Rift in the Sky

Marcus closed the lid. “What do with these?”

Aryl sat back, her hands folded, leaving the decision to him. The pit or . . . ? Enris stared at the crate. Secrets. Power. Training. Did he really know what the Vyna had done or tried to do? Nothing about them made sense.

What if the wafers were what Marcus first assumed: a record left by Sona, waiting only for the right device to read them?

Was he dismissing the Om’ray technology he’d sought so long?

“The Oud find these with bones, Om’ray bones, in a cave behind the waterfall.” Marcus took his piece of turrif, turning it over and over in his hands as if deciding where to bite. “People tried to hide there, to protect what mattered to them. Your people. The Oud threw these away.”

Will you? That was the question behind the gentle voice.

“They can’t be near Aryl, near anyone who’s pregnant,” Enris heard himself say. “We can’t take that risk.”

The Human nodded vigorously, eyes bright. “Safe here, if you want.” He wrinkled his nose. “Soon too safe. Extra security.” At their puzzled looks, he spread his hands. “Danger, people die. Doesn’t matter. No budget for repulsionfields. No protection, us, from Tikitik or Oud. Problems our fault. My fault.” This, low and troubled. He looked up. “If First confirms intact Hoveny find here, with possibility of activeinstallation, this small place will suddenly become more important than thousands of other Triad, other Hoveny sites. Understand? Go from lowest potential to highriskvalue. Suddenly we rate orbitalscanners and dedicatedpatrolruns. Protect things, not people. Always our way.”

“Not yours,” Aryl said firmly. “You care.”

Marcus patted her hand, another familiarity they allowed the Human. Husni would be horrified.

They unloaded crates into the storage building.

Marcus was taking samples with him to another place, a place with decision makers who cared about things.

Enris realized he’d broken his turrif crisp into crumbs. “Say you were to trade these old things, these Hoveny artifacts, to someone,” he said lightly. “What could you get in return?”

Despite his easy tone, the question brought the Human half out of his seat. “No! I not trade! Never!”

Not what he’d asked. He sensed Aryl’s confusion. His dear Yena struggled with the concept of a mutually beneficial trade between two Om’ray. In her view, an object’s only worth was if someone needed it, and whomever needed it most should have it. Fine in the canopy, where everyone’s life depended on the whole.

He’d come from a different Clan and understood immediately. The Human had been offered something for the artifacts and refused. These old things, however useless to Om’ray, had value to the Strangers. Value worth protecting.

Value that was dangerous.

Clang!

“Don’t worry,” Marcus said quickly, as if relieved by the interruption. “Oud outside. It’s how they call me to the door.”

CLANG!

“I’m coming!” The Human grumbled something in his own language as he got up and went to the door. He didn’t open it, consulting a small screen to one side. “Their Speaker,” he announced.

“Good.” Aryl rose to join him, her grace making poor Marcus look clumsier than usual. Doubtless, she did the same to him, Enris thought. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this superb Om’ray had Chosen him.

He would keep her safe.

He didn’t look at the crate of Glorious Dead.

“You go,” Enris said, stretching as if lazy. “Marcus and I will finish the turrif.” Be careful.

A flash of warmth; a trace of relief he pretended not to notice. Her mind grew focused on the task ahead. All I can do is try.

CLANG!

Aryl opened the door. “Stop that,” she ordered impatiently. “I’m here!”

“Goodgoodgood . . .”

The door closed behind her.

Marcus hesitated, his hand on the control, and looked at Enris. “You sure it’s all right to leave her with them? Alone?”

How could he be?

But one thing Enris did know. “We’d be a distraction.”

Marcus nodded listless agreement. He waved the turrif. “All for you, Enris. I’m not hungry.”

Enris pursed his lips, ignoring the food. He wanted to trust the Human. To an extent he did, though how much of that was Aryl’s belief in Marcus, how much his own?

The Human couldn’t read Om’ray emotion. He was disturbingly good at reading Om’ray faces. Whatever he saw on Enris’ brought Marcus slowly from the door, to stand within reach. “There is no trade,” he stated. “Not by me. Not of my work. Not of this.” He moved his hand to draw a connection between them. A smile that didn’t light his eyes. “But you were right to ask. What we’ve collected . . . the samples—” a nod at the door, “—I’ll take with me. I could trade one item and retire—stop working. I could live in comfort for the rest of my life, travel wherever I want, not worry.” He sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees. “There are people who would pay—trade—anything for verified Hoveny artifacts.”