Rosietown was separated from the shipcity by the usual All Sapient’s District of spacers’ bars, hostels, and trading markets. An eroded mountain leaned along the far edge of the town, presumably sheltering it from some of the worst winds. The streets boasted actual greenery, albeit protected from the elements by force fields, and various substantial buildings Barac decided wouldn’t look out of place on an Inner System world. It took wealth, agreeably permanent wealth, to produce structures that were also art forms. The Clan might want to investigate the possibilities of the place after all.
Perhaps being without the Drapsk was just as well, Barac concluded, feeling his training as a Clan Scout renewed as he chose a path that wove between Rosietown and the All Sapient’s District, heading toward Embassy Row. The town and its less-planned neighbor blurred into an upscale market area that produced such unintentional quaintness as a Whirtle-run Human used-clothing outlet beside a Human restaurant claiming to serve authentic Whirtle haute cuisine. Advertising ‘bots hovered in wait above their respective businesses, ready to bob helpfully in front of any passersby who looked their way, displaying the day’s specials and other enticements.
This early, nothing appeared to be looking except himself and a host of servos, sweeping dull yellow sand and streaks of glittering salt from the pavement. The wind was no more than a gentle stirring now, but Barac had no doubt it was the reason the local architecture featured attractive curves and an abundant use of stone.
Barac kept his senses, all of them, alert as he walked. He didn’t expect trouble, but he’d prefer a bit of healthy paranoia to an unpleasant surprise. Huido had given him an address, along with the cryptic information that he’d either be met or there would be a message telling Barac where to go next. That was all, nothing about why he wanted Barac, in person, as quickly as possible, out in the Fringe. Not that it mattered. Any reason to leave Drapskii, the Clansman shuddered, was a good one. He did his best not to remember the feel of it in his mind.
Besides, if there had been anything seriously wrong, Huido would have contacted Morgan. No, Barac decided, more than likely the Carasian had come up with another scheme to corner the market in whatever unique consumable this place might produce, a scheme needing someone with more charm than crust to make the deal. Barac had done the same for Huido twice before: once negotiating over translight com, the second time hosting a meeting on Drapskii. The old shellfish paid well and, Barac shrugged as he walked, there were worse ways to make a living. He’d known there wouldn’t be much of a long-term future on Drapskii even then.
At least with Huido, there should be breakfast. The Makii had hurried him out on an empty stomach, probably, he estimated, a good two standard hours before anything resembling a restaurant would open. Aliens. He spent more time with them than his own kind. Sira’s fault, Barac thought, but fondly. After this business was over, he really should make the effort to get in touch with his illustrious cousin and her Chosen. Sira, he knew, would be far more sympathetic to what he’d been enduring than her sister Rael.
Ruti woke from a nightmare and instinctively reached for her mother. There were no words in return, just that comforting sense of presence. Reassured, she ordered on the port light.
Nothing happened. Ruti shook her head with disgust and fumbled at the side of the cot for the portable lantern Huido had given her. No outside power supply, he’d explained. As if that was a surprise in this hovel.
She didn’t know why she’d stayed with the Carasian during their flight from Plexis to this place—wherever it was. Habit, probably. Obey those older and supposedly wiser. She shook her head. Not that there’d been much opportunity. The Turrneds had kept staring at her every minute on Plexis. And she must have dozed through most of the trip by starship—so much for the so-called restorative tea Huido had insisted she drink.
Ruti yawned, stretching until her sholders creaked. Breakfast and then she’d insist on some answers—including where they were and what was going to happen next.
Huido had brought them to the All Sapient’s District of whatever town this was. Ruti hadn’t seen much of it yet. Their lumbering, smelly escort had effectively blocked any view of her first shipcity and, within town, a chill, sand-laden wind kept her head inside the huge, shapeless robe Huido had insisted she wear. She’d been warm enough, at least. The Carasian might have gone to great lengths to keep them inconspicuous, but Ruti doubted it had worked. Each time sand had slithered over his tent-sized robe, Huido had expressed his misery with such loud mutters and clanks, it was hard to imagine any being capable of hearing sleeping through the din.
He’d known where to go, at least. The right doorway had been at the end of a blind alley, inhabited by scaled vermin that hissed alarmingly before scurrying up walls, hopefully to avoid them and not launch an attack. Huido had opened the door with an antique key before hustling Ruti inside. He’d almost run her down in his hurry to get out of the wind and shed his sandy robe with disgust.
The place had no power, but was clean enough, with furniture that suited both Clan and Carasian anatomy. There was a tiny kitchen Ruti had inspected with a tired eye before Huido showed her to this cupboard of a room where she would sleep.
Tiny or not, the kitchen had looked functional and this morning she was starving. Ruti padded on bare feet down the short hall, only to stop in her tracks. Voices.
A stranger’s—male, possibly humanoid, deep—answered by Huido’s; the Carasian’s tone matter-of-fact enough to ease her mind, if not make Ruti any more inclined to announce herself. She tightened her shields, crept as close as she dared, and listened.
The stranger: “—glad to find you, safe and sound.”
A proud claw snap. “Why would I not be? Did you think that minuscule nephew of mine would prove a challenge?”
“Never, my giant friend. The virtue of your wives remains quite intact.” The voice sobered. “Huido. This young Clanswoman you’ve brought with you—Ruti. What’s her connection to Ren Symon?”
“Symon?” a slithering sound, as though Huido had come to attention. “Where did that—? You don’t mean that scrap of molted shell was behind all this? Why—?” Then, the Carasian answered his own question, his voice a dangerously low growl. “To bring you to Plexis. Much becomes clear. But how do you know about Ruti? And how would she know Symon?”
“Ansel—” the name bitten off, as though the speaker almost said more but changed his mind. He continued: “Ansel told me your Ruti claimed Symon was her friend. And warned me Symon was after her—would follow her here. You’ve seen no sign of him?”
Ruti leaned closer, eyes wide with astonishment. Symon? Ansel knew her friend’s name was Jake Caruthers.
“If I’d seen anything of Ren Symon—or smelled the stench of his grist,” Huido replied with complete conviction, “he’d have been on the menu. But what aren’t you telling me, my friend? Your grist isn’t right—”
A grim laugh. “I’m not surprised. But bear with me—I need to know more before I tell you my—news. This Ruti—who is she? I can feel her. Clan. Young. Why did you bring her here?”
“Who is Ruti? From Acranam, arrogant, makes an acceptable omelette. Ansel found her on my doorstep—he’s forever complicating my life with his strays. I let her stay because her grist was like yours had been: full of rage and betrayal. I don’t know any more than that about her. But why did I bring her here?” A pause during which Ruti barely breathed. “She maneuvered her way into being my chef with Clan tricks. You know I’d never leave a potential enemy near my pool.” Ruti’s shocked dismay vanished as Huido went on: “But at the risk of having you and Ansel believe I’ve gone soft before my next molt, I don’t believe there’s any harm in the little one. She’s done what she had to, to survive a hard situation. I brought her with me for her own safety. We can’t have Plexis security finding her—you know Wallace has ties to those who’d pay well for a vulnerable being of Ruti’s potential.”
“Including Symon,” the voice said thoughtfu
lly. “Who wanted her enough to be seen on Plexis—where Bowman has a reward for his head.”
“So we hunt?” a satisfied clattering, as though Huido rummaged through the weapons hanging from his chest to select a favorite.
“I do. There’s no easy way to tell you this, Huido.” The voice lowered, slowed, as if the speaker hated what he had to say next, but pushed on regardless. “Ansel’s dead. Murdered. Symon ripped apart his mind after you left. I tried to repair what I could, but it wasn’t enough.” A pause. All Ruti heard was her heart pounding. Then, “Symon did it to find Ruti. Ansel died trying to protect you both, my brother. Grieve and know I will honor the debt between us.” It was said as if a vow.
Ruti covered her mouth with both hands and reeled back against the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for her mother. Nothing! She reached again and again. Nothing! Desperately, she poured her Power into their link. Finally, a whisper of recognition and warmth.
It didn’t help. Ruti ran back to her room and threw herself on the cot.
Jake—no, this Symon—had killed fussy, harmless Ansel? To find her? She couldn’t doubt the voice; there had been too much pain in it. Ruti sobbed into the dusty robe that had been her blanket last night, her hand gripping tiny Lara until the precious doll bent in half. Poor, poor Huido. There wasn’t a sound from the kitchen: no roar of anger, no ringing snap of a claw that could cut through a Clansman’s waist. The silence was infinitely more sorrowful.
“You must be Ruti,” said a quiet voice. “I’m sorry you had to find out about Ansel that way.”
She turned her face to stare up at the silhouette of a Human in the doorway, shorter and less broad than Symon. Seeing her look, he took a step so his face caught some of the poor light thrown by the lantern. She stared into impossibly blue eyes, eyes that seemed to contain all the sadness and kindness in the universe at once. “You’re Morgan,” Ruti said with wonder, her voice breaking in a hiccup. She remembered this face —who of the Clan could forget what Sira had shared about Her Chosen?
Without thinking, she did as she would when meeting any Clan and opened herself to the M’hir, testing his Power with hers.
So much the same, yet so different. Morgan shone in the M’hir, the link to his Chosen burning to infinity through that other space, like a beacon in the night. But—Her eyes widened, and the sob trying to climb her throat stopped in amazement. Where a Clan would hide behind shields, using those to proclaim his or her Power, where Symon had done the same, claiming the need to protect her, this Human left his thoughts and emotions exposed—an offering, she realized.
Go ahead, child, he sent, his mind voice inexpressibly gentle. I know you’re one of Acranam’s fosterlings and belong in a Clan House with your kind, not hiding here with Huido. I swear we’ll keep you safe and get you home. Ren Symon betrayed you, and I understand how that feels, better than you can know. But I need your trust in order to help you, Ruti. You don’t know if I deserve it. So scan me and make your own decision. Please.
Ruti hesitated. Offers of such intimacy were rare among Clan; the only other mind she’d explored had been her mother’s. Morgan waited, unmoving, his face tired and grave. His shoulders seemed bowed under the weight of his coat, or his grief. At last, Ruti swallowed her fear and let her awareness move into his mind, at first tentatively, then more confidently.
Clear thoughts, like crystals she could pick up and examine one at a time, the emotions coloring each dimmed for her protection. Ruti followed the trail they led through Morgan’s mind, seeing his starship; his learning about the ships launched from Acranam; talking to bizarre aliens; his trip to Plexis; the terrible discovery—
Ruti flung herself away from his memory of Ansel’s crumpled form and found herself led to Morgan’s concern for her, for Huido, a place where she rested a moment, safe and protected. Reassured, she reached deeper, to find herself confronting a barrier. Was this where he hid thoughts of his Chosen? It wasn’t completely solid. Curious, she tried to slip through, only to be struck by wave after wave of incredible desperation, a sense of loss and dread to intense she couldn’t believe she hadn’t detected it before. She tried to flee but found herself caught instead by rage, black and deadly, a rage focused on a face she’d thought she’d known, changing it into something horrific. It was too much. Ruti began to gasp for breath.
Morgan blocked her from his mind, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry,” he said so calmly Ruti might have imagined the storm inside him. “I didn’t mean you to feel that.”
Ruti sat up and rubbed one sleeve over her face, then gestured appeasement. “I intruded,” she confessed. “But I don’t understand, Hom Morgan. Any of this. Oh, I believe you—” when he began to look worried. “How could I not? But Jake—Symon—said he was my friend. He treated me as if I was important to him. Why would he do that? Why would he—harm Ansel? What does he want from me?”
Morgan knelt by the side of her cot, a spare, graceful movement that reminded Ruti of the professional fighters she’d seen on Plexis, demonstrating their art. “Nothing good, Ruti, for you or any of us,” he said, the hint of emotion underlying the words dark and utterly convincing. “I know Ren Symon better than anyone should. He thirsts for Power,” he paused to study her face before adding, “and he enjoys causing pain. Ansel isn’t the only one he’s killed.”
“Who else?” she asked reluctantly.
“A Human telepath named Naes Fodera, on Plexis. The one who ended up in Huido’s kitchen. Symon put him there and tipped Plexis security, knowing I’d come.”
Ruti put out her hand and traced the air in front of his face. One of her Talents was the assessment of strength and she frowned at what she felt. “Yours is by far the greater Power, Hom Morgan,” she assured him. “Why would Symon risk angering you?”
His lips twisted. “Because he knew I wouldn’t come alone. He’s after Sira. He tried before and failed.”
Ruti shook her head in disbelief. “No Human would dare—” Then she froze, staring at Morgan, a terrible surmise filling her thoughts. She raised her hand again, this time pressing two fingers to Morgan’s forehead. Without hesitation, she lowered her own shields and found a memory, sending it into his mind: that face, stunningly beautiful . . . red-gold hair hanging in great, heavy waves . . . huge, unfocused gray eyes . . . that body, cradled in Symon’s arms . . .
Sira! The impact of Morgan’s recognition and horror threw Ruti from his mind, a reaction he dampened immediately, sending a flicker of power to soothe away the sting.
“I didn’t know,” Ruti breathed, trembling. “When the Watchers summoned me to Camos, I was too small, too far back in the crowd to see her—I didn’t know it was her—”
Morgan was already on his feet, standing in the doorway with his back to her and one hand on the frame as though needing the support—or something to hold him in place, Ruti decided, seeing how the knuckles of that hand whitened as he gripped the edge, the only part of Morgan within reach of her pitiful light.
“I’m so sorry,” Ruti whispered.
With dreadful compassion. It’s not your fault, child. None of it.
Somehow, through her own anguish, Ruti understood what trapped Morgan in her doorway, when the M’hir wailed with his urgency to leave, to hunt for Sira. It was his concern for Huido—and for her. She’d never met anyone who could do this, who was capable of restraining his most primal instincts to think of others first. She couldn’t imagine the willpower it took him to stay.
No wonder Sira had Chosen as she had.
Ruti stood, her hands shaking until she clenched them together. She’d watched Symon mistreat the most powerful Clan of them all, and thought only of her jealousy. He’d killed Huido’s friend. Her friend. She felt sick and worthless, but there was one thing she could still do. “Go. Find her,” she ordered Morgan. His head moved from side to side. No. “I’ll look after Huido,” Ruti persisted. “We’ll head for your place in the dunes, as he planned, and wait for you there. We’ll be safe. Fin
d her, please.” Ruti couldn’t help adding: “And kill Symon.”
Morgan’s head tilted as if he listened to more than her words. Then, like some force unleashed, he was gone, his footsteps thudding down the hall. She waited, but heard nothing from the kitchen. An instant later, the exterior door opened and closed.
Ruti took a deep breath. Easy words: look after Huido. Resolutely, she grabbed her lantern and walked down the hallway.
The Carasian had never looked so inorganic. A discarded servo might have crumbled in a heap like this, its power source removed, parts scavenged over the years. The various armaments festooning his shoulder and chest plates increased the illusion that this was a pile of leftover, unwanted machinery—not a living being. Ruti hadn’t known a Carasian could close the two halves of its head carapace, but now, not one eyestalk showed.
There was a Clan-sized—Human-sized, Ruti corrected—chair by the table. Morgan must have sat there, to tell Huido about their friend’s fate. Still hungry, no matter the situation, she grabbed the riperlooking of two nicnics from a bowl on the tiny counter, then sat in the chair to contemplate the immense mass of misery filling the rest of the room.
Her mother always seemed to know what to say when there was loss or sorrow, but Ruti suspected even Quel would be at a loss facing a grief-stricken Carasian. She sighed and peeled the fruit, deciding on the truth. “Ansel asked a favor of me, before we left,” Ruti began, keeping her eyes on her hands. “I didn’t understand then—but I do now. He told me that he always looked after . . .” Her voice threatened to crack, and she paused to swallow, ”.. looked after you. He wanted me to do that, while we were away from Plexis. I couldn’t imagine anyone as big and smart as you could need looking after, but Ansel insisted. He told me he kept watch, all the time, so no one would take advantage of you. That’s how he found out—found out I’d been seeing someone secretly. I’d been seeing a Human named Jake Caruthers—but that wasn’t his real name. I saw his face through Morgan’s memory. It was Ren Symon.”
To Trade the Stars Page 22
