To Trade the Stars

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “The Singer?” I asked instead.

  “Breaking the siege.”

  I loved my Human with all my being, but he was occasionally as difficult to comprehend as any other alien. “What?”

  ʺThink about it. Drapskii has been a point of contention between these species—if not more—for years. You’ve told me Drapskii is itself alive and aware on some level. What if it’s been held virtually under siege by the conflict? Doesn’t it make sense that Drapskii would have tried to break free by forging a new connection? ʺ

  Nothing about this made sense, I thought, longing for the days when the Clan had believed themselves alone in the M’hir. “A new connection. With me. You think Drapskii is the Singer?”

  “And has good taste.” Definite amusement now, under the seriousness.

  “ ‘He’ being a rock.” I wasn’t sure why the notion that my so-alluring seducer was nonsentient offended me, but it did.

  “The Rugherans seem to want the Singer to succeed, as if that will resolve their problem with Drapskii as well.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “What are you suggesting?”

  “We are Traders, my Lady Witch.” Morgan raised his voice, as if to make sure as many Rugherans heard him as possible. I didn’t think volume mattered, but then again, I’d been the one shouting myself hoarse from a tree most of the night. “Drapskii wants its freedom. So do you. Promise to restore the Drapsks’ access to the Scented Way and Sira will help you.”

  I will not! If Morgan hadn’t strengthened his shields—with Power I’d given him—my outraged sending would have knocked hm to the ground.

  Trust me!

  “It’s not about trust, Jason!” I stepped back from him, breathing heavily. “I am your Chosen. No other—pairings—are acceptable. I cannot offer myself to another—even like this—without losing myself. I’ll die. You’ll die. For what? To stop a war we can’t see? It’s impossible.”

  I felt his smile. “I’ve done the impossible today,ʺ the Human said calmly. ”Hear me out. Of course I don’t mean you to somehow submit to some creature—Iʹd kill it first.” His voice carried utter conviction, conviction I could sense along our link. ”You’ve shown me how Drapskii has been pursuing you—trying to use you—to fulfill its need. What if we can show it another possibility, guide it to another connection? There must be others like it. Perhaps closer than we realize.”

  /attention/acquiescence/joy/∼!∼/impatience/

  I gazed over the dark humps and hollows, their shapes picked out in whorls and spirals of white. We could have been standing on some ocean, surrounded by shy creatures called up from the depths by night, reflecting the stars with their own soft light. Or stood in the midst of the M’hir as others of my kind would know it.

  I spoke my thoughts aloud, courtesy, since we weren’t alone. “Is it possible, Jason? Do other worlds have their mirror existence—do they seek one another, do they feel? Can they?” As I paused, I could hear the sucking sound again, low and strange, and imagined it the planet itself breathing, alive. I felt on the verge of grasping something large about the universe, something that might tie together the clues I’d be given, the hints from the Drapsk, from my life, from the Singer.

  Before the moment faded—and common sense returned—I held out my hand for the flute. At the same time, I opened my awareness of the M’hir: first, to bring Morgan’s glow close to mine, feeling his love and courage wrapping around me like a wall of protection; second, to seek the Rugherans in that other place. I pushed deeper, even as I lifted my flute to my lips, ready and waiting ...

  ... I reveled in Power, finally free to go where I willed, as I willed. It wasn’t the mobility of those around me, those others. Shaped like birds of uttermost darkness, they cavorted through the energy-soaked M’hir as if it were air, wheeling and diving in every direction while I clung to one place for safety, held to Morgan’s mind as a lifeline, and poured Power into my knowledge of self, so I could leave this place once done. They viewed me as the intruder, the stranger, the unfit. Not unwelcome, but pitied.

  Part of me was amused, understanding I had the Power to scatter these things like a predator among a shimmering school of smaller life. Part of me looked beyond, sought what gathered the Rugherans to this one place.

  There. Morgan shared my astonishment as it appeared—as if summoned by my interest—a massive spherelike shape, like power coiled around itself. Massive, or was it infinitesimal? Size had no counterparts here. But this was White, the planet of the Rugherans. I didn’t doubt it. Arms, like theirs, reached out from the coil—arms of energy. They appeared to be feeling for something lost. Or desired.

  Now, Sira. Morgan’s voice, somehow here, with me.

  In both spaces, I began to play—for Jason Morgan, not the Singer. The music started in the keffle-flute, drawn from my depths, my needs. It surged into Morgan, then back to me, then filled us both . . . passion and promise . . . need and completion.

  It rippled outward, tumbling Rugherans midflight, as if a storm blew through the M’hir from my unseen lips, brightening the coil of their world, summoning the Singer. In an instant, he was there, demanding, desperate.

  I stopped playing, Morgan so close we might have been one, the two of us as small a presence in the M’hir as I could manage and still be there. White blazed in front of us, echoing my music.

  The Singer turned, lunged forward—scattering Rugherans who spun around and formed their own cloud around what began as two, then became one. The M’hir pulsed with dangerous, exhilarating darkness. Before it drew us as well, I pushed free . . .

  ... and found myself in my Chosen’s arms, his eager lips searching for mine. Perhaps something of the music lingered in us both, or our desire was as ordinary as the joy of being one again.

  Neither of us cared. For this moment, on our island in a sea of rejoicing Rugherans, what we wanted was each other.

  And there was no reason to resist.

  INTERLUDE

  No! Ruti heard Barac in her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to block him out. This was the only way, she told herself. She wouldn’t, couldn’t . . .

  As she tightened her finger, the weapon was knocked from her hand. “No!” he said in a terrible voice. “No, Ruti,” softer, so softly she had to look at him.

  Barac’s face was so near her own. There was something wild in his eyes.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she tried to say, but the Power-of-Choice robbed her of the ability to form words. She managed one: “Run!”

  “I’m finished running,” he said with a small smile. He took her right hand in his—as if accepting her Choice—but she felt his left hand slip along her neck and into her hair, as if to cradle her head. “And I admit to a certain curiosity, Chooser. I hope you will indulge me, since I doubt I’ll have another chance.”

  Ruti didn’t understand, until Barac’s face came closer still. When she would have pulled back, his hand behind her head held her. She felt his lips touch hers, ever so softly. A kiss? The surprise of it made her heart pound even heavier.

  And her hand clenched around his as the Power-of-Choice whirled them both into the M’hir ...

  She was glory and completion. She was everything and all things to be desired. Barac strained to reach the Chooser.

  She thrust him back, her Power driving against his. how dare he believe himself worthy! Barac felt himself pushed farther and farther away and poured himself into somehow holding fast, knowing he’d passed the point of survival. Even if he could, to stop now was to die. UnChosen.

  Worse—to die without Ruti. Writhing in the M‘hir, shot through with pain and despair, on the edge of dissolving . . . Barac found himself suddenly reliving the sweet coolness of her mouth, the desperation in her eyes . . . reliving the feel of Drapskii, that wonderful moment of almost completion, the sense of Power flowing between himself and that other. Power he’d given—Power he’d received—Power that suddenly existed around him in the M’hir. He drew from it, m
aking one more effort, knowing it was his last and . . .

  ... reached her. The Power-of-Choice that had tried to destroy him filled them both, forming a link, strong and sure, a link that drew Barac from the Mʹhir . . .

  Finding himself holding Ruti in his arms. His—he could hardly form the word until he saw the wonder of it reflected in the glowing eyes and warm smile of his Chosen.

  It wasn’t easy to knock on a door made from stone, but Huido took it as a personal challenge. Not to mention he was determined to get inside shelter before any more sand insinuated its grit between his eyestalks. “Barac!”

  Terk stood well back. Bowman hadn’t exactly offered him a choice in this assignment. They’d been able to convince the Makii to trace their aircar before the Drapsk had lifted from Ettler’s Planet. Once the sandstorm had settled, there remained the question of how best to get an unhappy Carasian into one of the Conciliator’s aircars. Terk was still sure it would have been easier to ram Huido into one of the cargo sleds and tow him. As yet another round of blows chipped the stone, Terk rubbed his left shoulder in sympathy. They’d compromised in order to fit inside the cabin—a compromise which included having that claw resting on Terk’s shoulder most of the trip. There would be, he decided glumly, bruises.

  “Ah!”

  The door opened and all of Huido’s eyestalks riveted forward. “What wonderful grist!” he roared incomprehensibly, surging inside before Terk could see who’d let them in. He’d hoped to find Symon here.

  Obviously not. He sheathed his weapon and followed the Carasian.

  “Constable Terk? Welcome! Welcome!”

  The Enforcer blinked. He’d met Barac sud Sarc on several occasions. In none had the Clansman seemed, well, giddy. Not to mention rumpled. The Carasian was clanking happily to himself, already into a cupboard. “Are you all right?” Terk growled. “Whereʹs the child?”

  Barac had a charming smile at the best of times. Now, it was almost luminescent. Terk felt the comers of his own mouth trying to respond and shut down the impulse. They’d hurried out here to save these two from Symon and the elements. He wasn’t the least impressed that Barac didn’t seem to need saving.

  “Hello.”

  Terk started, never happy to be surprised by Clan. This one appeared out of thin air in front of him, nodding her greeting, then rushed over to Huido. “Ruti di Bowart,ʺ Barac said with what sounded like possessive pride.

  Not exactly the helpless child Terk had envisioned. Young, sure enough—the curves of adulthood only suggestions—but this Ruti looked back at him with an adult’s assessment. Her dark thick hair was waist-long and gleaming. It also moved by itself in that alarming Clan way, locks sliding over the Carasian’s carapace like silk over glass.

  “And I would like to introduce you to my Chosen,” she said just as proudly. “Barac di Bowart.”

  Huido snapped both claws, carefully, but making a ringing sound. “Congratulations to you both! Ah, there’s nothing like the joys of your own pool, if I do say so myself. Where’s the beer, dear Ruti—”

  “Forget the beer.” Terk glared at Barac. “I thought she was a fosterling—a child!”

  Barac smiled even wider, if possible. “So did I! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Before Terk could mire himself deeper in misunderstanding, the Carasian took pity on him. “Terk, Terk, Terk,” he said, putting a claw over the Human’s non-bruised shoulder and drawing him aside. Terk couldn’t have refused without help from a servo or two. The effort at privacy was wasted, if that’s what it was, Huido’s voice being at its normal, robust volume. ʺI do believe your parental instincts have been offended, haven’t they, Terk? How Human. Surely you know that Clan females do not mature physically until they have found and bonded with a suitable life partner. A very sensible physiology. So you see this is perfectly normal. Now be glad for the pair, or we’ll find out how you like walking back to Rosietown.”

  “It’s my aircar,” Terk growled.

  “I will be going home for the rest of my Commencement,” Ruti offered with a blush. “Now that the storm is over. It’s traditional to be with one’s family.” Barac’s adoring eyes never left her. She seemed to feel his gaze, glancing at him every few seconds, her own eyes bold and sparkling.

  “Congratulations,” Terk grunted, pulled free of the Carasian’s brotherly embrace. He didn’t understand the Clan, but he did recognize the joy and preoccupation of these two with one another. Fine, as long as it didn’t interfere with work. “But we’re looking for Ren Symon.”

  A little less joy in their faces. “He hasn’t been here,” Barac informed him. “What’s happened? Has there been any word from Sira?”

  “More reason for beer,ʺ Huido rumbled contentedly. Ruti passed him a bottle and he poured the contents into his handling claw, then inserted it between his eyestalks with a slurp of delight. ʺThank you, my dear. Cuts the sand, it does. Sira and Morgan are fine. He made it to the Rugheran homeworld just before the Fox broke down. Kimmcle can’t be trusted. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him.” Another slurp. “Apparently they are now on Drapskii.” The Carasian shuddered. “Better them than me, all this leaping through space. It’s not good for the pool.”

  Barac and Ruti exchanged another look that left no doubt as to their opinion of matters.

  Terk coughed. “So, we’d better get going—ʺ

  “Going?” Both Clan said the word with identical dismay.

  Huido finished his beer. “What my fine friend Terk meant was that he and I must get going. Sector Chief Bowman will want his report, while I am long overdue at home. Our apologies for disturbing you. Is there anyone we need to—notify about the happy event?”

  They both blushed. “No,” Barac said. “It wasn’t secret—the Watchers attend every Joining. They’ll have informed the Clan Council. We’d just like to keep—ʺ

  “—to ourselves, a little while longer.” This from Ruti, when Barac seemed to have lost the ability to speak. She smiled up at him fondly.

  Terk shifted, apparently uncomfortable with so much happiness in one room. ʺThen we’ll be off,ʺ he said. “I don’t want to find out Symon has left Ettler’s while we’ve been standing around.”

  “Excellent,” Huido said, grabbing another bottle of beer. “And Terk—I really do think you should sit in the back this trip. I was quite crowded on the way here.”

  Huido hustled the now-speechless Human out the door, then sent three eyestalks to gaze back at Ruti and Barac.

  “Make her an omelette,” he suggested slyly. “The smart ones get hungry.”

  Chapter 24

  THE M’hir seemed almost asleep, like a hungry beast that had eaten its fill. I had no difficulty ‘porting Morgan and myself to Rael for our show-down with the Drapsk.

  I did, however, have difficulty understanding what was going on once we arrived. “Where’s Copelup?” I asked my sister as I extricated myself from her embrace, gently but urgently.

  “More to the point—where are the Drapsk?” Morgan said, coming from the window. “I don’t see anyone moving outside.”

  “Maybe we sent them all into the Scented Way,” I suggested, only half-joking. We’d made an immense change in the M’hir without knowing the possible consequences. Morgan didn’t mind tossing dice, but I did. I was anxious to do two things: find the Drapsk.

  And then make sure the Heerii understood exactly how I felt about being their “guest.”

  Finding the Drapsk wasn’t just to salve my formless worry that I’d done something dreadful to the creatures. The Rugherans were more than pleased with their end of the trade Morgan had arranged—it remained to be seen how the Drapsk viewed the result. Not to mention, Morgan and I didn’t want the Drapsk to do anything to upset things again.

  They were remarkably good at that.

  “They left me in here hours ago,” Rael said. “It was very confusing—except for the part where they insisted I wasn’t to be near them. I thought I’d better wait.”

  I l
ooked at Morgan. He shrugged. “I tried the com. No one’s answering. I suggest we start looking.”

  “For Drapsk.” I heaved a huge sigh. “Explain to me, husband, why I devote so much energy and time to these annoying creatures.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Because you like them. And you are Makii, are you not?”

  Makii or not, I had no special insights into where we might find the missing beings. We could have split up in our search, but I had no intention of leaving Morgan and Rael, it turned out, wasn’t about to leave me.

  “It was—unpleasant—while you were out of touch,” was all she said, but her eyes had filled with tears.

  Incredible as it seemed, the three of us went hunting for Drapsk. To start our search, Rael ‘ported us to the Skeptics’ Hall, where she and Barac—and I—had contacted Drapskii. Her use of Power would have gained us attention, had there been any to notice. Once there, we were disturbed to find every machine turned off, as though no longer needed. Furniture had been retracted into the floor, curtains drawn, and nothing had been left lying on countertops and tables.

  I’d never realized tidiness could be so alarming.

  “It looks as though they were prepared,” Morgan offered thoughtfully.

  “For what?” Rael demanded. “Do you have any idea what’s gone on?”

  Morgan raised one eyebrow at me and I nodded. Here, I sent to my sister, and gave her my memories of what had occurred on White. Well, those memories she’d need to understand as much as we did; the rest I kept to myself.

  “The Heerii,” she said with disgust. “I never liked them.”

  “I didn’t know you liked any of them,” I commented.

  Rael’s face, always transparent, colored at the cheeks. “There are some individuals of the species worthy of interest,” she admitted. “When they aren’t being obstinate—or hiding.” This last with more worry than exasperation.

  “I suggest we look elsewhere,” Morgan said, waving us toward the door. I started to follow, only to notice Rael hesitating. “What is it?” my Human asked.