Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (12 page)

“If it’s needed,” came a soft, equally confusing answer.

I wished I could count on a dream to show me what I needed: where Morgan was and how I could bring him back to me before it was too late.

“Let me help your memory, Ancoma.” It wasn’t difficult to lift the smaller Poculan up and fling him against the cold, rain-splattered brick. In fact, Morgan decided it was the first thing he’d done in hours that satisfied the black rage boiling inside his mind.

Maybe he should do it again.

Ancoma, a shipcity slinker better known for his ability to access locked doors than for his courage, wiped a shaking hand across his face and cringed. His yellow-brown eyes were wide and dilated. A green line of blood-tinged drool slid down his chin, adding its fresh mark to the line of such stains on his ragged jerkin. “I can’t remember what I didn’t do!”

“Odd your good friend Sleva’tha saw you plain as could be. Now, all I want is a name.” Almost idly, Morgan flexed his right hand. A tiny hilt dropped into the palm, as if by magic, its blade humming into life between his fingers. There was nothing idle in his grab to capture the Poculan’s pendulous ear, a handle he used to pull the cowering being to his knees, then up against Morgan’s own chest. “Who paid you to rent those aircars and leave them at the edge of the shipcity, Anco’?”

“Slev’s crazy! I wasn’t there, Morgan!”

The passing roar of a docking tug, a giant Drapsk freighter cradled in its immense arms, should drown out the screams quite nicely, Morgan decided. He waited serenely for the machine to come closer, staring into the terrified eyes of the Poculan, knife poised between the two orbs like a snake choosing a target.

Abruptly, sanity returned, pouring through Morgan’s mind and body like a wash of icy water, drowning out the rage. The knife dropped from his numb fingers; the Poculan, released, crumbled into a quivering heap at his feet.

What was he doing?

Morgan shuddered. He retrieved the knife, turning off its blade, then snagged Ancoma as the being tried to slip away, and pulled him, almost gently, to his feet. “Sorry about that,” he said brusquely. “Now, where were you last night? Just think about that, okay?” Morgan pressed a pair of four-sided coins into the being’s clammy hand, keeping them in place with a firm grip.

The Poculan was understandably mistrustful, but it didn’t matter. Morgan needed only a second to skim his surface thoughts. “Off you go,” he said, disgusted both by the slimy feel of the being’s mind and his own inexplicable loss of control. Ancoma didn’t need further urging to scamper away, muttering darkly about insane Humans and mindcrawlers.

But, as Morgan listened to the pulse-driving din of the tug, creeping along the shipway, he had at least part of his and Sira’s answer.

Ancoma didn’t remember renting the aircars for the raiders, because he couldn’t. Someone had erased his memory of last night.

The rage surged up again, welcome antidote to the exhaustion he kept barely at bay with drugs and determination. The only beings Morgan knew with that skill were the Clan.

And he knew where to find at least one.

Chapter 10

“MYSTIC One.”

If I’d dreamed, the visions hadn’t lingered. I squinted at the featureless face close to mine and wondered helplessly what else I’d lost in the time spent healing. Hours? Or had it been days? I sat up, too quickly, and gratefully clung to the Drapsk’s small, round arm for support while the Makmora made its mind up to stop spinning around. “How—long?”

“Five hours, Mystic One. Please don’t try to speak yet,” a note of concern. “Drink this, please.” A cup pressed into my hand brought up a memory, more dreamlike than any from my sleep, of another cup and another cocoon. I’d helped Morgan once, like this, as he recovered on the Fox.

Morgan!

I closed my eyes and sought that golden place, hunting frantically through the M’hir for the other half of myself, realizing two things at once: I’d only regained a limited portion of my strength, but even that was enough to tell me my search was futile.

There was no sign of him, no glow, no warmth. Morgan was gone.

He was properly cautious, I reassured myself. Of course, he would be. It was the Clan Council Morgan knew as the enemy. He’d camouflage his power as I’d taught him, avoid any exposure.

Even to me.

I sat, lost myself, too weak to chance travel through the M’hir, wondering where and how to start looking.

I couldn’t believe what I’d done, what I’d ordered Morgan to do. I was supposed to protect him. By what leap of logic had I turned that protection into a thrust right into the hands of his and my deadliest enemies?

It had to be done, argued thoughts that were pure Sira di Sarc, pure Clan. Morgan might succeed. At the least, the Human could distract the thieves until I recovered enough to take the trail myself.

If I could have bitten open my wrists at that moment and let my lifeblood pour out, I would have, if only I had a guarantee that part of me would die first.

The warmth against my fingers and a commonplace aroma roused me from my dark thoughts after a moment. I moved my tongue experimentally within my mouth, feeling as though I’d been chewing dust. I took a cautious sip from the cup in my hand, then a deeper swallow, glancing up in surprise. It was warm sombay, spiced exactly as I liked it. “Thank you,” I began, then let my voice trail away. The med wasn’t listening.

The Drapsk no longer hovered by my side, eager to help. Instead, when I wasn’t paying attention, the small being had somehow curled itself into a compact white ball, almost round enough to roll along the floor if I were to nudge him with my closer foot. The gaudy antennae were tucked somewhere completely out of sight, or perhaps retracted.

I drained the cup, considering my companion. Morgan was the expert on other species, especially nonhumanoid ones. I hadn’t seen this posture in his records for the Drapsk. Was it polite to disturb the being? Or was he in some distress?

I slid my feet over the side as I assessed my own condition. Still a bit dizzy, but that was fading with each breath. Sore, but compared to what I’d been through, I felt improved enough to assert some sort of control of events which, to all extents and purposes had, until now, been controlling me.

Speculatively, I gazed down at the ball of Drapsk. Perhaps I could start here, I decided, extending a very cautious tendril of power toward the seemingly unconscious being.

Nothing. I might have been alone.

There were species whose thoughts the Clan couldn’t touch at all. Not that many, I recalled uneasily. It was simplicity itself for an Adept of reasonable ability to read the unshielded minds of other telepathic beings, although none but the Clan had thoughts able to mingle within the energy-laced blackness of the M’hir. I thought of Morgan’s presence there wistfully. Only he, of his kind, made his own light within the M’hir.

It took more power and some practice to make sense of the thoughts and emotions within the minds of receptive nontelepaths. Morgan’s Talent differed from Clan in that physical contact enhanced his ability. I’d learned his technique, and had begun to teach him mine—using the M’hir to convey his questing thoughts into other minds—but we’d had no time to finish his training before the attack had struck and changed everything.

No, I whispered soundlessly to myself, insisting on honesty. I’d been intent on turning Morgan’s mind into a fortress, deliberately ignoring consequences as I honed his natural Talent into a defense, blending it at every level with the power I’d given him in the M’hir. I’d known, but conveniently ignored, that everything within the M’hir was two-edged. What worked to protect one mind could readily twist to destroy another. I’d convinced myself I was keeping Morgan safe from the kind of attack I expected, the revenge of the Clan Council for my refusal to risk Morgan to help them solve their problems. If—when—they came after me, I’d known he would need everything I could give him in order to survive.

In so doing, I’d forged him into a weapon against the Clan.

It hadn’t only been the Council I wanted to save Morgan from—I wanted him safe from me. And look how well I’d accomplished that.

I had done one thing right. I had refused to Join with Morgan, no matter how strong the urgings of my heart. The Power-of-Choice, that M’hir-bound energy females of our kind used to test, and then Choose their life-partners, hadn’t destroyed Morgan’s mind as some of my kind had hoped. Instead, somehow, Morgan and I had controlled its dark force, tamed it. There had been no permanent link driven through the M’hir between us; my Power-of-Choice had flowed to him as a gift, enhancing his Talent a hundredfold. It didn’t matter that it left behind an aching emptiness, a need deep in my mind that I controlled as tightly as I’d ever fought the demands of Choice.

Because if I died—something I had enemies willing to almost guarantee in the near future—and we were truly Joined, I would not die alone. Morgan’s consciousness would be dragged into the M’hir, and he, too, would be lost. It was not a price I was prepared to pay for completion. He must survive, even if I did not.

The Sira di Sarc part of me, all cold practicality, had long ago lost that argument. Making it even harder to believe what I’d done to Morgan on Pocular, and more urgent I do something about it.

The Drapsk didn’t stir when I rested my hand on the warm, curiously firm curve that might have been his back. I opened my perception as Morgan had taught me. Again, nothing.

There was one last test. I straightened, closed my eyes, and extended my awareness into the M’hir, reaching outward until I was quite sure. There were no minds I could read within my currently limited range, a range I was confident encompassed most of the ship. It made an unsettling contradiction between what I knew to be reality and what my inner sense told me.

The Drapsk were here. They were also invisible.

I stepped carefully around the curled-up Drapsk. “I’m going to talk to the Captain,” I whispered. The ball of Drapsk didn’t move. “I’ll tell someone about your—state—as soon as I can. And,” this fervently, “thank you.”

To the Captain, I told myself, choosing a direction at random in the corridor. The Drapsk appeared to be practical beings, despite this newly revealed tendency to remove themselves from action. I expected no problems in convincing the oh-so-helpful Captain Maka to provide me with transportation to the Silver Fox, docked, if my memory served me, a mere five rows east of the Makmora’s position within Pocular’s shipcity. Morgan’s search for the source of the attack surely hadn’t taken him off-planet so soon.

I decided to hurry.

You lost her.

Rael thought this judgment rather harsh, considering the circumstances and Sira’s relative power, but kept the opinion to herself. The result, as her grandmother rightly noted, was what mattered. At least she survives, Rael replied instead, straining slightly to keep the mindsend focused. There were few pathways etched in the M’hir between their physical locations, fewer still safe for their thoughts to slide along, an absence requiring a greater expenditure of power as they essentially built their own path with each thrust of communication. When I find Morgan, I’ll find Sira—

Larimar will deal with the Human, Ica di Teerac responded, with no trace of effort Rael could detect. He has some experience with them.

I suggest, Grandmother, that Larimar wait until we know more of what Sira intends Morgan to do. Barac and I—

Ica’s sending overrode Rael’s, an interruption the Clanswoman experienced as an instant’s pain and disorientation. Do not confide in Barac sud Sarc under any circumstances. He is
unChosen and now exile. The Council will be watching his every
move through the M’hir.

Barac is also no fool, Grandmother, Rael said, refusing to back down. It was somewhat easier to do given she was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Sira’s hut in the village of the Fak ad-sa’it, and the formidable First Chosen of the House of di Teerac was safely distant on the wealthy inner system planet Tinex 14. I didn’t confide in him—but we would be wise to consider adding him and his knowledge of events here to our group.

Wise? Only if he gets a mind-shielding implant from the Trade Pact Enforcers. He’s sud, Rael. Or have you forgotten how weak his power truly is? He would be only a liability to our cause.

I thought the unChosen were our cause, Grandmother.

The M’hir subsided from Rael’s consciousness as the link was severed from the other end. She stretched the stiffness from her back and shoulders. The conversation hadn’t gone well, but she hadn’t expected it to, having no good news to report. It looked as though the Clan Council had indeed anticipated their moves thus far, striking against the daughter of di Sarc and stealing what they valued. Rael swallowed bile. If only she’d been able to keep Sira with her and take her back to Deneb.

Rael shivered, remembering the deadly cold of Morgan’s eyes when he’d defied her on Pocular, the unmistakable and unexpected strength of his power. She’d never imagined a Human could be a threat; now, she would never dismiss the species as readily again. It gave a regrettable sense of vulnerability to her life as the only Clan on the Human world of Deneb.

Her thoughts of Morgan were also laced with an odd sense of envy, as if the raw passion she’d unwittingly seen explode in him, echoing like thunder through the M’hir, was something her kind lacked, and had never, until now, known to miss.

Larimar “deal with” Morgan? She’d take a bet on the probable course of that encounter.

Not that they could afford to gamble. Despite Morgan’s abilities, their need was too great to allow him to resist them any longer.

It was the survival of their species, the M’hiray itself, on the line.

Chapter 11

WHILE my sense of urgency pricked at me like the needles of the med unit, the interior of the Makmora proved more challenging to navigate than I’d expected. I walked her maze of corridors, taking lifts here and there. In some sections, the pale pink ceiling dropped down as if supporting something too heavy for the floor above. I didn’t have to duck to pass these areas, but found it impossible not to, my imagination quite willing to distrust unfamiliar technology.