A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

bit surprised myself, old friend.” He moved past the Clansman to enter his choice at the galley’s servo panel. The Human didn’t bother to ask how Barac had bested Port Authority to enter his ship; he knew well enough.
    Barac resisted the urge to feel the still-tender skin of his throat. Instead he stretched, the movement drawing an involuntary hiss of pain from his lips.
    Cup in hand, Morgan put a foot up onto a stool and leaned his arms on his knee. His expression was openly suspicious. “Hurt,” he observed. “And probably in hiding, too. You’ve got a bad habit of making yourself at home whenever you’re in trouble, Barac.”
    “I could use a favor,” Barac admitted.
    Morgan snorted with disgust and took a sip of his drink before answering. “Who’ve you stirred up now—Clan or the Trade Pact?”
    Barac couldn’t quite smile. “Both. That’s why I’ve come to you.”
    Morgan scowled but only said: “Hungry? I’d be a poor host to throw you out before feeding you.” He tossed a nutritious but decidedly tasteless package of c-cubes on the table.
    “Your galley can do better than that,” Barac commented less than tactfully.
    “I’m sure you know,” the Human said dryly. “But I’m booked to lift and eating slowly is a luxury I can’t afford. Neither is your roundabout approach to things, Barac. What do you want?”
    As usual, Barac found himself wishing Morgan didn’t possess such strong natural shielding. The Human’s thoughts were simply impossible to touch. Like Bowman’s, Barac thought with sudden suspicion. He opened his mind to the M’hir, focusing on Morgan, searching for the telltale disturbance. Nothing. No device, but no exposed thoughts.
    What had he expected? Barac asked himself with scorn. No Human mind had ever penetrated the M’hir, at least not since the Clan had first begun monitoring the layer for intrusion. It was believed Humans were incapable of the power needed to push thought into the layer or to hold against its remorseless currents. That belief might change, Barac thought grimly, once he reported how the Humans had built a device that could disturb the M’hir.
    But here and now, the M’hir’s turbulence was soothingly familiar. There was no detectable alteration in it within Barac’s range. Barac pulled free, relieved. Perhaps Morgan was what he seemed, a curiosity, an unreadable Human.
    Or perhaps he was more. Morgan had always amused Kurr, as had Barac’s insistence on shielding their thoughts from the Human. But First Scouts survived by trusting no preconceptions.
    And Kurr was dead.
    “I sometimes wonder why I don’t report you to the Council and have you erased,” Barac said with some exasperation. “I should, you know.”
    Morgan looked unconcerned, having heard this before; the Sarcs had been steady customers over the years. “You enjoy defying them, Barac,” the Human said. “And, as long as you don’t owe me credits, I see no reason to twitch the curiosity of any Pact Enforcers.”
    Barac grimaced. “I’ve already accomplished that. Another day, Jason,” he added, seeing the curiosity that sharpened Morgan’s gaze. “As you’ve said, your time is short. Mine is also. I have to leave Auord immediately.”
    Morgan sighed. “If a lift’s what you’re after, why didn’t you say so? Stow your gear—but be quick.”
    “No. Not that I don’t enjoy your unique way of waking guests. I need you to do something for me in the Port City.”
    Morgan stood, gathering up his unfinished cubes and tucking them into a pocket with a spacer’s absentminded tidiness. “Then you need someone else. I’ve a schedule to keep.”
    Barac lunged across the narrow table, wincing as his torn rib muscles protested, but managing to grasp Morgan’s arm. “There’s no one else I can reach in time.”
    With an easy movement, the Human shrugged free of Barac’s grip. But he stood still. “I’m listening.”
    “That’s all I ask.” Barac sat down again, his