A smug—
/identity/~SIRA~/identity/
—only added to the frenzy.
“Sira. CHIT.”
Morgan’s captain voice reached me through the happy bedlam. The instant I tried to extricate myself from the mounds of squirming Drapsk, the Heerii fell over themselves to free me, each giving me a tiny pat first. I found myself standing alone, remarkably disheveled and grinning widely.
In front of the Trade Pact Board, the Consortium, and a large segment of Plexis.
I did the only thing I could do. I waved.
The Rugheran did, too.
And the Drapsk.
Suddenly, with the exception of the leadership of the Consortium, every being was waving, and laughing, and smiling—however was species-appropriate—for no reason but that friends had found one another and amid all else—from alarms to threats to bureaucracy—
That mattered, too.
“You done?”
There was a smile in my Human’s voice, if none on his face. Set to negotiate, his expression told me, assuming the Rugheran was here for anything so reasonable. The outpouring of Drapsk from the Heerala, docked to Plexis had to be a good sign. They’d been invited, after all. Timing their arrival to the Rugheran’s implied a connection.
It didn’t guarantee congruence.
Predictably, having granted me space, the dear little beings were ensconced on the Carasian females, resembling feather boas draped over grim-eyed rocks, though a few had scampered to fondle Huido.
And Tayno, who, unlike the other Carasians, seemed paralyzed by their attention. He really shouldn’t let the captain sit on his head plate, but it wasn’t my place.
The Vyna reached up and gave the Drapsk a firm push. It bounced down without complaint, leaning fondly against Tayno’s leg. Seeing all this could make you wonder why anyone took Drapsk seriously.
Unless you knew the Drapsk.
“We are the Consortium.” The Carasian lifted a claw to which three Drapsk clung, giving it a little shake as though to make the point.
“Of course,” Morgan breathed. “The Scented Way. Drapskii.”
“We will hear the message.”
/attentionurgent/~SIRA~/identity/
I felt Morgan ready himself. “You’re up, Witchling.”
“Sira.” Another claw invited me closer to the mass of “urgent” goo.
It wasn’t as though others couldn’t hear the creature.
For some reason, it had fixated on me. Time to find out why, if I could. I felt Morgan’s presence, offering confidence and belief. His strength should I need it. We weren’t Joined, I thought, looking into those remarkable blue eyes, but in what mattered, we were one still. I nodded, to say what I didn’t know, but his eyes brightened.
/identity/~help!~/urgency/
What it had said on the Wayfarer. Was it the Rugheran equivalent of a Board Member, able to speak for its kind?
Or more like me? I thought all at once. Alone, venturing where it didn’t belong, doing what it could to try and prevent disaster.
/terror/~STOPGO!~/urgency/
Knowing Morgan would hate this, knowing I already did, I squatted near the Rugheran and offered my hand.
An arm flailed high above, slamming down like Huido’s hammer—where I’d been, Morgan having pulled me aside. “Careful,” was all he said, but his jaw worked.
Care we couldn’t afford. This time, instead of offering my hand, I quickly grabbed hold of the arm.
Wet, rather than slimy. Cool. I opened my sense to the M’hir. There, the Rugheran glistened, its thought patterns like music.
Confusing music, with no rhythm I could detect. It wanted something, desperately. My understanding.
/agreement/~joy!~/urgency/
“You should talk to the Carasians.” I formed an image of the female.
/confusion/~?~/help!/
That’d be no.
I felt a strong grip on my shoulder. It needs an interpreter, Witchling.
So did I, I thought, but kept it to myself. Start simple. “Were you outside?” I sent an image of the Rugheran crawling over Plexis’ hull.
/anxiety/~BADSTOP!~/DREAD/~STOPTAKE!~/urgency/
“Jason!” My shoulder was cold where his hand had been. I heard running, urgent voices.
I stayed where I was, my senses alert to the now-roiling M’hir and this being who belonged there more than here.
“Take where? Take what?”
/Terror/~TAKEALLUS~/Terror/~TAKEALLUS~/Terror/
The arm moved, flinging me backward. The Rugheran WAILED, and I covered my head, shaking.
Silence. I looked up to find it gone.
Everyone else was motion. The tree-form Assemblers were fragmenting. The rain of vermin sent the crowd running for cover, vermin running with them. The Carasians snapped and stamped in agitation, fueling the panic.
I helped myself to my feet, rather annoyed by all the fuss.
Until I saw what was being projected from the hovering messengers.
The exterior of Plexis. There wasn’t one Rugheran crawling over her hull. There were hordes, crawling toward one another to lock arms and stretch, as though creating a net with their bodies.
They covered the surface of their planet. Why this station?
“Plexis-com. Shut that off!” I heard Bowman order, then the Eima’s sharp: “Do it now!”
The image disappeared.
The aftermath was hardly reassuring. The concourse was empty of all but overturned carts and discarded purchases. The last of the crowds who’d endured forcefields and announcements could be seen crammed on the ramps leading up and down, anywhere but here.
If ships could leave, they’d be able to charge what they wanted, but with the Rugherans out there, none would try. I looked for Morgan. Waited, like the rest, for a com broadcast or other explanation.
But no com broadcast could have the sheer heart-stopping potency of the Consortium’s “ATTEND!”
Aside: The Drapsk
WALKWAYS CURVED AROUND and up, moving steadily, each filled with long, low bowlcars, each of those filled with Drapsk. There were Heerii and Makii. Doakii, Niakii, and Pardii. Tookii and in fact, every tribe—every Drapsk—and here and there, like punctuation, the bright yellow of Skeptics.
Antennae fluttered in the breeze of their own passing, sharing what was needful. “Together.” “It is time.” “Did you leave the kettle on?”
As well as some that was not, but no one minded.
Each bowlcar paused on the vast slope of the amphitheater to allow its passengers to hop out. Once coated in Drapsk, the slope itself moved upward. A wind came down in greeting, creating billows and waves among the antennae.
A wind of warning, of determination, but also of hope.
The city fell away, mountains shrank along the horizon, and still the slope moved up. Up. Up. Until it crested the lip of the amphitheater and over, Drapsk drifting gently downward like a rain of plump white seeds, their colorful antennae slicked back.
As each landed, they sought not their assigned seats, but the floor, gathering tighter and tighter together. When the floor was covered, those next to arrive stood on shoulders, held by hands below, for this gathering required—density. More arrived, and more, until the amphitheater itself began to fill with carefully balanced Drapsk.
And once every living Drapsk on the planet was together, tribe among tribe?
They gave forth the scent of the world.
DRAPSKII
Chapter 35
IF THE CONSORTIUM’S PLAN depended on secrecy, they were, Morgan judged, as good as dead and should therefore enjoy Huido’s feast while they could.
If not—they were still in trouble. The problem being, what?
The Rugheran who’d come to warn them, for that much seemed clea
r, had terrified the station with its wail of “TAKEUS ALL.”
He’d a bad feeling where—
“Morgan!” Terk beckoned him to the console. At the Consortium’s request, they’d relocated, quickly, to the command deck of the Conciliator. “They” included Deputy Inspector Jynet, it being her station wrapped in aliens, as well as the two-plus Consortium members: a Carasian female, a Drapsk laden with com equipment, and the plus: a cluster of red-eyed vermin.
Captain Lucic and crew were too well-trained to react to a reputedly bloodthirsty and mindless Carasian female; the vermin received at least one second look.
Tarerea Vyna, accompanied by Carasian bookends—Tayno and therefore Huido not to be parted—waited in a nearby room, a medtech summoned to assess her condition.
“Dying” encompassed the options, Sira’d told him. The Vyna stayed because her people remained in the grip of the Rugherans.
And for Tayno, who’d become as quietly grim as Huido at his darkest.
Sira stood to one side, her eyes on him, quiet also, inside and out, but hers? Waited.
“Rolling external,” the comtech at the console announced. “On main.”
The Rugherans had multiplied, or more arrived. Both, maybe. Having girdled the station’s forward end, strands of them reached aft, heedless if they coated Plexis or the unfortunate starships parked against her.
The Wayfarer was one of those ships. Morgan had contacted Captain Erin and told her what he could—ending that she and Noska were safer inside. She’d responded with a quip about using her leisure to fine-tune the engines.
Then offered him the captain’s chair—if they survived the current crisis—having proven himself a capable pilot.
Another unlooked-for compliment, another friend concerned for a future he didn’t plan to have. It warmed the heart.
And changed nothing.
Bowman sat a chair beside the captain, slouched, chin in a palm. “Can Plexis get out of here?”
“No. It’s as though they knew where to start,” Jynet said grimly. She’d a live link to station-control, its distraught staff bolstered by off-shift officers. “The field generators are coated in the things.”
“Weapons.”
“Atyourcommand,” Captain Lucic replied, its voice calm. The Ordnex either had ice in its veins or something had happened recently to put swarming Rugherans well down its list of concerns.
Bowman would know, Morgan judged.
A claw snapped, gaining more than a few looks. “The Rugherans aren’t fully in this universe,” the Carasian said. “Only the station would be damaged.”
“Stand them down, Captain.” Bowman was another who might have been ordering sombay, not staring into a growing abyss. “Any idea what they’re doing out there?”
“We know their purpose. To hold us here, keeping us from our destination until they succeed. After that, it will be too late.”
For everything, Sira sent.
Not done yet, chit, he replied.
“Chief! The Heerala has launched.”
Interlude
Enforcer Battle Cruiser Conciliator
TAYNO DIDN’T LIKE THIS ROOM, with its pleasant array of chairs and tables, its dimmed lights. It made him feel meaner, which helped make him less afraid, but wasn’t in any way helpful when surrounded by friends and their expensive furniture. When he peeked at Huido, he couldn’t tell if the other struggled with instinct or not. Aspiring to such self-control was a worthy goal.
Aspiring to survive was another.
“Tayno?”
He crouched by Tarerea’s side, eyes whirling. A medtech, of some species he didn’t know by name, had given her something to drink and a shot. If a stim, it hadn’t helped. Her skin’s normal pallor had gained a yellow tinge and he worried, which didn’t help his fear at all. “Do you need a blanket?” he asked. “Are you too hot?”
“Take me to Sira,” she ordered, her voice terribly faint. “Quickly.”
No, he wasn’t to move her. Wasn’t to take her where she might— “You have to stay here. They told us—”
“Don’t argue.” Huido took one end of her cot in his handling claws. “Come along,” in a tone so unusually gentle—
It made his fear worse.
No one argued. Not the crew who moved out of their way, nor the one who opened the luckily wide doors into what looked to be the breeding ground of breakable devices and important things, a space moreover filled with beings who turned to stare at the sight of two Carasians carrying a Vyna on a cot.
Including a cluster of vermin who were now, Tayno reminded himself sharply, to be thought of as colleagues. When not in the kitchen.
Such thoughts kept him from dwelling on how Tarerea’s breaths were shallow now, and rapid, as if she exerted herself by lying still. They’d done this, Tayno decided, daring to glower at the Carasian female.
Who gave the tiniest tilt of her head in acknowledgment.
Confounded, he almost dropped the cot.
“We’ve got her.” Two Human-ish beings took over.
“I must—Sira.” The Vyna’s six-fingered hand lifted.
Between
Singers strained but didn’t let go. Wouldn’t, despite the gathering of those with teeth, those that pushed and fought one another. Sira was the Song they’d chosen; they refused to abandon it.
A Watcher did, drawn by something other. A Stolen had entered Between, not calmly, but as prey harried by these unusual hunters. Frantic, confused—powerful.
She threw herself forward—
Too late.
The Stolen was trapped. Fought to be free. Used POWER.
And more pieces of Between cracked . . .
Chapter 36
CARING FLOWED BETWEEN THEM, carried through the brush of Sira’s fingers over his wrist. The one with the bracelet. Morgan didn’t look at her as she continued to the cot. Like him, she sensed time running out. For the Vyna.
For them.
Possibly for everything and everyone, but keeping a useful focus on what was present and urgent with that thought rattling around would be impossible, so Morgan dismissed it. Instead, he watched the Heerala ease away from Plexis.
Leaving her newly minted cargo supervisor, and former captain—not to mention former Skeptic—Heevertup. The lone Heerii stood beside him, sucking a tentacle, rocking back and forth. A member of the Consortium, yes, but first and foremost, of his tribe. Drapsk didn’t leave their own behind. He hadn’t thought them physiologically capable.
Until now.
Bowman turned her head. “Anything you care to tell us, Heevertup?”
“Only that our captain seizes opportunity, Sector Chief,” the Drapsk said, another tentacle joining the first. “We must reach the gathering point. The Heerala goes to White.”
The Rugheran planet? Morgan shook his head. He should have known. The species’ physical link to this universe. The system was a subspace hop from here, making Plexis’ schedule the Consortium’s all along.
The Carasian female made a ching sound. “All must try, or all will fail.”
“Huh.” Bowman scowled. “I prefer the version where we get these things off the station.”
“As do we.”
“They’re leaving!” someone said, snapping eyes back to the screen.
Morgan looked with the rest. Rugherans were peeling themselves from the station in droves. Were they leaving, or simply hard to discern against a backdrop of stars—
Suddenly, a black web of bodies began to coat the white of the Drapsk ship. So many attached themselves at once, the Heerala appeared to drown—
Then, vanish.
“Report,” Bowman, calm and quiet.
The tech’s voice trembled. “Gone from scans. Just gone.”
“Confirmed. No response to hails.”
A ba
ll of Drapsk thudded very gently against Morgan’s leg.
The Rugherans reappeared, whirling through space like a flock of Darkness against a forever night, to resume coating Plexis and all those within.
They knew what “Takeusall” meant now, Morgan thought bitterly. How many other starships had they taken? How many so-called unexplained accidents had seen hapless crews and families swallowed whole—
Sira—
Interlude
“SIRA.”
The Vyna’s voice was barely stronger than Morgan’s sorrowful sending. Both filled me with dread I’d no time to face. If the Rugherans could drop a giant starship into the M’hir, if that’s what they’d done? They’d be able to do the same to Plexis. The Consortium’s hope to save us—if it was a hope—would be lost.
Not yet.
“Are you ready to go home, Tarerea?” I asked, kneeling beside her. Tayno rumbled a protest. I didn’t bother to look up, unable to fear him, of all things.
“You—must save them, too.” Despite the catch in her breath, there was fire in her eyes. “My heart-kin. I feel their fear. Their hopelessness. Sira, they are hunted—” Her hand, with its paired thumbs, reached for mine.
Sira. The Consortium says we must get to White.
Where the Vyna must be, because that’s where the Rugherans were strongest.
Where Between was ready to crumple, because of what they’d done. Had I—had we—started it? With our meddling in the sex life of worlds?
“White,” I said aloud, as if we were talking about menu choices.
“That’s where Tarerea needs to go.” Tayno gave himself a triumphant little shake, then continued, much too loudly, “Jason Morgan can get her to White. He knows the way.”
Chapter 37
“YOU’VE BEEN TO THIS ‘WHITE’?” Bowman looked across the command center at Tayno, then to Morgan. “Explain.”
To Guard Against the Dark Page 36
