This Gulf of Time and Stars
Page 14
“The Carasians,” Morgan continued, looking at Barac, “are honorable beings. I promise you they’re as horrified by what’s happened to the Clan as the rest of us. After finishing off the Assemblers, Huido and Tayno scoured Plexis for you. Because they’re family. Because they were worried.”
Barac’s mouth worked. He gave a slow nod. “I wanted to think that.”
“Believe it. What Huido’s wives told you are what they consider facts.” Blue eyes shifted to me. “Can we really say, as things are, they’re wrong? The Clan can’t stay where they are.”
Ruti di Bowart put her arms around her Chosen, her hair flowing over Barac’s shoulders. “Then we go,” she decided firmly. “Someplace safe.”
We gave Barac and Ruti our cabin; it wouldn’t be the first time we’d camped in the control room. I pulled my knees up under the blanket, unwilling to close my eyes. Morgan, no more eager to rest than I was, stood by the panels. He’d been studying a series of displays since we’d retreated here.
“We could warm the hold,” I said suddenly. “Squeeze in another fifty.”
“The math, chit.”
I’d been in space long enough to know better, that meant. I fell silent, abashed. The Silver Fox had been built for a crew of five to six. Refitting as a freighter hadn’t added air to her systems or capacity to her scrubbers.
To distract myself, I pulled out the crystal, trying to find an opening with my fingernail.
A flash of blue eyes. “What’s that?”
“This?” I lifted the crystal so it caught flecks of light from the console. “A relic of my great-grandmother. We’re taught she brought us here, to Trade Pact space. Jarad treasured it.”
Morgan came over and I passed the thing to him. “From the Clan Homeworld.” He looked at me, lifting a brow. “A planet none of you know how to find.”
I nodded. A waste of a market, to a trader; to my beleaguered, now-homeless people, an irony too painful to contemplate. I took back the crystal, staring at the scrap of fabric within. “My ancestors ’ported here. That’s real enough.” I’d glimpsed the scar etched into the M’hir by the passage of so many at once. “The rest—why? From where? I don’t believe we were meant to know.” I put the crystal back in my pocket. “Or go back.
“Besides,” I said more lightly, “this is home.” I rubbed my thumb over a mended patch on the armrest, refusing to look at him. I had so much, when the rest had—
Breath warmed my cheek, followed by a swift, brief kiss. “A home that needs a shipcity and supplies, ideally soon. I’ll get back to it.” He stepped away before my hair could entangle him.
“Jason. There’s no place safe, is there.”
“No. Not yet,” he qualified gently. “The syndicates have eyes on every Human world and likely beyond. The Assemblers? No telling how far they intend to take this.”
“Or if they can be stopped.”
“Oh, it’ll happen. It’s the beforehand we need to watch. Try to sleep, Witchling.”
Dimming the lights, my Human went back to work. I watched his silhouette pass back and forth, my mind busy with possibilities. Non-Human worlds—where we’d be all too obvious. Starships—they needed crews, crews that could be infiltrated. The Drapsk—
Inflict hundreds of “Mystic Ones” on the dear little aliens? Their social structure would fracture, maybe even collapse. I shuddered. Our list of allies was woefully short.
One bright spot lay on the horizon. When Jacqui di Mendolar woke from her well-deserved rest, Ruti and Barac would have a Birth Watcher again.
Interlude
“PASSAGE?”
“That’s your business, isn’t it?” Ambridge Gayle had lost her tattoos, or disguised them. She’d thickened her torso and changed her voice, adding the nasal twang more often heard on the streets of Ettler’s Planet than Deneb. Doubtless the spacer coveralls she wore came with an array of hidden weaponry.
Manouya regarded her calmly, his thick ivory nails deftly peeling a fresh nicnic. “Where do you think you can go?”
“Auord. I’ve people there.”
“With that much bounty on your head?” The Brill smacked his lips in appreciation, enjoying how the sound echoed. Stacks of white shipping crates made tunnels leading in every direction. At this hour, the servos were parked and staff gone home. He valued having time to himself.
And it could be a productive time indeed.
“Damn Cartnell. I’ve assets,” Gayle snapped. “Name your price and get me to Auord. You can do it, can’t you?”
The ex-Board Member wouldn’t betray him, Manouya thought comfortably, not while so much of his plan remained in motion. After that, well, every prisoner was moved somewhere.
As for Gayle? “Move you without anyone the wiser? Of course.” He’d dealt with Fry already, it being highly disagreeable to contemplate his name and face squealed to the Enforcers. Threems had such useful appetites. Gayle, however. She had a different reputation. A useful one. Popping fruit into his mouth, Manouya swallowed it whole, then licked his fingers. “My price is not negotiable.”
“Name it.”
So he did.
Later that day, a crate was loaded onto a ship bound for Stonerim III.
Shortly after, passengers boarded.
One of them wore a hat.
Chapter 16
REGARDLESS OF WHO’D SLEPT OR WHERE, Morgan declared the next meal to be breakfast, that being possible when time was set by chronos and had nothing to do with a sun. Ruti and Barac arrived as he began setting out plates, and were surprised to find another Clanswoman at the table.
“You two look like spacers,” my Human complimented.
Ruti looked down at her overalls, plucking at the excess bunched over her belt. “It’s comfortable.”
“They never fit,” I assured her. “Jacqui di Mendolar, my cousin Barac di Bowart and his Chosen, Ruti di Bowart. Sit,” I added when all three prepared to bow and gesture in a proper Clan greeting. “Your food’s ready. Nothing’s formal on the Fox.”
Nothing, chit?
There was that. I coughed. “Except for Captain Morgan’s orders. You must obey them without question. For your safety and the ship’s.”
“Over yours, Speaker?” Jacqui said nervously. “Is yours not the greater Power? Meaning no offense, Captain.”
Barac chuckled and Ruti dimpled. If I’d thought to let Morgan answer, one glance told me he was already enjoying this too much and I’d regret it. “When it comes to the Silver Fox,” I said truthfully, “he’s in charge.”
“My first order,” my Chosen said with a warm smile, “is enjoy your breakfast.”
The Fox’s galley being compact at the best of times, I’d had no problem sitting Ruti beside Jacqui. Getting them to be comfortable that way?
I had my work cut out for me. While we ate, I studied the uneasy pair.
The Chooser’s hair was thin and limp, her face and body still immature, in all ways opposite to Ruti’s, but it wasn’t that, I realized. In years, Jacqui could be Ruti’s mother; in experience, the younger Chosen was by far the elder; and that didn’t begin to address the edgy feelings between an Acranam Clan and one from Camos. One a disciple, no less, of my father.
They didn’t need to be friends, I assured myself. Jacqui wasn’t Quessa, but she had the Talent, respectable Power.
And was the only Birth Watcher we had.
Ruti quickly gave up, turning her attention to Morgan—or more exactly, to his painting. From her eager questions about the cabin and how to work on walls and furniture, I’d a feeling wherever she and Barac made their home, it would be similarly coated. As for the painting he’d given her, the “Night’s Fire?” Barac produced the voucher. They’d left it in a room guaranteed with it. When next on Plexis—
Conversation faltered until Morgan began asking about the plant itself.
I wanted to clear the table, it being one of my favorite tasks to throw dishes at the wall recycler, but Jacqui’s tense silence spread to the rest. Worry creased Morgan’s forehead. She seemed better before. Is it all sinking in?
He thought she suffered from what had happened, but it wasn’t the past. I was certain of it. “Jacqui—”
Low and pained. “I can’t be her Birth Watcher.”
“You’re a—” Barac’s face lit until he saw Ruti’s.
Hair lashed. Eyes glared. And if anyone in this room doubted the Power of Ruti di Bowart, they couldn’t now, with it storming against shields. “She doesn’t want to touch our daughter. Because I’m from Acranam. Because I’m not from one of the important families!”
“No.” Jacqui’s head rose, her expression full of dignity and regret. “Because I’m Sira’s.”
Morgan’s cup hit the floor. You’re having a baby?
My mouth having fallen open, I closed it with a snap of teeth. You are mistaken, Jacqui di Mendolar.
And if there was rage in the sending, I had that right. There was history, bloody and dreadful and mine, behind it. “You’re wrong.”
She shuddered but held herself straight, not dropping her gaze. This is my Talent, Speaker. Aloud, “I’m a Birth Watcher. There is no mistake.”
Barac warned Ruti with a touch; the rising joy in her face faded to confusion.
I didn’t look at Morgan. Couldn’t.
I’ll show you.
Neither of us moved, but it was as if her hand took mine and drew it low, pressing the palm over my flesh. A hand that became a conduit through the M’hir.
Touching . . . life.
“What is it?” My lips felt numb.
I’d been ripped apart, stuffed with alien seed, re-opened, and emptied. The damage done—I’d been told it was repaired, but I’d hoped to be barren. There mustn’t be another like me, another with my deadly Power.
“What do you mean?” Puzzlement. Confusion.
Oh, the things this innocent young Chooser didn’t know—in a perfect universe, would never have to know. “What kind is it?” I said grimly. “The species.”
She swallowed, then gave a nod. “Clan. M’hiray. There can be no doubt, Speaker.”
As I sagged with relief, that first dread passing, Morgan came close and I slipped my fingers through his, gripping hard. The emotions flowing between us were a confused blur. Horror was one. Shock another.
A whisper of barely felt, impossible-to-resist, hope.
So even as we pulled apart, dropping barriers to calm the storm, it was he who spoke first. “How is this possible?” Morgan challenged. “I’m Human. A different species. Biology doesn’t go away.”
“I don’t care what you are,” Jacqui replied with true Clan arrogance. “I’m a Birth Watcher. I cannot be wrong. There is a baby.” She came around the table, offering us each a hand. “I can prove it. She’ll have a bond to you both.”
She. And didn’t that one word make it real?
I turned my head, meeting my love’s remarkable eyes. They’d darkened, holding a message as clear as if sent mind-to-mind. A Clan might not read the caution there, the concern.
My kind were often blind.
The slightest nod. Courage, that was.
We clasped hands with Jacqui, who closed her eyes to concentrate.
It began as the same sensation, made vivid by the physical touch, this time shared with one more, Morgan. LIFE.
This exploration went deeper and, suddenly, there it was. A bond through the M’hir, Power-to-Power, like mine to Morgan, yet unlike, for this Joined me to something calm, wordless . . .
. . . and empty.
“NO!”
Interlude
SIRA’S DENIAL ECHOING through his mind as well as ears, Morgan didn’t think. His Power surged, tossing the ashen-faced Birth Watcher away from them both. She slid over the table, taking the rest of breakfast with her, and missed the galley wall only because Barac was there first to catch her.
Ignoring the Clan, ignoring everything else, Morgan twisted to take Sira, gently, by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” He searched her face, dismayed when she stood passively in his hold, her eyes dazed, and he could feel only pain. Sira. He dared shake her, just once. “Sira.”
A sharp intake of breath. A slow blink. Finally, she focused on him and he could breathe. “What did she do?” he demanded, though he knew it hadn’t been Jacqui. “What’s wrong?” Though he knew it had to be the astonishing new life within her. The baby. The word stuck in his throat, for there was nothing of joy here.
“It’s a Perversion.”
Sira’s gaze hardened and went by him; Morgan turned, following its aim, his arm going around her as much for his support as hers. “Explain,” she demanded.
Jacqui wrenched herself from Barac’s hold, staring at Sira. “The Joining’s to you alone.” She seemed, all at once, more sorrowful than upset. “The baby is yours, alone.”
“I thought—” Ruti hesitated, then went on, “—I thought Perversion was a myth. Something old Chosen would say to scare us.”
“There hasn’t been a case since the Stratification.” The Birth Watcher hugged herself. “Perversion is a consequence of a Choice and Commencement without a proper Joining. I don’t understand why it would happen now, to you, Speaker. I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know how.”
Within his arm, Sira tensed. Morgan understood. Their Joining had been anything but “proper.” A Chooser Joined with her Choice, their bond through the M’hir the trigger for physiological maturity, Commencement.
But Sira’s body had matured first, in response to his Human power. Their Joining had been forged afterward; her will, their love, giving her the control to protect him from her greater Power until, at last, they’d found their way.
To this? When Sira didn’t speak, he did. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. But it’s—it’s not a good thing.”
Morgan felt Sira stir. “How do we get rid of it?” she asked, calm only on the outside. “It” not “she.” His heart hurt.
Jacqui’s eyes widened. Ruti sank in her chair with a gasp, her hands over her unborn daughter.
“It’s a simple question, Birth Watcher,” Sira said. “Can it be done?”
The Clanswoman bit her lower lip. Finally, “Humans do that. We never have. I’m not sure we can. I don’t know,” this third time fiercely, as if to stop such disturbing questions. “The Speaker should ask her mother.”
Sira made a sound like a choked laugh. “Pardon?”
“Mirim sud Teerac studies pre-Stratification Clan—”
“Because she wants us back there,” Barac interjected. “Sira should go to Cenebar—” He shut his mouth, running a hand through his hair. Ruti leaned close. “I forgot,” he said after a painful moment. “There’s too many—”
Morgan’s side chilled as Sira stepped away from him, shaking her head. “Even if Mirim had the knowledge,” she said, an odd note to her voice. “I’m not sure she’d talk to me. My mother and I parted ways before the rest of you were born.”
“At least you still have one,” Ruti blurted, then buried her face against her Chosen. Jacqui closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Sira looked stricken. “I didn’t mean—”
They were falling apart, Morgan realized, and knew what he had to do. “Do you know where she is?”
Her hair twitched unhappily, but she nodded. “Jarad does.” Her eyes lost focus for an instant, and he sensed the surge of her Power.
Her gaze sharpened. Here. Something dark beneath it. I should have known.
“I’ll set course,” Morgan said briskly. A destination not his first choice—or fiftieth—but any decision was better, right now, than none.
Stonerim III. The southern hemisphere shipcity.
Norval.
Chapter 17
WE WERE GOING SOMEWHERE. The low rumble within the Silver Fox as her translight engines came to life proved it, if nothing else. Going somewhere meant vital tasks, age and an unending sequence of second-third-fourth-hand parts having made those engines as cranky, as Morgan would say, as a starving Scat. I did my jobs and took on some of Morgan’s, relieved to be busy while he pored through newsfeeds and reports: Huido’s, possibly others, doing what we could not. As for the other Clan, Barac and Ruti had traveled in a starship before; Jacqui hadn’t. The former had each other to pass the time.
Jacqui? Having admitted she didn’t know how to help me, the honest Birth Watcher had asked to serve Ruti and her baby, to the relief of all.
Not that I couldn’t feel her interest every time we passed one another in the confines of the ship.
Not that I couldn’t feel the life within me, every time I took a breath.
It was that life I’d finally found courage to discuss with Morgan and a precious moment alone in which to do it, our third day in transit.
Only to find him ahead of me.
“Parthenogenesis!” The word greeted me as I entered our cabin. Morgan tossed the reader on the bed to rattle atop a pile of tapes. “Knew I’d heard of it before. Females who have offspring without need for a partner. The Turrned do it. Who knows who else? Most species don’t share their reproductive details.”
For which I was, I decided, thankful. My hair twitched, unsettled. How much research had he done? “I’m not,” I reminded him, “a Turrned.”
“Well, no, but the same principles should apply. I’ve made notes—”
By the look of our table, masses of them. I thought he’d been compiling reports.
“I see.” Not that I did, but such diligence was owed recognition. “Morgan—about the baby—”