Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (57 page)

Chapter 56

“TRY another. Deeper this time.”

I regarded Med Ginazhi with some doubt, but obediently drew even more air into my lungs, cautiously at first and then with growing confidence when there was no answering lance of pain. “That’s much better,” I told her.

She grimaced as she refastened the front of my coveralls. I’d graduated from flat on my back to carefully mobile since the Conciliator left Ret 7, an improvement which included proper clothing. “Don’t thank me. I hate to be the one to say this, Sira, but that scum of a Toad is the finest surgeon I’ve ever seen. I wonder if we could run a selective brainwipe—no, wouldn’t be worth it.”

“I will thank you, Med,” I replied perhaps too forcefully. I made the gesture of appeasement. “Pardon me. It’s a bit too soon for me to appreciate Baltir’s skill for what it is.”

Fortunately for my peace of mind, and Morgan’s, Bowman had left Baltir in the hands of Retian Port Authority. There shouldn’t be any question of his remaining where he was sent. Not only had Bowman left a small garrison of her troops to continue the investigation, but my dear Drapsk had let it be known there was a healthy price for the Retian’s hide, preferably tanned. Not legal or civilized behavior, but even Bowman had twitched her lips upon hearing that bit of gossip.

The raid on the Baltir itself had been both more and less satisfying. They’d arrived in time to stop the wholesale destruction of records and evidence already underway, finding so much that the Trade Pact had ordered the building sealed and a special team to go though every item. It was plain within moments that an appalling number of experiments had been conducted, all banned by the Trade Pact of which Ret 7 was a full signatory, and many involving subjects who had been coerced or outright kidnapped from their homeworlds.

The Nokraud had also been a target of Bowman’s ire, since the Retians freely admitted to using the pirates as a ready source of “new material.” But the Nokraud had bribed her way to a docking tug and lift offworld within hours of Rek’s leaving me to challenge her sister. I believed, if Morgan didn’t, that Rek would have returned for me if she’d won. I found I was actually sorry.

Unfortunately, as Barac later told me, they’d missed the key to it all. Faitlen di Parth, whether warned by his own foreboding or simply cutting his losses, had disappeared. The boxes where Morgan and I had found the sleeping Clanswomen were empty. There was no evidence of the existence of the Choosers who had drawn Barac into their Testing. The Clan, I reminded him, weren’t so many that we couldn’t find out who they had been.

The Clan. That was the next target.

After saying my farewells to Med Ginazhi, I walked from the med area, using my link to Morgan as a guide through the maze of corridors cutting through the core of Bowman’s immense cruiser. The Conciliator had been ready to lift in very short order after Bowman’s return. In part this was due to Bowman waiving the use of a docking tug—the cruiser was fully equipped for independent liftoff from any port—but even more so because Sector Chief Bowman had also had enough of the Clan.

Especially—I thought to myself as I walked into the gathering already in progress and met Morgan’s blue eyes with a sense of safety and homecoming—when Barac had told her the Council had ignored its promise to leave the rich Human world of Camos.

They should never have underestimated this particular Human. As the med cheerfully informed me, we were now within a day, translight, of the Camos system.

The occupants of the room, an antechamber through which Bowman could reach either the ship’s bridge, her private galley, or quarters, fell silent as I arrived. I thought I’d startled them by walking so confidently after doing such a good impression of death a day and a half ago, and I started to smile. Then a trickle of emotion—Morgan’s—shivered through the M’hir between us. It was fury.

Rael and Barac were there, too, as were Copelup and ’Whix, flanking Bowman’s seat at the head of the rectangular table. Morgan had told me Huido and Terk were bringing the Silver Fox—he hadn’t bothered to explain why he’d elected to stay on the Conciliator for this journey, as if I needed to be told.

“What was the verdict, Fem Morgan?” Bowman asked, breaking the ominous quiet I’d caused. “Fit for duty?”

“Systems norm, Chief, if a trifle slow,” I answered in kind, making the gesture of respect and gratitude for my kins’ benefit. “My thanks to you and your staff.” I took the seat next to Morgan, brushing the back of his hand with my fingers in greeting. “Now, what’s wrong?”

“Not so slow,” Bowman said, her look sharpening in appraisal. “Very well. We’re hearing something very disturbing from your sister. You were about to continue, Fem Sarc?”

Rael looked like someone who had struggled with a difficult choice and realized there were no easy ones. I’d faced such moments myself lately and recognized the symptoms. She glanced over at me, her eyes wide in distress. “Wait,” I heard myself say with a ring of authority. “Do you know who I am, Rael?”

A slight frown. I sent a throb of my power through the M’hir between us all, testing their shields in reacquaintance. Neither Barac nor Rael had felt my full strength since the Joining. Now they should know.

“First Chosen,” Rael acknowledged, starting to smile. She made the gesture of respect, echoed by Barac. Morgan’s fury had vanished, replaced by a ridiculous amount of pride in me. I glanced his way to show I’d noticed, then turned my attention to a curious, if less than patient, Bowman.

“As First Chosen, Chief,” I explained, “I am granted the respect due the head of the di Sarc House. There are certain responsibilities as well. For one,” I nodded at Rael, “I choose to intercede in your questioning of this member of my House. Ask me your questions please.”

“But—” Bowman closed her mouth over what she was going to say as Rael shut her eyes and sent me everything left for me to learn of the plans of our grandmother, the situation on Camos, and the probable fate of the Human telepaths. It took an instant, yet tears poured down her cheeks before she was done.

Then, I pushed . . .

Feeling a surge of pure joy—not only had my strength returned, but the M’hir was once more what it should be, its residents properly disinterested and out of sight, I hoped for good.

. . . Air sighed into the space where Rael had been.

I sighed as well, working my mind around this new burden but satisfied to free Rael of this part of her discomfort: the sharing with those who couldn’t touch mind-to-mind. She’d never been good at that, not to mention this was hardly a safe place or topic for practice. As First Chosen, it was my duty to protect her.

So hers was now my story to tell; moreover, it was now my problem to deal with, if Bowman reacted as I expected.

Seeing Bowman’s not-so-pleased look, I didn’t waste any more time. “Chief Bowman,” I began. “Rael belonged to a group of the Clan who sought another solution to our crisis than those proposed—or tried—by the Council. She believed they were planning to contact me, to ask for my help in finding a way to protect our unChosen.” I turned to look directly at Morgan. “While that may have been true, they were also responsible for the kidnapping of the Human telepaths you are investigating. They hoped to locate suitable—subjects—from the list I generated, the list you were on as well, Jason.” He lifted one brow. We were well past recrimination over what, in the end, had given us both so much. “Rael doesn’t know what they planned to do with these beings. There was some talk of seeing if they could duplicate what Morgan and I achieved. They were fools.” This last slipped out before I knew it, but it was true enough.

“Rael and I decided she should get a warning to the Council before anyone was harmed by this folly. She succeeded, but the Council blundered, failing to summon all of the conspirators at once. One remained free—may still be free. I have every reason to believe,” I closed my eyes for a moment, regaining my composure. Bowman deserved facts, not my reaction to them. “Ru di Mendolar intended to kill the Human telepaths in order to eliminate evidence against herself and the others. Rael fears she has carried out this threat.”

Bowman, I had noticed before, had a curious habit of tapping her eyebrow, quite firmly, at odd intervals. She did so now, even as she gazed down the gleaming surface of the table at me, her expression impossible to read.

Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. It was a short bark of a sound, but cheerful nonetheless. Affronted, I opened my mouth to object, seeing Barac about to do the same, when Bowman waved her hand apologetically. “Forgive me, Fem Morgan. You have just proved to me yet again that I’m an excellent judge of character, Human or otherwise. I had your sister pegged as owning a guilty conscience the moment I met her on Ret 7. And I knew you, First Chosen of the House of di Sarc, as one hell of a scrapper and,” she bowed her head, “a person of honor.”

She went on. “While we can’t track your people through space or—it seems—through my own ship, we do keep our eyes open for what we can see. ’Whix?”

The Tolian consulted a set of notes, the emerald dome over each eye catching the lights as he read. “The pattern of disappearances suggested the Denebian to Camos corridor was significant.”

I nodded. There was a generations-old pathway between the two systems, deeply ingrained and so safe to use we trained our young to ‘port along it.

“The timing of the disappearances suggested only a few individuals were involved—perhaps, knowing some of the Clan’s capabilities, as few as two.”

“Larimar and Ru,” I guessed.

’Whix fluttered his crest, as if shaking away the distraction of my interruptions to his list. A fascinated-seeming Copelup fluttered his plumes, then stopped, perhaps unsure he’d interpreted the movement correctly. I spared a moment to wonder if the Tolian envied the Drapsk its truly spectacular headgear.

“Based on the pattern observed, we were in a position to predict with 91.3% accuracy the likeliest next target and were prepared.”

This time it was Morgan who jumped on ’Whix with a triumphant: “You bugged him, didn’t you? You set up the bait and waited for the Clan to take it.”

“We don’t need to go into all the details of the operation,” Bowman said. ’Whix clicked his beak in either resignation or annoyance—knowing Bowman, I thought the former. “Suffice it to say,” she continued as though time were now of the essence, “once we were sure our subject had been taken to his final location—about the time we were searching for you, Fem Morgan—there was a reasonably successful intervention. There was no Clan interference or resistance. Two of the telepaths are still missing—possibly they were never involved. But we recovered the rest, alive.”

“Why reasonably successful, then?” Morgan asked.

“We found them.” Bowman examined the scar on the back of her hand. Barac leaned forward, as though what she was about to say had special meaning to him. “But the telepaths were not as fortunate as yourself, Morgan, to find a Clanswoman capable of, shall we say, restraint? Whatever they were put through left them brain-damaged. The experts can’t make anything of it; there’s no apparent damage. But they tell me the victims appear to have no reasoning minds left at all.”

“They were given to Choosers,” Barac said roughly, his face flushed. His emotions flooded the M’hir: anger, a desperate jealousy, pity for those lost. “Do you have any records of who was there? Who came to this place where they kept the Humans?”

Bowman’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Let’s say we have a lengthy set of questions for the Clan on Camos, Hom sud Sarc. You’re welcome to come with us for the answers to your own.”

Dangerous, Cousin, I sent, keeping it tight and private. Not tight enough. Copelup’s antennae snapped toward me like the indicator on one of his own devices. Beside me Morgan shifted ever-so-slightly: not in protest but rather in curiosity.

“You could,” I chided Bowman, “have told us all this from the beginning. It would have saved my sister considerable anguish.”

Another short laugh. “But then I wouldn’t have learned as much about you both as I have, Fem Morgan. And that was, to put it mildly, far more important to me than keeping anyone else informed of Enforcer business.”

“Anything else to tell us while you’re in so informative a mood, Chief ?” Morgan’s blue eyes had that icy tint they gained when he suspected something. I looked back at Bowman with a sinking feeling. Morgan was right. She’d gathered us here and told us what she wished, for her own reasons—not ours.

“Oh, I have lots of news, Captain Morgan,” Bowman announced. She steepled her hands and leaned her chin on the fingers. “What would you like first? Did I tell you about the extensive sabotage we found within the Baltir—damage the Retians swear was caused by unknown agencies before our little visit? Or maybe you can tell me about it.”

A shock ran along my link to his thoughts, as though Morgan jumped to some conclusion he immediately resisted. I ran one finger over the back of his hand, tracing its shape. “There is no need to grill Jason,” I said calmly. “If you are talking about Baltir’s incubators, it was my right to deal with what they had taken from me.”

She had the grace to look uncomfortable, sitting up straighter and meeting my eyes. “Actually, Fem Morgan, I was referring to some pretty sophisticated work on the entry, lighting, and surveillance systems. If you were the one responsible for the—termination—of Baltir’s experiments, I’m the last one to object. I’d have been pretty angry, too.”

“Angry?” I shook my head, rejecting her conclusion. “You misunderstand me. I destroyed those bits of me—those potential copies—to protect my kind. As a Chooser, I was capable of destroying those Human telepaths, or Barac, or any unChosen. Where is the logic in producing more of me? How long will the M’hiray last then?”

A sudden flood of emotion poured through my link with Morgan, as though a dam had burst. I knew then what he had gone through since leaving the Baltir: an endless round of second-guessing his actions and mine. Had he done the right thing in leaving the tissue alone? Had I done what I’d confessed to him because of the horror of the attack or for some better reason? Did I regret the loss of that future? These were questions he’d only asked himself.