Morgan had been able to bend my brain around species’ prejudice, too. Most of the time. I could almost see the anguished thoughts tumbling through Noska’s head, but when its nostrils finally eased open, all it said was, “As crew, I should be on the bridge. Please enjoy the galley, Hom Morgan. Fem di Sarc.”
The Whirtle humped away, a mode faster than walking.
Chagrined, Morgan ran a hand through his hair. “That didn’t go well.”
“You tried,” I reassured him. “Who knows? Noska could come around. Some do. Some don’t.”
“So long as we get the trade, Witchling,” he finished automatically, the saying one we’d used, often.
The endearment one I’d never thought to hear again.
Morgan’s face lost all expression. “Your pardon, Rael. That was—inappropriate.”
I’d sounded like myself. How could he not react?
“How so?” I asked softly. “It’s what you called my sister. Never apologize for remembering her. You were partners as well as Chosen. Now, let’s find something to eat. We both need it.”
He dropped into a chair rather than sat. “I’m not sure I can. I’d—” The uncertain pause wasn’t the Morgan I knew. He turned the bracelet—a legacy of so much—on his wrist. “I’d wondered—do you—did she—” Words failed him. He stared up at me, hope burning in his eyes.
Careful, I told myself. To buy time, I went to the ever-present pot of sombay and poured two cups. “How do you take it?” I asked before turning, pleased my voice was steady.
“Straight, please.”
I brought the cups to the table, pressing his into unresisting hands, and took the seat across from him. “Jason, I won’t mislead you. I’m not here to deliver a message from Sira. There’s nothing she could say to ease your grief or hers.”
“Then—she lives.” His dear face transformed with joy, tears spilling down his cheeks. “She lives,” a whisper.
Was that what I did?
Steadying myself, I took a sip, unable to taste what I’d remembered. “Sira—” use the name, no matter that it coursed through his body like a visible shock, “—sent us back to ensure you keep living. She helps us keep our memories of here, as well as AllThereIs.” Not a lie, I thought, and covered my lapses. “She’s not the only one. Yihtor and I are supported by others of our kind.”
“Hands.” Curiosity sparked in his eyes. He didn’t bother wiping the tears. “I felt them, when I entered Yihtor’s mind.”
How had he— Morgan had the courage, I reminded myself, and perception. Not least in Power, my Human. Far from it. I had to warn him to avoid the M’hir—not to ’port—but first, “They held us while we waited Between, in the M’hir. We couldn’t enter these Vessels,” I put a hand to my chest, “until they were freed from stasis.”
“As I woke Yihtor,” my Human said with a nod. “He sent me to find you. He knew you’d need help.”
Yihtor expected me to provide it, once in the Trade Pact. “What else did he tell you?” I asked, uneasy.
“His exact words? ‘Find Rael. Find her.’ Then he passed out.” Morgan raised his cup, drank. His eyes puzzled at me over the rim.
Flustered, I rose again, setting the kitchen servo for the first thing I remembered. Some kind of bland stew, sure to disappoint Noska, but I was consumed with my own puzzle. How could the two of us be sitting to supper? It seemed more incredible than my being in my sister’s body.
“How did you find me? Find us.”
As we ate, Morgan explained. About Bowman’s hunt. The dear little Drapsk and how they’d complicated matters. The surprise of finding any Clan had survived. “Yihtor will know who they are,” he said ominously.
“Acranam’s exiles. Sira’s aware,” I replied, when he raised an eyebrow. “But we don’t know where they are.”
“Snosbor IV.” He came close to smiling at my surprise. “That’s my guess,” he qualified.
Where the Fox had been heading, on our final voyage as honest traders. I managed not to nod in agreement. “Something Yihtor can confirm. When he wakes.”
His face turned grim. “I hope so.” He eased back, deliberately lightening his expression and tone. “Till then, Rael, we get to rest.”
I didn’t want rest. I wanted to drink in the sight of him, his voice, this place. To learn everything that had happened while we were apart. To him—to others. “What of Huido?” I asked, trying not to be as anxious as I felt. “We’d left him in that terrible place. There was the explosion.”
Morgan grinned. “On his way to Plexis to reopen the Claws & Jaws.”
I stared at the stew, blinking hard.
“He was waiting for me. On Ettler’s.”
I looked up. The grin had been replaced by something tight and pained, telling me the rest. Huido had seen Morgan through other dark places. None like this. Without thinking, I reached across the table and laid my hand on his. “I’m glad he was there.”
Our eyes locked. This time I looked away first, pulling back. I put my foolish hand below the table, curling the fingers.
“I’m glad Huido’s going where he belongs,” Morgan said more briskly. “Tayno does his best, but he’ll molt on the spot when he sees what’s coming.”
He told me about the Yabok bones he’d had to buy in order to get this ship out of debt, and I laughed more than once. Despite everything being dire and fraught, in these precious, stolen moments something was healing in us both. Not enough, I thought, never enough.
But so much more than either of us could have dreamed.
When Morgan finished, I wiped my eyes. “Tell me about this ship,” I urged. “The Wayfarer.”
My Human did just that, with a very familiar enthusiasm for detail, stopping only to pour us more sombay and find something sweet to nibble.
I committed every word, every inflection, to treasure in memory.
In case this was the last time we sat like this, and talked.
Chapter 18
HOW LONG, since he’d sat like this, relaxed like this, and talked about nothing at all. Not that the Wayfarer wasn’t remarkable, Morgan thought with a twinge, but she wasn’t his ship.
Rael wasn’t Sira.
Yet—
There was a familiar grace to her, an ease within Rael’s company he hadn’t felt in too long, and if the Clanswoman was merely being kind, encouraging him to eloquence about new coils and retrofit fins, would her eyes sparkle with such interest? To his surprise, Rael had questions, ones showing she’d some knowledge of starships.
Sira’s knowledge. He’d faltered on realizing that; covered what might have been an awkward pause with a search after Noska’s promised treats. Pleased her with the result, which pleased him, too.
After that, it was easier. It helped to look at her very different face, so he did, anxious to avoid a repeat of that embarrassing “Witchling.” Her wild scruff of hair was another good distraction, except for what it implied: like Yihtor’s, Rael’s body had been used—
“What’s wrong?”
He gestured apology. “Nothing.”
Rael had a generous mouth. It rose to one side, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “You were staring at me,” she countered, “then all at once you—” Her long fingers fluttered in the air. “—weren’t here. Where did you go?”
The truth with her, he thought suddenly. As with Sira. Nothing less.
“It struck me, what had been done to you. Before. After.” His grip had left purple blotches on her slender throat, fading with treatment, but still visible. He tried to lighten the moment. “Then there’s your hair.”
“This?” Rael reached up to give the stuff a tug and grimaced. “I look like a Vyna Chooser. I’ve never heard of a Chosen being shaved. I can’t imagine our hair putting up with it.” She drew a lock down over a green eye and squinted. “Oh, dear. I think it’s growin
g.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not if it behaves.” She released the lock and batted it with a finger, going cross-eyed to watch the result. “I don’t need complications,” as if to herself.
The com panel came to life. “Hom Morgan, this is Hindmost Noska with the captain’s compliments. The Wayfarer is prepped for her journey and ready. The other passengers have been notified.”
Morgan rose to his feet. “Tell the captain I’m on my way to the engine room.”
“She thanks you. The internal alarm will sound. Noska, out.”
“We’re getting underway?” Rael had stood, too. “To Snosbor IV?”
“Plexis.”
Oh, the question in the arch of that eyebrow.
Perceptive. He had to smile. “We’ll talk about our course later. I need to get you somewhere secure.”
Her safety mattered. In that instant, Morgan realized he couldn’t think of Rael as though she’d borrowed her body as she had the coveralls from ship’s stores. Not anymore. To him, she was back, someone he cared about, a person he’d fight to keep alive at all costs.
How Human of him, he thought with some irony, well aware the feeling, instinct, whatever it was? Was going to be a problem.
Later. “This way.” With a bow, he indicated the door. “Thanks to Noska, you’ve your choice of quarters.”
Rael’s face developed an unexpectedly familiar expression: Sira’s, when she suspected him of concealing a risk to spare her worry. Sure enough: “Why do I think the Wayfarer hasn’t gone subspace in a while?”
Fairly caught, Morgan answered with the truth. “First time with this rebuild,” he said smoothly. “We’re on something of a test flight.”
Her brow furrowed, and her eyes flashed with displeasure. “And you talked her into this, didn’t you? Risking a trader’s ship and livelihood—not to mention lives.”
“It’s not as bad as that,” he replied, startled to find himself so quickly on the defensive. The sisters were more alike than he’d remembered. “The ship’s ready. Captain Erin knows I’m here if there’s any problem.”
“To repair the engines.” Rael looked relieved. “Of course.”
His turn to frown. “Well, and swap out as pilot. What else did you think—” Morgan took an involuntary step toward her, lowering his voice. “Sira told you. What I did with the Fox.” He shouldn’t feel betrayed.
How could he not? She’d left the dangerous memory intact in his mind, believing he had the will and strength to keep it secret. To never use it. “I thought she trusted me.”
Rael closed the distance between them, her eyes searching his face. “Sira does,” earnestly. “As do I, Jason.” Her hand reached for his, hesitated, curled to a light fist, and dropped to her side. “This isn’t about your will. It’s your Talent. You mustn’t use it. For the ship—for anything. Not now. It’s too dangerous.”
Explaining the powerful Clanswoman’s strange reluctance to ’port them from the Scat ship—why she hadn’t escaped on her own. His mind raced. Was this about the entities from AllThereIs? Could they detect those entering the M’hir? Was that the real reason the Acranam exiles had avoided using their Power until desperate?
The last thing they needed was a new threat, the Human thought grimly. Didn’t mean one hadn’t just landed in his lap. “Why?” he dared ask.
Her gaze was bleak.
“The M’hir is breaking.”
With impeccable timing, the strap-in alarm sounded, ending his chance to learn more. Morgan swept Rael into the first empty quarters, delaying to be sure she knew how to use the cot’s auto-safety and com link. Again, her expertise with such systems took him aback. He’d have to get used to it; Sira had prepared her sister well, even filling in history she’d missed. How else would Rael, who’d died in the Trade Pact, know of Vyna’s Choosers, with their bizarre shaved heads?
How else . . .
Morgan shook his head. For all he knew, in AllThereIs, everyone shared memories; hardly the most comfortable thought, that.
He jogged to the lift—no need to check on the enforcers or Yihtor—and hit the button for the eleventh deck. The Wayfarer’s lights had changed their warm daylight hue to the warning glare of imminent departure from normal space. In the final five seconds, they’d flash red.
If you hadn’t reached safety by then, that meant grab hold and good luck.
Once at the engine room, Morgan closed and latched the two main doors, sealing the air lock and isolating the compartment from the rest of the ship. He walked past the spacesuit hanging on the wall and took his post at the engineering console, shrugging the straps over his shoulders. “Engine room to bridge. Ready here.”
Captain Erin answered. “Don’t break my ship if you don’t have to, Morgan.”
“Understood, Captain. Morgan out.”
He keyed in the code she’d given him to open the left armrest, exposing its contents. Without hesitation, the Human wrapped his fingers around the fail-safe stick. Erin would do the same on the bridge. He hadn’t lied to Rael, simply omitted a detail. He wasn’t here, now, to make repairs.
Starships flouted the speed of light by traveling in subspace, where the laws of physics could be cooperatively bent. Ships had one chance to burst from the fabric of normal space intact: their engines must initiate a solid bubble of subspace to receive them. If that initiation failed to occur, the autos shut down the engines, saving the ship.
If the initiation was flawed so the bubble couldn’t be held, the autos ejected the engine compartment, saving the ship.
For this “test flight,” they were betting the Wayfarer could complete initiation and get them into subspace. That, inside the bubble, he and Erin could complete working on her engines before they needed to exit. That they’d all live to celebrate.
Making it necessary to disable the autos, designed to stop any such gamble.
Putting Morgan where he could watch the readouts live. Hear the engines. Smell, as it were, trouble. If he did, or if Erin saw something amiss developing on her boards, the first person to clench their hand would blow this compartment and himself into space, saving them all from a horrible death.
Not that anyone had ever reported on the process of dying in a collapsed subspace bubble, but horrible likely covered it.
He’d tumble helplessly until Auord Port Authority showed up to tow the ship and her errant parts to dock. The fines would be beyond Bowman’s Voucher. The Wayfarer would be, to all extents and purposes, scrap.
Not his ship, but definitely his problem. Sira would have—
Lights began to flash, their red in time with his heartbeat.
The engines’ hum took on a throaty roar of power.
Morgan’s every sense tuned to the ship. He was the ship, for a glorious instant, and felt her engines as the machine took hold of the fabric of space—
—and punched through.
They’d done it. The Wayfarer had done it, leaving Auord behind, sailing the stars as she’d been built to do.
“You beauty!” he praised, releasing the stick to throw up his arms.
Next stop, according to their posted course? Plexis.
Which it wouldn’t be. They’d go to the exiles’ world and remove the Clan from this universe. It would be over.
And Rael would be gone.
Morgan lowered his arms to press them over the hard knot in his stomach. “You fool,” he acknowledged, his voice less than a whisper.
Interlude
Plexis
TO MANY, Plexis security was a joke.
Mathis Dewley wasn’t laughing. Most of him. The left foot was amused, but that had more to do with the pink shoe it insisted was suitable despite the brown boot on the right. There was never accounting for taste.
If all of him could have fragmented inconspicuously to scatter in the station’s
depths, he/they would have, but Choiola had given him specific instructions.
The first being to locate Gryba, who’d traveled here in one piece, meant walking around on two legs, pretending to be a one-mind. For that, even an Assembler needed an airtag on Plexis. Hence shuffling along in this achingly slow line—he’d picked the shortest, as always, but the sensible strategy had yet to pay off—to have one of the things slapped on his cheek.
The second being to awaken the surprises waiting throughout Plexis, foremost the one in the Claws & Jaws.
To be free to follow those instructions, he mustn’t attract attention, especially any from the disturbingly large and robust clot of security guards around the exit to the station proper. Dewley tried to see what they were doing or if they’d a particular interest, but the Oduyae in front of him were a group of sorts, clinging to one another in the face of so much strangeness.
He’d show them strange.
No, he wouldn’t. Dewley bumped the annoying elbow bit against the counter.
The Oduyae grunted and wheezed their way forward, a process complicated by each of them pulling a small three-wheeled box by a string, said strings tangling around their tails as well as one another. Really, this was the joke, and he mimicked the laughter of the Humans around him when the largest Oduya tripped, falling into the rest.
Laughter quickly turned to shouts of alarm as several of the carts overturned and were crushed, releasing their buzzing contents into the air.
Fools. Even he knew Oduyae traveled with their pollinators, Dewley thought with disgust, moving around the mess. The buzzing swarm was intent on reaching Oduyae armpits, the Oduyae equally intent not to be pollinated in front of strangers, thank you, while everyone not biologically engaged exerted themselves to get out of the way.
The Assembler spotted an arm waving a tagging hammer and changed direction. An Ordnex had opened a new line. “Overherepleasegentlebeings.Hereplease!”
Security thundered past as Dewley stepped up for his turn, nets in more than a few hands or equivalents. “DoyouacceptresponsibilityfortheairyoushareonPlexis?” the noseless creature droned.
To Guard Against the Dark Page 21
