Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (51 page)

Released from Huido’s grip, and quite likely sore about the ribs, Barac came to look over Morgan’s shoulder. “I know him,” he proclaimed in surprise. “What’s he doing here?”

Morgan studied the wiry and very wet Human propped in the galley seat. He’d searched him already, the result being a nasty trio of force blades now safely sealed in a cupboard. The eyes remained closed, the head with its thinning gray hair lolling back. It wasn’t his sparse grizzled beard or unwashed state so much as the deep lines etched by suffering around the mouth and eyes that gave Morgan pause. Despite the good quality clothing, somewhat torn by Huido’s quaint method of encouraging the Human to accompany him, this was not a person who’d had an easy life. “Who is he?”

Barac came closer, staring as though to make absolutely sure of his identification. “Well, it’s hard to believe, but this is one of the Humans who tried to kidnap me on Plexis. A telepath.” He turned his head to Morgan. “I can show you,” he offered.

Morgan jerked a thumb back at Huido, the Carasian now more peacefully occupied tampering with the galley’s servo-kitchen. “Let’s not leave him out of any revelations, Barac. He’s not in the best mood to deal with the, shall we say, less tangible aspects?”

Barac nodded a heartfelt agreement. Meanwhile, Morgan watched Huido. He wanted to be sure he could reset whatever the master chef was altering on the Fox’s perfectly functioning servo. More than that, despite what he’d said to Barac, Morgan worried why the Carasian hadn’t spoken yet. A satisfied slurping as Huido sampled the beer he’d requested reassured Morgan that his friend’s vocal apparatus was working. A slurp and a sly roll of a dozen eyes at their guest.

Of course. The telepath. An eavesdropper in their midst. “Barac, watch him, will you?” Morgan said, grabbing a willing Huido by an upper claw and tugging the giant to the wide galley door. “We’ll be right back.”

“My pleasure,” Barac said grimly, taking up a perch on the table. Morgan raised one eyebrow. This story about the telepaths and the Clan promised to be interesting.

He just hoped Huido’s secrecy meant the Carasian knew something about Sira.

Chapter 50

IF there was one thing I knew about myself by now, it was that anger gave me strength. It was an unreliable ally, with a tendency to disappear suddenly and leave me worse than before. But for now, I nursed the small flame inside me as all I had.

I’d found a closet of the white coatlike garments I’d seen the Retians use when they worked in their laboratories, helping myself to the smallest. It fit, after a fashion. They had no perceptible breadth of shoulder, their bodies starting where humanoids bore their ears. There were stacks of protective headgear, such as one might need to work in areas of potential infection. One of those disguised my definitely non-Retian neck, if it limited my range of vision. Fortunately, the species as a whole were shorter than most Humans, so my coat draped over my feet.

My smooth, slender hands were a different story. I spent precious minutes hunting for any type of glove, finally locating a pair near a sink. The extra fingers would just have to hang empty. Despite the difficulty of any added burden, I arranged some sharp-looking implements on a plas tray. It made sense to me that a busy worker wouldn’t be accosted for another task.

I couldn’t straighten without pain, and walked with a shuffle at my most energetic, a posture and pace which should pass a casual inspection. Of course, I sighed to myself as I made my slow way up the ramp, there was no telling if the Retians relied on signals I couldn’t duplicate, like my dear and clever Drapsk. The Makii, I knew, would not accept the treatment given one of their Tribe. It was another thought keeping me in motion.

My imposture passed muster as three separate groups of Retians hurried by me on errands of their own, none of whom gave me so much as a glance. I shuffled slowly up the ramp to the next level, pausing to collect my breath and remember who was responsible for my condition before shuffling up the next. I thought wistfully of finding a lift and being whisked up the remaining floors to ground level, knowing perfectly well any such convenience would be a primary focus of their search for me.

At some point, having turned myself into an automaton as numb to my surroundings as the dormant juniors, I noticed there wasn’t another ramp across the hall from the top of the one where I paused. Instead, there was—from what I could see past all of the Retians, Humans, and others gathered here—a set of doors through which passage was firmly linked to physical searches and the close inspection of Captain Rek.

I leaned forward so my feet had to move in order to save me from falling on my face. No time to hesitate and no point in retracing my steps. It was out this door or not at all.

I wasn’t the only Retian in laboratory garb and there were others carrying trays and various packages. I was, of course, the only one on this level wearing a head covering. So I shuffled out as boldly as I could manage, mimicking the posture and demeanor of most Retians, aiming my steps directly at the Scat.

As I expected, that heavy snout swung until her predator’s gaze fixed on me, slit-pupiled eyes blinking with menacing interest. I gave her a slow nod, using my tray to gesture toward a nearby door, ajar so that I could see it opened into some sort of maintenance room and was empty.

Rek stalked in behind me, the clicking of her claws louder than my soft steps. “What do you want, Toad?” she hissed. “Or—is-ss it?” The hood lifted abruptly from my head, pinching my ears as it went.

I turned to face her with what I hoped was an air of complete confidence, forcing my unhappy body to stand as tall as possible. “We meet again, Captain Rek,” I said. “To our mutual profit.”

The frills behind each eye pulsed with color, reds and purples supplanting the quieter yellow and blue. The tip of the long black tongue collected a stray bit of froth from between her teeth. She tossed the hood to one side, but made no other movement.

I had her interest; now to use it.

As an ally, the pirate had a great deal to offer—starting with a refreshingly no-nonsense approach to leaving the Retians’ building.

She took me by one arm and hauled me through the crowd of those guarding the door and those wishing to pass the guards, snapping her jaws in threat when one of the guards looked about to speak.

It wasn’t a plan that would have occurred to me, but I enjoyed it in spite of the agony it caused my abused middle.

Outside, the sky was bright by Ret 7’s standards, with the clouds thinned to a pale, sun-edged gray. The temperature was soaring, sucking up moisture until the air was as thick as the drying mud underfoot. Rek’s frills expanded, and her long jaw hung slightly open. I wasn’t sure if this was to relish the heat or cope with it.

Her momentum carried us all the way to the side of a parked aircar on the other side of the street, three Humans who must have been Nokraud crew snapping to alertness as we arrived. “Get in,” she ordered me. “With has-sste.”

I did my best, helped by a strong shove from behind as I tried to ease myself into the farthest seat.

“Stop!” The word, and an upwelling of power against my shielding came simultaneously. I peered out of the aircar, just able to see past the pirates to where Faitlen had appeared from thin air. The Retians with him looked quite unhappy to have been transported, but after a moment’s paralysis, began to rush at us.

From behind, I could see Rek’s scaled sides heave and expand before she gave a strange cough, spraying a dark, smoking spittle over the nearest Retians. They screamed, wiping frantically at their faces. One fell writhing on the ground near enough for me to see the flesh dissolving.

I backed farther into the aircar.

A tingle warned me. Faitlen, standing out of range of the Scat’s personal artillery, was trying to port me away. I relocated frantically, feeling the effort arousing the M’hir life as it drained my meager strength.

Fortunately, the Scat was not finished yet. A wave of a clawed hand and weapons’ fire broke out as her crew took up positions to the front and back of the aircar. Faitlen vanished, leaving his horrified companions to run for cover.

As I slumped back, released from the strain of fighting Faitlen for the moment, Rek dove into the driver’s seat of the aircar, sending it aloft with a terrifying rush that clipped the roof rail of a neighboring building and, incidentally, I was sure, left her crew behind.

Yes, Scats made interesting allies, I decided, daring to close my eyes and start to relax.

Morgan’s experience of the M’hir was limited, granted only recently by use of the power Sira had given him, but even he recognized the burning pathways of power around this world. The Clan, he thought grimly, had been busy.

So, it seemed, had an entirely different group. Morgan steepled his fingers, gazing past their tips at the Human named Lacknee Sorl, burying—again—his image of Sira under that so easily summoned and useful rage. “Did you come to Ret 7 looking for him?” he asked, indicating Barac with a nod to where the Clansman sat at ease on the other side of the galley’s long table. Morgan could barely detect the restraint the Clansman maintained around their guest’s ability, preventing any of this conversation leaving the Fox. An interesting and useful technique. “I’d have thought the one attempt would have provided sufficient excitement.”

Sorl looked confused, not the confusion of misunderstanding but as if he’d misplaced his sense of the world around him. “Find him, I did,” he said in a rapid, muttering voice. “Showed them. Find him. Did right, I did.”

Morgan looked over at Huido, raising one eyebrow. “I didn’t do anything to him,” the Carasian grumbled. “This is how he sounds. Started babbling at me the moment I caught him sneaking around the Fox. The only reason I brought him was because he’d say your name once in a while.”

“Morgan, Morgan, Morgan,” the wiry Human said agreeably.

Barac leaned forward, his dark eyes intent. “Back on Plexis. What were you and the others planning to do with me?”

The sunken, watery eyes became crafty. “Suck you dry, Man of the Clan. Take your power. Power. Power.” Then he pointed a gnarled finger at Morgan so suddenly Huido rattled to alertness. “Like he did. Morgan the Great. Morgan the Powerful.”

Barac looked shocked and wanted to say more, but Morgan stopped him with a look. “Lacknee Sorl,” he said softly, willing the other Human to meet his eyes. “What makes you think I’m so powerful and that the Clan has anything to do with it?”

A sequence of blinks, then a protest, almost childlike in tone: “You can. You can. He told us all. He promised us. Keep away the bad place. Keep out the bad thoughts. Morgan has the power now. We want it. We can have it.” Another stab of his finger, this at Barac. “They have it. They can give it. Like she did to you. Or we can take it. Take it. Take it.”

Morgan realized he was holding the palms of his hands down on the tabletop with force enough to make his arms shudder. The accompanying image, of Sorl’s head beneath those hands, sifted through his shields, making the smaller Human cry out in panic, only staying in his seat because Huido was providing a counterpressure on his shoulders.

There wasn’t time for this—in their hurried conference moments before, Huido had told him where he’d been separated from Sira and Rael, driven apart by scores of Retians in their midsummer spawn. The Carasian had managed to carve a path to the address where they’d been told the Baltir was housed, only to find an empty house and no sign of either Clanswoman. He’d decided the wisest course was to check the Fox once again on his way back to the Drapsk. Where he’d found someone else already snooping around her fins. Lacknee Sorl.

Morgan made himself relax, drawing on every scrap of disciplined patience he owned. Huido’s catch might prove more worthwhile than anything they could achieve running blindly out into the rain. There was definitely something new going on. The Human telepaths had never had organization or leadership before. They’d never, that he knew, worked in groups even when they knew one another. If the Clan was behind the kidnap-pings Barac described, then they’d managed to achieve a unanimity of purpose among Human telepaths never seen before. A rather pleasing irony.

Morgan was not, however, pleased by what he was hearing right now. How did this scruffy, half-sane Human from the subbasements of Plexis know anything about him or Sira?

One thing was certain: the knowledge hadn’t come from the Clan.

“Who is this ‘he’ you speak of?” he asked. Huido stirred at the question, making a sandpaper hiss as he drew one claw edge past another. A simple fidget that startled Sorl, not surprising given that the Carasian loomed over his back. Morgan studied his friend, seeing nothing unusual in the whirling of his expressive eyes; Huido hadn’t perceptibly relaxed since he arrived. “Who is he, Sorl?” Morgan repeated, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “Who told you I had this new power?”