To Trade the Stars (32 page)

There was no time, I fumed to myself, even as I pretended to wait at ease for my father's questions. There was very little hope either, but that I was prepared to challenge. If he let me. If Council let me. Our people didn't have to keep dying.

I didn't have to stay here forever.

I told him the bitter truth. “My own existence, a Chooser without a suitable candidate for her Choice? That's the warning—the alarm we must heed, Jarad. There are already others like me. It's no secret young Tie di Parth won't find a match. Probably both daughters in the House of di Mendolar. If the Council continues pairing only the most powerful? There will be more and more Choosers who cannot be mated, until the M'hiray are a memory.” I waved at the old parches. “And these.”

Jarad's eyes were hooded; his formidable Power hidden from me as well. Signs I had his complete attention. “Suppose,” he said, “—just suppose—I believe all this. I respect your zeal, my daughter, though I've no idea how you found anything useful in these antiquities.” He dismissed the parches with a glance. “You realize I can't go to the Clan Council with a pronouncement of doom and nothing more.”

I dropped my feet to the floor and leaned forward, but otherwise controlled my excitement. “You know I've studied the Power-of-Choice, how it differs from the Power Clan usually use within the M'hir. I've also been collecting data on other species.” I ignored his sudden frown, expecting that and worse before I was through. “Human telepathy proved the most—interesting.”

“Human . . . telepaths.” It was as if Jarad's mouth was deciding which word offended it most.

“You've listened to me this far, Father,” I challenged. He frowned, but waved a hand for me to continue. “What I've been looking for is a way to control the Power-of-Choice, the way any Clan controls his or her Power. With such control, a Chooser could influence or completely bypass the Testing of a Candidate entirely during Joining, and Commence. We'd be free of the drive that is killing our species.”

I hadn't thought it was possible to render Jarad di Sarc speechless. I took advantage of it, and called up a display to hover over the table between us. “Look at this,” I said, more for myself than my father. I doubted he would try to follow the elegant graphical analysis I'd prepared, but it helped me focus my thoughts, my hopes. “While it's true Human telepaths have much less Power than any Clan, they appear to be free of the Power-of-Choice. In fact, the M'hiray seem uniquely cursed among telepathic species in having this need to test the Power of potential mates. So,” I took a steadying breath and cleared the display. “I believe we should move in a new direction. We've been bred for Power by the Council. I think we should breed to eliminate the Power-of-Choice.”

“How? Every female M'hiray possesses it.” A painful swelling of his Power in the M'hir between us. I ignored it. “You can't. be suggesting—”

“Yes. I am. I believe we should attempt to hybridize with a compatible humanoid species that doesn't possess the Power-of-Choice. At best, the result will be a new race, with our ability to use the M'hir but freed of the deadly consequences to the unChosen. At worst—” I owed him this, “—at worst, it could prove a way to bring Choosers to Commencement without wasting the lives of any more of our unChosen.”

Jarad loathed every word I was saying, his outrage simmering in the M'hir between us, but he was still listening, his nostrils flaring every once in a while. When I stopped for his reaction, he said frigidly, but calmly enough: “Offer Choice to a Human. That's what you're proposing, for all this talk of hybridization and compatibility. Would you offer yourself to one of those—aliens?”

In answer, I keyed a request and a list hung in the air between us. “I've identified twenty-one individuals for closer study,” I told him. “All match parameters I established for a potential—” even I stumbled over the word, so fraught with meaning to my kind, “—Choice for myself. I would never propose, Father, risking any one else in an experiment to prove or disprove my own work.”

“And if the Human's lack of Power in the M'hir destroys your mind, but leaves your body ripe and ready? What then, Daughter?”

I felt like ice as I looked at him. “An empty mind can't heed the dictates of Choice. If that happens, the Council can use my body as it wishes.”

“What Clansman would—” He stopped, then went on incredulously, “—you know that. You know no Clansman would be able to touch a mindless body. Choice and the Joining affect both.”

“Yes, Father, I know. We will have to buy technology—knowledge. There is a Retian by the name of Baltir who apparently has considerable expertise in assisted fertilizations and interspecies hybridizations. He's willing to offer his services, discreetly, for a price.” My research hadn't been confined to what lay in this room.

He stood and took a step back. “I don't know you,” Jarad said in a strangled voice. “I don't know you at all.”

“You should.” I raised an eyebrow. “I am what living as a Chooser these seventy years has made me, Father. Desperate, pragmatic, and determined to solve this problem—not just for our kind, but for myself.” I stood as well. “We will die out and be forgotten. There will be no di Sarc dynasty—no proud Houses—nothing. The Power-of-Choice will ensure I and the other barren Choosers will live to see it, Father, even if you and your fellow Councillors won't. Believe this: I am not willing to be the last of our kind. You can help me now—or by the Seventeen Hells of Deneb I'll swear I'll wait for you all to die and seek help from the next Council.”

“Your father's back. He asks admittance.”

Courtesy, between those of great personal Power—the Clan had become fond of such play-acting. Enora's face, always easy to read, showed concern. She didn't know about my research, or my impassioned threat to Jarad those weeks ago, but her Talent read my emotional state—and his. Obviously, both di Sarcs were raising a storm in the house. “How courteous of him,” I replied, making a greater effort to keep my temper from troubling the M'hir. “I'll see him on the balcony.” She bowed slightly and turned to go. “Wait, Enora.”

She stopped and looked at me. She'd matured into the Clanswoman I'd expected: capable and warm, with the beauty granted by fine bones and a life of laughter. When her two sons left her household, Enora had left as well, returning to live with me, as she'd promised so long ago. A gift, to have her with me.

A stark reminder of how all of those I loved now would grow old and leave me behind. The Council had to agree, I told myself.

“Yes, Sira?”

I had nothing to say that would cause her anything but pain. “My keffle-flute,” I said instead, looking around as if it would magically reappear from wherever I'd buried it this time. “I thought I might play for my father, if he plans to stay for lunch. Do you know where I left it?”

Enora looked surprised, but went straight to a cupboard and brought out the case, before leaving to bring my father. She knew I hadn't played since the last time Pella had visited and insisted we play together. My sister's foolish habit. She kept hoping her skill would surpass mine.

It never would. I opened the case and took the flute into my hands. The inlays of precious stone caught the light as it fit perfectly, as always, into calluses seemingly too deep to fade. It wasn't because I practiced; I rarely touched the instrument anymore. Since that day Yihtor invaded my home, when I'd played with the Singer and almost lost myself, something in that experience had forever changed my music. Now, part of it thrilled within the M'hir each time I played—though no one else seemed to realize they were hearing with more than ears alone.

But I knew the difference, and how easily it could summon what I might not be able to resist again.

Thank Ossirus, Pella always asked for the liveliest of dance songs, where she could show off her impeccable technique. Those were bad enough. I dared not play anything with passion or sorrow. Or alone.

I laid the instrument back in its case, putting that safely under the nearest pillow.

“Daughter.”

Jarad might have waited to be admitted—he hadn't waited to change from his Council robes. I nodded a. dismissal to Enora, who looked as though she might refuse to leave me. Somehow I produced a smile and nodded again. She left, but not without giving my father a doubtful glance.

“Father,” I greeted, making the gesture of welcome to one lesser in Power. “I take it you have news for me.”

Like that, was it? I didn't bother sending the thought. “Probably,” I replied aloud. “Please. Sit. We might as well enjoy the sunshine while you tell me the worst.”

The table was set with fruits and a choice of chilled drinks suited to the summer warmth. Jarad took the nearest goblet and drank as if he couldn't taste it, staring out at the view. Pretty, with clouds chasing one another over the mountaintops, but hardly worth such attention.

I knew my father. Part of his agitation was theatrical: a show for me or the leftover drama from his actions before coming here. The remainder was most likely fury. He didn't care to be opposed.

We shared that.

“The Council rejected the proposal,” I concluded.

“Heresy was the mildest word used. I warned you—”

I smiled without humor. “—that the Council would never consider interbreeding with another species? Several times. I am,” I added honestly, “surprised you tried.”

Jarad shook his head. “I wasn't going to, at first. But your predictions scared them—badly. The ideas that began sending around? Yours, frankly, wasn't the worst. I proposed it to try and gain some sanity back, but it was hopeless, Sira. Hopeless.”

“What do you mean?”

He showed me his open, empty palm. “They will summon you as soon as the candidates arrive on Camos. By this afternoon, at the latest.”

“What candidates?” I held up my own hand to stop his answer, knowing well enough. “The fools,” I hissed. “There's no one close to my strength. I'll kill any unChosen they bring near me. They must know that.”

“Of course. But Sawnda'at's conservatives are willing to pay that price if there's a chance you might reach Commencement as a result.”

“Impossible. The Power-of-Choice grows stronger with each failed Choice—that's what bars my body from Commencing! But even if it somehow worked, what then? They can't want a Chooser who has Commenced—I'd be no less deadly! And I still couldn't mate—”

“You said it yourself, Daughter. ‘An empty mind can't heed the dictates of Choice.' They'll tame the Power-of-Choice by erasing your mind. Then, I believe Council will suddenly find the concept of using reproductive technology to be—acceptable.”

“They wouldn't dare,” I protested through numb lips. “No Clan would stand for it. The Watchers—”

“No Clan outside the Council will know,” Jarad said grimly. “And the Watchers appear neutral. The Council is afraid of now, not the future, Sira. They are afraid of losing your Power, Sira. And that of your progeny.”

“So are you.”

A raised brow. “Of course,” he said, as if surprised I had to say it. “Rael is powerful, but her Chosen is unlikely to father anything more than
sud
. Pella? A disappointment. But you, my most puissant firstborn? You must not only survive, you must bring your Power into the M'hiray.” Jarad brought his fist down on the table, rattling the glassware and Enora's favorite metal tray. The M'hir between us rang with equal fury. “I utterly reject this Council of fools and their mad scurrying into any hole that looks like safety. I told them so. This is the last time I will wear this robe.”

More dramatics, or sincerity this time? It didn't matter. I needed to believe I had an ally, however unexpected. “If you mean that,” I told my father bluntly, “I have a plan.”

Jason Morgan of Karolus. A Human of little wealth beyond ownership of an antique starship and a reputation for being lucky. I scrolled past that entry, paused, then went back to it. He was the right age, comparatively, and had Power. An undetermined amount of Power, since he apparently possessed a substantial natural shielding. That might help. Or hinder. I couldn't know ahead of time.

“No one will miss that one,” my father offered helpfully, studying my selection. “You have to watch for affiliations within the species. Humans keep closer ties than we do. Some on your list have families that might become a nuisance.”

“This Morgan might not have family,” I argued, “but he's a Trader and probably has to keep some kind of schedule. That could be awkward. What do you think of Fodera?”

We discussed one or two more, then I found myself back at the entry for Jason Morgan. I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was simply that he'd been in contact with Clan before, seeming to have a business relationship with Enora's sons, Kurr and Barac. Familiar names, from a trusted House. If he'd deal fairly with them, perhaps he would do the same with me.

Not that fairness entered into any of this. I forced down any doubts. I was taking as much of a chance with my life as with Morgan's. I'd only need to worry about the consequences of Choice with a Human if I succeeded. If I failed, neither of us might know it. No matter how confident I was to my father, I knew this was all guesswork and conjecture. Human Power might be totally incompatible with Clan. Morgan might shoot me on sight. Humans could be violent and unpredictable in groups. I didn't have much information on what individuals were like. My servants were gentle, polite beings. I had no guarantees a Trader would be.