Free This Gulf of Time and Stars by Julie E. Czerneda

accompanied Bowman to the beverage cart where she ordered a cup of sombay and scalded cream from Tayno. Given the jaunty tilt to his carapace and random motion of his eyes, this was brave or foolish.
    She was never foolish. Brave, yes, I thought, studying her. As well as devious, complicated, and brilliant. The metallic tang to my inner sense near her—and Terk—warned against mental touch. They’d artificial shields implanted in their scalps, making their minds invisible to Clan. Brave, indeed, both to have the implants . . .
    And to be so very interested in my kind they were necessary. Not for the first time, I wondered how Bowman had survived that interest.
    I’d expected her to go into the hallway where we’d have some privacy. Instead, the sector chief took a few steps beyond the cart, as if to wait for her drink, then pulled out a thumbnail-sized disk, affixing that to her collar.
    Silence. I could see lips moving, Tayno drop a spoon, but heard not a sound.
    â€œExcuse the precaution,” Bowman said evenly. “What we’ve to say shouldn’t be overheard. I’m sure you agree.”
    I’m listening.
    I smiled at that. Bowman’s eyes narrowed. “Morgan, I take it?”
    No need to confirm what she knew full well; my Chosen and I were partners in all things. “Why the secrecy?” Not that we weren’t obvious. I sensed
interest, concern
from my kin. I sent a quick
reassurance,
feeling none myself. Rael stared back, unconvinced. “What’s this about?”
    Her disarmingly amiable features grew still. “You don’t know?”
    She’d a way of making you examine your past for misdeeds. It wasn’t that we’d done anything wrong, I reminded myself, and Bowman knew it. Morgan and I had simply kept a prudent distance since our adventure on the Rugheran homeworld, White. The Rugherans were, presumably, happy with the result. The Drapsk definitely were, having experienced a procreative frenzy.
    Ren Symon had died in Morgan’s arms, having helped him do the unthinkable.
    For Jason Morgan had
pushed
his starship through the M’hir to bypass normal space and reach me in time.
    Something I couldn’t do.
    Something no Clan had ever done.
    And something to never do again, lest Morgan become the target of every species in the Pact.
    If that was why Bowman was here, let her try—I buried the cold dark thought deep inside, where my Chosen wouldn’t feel it, schooling my expression. We’d scraped together repairs for the
Fox
and gone back to work. There’d been no sign anyone had paid attention; no reason to suspect Bowman even knew.
    Until now. “That would be why I’m asking,” I said as calmly as I could.
    â€œI gave you time. Waited for you to get in touch. When I heard you were on Plexis, I was done—” Bowman broke off with a humorless laugh. “You really don’t know. Here I’d half-convincedmyself you’d decided against our arrangement and was prepping for the consequences. Should’ve trusted my instincts about you.”
    Arrangement? Consequences?
    So this wasn’t about what had happened, I thought with sickening relief, but I shared Morgan’s puzzlement. “Is this about the treaty?” I hazarded. “I thought everything was going well.” Or as well as could be expected with a bureaucracy the size of the Trade Pact. I’d honestly lost count of the Board Members who’d approached the Clan Council “off the record” with an offer of help; none had been worth the price.
    â€œTreaty’s solid.” Her brows met, then lifted. “You haven’t spoken to your father.”
    â€œJarad di Sarc’s been exiled.” I could no more keep the chill from my voice than make sense of this. “He’s no longer part of the Clan.”
    â€œDamn.” Bowman unfastened her collar with a twist of her thumb and tugged it