Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (41 page)

I reached instead for the plas when ’Whix proffered it, glancing at what was a simple list of names.

After I read the first few, my hand tightened involuntarily, crumpling the strip into a ball.

“You do know these individuals.” It wasn’t a question and Bowman’s voice was no longer friendly.

I looked up at her, seeing not the Retian restaurant and a justifiably suspicious pair of officers, but a table with a comp interface and a steady stream of data passing under my fingers. “Yes. I should,” I told her. “I wrote this list.”

 

It had been two years ago, I explained. Bowman knew the outcome—she’d witnessed it—so I saw no harm sharing its past with her.

A past before Morgan, when I’d been solely Sira di Sarc. I’d lived in voluntary isolation on Camos, chasing numbers and ideas as I sought any means to satisfy the cravings of my Power-of-Choice, to solve the crisis my being the most powerful Chooser alive had caused. One of my efforts had involved searching for some solution outside my kind. I’d looked at the other humanoid species boasting some hint of the Talent, and decided on Human. Simply because, I remembered too clearly, they were so common.

“I made a request to a few of my kin, those I knew could be relied on to actually complete a task—not all are reliable,” I admitted to Bowman, knowing the irony. After all, hadn’t I proved the most unreliable in the end? “Whenever they encountered a Human telepath, a specific type of telepath—”

“Male and adult,” ’Whix interjected in his cool, precise, and artificial voice, iridescent throat feathers lifting ever-so-slightly over his implanted com.

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling cold inside. “Male and adult. The age of our unChosen males, no younger, no older. They were to test them for strength as well, cautiously, not to create alarm or notice. I didn’t tell them why I wanted the names and locations. Because I was Sira di Sarc, they did not question me.” I straightened out the strip. “This is the list, but there was more. Rankings by strength. Personalities. Preferences—” My voice thickened suddenly, and I paused for another sip of wine. “You have to understand. We’d never paid attention to Human telepaths before. Not like this, systematically, in detail. Only the odd chance encounter or conflict, perhaps a business arrangement. Here, for the first time, I could hold up proof you were stronger than we’d hoped, that there were more telepaths among you than we’d imagined in our nightmares. It wasn’t a happy discovery.”

“Why not?” Bowman asked. “I thought the Clan preferred using mental abilities. Surely dealing with Human telepaths would be easier for you.” Her eyes were fixed on me, her hands restless on the tabletop. “Why would you care if all of us were telepaths? We’ve never matched your capabilities. I’m sure we don’t even know them all.”

“It’s not what is here,” I said, raising a finger to the side of my head. “Or what we can or cannot do. We are not many and we are becoming less, while you Humans are filling up world after world.” Bowman and I both ignored ’Whix’s sudden fit of choking. “And you have another strength we lack. Your kind work together,” I said grimly. “The Clan can readily picture a future in which bands of Human telepaths hunt us down, one by one, no matter where we try to hide.”

“But that’s not why you collected these particular names.”

“No. These were—” I took another hasty sip. “These were the possible Human candidates for my Choice.”

“Including Jason Morgan.”

I nodded, mute, not needing to read it all to find his name. That Morgan had become my Chosen, through his own wish as well as mine, didn’t absolve me from the crime of having plotted to force him or any of those others into attempting that Choice without knowing if a Human could even survive it.

My past wasn’t important at the moment, so I shook it away impatiently. “Where did you get it?” I demanded. “Who gave it to you?”

Bowman’s smile was as hungry as any Scat’s. She took the list from me and smoothed it on the table, before plunging down one blunt finger to hold it in place. “What’s really interesting about all this, Fem Morgan, is that I made this one up myself.”

“W-what?” I couldn’t control the stammer in my voice. “That’s my list—I know those names—”

’Whix replied for his Chief. “This set of names is based on an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of several Trade Pact citizens, all Human, all male, and all telepaths. These disappearances have occurred in this sector of space, within the last three standard months.”

“Jason?” I asked, lips gone numb. “Why did you say his name, then? He hasn’t disappeared—the Fox is docked, cargo requests posted.”

That finger moved down the strip, stopping as if at a name. “Morgan? You’re right. He hasn’t vanished like the rest. Not yet, anyway. In fact, your Morgan has left a trail a Skenkran could follow in the dark.” The hand raised, the pointed finger making a dagger’s thrust in my direction. “And why might that be, Sira Morgan? Is he leaving this trail for you? Or to keep someone from you?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“No matter,” Bowman continued. “He’s gone to ground—or rather to mud—but hiding a Human on Ret 7 is almost impossible, even for him. And when I find your Morgan, I’ll have sufficient questions to keep him out of circulation for some time.”

“Has he communicated with you, Fem Morgan?” this from ’Whix. “We know he wasn’t on Drapskii with you.”

“How?” I asked, dazed as much by their questioning as by the implications of the list. “How did you know about Drapskii?” Then I shook my head. “The Enforcer sitting in the dock. It had surveillance on the Nokraud. I should have known. You saw me there.”

’Whix held up the vistape. “It was my ship,” he explained matter-of-factly. “We did record your entry into the Nokraud, to what purpose we do not know—”

“I was,” I said unsteadily, “trying to find a way back to Morgan. The Drapsk wanted me to stay for their Festival. I was desperate enough to try almost anything.”

“You could have come to us,” Bowman said. I glanced up at her and shook my head.

“Perhaps. I won’t say I was thinking clearly. Anyway, the Drapsk would have been prepared to counter anything I tried. You can’t imagine how important their Festival was to them.” I raised a hand to forestall her questions. “Ask the Drapsk to explain it, Chief.

“Were you following the Nokraud?” I continued warily, looking at ’Whix, my fingers smoothing the fabric of clothing that was definitely no bargain if it came from a pirate raid these two were investigating.

“Not this trip, Fem Morgan,” he answered dolefully, as though the high-risk pursuit of pirates would be a vast improvement over any time spent on Ret 7. I could agree.

“We aren’t after them,” Bowman confirmed, then surprised me by adding: “I’m here looking into some Pact business—and tracking down Morgan. ’Whix has been following you since Pocular.”

“With the exception of your stop at Plexis,” ’Whix corrected carefully. “I was ordered to change course to Ret 7 instead.”

“Pocular?” I said. “Why? And how?”

Bowman didn’t misunderstand me. For the first time since I’d known her, she looked uncomfortable, delaying her answer to wave over a waiter and ask for sombay.

I drew my own conclusions, and didn’t like any of them. “You’ve been watching us, haven’t you?” I accused her once privacy was reestablished. “All the time, since Camos. Morgan and I thought we were being left alone and in peace. But that was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“You believed you’d be left alone. Morgan—” she sipped her sombay, “—Morgan knew better. He was worried about you, about the Clan Council and how it might retaliate against you for standing up to them. So he—called in a debt, you might say. At the time, I told him no. But in reality, we shared an interest in your safety, Fem Morgan.” A sober look. “I’ve been keeping an eye bent your way. We’ve been watching.”

My world narrowed to a focus consisting of the Human across from me and no more. If I’d been able to use any power against her besides simply pushing her into the M’hir, I would not have been able to restrain myself. As it was, I felt a thrill of pain as my unresolvable fury tore at my inner controls. My hair squirmed on my shoulders as if it could reach out and wrap around her throat. With a prudent movement, ’Whix shifted as far from me as his chair permitted.

“So you were watching when they attacked us and killed the villagers,” I snarled in a low voice, careful of listeners even now. “You were watching when I was ripped apart. You were watching when Morgan almost killed himself trying to find me. And you were sitting, just sitting and watching when I sent him into hell alone.” I gripped the table edge until my fingers went white. “How dare you admit it!”

The Chief Enforcer for this tumultuous sector of space was as calm and collected as I was inflamed. I might have imagined her discomfort of a moment ago. She added spice to her mug before saying evenly: “You overestimate the closeness of our scrutiny and dismiss its good intentions, Fem Morgan.”

“Good intentions,” I growled.

“We did not wish to bring attention to your presence on Pocular, Fem Morgan,” ’Whix said, panting oddly as though he at least felt stressed by the hostile turn of the conversation. Good, I thought, still glaring at the imperturbable Bowman. “Our surveillance consisted of adding an extra pass through the system by certain ships, such as mine. Our contacts planetside were to keep their eyes and ears open, but there was no use of vid equipment or remotes.”

“One of our contacts is fond of gambling,” Bowman clarified. “So we did know when Barac sud Sarc, your cousin, arrived. We also,” she paused to consume a sweet, “we also heard reports about the Drapsk ship, the Makmora, and how her crew were routinely making fools of themselves in attempts to have you with them.” Then her voice deepened, and I saw what might have been outrage in her eyes. “We found out about the village and the attack after you’d left. Sent in some meds and equipment to help the village. Tried to turn up some information on the attackers. But our main witnesses? You and Morgan? Nowhere to be found. Even Barac was gone.”

And so you never saw Rael, I added, but just to myself. Where did you go, Sister, after I’d left? What did you do?

’Whix’s panting had improved, but still affected his voice. “Several of our ships became involved at that point,” he said, “mine being first. I’d been stationed in orbit, under the guise of conducting standard contraband checks on outgoing ships—” Bowman’s impatient wave sent him past this digression. “I was ordered to follow the Makmora. It was reasonable to conclude that if you had voluntarily left in any way other than through the use of your—abilities—it would have been with the Drapsk. An hypothesis I was able to verify.”

“What matters is the present,” Bowman said accurately. “I didn’t know you’d been injured. What happened? Are you all right now?”

I blinked at Bowman, startled by what might have been honest concern in her voice. I wasn’t about to jump to that conclusion. She had more than my health to worry about, starting with that list lying between us and ending with an entire sector of beings who would not be pleased by the latest Clan activities in their space. “I’ve healed enough to get around, thanks to the Drapsk.” I considered, then added: “Someone performed surgery on me. Whether there’s permanent damage—I don’t know. Once all this is resolved, once Morgan is safe again, then I’ll find out.”

“Surgery? What type of surgery?” Bowman’s voice had the snap of an order.

“If I knew—”

Bowman reached up to her face, tapping her left eyebrow sharply with two fingers. It appeared an absent gesture, but I knew by the sudden concentration in her eyes it meant something more. “What is it?” I asked.

“You haven’t been examined by a humanoid med—or even gone into a Human-based med unit, have you?”

“No. I told you, there’s been no time. But I’m all right. The Drapsk took good care of me.” I leaned forward in emphasis. “We were talking about finding Morgan. I hardly think this is the time—”

She looked at ’Whix, who swiveled both his eyes to meet hers, then returned his left eye to its stare at me. “Fem Morgan,” Bowman began, and there was no mistaking the note of concern, “I want you to come back to my cruiser where you can be examined by my med staff. Please—”

Her voice and my alarm over what they intended faded from my immediate concern. Just behind Bowman was a half-wall, meant to provide privacy without blocking the movement of air through the restaurant. It was topped by a metal latticework, encrusted with the lichens and mosses Retians considered houseplants.

In each of the bottommost triangular openings in the lattice, a bright, black, and glistening eye looked back at me, making a row of about ten. Once I’d spotted them, they disappeared below the solid part of the wall.

I wasn’t going to have to keep my Drapsk hunting for Huido, I realized with a relief so deep I was almost shaking with it.

He’d found me.

A guarded flash of light let Morgan check his bearings on his homemade map. The next right-hand corridor should lead to the ramp down. He closed his hand back over the lens, dousing all but the minimum glow he needed to see the floor in front.

It wasn’t the Retians’ fault the emergency lighting hadn’t kicked in the moment the building’s illumination went dark, necessitating the evacuation of the few beings still at work inside. Morgan checked his wrist chrono. It should take a while to find any repair specialist at this hour of the night, let alone one capable of deciphering the reprogramming he’d done to the environmental controls, assuming they were able to spot his tampering in the first place. And he’d timed his intrusion to take full advantage of a night when all he knew of Retians suggested most would be—fully occupied.

In the interval, he had the building to himself, dark and vid free. There were some skills too useful to leave behind in one’s past.

Down the ramp, this one set with regular steplike treads, as if designed for use by non-Retian feet. Morgan slipped down them, moving noiselessly but rapidly to his target. There. The door was just where he’d marked it on the map.