Eyes whirled uncertainly, it being an awkward point with Huido to have traveled the M’hir so close to his wives’ return, but then he dipped his head. “And was a friend.” Huido paused after that toast, then gave the bell tone of grief. He poured beer into his handling claw and raised it. “To our other friends no longer with us, the brave Drapsk of the Heerala.” Instead of slurping the liquid, he trickled it over the metal hammer. The rest drank in silence, more than a few aware the ship’s fate had come close to being their own.
If any good came from the loss, Morgan thought, it was having a possible explanation for the mysterious disappearance of other starships over the years. The Rugherans and their actions had been recorded by every device the Conciliator carried, data already being analyzed. It wouldn’t be long before nav updates included notes on the risk of predation, as well as piracy.
Spacers might think it a joke; they’d still pay attention.
As for ’porting Plexis? The others who’d been there knew it had taken a partner who spent most of her time as a planet, and if that leaked out? Well, as Terk said, it’d make a fun vistape adventure.
“Finally,” Huido boomed, “To my blood brother and sister, Jason and Sira! May your love be an example to us all. Go find yourselves a pool!”
Those who didn’t know the truth laughed and applauded, along with the few still confused about why Huido kept calling Rael di Sarc by her sister’s name.
Those who did know avoided their eyes.
Sira rose to her feet, glass in hand. “To our host and brother,” she said simply, then added with a twinkle in her eyes, “you go first!”
Causing an uproar that caught even Huido by surprise, not that he was capable of blushing, for they all stood, Morgan starting the chant, “To the pool! To the pool!”
The massive Carasian hesitated, eyes torn between him and Sira, but this was the right exit, the carefree and happy one she asked for with a graceful sweep of her hand to the door, that tremulous smile.
Huido understood, as he always had. “Eat, drink, and don’t break the porcelain,” he ordered them all, eyes lingering on Morgan before clanging hammer to claw. “To my wives!”
Morgan noticed Tayno remained subdued. “You’ll have a pool of your own soon,” he said quietly. “You made quite the impression.”
Every eye winked out of sight between head disks.
“Oops,” Sira mouthed.
One at a time, the black orbs reappeared. “Hom Morgan,” sadly, “I cannot. There are absolute necessities. Success. Stability. Employment.”
Ah. The inhabitants of Plexis had seen two Carasian males. “Trust me, Tayno, most beings can’t tell the two of you apart,” Morgan said soothingly. “You can still impersonate Huido.”
“It’s not that.” Tayno attempted to whisper, but his voice grew louder with his woe. “I’ve critically overspent the restaurant’s budget. When he finds out, my esteemed uncle will have no choice but to fire me. He may have to fire all the staff, including poor Lones.”
Who, catching his name from the other end of the table, grinned and raised a glass.
“Overspent it how?” Sira looked puzzled. “I thought Plexis was covering the repairs.”
“That’s true.” The massive head tipped from shoulder to shoulder. “I shouldn’t like to say. You’ve saved us all.” Tayno straightened. “The Claws & Jaws honors your debt as our own.” Followed by a sad little, “And on top of everything, the new chefs might want to leave. Huido doesn’t know that yet, and we can’t afford their fare home either.” A rattle of pure despair.
Morgan frowned. “What ‘debt’?” He’d left none behind, well aware Plexis welcomed any opportunity to sneak in a charge, with interest, and worse, would consider what you owed as much a tradable commodity as anything in a store. Not to mention he’d been in another section of the galaxy—
“The rent was never paid on your apartment.” Tayno produced a crumpled plas sheet from a crevice in one arm, passing it to Morgan. “I received this from the deputy inspector.”
Definitely something wrong here. He’d always stayed with Huido; Sira, too. Nice address, though, Morgan noted, nothing fancy, but Level 5, spinward—
That rate? Jynet had done them a favor, bringing the bill to them instead of a collection agency, the sort that took body parts in lieu of payment. This would be outrageous for a grandie suite with full staff.
He passed the plas to Sira, whose eyebrows shot up. Something’s wrong, she agreed.
“Hom, Fem. Friends,” Tayno said. His claw reached for the plas. “Please do not think I’d ask you for the amount. Besides,” with touching frankness, “you don’t have a ship or a job.”
Sira gave a nod of understanding. “Barac and Ruti.”
“The landlord saw Bowman’s voucher and felt—inspired.” Morgan took the plas from Sira and went to put it in his pocket. “I’ll deal with it.”
Tayno attempted to snatch it back. “Hom—”
Not quick enough. Morgan closed the fastener. “Now, tell us why you think the chefs want to leave.”
With Tayno’s equilibrium restored, though not even a relieved Carasian should eat that many “Glider Goobles,” Morgan and Sira rose together to take their leave.
“Tell Bowman and Terk they missed a great party,” he told Finelle.
The Lemmick regarded her still-full plate doubtfully. “If you say so, Captain Morgan.”
“I say Terk is lucky to have you as a partner,” Sira said firmly, offering her hand. “Please tell him—tell the sector chief—tell them—” she faltered and sent Morgan a pleading look.
“Tell them,” he said, quiet and sure, “it has been a privilege.”
“I will.” The dip and wag of her pororus meant respect.
It could also, Morgan remembered, mean “the final farewell.”
Sira was right, Terk had an excellent new partner.
And quite possibly the Lemmick could help someone else. “Finelle, if your fourth-over-sixth uncle needs help with his new business venture, talk to Tayno. He could be looking for an extra source of income soon—and he has a fondness for fonts.”
“For—?” She thought better of asking. “I will, Captain Morgan.”
Nicely done, Sira sent, as they walked away. Tayno’s ready to make his own way.
There was that. I did it just as much for Huido, Morgan admitted. By the size of those feet, Tayno’s next molt could make him bigger.
Best not leave a threat to his blood brother’s pool too close.
Erin met them at the door, eyes bright with curiosity. “Morgan,” a nod. “Not Rael, I’m told. How’s that work?”
Sira didn’t quite smile. “It’s complicated.”
“I bet. Well, my offer to Captain Morgan is open to you, too. Sira.” A grin. “The Wayfarer’s ready to seek new adventures. You’re welcome aboard. And to tell me all about ‘complicated.’”
“Thank you, but it’s time I went home.”
How could she say the words so calmly?
“Fair Skies,” Erin said, her gaze shifting to Morgan. “Undock tomorrow, midday. Either we see you or we won’t.”
“Fair Skies,” he replied.
Knowing the answer.
Interlude
<<TIME TO COME HOME . . .>>
Soon, I answered without rancor, aware why they were eager when I was not. Once I let go, the Singers could, too, pulling us through Between to AllThereIs . . .
And nothing.
Until then, I’d now and this. An echo of our first time on Plexis, walking through a night zone, when I’d thought to leave Morgan, afraid of the strange bond between us and how it might harm him. I’d fallen in love with my Human so long ago, with no need for my instinct and Power-of-Choice to test him as a Candidate. I’d known then.
Our footsteps matched. They did, that wa
s all. Walking together was as natural as breathing and we moved through the giddy post-almost-apocalypse crowds like one being, neither leading nor following.
Together.
It was this, I thought sadly, my kind didn’t grasp about us. Morgan and I were two halves of a whole, a whole greater than our sum.
We worked through a throng of Turrned Missionaries who immediately turned their limpid, soul-searching gaze on us. “Stay. We will pray with you,” they promised, singly and in pairs, and I’d have been willing, would do anything that could change the future.
But Morgan didn’t look down or slow, so I didn’t either.
We were on the rampway before he spoke. “What happens now?”
I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’ll ’port Rael’s body Between. The Watchers will guide me the rest of the way.”
Morgan caught himself. No one else would have noticed. To me, used to his sure-footed grace, he might have staggered.
I searched his face, saw the flash of—was that relief?—and understood with a sickening lurch beneath my heart. My poor Human. My love. He’d believed I’d come with him so he could end Rael’s life. Presumably in this apartment we were going to see.
Then what, be charged with my murder? Confess and accept punishment?
He’d brushed aside Erin’s offer as if he hadn’t heard it. Spoke to those we’d left behind as if he, not I, was the one about to disappear forever.
There’d been a time I’d been afraid to stay with Jason Morgan.
Should I be afraid to leave?
Chapter 41
SHE COULD LEAVE ON HER OWN. Would leave. Must.
When? The question he dare not ask, in case “now” became the answer, now being a fragile, fleeting thing you didn’t notice, didn’t stare at, because if you did, now would be gone and after take its place.
Now, Morgan thought wistfully, was nice. Walking together through Plexis, steering around maudlin groups of celebrants while trying not to step on what appeared to be equally cheerful vermin, was more than he’d had, the last time—
“Can this be the place?”
They’d reached the twelfth in a row of unornamented doors; the entry pad was moisture-proofed for those obliged to key in the code with a tongue or other damp part. Morgan checked the plas sheet. “This is it. I’ll read out the code.”
Sira made a face as she entered the digits, the pad having been slimed recently; a would-be burglar or housekeeping.
Housekeeping, Morgan judged, once they’d stepped inside and closed the door, portlights activating to the left and right. The floor sparkled and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. Not that anyone had lived here. The furniture was new, a delivery label on the back of the nearest of two easi-rests. Nothing hung on the walls. Instead of a kitchen, there was a counter with a replicator, still sealed and waiting for use. A step down a short hall found a fresher and bedroom.
“You were right. This isn’t worth the rent.” Sira put her hands on her hips, eyes hot with indignation. “What do we do about it?”
Morgan pulled out his voucher. “Trick with these,” he explained, “is they work both ways.”
Her indignation was replaced with puzzlement. “What do you—oh,” with a slow grin.
His matched it. “Exactly. I didn’t want to tell Tayno, but if Barac had applied the voucher, not just shown it, the landlord could only bill what the accountants deem fair value for service. Since the apartment was never used for its intended purpose, that would be zero.” He held up his voucher. “Watch.”
Morgan went to the com panel, accessed the credit slot, and shoved in the voucher. The panel lit up to display a truly incredible amount owed—that swiftly began to count itself down. He pulled it free at four days owing, the number going green as that bill was paid in full. “For the cleaning,” he said casually.
That was, he thought, only fair.
The second easi-rest in the apartment was covered in gifts, intended for the baby Barac and Ruti hadn’t had, but who was with them in AllThereIs. Hard as that was for a being of flesh and blood to grasp, seeing the collapsed balloons, Morgan found himself smiling.
Sira moved forward as if in a dream and bent to examine the gifts, hair slipping over her shoulder. She pulled up an untidy mass of string. Spoons dangled from it, chinking together. “Tayno’s creation.”
There was the cradle from Enora and Agem, Barac’s parents. In it a card for a prototype stroller, from Rael. A stack of practical bedding and wardrobe essentials from Huido—selected by Hom M’Tisri, who’d that knack for knowing what someone truly needed, though Bowman’s gift of the voucher had been needed, too.
They’d thought.
“Jason, look.”
Sira held up a painting—his painting. A flower from Acranam’s jungle. Ruti’d told him the name. “Night’s Fire.”
“I have this one, too,” she said softly. He must have shown his confusion, for she smiled and touched fingertip to forehead. “I remembered it so well, it’s part of—I’ve all your paintings.”
Paintings. All he’d had of her. All she’d have of him.
Something inside Morgan broke—
In one quick stride, he reached her. Had her in his arms. Pressed his face into her hair and couldn’t stop himself. “Stay.”
I can’t.
Sira eased herself free, taking the warmth from the universe; put her lips to his cheek, stealing its hope.
As you love me, Jason Morgan, have a future.
He watched her walk out the door and close it.
“Sorry, Witchling.”
Morgan flexed his wrist, dropping the force blade into his hand, and headed for the fresher.
“I can’t stay either.”
Interlude
STAY. STAY. STAY. I tried to outrun the word, the passion and need in it, my own just as strong, just as impossible, going faster and faster, blinded by tears and heedless of where I went, so long as it was away from stay, careening off soft and hard obstacles—until I stepped on some being’s tail—or whatever. The yowled curse was enough to make me jump out of the way before the backhanded slap could connect.
I staggered, still running, now with one hand on a wall. Around a garden, not that gardens mattered or walls. Only paintings did, and starships, and—
Morgan.
I stopped before realizing it, staring down at hands pressed against stone, startled to realize they weren’t mine. Rael’s hands.
Mine.
Hers. Did it matter? These hands had touched him. These fingers had brushed over his skin, so warm and alive, and why did I stay—
Here?
Holding stone?
My fingers clenched, skin tearing on stone. Was it because I knew—this time—
—he wouldn’t stay without me?
I concentrated with furious haste . . .
. . . finding myself back in the apartment, running again.
He’d be gone. Of course, he’d be gone—I’d left him again. Why would he stay here?
Lies, I told myself, flying down the hall. He wasn’t in the bedroom.
A shadow slumped in the fresher stall, dark against the white tile, then eyes sparked blue, caught in the tiny glow of an activated force blade.
I lunged forward with no plan but to stop him. Stepped on some part and heard a pained curse every bit as vehement as the one yowled at me moments before and would have laughed—
If I hadn’t been sobbing and beyond desperate. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.” I couldn’t, but the words were all I had to offer, to keep him from this, to buy time.
To find hope.
Fingers trailed over my stomach, tracing the line where I’d had a scar, then gently found the outline of the medplas over what boded to be a new one. We’d h
ad several such conversations over the hours past, my body new to us both.
Morgan returned to a topic of particular interest. “The artist knew orchids,” he mused. “Though this petal? Hmm.”
“Critic,” I began then gasped, arching with pleasure as he illustrated his point most thoroughly.
My hair stirred.
Wrapped in love, heavy with content, I thought nothing of it and slept.
A Watcher stirred.
Something had changed. It wasn’t Between, for that Dark was strong again, its deadly storm a song in its own right.
Song. That was it. There shouldn’t be Song here. The Singers had been quiet, saving their strength to hold the traveler.
Sira. She had a name. Insisted on it, when others left theirs in dreams.
<<..stay? . . .>>
Impossible. More Watchers paid attention. They were done, ready to go home.
<<...stay? . . .>>
One Singer, then two. More and more sang the soft question—as if what couldn’t be, could, as if they’d seen a possibility. <<...stay? . . .>>
<<...Stay . . .>> emphatic, that voice, and familiar.
But Watchers had no fondness for the different, the troublemaker, the innovator. They respected will, if only their own, and understood a truth.
Shared it, with FORCE:
<< All things begin.
And all have an end.>>
Then, this
<<...is it yet? . . .>>
I startled awake, eyes open on a dark that was real and here, wondering what I’d dreamed. If I’d dreamed.
My hair stirred. I froze, feeling it growing. Lusher and richer, flowing down over my bare skin in search of his, warm.
Morgan growled happily in his sleep, then went perfectly still, awake in that abrupt, alert way he had. His hand stroked up my thigh, higher, met— “Lights!”