To Guard Against the Dark

by Julie E. Czerneda

  The Clan.

  The Conciliator was listed as en route to Plexis, implying Captain Lucic had reached the same conclusion. Did the captain hope to find the Facilitator for Bowman? Lucic had, according to Finelle, confiscated the shuttle as evidence. Auord Port Authority had filed a strident protest.

  They could get in line. Terk was halfway convinced the Ordnex officer wasn’t after Manouya, but working with him. Admittedly, the enforcer’s default in every situation was to suspect those around him, but he could be right this time. If so, Morgan decided, Bowman could deal with Lucic, and would.

  Plexis was a waste of time. Since hearing the list, he’d known where the Clan must be: Snosbor IV.

  The port he and Sira had been going when everything tipped sideways, starting with Bowman. The first blow against the Clan had been a ploy to discredit her, their greatest ally; she’d run rather than be jailed. When he and Sira diverted the Fox to try and help, a missed shipment had been the last thing on their minds.

  The shipment, he’d learned later, had been a ruse. Someone had tried to lure them to that planet, someone capable of influencing Ruti di Bowart to divert the Fox back to Snosbor IV when they didn’t come on their own. Morgan hadn’t forgotten—he’d merely tucked the puzzle away, assuming it no longer mattered.

  Until now. He expected Rael and Yihtor to confirm his belief. The Acranam exiles were on Snosbor IV. Wys di Caraat. All of those who’d wanted Sira from the beginning.

  They’d hated him then. They’d hate him now.

  He’d need Rael and Yihtor on his side, recovered, before that confrontation, but they’d time to heal on the way.

  If—a big if—the Wayfarer had it in her.

  When Morgan stepped out on the bridge, he raised an appreciative eyebrow. Gone was the racing configuration. The floor was now level, lines marking where the funnel ribs had locked into place. The consoles for on- and incoming crew were connected into practical working clusters, with the captain’s chair and console between.

  The window had been sliced in half. It didn’t make the view of the world spinning below any less breathtaking.

  Noska sat its station at the console to the left, running coms. Captain Erin swung around to look at Morgan, a finger along her jaw and a question in her eyes.

  Before she could ask it, the Whirtle spoke up. “Enforcer Finelle reports she is secure. All’s safe. Am I to be sure of this? Are we? Can we?”

  “Yes, Noska. Relax.” Erin grinned at Morgan. “The enforcer’s quarters have a one-way flow. Finelle’s idea,” she added, in case he took offense. “She wanted a break from her suit.”

  “Suit!? I’m to trust a balloon?” the Whirtle muttered to itself, tentacles fussing at the boards. “Could rip. Could tear. A pinhole! Then what?”

  Erin ignored it. She waved Morgan to a seat. “We’re ready to descend. I’ll request a med transport for your guests once we go.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He sat, resisting the impulse to relax into its comfort. “They’re doing fine as they are, thank you. I’d like to extend our arrangement.”

  “Stay in orbit?” She made a face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Morgan, but much as I enjoy your credits, I’ve better things to do with my ship.”

  “Is the Wayfarer translight-capable?”

  Erin’s mouth fell open. Closing it, she stared at him, hard, then swallowed. “You’re serious. To go where, exactly?”

  “Can she fly,” he countered, “or not? Simple question.”

  Instead of a glib answer, the Wayfarer’s captain—and engineer—turned back to her console, calling up information she hadn’t expected to need. Morgan waited, trying not to close his eyes.

  Hoping.

  “You look about to fall over.”

  He opened his eyes to find Erin standing nearby. “The ship?”

  She leaned a hip on the nearest console. “We’ll need to take on supplies, if you’re all coming.” At his nod, she gestured to the Whirtle. “Start the math.” Back to Morgan. “We can get those and top up the tanks at Auord Orbital. It’ll cost.”

  He shrugged. “The engines?”

  Erin bared her teeth. “Now that’s where it gets interesting. Wayfarer’s good to go, my guarantee, but we’ll have to install that pretty new sequencer while in subspace. Unless there’s time to hit a dock and do it first? Thought not,” at his look. “Makes it a mite risky.”

  “‘Risky?’” Noska echoed worriedly. “Why?”

  “Because without one,” Morgan answered without turning around, “we don’t leave subspace. Ever.”

  The Whirtle hiccuped.

  “Yeah, that’d be why. On my own, I wouldn’t do it.” Erin’s gaze was frank and open. “But I’ve seen your skills, Morgan. Daresay we could swap out in the bridge, too, for that matter. Terk for Noska. You for me, if you’re willing. I don’t usually have a sub.”

  “Captain knows I am not a very good pilot,” Noska explained, eyes blinking. “I don’t like to fly. I don’t ever want to crash.” With emphasis. “Ever.”

  Morgan liked them. Well enough to wish he could give another answer and not pull these two into dangers they couldn’t imagine and didn’t deserve.

  Without them, he’d fail and so might the Trade Pact.

  “Agreed.”

  Her face lit. “Hear that, Noska? We’re leaving this hole of a system!” She stood straight. “What’s our course?”

  “Take us to Plexis Supermarket, Captain Erin.”

  Her eyes went round; that was all. She gave a short nod and went back to work. The Whirtle, having no dignity to protect, bounced up and down, crooning and hugging itself.

  The pair would be anything but happy when he changed that course, his first shift as pilot, but for now, to get them motivated? A course to Plexis would definitely do.

  Interlude

  I’D NO COURSE, being adrift and dreaming.

  I’d no pain, no fear. A respite, this moment, my first since—

  Ever?

  Memory stirred, but I wasn’t ready—

  Sister, see this.

  I wasn’t ready.

  See what we do. How we wound. Why we harm.

  Like the opening of an inner eye, this growing awareness. Peevishly, I tried to deny it, but Rael wasn’t alone.

  LOOK! cried the Watchers, in their harsh mad voices.

  So I must obey.

  At first, the M’hir appeared as it always did. Dark. Unstable, where living minds touched it; dangerous, where their passions roiled it into storm. Never a place to linger.

  LOOK! LOOK!

  I glimpsed ribbons of light through the black and knew them. Passages, where Clan had traveled, following the bond etched between mothers and their distant children. Spotted a faint network, like a web strung with dewdrops, and knew that as well. Connections, for Clan had existed here, as well, their minds woven through the Dark.

  Still did, for some of those lines were brighter.

  Teeth flashed, and vanished into the depths. I wasn’t their prey, not at the moment, merely of interest.

  What do you expect me to see? I asked, wishing to be left alone. Adrift. Dreaming.

  SEE!

  A howl, that echo, able to freeze blood had I any.

  I waited, unimpressed.

  There, sister. As if Rael took my head and aimed it—had I a head or eyes—I found myself looking into the utter black. A pale streak burned across my view, then vanished.

  Behind it, the Dark of the M’hir stiffened.

  I watched it crack.

  And through that crack I saw—

  Stars.

  Between was failing!

  I opened my eyes to find myself back in NothingReal, in a box.

  Before either—or both—or all—could cause me to panic, the top of the box split open
and moved aside. Staring down at me was a Whirtle in a helmet. A Human-sized helmet. A helmet that stayed put because the Whirtle had stuffed the opening around its slender neck with socks. Colorful socks.

  Some had stripes.

  It was impossible to panic, even about the end of the universes, faced with a Whirtle in a helmet held on by striped socks, so I did the only thing I could. I smiled and said, “Hello.”

  “Hello.” Its voice was muffled but clear. Tentacles appeared in my view, slipping with care behind my shoulders. “Would you like to sit, Fem?”

  “Please.” The tentacles were stronger than they appeared, though I found it odd to see them spring from sleeves meant for arms like mine.

  I was in what had been a med cocoon, now quickly turning itself back into a cot topped with a comfortable mattress. My cleaned skin was free of staples and glue, both replaced by medplas matched to the healthy flesh around it. The only area still red and sore was my left hip, though I discovered, as the Whirtle helped me, I could move it without an added twinge.

  Clean felt wonderful. Everything did, leading me to suspect the med unit had administered a stim along with whatever else it detected this body required.

  The Whirtle hugged itself, a sign of happiness as I recalled, then one tentacle freed itself to point at my chest. “Orchids.”

  I looked down. Rael had flowers tattooed around her nipples. My nipples. While the effect was artistic, I felt myself blush for no reason. “Is there clothing for me?”

  “Yes,” another voice. “I took the liberty, Fem di Sarc.”

  The name was as much a shock as seeing, while not smelling, the Lemmick standing at the end of the cot, though it did explain the helmet on the Whirtle. Rael was di Sarc as well, I reminded myself. “Thank you. Constable,” I added, for she wore an enforcer’s uniform. And was covered in what looked suspiciously like a balloon. “I could be dreaming,” I announced, the truth being important.

  “I can assure you, you are not. My name is Two-Lily Finelle. I’m partnered with Russ-Ell Terk, who is also on board. You know Captain Morgan.”

  And I’d orchids on my now-enthused nipples.

  If there was a hint of desperation in my reach for the clothes in her arms, I’d excellent reason. Rael was exquisite, with or without tattoos, and the last thing I wanted in this life or any other—

  —was to watch Morgan respond to her beauty.

  Petty, I scolded myself. Worse. Ridiculous. To be jealous of my own body, borrowed or not; one I’d inhabit no longer than it took to find the remaining Stolen and guide them back to AllThereIs.

  None of it stopped me pulling on the clothes as quickly as possible.

  To my relief, they were blue spacer coveralls, used but mended and clean. They almost fit, for a bonus. I rolled up the too-long sleeves and pressed the fastener in place.

  “If you wish,” Finelle said, holding out a small square mirror and comb.

  I hesitated, then took them in my hands. I raised the mirror.

  Chosen, Rael’s hair had been a waist-long mass of gleaming black, full of life and opinion, if more mannerly than mine. Mine? Red-gold and a thorough nuisance. I’d left its memory behind with Morgan, remembering the shoulder-length wisps I’d had before my Commencement.

  Better that than dwell on how my hair would wrap warm around his neck and arm, and fall like water over his bare skin.

  Rael’s hair had been butchered for some reason while she was in stasis. I’d seen the remnants in her projection: a coarse stubble, stiff and motionless.

  I looked into the mirror.

  Green eyes looked back, not gray, though our shared lineage showed itself in their width and shape. The eyes should have sparkled with youth, not be aged by pain and grief, but in that much, the mirror showed me.

  The hair—Rael had misremembered. What I saw wasn’t cropped short. It’d be ear-length if clumps hadn’t stuck out in all directions like so many bent feathers and, instead of black, it was dark brown, verging on red at the tip.

  I reached up to touch the strange stuff, forgetting the comb in my hand until it struck my forehead. “Ow.”

  Morgan appeared in the doorway. “You were to call me when she woke!” he said angrily.

  “I assumed you’d want to finish your time in the fresher,” the Lemmick replied, unflustered. “I see I was incorrect.”

  She had a point, given the Human was shirtless, with drying foam in his hair and sliding from his shoulders.

  Bones showed, as though he’d starved for weeks. Ribs and arms. At the base of his neck, around the soft hollow filled with his pulse I’d—

  I stopped there to focus on the face in the mirror, attempting to use the comb. Not something I’d done lately and, as if to complicate matters, my hands wanted to shake—

  —wanted to hold Morgan. Care for him. Take away the pain.

  Then double it, I warned myself, cruel but true.

  “My apologies, Finelle,” he said with better grace. “I’d set an alarm on my com as well. I thought something was wrong. Noska, you’re here.”

  “I am in charge of the medbay. Why would I not be here?”

  Because of the Lemmick? Out the corner of my eye, I saw how Noska kept a firm hold on its helmet. Brave, that. “I appreciated your care, Noska,” I said warmly, giving up on the hair to gesture gratitude with mirror and comb. “It was a relief to wake to a friendly face.”

  A dusky color rose up Morgan’s throat. Before he could apologize to me as well, there being that business with the hand at my throat and—oh, yes—the knife? I found a smile. “And a relief to be rescued from the Scat. My thanks.” Putting aside the bothersome grooming tools, I added respect to my thanks. “I’m sure you have questions. I’ll do my best to answer them all.” I looked up.

  And found myself trapped.

  Jason Morgan had remarkable blue eyes. They darkened at the stir of his Talent or, as now, with emotion he couldn’t hide. The times I’d fallen into their depths were the happiest of my life, and I couldn’t break their hold now.

  He glanced away first, going to a still-closed cocoon. “Yihtor’s doing well. He should wake soon. Shall we wait for him?”

  No. I wanted this done, to stop struggling against myself.

  The better part of me remembered my Human’s subtle ways. To ask Rael such a question, in front of the constable and Whirtle? It wasn’t about waiting at all, but his way of asking the urgency of the threat we faced. Without alarming one or both. Without revealing why I’d come.

  Between had cracked because someone had ’ported where it had become brittle. Someone? The Clanswoman on the Worraud, fleeing the conflict with her prize.

  I’d watched the crack seal itself again. We had time.

  “Yes,” I answered, putting confidence under the word though Morgan’s shields were like smoothed stone. After all, if that time started to run out, I could count on the Watchers deafening me with howls of despair.

  “While we wait, I could use some boots.” I lifted a bare foot and wiggled my toes, unintentionally flexing the delicate vine tattooed around the ankle. No sign he’d noticed, but I put the foot back down. “And is there a chance of something to eat that doesn’t come from a tube?”

  A smile transformed his gaunt face, disappearing as quickly as it came.

  Still, I thought stubbornly, he’d smiled. Maybe if I were here long enough, I could ease his life in some other way. Help him move beyond me.

  The pain of that thought cost me a breath. Fortunately, Noska chose that moment to bustle close, a tentacle securing its helmet. “Fems. Hom. The Wayfarer took on supplies at Auord Orbital and her galley is well equipped once more. There are choice selections, I promise. The captain knew to leave the ordering to me.” Its mouth continued to move, but I couldn’t hear a word. Was it whispering? In a helmet? Seeing my blank expression, the Whirtle raised
its voice to a near shout. “If I left it to her, we’d eat those disgusting e-rations all day!”

  I slid my gaze to Morgan, and decided I wanted to meet the Wayfarer’s captain.

  Captain Usuki Erin was on the bridge. We’d meet later, I was assured. First, Morgan wanted to talk to me, alone.

  The prospect made me unaccountably shy.

  Terk was off-shift and presumably resting. Knowing the Human as I did, I thought it more likely he was stalking through this unusual ship or sampling the galley, but that room proved empty when we arrived.

  Finelle stayed with Yihtor, to Noska’s relief. The Whirtle accompanied Morgan and me to the Wayfarer’s galley, closing the door behind itself, then struggled to free itself of the helmet. Taking pity, we helped pull out socks until the being could extricate its head.

  Three eyes blinked in a face beaded with yellow sweat. “My thanks.”

  “You don’t need to wear this around the constable,” Morgan told it. “Her shield works.”

  “For you.” Its nostrils flared so wide, I could see the textured folds within. “Human chemoreception lags a thousandfold below a Whirtle with a sinoidal infection. Underwater. An old infected Whirtle underwater.” Noska gave its analogy a moment’s thought, embellishing it with a decisive, “Wearing noseplugs.”

  “Granted,” Morgan said, somehow keeping a straight face in the presence of such outraged dignity. I hid my smile with a hand. “But for the sake of Whirtles of all kinds,” he continued, “should you not embrace this opportunity?”

  “What ‘opportunity’ do you mean?” The load of suspicion in the Whirtle’s tone implied it had dealt with conniving Humans before.

  “To be the one to prove—or disprove—this new technology. If you, with your excellent senses, test Finelle’s new shield—”

  “She’s a LEMMICK!” The nostrils slammed shut. “DEMMICK!”

  Sternly. “Be careful how you speak of the constable, Noska. Constable Finelle is a passenger on the Wayfarer. As a member of her crew, your duty is to your ship and her passengers.”