Chapter Three

"Chaz! He won't hurt you."

This time I did see Sully, freshly scrubbed, his hair still damp and glistening. And in a monk's uniform, its pale sand-like colors contrasting sharply with his dark hair and eyes.

His humanness contrasted sharply with the Stolorth filling the archway. Sully squeezed by the tall, humanoid form and strode toward me, hand outstretched.

I backed up a step. If he thought I'd give him my dagger he was wrong. Dead wrong. But I did take my hand off the door leading outside. I did lower the dagger. "Explain."

He stopped, two dagger lengths away, and glanced over his shoulder. The Stolorth hadn't moved, save to lean a little to its left on a cane it held in its six-fingered left hand.

His hand. The Stolorth was definitely male. Like Sully, he wore the pale sand-gray pants and tunic of a monk. But his biceps and thighs strained the fabric. He topped Sully's height by four, five inches.

He could almost pass, if you didn't see the gill slits on his neck, for human. Could almost pass, if you didn't notice the thick silvery-blue hair plaited in a braid not unlike my own, for human. Could almost pass, if you didn't see the webbing between the fingers, for human.

Now I understood the role of the bathtub.

"I'm sorry." The Stolorth spoke. His voice was deep, surprisingly soft. In it, I heard waves echoing on a shore I'd never visited. "I thought she knew."

Sully had the good grace to look sheepish. "I was going to tell her. I fell asleep in the tub."

The Stolorth angled his face toward me. "Captain Bergren, it wasn't my intention to startle you."

Startle me? No, when a Stolorth Ragkiril was finished with a human mind, there was nothing left to startle. Nothing left at all.

Sully took a half step closer. I could smell the soap on his skin. A small drop of water lost its grasp on his tousled hair, made a rivulet around the edge of a thick eyebrow, trickled down the right side of his face. "It's okay, Chaz. Trust me."

I could think of a dozen reasons not to. They didn't matter as reality dictated I had no choice, and nothing to go back to. If I died on Moabar, death would be slow, painful. At least with a Stolorth, he could plant pleasant memories as he ripped my mind to shreds.

"He's blind, Chaz. He can't hurt you."

Blind? "That's impossible. They kill their-" But even from across the kitchen I could see the film over his silver eyes, dulling them.

By all I held holy. A blind Stolorth in an Englarian monastery. And a full-grown male at that. We were told Stolorths killed defective young, and weak elders for that matter. Blindness was especially heinous to them. Their telepathy, their Ragkiril mind talents, depended on eye contact with their victims. With their own kind, it was their primary means of communication.

I saw the cane, grasped by six fingers. And let the dagger wrap itself around my wrist. He couldn't hurt me. He own kind wanted him dead. Oddly, I felt a small pang of kinship with him. I knew what it was like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you.

"We were just having a nice cup of tea." Drogue sounded immensely relieved. "Please, all, sit and join us?"

I noticed, not for the first time, the spotlessness of his kitchen. The blood bath my dagger could have created would have been hell to clean up.

* * *

His name was Frayne Ackravaro Ren Elt. Sully performed the introduction. Ren was his birth name, Elt the name of his grandmother. Frayne, his mother and Ackravaro, his clan-of-region.

He answered to Ren.

In spite of his size, and his blindness, he moved gracefully to the round table, selected a chair, sat. Drogue handed out fresh cups of tea.

I sat across from him, with Sully on my left, and tried to make sense of this. I'd never known Englarians to associate with Stolorths. They were even more fanatically opposed to telepaths than the Empire was.

"Again, I apologize, Captain Bergren. I sensed no disquiet in your presence-"

"How can you sense if you're blind?" My caution resurfaced. My Non-Human Cultures class had been known to be wrong.

"My blindness negates those aspects you fear, my mind-speech with my people. As well as any threat you may feel I present to yours. But my empathic abilities remain."

"And are put to use through prayer and meditation, as taught by Abbot Eng," Drogue added. "Brother Ren is a fine example of the results of studying the purity of thought. His blindness, through the grace of the Abbot, has become a gift."

My academy class was very wrong. Englarians didn't view all Stolorths as soul-stealers. And blind Stolorths did survive to adulthood.

"So you sensed my presence? As, what?"

"Human female, inquisitive variety." Sully raised his cup as if in mock salute. "Drink up. We have a shuttle to catch."

"We?" I wasn't questioning Sully's participation. I realized for the first time there were to be two more: Drogue and Ren. The latter still worried me but I understood the pressures of a flight schedule.

"We." Sully laid a stack of ID cards on the table, spread them with the flair of a dealer in a casino.

Apt, I thought. We were placing bets with our lives.

Four cards, all bearing the crossed arch symbol of the Englarian clergy. Drogue picked them up, one by one, examined them.

I finished my tea and stood, damning Sully for not telling me of his plans.

Drogue ushered me to a back room, complete with a lavatory and a wide couch. A wooden- fronted closet was half open. Tan-gray tunics and robes filled it. I had a feeling I was to be Brother Chaz.

"We have you logged as Sister Berri." Drogue rifled through the closet, pulled out a cowled robe, and held it up against me. If I had to run for it, I'd trip, fall on my face. But other than that, it was fine.

A shift-like gown went underneath. My boots I could keep. My clothing and jacket Drogue said to leave on the couch. It would be bundled with the luggage on the shuttle.

I found a wide-toothed comb on a dresser, ran it briskly through my hair while I stood in front of a large mirror. The room stared back at me in reverse. The arched doorway was directly behind me. On one wall, there was a wooden replica of the arch-and-stave. On the other was an artist's rendering of Abbot Eng, stave raised, about to kill a soul-stealer. It was one of the more common depictions, showing the imaginary demon in its true form, wings splayed wide. Legends claimed that soul-stealers were not only telepaths, but shape-shifters that could hide their true form and masquerade as humans. The winged man's mouth was open in a scream. Lovely decor.

The bathroom was small but had nice thick towels on the rack. I splashed water on my face. I longed for the bath, but there was neither time nor inclination. I was traveling with a Stolorth, an aquatic humanoid that could gut a mind as easily as my dagger could gut a fish. Things deep and watery were best avoided, for now.

I donned the shift, then the robe and was securing the wide, fabric belt when a knock sounded on the door.

"Come." It took me a moment to remember certain technologies couldn't exist on Moabar. I had to walk to the door and manually open it.

Sully was on the other side, grinning that disarming grin.

And no doubt was also impatient. I hadn't been ten minutes. "I'm ready."

He grabbed my shoulders, turned me around. I glimpsed something in his right hand. He waddle-marched me toward the long mirror on the wall.

"Not yet." He snatched the comb from the dresser on his right.

"What do you think you're-?"

"Hush."

He sunk his hands into the long mass of hair I'd half-braided and tucked down the back of my robe. He began unraveling my braid. In the mirror I saw a length of corded leather, dotted with shiny silver beads, dangling from his fingers.

"We don't have time-"

"Hush!" His grin faded, his brows slanting down. Concentrating. Braiding my hair, weaving in the beads and leather.

Making amends for my hair wrap I'd tossed to the jukor? Or remembering that night in Port Chalo? I'm sure it had meant nothing to him. Or maybe he thought a few kisses had earned him the right to taunt me now.

I wasn't in the mood to be teased. "I can do that a lot faster than you."

"Hush, hush, hush." Softly. His voice was not much more than a deep rumble in his throat. His hands were firm, yet more gentle than I would have thought he could be. And warm. A whisper of soft heat played down my neck where his fingers brushed against my skin. I didn't pull away when they stroked my hair, my scalp, the back of my neck.

I let myself sink into the sensations, bargaining with myself as I did so. Just a few seconds. It'd been so long. What harm was there in letting him braid my hair for me?

My eyes wanted to close. I'd fought exhaustion for hours now. He was so warm. His knuckles brushed my jaw. Fingers traced my lips...

His intimate caress jolted my brain awake. I lurched forward, my hands splaying against the rough-hewn mirror frame. I caught a glimpse of his face, his obsidian eyes half-hooded, molten.

I felt my own face flame with heat. I didn't look back in the mirror for fear of confronting a fool I knew only too well. I turned. My braid swung heavily against my back. The beads on the leather cord tinkled lightly against the glass of the mirror.

"Business deal, Sully. Strictly business." I sounded far more breathy than I wanted to.

He still watched me through hooded eyes, though the sensual curve on his lips was gone. We were almost toe-to-toe. But my hand already encircled the bracelet on my wrist, fingers on its spring-points.

He let out a long, slow sigh. "Chasid-"

"Brother Sudral? Sister Berri?" Drogue rapped on the door, walked in. And seemed totally oblivious to what was going on. Or else, with Sully, he was used to it. "We must be going."

Sully spun around, reached for the short, stocky man and clapped him on the shoulder. "I was ready an hour ago. It's this one." He jerked his hand back in my direction, but didn't turn. "Has to fuss with her hair."

Why are all the handsome ones always such bastards?

* * *

We walked down the graveled road toward the spaceport, four robed figures of divergent sizes. An anti-grav pallet with our meager luggage trailed behind.

Anti-gravs and thermal grids worked on Moabar. Auto-doors, medi-stats and a long list of other technological necessities didn't.

Humans fared only marginally better. Winter was approaching, with its recurring plague. Abbot Eng's followers were devoted, but not stupid.

"Our replacements will be on station already," Drogue told me as we walked in the bright moonlight. No need to hide, to dart though the trees. "They've shown an immunity to the plagues. They'll run the monastery, sit devotions with the Takas, lead the festivals until spring. I'll return then."

Sully had said we were going to Moabar Station to intercept an outgoing freighter, bound in- system. Step Two in freedom for Chasidah Bergren. I had to live through Step One first.

"You're not coming in-system with us?"

"Oh, no, Sister. We have a very active temple on station. And it's Peyhar's Week, don't you know?" His round face poked out from under his hood. "Oh, perhaps not. We haven't quite made the inroads in our missionary work with the military as we have in other arenas."

As far as I knew, the Takans were the only ones they'd made inroads with. But I wasn't going to deflate his attempt at proselytizing.

"The M.O.C. isn't going to question my presence in the group? Or Ren's?"

Another negative from Drogue. "Brother Ren Ackravaro has visited Moabar Monastery several times on retreat."

"But I haven't."

"Neither has the real Sister Berri. But her reputation will do you well. She's a much-lauded missionary, known for her tireless works. Her ID, your ID bears the arch-and-stave. As Guardian, I vouch for your veracity."

Why? What had caused this gentle man to align himself with the ghost from Hell? Was there a financial gain? "You're taking quite a risk."

He sighed. "More is at risk if I do not, Sister."

The mission. And in Sullivan, a different kind of missionary.

"Brother Sudral is still being vague about that."

Sully fell into step with us. He'd lagged behind, talking to Ren who walked with one hand on the pallet, the other on his cane. "For good reason. Curiosity tends to be an overrated trait. I'm sure the Empire taught you that at some point. At the moment, your overwhelming gratitude toward me is best expressed through silence. There's nothing you can contribute at this point, but there's much to be lost by being premature."

His sudden formal phrasing irked me. Sully the mercenary. Sully the poet. And now Sully the pedant. "I'm glad to know you think so highly of me."

He slanted me a glance. "Highly enough to risk my life to save yours. I was outvoted, you know. Fortunately I rarely listen to my advisors."

"Really? I'd never have guessed." Nor could I picture him having advisors. In all the years I'd known him, he'd always been the one in command, pilots and techs following his orders.

Sully dropped back, picked up his conversation with the Stolorth.

Drogue and I walked on in silence. We were close enough to the spaceport that I could hear the distant clank and clatter from the cargo hangars. The occasional shout of human voices, the rougher call of the Takan guards. It was a chilly night when we started but now my body felt warm under the robes. I could feel small wisps of hair starting to curl around my face.

Thoughts, equally as annoying, coiled and uncoiled in my mind. You know the system, Sully had said, sitting across from me in the clearing, lightbar between us and a dead Taka at his back. Therefore he needed access to military information, military procedures.

He'd recited my pedigree.

Access to military personnel.

Why? My simplistic early assumptions revolved around money, even a heist of a Fleet payroll ship. Then I saw Ren.

During the Boundary Wars, twenty years ago, Stolorth Ragkirils had excelled at interrogating prisoners. Torturing them. I'd seen vids on the results of their handiwork. Or mind work, actually. That's why seeing one on Moabar so frightened me. Perhaps the Empire had finally realized that more than inmates died on this prison world. Their secrets-co-conspirators, sources-died with them as well.

Reason, and a Non-Human Cultures class I was beginning to doubt, told me a Stolorth wouldn't adapt well to Moabar's climate. Ren wore a close-fitting shirt under his tunic. Thermal, probably. I'd seen the edge of the sleeve as he'd sipped his tea.

And the ponds here were all poisonous. At least, poisonous to humans.

Ren might not belong here, but the jukor fit only too well. The Stolorth would best survive on Moabar Station, providing there were no others of his kind. Because a Stolorth Ragkiril, sensing Ren's handicap, would be duty-bound to kill him. That much I did believe, Non-Human Cultures class and all.

We were near the main gate. Drogue touched my arm, passed me the slim ID card. I tucked it into the slit in the front of my belt.

"And your name, Sister?" he prompted.

"Berri Solaria, Sister of Mercy in the Order of Abbot Eng the Merciful." I rattled off my ID number, my home convent and the date of my fictitious arrival at the Moabar Monastery. It was nothing compared to what Fleet had me memorize over the years, just to requisition a med-kit. Or to retrieve my personal transmits.

But the consequences of an error in this recitation were vastly more serious. I tried not to think about that, nor about the nervous flutterings in my stomach.

I ended the recitation with the ritual, "Praise the stars."

Drogue's face relaxed into a smile.

We climbed a steep rampway. I glanced back. Sully flanked Ren, the ramp not wide enough to accommodate the Stolorth and the pallet. I remember how he'd shielded me in the forest, when we'd first seen the jukor.

No, he'd seen it. And put himself between the creature and me.

Had it been about to spring, then?

With his back to it, Sully would have been killed, immediately.

But his rifle would have fallen into my hands. And in the time it would have taken the jukor to rip Sully apart, I could've killed it. I would've survived because of Sully's sacrifice.

The thought chilled me. I almost bumped into a Takan guard who stepped in my path.

"Restricted. Present ID." The Taka's voice was harsh and choppy, like most of his kind. I kept my head bowed, folded my hands at my waist. My fingers drifted lightly over the Grizni bracelet under my sleeve.

"Blessings of the hour upon you, my friend." Drogue beamed a smile that was completely genuine. "Truvgrol, isn't it?"

The guard's small eyes darted rapidly as he assessed our group. "Guardian! Blessings. Travel up?"

"It's time for me to commune with my brothers on station, help in temple matters there. We have a wonderful Peyhar's Week festival planned. One in the temple here, as well. Brother Frannard will be leading you."

"Frannard, yes!" The Takan's shaggy head nodded. Evidently Frannard was a popular figure.

"Will you require our ID passes? You know Brother Sudral, Brother Ren Ackravaro. Sister Berri Solaria... I do apologize. Have you not met Sister Berri?"

I could almost feel the Taka's gaze on me. My heart pounded in my ears. I steepled my hands in front of my face, bowed low. To a Taka. A few hours ago, I'd killed one.

Truvgrol mimicked my gesture. "Blessings," he growled out.

"Praise to the stars in the Abbot's holy name. May fortune smile upon you this week, brother Truvgrol." I raised my head slightly, handed him my card. He passed it through the scanner, barely looking at it.

"Good journey, good journey." He waved us on.

I quietly let out a small sigh of relief.

We were similarly waved through three more checkpoints before we were admitted to the spaceport itself.

I pulled the hood of my robe closer. Even Drogue's presence wasn't completely reassuring now that I was in a closed building, with M.O.C. personnel hurrying back and forth through the gray-walled main terminal. Drogue nodded at faces I would only glimpse at, nodding as well.

"Praise the stars. Blessings of the hour." I kept my voice bland, uninteresting.

Sully had booked passage on one of the Chalford fleet supply ships, a squat short-hauler contracted to M.O.C. service. The ship had come in a few hours before; might even be the one that had punctuated my first conversation with Sully with its booming entry. The ship was berthed at Cargo Dock One.

Moabar Prison Spaceport had three docks; one passenger, two cargo. Dock One was down a short corridor the jutted off to the right. A solitary window just before the rampway afforded me my first view of the ship.

Chalford's Lucky Seven was a B10-Class 'load-up-and-go' or 'lugger' as they were called in the freighter trade. Compact ships with dirtside capabilities, which the larger starfreighters lacked. What wasn't cargo holds were engines; heavy-air and sublight. Luggers had no jump drives.

And no passenger cabins. A ruddy-faced crewmember escorted us to the lounge. His suitpatch said Chalford Cargo Services. Wilard, P.-Navigation.

"Bulkhead seats got harnesses." He pointed to three pairs of fold-downs. "Don't unstrap 'til you hear the all-clear from the bridge."

I watched him leave. This is too easy. Much too easy. Pull a robe over my head, flash an ID card with a religious symbol, walk off Moabar and into freedom.

This is too easy. I chose a seat from the pair nearest the exit out of habit, folded down the armrests. My throat suddenly seemed dry, my hands cold.

This is too easy. I tried to think about what P. Wilard was doing on the bridge at nav. The captain would be running through his or her preflight, doing a last minute systems check. I knew the routine well.

But that little voice in the back of my mind wouldn't shut up. This is too easy.

Sully unfolded the seat next to mine. "You're frowning, Sister. Don't tell me flying makes you nervous."

I was about to remind him of all the hours I'd logged at the helm when I realized our conversations might well be heard on the bridge. I answered as I hoped Sister Berri would. "I was trying to decide which of the Twelve Blessings I'd recite for our departure. Perhaps you have a suggestion, Brother Sudral?"

I snapped the harness across my chest. Sully glanced at Drogue and Ren on his right. Bright orange straps crisscrossed the front of their pale robes.

"I'm fine," Ren said.

Sully hadn't asked. Ren must be used to Sully's almost protective attitude by now, anticipated it. He stared straight ahead, one hand resting lightly on his cane tucked through the straps.

"I always enjoy the Blessing for Good Fortune through Purity of Effort," Drogue said. "Permit me to lead."

"That was about to be my suggestion as well." Sully turned back to me, dropped his voice to a low rasp. "However, perhaps later we could perform the lesser known Invocation for the Convergence of the Male and Female Physical Essences-"

Intraship chimed twice. It was followed by a man's voice, sounding bored. "This is Captain Newlin. We've got clearance. Push-back coming up."

I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the padding of the seat, waited for the jerk- and-thump as we were towed to the taxiway.

All hatches were sealed. Ship was secure. I was either headed for freedom or into a trap. Either way, there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it right now.

I listened to Drogue recite the blessing. Purity of Effort. I guess the road to-and from-Hell was paved with good intentions.

The tow disengaged from us at the taxiway with a final shimmy. The heavy-airs, which had been idling, were thrown to full. A muted roaring rumbled through the ship.

Then we were moving, rising, my back flattening into the seat.

I was free. Or I was dead.