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

testify.” I nodded a regal acknowledgment to the approaching Drapsk. I’d been wrong about the earthquake. The parade of over thirty Drapsk was enough to dislodge even the Haven’s gamblers, if only temporarily.
    “Oh, Most Mystic One,” the Drapsk halted a cautious distance away, antennae aquiver. “You have given us a tale to carry back to the Tribe tonight.”
    “Good business,” I said offhandedly.
    The creature began shifting from one foot to another and the other Drapsk followed suit in unison. Beyond them, I saw smiles carefully hidden. “Business is what my ship-kin and I would like to discuss with you, Mystic One.”
    “Captain Maka,” I began. Indulging the alien night after night was becoming tiresome. “How many times must I give you my answer? I am not interested in accompanying you to your home system. As you’ve seen tonight, I’m needed here or my bumbling staff will bankrupt me.”
    If body posture were to reflect a stubborn set of mind, Maka the Drapsk should have been rigid by now. “We have searched two full cycles for a truly mystical personage such as yourself,” the being protested. “Do not doom us to failure before our Tribe. Just a short voyage—amply rewarded and enjoyable.”
    The Drapsk sounded almost desperate—hardly a wise trading tactic. Why? “Not now,” I compromised. “I have matters that require my personal attention.” True enough, given who was sitting, rather puzzled, beside me. “Perhaps another time,” I offered.
    Foot-shifting ceased, replaced by mad feathery waves as the antennae of all the Drapsk fluttered. I sensed no mind-to-mind contact, but I was convinced the beings were communicating with one another. If it was some form of chemical signaling, I frankly doubted its effectiveness in the maelstrom of odors from the various bodies and innumerable smoke sticks surrounding us.
    Maka came right up to the edge of the dais, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Mystic One, you are kindness itself not to remove all hope. But time is short if the happiest of conjunctions is to occur this season for my ship-kin and me. Allow me to send my cargomaster to you with gifts—the merest indication of the treasures you would receive from the grateful Tribes of Drapskii.”
    I shook my head impatiently. I needed to talk to Barac, not these creatures. I had to find out which part of my past was intruding into the present. “Send your gifts,” I agreed loftily. “I’ll provide you my final answer in return. Good evening, Captain.”
    Then, regretfully, for I truly enjoyed watching this cross-section of the cosmos each night, I put down my cup and brushed my fingers over Barac’s sleeve. I pushed . . .
    . . . and gained us the privacy of my rooftop garden.
    The storm had ended. The first pair of Pocular’s smallish moons showed through openings in the clouds, casting doubled shadows and distorting silhouettes. It was the part of the lunar cycle when younger children were kept indoors after dark, old superstitions giving parents a practical defense against nightmares. I took a deep breath of fresh, clean night air and prepared to confront my own.
    “Now, Barac,” I said. “Why are you here?”
    “Glad it’s stopped raining,” he commented instead of answering, as he paced around the rooftop.
    “Don’t go close to the edge,” I warned, following him to the near side with its view of the shipcity’s lights.
    It was too dark to see his expression, but I detected a shade of patronage in his tone. “Really, Sira. I thought you had a good head for heights. And this is hardly the Cloisters, set on a mountaintop.”
    “No?” I said softly, taking my own advice and halting a good two paces away from the rail. “You could be wrong about that, Cousin.”
    Barac’s fingertips touched the finely wrought metal. Almost instantly he cursed and yanked back his hand. “You’ve set protections on this building.” He sounded surprised.
    “Of course. Do you think for