Deserved, Morgan thought. The wily Lemmick had appointed herself to deal with Auord’s pricklish Port Authority. Giving her credentials, she’d summarily dismissed any suggestions the Wayfarer or her personnel were involved in the deplorable events on the Worraud, other, of course, than being ideally situated to recover the drifting, empty shuttle.
Which she offered not only to return, but to bring in person, willing to assist—personally—with their investigation. Although theirs was patently a local matter, she’d an interest: specifically, an anonymous tip that Assembler criminals wanted by the Trade Pact Enforcers could be hiding on the Scat ship.
Faced with the horrifying prospect of a Lemmick in their shuttle, let alone sharing confined space with one, Port Authority acted swiftly, politely declining both offers. In the spirit of cross-jurisdictional cooperation, they would watch for the Assemblers. As for the shuttle? Please keep it for her personal use while in Auord orbit. It was the least they could do.
Unsaid, they’d vent it to vacuum when she was done.
After scolding Morgan for letting most of her prisoners escape, despite such clever arrangements for their recapture, Finelle had loaded the crate with the rest of the Assemblers into the shuttle and gone to the Conciliator.
Morgan suspected she’d wanted to take Rael as well, but the unconscious Clanswoman had been in the midst of having the staples removed by servos, her wounds properly sealed with medplas before the cocoon did its work.
Or had Finelle, willing to use her species’ reputation to sway the local Jellies, surmised something of his?
Morgan gave himself a shake. They expected Finelle back shortly. Rael? Could wake within a few hours or need more. He should have a plan, he thought wryly. If only to give Terk something else to mutter about.
Noska came into the medbay. “Captain Erin’s compliments, Gentle Homs. She’d like to remind you staying in orbit wasn’t our agreement. Port Authority will charge a fee.”
“Add it to the tab,” he told the Whirtle, who crooned happily to itself and left.
Terk’s eyes narrowed. “What’s up your sleeve now?”
Morgan rested his hand on the cocoon’s blank gray top.
“I wish I knew,” he admitted.
Interlude
Snosbor IV
“THE OTHER BOX?”
“The Scats opened it. We’d no chance to find the—the contents, First Chosen.”
The arm of her chair was fine wood. Wys stroked the carved whorls of it with a finger, focusing on the sensation instead of her fury. It wouldn’t do to kill the messenger.
However satisfying.
Merin di Lorimar stood very still, shields down; her fear palpable but under control. She’d accept any punishment. A believer, this one, who’d made a difficult decision to salvage what, yes, mattered most.
“Go.” The finger lifted and the Clanswoman bowed, disappearing from her sight.
At last. Wys rose, going to a chest against the tapestried wall. She removed a package wrapped in soft tissue and took it to the wide table by the window.
The Retian knew not to start without her.
She opened the tissue, tossing it aside to drift to the carpet, then spread out what it had protected. Clothing, the latest fashion from the inner system worlds, the finest materials. Human-made, to her order. She knew her son. His size. These would suit his fair coloring.
Not that he’d know. FURY! Wys indulged herself in it for a moment. Two. Dismissed it. What mattered was the potential in her son. Dressing him like this would showcase that potential for the others, remind them why Yihtor di Caraat was their future.
There should have been two to dress, two to reveal. Her gnarled hands clenched on silk. She’d have the hide of that Scat for a seat cover.
Wys released the silk, stroked it. Her people would find Rael di Sarc again.
Hadn’t they already located a second consort for their king? The more, Wys smiled, the better.
“Exalted! Exalted!” The Retian ran in the door, chased by one of her personal servitors. His mask hung around his neck, spewing fog.
Waving the Omacron away, Wys regarded the alien benevolently. “I applaud your enthusiasm, Talobar, but I’ll come to your lab when I’m ready.”
“You can’t!” The creature was shouting—at her? Wisely, he mollified his tone. “Don’t come. It’s a disaster.”
“What?” She felt her face tighten. “You weren’t to open the stasis box without me.”
His eyes blinked, one at a time. “I couldn’t help it,” he confessed. “The readout made no sense. I feared something might be wrong. Something was, Highest High. Terribly wrong.”
Belatedly, she noticed the blood on his hands, dripping on the carpet. “My son—”
“His body wasn’t in the box, a Brexk was. A large, angry female. My lab’s a ruin!”
Steeling herself, Wys sat down. “Make sense, fool. You’re telling me Merin brought the wrong box?”
“No, it was the right box. I tested—there were traces. Your son’s body was inside. Alive. Someone replaced it—him with a Brexk.” The Retian held up his bloody hands. “That’s dead.”
“Well, then,” she said calmly.
Talobar’s ugly eyes stared at her. “But it isn’t well, is it?”
“Clean yourself. Repair the lab and keep it ready. Oh,” the Clanswoman smiled, “have the kitchen collect the meat. I do enjoy a nice steak.”
The poor thing was beyond confused. “‘Steak?’”
“See to it.”
The Retian turned and ran from the room.
“No one touches my son,” Wys murmured, her voice almost peaceful, stroking a shirt embroidered with stars.
No more dealing with aliens.
No more wasting time.
She sent an urgent summons.
While all around, the M’hir burned with her hate.
Plexis
“I do not hear you. You are not-real.”
Tayno sighed. As quietly as he could, he tightened every joint. His guest didn’t like the noises he made.
She didn’t like, he thought woefully, very much at all, though he’d had a promising report from the kitchen. “Would you like more prawlies?”
Her eyes flickered.
“I’ll get some,” he said, heading for the door with some haste.
“Wait.”
Holding another sigh, the Carasian stopped and heaved himself around.
“I—” She licked thin lips. “You’ve been an—improvement—over those who took me. I will make an exception for you, not-real, and hear your words.”
Tayno maintained his cautious crouch, a recent habit in her presence. Once she’d regained her strength, she’d taken to throwing things. At him. Oh, the sleepteach had worked. She could speak and understand Comspeak.
Just not comprehend where she was. How she’d arrived. Any part of it.
She’d been angry ever since.
“Hello,” he ventured, as if they’d just met. It seemed safer. “My name is Tayno Boormataa’kk.” Instinct warned there was no pretending to be Huido here, not with her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“‘Better.’” She appeared to contemplate the idea. “Than when I arrived here, yes, but not—not better.” A long pause.
Her fingers played with their rings, and he’d a startling thought. Was she afraid? Of him? Surely not, but Tayno gentled his voice. “What can I do to help?”
Her eyes lifted. “Can you find my people? For I am alone, as I’ve never been, as no Om’ray should be. The world—this—it has no shape to me without them. Nothing makes sense.”
Tayno gave a doleful little ring with an upper claw. “Things here don’t always make sense to me either,” he confessed. “I find it best to stick to what I know.”
“Wise advice.
”
It was?
“What I know, Tayno Boormataa’kk? My name. Tarerea Vyna. My world is, was Cersi. I watched it die from our Cloisters. Was being carried up to safety with my kin until—” Her face darkened. “Until the rumn shaped themselves as the Living Dark. Until they came and stole us away. For time without measure we were imprisoned together, unable to move, hearing only the wails of the dead. Then we began to die.”
Tayno’s eyes tried to hide.
“As Keeper, I called upon Vyna Cloisters to save us and something did happen. Its shape changed. I believed we would escape.” Tarerea’s hands cupped air and made a tossing motion. Dropped to her sides. “It may be the others did. I have to hope so. The Living Dark were angered. I thought they’d kill me, but instead, they rid themselves of me. Left me here. That, Tayno, is the sum of what I know.”
Huido’d told him worth was measured by what someone gave of themselves. By that, Tarerea was very worthy. Hers was a terrible, marvelous story, like the ones he’d read late at night, and wasn’t this Vyna like those heroic characters who suffered to save others? Nothing so grand, the young Carasian thought enviously, ever happened to him.
Though wasn’t he, just a little, part of her story now? He found he no longer felt like slinking. “They are the Rugherans. What you called the ‘Living Dark.’”
She took a step back. “Your allies?”
“No!” His claws raised defensively and Tarerea flinched. He lowered them in haste, tips to the floor, so she wouldn’t be afraid. “Rugherans are—they have a tangy grist, it’s true,” he explained, “and that’s—interesting—to be around. In small amounts,” quickly, in case she thought he was the sort of person who was influenced by his senses. Which he was, Tayno admitted deep in his hearts, having rather enjoyed the grist of the Rugheran in the kitchen, but he did know better. “Yours is nicer,” he concluded. Especially since she’d started talking about the rest of her kind. He wasn’t sure why that would be, but it was.
“I don’t understand your words.” With returning frustration.
“I can explain—my uncle is,” not that much larger, Tayno reminded himself, “very good at talking to aliens. He says we—Carasians, like me—sense the truth of others beyond this.” He tapped the floor with a clawtip. “Grist comes from what the Clan call the M’hir, but that’s just a name they made up.”
Tarerea came close, moving around him, touching his shell. His eyestalks followed her, making him dizzy. “I’ve heard that name before,” she told him, to his relief coming back to stand in front. “We call it the Great Dark.”
“We call it—” focusing, Tayno produced a long, low rumble, then hunched in embarrassment. “Forgive me. It’s rude to use words others aren’t equipped to hear properly.” Among the many lessons Huido tried to knock into his shell.
“I am not offended. Sit with me. Can you—sit?”
He collapsed to the floor with a noisy clatter.
Her lips stretched. “I see you can.” Tarerea sat in the stiff chair they’d found for her room. She hadn’t cared for the easi-rest. “Tell me more, please. About the Great Dark and those who touch it. About the—Rugherans.”
How could she be so calm? If inexplicable aliens had stolen people he cared about, he’d be—well, he’d be in a closet, hoping not to be next.
Though a tiny part of him hoped he’d do better than that. Here was a being with the courage he lacked. An example of how to do better.
He began to grasp why Huido valued his friendship with the Human, Morgan.
“I will tell you what I was taught when I came from the Mother Sea,” the Carasian said with a rush of pride. “There are those who are only here and cannot be there. There are those partly there, but mostly here, and those mostly there and barely here at all. Then there are those—” his voice lowered and eyestalks bent to look over his shoulders, though they were alone. He hoped. “—those who are only there and should not be here. Not at all.”
She swallowed, but nodded. “I’ve seen—what shouldn’t be seen. There were things in the Dark. They tore Fikryya Vyna apart.”
Tayno dared reach out a claw. After a moment’s hesitation, she touched her fingers to it. It made him feel brave.
Braver. He wished never to see what hunted there. “The Tide pulls on every being, there—here—there again. The froth of their lives washes over us as grist.” It sounded as perplexing now as when his instructors first spouted it, but that’s what happened when males ventured too close to the territory of females. “You’re female, aren’t you,” he deduced. “You understand such things.”
“I understand these Rugherans trespass wherever they go.”
“Not everywhere,” he corrected. “They have a homeworld. It’s called White. S—” Tayno stopped himself. If Tarerea disliked hearing “Morgan,” a cautious being would avoid “Sira” at all costs. Added to that, he wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to know about their time there. It was never easy to tell if others forgot he was there and said things they wouldn’t if they remembered, or if he was part of conversations that quickly soared past his understanding. He settled for a neutral, “I’ve friends who—”
She’d leaped to her feet. “My people will be there. Take me at once!”
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” Tayno cringed. “I don’t have a starship.” Or a budget, for that matter, so tickets were out of the question. Could one even get tickets to White? “I wouldn’t know how.”
“Your mind is a scramble,” with some disgust. “Is there anyone who can give me the locate? I can go myself. If it isn’t too far.” She sank back down, hands resting on the arms of the chair. “How would I know?” as if to herself. “They could be waiting.”
He couldn’t help but shudder. At the thought of “they” and her question, for Tayno was well aware what a “locate” was: how the Clan chose a destination for their travel through the M’hir. He’d overheard Huido worrying such travel might affect his performance in the pool.
Making it something to avoid at all costs.
Though, as it happened, he did know someone who could give Tarerea Vyna the locate for White. Someone who’d been there. Was still here, as Sira wasn’t.
Jason Morgan.
Chapter 17
BEFORE MORGAN COULD SETTLE on a course of action—or a course, for that matter—Constable Two-Lily Finelle rejoined the Wayfarer, in a hurry, via one of the Conciliator’s launches.
Bringing Yihtor di Caraat with her.
Terk, at a low boil since they’d received the news, launched to his feet when the pair entered the medbay. “What’s he doing here?”
“It was here, Partner Russ-Ell,” Finelle said calmly as she steered the grav sled with its med cocoon, “or see him leave with the Conciliator.”
Her partner swore creatively, ending with, “—that twisty Ordnex dumped us.”
Morgan helped guide the opaque cocoon into place beside Rael’s, wordlessly making the connections. The ship’s med unit took over; a display activated, showing the Clansman’s condition. Unconscious, but the readout looked normal. Better than he’d expected.
“That is the case. Captain Lucic professed itself ‘uncomfortable’ with the chief’s last order, to bring a civilian on its ship to be in charge of an undisclosed Clan situation. It refused to grant us access to this listed criminal. My return without most of my prisoners did not strengthen my argument on your behalf, Captain Morgan. Not that I blame you.”
“Sure she does,” Terk said.
Her regard shifted. “Partner Russ-Ell signed for the Assemblers’ transfer from the cryobrig. The captain noticed. You are, I quote, ‘asreliableasalways.’”
“I answer to the chief.” Grimly.
As would the “uncomfortable” captain of Bowman’s cruiser, once she returned to take charge. “Doesn’t matter. We need Yihtor with us,” Morgan declared.
“I assumed so,” Finelle replied serenely. “Which is why I put Partner Russ-Ell’s name on his release, too.”
Terk changed into his uniform, then came back, taking a stool to park his bulk at the door, blaster unholstered and across his lap.
“I’ll be on the bridge,” Morgan told him. He’d set the med units to sound a warning when either of the sleeping pair were ready to awake. It wouldn’t be soon enough. “Call me.”
A grunt. The enforcer wouldn’t be happy until he had a chance to use that blaster.
The Human went on his way. Terk was well aware their guests were helpless and the servos could be trusted. That wasn’t the point. The enforcer knew the Clan. He didn’t stand guard over Yihtor; he watched for those who might arrive to claim him. Unlikely, that any would have a locate for the medbay of the Wayfarer. In that, they’d done better than planned.
But a heart-search? That did pose a threat, should any be able to reach this far.
A stronger possibility was what might lurk in the ship. The former yacht had no internal sensors and ample space for Assemblers or any other stowaways. Not a concern when they were making a quick trip to orbit and back; now, they’d take no chances.
Morgan rubbed gritty eyes. When had he last slept? Running on nerves; that was the truth, and he’d need to rest soon. Not yet, he told himself as he rode the lift to the command deck. He marshaled his thoughts. Captain Erin had shown remarkable patience through the past hours, keeping off the coms. He owed her for that as much as her ship.
A ship he needed again.
Finelle had returned with more than Yihtor—she’d obtained the Worraud’s scheduled ports: Kuraly, Wingels 20A-Orbital Station, Snosbor IV, then on to Plexis. While Scats weren’t known for respecting their posted list, the Worraud played the honest trader, right to nicnics in her hold. If she’d left Auord without incident, a good bet they’d have stuck to that course, making one of those four stops?
To Guard Against the Dark Page 19