To Trade the Stars (9 page)

I turned the bowl slowly with my fingertips, beginning to feel the faintest drain from maintaining this link. Tie, the weaker, would suffer first. I withdrew some of my Power and was satisfied by her renewed effort. No.
Not “anywhere,” Tle. There is only so much distance possible between mother and child—farther than that, and their link dissolves forever. Find out what you can from sud Eathem and their fosterling.

As you wish, Speaker
. Definite fading now.

Before I released Tie, I thought about Morgan and added, with a firm reinforcement of my own Power:

It was no wonder the Clan scorned technology—from coms to starships—when they were capable of this. Jason Morgan watched Sira disappear from sight, fascinated, as always, by the Clan ability to sidestep space. Oh, he'd managed parlor tricks under her guidance—moving objects across short distances, hiding things in the M'hir for a moment or two before bringing them back—but not to push himself through that otherness. Yet. Sira, honest to a fault, didn't promise he ever could. She didn't discourage his efforts either, merely noting it took some Clan years to perfect the technique and he had the disadvantage of biology.

“Neat trick.” Terk's dry comment brought Morgan's attention back to the Enforcers.

“If you want to talk about Clan abilities, Chief Bowman, you should have kept Sira here, not me,” he observed dryly. “So, what's up?” He didn't commit to a chair, preferring to prop one hip against the table. It meant Bowman had to look up to meet his eyes, but Morgan considered that hardly sufficient advantage over someone who'd faced down the Clan and made Sector Chief in the same year. The short, stout, almost placid-looking woman before him was never, ever to be underestimated.

Perhaps she thought the same of him, getting right to the point. “‘There's been an incident on Plexis.”

Morgan had considered numerous possibilities, but this was a surprise. “Plexis? What's that to do with me? We haven't been back in months.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Huido? He's all right, isn't he?”

“As far as I know. ‘Whix? Get the report from Plexis security for the Captain.” As the Tolian moved over to a wall console, Bowman continued: “We don't get involved in criminal investigations, as you know. There are, however, certain individuals we prefer to—” She paused, as if looking for a polite word.

“To spy on,” Morgan supplied helpfully. “Why Huido? He lives in that restaurant. Mind you, he's picky about sharing his recipes, but I'm sure if you asked—”

“We weren't watching your friend. After the regrettable lack of cooperation we encountered from Plexis last year, I instituted a regular sweep through their security system—to notify us of anything which might be of concern to the Trade Pact.” Morgan grinned at that, having experienced firsthand the pompous secretiveness of Plexis' head of security, Inspector Gregor Wallace. Bowman didn't quite smile back. “A recent sweep triggered an alert. A name of interest came up—associated with a murder investigation presently underway on the station.”

“Who?”

“Naes Fodera. You do remember it?”

Morgan eased his weight more to his feet, careful not to make the instinctive move obvious enough to stir Terk's interest. No gain pretending he didn't know. “Fodera was on Sira's list. A Human telepath.”

“The only Human telepath from that list unaccounted for,” Bowman added, all trace of good humor vanishing from her face. “As you'll recall, two refused the Clan's offer to take part in certain—experiments. One of those, Matthew Jodrey, was subsequently kidnapped and tortured to death by your old friend Ren Symon. The other, Fodera? Like Symon, Fodera simply disappeared from sight, despite our best efforts to track him down. Until now.”

Morgan concentrated on keeping his face expressionless, using even more effort to keep his reaction to that name, Ren Symon, from boiling across his link to Sira. He'd put his desire for vengeance, that rage, behind him. Or so he'd thought. “Where is he?”

Bowman made her own decision as to which “he” Morgan meant. “Fodera, or what's left of him, currently resides in a sample vial on Plexis. Oh, and I believe there's a bit of him hanging in a freezer. Seems your friend Huido was trying to dispose of the body in the same memorable way he disposed of that Clansman.”

Morgan didn't bother to protest—if Bowman went after an answer, she'd dig for it until the answer gave up. Obviously, uncovering Huido's and Barac's earlier indiscretion hadn't bothered the Sector Chief, her focus always on what disturbed the balance of the Trade Pact, not crime.

Even if it were murder. “Does Plexis think Huido killed Fodera?”

‘Whix offered Morgan a data cube. “Here is what they know—and don't know. Thus far, Captain Morgan, there is no motive, very little body, and nothing to prove this was more than a misguided attempt to recycle protein. If there hadn't been an informant, a disgruntled former chef, there would likely be no case at all.”

“All moot. The investigation has been declared within my official interest. Plexis will keep their hands off.” Bowman's tone contained a confidence Morgan, knowing the station from a somewhat different viewpoint, didn't share.

“This is the real reason you chased us down, isn't it?” he said more than asked. “And why you wanted to see me alone. You believe Ren Symon had something to do with Fodera's death. You're trying to drag me back into all this—to help you find him.” Morgan almost spat the last word.

Bowman steepled her fingers and regarded him without flinching. “No denying you could be of use. But you've made it abundantly clear, Morgan, that you want nothing to do with our investigation into Symon's band of disenchanted telepaths. Frankly, if they'd stuck to species-specific criminal acts, I wouldn't care about them either. But I don't believe Symon's plans have ever been that small in scope. Do you?”

“I don't think about his plans or him,” Morgan ground out, sensing Terk coming to alert at the hostility in his voice. “Leave me out of this. Leave Huido out of this!” Heaven only knew what was leaking through his link to Sira.

Too much, Morgan realized belatedly, as the lithe form of his mate rematerialized, her hair whipped into a frenzy as if she were some avenging goddess come to his rescue, her expression equally wild. The M'hir seethed and burned with power.

He winced.

Which might have been at the thought of explaining Huido's current predicament to his beloved.

T
HAT night, my dreams were crowded with evil Huidos and Human heads on platters. To make things worse, I awoke to find myself alone.

I stroked the sheet beside me. Warm. Morgan hadn't left long ago. My seeking thought ceased almost instantly. My Human was troubled and, if he sought time to himself, I would obey his wish.

I'd been wrong to ‘port to Bowman's ship—I knew better than to act by reflex rather than sense. Normally, I would have delayed at least an instant, knowing Morgan's capabilities and awaiting a true summons. Glumly, I decided the combination of Enforcers in body armor, what Bowman and Tie had to say, and the Rugheran's surprise visit had seriously shaken my confidence. In other words, more Chosen cowardice.

One could hate biology.

More important than my personal embarrassment was that I'd cost Morgan a chance to extract further information from Bowman. Of course, left alone, he might have agreed to something he shouldn't. For a being without Talent, I thought, the Chief was exceptionally proficient at manipulating others.

I carefully avoided thinking about the Carasian. Strong emotion was the most difficult to keep from my Chosen, and I experienced plenty whenever I considered Huido and his latest culinary masterpiece. It wasn't, however, the outrage Morgan assumed.

It was foreboding.

Like Bowman, the murder of a strange Human—even if our friend was suspected of the crime—didn't matter to me so much as its consequence. We were going to Plexis.

Which meant someone had known exactly how to lure Morgan there.

Just when the Acranam Clan had exerted themselves, in secret, to be able to travel from their system? Coincidence, I'd found in my lifetime, didn't exist when it came to matters of power.

I pulled the covers over my head, as if that would help.

 

Troubled or not, I drifted back to sleep. Morgan didn't return, but my awareness of him—perhaps heightened by my earlier, anxious thoughts—increased, saturating my dreaming mind until, abruptly, it was as if I looked out his eyes, felt what he felt. He seemed to sense me only as my sleeping presence; I remained unsure if I dreamed or floated closer to consciousness.

It had to be a dream, I decided, moving with Morgan as he strode down the ship's corridor to the air lock, lights night-dimmed. We'd connected the Fox to the
Conciliator
, a gesture of trust to Bowman and convenience for Morgan. That much of what I saw I believed. By why was Morgan here?

... Time dilated, or I lost the threads as my resting state deepened. Perhaps this was simply a stranger dream than most.

“Are you sure you can help her?” Terk's rough growl had no place in my sleep. I became almost too alert, losing my sense of Morgan. Deliberately now, I calmed myself, seeking the dreamscape.

“No.” Morgan's voice had an odd reverberation within my thoughts, as though heard and felt at the same time, but slightly out of synch. “I'll do my best. And Bowman won't hear about this from me, Russ. You know that.”

“Bowman can have my badge, for all I care.”

... I'd lost minutes again. Morgan was now looking at a Human female seated in a chair, her body held in place by restraints. Her head had been shaved and metal disks were leeched to her scalp, trailing wires that disappeared into a massive console. The female's face was strong-boned, likely attractive when full of life, but hanging slack and expressionless now. Drool formed a glistening runnel from the left side of her mouth.

I'd seen faces like this before. Her mind had been damaged, possibly completely erased or at least blocked. This must be the operative Bowman spoke of, the one whose mind-deadener had failed.

A broad expanse of black uniform made a backdrop behind her—Terk, who required special tailoring for his wide shoulders. “Shouldn't your wife be here?” he said. “I thought she was the expert in this—this mental rape.” His harsh challenge startled both of us, though Morgan didn't oblige me by looking up to glare. His gaze remained fixed on the female's face.

“I told you when you asked me to help Kareen—this isn't something Sira can do,” Morgan replied calmly enough, though I shared his emotions: doubt, concern, a determination to succeed. A perplexing certainty I wouldn't approve any more than Bowman, hence the attempt at secrecy.

Why wouldn't I approve? Bowman might not understand the horrors of being mind-wiped—or have her own reasons for keeping this Kareen from us—but I understood too well. Any hope this female had of regaining her personality rested with my Chosen, not with Human technology. I thought of letting Morgan know, but this was a dream, after all; I didn't control much more than paying attention or not.

... Not, it seemed, for I must have lost the moment when Morgan approached Kareen, startled to suddenly be leaning over her, watching his hands running lightly over her forehead.

Could she feel their warmth? I despaired with him.

Morgan made a sound of triumph, having found what he wanted, and pressed his fingers tightly to her skin. He'd tried to explain the process to me more than once, before taking my advice and giving up. Our Talents differed in ways that couldn't be translated into Comspeak or into whatever language our minds shared. My Talent included moving whatever I chose through the M'hir; among his, this bizarre ability to discover some physical reference to a nonphysical attack and use it as a focal point for healing.

He readied his Power. I'm not sure if this severed our dream connection or if I somehow managed to draw myself away, unwilling to risk any potential distraction.

 

I opened my eyes to darkness, dry-mouthed and troubled. Asleep, Morgan had shown a disconcerting ability to share my dreams, especially—and unfortunately—any emotionally-charged nightmares. This involuntary sharing of his waking presence by my dreaming self was something entirely different, new to my experience. It could be my Joining with a Human telepath. Perhaps Morgan had a name for this, knew more than I.

He might—however, I was reasonably sure the very private Human wouldn't be happy about it. He'd be even less pleased to learn it seemed involuntary. I had a vision of Morgan waking me up every few minutes to be sure I wasn't dreaming him. This seemed one of those memories not worth sharing.

I flipped over my pillow—a childish habit to rid my sleep of dreams, whether of Morgan, lost children and scheming Clan, or evil Huidos and Human heads on platters—put down my head, then unexpectedly quickly found myself drifting back to sleep.

A sleep I wasn't surprised was again disrupted, given this particular night. Frustrated, I hoped it was morning, so I could stop trying to rest, then found Morgan had slipped in with me, a shivering cold lump already asleep, courteously as far as possible to one side of our bed. I sensed exhausted triumph and relaxed.

Questions and worries could wait.

I wrapped my Chosen in my arms and Power, and fell into a dream-free sleep at last.