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

garden as if expecting the Human to appear at any moment.
    I knew where Jason Morgan was—I always knew. Just the sound of his name in my mind sent echoes along that subtle link that bound me to the deepest part of his cool, crisp thoughts. I stopped the reverberations before they troubled his peace. “Morgan sleeps,” I said, bringing a soft smile with me from that tenuous contact. “You will see him before long, Barac,” I promised, and said no more.
    My kinsman would learn soon enough about the man who had changed so much about our lives and been forever changed himself.

INTERLUDE
    “There.” The compactly built, brown-haired Human input the last reading, then stretched from his huddle over the locator with satisfaction in his clear blue eyes, one hand brushing shreds of moss from his faded spacer coveralls. “We’ll be able to find them next season without a problem. Should be as good a crop or better, don’t you think, Premick?”
    Premick, as befitted a hunter of his rank and dignity, did not quite laugh, but there was a suspicious twitching at the corners of his narrow mouth. “I am no expert on lumps in the ground,” the Poculan answered in passable Comspeak as he rose to his full height, head and shoulders above the smaller Human. “Ask me about the nasar.” Typical of the jungle-dwelling race of his species, Premick was spider-thin, the warty surface of his skin a light yellow, a color shared by the outer rim of his eyes. He was humanoid only from a distance, having triple-jointed arms and legs, each joint with its fleshy protrusions—a curious adult trait Poculans were unwilling to clarify for aliens. His legs didn’t drop from his hips, as would a Human’s. Instead, they began about a third of the way up the straight torso, originating sideways before bending toward the ground. It was a feature Poculans commonly used as a convenient horizontal ledge to support the weight of not-inconsiderable waist packs.
    Jason Morgan, trader and Captain of the Silver Fox, patted his own well-stuffed carrysack. “As I’ve told you before, my friend, each of these tasty lumps will bring in the price of ten of your pelts—and at much less risk to our own hides.”
    This time Premick did laugh. “Maybe offworlders value them. I will settle for those ten pelts.” The delicate fur of this planet’s largest carnivore was both status and currency for his people, and the hunter was understandably bemused by the Human’s search for the rare merle truffle. To each his own, Morgan said to himself. Having the Fox sitting planetside with empty holds ate far too many credits each day for comfort—the truffles rounding out his sack should ease that problem nicely, if the information on their market value provided by a certain restauranteur of his acquaintance was as reliable as ever.
    Premick waited impatiently as Morgan collected his equipment, including the sketch pad and stylus the Poculan was convinced the Human slept with, and finally announced he was ready to leave the glade. With a snort of relief, Premick gathered up his own carryroll with one easy sweep of a long, bare arm, the other already cradling a snub-nosed rifle. Primitive though his people might seem in appearance and lifestyle, they did not scorn technology that gave them an edge against Pocular’s many predators.
    Morgan hurried to follow the rapidly-moving form of his guide along the narrow forest trail, his mind already calculating the number of truffles needed this season to cover docking fees.
    “Ghsst!” Premick’s irritated hiss moments later brought Morgan back to himself. The hunter must have found some sign of a worthwhile quarry ahead, and Morgan’s steps were careless and noisy. Morgan accepted the rebuke, slipping into the lithe stalk that he had learned on another world, when his quarry had had reasoning brains and weapons more similar to his own.
    Following Premick, often no more than a glimpse of yellow-brown deliberately allowed