To Trade the Stars (48 page)

“I suggest we look elsewhere,” Morgan said, waving us toward the door. I started to follow, only to notice Rael hesitating. “What is it?” my Human asked.

“Why don't you go ahead, Jason?” I suggested. “We'll catch up in a moment.” Beneath the words, I sent reassurance and he nodded.

When Morgan was gone, from sight if not my thoughts, Rael sighed. “My apologies, First Chosen,” she said with unexpected formality. “It's just that I can't wait any longer. I've made a decision—after what Barac said to me and what's happened here—a decision I believe you have a right to know as Speaker for the Council.” Then she stopped.

And I blinked, trying and failing to imagine where this somewhat confusing beginning might lead. Unless. “Do you know about Barac?” I asked. A Watcher had told me of his Joining—as others would have told the rest of the Council. A cold, flat voice to deliver news of such joy. It was now up to the House of di Bowart to make the announcement to those they felt needed to know, although I'd planned to tell Rael.

Rael turned bright red and the M'hir flared with what I was surprised to feel as embarrassment. “He's told you what happened?”

“His Joining?”

“Oh!” she actually gasped. “It wasn't that. He pulled free in time, believe me, Sira. Even an unChosen would understand the feeling wasn't real—that it was a dangerous mockery of—ʺ

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Barac joined with Ruti di Bowart—one of the fosterlings Acranam sent out. Turned out she was closer to Choice than the fools had anticipated.” If Barac had died as a result—I stopped the thought where it was, unwilling to contemplate such a loss, knowing I could have done nothing to avenge it except try to protect the next unChosen.

I sensed Rael thinking rapidly, and politely kept my distance from her mind. I had enough confusion within my own thoughts. Then the M'hir between us calmed, almost miraculously. “My mistake, Sira,” Rael said lightly. “This is wonderful news. I'd begun to wonder if our poor cousin would ever be Chosen. And to succeed with a di? How extraordinary.” Her face darkened. “Do you know about the other fosterlings?”

I nodded, letting my grief meet hers. ʺThe others are safe,ʺ I told her, having assured myself of that before coming to Drapskii. I hoped the loss of Nylis would be a lesson—for the Council and, hopefully, for the House of sud Annk and Acranam. There were too few of us—far too few children—to risk any. There would be cries for revenge, but I would prevent any attempt to retaliate against the Scats. The inability to understand other species that had led to putting a Clan child on a shipful of aliens terrified of any telepath? Our kind wouldn't survive such ignorance—here was tragic proof.

I hoped the disappearance of the Drapsk wasn't going to be more. “Rael, we'd better keep looking,” I told her.

“Wait.” I felt desperation in the M'hir, and Rael's hair began to writhe over her shoulders—something more typical of my locks than her usually well-behaved ones. “I am going to Janac,” she asserted firmly, but with a suspicious brightness to her eyes. “To my Chosen. Without the permission of your Council, Speaker.”

Rebellion from a most unexpected source. I grinned with delight. “You think I'm going to argue?”

Rael looked shocked, then, shyly smiled back. I opened my arms and my sister rushed into them.
I didn't know you wanted to go to him, Rael
, I sent.
But I highly recommend the experience
. This shocked her again, but not quite as much.

Then we both received Morgan's sending:
I think I've found them.

 

The bowlcars had been the clue we'd missed. We hadn't seen any on the walkways, moving or still. Morgan still hadn't found them, but from the balcony of this building he'd spotted several of the larger Drapsk transports, parked and empty, at the base of the Drapsks' immense amphitheater. The amphitheater where I'd won their Contest to become a Mystic One.

Rael and I joined Morgan, then I took both their hands and concentrated, not without a shrug to the fates . . .

... the instant we materialized on the floor of the amphitheater, Rael gave a squeak, then subsided. I knew why. We had indeed found the Drapsk.

In fact, every row, of the hundreds upon hundreds of rows, were packed with Drapsk, clustered by Tribe so the whole looked like a mammoth mosaic, displaying a pattern the eye tried in vain to interpret.

And every Drapsk was silent, antennae pointing down at us.

“Sira,” Morgan said very quietly.

Not at us, I realized as I turned. There, in a flower-petal-filled bowl easily as wide as the Fox's cargo hold, sat a Skeptic. Behind that bowl was another, and another, until I counted twenty-four filling most of the floor of the amphitheater. There were, I'd been told, twenty-four Skeptics.

Meaning one of these was Copelup.

I didn't plan to ask which, since the Skeptics were very busy.

“Well, that answers a few questions,” Morgan breathed in my ear. He sounded quite enthralled.

So was I. Each small Skeptic was, well, shedding even tinier Drapsk. The bowls were already half full of the little things: no more than balls with clear antennae to mark the end that presumably would become the head. They bounced and moved about on even smaller arms and legs.

“I don't know how you always get me into these things,” Rael said, but with amusement.

I opened my awareness to the M'hir, slightly, careful not to disturb it.
Lar-gripstsa
, where Drapsk Tribes interacted. This was similar, but far more. There were connections between every Drapsk at this moment, mirrored by the lines of force that formed Drapskii in the M'hir. All focused on the Skeptics.

I withdrew and looked at Morgan. He'd seen it too, and nodded. “We never asked about the Skeptics,ʺ he noted ruefully. ”And they were the key all along.”

“Which one is Copelup?”

I shrugged. “I don't think it matters at the moment,” I told Rael. But somehow I wasn't surprised to see the Skeptic two bowls to our right wave a greeting even as he/she gave birth to another hundred dear little Drapsk.

The clues, as Morgan told me later, had been there. The Drapsk hadn't been secretive—theyʹd just been alien. When the Blessed Event was over, the Makii had been quite surprised by our confusion.

Gripstsa.
The changing of roles. Surely, they said, we'd realized that certain Drapsk would eventually perform
gripstsa
with enough others to know everything necessary within a Tribe. Such individuals would also—eventually—do
lar-gripstsa
with enough other Tribes to be everything. Who else could produce the next generation of Drapsk? It required access to the Scented Way, within which all might join the
su-gripstsa.
What could be confusing about that?

The problem, for the Drapsk, had been their reliance on Drapskii for
su-gripstsa.
Each time they'd used it, for a new generation, their linkages had pulled some of Drapskii from the Rugherans. The Rugherans had reacted by sealing more of Drapskii away from the Drapsk. The Drapsk, believing they were under attack by some enemy, had developed technology to try and control the Scented Way. The meddling by both species had driven Drapskii into its search for completion elsewhere. Me.

“So you see, Mystic One, why we will always be grateful,” Makyra, Captain of the
Makmora
, told me as we sat to supper in Rael's apartment. She'd packed her things and sent them to the shipcity before the meal. I understood completely.

“You will be more careful in the future,” Morgan said sternly. “The Heerii made some serious mistakes. The technology to control movement in the M'hir mustn't be sold.” My Human carefully didn't look at me, knowing I wasn't at all pleased that the Heerii Tribe was now in ascendance on Drapskii.

The Drapsk themselves had given up trying to explain to me why the Heerii deserved their new prominence—especially since I'd tried to insist they be punished instead. Apparently to the Drapsk, success was a matter of when, not how. The Heerii had been the Tribe to finish the task of saving Drapskii—with a little help from us—which meant they were the Tribe to be congratulated. That didn't mean non-Drapsk, such as Rael or me, had to enjoy the result. It also, I'd shared with Morgan, meant it was probably important to add abundant fine print to all dealings with any one Tribe.

“Oh, yes. I'll make sure.” This new, yet familiar voice in the debate made us turn around. A Heerii Drapsk was coming in the door, moving with unusual determination. “Have no concern about the Heerii.”

“And who might you be?” I asked suspiciously. I didn't think I'd met this Drapsk on the
Heerama.
That didn't mean I was prepared to forgive any Heerii.

“Heepelup. I am in charge of exports from this moment. I assure you, with the aid of the wondrous Mystic One, Rael, I will take every precaution—ʺ

“What do you mean, with my aid? I'm going to Omacron—” Rael took a sudden breath and half-rose from her chair. I could feel her outrage turn to hope. “Copelup?”

Every Drapsk in the room stopped moving and tentacles popped into their mouths. In the ensuing, somewhat noisy pause, Morgan coughed into his hand, then said: “I don't think we need to ask, do you?”

I had to smile. There really never was another option with Drapsk.

 

“So. Barac found his Chosen, Acranam's remaining fosterlings are safe in Clan homes, and Rael seems content to return to Drapskii—some day,ʺ Morgan said, winding my hair around his fingers. I was fascinated by the way his voice vibrated through his chest.

“And Symon . . .” I added, because it had to be said. “You are both at peace now.” An ending I'd never have imagined; a grief I never thought I'd share. We'd consigned his body to the M'hir—a final act of defiance to the Clan, who'd perverted him and damaged others. All to keep a secret. “Will you tell Bowman?” I asked.

Morgan's chest rose and fell slowly. A sigh. “I'll have to—otherwise Terk will keep tearing around the universe. Although that has its charm,” a laugh.

I lifted my head to gaze into his blue eyes. “And what of your new Talent?” We'd returned to the
Silver Fox
with a replacement sequencer, supplied by the Heerii, and hadn't delayed lifting from White. As Morgan said, there were some species too alien for trade. We'd been lucky to do as well with the Rugherans as we had.

And there were others, waiting for us to meet. I found I wasn't afraid anymore. Morgan knew it.

“My new Talent? A fluke that cost Symon his life and perhaps saved yours.” He reached for me. “Better forgotten, donʹt you think?”

We'd talked about it, knowing Symon had been right to warn Morgan of the risk. A Human? Moving a starship with his mind? Amazing—appalling. That was the sort of Talent other Humans could understand—and would do anything to obtain, if they knew.

A Talent that could start a war or worse between my species and his, just as we forged the first fragile links of trust. Morgan had wanted me to erase it from his mind and mine, knowing there was such a thing as too much Power, that peace was too high a price. And he was right.

But I was right, too. “It is never worth losing your past,” I said again, brushing my fingers over his forehead, thinking of my music. “And if anyone can hold this secret, it's you.” I followed my fingers with my lips.

He pulled me close. “So. What's next, my Lady Witch?”

I nestled into the arms of my Chosen, more content and whole than my wildest dreams and fantasies had imagined. “Is there a sun rising, somewhere, on some world, Jason? Right now?”

“I'm sure there is.” Faint puzzlement. “With all the stars and worlds? Billions and more. Right now. Why?”

With an inner smile, I spun all those sunrises into music, to sing for my beloved.

A kitchen offered an array of potentially deadly objects, though none were as threatening as the natural armaments possessed by the two now inhabiting this one. Such weaponry implied a willingness to use it, but thus far, the two appeared content to merely glare at each other. Using a very large number of eyes.

“And why shouldn't I send you packing, Nephew?” An ominous rumble. “Did you not take advantage of my absence to destroy the hallway and the staff quarters to either side of my apartment? Not to mention rupturing plumbing systems through the next two levels below?”

Tayno crouched slightly lower. “The kitchen's still in good shape,” he offered in a high-pitched squeak. Huido bent eyestalks to survey the emptied cupboards and drawers, the heaps of broken dishware and interwoven piles of cutlery. The congealing remains of food had been digested by the cleaning servos, but the machines had been confused by the presence of so many manufactured items on the floor. “I didn't do that.” Tayno added hastily: “Plexis security did that. I didn't. You can ask anyone. I didn't do that.”

Huido waved a claw. “For which Plexis will pay—and handsomely. My good friend Sector Chief Bowman has already arranged for Inspector Wallace to take on new and hopefully onerous responsibilities on Kimmcle. One can only hope he leaves the brewers in peace. Yes, Plexis herself will ensure the
Claws & Jaws
reopens—with badly needed new crystal and a wealth of promotional advertising. But what am I to do with you?”

“As I have been assuring you, Uncle. I could be very helpful.” Tayno said eagerly. “I have many skills. Besides, you must be exhausted from your adventures. Surely you could use a little assistance with your responsibilities ...” his voice trailed away to a faint whisper as Huido seemed to swell upward. ”... or not.”