The Gate to Futures Past Read Online Free Page A

set of instructions, with consequences we couldn’t predict. Only a fool would stir that pot, especially for something as minor as this. I gave in to the inevitable. “Leave Nyso and Luek to me, cousin.”
    Barac gestured gratitude and disappeared, leaving a hint of
relief
behind.
    Later it is,
I sent to my Chosen as I finished dressing.
    When Morgan didn’t respond, I glanced up in time to catch a frown. “What is it?”
    He gave a dissatisfied shrug, as though unsure himself. “Treat them gently, Sira. Moving out of the Core doesn’t make sense.”
    It made sense to me, I thought, keeping my bitterness from our link. They didn’t deserve Morgan’s compassion. The di Kessa’ats were among those who believed me unaware how assiduously they avoided my Human’s presence, how they turned from him as though breathing the same air held contamination. So long as they kept their xenophobia to themselves, I could force myself to ignore it.
    If it became overt, the Clan would become fewer; a loss I wouldn’t mourn.
    Morgan waited. There was palpable weight to his patience when it involved me and a point he wanted made. Feeling it, I eyed him askance. What was he after this time? I set my face to innocence.
    â€œGently,” he repeated.
    â€œNyso,” I said stiffly, “was a thoughtless, selfish child, even for Clan.” A Choice delayed by over seventy standard years made me, despite my appearance, the eldest here, a detail I’d happily refresh should Nyso prove obstinate. “I see no signs of improvement.”
    A brow lifted.
    â€œI promise to resist the urge to knock their stubborn heads together. Will that do?”
    Hefting his pack into place, Morgan smiled at me. “I ask no more.” He gave me a quick kiss, beard soft, lips cool and dry.
    Good-bye, that was. My turn to look a question. “You aren’t coming.”
    Tossing the placer up, my Human caught it with a flourish. “Time to stretch my legs. There’s mapmaking to do, Witchling.”
    Something he enjoyed. I kissed him back, adding a flash of
affection.
“Happy hunting.”
    I concentrated, forming the locate of the Core, and
pushed . . .
    . . . to find myself surrounded by busy Clan who paused to gesture a polite greeting before going back to whatever they’d been doing: making beds, soothing children, talking, carrying burdens, finding clever ways to store belongings and keep Choosers apart from unChosen, doing what they must to share a limited space.
    However much the di Kessa’ats disliked being here, I thought sadly, edging through the crowd, I knew someone who could hardly bear it.
    Morgan.

Interlude
    W ASN’T RUNNING, Morgan assured himself. A brisk walk stretched legs in need of exercise, a fact of shiplife he enjoyed pointing out to the Clan. Just as well
Sona
’s levels were a maze of corridors. Most still open. Most still to explore. Why, he could walk like this for hours. Had done, pulling the coat from his pack come shipnight’s chill.
    He wasn’t running from the powerful Nyso di Kessa’at and those like him, despite their being the sort of Clan who’d thought nothing of ripping apart Human minds to make pliable servants and pawns.
    They couldn’t touch his and knew it.
    He kept his alien nose clear of Clan business, that was all. With him there, Nyso might dig in and force a confrontation. One the Clansman would lose, yes, but Sira would be miserable. She disliked exercising her authority at the best of times.
    He wasn’t, he told himself, running from the decent among the M’hiray, either, even if they—unconsciously or not—saw in him all they’d lost.
    And who’d taken it.
    The Om’ray? Well, they’d accepted he was
real,
but he suspected most lumped him with the ship and other incomprehensibletechnology now ruling their daily lives. Something to respect—from a