Others weren’t so fortunate. When I’d tied our future to the Trade Pact, it had spelled the end of Clan “First Scouts,” those charged with dealing with Humans and eliminating any problems. They’d protected our secret lives.
Now they were a secret, to bury as deeply as possible. My people had always feared the mass of Humanity around them, well aware what would happen should the scouts’ actions be made public, and no promise by the Board executive could reassure them.
I should have seen it coming. Scouts worked alone, in isolation. They were selected from the unChosen who lacked prospects for Choice: the expendable. It didn’t take long for them to be cast aside, their families—willingly or not—severing access to funds and refusing contact.
As Speaker for the Clan, my authority—unless I took personal and direct action—was largely symbolic. There’d been nothing I could do other than be relieved none of the former scouts had been mind-wiped.
Barac sud Sarc had resigned his position as First Scout when he’d Joined with Ruti, well before the “new” Clan morality had taken hold. His family hadn’t rejected him, in any sense.
That wasn’t protection from others.
If Barac and Ruti needed help, they’d be too proud to ask. I looked at Morgan, unsurprised to find his face set in the so-innocent expression I knew better than to believe. “This happy ‘occasion’ we’re having—” I began.
Heart-kin. With the warm greeting, figures formed, three of them. My younger sister, Rael di Sarc, smiled at both of us with equal delight. Barac’s parents, Enora sud Sarc and her Chosen, Agem, stood with her, neither having the strength to ’port to Plexis on their own.
As ‘di,’ Rael had enough for all. I gestured the greeting between equals as our three Powers touched in gentle reacquaintance, surface thoughts mingling in the M’hir, for these were, in truth, heart-kin and trusted.
Formalities over, I stepped forward to offer my hands, first to Enora, then Agem. “Welcome! This is our host, Huido Maarmatoo’kk, and you know my Chosen, Jason Morgan.”
Enora’s dark eyes sparkled with unshed tears. She was taller than I, dignified and graceful. Lines left by laughter and smiles framed her eyes and mouth, for she’d aged when I had not, and she was utterly beautiful. Thank you, she sent, then took Morgan’s hands in hers. He smiled warmly, touched by her gesture.
Agem was short for a Clansman, with a round, cheerful face. His Talents were minimal, but he’d a sensitive nature well suited to Enora’s innate empathy. He’d grown distractible with age and didn’t travel alone. He was no less kind.
Theirs was a good Joining, I thought. Enora sud Friesnen had fostered with me as a little girl and I couldn’t have loved her more had she been my own. Once Enora’s sons had been fostered, she’d returned to live with me, managing my affairs with skill and gentle tact until I’d left with my Human.
To this day, Enora didn’t know I’d selected Agem sud Sarc for her Choice. The then-Council hadn’t cared about the Joinings of mere suds. I had. To Council’s surprise, her union with Agem produced a son powerful enough to be named di Sarc, Kurr. They’d wasted no time authorizing a second only to be disappointed. Barac hadn’t the same Power.
He’d the same noble heart, I thought, proud of my cousin.
Agem’s eyes widened when I introduced him to Huido. “My first Carasian.” He began to sketch the gesture of recognition between equals only to wave his hands vigorously. “Hello!” His hands dropped. “Greetings. Fair skies, no, seas. Oh, my. I looked up what I should say, I swear. I made notes.”
Enora brushed her fingers over his wrist and he calmed. “My Chosen,” she explained, “is concerned he might give unknowing offense to you, Hom Huido.”
Huido snapped a small claw. “In the presence of such exquisite grist, offense is impossible! Welcome, Hom Agem. Fem Enora. Welcome, Rael, sister of my blood brother’s mate. In your honor, my home is yours! I vow tonight’s meal will be a triumph. If it is not, I’ll serve the chef!”
“Hardly ever happens,” Morgan said cheerfully.
Agem looked relieved.
“Rael?” Enora indicated the table of boxes. “Our contribution, if you please.”
My sister nodded and went to the table. Any Chosen Clanswoman was attractive—our Power and physical nature ensured it—but Rael was breathtaking. Black hair framed her expressive face and cloaked her shoulders, moving restlessly. A swath of deep blue fabric enveloped her from neck to toe. With each step, it parted over her long pale limbs, revealing the spiral of intricate tattooing from thigh to toe. She knew the Deneb fashion suited her.
No, this swagger was more than that. I lowered my shields, sensing profound satisfaction.
She’d been to her Chosen.
If Rael wasn’t pregnant, she soon would be.
Something wrong?
No. Nothing would make me argue with Rael, who’d risked so much for my happiness, especially if she’d found some of her own. Besides, Morgan said I wasn’t to worry about what hadn’t happened yet.
He’d meant truffles.
I simply added a population crash and the potential extinction of my species, then put it all aside. After all, this was an occasion.
Complete with gifts. A wide plas crate winked into existence beside the table, its white sides covered in yellow-and-red dots. Rael rested her hand on the lid. “All we need are Barac and Ruti.”
“Not quite.” Morgan stood beside the dining table, his hands on the backs of two chairs, the look on his face that said there was something I didn’t know. “We’re waiting for Quel di Bowart and her Chosen.”
“You invited Ruti’s parents?” Enora glanced at me, concern warring with anxiety. “Here?”
I hadn’t. That said, I could appreciate my Human’s reasoning: parents of one, only fair to invite the parents of the other. It wasn’t the Clan way, but I did my best to smile. “It’s a Human custom.”
“They aren’t coming,” Rael informed us. “I contacted Quel to ask about a gift for Ruti. She was disagreeable.” Her ever-expressive face filled with disgust, her hair writhing over her shoulders. “She said seeing a Human once was enough for a lifetime.”
An opinion my sister would have agreed with, before coming to know Jason Morgan. Rael was proof my xenophobic kind could change.
Quel di Bowart was proof it would take time. A great deal of it.
Huido rumbled, then roared: “Unacceptable!” Picking up the superfluous chairs, one per great claw, he flung them violently into a corner. They bounced instead of splintering, implying someone had thought ahead. He rattled his outrage.
“Just as well they didn’t come, then,” Morgan said with a deliberate smile. “Our happy couple will be here soon. Wine, anyone?”
“Yes! Whatever you would like. It’s here, or I’ll send for it.” The Carasian hurried to loom over the beverage cart, eyes expectant. “Anything for my friends! First, a treat!”
I wasn’t fooled by Huido’s lightning change of mood. Insult Morgan? The di Bowarts had better be on their very best—and apologetic—behavior if they came to the Claws & Jaws. Or bring someone with them to taste their supper.
Their tableware had vanished. I wouldn’t have put it past my Human to ’port the cutlery into the M’hir. Or to the Fox.
Blame your sister, he sent, amused. “Try this,” he said aloud, handing me a fluted glass filled with blue froth. He’d one of his own.
As, I noticed, did the others. I took the glass and gave the liquid a cautious sniff. “What is it?”
Huido gave his booming chuckle. “Babyful punch! Harmless and nourishing.”
As I went to take a sip, another Carasian appeared in the doorway. “Your pardon—”
Spotting one another, the pair turned to living statues, mirror images save for the metal rings and clips fastened to Huido’s carapace. Tayno, I was relieved to notice, ha
dn’t any. He was menace enough unarmed.
Morgan went to Huido and rapped on his shell. “Still bigger.”
With matching rattles and clanks, the pair resumed their normal postures as if nothing had happened. “I thought you’d be in a waste compactor by now, Nephew.”
“Indeed, my magnificent uncle,” Tayno replied, sounding not the least contrite. His eyes wandered to take in the new arrivals.
“So?”
Eyes snapped back. “Unfortunately, I cannot put myself inside one and Hom M’Tisri has been preoccupied with an influx of Skenkrans. He said you’d understand. Something about perches.”
“Have our guests arrived?”
“Yes and been seated. I can—”
“Oh, no, you can’t. Remain at the door.” Huido bent an eye toward Morgan. “I’ll escort them myself. I am a master of subtlety. They will guess nothing!”
Morgan nodded, somehow straight-faced. “We’ll be ready.”
Agem’s brows knotted. “Barac will sense our presence. His mother’s, certainly.” Enora grew suddenly interested in the egg-filled centerpiece; I could see the curve of her smile.
Not all Clan traveled offworld. Not all, I reminded myself, played games of Power with one another. “Our people keep tight shields on Plexis,” I said before Huido could react to any doubt of his ability. “Trust me, Barac won’t be scanning.”
Trust me, our cousin won’t be fooled for an instant by this big lummox, Rael sent, vastly amused. Better hope Barac plays along.
In answer, I lifted my babyful punch.
Interlude
RUTI DI BOWART SQUIRMED in her seat, her luxurious hair catching glints from candlelight as it twitched in sympathy. “I should be in the kitchen, not out here.”
Feigning horror, Barac regarded his Chosen. “Don’t let him know, or you will be.” Him being the massive alien heading their way between the tables, one great handling claw balancing a loaded tray, the other clenched with incongruous delicacy around a single flower.
“I promise.” Dimples appeared on her soft round cheeks.
Dimples he loved, among all else. The joy of it still amazed him. To have his emptiness not only filled by another, for any Joining would do that, but filled with—
Those kissable cheeks took on a hint of rose as Ruti shared his thought. Her eyes sparkled.
—love, like any besotted pair of the Humans he’d once thought fools. Not a Clan expectation. Not a Clan priority or need. Having discovered this feeling, having Ruti . . .
Who were the fools? Barac thought.
His cousin Sira’s doing, this ridiculous contentment. And Jason Morgan. Not to mention Huido.
“Stop! It’s not on the menu!” Huido lifted his claw to save the flower from the beak of a Chincomih. “Stupid grasseater. Go graze somewhere else!” This while his tray-laden claw swung wide for balance, just missing the heads of a pair of Threems at the neighboring table. “GO!” The bellow sent the Chincomih and its five companions galloping for the exit with bleats of outrage, their napkins fluttering from their concave chests.
“Oh, my.” Ruti put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. He really shouldn’t.
You try to tell him that, Barac responded. The Carasian wouldn’t admit to being sentimental, and few, seeing his servo-sized bulk for the first time would credit it, but since Barac’s and Ruti’s Joining, he’d insisted on bringing a fresh rose, a very expensive fresh rose, to their table.
The special attention might be because he’d introduced them to one another, but Barac suspected it had more to do with their grist—for Huido’s species could sense something of the Clan in the M’hir. Theirs was, they’d been told repeatedly, exceptional.
Midstride, Huido stopped. “Do you smell that?” he asked in an anguished whisper most of the restaurant could hear.
Ruti wrinkled her nose. “What?”
Eyestalks bent to aim at the tray. “This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all!”
Barac’s stomach growled to say yes, the food almost in reach was not only the right food but theirs and could they have it?
Ignoring the sound, Huido spun in his tracks. “Come with me! Both of you. We will accost my misery of a chef about her/his mistake together. We will demand satisfaction!”
“That’s not—” The “necessary” died on Barac’s tongue, for his Chosen had leaped to her feet, eyes flashing with indignation, and then there was nothing for it but to grab up their bags and follow the incensed Carasian wherever he was leading them.
Most of the other customers did their utmost to ignore their passage, rightly fearing to put their suppers at risk.
One turned her head to follow, smiling.
She wore a hat.
Chapter 3
“PARTY HATS,” Morgan whispered.
I peered at my Chosen, seeing little more than the glint of his eyes. “What?”
A sigh. “I forgot them.”
Given the five of us were crouched on either side of the door to the restaurant, ready to ambush poor Barac and Ruti, I couldn’t see how hats would help, but I made a sympathetic noise.
“What are party hats?” Rael whispered from behind me.
“Human custom,” I replied automatically. How many more my fellow Clan would accept before protesting, I’d no idea, but they’d followed along in good spirits so far.
Remember playing ’port and seek?
My own childhood was decades past and dimmer than the lights, but Rael’s wistful tone made me smile. I remember you and Pella refused to stop for lessons.
A bright and happy memory.
I’d others. Of hiding in the dark, running, waiting. My heart thudded in my chest. I remembered waiting, alone, to die.
Not alone, Sira. Never alone. A hand found mine, gripped tight; he’d found me then, too.
Together, I agreed. Always.
Wordless warmth dispelled the cold of the past. Then, Someone’s coming.
I passed the warning to the others, felt their anticipation. Morgan, ever the optimist, had instructed us to jump up in unison and shout “surprise!” when the door opened. In practice, Rael had shouted before jumping, startling Agem so badly he’d ’ported to the other side of the table. Hoping for the best, I readied myself.
The surprise was ours. The door that suddenly opened, admitting a flood of light, wasn’t to the restaurant, but Huido’s own, and though the silhouette filling in that doorway was unmistakably Carasian and two following behind humanoid?
They wore uniforms.
The room lights came up. I straightened with the rest, the flicker of alarm crossing Morgan’s face proof he hadn’t invited Trade Pact Enforcers to our family occasion.
Though these he could have, I thought, starting to smile. The short, stocky woman with bright intelligent eyes was Sector Chief Lydis Bowman, while at her side—as usual—loomed Constable Russell Terk. Gray battle armor showed at the collar of Terk’s uniform but instead of any obvious weapons, he carried a pink box under one arm, tied with sparkly green ribbon.
Bowman, after a swift glance that took in balloons, egg-festooned webbing, and the table, spoke first. “My apologies, Captain Morgan. Guests. We hadn’t planned to interrupt—”
The other door opened. In rushed another Carasian, with another two humanoid figures, this time Clan. As the door shut behind them, there was a momentary pause. Our three groups eyed one another, the Carasians having the advantage of being able to eye everyone at once.
Barac’s “What—?” overlapped Ruti’s “Who—?” They closed their mouths and stared.
“Surprise!” Agem shouted.
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Huido bellowed, snapping a claw at his nephew. “You were guarding the door!”
Tayno, clearly feeling himself on some moral high ground, dared bellow back. “I found Rut
i’s parents!”
“Idiot.” Terk was built as close to a Carasian as a Human male could be, his uniform straining at the shoulders. He scowled, an expression well suited to a face made of planes and harsh lines. “Don’t you recognize us?”
The Carasian hesitated an instant too long.
“My nephew truly is an idiot, friend Terk,” Huido admitted. “Tayno. Pay attention. These fine beings have no grist. They are Humans. Important ones! This is Sector Chief Lydis Bowman and Constable Russell Terk.” More sternly. “You insult them with your ignorance!”
Tayno collapsed on the floor, claws splayed out to the sides. “Crush me, Uncle! I am unworthy!”
Before Huido could be tempted, Morgan rapped a knuckle on his shell. “We’ll need two more settings.”
“Are those?” Bowman looked at the eggs, then shook her head. “Won’t ask.”
“You will join us, won’t you?” I asked Bowman.
“Join us in what?” Barac asked, perplexed. During the bellowing, he’d taken Ruti to greet his parents and Rael. “Sira?”
Oh, this wasn’t my doing. I turned to Morgan and waited.
His lips twitched. “This is a family occasion,” my Human said smoothly. “Barac, Ruti. We’ve come together to celebrate—”
“‘Family’?” Ruti’s face went ashen. “My parents—why would Tayno think my parents were coming?” Hair lashed her shoulders. “What occasion is this? Barac, they can’t be coming here. They can’t have her. You promised—”
Taking her hand, my cousin looked at me.
Something was terribly wrong. One day, maybe, we’d look back at this first Clan-Human baby shower and laugh, but right now, all I could see was Ruti. I went to her, took her hands in mine, and reached.
Emotion battered me. FEAR! Protectiveness. Betrayal/grief. Outwardly she appeared upset, but inside, where it counted, Ruti was close to irrational. The M’hir roiled with her distress and I could see Barac wince as he tried to protect himself.
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