To Trade the Stars (36 page)

I contemplated twisting his antennae into a knot, but didn't care for the likely consequence: a stunner headache, not to mention being helpless while unconscious. So I took what Heeru offered.

The necklace wasn't jewelry, which I'd already suspected. Warm to the touch, what had appeared to be a fine metal chain was a highly complex and flexible device of some kind, filled with tiny mechanisms and almost undetectable lights that blinked as if already at work. There was a simple-looking clasp.

“Put it on.”

Having no option, I obeyed, draping it around my neck and bringing the two ends together in front so I could see how to fasten it. Instead, the two ends almost jumped from my fingers as the simple clasp turned out to be some sort of automated junction that fused seamlessly into the rest. I let go, feeling the metal settle like a warm fluid against my skin.

“What does it do?” I asked fatalistically, having ideas about that as well.

“The 94RD-
stsa
-5 is an interdimensional harmonizer that—” Something in my blank look must have informed the suddenly too-helpful Drapsk that I needed a more literal answer. “This is a portable, more sophisticated version of what keeps you from the Scented Way while inside this room, Mystic One. It cannot be opened without the appropriate codes, nor can you use your Power to move it from this space to any other.”

“You will, however,” Captain Heeru said with a note of complete satisfaction, “continue to receive pleasure whenever you choose to sense the Scented Way. The collar will allow you to rejoin your destiny. I highly recommend you do so as soon as possible.”

“I will not,” I promised him coldly. “And I suggest you consider what it means to keep me here against my will. The Heerii might be in ascendance on this scow of yours—but are you prepared to face the Makii, the Clan, and the Trade Pact Enforcers?”

A chorus of amused hoots. “Mystic One. Once you have completed your destiny,” Heeru said with that utterly Drapsk air of confidence in the face of complete and total disagreement—mine, “the Makii above all will be grateful. There is no reason to be so concerned—”

My hands formed into fists, and if it hadn't been for the stunner, I might have tried my luck with his antennae. I settled for a warning. “Morgan will find me.”

“Again, you have no reason to worry, Mystic One. Please remain calm and in a receptive state of mind. We promised to send a message to Captain Morgan. And we will.”

This from a member of a species I belatedly remembered was never, ever targeted by the self-preserving Scats.

It was a significant part of self-preservation to know where one was going at all times—especially on an unfamiliar planet. Even more when one seemed habitually at risk on unfamiliar planets. Barac knew this perfectly well.

But a Carasian obviously had a different idea of what constituted clear and understandable directions than a Clan.

Mind you, Barac wouldn't be this lost if the Drapsk hadn't kicked him out so early. By the time there was anyone else moving on the street, he'd wandered so far from where he was supposed to be that the first Human Barac approached for assistance had laughed. Embarrassing as that was, it was less demeaning than staying lost. Unfortunately, that Human had proved—unhelpful.

However, the Clansman had, by this point, been up long enough that restaurants were opening, including a charming café beckoning early risers with an irresistible combination of fresh brewed sombay and baking. It wasn't, he decided more cheerfully, as if he had an appointment with Huido, beyond this being the day they were to meet.

Over breakfast, Barac found himself considering that he might have jumped a little too quickly at the Carasian's mysterious call. Granted, he'd left Drapskii, but he really didn't know for what. Hopefully, the Clansman sighed, something safe and profitable. It would be a nice change.

There was only one way to know for sure. Suddenly impatient to learn exactly what he'd gotten himself into—in case he'd need to get out of it again quickly—Barac didn't delay after breakfast. He found a second, more helpful Human, and obtained much better directions.

Directions to what turned out to be, Barac discovered after a half an hour's steady walk, probably the worst part of Rosietown's All Sapient's District.

He sniffed. There was something dead and not buried in the alley in front of him—the supposedly correct address. What was Huido up to? The now-noisy traffic of servos, groundcars, and varied beings behind him only emphasized the silence ahead.

Barac wasn't fond of alleys, having had his share of unfortunate experiences in them. And this was a particularly dark one. He hesitated.

Danger!
As if to confirm his caution, his inner warning flared. Instinctively, Barac formed the locate of an unobtrusive corner of the breakfast café, in case he needed to make a quick exit, then sent out a seeking thought.

A seething mass of minds impacted on his other sense. Barac was running into the alley before he had sorted them all, knowing first and foremost that those ahead were telepaths, Human, and bent on harm to Huido and—

The name and awareness of another Clan in danger slammed into his mind even as Barac spotted those trying to break into the door at the alley's end. One more step and he had his force blade out, humming for blood. The next, and he was in their midst.

Two strokes and two fell, in several pieces. Three left. One backed away trying to use his feeble Human Talent. Barac pinned him—wide-eyed and gasping—with part of his Power, using the rest to maintain his shields.

The other two were inclined to be trouble. Barac danced back, keeping his blade raised in front as they moved apart to approach him from two sides at once. With his mind trapping the third, Barac couldn't ‘port out of harm's way. Not that he planned to—this was the most satisfaction he'd had in a long time.

The door opened.

 

Ruti couldn't wait any longer—not with that hint of a touch against her shields, those sounds from outside. There'd been someone, several someones, trying to break in the door; she didn't need her other sense to tell her they meant harm. Then screams and now nothing? The vermin hadn't been that big. She unlocked the door, then pushed it open cautiously, Huido's weapon in her hand.

There was a body at her feet. Two, her mind qualified, somehow putting together the macabre bits she saw floating in what appeared to be an ocean of red blood. A grunt of effort made her look up. Another figure—alive—stood as if paralyzed. Close enough to touch, not that she would. His yellow coat had been sprayed with blood, and his eyes almost jutted out of his skull as he stared.

Ruti, feeling as though she moved in slow motion, turned her head to follow where the paralyzed—no,
pinned
, she realized—humanoid looked.

Three more. She felt the weapon in her hand slip and gripped it more tightly. Her palms were sweating. Two more yellow coats—like Morgan's, she thought. Their attention was on the last figure as they moved to attack him. Even as they did, he glanced past them and saw her.

Barac sud Sarc
. A sending, clear and powerful. Identification followed by a warning:
Stay inside.

Good advice, but Ruti couldn't move, unable to take her eyes from the battle or him. Clan? Barac was taller than the others, more slender at waist and hips, broader at the shoulders. He was dressed in clothing too elegant for an alleyway war and carried a weapon like a sword. Its blade was insubstantial—a force blade, she realized, having watched her share of entertainment vids.

The others had some type of clublike weapon in their hands that didn't appear dangerous until one aimed it at Barac and a blinding bolt of energy shot out, just missing his shoulder. Another scorched the edge of his cloak. That was all the Clansman left in range as he leaped sideways and up, bringing down his blade in a graceful back sweep to remove one attacker's arm and most of his side, blood spraying everywhere.

Ruti heard herself scream.

Another bolt of energy, then another. She threw her arm over her eyes, cowering in the doorway. Heavy thuds. A gurgling sound that stopped.

Then all was shadows and quiet. Ruti heard footsteps over her ragged breathing and lowered her arm to look for the source, tense until she saw it was Barac, walking between what was left of his foes, seeming to examine their faces. His cloak smoldered in a couple of places and he paused to pull it off, favoring one side.

A figure shot by her—the pinned attacker had broken free! Without thinking, Ruti raised her hand and pressed the handle of the weapon in it. Only after the searing flash and concussion sent her hurtling back inside the apartment, did she remember what Huido had said about making sure no one but enemy was in range.

 

Barac climbed to his feet, giving his head a shake to see if it might ease the ringing in his ears. The ringing became a hammering, so he stopped. There was already a fair amount of consternation and shouting coming from the street behind the alley, so he estimated they had no more than a minute before what passed for authority in Rosietown showed up—with inconvenient questions.

And the first order of business for a Clan Scout? Avoid questions.

He found Ruti lying in the doorway to what had to be the address Huido had provided. She was barely conscious and splattered with gore, but seemed more winded than harmed. Whatever she'd fired could have killed them all. Barac was reasonably sure that meant it was something Huido had left her.

The Carasian wasn't within a hasty scan; Barac was uncomfortably familiar with the result of touching that brain. Well, they'd have to find each other somewhere else. He leaned over to grasp the child's arm, concentrating ...

“No! We mustn't 'port! Huido warned me—”

Barac rolled his eyes and groaned to himself, but bent down and swept her up. “He'd better have a good reason,” he said, adjusting her weight in his arms. She was more substantial than she looked.

“I can walk—”

“Hush, and look unconscious. The only way out of here is through that crowd. Unless we can ‘port?” This hopefully. Ruti shook her head firmly, then closed her eyes, going so limp Barac thought she might have fainted. But her lips moved soundlessly: Go!

It worked, as he'd confidently expected it would. Both of them were liberally blood-soaked—though all of it was Human—making it obvious they were victims stumbling away from the explosion. Barac kept his head up and fixed his face into a determined expression, letting anyone in his way, or who thought to help, know he had a destination in mind and was in a hurry to reach it.

The siren-heralded arrival of several emergency vehicles provided the last bit of cover he needed to get them both out of sight down the next alleyway. Barac dumped Ruti to the ground and hurried to the first of the three doors lining the near wall. He started to send out a questing thought.

“No!” she protested again, coming to him. “Huido said we couldn't use—couldn't use Power. Is Huido all right? Who were those—”

Warned by the sudden catch in Ruti's voice, Barac caught her as she began to sag. He pulled them both farther into the shadows, then held her close, feeling her body shaking. “I didn't sense Huido nearby,” he told her quietly. “But the old shellfish is probably fine. It would take more than a handful of shipcity dregs to bother him. He gave me the address—I thought he'd be there. Do you know where he went? What's this all about?”

“I've never—” She hiccuped into his chest. “I've never seen anyone die. I've never killed anyone.”

Barac took her shoulders and pushed her far enough away that he could look into her eyes. They were, he noticed irrelevantly, quite lovely eyes, if a bit red at the moment. “While I'd like to give you time to deal with the grim realities of fighting for your life, Fem di Bowart,” he made his voice harsh, “we don't have any to spare. They're going to be looking for us—the authorities as well as whomever sent those Humans after you. I need you to answer me. Why can't we use our Power?”

She sniffed once but stood up straight under his grip. “Huido was sure Symon had a way to detect it. That he could find me if I used any power at all.”

“Ren Symon?” Barac's shock must have troubled the M'hir; he saw it in her eyes. “Where's Morgan—” he started to ask, then stopped. He pulled Ruti close again, moving them both deeper into the shadows. He bent his head so his cheek brushed her hair and his lips touched her ear. “Someone's coming,” Barac warned her. “Stay still.”

Footsteps, unsteady, as if one of the alley's inhabitants had been roused by all the commotion in the street. Then a knowing chuckle as the footsteps passed them.

Barac waited until he was sure they were alone again before releasing her. “Are you hurt?” he asked belatedly.

“No.”

He peered at her doubtfully. The word was too breathless to be very reassuring. Still, she was standing. “Wait here.”

There was a faint mechanical ticking from the first door, but when Barac pressed his ear to the second door, he didn't hear a sound. With quick look down the still-empty alley and a cautioning nod to Ruti, he used the tip of his force blade to sever the lockpad from the door. Crude and obvious, but they were in a hurry. He ducked inside, checked there was no one home, then waved Ruti to join him.

 

Ruti couldn't believe she was washing her hair. She couldn't believe what she was washing out of her hair. She swallowed, hard, bile climbing into her mouth whenever she thought about what she'd seen—what she'd done. But she kept scrubbing. Barac had told her to clean up, and he was waiting for his turn in the fresher. She didn't know how he'd found this place so quickly, an apartment twin to Huido's but with power and water pressure, not to mention signs of being lived in by at least two Humans, possibly three. A pile of clothing was on the floor outside the stall. He'd already taken hers to throw in the recycler.