at me. “We rephrase the question, daughter of di Sarc. How were you able to refuse the Choice offered by Yihtor?”
Yawning open before me was the abyss Barac and Rael had feared. How ironic to know I’d designed the trap for myself. I wished fiercely to be able to move, if only to make a rude gesture, but my body was merely a sense of weight. “If you know to ask the question, you know the answer!” I responded furiously.
“Let’s say we suspect the truth, not-Chosen,” the first speaker said coldly. “Would you accept this Choice now?” Two figures appeared on the dais to one side of the row of seated Councillors. Barac’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of me. My attention was on Yihtor. Why didn’t he look at me? In fact, he seemed oblivious to everything, including his surroundings.
I didn’t need the Councillor’s gesture toward Yihtor, or Barac’s immediate loss of color to understand the net the Council was weaving.
“You don’t care if I kill either of them, do you?” I looked at my former foe, now seated on the floor, trapped as tightly as I was in their plotting.
“The House of sud Sarc would be lessened by Barac’s loss. He has learned to use his power well—if at times willfully.”
I wasn’t sure if this was as callous as it sounded, or merely the height of praise from one Clan to another. Could power and its use really be all they cared about in someone?
“What about him?” I said, unable to point at Yihtor, equally unable to explain the slack-mouthed expression on the renegade’s handsome face.
“We value individuality. But we do not tolerate rebellion,” explained the deep voice, still in that humoring tone. “This was once Yihtor di Caraat. His House is exiled. His mind has been dissolved within the M’hir. So you needn’t waste your pity, not-Chosen. There is nothing in this shell to die under your power.”
“There’s nothing left to Choose, then,” I said slowly, knowing deep within I was right. “You can’t force me to release the Power-of-Choice.”
“We’re wasting time!” The robed figure at one end of the row stood up, throwing his hood to the floor at my feet. Faitlen’s face was fixed in a scowl. “Why argue with t
he pathetic remnants of her mind? We know what must be done. This talk, talk, talk is unnecessary.” A toadlike figure materialized beside him, cloaked in mud gray. From the sudden rigidity of the rest of the Councillors, the identity of the widemouthed Retian was not unknown to them.
A voice from behind me, rough with emotion: “Removeyour creature from our Council, Faitlen! Have you no decency!”
Faitlen leaped upon my father’s words with obvious delight. “Who are you to dictate to Council, Jarad? Be glad we don’t choose to punish you for daring to interfere with our great purpose!”
“Enough!” The centermost figure rose, removing his own hood and gesturing to the remaining Councillors to copy the move. No face was familiar to my blocked memory. No face looked other than determined, though to their credit most seemed uncomfortable. “You’ll accord the House of di Sarc the courtesy due its power and lineage, Faitlen, or find yourself on the Contest Floor.” A pause during which only Barac met my eyes; he was afraid, too, but I could see most of it was for me, not of me. I smiled at him, hoping he knew I understood.
“Jarad, we share your feelings. But what must be done shall be done. You’re free to leave if you wish.” There was an ominous tightening of the unseen bonds. “If you stay, we will tolerate no interference.”
“I’ll stay, Sawnda’at,” my father’s voice was thick but firm. “And record for all time the infamy you and your so-called ‘Council’ intend.”
“Infamy?” repeated a dark-haired Clanswoman with features hauntingly like Enora’s. “Are you equally prepared to witness our salvation, Jarad? We must gain control over the Power-of-Choice and over the destiny of our species. Don’t you—”
“I thought you had questions for me, Councillors,” I said flatly, repulsed. “If not, then I agree with Faitlen. This is becoming a game, and only you know the rules.” For some reason, my gaze slid back to Barac’s pale and troubled face. This chamber was no place to attempt mind-speech, but I thought there was some urgent message in his eyes.
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