Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (23 page)

I found myself stopping the lift.

Were there other Contestants locked in rooms in this building?

My Clan instincts told me to restart the lift, to hurry away while I could. My newer, Human-influenced side worried and fussed.

In the end, I gave in to the colder, saner argument. After all, I had no reason to suspect the Drapsk of intending to harm the Contestants. Judging by the gifts Maka had tried to shower on me back at the Haven, there could be a substantial profit for those competing. Who was I to interfere?

My reasons for leaving were my own.

 

On some worlds, Morgan had assured me, a cloak and a hunched posture could allow one to pass inconspicuously among the most bizarrely nonhumanoid species. I had no hope of that here; not only did the Drapsk not wear any clothing, let alone cloaks—the hockey players had been the only dressed Drapsk I’d seen—their senses were hardly likely to be fooled by mere fabric.

So I’d had an idea. If I couldn’t be inconspicuous, I’d be as conspicuous as possible.

I made it from the lift, past the now-busy restaurants and compods, and out the front door to the moving walkway before hearing a shouted: “Wait, Mystic One!”

Without turning to see who was calling me, I tossed one of the objects from my bag on the pavement, hearing it land with a most satisfying shatter. Then I jumped the marker step separating the firm surface from the yielding flow of the walkway and began to run.

There was instant confusion. Which was just as well, since running on the moving surface was about as effective as running on ice. With every step forward I took, I felt as though I was about to fall on my face. But glancing about, I could see I was making rapid progress away from the chaos I’d left behind me.

Drapsk were literally climbing over one another in an effort to retreat from the scene. One bolted right into the side of the building, just missing the hotel door, which was already jammed with fleeing Drapsk. But no one seemed to be hurt.

I shook my bag, satisfied with the clicking sound within. The bedroom of my suite had been furnished for Human use, complete with a selection of toiletries having, as I’d expected, only the mildest of scents, barely detectable to my nose. But the Drapsk had provided me with a generous platter of local fruits and cheeses. I’d experimented until I’d produced an absolutely vile-smelling mix of fruit pulp, cheese, and lotion. Emptying out every tiny container in the bedroom, and refilling them with my mix, had definitely—as I’d devoutly hoped—provided me with something I could use to occupy the Drapsk.

I made sure I had another jar in my hand, ready to toss. Next stop, the shipcity.

What I’d do if and when I reached it, I had no idea at all.

“He might have been a spacer. Legit.”

“And I might be a Human with an odd taste in accessories,” Huido rumbled. “I don’t like this, Brother.”

Morgan’s lips twitched, though his blue eyes remained glacial. “I do. If someone’s set a tail on me, at least I’m bothering them. Which is the least I plan to do.”

The Carasian clicked reluctant agreement. “Are you going to talk to this lurker in the shadows?”

“Not yet,” Morgan decided, stretching his arms over his head and sliding farther into the soft depths of the chair. The pace of the last two days was taking its toll, but he begrudged even this much rest. “Did you find anything?”

Huido poured them both a beer, maneuvering his bulk into a seat designed for him, the claw tips of his lower, and larger, two arms resting comfortably on the floor. “Yes and no. The name you gave me, Baltir, is an ingredient in my father’s unlamented meatcakes and part of a few thousand place names. One thing it didn’t do was generate a match in any Trade Pact records for Retians. You’re sure about the species?”

“He’s Retian. Barac saw him on Camos; he was brought there, as I told you, by one of their Council,” Morgan said slowly. “A Retian with an unknown name. That’s very odd.”

“I agree. The toads are fanatical about records and genealo gies. An alias suggests a strongly asocial being indeed,” Huido clicked triumphantly. “I did turn up something else. A newly arrived Denebian crew was doing the bars last night. They were tossed out of a couple, then ended up in Keevor’s—you know the place.”

Morgan did, quite well. Keevor’s was about as low as you could get on Plexis, a place where you went knowing or oblivious to the high cost of watered-down drinks and risk of creatively spiked drugs. Keevor itself, an alien of truly obnoxious personal habits, was also somewhat of an epicure. It considered Huido’s kitchen to be the only one worthy of its business. Fortunately for the other clients of the Claws & Jaws, Keevor preferred takeout.

“Keevor picked up on this crew. They were half-gone, grumbling about Pact regulations, the usual. With a couple of Keevor’s ‘Specials’ under their belts, poor beings, the Denebians complained about an Enforcer shakedown right after lift. From Pocular. Keevor knew to contact me.”

“When.”

“Time’s right.” Huido’s slurp of beer was altogether smug. “Interestingly, despite the free drinks and their condition, the crew was not forthcoming about any passengers or cargo. Keevor said they were thoroughly spooked.”

Feeling himself tense, Morgan took a slow, relaxing breath. It wouldn’t be this easy. “Where were they going after Pocular?”

“Ret 7.”

He was on his feet before he was aware of the movement. Huido’s eyes focused on the Human, expression impossible to decipher. “Shall I take care of your follower?” the Carasian asked mildly enough. “Before I leave for my penance on Ettler’s?”

Morgan knew he had to plan, to do the right things in their proper order or fail. But he trembled, speechless with a resurgence of rage. Rage that suddenly seemed to have an accessible target.

“I will,” he answered, when his lips would move again.

Chapter 21

I’D made it to the shipcity, skipping around the driverless bowlcars, avoiding—or temporarily fumigating—any Drapsk foot traffic that came too close. I actually moved as quickly as the cars, an exhilarating, nerve-racking progress as the walkway itself determined our speed. No organized pursuit showed itself, not that I was sure I’d recognize the Drapskii version. Perhaps it involved Tribe politics of some sort—whatever delayed them was fine by me.

The most difficult and dangerous part of my travels had been leaving the walkway to reach the ground itself. I’d discovered the Drapsk didn’t see any need for permanent access; ships must request connecting walkways when ready to move passengers or crew up or down to the main system. I’d looked in vain for such a connection until literally stumbling into a cargo loading area. Here the walkway was supplemented with anti-grav lifts, launched from a central point. After watching for a while to be sure there were no automated, or fanged, guards, I’d boldly hopped on the next set of crates heading downward, jumping off again short of the cargo bay doors.

I’d known better than to try and enter any ship that way. There were reasons few ships bothered posting guards. If one could pass the servos watching for vermin traveling in either direction, there’d be an inventory screen just inside. Passing that was conceivably possible, but surviving a trip in the hold was not. Having handled cargo myself, I knew such a move was a fast way to suck vacuum, not a cozy home for a stowaway—unless one had a spacesuit and a gambler’s approach to life, neither of which happened to be mine.

Instead, I ducked behind a handy docking tug, considering myself incredibly lucky to have made it this far and feeling a likely unwarranted optimism in my ability to get even farther. I looked up at what little showed of the sky past the ships and walkways. I couldn’t see the stars, but they were there. My destination.

Given I could get inside one of these ships. Memories swirled around, placing another sky overhead, the taste of a different atmosphere, rain-washed and cold, on my lips. I’d done this before, been hunted, sought escape from a world.

And had found Morgan.

I shook away the past, grimly aware that finding Morgan would not be as straightforward this time.

There were few Drapsk in this section of the shipcity. I walked, or rather slunk, around the ramps and fins of predominantly Human vessels; yet another piece of unexpected luck. These would be outbound ships; more traders’ lore I owed to Morgan.

Drapskii exported various agriculturals and cultural artifacts. I thought ruefully I could add mind-shields and other devices sure to panic the Clan to that list. In turn, the Drapsk imported a wide range of items, from certain rare metals to Human literature. However these they usually obtained themselves at the source, preferring to send out their own ships. So most of the non-Drapsk starships around me here would be on-loading cargo.

The problem was, traders hoping for cargo were at the low end of their profit cycle. Taking on potential Drapsk-trouble such as an illegal passenger could mean a minimum of losing their cargo and deposit here, as well as failing to meet the expectations of waiting customers. Few traders of my acquaintance could afford either consequence, let alone both.

Could I bribe one? I doubted it. I had no proof of credit with me. Tapping into the Drapskii planetary system to verify my funds would have meant immediate exposure—however minimal those funds were beyond the former ownership of a shabby bar on a fringe world.

Which left, I realized, two options: someone dishonest enough to tap into the system for me, or someone powerful enough to take my side against the Drapsk. This realization came without much thought, since once I reached the end of the next row of docked starships, I found myself staring up at two very different vessels indeed.

The Nokraud herself was one, her bulk looking slow and unwieldy squatted on pavement, as though protesting innocence of any predatory abilities in space.

And the pirate happened to be docked uncomfortably close—and likely by no accident—to another, smaller ship, one that made no attempt to look other than it was.

A Trade Pact Enforcer, patrol class.

 

There hadn’t been much of a choice. While the Enforcers might have been sympathetic and interceded with the Drapsk—I thought they’d at least listen: despite the Clan not being a signatory of the Pact, Morgan and I knew some names and were owed some favors—they might equally have believed the Drapsk claims of the innocence of their Festival, considering me a nervous Contestant who got cold feet and wanted a free ride home. To explain my need to find Morgan would involve a great number of revelations about the Clan and my own abilities, something I wasn’t prepared to do. About the only thing I held in common with my kind was the need to preserve the secrecy of the M’hir.

The pirates were a known and possibly lesser risk, Scats being dangerous but predictable. If I could offer them something they wanted, I was sure they wouldn’t hesitate to fracture any number of regulations on my behalf. I thought I could play on their curiosity about the Drapsk and why they’d brought me to their world.

As plans went, it was as reasonable as anything else I’d accomplished today.

 

“Ss-so, you wisssssh to leave Drapsssskii,” Grackik said, her thin black tongue whipping out to capture a bit of foam from the corner of a long front fang. “Without quesstions-ss.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I repeated. Getting on board the Nokraud had been the easy part. I’d simply snuck around the side of the ship away from the Enforcer and waited for someone from the pirate’s crew to notice me waving insanely at the remote vids.

Dealing with my own reactions had been somewhat more difficult. I’d been imprisoned and almost been killed on such a ship. This one was larger, newer, with different species making up the crew. But there was an aura about a pirate I’d learned to identify: equal parts dread and the satisfaction of causing it—something I’d forgotten in my urgency to leave the Drapsk. It had been a mistake to come on board, I knew now, but too late for the knowledge to do me any good.

Outwardly, all was civilized. We sat in a proper Captain’s lounge, sipping iced drinks—those of the Scats being a black foam they thankfully didn’t offer to share—and served finger foods by a silent Human. I hadn’t known their species liked anything that didn’t squeal as it met their teeth, but these two were patently enjoying the Drapskii delicacy of fried cheese and grains. I didn’t assume this meant anything tamer about their natures.

Rek, again I thought with deliberate malice, held her drink in one hand and her choice of treat in the other, waving both to collect the attention of her one-armed comrade as she spoke to me. “It would add confidence-ss to this-ss dis-sscusssion if you could be more—s-sspecific—about our rewards-sss, Fem Morgan.”

“Do you prefer to carry party favors?” I asked, putting an edge to my voice. These were not beings from whom it was safe to retreat. “And have Drapsk ships clamp explosive grapples to your hull in thanks?”

“Profits-ss come in different s-shapes-ss.” I saw Grackik pick up the witchstone I’d left on the black polished table between us. She held it between two claws, raising it to her large yellow-black eye and turning the stone from side to side to catch the light. “More of thes-sse would be of interes-sst to our buyers-ss, Rek.”

“One gem hardly pays-ss for the trouble this-ss will s-sstir among the Drapsssssk.”

“What they don’t know . . . ?” I suggested.

“True,” a deprecating wave of a drink-encumbered hand. “But willing dec-ss-eption adds-ss to the cos-sst.”

Since I couldn’t pay what they’d already mentioned as a starting point, adding to the cost wasn’t an issue. So I was able to shrug carelessly. “Whatever it takes.”

“Why do you want to leave this-ss world with us-ss?” Grackik demanded with a snap of her heavy jaws. “There are liners-ss, regular flights-ss, even a trader will take on a pass-ssenger. No, Fem Morgan. I think you wis-ssh to leave because you have offended our hos-ssts-ss in s-ssome way. Perhaps-ss murder?” The last word was drawn out as if it left a special taste within the Scat’s mouth.