Among the information the Council had deemed worth carrying from Homeworld was a detailed geneology for every member of the Clan who had left during the Stratification. They’d been a treasure trove of information to explore.
More years passed as that Sira added all of her research into her population models. The results were alarming. The trend to greater power in Choosers in each successive generation had acted to narrow the number of suitable Choices. Added to this, the Clan had never been a particularly fertile species; families of three children were unusual. The power to manipulate the M’hir was becoming concentrated: pooling in fewer, though stronger individuals, with the remainder of the population excluded from bearing children. Council policies regarding Choice and reproduction had only accelerated the process. And this process had one inevitable ending.
Sira dared to make that dreadful conclusion. Not only was there a theoretical limit to how much breeding for power within the M’hir the M’hiray could tolerate and remain viable, but this limit had already been reached. Her existence—my existence—was more than a warning. A Chooser who could not find a mate was the first step on a downward spiral of population decline. There was no escape. The crash was inevitable and the M’hiray were a doomed experiment, not a new species.
Or was it inevitable? This other me had also proposed a solution. Bring the unusable Choosers into the breeding pool. A return to the old ways, of Choosers assessing every unChosen male, was more than unthinkable: at best, it could only slow the decline, and at a cost too terrible to consider by a sentient species.
A dramatic new approach was needed and that Sira naively believed she had one: hybridize with a compatible telepathic humanoid species, Humans themselves perhaps or any species without the Power-of-Choice. The most favorable outcome could be a new race, retaining M’hiray ability to use the M’hir, but freed at last from the deadly consequences of Choice.
At worst, a means might have been found to bring Choosers to Commencement without costing more M’hiray lives. Before Stratification, there had been Commencement without Joining, Clan mates who knew each other only through reality and not through the M’hir. A scandalous, heretical thought to the M’hiray. But in the name of survival, the dwindling numbers could be offset by new breeders, Commenced by contact with aliens, breeders who would hold off the end of their species until a better, more lasting solution could be found. At the very least, the mothers and their offspring could continue to enhance the M’hir for the remaining M’hiray.
I was able to learn all this with remarkable objectivity. Indeed, I found it impossible to identify myself at all with the cold analytical mind Jarad remembered for me; I’d never been this woman who almost casually predicted the death of her kind, and as easily, suggested the potential deaths of others as a solution. Had that Sira been isolated so long that people marched in her mind like those numbers on the screen?
While that Sira went on to other concerns, minds accustomed to action and control began to worry away at her pronouncement of doom. She was believed by, or at least made uneasy, enough of those on the Council to set in motion a test of her proposed solution. And who better than the daughter of di Sarc?
But never to interbreed with another species—that heresy was too much for any of them. The Choice offered would be in the ancient manner. Knowing I would kill them, Council still suggested I be exposed to any and all unChosen males, one after another if necessary, in hopes of inducing Commencement. Once Commenced, Sira di Sarc would at least be physically capable of bearing young. Her incredible strength must not be lost from the M’hiray.
And the drive of the Power-of-Choice for a Joining through the M’hir? The Council proposal rushed from Jarad’s emotionless and clear memory, to the horror-filled turmoil of my own. An erased mind can’t heed the dictates of Choice.
My father had had barely enough warning. He’d come to her—to me—determined to outmaneuver his fellow Councillors and their plan. Together, he and that Sira selected a promising Human telepath, Morgan of Karolus. Then, to lessen the effects of training and prejudice, as well as to protect any unChosen she might meet by accident, Sira ruthlessly suppressed her power and memory beyond normal stasis—aided in the final stages by Jarad and Cenebar.
Suicide with no certainty of resurrection, I judged it, wondering if I could have made that choice.
A touch of the past—Jarad’s, not mine: Barac, delicately probed for information; a programmed mob of overzealous cutthroats, intended to separate me from Barac’s guardianship. And a last image of myself through Jarad’s eyes: my face holding only a faint puzzling at the sound of thunder in the night air.
“I had to inform Council, once you were safely away, Sira,” Jarad took up aloud. “Though displeased enough to bar me from the chambers, they were willing to await your return.” Jarad stroked my hair again gently, thoughtfully. “But you must understand, Sira, that unless your mission turns out to be totally successful, they will order you erased and mated to their selection. You need Morgan. You must finish what you’ve begun.”
INTERLUDE
“I don’t like this,” Huido grumbled, eyes close to tangling in their effort to scan every direction at once.
“You have received clearance for lift, Homs,” the servo-gatekeeper repeated for the third time, a suspicious rise in volume suggesting an unmachinelike impatience.
“There they are,” Morgan charged forward, snatching the preferred clearance disk from the machine’s appendage and hurrying through the gateway. “Come on!”
The Carasian rocked his wide head in a shrug and followed the smaller Human. The being in line behind the alien moved up with an audible sigh of relief.
“I don’t like this,” Huido repeated when he caught up to Morgan. The Human was dodging through the crowd entering the spaceport terminal. The Carasian’s path opened automatically as passersby registered his natural armament. “How do we know who’s who?” Huido continued plaintively, eyes spread apart in a futile attempt to watch every face they passed. “Camos could be swarming with them. The grist is overwhelming. Can you tell Clan from Human?”
Morgan had stopped in the eddy between the main doorways. “Not unless I use power—which would gain us a quick and not so pleasant welcome. We’d best stay as inconspicuous as possible, old friend. No unnecessary inquiries—and no door-knocking. Barac will lead us where we must go.” Cautiously, Morgan peered out, then signaled Huido to follow behind as the Human darted to the line of waiting transports.
An endless stream of vehicles was landing, disgorging passengers, and taking off with new fares. “There,” Morgan said grimly, pointing to a transport just airborne. “And here we part. Take the clearance, and keep the Fox ready, Brother.” There was time for no more than Huido’s quick assent before Morgan pushed his way into the next-in-line transport and took off in pursuit.
Chapter 35
I WAS making some progress in the restoration of Sira di Sarc, despite the fact that I didn’t like her. I’d begun to feel at home in my rooms, more a sense of comfort and knowing what was behind cupboards than really remembering. Unfortunately, every step closer to my former self pushed Sira Morgan further away, into some place that hurt when I probed it.
Like now. I tightened my arms around Rael again briefly, breathed in her clean warmth, truly glad to see her. It wasn’t something Sira Morgan would have done. Rael pressed her cheek to my hair, her power enveloping us both for a moment, cutting off the world. More to the point, she deliberately excluded our father who stood to one side.
Morgan’s safe, sister,
her mental voice said, warm and comforting.
I kept my promise.
I pulled away, turning to Jarad. “Morgan’s gone, Father.”
Rael looked aghast. “Sira!” She whirled on Jarad, taking visible notice of him for the first time since her appearance in the main room of my chambers moments before. “What have you done to Sira? I warn you, I won’t stand by and—”
“Silence.” Jarad looked more weary than angered. “Sira’s attachment to the Human remains intact—just as when it convinced you to interfere with the will of Council. Regrettable, but true.”
“They want me to find Morgan and bring him to Camos, Rael,” I said. “Morgan holds the key to releasing my memory.”
“And her power,” Jarad growled. “Without Morgan, there’s no way to repair Sira’s mind. If she remains this half-thing, she’ll be erased by Council decree.”
Rael looked from one to the other of us. “Erased? What in Seventeen Hells for?”
I seesawed for a moment between laughter and a curse of my own. “It seems, my dear sister,” I explained, choosing neither, “that I was supposed to produce a fully Commenced and Chosen Sira upon my triumphant return from this adventure. Even if a Human were the Choice!”
“But why . . .” Rael’s voice cracked. On her face, disgust warred with horror. Disgust won. “Council wants to bypass the Power-of-Choice,” she whispered. “They hoped a Choice made with a Human—” her lips twisted around the word, “that such a Choice would induce Commencement without the linkage of a true Joining. But what if that hasn’t happened? What if you’re unable to—if you can’t—” She turned red and stopped.
I politely filled the ensuing silence, since my father didn’t appear interested in doing so. “The Council will eliminate the dangers of Choice by simply eliminating the Choosers. Of course, that means they need some way to retain the power contained in the Choosers’ genes. Oh, Yihtor had the right idea.”
Rael turned to our father. “Stop this!”
Jarad spread his hands helplessly. “I carry no other Councillors with me anymore. Sira’s calculations have sent them scurrying for any shelter, any reprieve, no matter how repugnant. I can’t influence or change their will in this.”
“It doesn’t help that there are no Choosers on Council,” Rael spat almost viciously. “And as for your influence on Council, Jarad, how was it used seventy years ago when your firstborn was ordered imprisoned? What are you going to do this time except grovel?”
“You’re unfair, Rael,” I objected, having decided it was time to step in. Their feuding made me feel responsible, as if I’d once had a role in soothing their anger; I no longer knew how. “I’d have been erased already if it hadn’t been for Jarad.”
“Where is the Human?” Jarad demanded impatiently.
Before Rael could object, I spread my hands pleadingly. “Where is he?”
“Halfway to Deneb, maybe,” she said with a sigh, dropping into the nearest easi-rest. “Or halfway to anywhere.” Jarad took a seat also, the physical signs of a truce reflected in the mutual subsidence of their power.
“Sira, you must summon the Human now,” Jarad’s voice was grim. I blinked, then regarded him narrowly.
“You heard Rael—”
Jarad looked exasperated. “You say this Human has
feelings
for you. Humans are not rational thinkers, Daughters. I find it difficult to imagine him leaving Camos without making some attempt to see Sira.”
Rael and I exchanged quick looks. There was enough doubt on her face to arouse some in my own mind. Morgan’s capitulation really wasn’t in character. The only surprise was that my father had seen what I should have known.
“If I agree to contact him,” I said, counting each “if” on my fingers. “If Morgan is still on Camos; if he’s willing to come. Then what happens to him when he does?” There was no answer from either of them, but the regretful look in Rael’s expression told me enough. I shook my head slowly. “No. I have a better idea. Help me leave Camos.”
“You must reconsider, Sira.” Jarad let me feel the pain under his firmness. He leaned forward, liquid eyes pleading. “Your mind is in such a shambles now even the most reluctant Councillor will be able to justify whatever they plan. Your affection for this alien can only harm you.”
“So I must use Morgan as they would use me?” I countered. “Why can’t you understand one’s as bad as the other?”
Rael threw up her hands. “I’ve had my fill of arguing with this Sira, Jarad. You know the defenses on Camos. Can we get her offworld?”
Jarad’s lips tightened and there was a heaviness to his power. “Camos is our center. The M’hir dips deepest here to form what we are—here the M’hir is watched at all times. I’ll help,” he added quickly, forestalling Rael’s outburst. “I’ll share your fate before condoning it with my silence.” I was uneasily aware of Rael’s skeptical silence.
Our plotting began and ended in the same instant. There was a sudden tug in my mind. A quick glance at my father showed he felt it, too; the grim set to his face only too revealing. I didn’t need him to explain that Council had convened and that we were feeling its summons.
Where was Morgan? I was glad he was out of danger— that I’d been able to resist calling him back to Camos. Well, part of me was glad. The rest wished desperately to go to him, wherever he was, regardless of who or what would follow.
INTERLUDE
A final leafy branch hid the last traces of the rented air-car. Morgan eyed his handiwork critically. He had little hope of leaving as easily as he’d come. The hidden machine might make a difference, even against the Clan.
He turned and headed upslope, making his way cautiously but quickly through the bands of ornamental shrubs which encircled the busy scene below. The Human paused in the shelter of a clump of fruit-laden trees. The large ornate building before him, abuzz with activity on the ground and in the air, was nothing less than the Human government seat for the Camos Cluster.
Morgan checked the homing device in his belt and was reassured by its strong pulse. He was very close to Barac and so to Yihtor, but what were they doing here of all places on the planet? The government of Camos was Human. Why did the Clan come here? His mouth tightened in a thin line as he considered the possibilities. Bowman would be very interested.