Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) Read Free Page A

Drapsk at the other end of the hall hummed in delighted unison. The would-be thief clutched her booty and melted into the crowd. Things returned to normal.
    “Where did you send the Fowean?” Barac’s voice was his own again, level, expressing polite interest and little else. Much better, I thought, but to myself.
    “Just out in the rain,” I pitched my voice for his ears alone. “Such tricks are good for business—and keep my dealers honest.”
    “And they amuse you. Is that what you’ve found here, Sira? Amusement?”
    Maybe I’d been wrong about Barac regaining his composure. His eyes held some of the same uncomprehending wildness as had the pinned thief’s.
    “Barac sud Sarc,” I said softly, adding the configuration of heart-kin to the bare words. “If you’ve come to see me, you don’t seem very pleased about it.”
    Barac shuddered—his hand made a short violent gesture at the seething mass of noisy, gambling beings around us, many almost oblivious to their surroundings and certainly oblivious to us. “How can I be pleased to see you like this, to see you waste yourself with such filth, to be part of the port scum of this trivial waystation of a world? How can you even let yourself be seen in this place?” A pause as his eyes bored into mine. “What have you become, Sira?”
    I tried not to smile. “Well, I doubt I’ve become what you’ve so unflatteringly decided, Cousin. Nor what you see. You forget, not all have your perception.” Delicately, I reached into the M’hir between us, not touching his shields but offering a different vision to his eyes—a face whose features were smudged and hard to discern, the hint of an exotic gem on the forehead; a body coated in a mist that confused. An illusion easy enough to offer drink- and drug-hazed minds. A confusion of descriptions to confound any who saw more. No two who left the Spacer’s Haven ever agreed on the appearance of her witch.
    A flicker of astonishment crossed his face, leaving behind a raised eyebrow. “I won it, you see,” I continued. “The previous owner, Sas’qaat, really wasn’t as good at Stars and Comets as it thought. And you’re right. I stay here because it amuses me. Until now, I’ve missed the shadowy edges of life, its variety and color.”
    “You’ve picked a hell of a way to start experiencing variety and color,” Barac countered. A loud scuffle, ended by heavy thuds as guardsmen moved in, served to underscore his comment. Then with more characteristic dry humor: “Did you have to become a witch in order to hang out in a bar?”
    “It was easier than telling the truth.”
    Barac’s lips twitched as though I’d unwittingly scored some point. “The truth, Cousin? Which one?”
    I considered him as I took another sip from my cup, politely refraining from exerting my presence in the M’hir against his, then said, “Why, our truth, Cousin. That as Clan, you and I can lay claim to a rare heritage of power, power used by our kind to live very well as parasites among the unsuspecting species of the Trade Pact. Let me see. Is it two hundred or three hundred Human worlds we grace with our presence? Or more?”
    He couldn’t help but glance around, checking if any being had overheard. I knew better. Once bets were placed, an earthquake wouldn’t rouse the Haven’s clientele to self-preservation, let alone curiosity. “I see. You sit here,” he accused, eyes back to me, “and presume to judge the rest of us.”
    “I presume nothing,” I replied firmly, raising one hand to stop his outburst. “And nothing is exactly what I want from the Clan. I’ve started a new life, Barac, one that allows me to use my Talent without claim to a heritage I renounced a year ago.” Purposeful movement from the floor caught my eye, changing what I might have said next. “Actually, the Poculan version of a user of power, a Ram’ad Witch, has an interesting and useful status off this planet as well—as our friend Maka would