A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) (48 page)

Morgan nodded a welcome to Barac before raising a brow at me. “Who needs saving at the moment?”

I brushed my hand over my eyes, behind the momentary blindness trying to sort out which of several conflicting feelings was closest to threatening my control. The effort was futile. I smothered them all and sat back down on the orange curl of pipe, moving my feet in time to allow one of the countless tiny cleaning servos to pass underneath. Where were rats when you needed to kick something? “I’d like to be glad to see you,” I said. “But you’ve made a terrible mistake coming here.”

“The Council’s behind it all, Morgan,” Barac explained bitterly, a bruised look to his eyes. “Rael and I were fools to think we’d find help for Sira here. All we found was death.”

“Death?”

“Sira’s father bought us time to escape with his life,” Barac said when I didn’t bother answering. “But if we don’t leave Camos, now, his death will have been for nothing.”

“All right,” Morgan said. “Let’s go, then.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I won’t leave. Not yet.”

“Why?” This frantic and quick from Barac; Morgan allowed only curiosity to touch his eyes.

“You don’t know the truth.”

“There’s no time—”

“It won’t take long, Barac.” I looked at Morgan, thinking each word out carefully; Barac was right, there wasn’t any time to waste. But how could I take another step without telling them, telling him, what I was? That knowledge had crusted like a scab within my mind, the kind of scab you can’t help but bump with every movement. “You’ve helped me because you think I’m the victim,” I began. “You’re wrong.”

The pain of it burned away in me, hollowing my insides as I went on, listening to my own voice. I told them all of it, everything I’d learned from Jarad and Cenebar, everything I knew about the Council’s purpose—and Sira di Sarc’s. Barac, nervously watching the tunnel’s entrance, slowly moved back toward me until, by the time I’d finished, he stood beside Morgan and stared at me. I looked only into Morgan’s blue eyes.

I stopped at the end, which was almost the present, and waited for Morgan’s judgment. The pain was almost gone. For that alone, it was worth whatever they now thought of me.

“You. You planned this!?” Barac spoke first, struggling to keep a note of accusation from his voice but failing. “You used me. You planned to break the Prime Law and you used me to help!”

Odd to defend the actions and motives of that other Sira. “Yes,” I said. “But if I hadn’t, the Council would have broken it their way—and at what consequence to me?”

“What of the consequence to Morgan?” Part of me cowered away from Barac’s angry question; part of me echoed it. I couldn’t speak. Something flickered in Morgan’sblue eyes that I was amazed to recognize as amusement.

“Nice to have you on my side for once, Barac.”

Barac looked startled, then shrugged it off with a shade of his old arrogance. “Don’t get used to it, Human.” Then to me, almost with revulsion: “What I can’t believe is that you think you can justify what you tried to do—”

“What who tried to do, Barac?” Morgan interrupted, his eyes never leaving me. “I see two Siras here. Neither has to be justified.”

“Barac’s right. I planned—” I began, somewhat annoyed that he’d missed the point.

Morgan raised his hand to silence me, a gentle gesture.

“Neither one.” Morgan repeated more softly. “Sira Morgan was born on Auord and has no part in this. The other? How can we judge Sira di Sarc? How can we imagine what it was like for her in exile? Could you, Barac, have smothered your own power and self to avoid hurting others? Could you have offered to undergo the most intimate act possible between two beings with a stranger, worse, a despised alien, having no idea of the outcome?” Mind-speech, warm and rich with emotion, filled my thoughts.
We can’t change the past, Sira, but we can say we’re done with it and go on. Please.

I held myself stiff and unyielding. There was more to deal with than the past. Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Not done, after all,” he said aloud. “What else, Clanswoman?” This finally with a touch of impatience.

“Nothing that can’t wait, Morgan.” I summoned all the earnestness I possessed. “If you can split me into different people and fates, so can I—for now. Both of me would like to survive.”

Morgan brushed dirt from his coveralls then jerked a thumb at the small portal through which he had arrived. “I do know one tried-and-true escape route, if not where we are at the moment. From the looks of the system, whoever built this ductwork forgot it was there.” He paused. “I take it you can’t just go
poof.
”

“There are guards against using the power here, Morgan.”Barac frowned. “But how did you find us without alerting the Watchers?”

Morgan shook his head sadly, then reached up to tug at the back of Barac’s collar. “When will you listen to all my good advice, Clansman?” he chided. A tiny device shone dully between slim brown fingers.

Barac’s astonished curse was enough to make me chuckle, but the sound was somehow harsh and I closed my lips over it. Morgan stored the device in a pocket on his belt before coming to me and reaching down a hand. I moved past it to press my face against his chest, extending my senses to encompass his breathing, the coursing of his blood, his determination, his caring. Only for a second.

A tendril of my hair lingered on his shoulder as I drew back and waved him onward.

Chapter 38

“STOP kicking it in my face!” Barac’s rather frayed temper made his voice from behind me louder than was safe.

I stopped crawling long enough to whisper: “It’s no better up here, Barac. Keep your voice down or we’ll have more to worry about.” The brightening within the duct was warning enough; we were passing another access point.

As before, I curbed my impatience and watched the silhouette ahead. Morgan snapped off his tiny, and to be frank, rather useless light. But this time he stopped and peered cautiously through the grating. I tapped his leg. In answer, the tiny light flashed on for a second to show me a cross scratched above the metal-clad opening.

There was a delay that gave every sore muscle in my back time to stab at me. At least my nose had stopped begging to sneeze. I didn’t bother to complain; the other two must have felt the same after our long journey on hands and knees. In one or two places, we’d had to lie flat and squirm around bends; I’d left a fair bit of skin behind. At junctions, where the sudden splitting of the duct into two or four would have left Barac and me hopelessly lost in the labyrinth, Morgan searched for his mark and led the way.

I grinned, feeling the grime crack on my face. He might be stubborn, but my Morgan possessed some admirable and unusual skills. His past would make very interesting conversation, granted that we survived to enjoy it.

Morgan hammered loose the finely woven grating. It fell away from the duct with a dreadful screech of sound. I squinted in the sudden light. A hand shoved at my back as Barac practically threw me after Morgan and out of the duct.

“What do you—” I sputtered angrily at my cousin, only to burst out laughing at the gray apparition slithering out of the wall. Morgan chuckled.

“There are some odds and ends. It’s better than walking around like this.” Morgan pointed toward one corner of the room, which was more like a closet. Barac and I had to be careful of our elbows as well as a stack of cleaning tools as we rummaged through a basket of laundry, searching for the cleanest of the dirty coveralls. Morgan slipped off his own outer gear; underneath, his dress tunic was dust-free, if somewhat rumpled.

Moments later, and slightly cleaner, for there had been a low sink in another corner, I shook out my hair and was relieved to discover that it repelled most of the dust. Barac sneezed and glared at me. He’d put on some coveralls that more or less fit and was holding a sweeper— whether to add to his disguise or as an unlikely weapon, I wasn’t sure. Sometimes it worked. I tied on a wrap-around apron affair, trying not to notice the wads of lint clinging to my legs.

Once out of the closet, we found ourselves walking through corridors full of people, some hurrying as though their plas notes would melt, others taking their time and chatting like birds in a tree. I had the peculiar feeling the three of us were alone, all the people around us only existing for decoration, a disguise for the reality of the Clan and its ruling Council.

There were guards, Human, I hoped, at every junction and lift. “Was there this much security when you entered?” I asked.

Morgan shook his head, frowning slightly. “No. And I don’t like the look of it. How many of these people are involved with the Clan, Barac?”

“None.” Barac’s surprise seemed genuine. “On Camos, we use Humans as camouflage; what good would they be if they knew of us? You’re the only Human who knows the Council Chamber is in this building; barely a handful of your kind even know the Council exists.”

“If you believe that, Barac, you’re a fool,” I said. “Care to bet there are Humans here who don’t remember how deep the basement is, or how many floors they built, or where the ductwork really goes? How about the Humans in charge of climate control and ventilation? I’ll take money, Cousin, that discrepancies here are conveniently forgotten. And you know who’s best at that!”

“I have to agree with Sira,” Morgan said, checking his chronometer. “The Clan could use these people against us—”

Barac thumped the floor with the sweeper, attracting attention. He smiled apologetically to onlookers, who shrugged and passed by. “The Clan doesn’t need Humans to handle its problems,” he hissed.

“Let’s hope so,” I said, sidestepping to avoid being stepped on by a preoccupied office worker. There must be thousands in the building. I could imagine them boiling over us in Clan-induced rage, like ants ripping apart crumbs. Silly notion, or was it? “How much farther to the exit—and your aircar, Morgan?”

A gesture ahead. “That doorway leads to the main reception area.” The passage Morgan indicated was blocked by a gate, overlooked in turn by a pair of servos; even more threatening were the armed guards beyond. Morgan gave my arm a gentle shake. “Not to worry, Sira,” he whispered cheerfully. “They’re guarding against illegal entries—not exits.”

“Then how did you get in?” Barac growled pointedly, dropping his sweeper behind a nearby planter and dusting his clothes once more. Morgan just smiled and led the way confidently. There was no choice but to trust his judgment, something I was sure Barac disliked intensely.

The moment we stepped between the servos, a soft bell rang, instantly making us the focus of attention. I was unpleasantly aware of the odd trio we formed. Morgan forestalled the approach of the guards by reaching into a pocket and drawing forth a striped card for the servos’ inspection. A series of satisfied clicks and the gate opened.

“Where did you get—” Barac’s question was cut off as one of the guards turned to watch us.

“Later,” Morgan promised in a whisper. I began to breathe again as we made our way alongside the massive upward sweep of stairs that formed the core of the entrance hall. The rest of the room was equally impressive, with gleaming stone floors inset with designs and raised plantings of flowering shrubs. The murmur of voices was almost lost in the skyward-soaring ceiling. I craned my neck around and could barely make out the point at which the coil of inward-directed balconies ended.

People, Human and a few definitely non-Human, were everywhere. Small groups, possibly waiting to present their views to the local government, gathered around the base of the stairs; a couple of the more vocal clusters were being watched closely by security personnel. “There’s our way out,” Morgan said quite unnecessarily. No one could miss the row of sun-streaked doors along one wall. The constant swing-whoosh of their opening and closing sounded like breathing.

We’d barely started our walk out into the open when Morgan pulled me back into the shelter of the stair wall. Barac followed, looking nervously around for whatever had alarmed Morgan. “Trouble coming,” Morgan said by way of explanation, but with a puzzled look in his eyes as he, too, searched our surroundings.

Barac hesitated, then closed his eyes tightly. “Yes,” he said an instant later, glancing at the Human with a mix of disapproval and respect. “I taste it, too.”

Obviously this wasn’t part of my Talent, for I felt nothing unusual. Yet, perhaps in part due to their warning, I was alert enough to act immediately when the itching began in my mind. Someone was trying to pull us into the M’hir, to take us away from here. I resisted, somehow held us—more exactly, I continuously relocated us where we were. Barac’s disciplined strength joined mine when, without thinking, I reached out and clutched his shoulder. Then I think I called: “Jason!” Raw power flowed to me through the grip of his hand, given without constraint.

I wasn’t sure how long that battle lasted, if a battle it could be called. When the force trying to
push
us somewhere else ceased and I opened my eyes, I found to my dismay that it had been at least long enough to attract a curious crowd, including guards. One of them stepped forward cautiously, with the air of one who prepared to humor yet another group of oddities. The other guards began dispersing the spectators.

“Do you people need some help here?” The question was asked gruffly and certainly with the hope that we would rapidly take our eccentricities away from his post. I smiled at the ordinariness of it. Then my smile died.

A familiar figure had appeared behind the officer, pushing forward among the now saluting and respectful guards to stand before us. I heard Barac gasp.

“I’ll handle this, Lieutenant,” Jarad di Sarc said commandingly.

“Certainly, Lord Jarad,” the officer said with barely hidden relief. I stared at my dead father, unwilling to believe the evidence of my senses, and equally unwilling to believe what it meant. “You must be Captain Morgan,” Jarad said without ever meeting my eyes. “I’ve been expecting you.”