A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) (24 page)

If I’d been with Morgan, I might have had the confidence to enter one of those stores and see for myself what was so tantalizingly hidden inside. As it was, I felt dangerously conspicuous and looked frantically for a rampway down.

“Can I help you, Fem?”

The voice was courteous, no more, but I jumped. The security guard, as typical on Plexis, was both friendly and well-armed. I couldn’t place his species, but it was humanoid standard except for the delicate furring that covered his head and seemed to go down the sides of his neck. He smiled warmly, likely on the reasonable premise that today’s loiterer could be tomorrow’s big spender, and repeated his question. “Can I help?”

“Yes,” I said quickly, relieved that I had no automatic aversion to his uniform to deal with—evidently that compulsion was also gone for good. “I’ve gotten off on the wrong level. I wanted to find,” my stomach growled on cue, “a good place to grab some breakfast.”

“New on-station?”

I nodded. “First time. It’s bigger than I thought.”

His smile grew wider, revealing purple caps on the tips of what on a Human would be first molars. “There are twenty-three more levels above this one, Fem. But you want Level 3, spinward 3\4. There’s a food and relax center there as well as the main posting office for outboundships. A must stop for every spacer on Plexis. You’ll see.”

 
The guard’s directions were, of course, easy to follow. I quickly found myself back among other beings with blue tags and less-than-new clothing. And just in time to suit me. I no longer dismissed my urge to look over my shoulder as mere nerves. I was being followed.

There were two of them, both spacers by their apparel, both passably Human. The clothes reassured me that they weren’t Clan. Humans were quite common on Plexis. So, however, were what Morgan referred to as scum. After all, credits being spent attracted those who sought easier ways of earning them than work.

The only problem with that theory, I decided, working my way with what I hoped was a nonchalant air through a snarl of offspring orbiting a sweet-vendor, was that there was nothing about me to make such experts see me as a likely target. I was surrounded by beings festooned with purchases and obvious wealth. Why pick on me?

The answer, that they knew who I was, sent a cold shiver down my spine.

So far I’d been able to stay in public places, but my shadows were gradually moving closer. If I turned and stopped abruptly, not a wise move in the midst of the shopping traffic, I could have touched one of them.

There. The relax center the guard had recommended. I abandoned politeness and pushed my way forward, not bothering to look behind. It was a public place and, hopefully, a place that would help me get off Plexis.

 
An hour or so later, I chewed thoughtfully on the pastry I’d purchased with the few credits in my pocket, eyeing the posting board. It was an immense screen, long enough to exhibit some of Plexis’ curve as it stretched off in the distance. The ship listings that paraded along it must have had some meaningful organization. There were plenty of others in this vast room who glanced up at the screen, nodded wisely, and made comments to their companions about cargoes, risks, and opportunities. I couldn’t make any sense of it.

My shadows had followed me in, but seemed content to sit in the food area where they could watch the entrance. There was another way out, however. And I was ready to try it, having filled my empty stomach at last.

There were tables loosely arranged in a quiet back corner of the room, far enough from the doors to the various entertainments to be away from the noise, but easily seen. I’d overheard enough conversations to know that the tables displaying yellow placards were staffed by representatives from ships looking for permanent crew. There were six of these at the moment. The green placards were for temps only, a commitment much more suited to my needs and abilities.

I approached the nearest of the two green tables, only to have the placard removed as the beings stood up and shook hand to tentacle in agreement. One chance lost. I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder. My shadows had spotted what I was doing and were moving this way. I hurried to the next table and quickly dropped into the empty seat, pulling my bag up on my lap.

There was a woman already seated at this table. She dressed like a spacer, of course, though so did everyone else in this part of Plexis. Her air patch was blue—here just on business, then. Although fit and lean, her skin was wrinkled under its tan, her dark brown hair peppered with gray. I was sure I’d never seen her craggy features before. Or was I?

“Name?” she waved a hand missing two fingers.

“Sira. Sira Morgan.” I said, having made the decision to stick with what was on the ident card in case I had to produce it. Morgan. He might look for me. Or he might not. Both options made me unhappy.

“Sira Morgan.” The woman recorded something on a hand pad. “Name’s familiar,” she added casually. “I’m Gistries San.”

I resisted the temptation to look around and see where my shadows were now. “Morgans get around,” I said, noncommittally.

She looked up. “Last ship and posting?”

“Hindmost on the
Silver Fox,
out of Karolus.” I’d placed my bet now, I thought. Morgan hadn’t told me what story he’d concocted to hide the
Fox
on Plexis. I could only hope it wasn’t the sort of thing to spread.

Apparently it was a safe bet. Gistries made a couple of entries, then grunted with satisfaction. “Nice to have someone admit to being Hindmost for a change,” was all she said. She curled a lip disdainfully and pointed a booted toe at the posting board. “You’ve no idea how many claim to be grade A pilots instead!” She looked me up and down once more. “I see you have your duffel. Ready to go now?”

No questions about why I’d left the
Fox
or why I wanted only temp assignment. I was suddenly unsure, in spite of this Gistries’ businesslike demeanor.

Her dark eyes grew speculative. “Sorry to sound in a rush, but I’m due onboard for final prep. You can come with me if you’d like to check out the ship, maybe meet the captain before signing. He likes to take on a couple of new maintenance hands when there’s a good cargo on board. I’ve already found two, but I’d like another. Turnover’s pretty high on midrange traders, you know. Up to you.” She began packing up her things.

There were footsteps behind me. Without looking, I knew my shadows were lurking as if waiting their turn. “I can go now,” I assured her. If I didn’t like the ship or its captain, I’d come back. For now, what mattered was eluding my pursuers, whoever they were.

Gistries, who had waited with unexpected patience, smiled when I stood up. She tipped over the green card. “Great. Let’s go. You won’t be sorry, Sira. My captain has a history of very profitable voyages.”

“How’s your head?” Huido asked, easing himself with a contented sigh into a chair expressly designed for his massive bulk, the claw tips of his lower, and larger, two arms resting comfortably on the floor.

Morgan ignored the question. The blinding headache he’d awakened with was the least of his worries. “Any word?”

The Carasian’s multiple eyes examined Morgan warily, years of practice letting him recognize an unusual grimness to the human’s pale features, a dangerous set to Morgan’s eyes and mouth. “Nothing yet. Plexis is a big place. Be patient.”

Morgan wasn’t inclined to patience, especially not since waking up on the floor of the room with a pounding head and the sick realization that Sira was gone. “Did you get anything from the Plexis security?”

“They were reluctant; it took two cases of Brillian Brandy to loosen the record strings. The Torquad docked after you. But so have twenty other ships, including two Enforcers.”

“Bowman’s lot I expected. I can deal with her. But Roraqk.” Morgan cursed. “Sira’s out roaming the decks of this damned station, and you know he has half the station staff on his payroll.”

A small click as the Carasian signified his agreement. “Still, an outright kidnapping on Plexis would be risky, even for Roraqk,” puzzled the alien.

“Not if he smells profit sufficient to buy him a nest site anywhere he chooses, with no questions asked.”

Too restless to remain still, Morgan stood and paced, grimacing as the motion jarred his sore head. It was a pain he’d earned for himself, all right, just what he deserved for tampering with a mind whose complexity was only now becoming clear to him. He hoped Sira knew it hadn’t been her fault.

“Ransom from kidnapping your mate?” Had Huido eyebrows, they would have shot skyward. “Forgive me, dear friend, but—”

“Roraqk expects nothing from me.” More briskly. “You’re certain he’s still in dock?”

“Yes.” Huido shifted uncomfortably, the overlapping plates on his abdomen sliding over each other with a soft hiss. “But are you certain Sira is on Plexis? There have been departures. I have a partial list—” he broke off as Morgan tapped his forehead suggestively.

“Sira’s still here. Somewhere. I know.”

Armor glistened wetly as Huido rotated his head to bring all of his eyes to bear on the smaller Human. “So. Sira shares your gift. What else haven’t you told me?” He paused. “Why do I suddenly find it difficult to believe this romantic tale of another Morgan on the Fox?”

Morgan’s mouth twisted wryly. “I haven’t lied, just let you believe what you wished. Face it, you’ve pestered me on the topic of partnering for so many years I owed you! Sira’s important to me. And she’s saved my life. Twice,” Morgan’s voice trailed away pensively as he rubbed the ache behind his forehead. Huido clicked his upper claws impatiently.

“If she is not a Morgan,” he complained, “then who is she— and why does your Sira tempt a master pirate?”

“A pawn in a game much bigger than I thought, Brother.” Morgan roused from his contemplations. “And someone who shouldn’t be used that way.”

Accepting Morgan’s unwillingness to explain further, the Carasian switched to practicalities, standing noisily. “So we’re going to search Plexis with Roraqk and his crew on our backs. Your visits are never dull,” As Huido spoke, his dexterous claws pried open a cabinet, revealing an assortment of hand weapons highly illegal on several planets, but then, almost nothing was illegal on Plexis. He carelessly tossed a biodisrupter to Morgan, who caught it from the air with practiced ease. “We hunt?”

“We hunt,” Morgan confirmed grimly. “As long as it takes.” Almost to himself.

Huido shrugged philosophically, selecting some lethal weaponry of his own to hang from clips embedded in the chitin of his chest. “As I recall, my chef has an acceptable recipe for lizard.” A chuckle of amusement echoed hollowly within his huge body.

The muted sound of a door chime interrupted further speech. Huido clicked his annoyance and looked apologetically at Morgan. The Human merely shrugged, taking a seat on the couch which faced the doorway, slipping his weapon beneath a cushion as he did so. The Carasian paused to snap a fitted vest over his own armament before bellowing an irritated: “Enter!”

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, bottom crawler?” Claws snapping menacingly, Huido heaved toward the door as he saw the two figures behind his anxious servant. “You bring no one up here unannounced!” With admirable restraint, Morgan nodded a noncommittal welcome.

“Don’t terrify poor Ansel, Huido. I doubt it was his idea.” As one of the shadowed figures ventured closer, eyeing Huido cautiously, Morgan added: “Meet Barac—I’m sure you remember him from one of my wilder tales. And . . . ?”

“My cousin, Rael,” Barac showed his relief to be past Huido’s ominously silent figure. The Clanswoman didn’t spare the giant a glance. Morgan felt a warning raise the hairs of his neck.

“Friends of yours, little Brother?” Huido easily inspected both visitors simultaneously.

“We have been,” Barac said hastily, as if daring Morgan to challenge this. Morgan kept any response from his features and, more importantly, from his thoughts. Huido waved his apologetic and confused servant away, closing the door and stationing his own bulk before it with deliberate intent. Against any opponents but these, old friend, thought Morgan. Barac was trouble, but Morgan found himself feeling more uneasy about the woman, Rael. Though most of her beauty had been obscured, there was no mistaking the original model for the projection that had called to Sira. And had she been the one to attack him through their link?

“She’s not here.” Rael’s voice was like silk, but her tone was bored and imperious. Huido’s head tilted. Morgan signaled him to remain silent. There was no need for any other warning; Huido’s species used mental channels of a totally different order from Human or Clan.

“You really shouldn’t have taken Sira away from Auord without contacting me, Jason,” Barac said quickly. He seemed conciliatory—an attitude Morgan had hardly expected and one he distrusted thoroughly.

“And how was I to do that, Clansman?” Mildly.

“Where is Sira?” snapped the Clanswoman.

“It’s never wise to be impatient, Cousin.” Without being invited, Barac took a seat opposite Morgan. “Rael doesn’t fully appreciate our situation, Morgan. You can understand that we, as Clan, are rarely limited in our dealings with other species. Rael hasn’t come across Carasians before,” a gracious nod to Huido, “nor has she noticed your weapon, which I’m sure has us both in its sights.”

Rael’s large green eyes narrowed speculatively at this, then shifted, becoming strangely unfocused as Morgan turned slightly to meet her gaze. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Rael shuddered abruptly, looking away with a startled curse before staring at the Human with quite a different look in her eyes—one of shock. Morgan merely continued to smile pleasantly, lifting the protecting cushion from the weapon held loosely but competently in one lean hand.

“Now why doesn’t it surprise me that you can’t be pinned, old friend?” Barac asked softly, menacingly. Huido shifted ominously. “Rael is quite accomplished, you know. Much more powerful than I. And what does that make you, Morgan?”