The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis

by The Clan Chronicles- Tales from Plexis (retail) (epub)

“Did I interrupt?” Kurr’s younger brother asked, sensing the intimate mental connection between Kurr and Dorsen.

  Kurr clamped down his shields, keeping the brunt of his annoyance from Barac. But enough slipped through to put a smile on Barac’s face.

  “Where have you been?” Kurr asked.

  “I was summoned by Council,” Barac said. “I won’t be traveling with you.”

  “Oh,” Kurr said and let Barac sense his disappointment.

  “It seems I’m very much in demand. Harc was sent by Jarad di Sarc to give me a new mission.” Barac lifted one of the old artifacts Kurr had brought back from his latest dig on Stonerim III, a wooden bowl, and turned it over. “I’m to escort a Chooser to Auord.” Barac put the bowl back down.

  “Really? Who is this Chooser that they need our First Scout?”

  “Sira di Sarc.”

  Kurr realized after a moment that he was standing with his mouth agape in surprise. “She’s leaving the Cloisters? As long as I can remember, she’s lived there. Does this mean they’ve found an unChosen strong enough for her?”

  “I can’t say,” Barac responded and held his fingers to his lips in the Human gesture of silence.

  “An even more secret mission than our—my secret mission,” Kurr said. “Fitting for our First Scout.”

  “Is that condescension or mocking, dear brother?” Barac asked.

  “Sincerity,” Kurr opened his shields enough to let his brother see the truth of it.

  “I don’t know why she’s leaving now after all these years. Council sends me wherever their whims dictate. How could a mere sud guess the grand strategy behind it all?” Barac raised his eyebrow in what Kurr sensed was a mix of bemusement and frustration.

  “Before you go . . .” Kurr looked around at the half-packed boxes spread around the room. He’d begun leaving his findings with Barac; Dorsen barely tolerated the clutter of artifacts he’d returned with from his latest expedition. Kurr dug through three boxes before he found the object of his search: a bracelet. Its dull surface was etched with designs that still caught the light of the room.

  “Here.” He held it out to Barac. “Take it.”

  Barac looked at him, but didn’t move. “What’s this for?”

  “A gift, heart-kin.”

  “Mhmm,” Barac acknowledged and stepped forward to pluck a foam packing chunk from Kurr’s hair.

  “It’s very old; pre-Stratification, in fact. An excellent example of our people’s work. We don’t make anything like this anymore. There’s so much we’ve lost—”

  “Are you about to start a history lesson?” Barac asked and rolled his eyes.

  “Fine. No lesson.”

  “Are you sure you wish to part with it?” Barac asked.

  “I am. Take it.”

  Barac nodded and slipped it on. “A generous gift. Thank you. I should go. Jarad isn’t patient. He wants me to depart soon, and I must prepare.”

  “Of course. Safe travels, my brother,” Kurr said. “Be careful. A Chooser like Sira—there haven’t been any like her before.”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be under stasis to protect your unChosen brother, and I’ve had enough experience dealing with my betters. I can be sufficiently deferential to her. Safe travels, Kurr. I hope Acranam proves more interesting than shepherding Jarad’s daughter to some backwater rock.” And with that, Barac ’ported away.

  Yes, Kurr thought, it should be interesting. He brought up the manifest Jarad had given him in person and began planning. Twenty of their people were presumed lost when the liner Destarian had exploded. Now he had a chance to find them and solve a mystery that had haunted his people, but especially his Chosen. All he had to do was reach Acranam.

  * * *

  • • •

  Acranam was far from Camos, and no Clan had a locate to port to it. Instead, Kurr ported himself to Plexis Supermarket in the usual way, materializing in an area the Clan paid to go unwatched. He’d have to wait a station day, but a ship would arrive to take him to the planet. His passage had been booked.

  Kurr wished Barac were with him. Barac could have contacted his pet Human, Jason Morgan, to transport them on the Silver Fox.

  Kurr proceeded to the tag point.

  “Your airtag, Hom di Sarc.”

  “Of course.” He leaned forward to allow the Human male to apply the gold tag.

  “Do you accept responsibility for the air you share on Plexis?”

  “Yes.”

  The male tapped his cheek to place the tag and let his finger linger on Kurr’s cheek before tracing a quick line down along his jaw and winking.

  “Thank you,” Kurr said and moved on.

  Not until he passed beyond the tag point to the luggage claim did Kurr realize what the Human male had meant by the action.

  “How curious,” Kurr said to himself. It was the first encounter of that nature he’d had with a Human male. He would have liked to have skimmed his thoughts to confirm what he guessed, but it was too late now. Kurr realized he should pay more attention to the beings around him and thought Barac was much better with other species than he was. In truth, he had only ever learned a bit of scouting craft from Barac. Far more often Kurr had been lost in thought and had relied completely on Barac to navigate the myriad species and cultures in places like this.

  He hoped Council hadn’t made a mistake in choosing him.

  From the tag point Kurr caught a servo cart to his hotel, The Orilla. Kurr walked through its doors to the opulent lobby. The desk clerk nodded to him as Kurr stepped up to the front desk.

  “Greetings, Hom di Sarc. Your room is ready and your luggage has arrived. It’s in your room.”

  Kurr took the old-fashioned key card—no Clan used idents or palm locks—and thanked the Human. He crossed the lobby and took the lift to his room. Opening off the entranceway was a square area furnished with lush alien plants in full flower, two large couches, and a large holo-display playing a loop that advertised the hotel’s amenities over slow-tempo, relaxing music. A door on the left wall led to the bedroom and one on the right to the fresher. His luggage was neatly stacked for him in the bedroom. He opened the curtains in that room and looked out onto the concourse many floors below. The mid-range concourse was as crowded as always—a sea of movement with so many aliens moving on their individual errands.

  He walked back out to the central room and addressed the holo-display. “Room 4306, I’d like a table for one at the Claws & Jaws.”

  There was a slight pause. On the holo-display, the room’s virtual assistant, programmed to match an occupant’s species, appeared as a Human female. “I’m sorry, Hom di Sarc,” it reported. “There are no spaces available for the next two station days at the Claws & Jaws. What would you like to do?”

  He thought a moment. “Make a reservation at Le Gros Canard.”

  “For how many?”

  “Still just one.”

  “I have booked a table for one at Le Gros Canard.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Kurr used the fresher and changed clothing, then headed out to the café. He kept his shields tight as he drifted along with the crowd and their different thought patterns, some ordered and some chaotic. Most disconcerting were the Humans who appeared superficially like his own people but were missing that vital connection to the M’hir and through it to each other.

  “Greetings, Hom. What may I bring you?” asked his server.

  “Sombay, please.” Kurr had grown fond of the drink Jason Morgan had introduced him to on one of their trips together.

  “Will you be eating as well?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He’d spent three full days at Barac’s before coming here, planning and researching Acranam and the passengers of the Destarian. It left him needing a reprieve from too much thinking. “What wo
uld you recommend?”

  “Tonight’s special is an excellent choice; a creamy vegetable soup with grilled entalon.”

  “I’ll try it.”

  The waiter bowed and left.

  Sitting on the cafe’s patio, Kurr could watch the steady flow of beings past its railings. He relaxed and let his mind drift outward. After a short time, he sensed the barest whisper in his mind against his shields, like a question. Raising his head, Kurr’s met the intense stare of a stranger’s face through a gap in the crowd for just a moment before it was hidden from view.

  How odd.

  Reaching out through the M’hir to try and sense that other mind again revealed nothing. Its feel had been M’hiray, but not a sense of familiar power. Nor was the face one he knew. Who, then? If he’d been weaker, he might not have sensed it. Now it was gone or shielded. Or, more likely, he’d just imagined it after three days of too little rest. What Human had Power to concern him? As he ate, he continued observing the beings around him, but there was no sense again of the earlier presence. He put it out of his mind.

  Feeling relaxed and full after his meal, Kurr left the restaurant to shop for additional supplies for his mission to Acranam. Barac had recommended several shops and alternates for him on Plexis. Since neither Barac nor Kurr could know what Kurr would need when he reached Acranam, the list was comprehensive. So much so that Kurr wondered how he’d transport all the gear once he bought it. There were medical supplies for infections and viruses, portable forcefields for use while camping, all-weather clothing and boots, and the usual unappealing, dried nutritional rations Kurr took on his own archeological expeditions.

  For the shoppers, spacers, merchants, and others, the time didn’t seem to matter. The many shops, restaurants, and other forms of entertainment on Plexis were busy, and the crowds bustling between them formed a steady current. Kurr followed along through the flashing lights and booming music of the entertainment hubs, the tempting aromas and noxious odors of the restaurants and cafés, and the blaring advertisements and vid displays of the merchant districts.

  About to leave a shop, Kurr spotted the same stranger he’d seen earlier. This time he wasn’t looking at Kurr. In that instant, the stranger had been distracted by an Ordnex merchant. When Kurr opened the shop door, the stranger looked up with an expression of surprise.

  Kurr reached out a tendril of thought, a polite test of power and a greeting, only to be rebuffed by a powerful slap through the M’hir and a sense of hostility. The stranger was strong, but not as strong as Kurr. There was a sense of displacement about the Power, as though . . . This was no Clansman, it was a Human face, but behind the eyes one of his own kind looked back at him. One of his kind was controlling this Human like a puppet!

  The puppet turned and ran, disappearing around a corner into a crowd. Kurr set out across the broad hall, dodging beings and using a flick of Power to push the slow ones out of his way. When he reached the other side and got out of the crowd, Kurr picked up his pace to the service corridor where he’d seen the other disappear. It appeared empty except for a few servos moving about on errands and a group of drunken spacers, weaving along. He searched nearby through the M’hir, but found nothing of the other’s presence.

  He was being followed. But why? Could it have something to do with his mission?

  It must, he decided. And to risk exposure of the Clan by controlling a vulnerable Human telepath like that disturbed him. Kurr decided he could buy the last few items he needed through the room’s assistant. Kurr focused on his room and concentrated . . .

  * * *

  • • •

  . . . as he reappeared in his room, Kurr froze. His stomach tightened. Cushions from the couches had been tossed and the plants knocked over. In his bedroom, his luggage had been opened and his clothes and belongings strewn across the floor.

  It had to have been the stranger, but what had he been looking for: Kurr, or something that belonged to Kurr? He took the lift down to the front desk.

  “Who came to see me?” he asked the clerk.

  “No one, Hom di Sarc.”

  Kurr hesitated. By Council decree, no one except a Scout could reach into a non-Clan mind. Barac wasn’t with him, but Jarad had stressed the importance of the mission.

  He probed the clerk’s mind. The clerk, a low-level Human telepath, was sensitive enough to be vulnerable, the reason Kurr and his fellow Clan used this hotel.

  The being had told the truth, but there was a blurry image of someone asking for a spare key to Kurr’s room. Kurr delved deeper into the Human’s memories, but the “someone” had interfered with them.

  “Is there a problem, Hom di Sarc?”

  “No.” Kurr turned from the desk and walked back across the lobby.

  In his room, he picked up and sorted his belongings. Nothing appeared to be missing, but a few small items were broken.

  A warm flush of blood flashed through him, along with doubt. A secret mission from the Council, and he’d treated it like a vacation. Barac would laugh. As for his superior power, so far he’d displayed only superior ignorance. Barac should be on this mission, not him, while he would have been better off doing something simple like escorting Sira to Auord. Why had he thought he could do this?

  Kurr knew he should contact Jarad, but what should he say: that he was being followed? That the mission was compromised? That he was in over his head and should come home? Kurr hesitated. What did he want?

  To go home, but more so to solve this deepening mystery. The Destarian had exploded, but there were rumors of survivors. And with someone following Kurr, it could mean that someone didn’t want him getting to Acranam. But why keep him away? What would be so important? M’hiray as prisoners, or worse? Who could hold M’hiray against their will? He didn’t know any kind other than his own that could keep M’hiray prisoners. Renegade M’hiray? The prospect sent a shock through him. His evidence was nonexistent; he had just his own theory. The only way to find out was to get to Acranam.

  He felt the pull of the mystery on Acranam, stronger now than any of the times he’d had leads on pre-Stratification artifacts. What were artifacts to the lives that could be at stake? Against that, however, was the danger to Dorsen and their unborn child should anything happen to him. Could he justify risking all their lives for this?

  What is upsetting you? Dorsen’s touch in his mind was instantly soothing, as though she were right beside him. Distance meant little to M’hiray of their strength.

  Someone’s following me. He sent the image of the Human puppet and shared his memories from his encounters and of the hotel room in its current state.

  But no one knows of your mission, she replied, shocked.

  Only us, Barac, and the Council, he responded.

  Barac—

  —Is heart-kin and would never betray me! No more than you could. I have trusted him with my life many times before. I still trust him.

  But you’re in danger. He could have been forced to give up the information. He’s only a sud.

  Kurr hated the idea, but had to admit it was a possibility. Barac might not even know if he’d been forced to tell. Kurr reached out and found Barac’s mind intact and shielded. From this distance he couldn’t detect any damage or mental traps without alerting his brother and so withdrew.

  No, he told Dorsen. It must be someone on the Council or linked to the Council. Jarad has rivals. It could be Faitlen di Parth. Barac is right, we’re just pawns in a game to them. One I refuse to play.

  He sensed disappointment along their link and asked, What’s this, my Chosen?

  I thought of my sister. I wished to know her fate. And I know you want to solve this, to have your answers.

  I do, but my thoughts are for your safety. If anything were to happen . . .

  I know, but you’re a Second Level Adept—

  Closer to a First. Kurr replied. />
  Yes.

  And I survived Joining with the formidable Dorsen di Kessa’at, didn’t I?

  You did.

  Then I will face this challenge.

  You have my faith, my Chosen. Pride radiated from Dorsen before their connection faded into the background.

  Kurr stood, surveyed the mess in his room, and decided he’d need a new room under a different name if he was to feel safe. In the lobby a short time later, he dipped into the clerk’s mind, obscuring his appearance and making him compliant, much like the Other had done earlier. He requested a room under a different name. A short time later, Kurr moved his hastily repacked luggage into his new room by himself. He locked the door and erected the forcefield projector Barac had insisted on for camping in the jungle. With that done, Kurr slept.

  * * *

  • • •

  As he approached the dockyard the next morning, Kurr felt something at the edge of his senses and stopped before realizing that would be conspicuous. He forced himself to keep walking, alert to everything around him. Ahead was the board showing arrivals and departures. Kurr walked until he was in front of it. His ship was leaving soon, but he still had to go through the tag point.

  Kurr looked around as inconspicuously as he could. He didn’t see the Human puppet anywhere. And reaching out through the M’hir, he did not feel the Other’s presence.

  Hidden still, he decided. If the Other wanted to keep him from reaching Acranam, he’d have to make a move soon.

  Kurr stepped away from the board. Beyond the tag point there was a lounge to one side and a series of multi-species’ accommodations along the other side. Above were catwalks and promenades to the docking areas of the station. Just ahead, a short line waited at each tag point. Kurr risked another look around, trying to appear casual, just a tourist taking in the sights. He saw no sign of the puppet, but he dared not risk a longer look. Taking his place in line, Kurr waited.

  Then he felt it. The presence was there, strong and steady, its malevolence focused on him. Lost in thought, Kurr felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped.