The creature couldn’t have spoken. “They aren’t sentient.”
He hadn’t realized he’d said that aloud until Ruti chuckled. “Of course they are.” She smiled at the giant, now-silent creature. “They’re the smartest of all.”
“YES!” A different one spoke, crashing back into the water to submerge save for her row of eyes. Waves slapped the rock.
The first again. “STAYHERE!” She slipped underwater more tidily.
Ruti nodded and went to sit on the driest rock, patting a spot beside her for Quessa. “Hom Huido will handle those Assembler things,” she said with touching and likely not-misplaced confidence. “Besides, Port Authority will be here soon. If we leave,” this with familiar determination, “we won’t know what all this was about. And,” her final, telling point, “Huido will need help straightening the kitchen. I’m sure everything’s a mess.”
“You’re very brave.” Quessa managed a smile. “Such excitement!”
“It’s not always like this,” Barac started to protest, then shrugged. “Lately, maybe.”
THWUMP . . . BANG! Like impossible thunder.
We’re safe here. Despite the brave words, Ruti snuggled close when he put his arm around her, her hair sliding warm against his cheek.
Their Birth Watcher smiled gently at them both.
A smile that froze, then faltered.
With no other warning, Quessa di Teerac collapsed at their feet.
Barac went to his knees beside her, Ruti with him. He reached, only to recoil from emptiness. “She’s—gone.”
A soft breath passed Quessa’s lips and it was over. Her white hair lay scattered like so much froth. Ruti touched it, picked up a limp strand. Her eyes met Barac’s, tears overflowing to splash on stone.
Echoed by another splash. Another. They looked up.
The wives looked back.
Somehow, Barac didn’t flinch, though he’d seen nothing so terrifying in his entire life as this uncountable mass of shell, claw, and eyes, and if any part had moved, he’d have ’ported with Ruti.
She trembled, but it wasn’t in fear. “Don’t eat her. Please.”
A claw snapped dismissively. “We have no interest in the dead.”
Not a bellow, which was a relief, but he couldn’t tell which had spoken, couldn’t tell one from the rest. Couldn’t think, not clearly.
Except to remember how good their fortune had seemed, so short a time ago—
GRIEF surged through his link with Ruti, even as she gasped, even as her eyes rolled back in her head. NO!
To his horror, she collapsed in his arms. “Ruti?” Ruti?
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Barac’s eyes shot to the wall of aliens. “This isn’t about you.” His Chosen was too brave for that—braver than he was—
“You aren’t like us.” Harsh, almost accusing.
“Of course we aren’t.” Save him from alien minds, especially ones as scrambled to his inner sense as these. He held his Chosen, desperately trying to grasp what more could be wrong. “We’re Clan,” he told the wives wearily. “Friends.”
The word seemed to fill an eerie, lingering silence.
Eyes stared.
All at once, claws snapped, shells crashed together, and incoherent bellows echoed from ceiling and wall.
Ruti stirred, her face anguished. Wincing in pain of his own, Barac covered her ears with his hands, unable to concentrate through the deafening cacophony of sound. What were they doing?
Silence. Ears ringing, he raised his head.
Three wives remained above water. The first made a bell-like sound, then spoke quietly. “We concur. This was inevitable. The Clan shouldn’t be here.”
The second made the same sound. “The Clan don’t belong.”
The third heaved suddenly closer, menacing in its dripping black, and bellowed, “CLANMUSTGO!”
Barac swept Ruti up in his arms and pushed . . .
. . . walls formed around them.
They weren’t nice walls, being streaked with grime and who knew what fluid. The floor was dry only because dust and grit soaked up the worst of what fell through the grates above. Barac sat gingerly, cradling his Chosen and the life she carried; afraid of her stillness, afraid to disturb it.
He’d tracked a Human down here, long ago: a telepath who’d caught Clan attention. She shouldn’t have been where she was. What she was. Yet she’d begged him to understand.
Now, at last?
He did.
Chapter 11
JARAD MET ME at the nearest unmoving form; our eyes locked in an instant of terrible certainty. Nonetheless, I put my hand on Crisac di Friesnen’s leg and reached.
Finding nothing. His body was an empty husk. “Gone.”
Jarad checked Inva di Lorimar then Kyr di Mendolar, shaking his head. I went to Cela di Teerac and Prega di Su’dlaat with the same awful result.
Their minds had been pulled into the M’hir. Which meant for the five bodies at our feet, there were five more we couldn’t see: those who’d died first, taking their mates with them. The link between Joined pairs was permanent and a sentence of death. “Their Chosen died,” I said.
Or did I whisper?
“Their—you mean my grandmother?” Jacqui asked, then went terribly still.
Tle di Parth covered her mouth with her hands. They weren’t together. Each had stayed home. How could they die all at once?
Jarad’s face matched the stone around us. “It was planned. They were killed. Murdered!”
Degal di Sawnda’at stared at me, his eyes round. “Signy’s at a play. She’s asking what’s wrong. What’s happened. What do I tell her? Speaker, what do we do?”
Signy hadn’t been home. “Go to her,” I told him as realization struck, part of me startled by the flat calm of my voice.
Degal hadn’t died because his Chosen hadn’t been home.
Jarad’d brought us here believing this room safe. It wouldn’t be enough against Assemblers.
Because they knew where to find us. We’d been—
I refused to think it, refused to think Bowman might have done this, might have taken credits in return for lives. I refused to think of anything or anyone, even Morgan, but my next breath and now.
“Jarad.” I gestured to the bodies. It was our way, to send the remnants into the M’hir.
And I needed my Power.
Our homes are traps! My warning coursed outward, fueled by desperation, welling into a shout no Clan would miss. The Watchers joined me with their own. FLEE!
Even as I feared I was too late.
Interlude
HEART-KIN.
The greeting came with connection through the M’hir, deep and immediate. The waves of worry, fear, despair that had burst into Rael’s mind with the horrific warning to FLEE! faded.
They weren’t gone.
We’re all right. Rael rested her hand on Janac’s chest, as much for her own support as his. “It’s Sira,” she told him aloud, blinking away tears of relief.
She’d healed the most grievous cuts and slashes, carefully ’porting away each piece of glass violating his flesh as she’d done so. That he’d had the strength to come to her through the M’hir—
His hand covered hers, the pale pink line of new skin crossing red ragged cuts like some mad tattoo. “Ask her if others live,” he said quietly.
Rael started, then nodded. Are we all that’s left?
No.
The quick denial should have been reassuring, but the link between them thinned; her sister, keeping back the worst of her grief and pain.
She did the same.
Are you somewhere safe? Now with a tinge of distraction. The Speaker of the Clan, already thinking of who else needed her.
Rael’s pride was mixed with sympathy. Y
es. Go. And Sira? She lowered her shields, sending all her love and belief.
But their connection was gone.
“Rael. We can’t stay here.”
“And you can’t move until I’m finished,” she countered, trying not to shudder. Her Chosen appearing by her bed, covered in blood, falling into her arms . . . she would never forget it, nor the force of Sira’s warning. She’d wrapped her arms around Janac, poured strength into his failing heart, and brought them . . .
. . . here. The tiny building was closed, shutters covering the gorgeous view of lake and mountain its windows offered in summer; the roof, which could open to the stars, sealed beneath plas. The bed had been stripped of its sheets and plump cushions, and snow had swept in beneath the door.
They’d discovered one another for the first time here, in this special place.
Now Janac sprawled on the bare, blood-soaked mattress, his eyes full of pain, and the only thing special about the building was its isolation. Gently, Rael reclaimed her hand. “This won’t take long,” she murmured, slipping back into the semi-trance of deep healing.
She worked urgently, disregarding lesser wounds. Janac was right to fear staying here. His clothing was in shreds, save for his boots; hers were on the other side of the planet. Already their breath fogged in the icy air and, though her hair did its best to cloak what it could of her upper body, Rael couldn’t stop shivering.
Enough, beloved. He sat up with little more than a wince, then smiled up at her. Nice orchids.
She choked back a laugh and helped him stand. “Later. We need clothing. Credits.” A safe place to hide until Sira righted the universe.
Janac’s face tended to serious lines. They grew harsher, his eyes shadowed. “Other Clan will be targets. My servants—” he went to shrug and thought better of it, his back still raw. “The Omacron avoid unpleasantness at any cost. They’ll have abandoned their homes, at least until things settle down.”
His orchids. His home. Hers. Gone. Rael trembled from more than the cold and Janac pulled her close.
Here, she suggested, offering a locate.
Janac’s unease fed her own, but he tightened his arms around her, equally aware they were out of better options. “Be ready to ’port away again and quickly.”
And go where?
A question Rael didn’t bother to ask.
Chapter 12
SIRA.
More than my name. What Morgan sent throbbed with love and compassion, feelings I could hardly imagine as I contemplated what had happened.
Come home. We can do this together.
He meant what should come next, an accounting of who hadn’t died in the last horrific hour. Assurance of safe havens, however temporary.
Finding who’d betrayed us, so it wouldn’t happen again and again.
Finding a future, when the present lay shattered.
Soon, I promised.
As if I knew how to do any of those things.
I tightened my shields and opened my eyes. Tears spilled; I no longer cared. Perhaps I’d cry for the rest of my life. It seemed fitting.
Staying here a while longer seemed fitting, too, though I couldn’t explain why to myself, let alone to my Chosen. Tle simply fled. I’d ordered Jarad to go to Mirim sud Teerac, my mother, despite knowing how little she’d appreciate his arrival. There was no question of his Power. He’d protect her, if only to save himself.
Cenebar di Teerac, who’d saved countless Clan with his Talent, had doomed his Chosen. I’d almost broken, hearing the Watcher’s howl his name and Quessa’s. Would have, if I’d heard Barac’s and Ruti’s.
By so selfish, so fine a thread, I hung on.
“Speaker?”
I’d forgotten poor Jacqui. Wiping my face—I cared after all—I turned to find her waiting by my side. “You should go.”
“Where, Speaker?”
I didn’t know what to say.
She tilted her head, regarding me cautiously from the corners of her eyes. “I wouldn’t go home, even if I could. My family doesn’t approve of this.” She gestured to the pedestals. “They wanted me to be their next Birth Watcher.” Her face changed and she looked as though she might be sick.
Because a Birth Watcher stood between the unborn and the fate of the mother, should her Chosen die.
I echoed her gesture and asked evenly, “Did you abandon a mother for this?”
“No!” Her eyes flashed, denial in every line of her small body, then she subsided. “I would not.” Beneath, with even greater passion, I WILL NOT.
I excused the sending, though it stung. “Then I shouldn’t worry.” I stepped to the next level of the floor, granting her space to calm herself.
The step brought me to the focal point of the Hall, its great treasure. I rested my fingertips on the cool wood of the pedestal, staring down at the torn bit of fabric in its crystal, reputed to come from Naryn di Su’dlaat, my great-grandmother, who’d led the M’hiray to their new home. “What of the old one?” I asked, as if she would answer me. “How is this better?” Standing there, all I could feel was grief.
And foreboding. Assembler minds were hive-like and untouchable, putting them among the many species the Clan avoided. Why would they attack us? I knew what Morgan would say, as clearly as if he shared my thoughts. They wouldn’t, perhaps couldn’t, have acted alone. Who was behind this?
Worse, other species would take notice. Some might join the Assemblers, while others could fear themselves the next likely target and strike. The Trade Pact would come undone.
Worlds could burn.
“Speaker. Sira?”
The softly anxious—innocent—voice roused me from that terrible vision. “I’m sorry.” For still standing here. For so much. “It’s time to go.” I reached for the crystal.
“Please! You mustn’t!” Jacqui started toward me, hands outstretched, then stopped as I picked it up.
Lighter than it looked. Hollow? Finding no seam or fastening, I tossed the smooth oval in the air and caught it again. The scrap within didn’t move. I looked at Jacqui. “Did you think we were coming back?” I asked. “That anything could be as it was?”
Her mouth worked, then firmed. She gestured apology. “With your permission, Speaker, I’d like to bring what I can.”
I wanted to refuse her outright; remembering a similar passion for the past, I relented. “Be quick. And, Jacqui?”
Already two steps down, she turned and looked around at me. “Yes, Speaker?”
“What might help us survive, young di Mendolar. Nothing else matters now.”
She nodded, once.
My robe, however ornate and ridiculous, had discreet but sensible pockets. On impulse, I put the crystal in one.
And went to help the assistant curator of the Clan’s Hall of Ancestors rob her own collection.
Interlude
THE TRADE PACT had grown too large, with species’ interests too wildly diverse for any one bit of news to catch fire and sweep through; not so the Inner Systems. Morgan listened to the incredulous chatter of his own kind, sought what confirmation he could from any Human traders downworld, and tried to sift facts from speculation.
Incident reports. Assemblers destroying private property here. There. Assemblers causing disturbances in theaters and meeting halls. Assemblers rioting or going rabid or whatever their species did. Port Authorities on hundreds of worlds issuing travel bans.
As well ban rats.
No mention of the Clan, not by name, but he’d Sira for that sure and terrible truth. His heart ached for her, for all of them. He wanted her here, with him.
As if he could make this better.
A patiently blinking light caught his eye. Morgan pushed the button to open the link. “I wondered when you’d call.”
“What’s going on, Morgan?” For once, Constable Russell Terk
didn’t sound gruff or bothered.
“How secure’s the line?”
A pause. Terk’s voice filled the control room again, regaining some of its customary edge. “Should be tight. No promises.”
Like that was it? Morgan tapped a finger on the panel, half inclined to end the call. No. He had to risk it. “The Assemblers targeted the Clan. The attacks were planned. They’d idents, locations, whatever they’d need.”
Something short and profane answered, then the quiet question, “How bad?”
Morgan leaned back his head and closed his eyes, feeling along his link to Sira. Preoccupation. The layer of unshaken calm didn’t fool him; it was a façade, maintained by dreadful will. “Some survive. That’s all we know so far.” He opened his eyes. “What’s the official line?”
“What you’d expect. ‘Classic Species Incompatibility.’ Next they’ll call in a bunch of fancy muck-muck experts to explain how these Assemblers were stressed out of their collective minds and had to kill people to feel better.” A spitting sound. “All while our people are being grilled about the chief or out chasing her tail.” A note of pride crept in. “Wish’m luck with that.” Somber again. “So what can I do?”
Not what could “we” do. Catching that, Morgan pursed his lips, then nodded to himself. “Someone started this. There aren’t many who could . . .” he let the rest trail away.
“Understood. My advice? Stay offworld, Morgan. They’ll have your—wait.” Terk didn’t bother to mute his com; Morgan heard the rapid staccato of a coded report.
Terk came back on. “Bold little monsters. They went after your friend’s restaurant on Plexis. Word is—are you sure?” to someone else. “Knew I liked the big guy,” back to Morgan with dark good cheer. “There weren’t enough bits left to question.”
Why Huido? Morgan thought furiously, unless—“Was anyone hurt?” He refused to count the Assemblers.
“None reported, but it’s Plexis. Most customers prefer not to talk to us.” A considering pause. “I can get there. Check on Ruti and Barac.”
This Gulf of Time and Stars Page 11
