“It makes you both fools,” Rael hissed furiously, wheeling on her cousin. “This Human knows nothing beyond tricks we teach children! I could destroy him—”
“But you won’t.” Morgan tossed his weapon aside, his pose deceptively relaxed, a flash of his eyes quelling the uneasy Carasian. “We know each other well enough, Barac.”
Rael was far from silenced. “I know you, all right. You can’t hide the stench of your power from me!”
“Where is Sira, Morgan?” Barac made an effort to ignore his cousin, to concentrate again on the imperturbable Human. “I know you can be reasonable when it suits you.” An honest puzzlement filled his voice. “What can you hope to gain by obstructing us? Don’t you realize how I’ve protected you all these years?”
Morgan’s smile didn’t reach his icy blue eyes. “I don’t recall asking for your protection, Barac.”
“Barac—” Rael growled.
“Not now, Rael!” Barac lost control momentarily as he harshly cut across her speech. Huido shuffled, alert to the tension in the room if not sure of the reason. “I don’t know what Sira has said to you, what may have happened to cause you to distrust me—”
Morgan’s smile was mocking. “When did the word trust enter into it, Clansman? As I said, we know each other well enough.”
Barac swallowed his planned retort to this, obviously thinking hard and fast. “We had a bargain—”
“Bargain? You asked me to find Sira. I did. You asked me to help her off Auord and out of danger. I did. Perhaps I’ve done more to help Sira than you expected.”
“I expected some truth!” Barac accused hotly. “Now I find my old friend is a telepath of no minor strength as well as a smuggler and a liar. And probably a kidnapper as well. Did you sell her to those planetside filth?” He halted, stricken in mid-thought, then went on hoarsely, as if against his own will: “Or was there something about her you had to keep for yourself—”
“Stop this!” The rebuttal came from an unexpected source. “Don’t persist, Cousin,” Rael continued, eyes flashing. “You’re close to wearing out my patience.”
Barac refused to look at her, his angry gaze riveted on Morgan. “I asked for your help in finding Sira, Morgan. Now I find she’s been on your ship, recorded as crew, and now appears to have vanished once more. Tell us what you’ve done with her!”
“Believe what you choose, Clansman.” Morgan was tired and more than aware of the passage of time—not to mention his aching head. “I don’t know where your Sira is now, nor do I care. She left my company once we docked. I expect she’s gone outsystem on one of the hundred or so ships that were ready to lift when we arrived. Is that helpful enough? Now. What about some compensation for my time, my effort? I’ve docking fees to pay, in case you hadn’t noticed—”
“Name your price.” Rael’s voice was low.
“My price?” Morgan studied her for a moment, abruptly more puzzled than offended. The Clanswoman returned his look with a suspicious scowl. Her long, vibrant black hair framed a delicate, yet strong face. Her body was superb, shown to advantage by her dress as well as the tension of her anger. Rael’s dislike of Morgan was wholehearted and tangible—yet at that moment, the Human would have sworn that he’d never seen true beauty in a woman before.
Rael shuddered. “Stop staring at me, Human, before I forget you may still be of use to us.” Morgan started, uncomfortably aware in the ensuing silence that he had been gawking at her as if he were at a glamour show.
“He’s drawn to your Power, Cousin,” Barac clarified for her. He arched a sardonic brow at her wide-eyed stare. “I told you I know Humans—”
“Impossible,” Rael said unsteadily, her eyes unaccountably frightened. Morgan realized with shock that her fear was of himself. “I refuse to believe this, Barac. You are no—”
“Mind yourself, Rael. Don’t you feel his interest in everything we say?” Barac glared accusingly at Morgan. “You may scorn my protection, Human, but your life will be a great deal shorter without it.”
Morgan rose to his feet. “I should think our business over, anyway, Barac. Forgive me if I don’t wish you luck.”
Barac remained seated. “The spoken word easily hides the true nature of things, doesn’t it, Captain? Yet say I believe you. Isn’t it odd Sira would leave you for another ship, if she had a position as crew and you were taking such good care of her? I’d have thought she would prefer to stay, to remain close to her benefactor. Or were you more?”
“Enough!” Rael exclaimed in a voice grown deadly. “You forget yourself, sud. Do not force me to remind you. This Human may be slightly more than we thought at first,” she ignored Morgan’s mocking bow, “but our time is wasted pursuing this folly of yours. We’ve our own means of verifying his information.”
Barac scowled and stood. “As you wish,” he gave in grudgingly. “We’ll be back if we don’t find her; count on it, Human.” All pretense of friendship was gone from Barac’s harsh voice. Morgan’s smile was amused.
“I’ll send you my bill, Clansman.”
Chapter 14
THE simplest thing could change a person’s perception of reality, I decided. In my case, I could blame the pink spot on my cheek where an air tag had so recently clung.
My companion, Gistries San, had worn a blue tag, like mine. But it wasn’t exactly like mine. My tag had been obtained under, shall I say, irregular circumstances? But it was real. Gistries’ tag had been just plain counterfeit.
It would have worked, and I would have stayed a happy enough fool a while longer, had there not been a line at the tag point on the way to Gistries’ ship.
There were three operators manning the tag point on this level. When we’d arrived, the operator nearest us was dealing with some complaint or other, a disgruntled line of those waiting their turn growing longer immediately. The next operator waved some of these over to her counter, and Gistries followed this group with myself in tow. We ended up five back.
I’d looked over my shoulder uneasily, trying not to be obvious about it. My shadows had followed us; hopefully we’d finally lose them on the other side of this checkpoint. The two lined up peacefully, despite not moving quickly enough to beat the trio of Denebian spacers who good-naturedly bumped into me and cheerfully apologized. Shore leave.
The next operator suddenly had no one left in his line, and waved at us. I tapped Gistries on the shoulder to get her attention and started hurrying to the other counter.
A hand took hold of my arm just above the elbow and jerked me to a stop. Startled, I looked down at Gistries’ hand and then up to her face. Her eyes were cold and hard. “This line will do, chit,” she said firmly. She didn’t release her grip.
The Denebians swayed and chuckled their way into what should have been our place at the empty counter. I didn’t bother to turn and see my followers move up to stand at my back. “Who sent you?” I asked, glaring at her.
“Just keep calm and there’ll be no trouble. Got it?” Something pricked through the fabric at the base of my spine. I felt the sharpness, but it didn’t penetrate the skin.
“Got it,” I whispered. The sharpness disappeared, but I knew I was trapped.
When it was finally our turn at the counter, we were faced by a sharp-eyed Human, one who looked quite capable of noticing a hair out of place. I leaned forward so the Human could remove my tag, forming a vague plan to complain about the charge, or create some kind of disturbance that would stir the interest of the plentiful security personnel scattered around the tag point.
Instead of peeling off my tag, the man touched it with a rod. The tag dropped into his hand and he laid it on the counter next to the device that would read it. The tiny blue thing humped itself into the maw of the reader and I realized with wonder that it was alive, a tattle-tale rather than a recording device.
The operator peered into the top of the reader. “15.35 hours of breathing,” he snapped, the lights from the readout reflecting on his prominent cheekbones. “Automatic transfer to the account of the
Claw and Jaw.
Rich place for a spacer to run up a tab,” he commented, raising his head and cocking a curious brow at me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Gistries had already pushed me ahead, keeping her hand on my back as though we were friends.
“ ’lo, Malcolm,” she greeted the operator in a casual tone. “How’s the family?”
I closed my mouth.
The tag operator winked at her as he removed her tag. He smiled as he saw the readout, then said in a low voice, “Amazingly enough, you’ve been here 27 hours and I’m going to have to charge you for, lessee, 300 hours of air, Gis.”
“Fine with me, Malcolm. Always a pleasure doing business with you. Just make sure the
Torquad
’s docking ring stays unlocked.”
“A pleasure doing business with you, too, Gis.”
The
Torquad.
Roraqk’s ship. I couldn’t believe how gullible I’d been. I turned desperately toward the tag operator. He met my eyes, then carefully looked away, saying “Next?” The two behind us were processed without a word.
Gistries kept her hand flat against the small of my back, propelling me ahead, her firm touch a warning not to struggle. She’d taken my bag in her other hand. We moved quickly, passing two cross-corridors leading to other docks, until we reached the
Torquad
’s air lock. A guard, this time not station security, but a nondescript Auordian with green beads sewn through his hair, stirred from his post beside the air lock, weapon swinging up to cover me, then lowering as Gistries grunted something incomprehensible, the language guttural and unlike any I’d heard.
The air lock was larger than that of the
Fox.
Gistries and I waited while the outer door cycled closed and the inner one began opening. My two followers had remained outside. Gistries hummed to herself cheerfully.
“And what does he want with you?” she said out loud, surveying me with a shake of her head. “Usually I can tell the value of a deal, but you? You puzzle me, Sira di Sarc.”
Another guard, this one silent, fell in behind us in the ship’s corridor. “Sira di Sarc?” I asked, licking my lips after saying the name, as if its taste would make it familiar. “You have me mixed up with someone else. My name is Sira Morgan.”
“Huh,” she grunted. “Not likely.”
We entered a lift. I tried to keep my mind off who was waiting.
Roraqk dipped his snout toward me as we entered the long curving control room of the
Torquad.
He didn’t seem the least surprised. “My Kisssue, at lass-sst.”
There was nothing to be gained by showing how much he scared me, so I raised my chin and said firmly: “My name is Sira Morgan. Not Kissue.”
“Not ss-sso. Your true name is-ss one well known to me, ss-Sira di ss-Sarc. I’ve been looking for you for ss-so long, I’d begun to think you were some drug dream of my dear friend’s-ss. It is-ss not eassy to hide from my connections-ss. Yet, you came to me on Auord—a gift of fortune. And you come back to me now. I’d have been ss-so disspleassed to have losst you.” I felt Gistries’ shiver through the hand she’d locked around mine.
“You’re mistaking me for someone else, Captain Roraqk,” I insisted, though small warnings raised the hairs on my arms.
“Don’t look ss-so worried, Fem di ss-Sarc. I’ve no dessire for merchandisse as-ss ss-specialized as-ss yours-self.” Gistries chuckled at this. Roraqk continued to regard me fondly—or was his look more one of appetite? “You ss-should be glad my friend on Acranam wants-ss you as-ss you are, without drugs-ss or any damage. You certainly couldn’t go to anyone elsse intact.”
I sensed, almost touched, a web enclosing me, woven from threads I couldn’t see or understand, pulling at everyone who came near me—even Roraqk. A surge of fury shook me. An odd emotion, considering I was helpless. Helpless?
Only for now,
I promised myself grimly, peering at the lizard through carefully lowered eyelids,
only for now.
The pupils of Roraqk’s eyes shrank to dangerous predatory slits, as though he read my determination. “I’ve been ass-sured you are pathetically harmless-ss, Kissssue. I find thiss-ss eass-y to believe. But I warn you, Giss is-ss very ssenssitive to mindcrawlers-ss. Aren’t you?”
Gistries’ hand locked over the handle of the weapon in her belt, the knuckles white. There was something not quite sane in the look she threw me.
Roraqk walked over to his command bench, sat down, and pulled a thin tube of some dark substance from a compartment. “Do you know what a marvelous-ss opportunity you are, Kissssue?” He dipped his tongue deep within it, that member whipping back between his jaws with a cargo of foam. “I like to pay my debts-ss promptly.” Another dip. “Ah, from you, little Kisssue, I ss-should gain a resss-spectable profit.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat. “I haven’t done anything to harm you.”
“Indeed not. You amuse me, Kisssue. Forgive me. Sssira Morgan iss-ss what you prefer. And why did I not know thiss-ss before?” The words were savored rather than spoken. “I try to learn everything about my friendss-ss: who they hate, who they love.” His frills were extended and pulsing with blood and color. Roraqk was definitely enjoying himself. “Which bindsss you to Morgan of Karo-lussss?”
I met his glistening yellow eyes with an effort of pure will. “Morgan’s nothing to me.”
“Ssso.”
“Yes. Anyway, he made me work without pay, and tried to stop me getting a better post. Why do you think Gistries found me at the crew board? I wouldn’t give this,” I snapped my fingers, “for Morgan of the
Fox.
”
“Well, well,” he chuckled. “Morgan means-ss nothing to you? Why do I find this-ss hard to believe, little Kisssue? Are you trying to tell me you do not know your name was-ss regisstered on Ret 7 as-ss part owner of the
Fox?
That, in the quaint way of traders-ss, Morgan hass-ss assigned you Master’s-ss rights-ss upon his-ss death?” He began one of his dreadful drooling laughs. “How wonderful—ss-shall I kill him and help you gain this-ss prize?”