To Trade the Stars

by Julie E. Czerneda

  The Heerii had been the first beings to find the Rugherans. I wondered, abruptly, who had found whom. Had the Rugheran I’d encountered on Drapskii been the Heerii’s Contestant—or had it come for reasons of its own? Disturbing thoughts. Morgan had told me a Human fable, about someone who foolishly grabbed what they thought was a small snake, only to find they had the tail of a dangerous predator.

  Did the Drapsk know what they held?

  “What do you know about the Rugherans, Captain?”

  “Simple, yet good-hearted creatures,” he replied promptly. “Eager to help Drapskii return to the Scented Way.”

  Captain Heeru might have been an excellent liar, but he made the mistake of doing so in front of other Drapsk. Something in what he said sent three crewmembers into eopari—clear warning.

  “Why, Captain?” I asked. “Have you given any thought to that? I’m a suspicious creature—Ossirus only knows how I became that way—and I find myself very curious. These Rugherans are much closer to the Scented Way than your species or even mine. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they exist more in that other space than they do here. So doesn’t it seem logical that their interest in Drapskii is based in that other space? What will they gain if Drapskii is reconnected?”

  The bridge was completely silent. Then, Heeru and Heeroki turned to face one another, both moving together until they could touch. Their antennae fell over their backs while their tentacles disappeared into each other’s mouths...

  “No!” I protested. “Not now!”

  But the two Drapsk weren’t listening, well into gripstsa. If I opened my awareness to the M’hir, I’d likely feel it. When they were done, I would be dealing with the much less informative Captain Heeroki.

  That wasn’t all. I looked around the bridge.

  Every Drapsk was locked to a partner.

  My search for information might be temporarily frustrated, but I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. I went over to the Drapsk com station, easing past the two mutually occupied Drapsk in front of it, and began to hunt for familiar controls. There. A sob rose my chest as I keyed in the Fox’s ident and waited.

  And waited. It shouldn’t be taking so long. Then I saw what I should have noticed immediately. Drapsk put indicator lights on pretty well everything—another oddity for a species without obvious eyes. None of those lights were blinking. None of the systems on the bridge were active—or accessible.

  It seemed the Heerama was waiting for her crew to finish gripstsa.

  INTERLUDE

  Subtle,” Bowman pronounced, inspecting the crater that marked Ren Symon’s alleged hideout. Former hideout. “Saves a lot of waiting around, negotiating, that sort of thing.”

  “The children are safe,” Terk offered. He wasn’t about to approve Huido’s methods; he did admire their efficiency. So much less administration.

  “There’s that,” she agreed. “Where’s the Carasian—and are we sure this one is Huido Maarmatoo’kk?”

  ‘Whix panted unhappily. “I wish you would accept my resignation, Sector Chief Bowman. It’s unconscionable that I would make such a misidentification.”

  She waved one hand dismissively. “If I lost constables for every mistake, ‘Whix, your partner here would be long gone. I know I can rely on you from now on.” It wasn’t a question. Those assigned to Bowman learned from their mistakes, or found themselves transferred.

  The Carasian was waiting for her beside the Conciliator’ s aircar. Rosietown’s Port Authority had been remarkably cooperative, moving to clear the streets and generally keeping out of the way. It had helped, Bowman knew, that Drapsk were involved. The Human majority of Ettler’s Planet had reacted with predictable alarm when she’d informed them that there was the potential for inter-Tribe strife to spill over on their world.

  Mind you, no one in the Trade Pact had known there was any strife among Drapsk. They were always so—polite.

  Few in Rosietown had realized that Drapsk came in any color but blue-green. Now, Makii were everywhere underfoot, those who weren’t taking their turn to climb over Huido with small moist sponges, hunting—she’d been told—for grains of sand.

  Bowman had seen the Drapsk react to Huido before this, and did her best to ignore the ongoing grooming and patting. “Hom Huido. I’m so pleased to catch up with you at last.”

  A dozen eyestalks rolled lazily in her direction. “You missed the fun,” he said calmly.

  “That’s probably just as well, don’t you think? Besides,” Bowman added with a wicked gleam in her eye Terk recognized. “I had my hands full with Plexis security. Really, Huido. First bodies everywhere—then those explosions in the restaurant?”

  Every eyestalk shot her way, and the Carasian rose to his feet, dwarfing the smaller Human. Three Drapsk fell off his back, but didn’t seem otherwise upset. “What explosions!?”

  Terk took a quick step to insert himself in front of his chief. She frowned at the wall of his back and pushed him aside with one finger. “No one was hurt, and the damage was confined to your kitchen and staff quarters. Your apartment walls are unusually robust.”

  Huido laughed. “My poor nephew. He wasn’t too badly scorched, I hope.”

  “Intact when we left—and intent on watching your place for you. Such,” Bowman hesitated, “devotion.”

  “Exactly. I knew I could count on him!” Huido sank back down. He was reasonably “scorched” himself and close to exhaustion—not that he’d admit it. The Drapsk kept up their fussing over him.

  Bowman was quite sure they were also listening to the conversation. Fine. It saved her an extra briefing. “We’ve contacted Acranam. They refuse to admit the children are theirs. The pair won’t talk to any of us—an understandable reaction to what’s happened to them at the hands of Humans. Are there any Clan in Rosietown?”

  “Barac sud Sarc,” Huido said, several of his eyestalks careening about as if expecting the Clansman to magically appear. Not, Bowman thought, a totally unlikely expectation. “He took another of the Acranam fosterlings, a child named Ruti di Bowart, away for safekeeping.”

  “Good. Let’s contact him. I don’t want to leave the two youngsters in the hands of Port Authority any longer than necessary.”

  A claw snap. “We’ve tried,” Huido admitted. “Barac went off in a Drapsk aircar that wasn’t modified for humanoid use. Scent-based com system. A small oversight by our friends here.” Huido shook his head carapace absently, apparently to dislodge a Drapsk who’d boldly climbed on it. “There isn’t one where he went either. But Morgan knows the coordinates. He can go and get them when all this is wrapped up. Where is Morgan, anyway?”

  Bowman pursed her lips unhappily. “My next question for you, Hom Huido, was exactly that.”

  The eyestalks resumed their unnerving focus. “He was waiting on the Fox for information about Ren Symon.”

  Terk came to attention. “Then Symon wasn’t in there?” he waved at the smoking ruin across the street.

  “Of course not. Symon has another hiding place—one where he has taken Sira. You do know about Sira being kidnapped on Plexis?”

  “Yes,” Bowman snapped. “Believe me, we’re looking into that as well. Plexis has a great deal to explain. But Morgan? He left a message for me, claiming the Heerii had taken Sira offplanet.” She never let anything slip without a reason, Terk thought smugly, gazing around at a tableau of now-motionless Makii Drapsk, every antennae oriented toward Bowman, even the ones perched on the Carasian. “The Fox lifted shortly before we and the Makmora arrived insystem.”

  “Meaning Symon is still here,” Terk said hungrily.

  “Does it?” Bowman looked thoughtful.

  “We are going to hunt for him, aren’t we?” Huido rumbled. ‘Whix shifted from foot to foot, expressing his own agreement.

  Bowman eyed the Drapsk. “Be my guest,” she said casually. “Meanwhile, I’d like to talk to the Makmora’s Captain...”

  She wasn’t surprised when the Drapsk who’d been standing neare
st to her spoke up: “Captain Makyra at your service, Sector Chief Bowman. However, I don’t have much time for conversation. The Makmora must return to Drapskii immediately, in case the Heerii succeed.”

  There couldn’t be anything as frustrating as a ball of Drapsk, Rael decided, pacing around Copelup. They’d been left alone in the com room since the Skeptic committed eopari. The others refused to move him. The Clanswoman stopped and lifted her foot, then put it down again. Sira had kicked Copelup awake; Rael couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Sira. Morgan would find her. Rael had heard the determination in his voice. A relief to know he was so close and an even greater relief, she confessed to herself, that it was only Drapsk involved. They were the most obstinate, annoying, difficult aliens in the universe—but she couldn’t believe them a danger. Rael bent down and ran her fingers along the curve of Copelup’s back, feeling its soft warmness. Not fur, not quite skin...

  And suddenly very awake. She jumped back as the Drapsk unrolled, his antennae the last to extend to full height, his mouth wide open and emitting a horrible shriek that turned into a furious series of questions.

  “AHHHH! Who am I today? What’s happened? How is time? Where is this? And who are you!?” he stopped to take a breath.

  “Rael di Sarc,” Rael told him, knowing this confusion was temporary. “Did I—wake you?”

  “Thank goodness! This is no time to contemplate the curvature of the universe. We must... we must...” three tentacles disappeared for a moment, then shot out violently, “get busy!”

  “Doing what?”

  Copelup rubbed his hands together, his white globe of a face oriented toward her. “Stopping the Heerii, of course. They are misguided, Mystic One. They have listened to the Enemy and believed its lies.”

  Rael sank into the nearest chair, bringing her closer to his level. “Copelup. I know you’ve only just awakened, but you aren’t making any sense. Listen to me. Morgan is following the Heerii—he’ll settle whatever’s happening—”

  “I’m making perfect sense,” the Drapsk exclaimed. “What happens will be within the Scented Way, not aboard a starship. The Enemy is the same that I told you about—the species that has stopped Drapskii from being reconnected to her rightful place within the Scented Way. The Dark One—the terms are not so melodramatic in our language, you realize, it’s this Comspeak muddle—”

  “Go on.”

  “The Dark One is—there’s actually no suitable word for him in any of our languages. He exists in the Scented Way. Is he controlled by our Enemy or do they worship him? Do they even know he exists? We don’t know those answers. He is like a consequence of their actions in the Scented Way. Or its cause. I’m not sure which—but they occur together. And he’s very powerful. Am I clear?”

  Rael relaxed her hands. They’d gripped one another until the knuckles were white. “No. I understand, with my head, that there is M’hir-life. I understand—with my head—that this life might somehow affect those of us who live here.” She tapped the floor with her toe. “What are you talking about—do you mean there is intelligent life in the M’hir?” Rael shuddered. It would have to be insane, or so alien they could never hope to understand one another.

  Copelup shook his head violently. “As far as we’ve ever found, what life is able to think is like your species, able to exist there and here. But some exist more in the Scented Way. Those are—strange. One is our Enemy, responsible for the exile of Drapskii all those years ago. Others might be allies. The Heerii think they have found such a species—the Rugherans. But the Rugherans are aware of the Enemy’s Dark One. They approached the Heerii, found means to communicate. They convinced the Heerii that our approach to reconnecting Drapskii—what Sira, you, and Barac have done—is not enough.” He came closer to Rael and patted her knee. “They are wrong. You’ve begun to succeed beyond our greatest hopes. But the Heerii believe the Dark One requires a more, a more—” He paused and sucked a tentacle. Rael held her breath, hoping Copelup would keep talking long enough for her to grab something reasonable out of it all.

  “You realize this is all conjecture,” Copelup went on. “We have no physical proof, as Levertup would say. Regardless, the Heerii had wanted our Mystic One—Sira—to be delivered to the Rugherans. They insisted this would be the means to reattach Drapskii to the Scented Way, through some ‘union’ the Rugherans would arrange between our Mystic One and the Dark One, and its result. The Heerii are not in ascendance on Drapskii, however, and their idea was dismissed. Really, it was the most utter nonsense, without any scientific backing whatsoever.”

  “Why did they kidnap Sira, then?”

  The knee patting increased in frequency, as if the Skeptic sought to reassure himself as well. “You and Barac were very successful. The su-gripstsa in particular was most promising. Many of us feel one or two more efforts could finish what you’ve begun and Drapskii will be whole again. Perhaps the Heerii’s alternative requires Drapskii to remain disconnected until they have tried their approach.”

  “So they don’t want us to succeed?”

  His answer confounded her perceptions. “Of course they want us to succeed. We all want Drapskii reconnected to the Scented Way. But it is not uncommon for competing Tribes to try differing methods to resolve a common problem. The Tribe which is successful becomes in ascendance over all others.”

  “So the Heerii stand to gain if their method works.”

  “If it works before any other Tribe’s.” Copelup’s antennae drooped. “But they won’t. It won’t work. And enlisting aid from something we can’t understand, like the Dark One? From the Rugherans? I fear the Enemy might be the only one to win if the Heerii go ahead.”

  Rael trapped Copelup’s hands in hers. “You told Morgan this Dark One will consume Sira—what does that mean?”

  “We can’t be sure—I can’t be sure. But my research was one of the reasons we rejected the Heerii’s idea. I have found a balance to the energies that move within the Scented Way. There are connections along which this energy flows, nodes where it collects, voids where it is altered into other forms—consumed, if you will. The Heerii’s Dark One is said to act like such a void. They proposed a connection to our Mystic One, whose energy spans both this space and the Scented Way—surely such a connection would suck the energy, and probably life, from the Mystic One! As for Drapskii? How could it do other than harm to our world as well? No, the Heerii must be stopped.”

  “Which means I must help Drapskii. It’s becoming dangerous there, Copelup. Things are changing.”

  His antennae fluttered in alarm. “I would never ask you to risk yourself—”

  Glad to finally have a goal, Rael smiled as she stood. “As long as you stand by me, dear Skeptic, I will feel safe. Let’s go.”

  They took the moving walkway to reach the Skeptics’ Hall, rather than use any of Rael’s strength. Still unsure of the technology, the Clanswoman held Copelup’s hand, feeling the breeze of their deceptively slow passage lift her hair. The surface of the walkway was too much like her impression of the M’hir to feel solid, yet too solid to reconcile with her inner knowledge of that other space. The contradiction made her queasy.

  But it was fast. In short order, they entered the Hall and made their way up to the chamber where the Drapsk scientists waited with their instruments, bowing as one at her arrival. Rael nodded acknowledgment, then headed straight to the bench to lie down.

  “Remember, Mystic One. Use caution. A second effort may be safer than spending too much—”

  “I know, Copelup,” she said, closing her eyes as she laid down, fired with impatience.

  And anticipation. What Rael had seen and experienced last time had been frightening, to be sure, but exhilarating at the same time. Now that she knew to avoid the bolts shooting out from Drapskii, Rael was confident she could protect herself. And Sira.

  She was wrong. She knew it the moment she opened her other sense and saw Drapskii waiting for her, its lightning arms grabbing her even
as she tried to flee.

  The M’hir itself became quicksand, trapping her perceptions of time and space, slowing her reactions. Rael felt the draining as Drapskii stole from her, hardly able to understand what was happening.

  The draining extended through her, following a scent, clawing along a link.

  Janac!

  Suddenly her Chosen was here, confused but determined, answering instinct as well as her panicked summons. In turn, Rael fought to reach him, to protect him. They merged. Rael smelled fresh soil and flowers, knew the sun was warm, even as she accepted the power Janac gave her without question and used it to pull free of Drapskii’s arms and...

  ... for an endless moment she hung suspended in the M’hir, one with her Chosen, feeling his wanting, knowing her own...

  pain!

  Rael nodded thanks in one space, eyes closed, mute. Her lips formed a name as her mind lingered in that other space, reluctant to leave their Joining.

  Words formed in her thoughts, warm with concern: Are you all right? What was that?

  Janac. More than identification. Rael couldn’t help but send her need along their link, sharing her emptiness and feeling his in return. They’d met once, in the Joining Chamber, yet he lived in her dreams. Was it love? She found she didn’t care, knowing only that what they had was no longer enough. Barac, unChosen and sud, had been right.

  Janac’s sending became urgent, hopeful, almost desperate: Has the Council finally given their consent?

  Do you want me to come to you? she asked her Chosen.

  Always. Incoherence. Then, with a cold dash of rational thought: The Council, Rael. Unless we have their permission, we can’t—

  Life-changing moments have their clarity, Rael discovered, seeing everything she’d done, everything she believed, coming into focus. We are Joined, Janac di Paniccia. We are meant to fulfill that destiny, to be one, not be bred at the whim of others. I’ve no longer patience for the Clan or the Council. This is our life, not theirs.