Free Rift in the Sky by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

know. “We’d be a distraction.”
    Marcus nodded listless agreement. He waved the turrif. “All for you, Enris. I’m not hungry.”
    Enris pursed his lips, ignoring the food. He wanted to trust the Human. To an extent he did, though how much of that was Aryl’s belief in Marcus, how much his own?
    The Human couldn’t read Om’ray emotion. He was disturbingly good at reading Om’ray faces. Whatever he saw on Enris’ brought Marcus slowly from the door, to stand within reach. “There is no trade,” he stated. “Not by me. Not of my work. Not of this.” He moved his hand to draw a connection between them. A smile that didn’t light his eyes. “But you were right to ask. What we’ve collected . . . the samples—” a nod at the door, “—I’ll take with me. I could trade one item and retire —stop working. I could live in comfort for the rest of my life, travel wherever I want, not worry.” He sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees. “There are people who would pay —trade—anything for verified Hoveny artifacts.”
    While he had no idea what “anything” might mean to the Strangers and their vast Trade Pact, he wouldn’t say no to a bioscanner and Marcus’ healing technology.
    It hadn’t been offered. Nothing would be, Enris realized abruptly. “But not with the Oud. Or us.”
    â€œNo.” The Human blew out a breath, then ducked his head to look up at Enris. “Not my idea, Enris. Not a Human one. Before we came, before the Commonwealth reach this far, this space governed by species already here. The First. They made rules for those searching for what remained of the Hoveny Concentrix. The search must be by Triads. Triads must be of different species. Discoveries must be shared. Include Humans. Good rules.” He grimaced. “One not good rule. On worlds with vestigialpopulations, with people who no longer remember the Hoveny existed, or maybe later colonists who never overlapped —lived together—any discoveries belong to the Triads. These,” he pointed to the crate of wafers, “are yours. The Cloisters are yours. The artifacts are not.”
    â€œDo the Oud understand this? That you’ll take what they’ve found?”
    â€œThink so. Hope so. Maybe.” Marcus looked older, weary. “Oud don’t want the artifacts. They want to know what they are for.”
    â€œWhat is?” the Oud had asked him. Enris would never forget that day. “Why?”
    Another sidelong look, something of a smile. “Oud are makers. They want ideas, more and more ideas. What could be made? What would it do? How to make it—they work that out themselves. Busy. Always busy. Like you, that way.”
    He bristled. “They are not,” Enris said through clenched teeth, “like me.”
    â€œNot like you,” Marcus agreed, too quickly. “Because some Oud want something else. They want to know why they are here.” His toe tapped the floor.
    â€œHere. At Sona?”
    An appraising look. A second tap. “On Cersi.”
    It was as if the floor tilted, or the light changed color. Aryl had warned him how mere words could make the Human suddenly strange and terrifying. That if they weren’t careful what they asked, Marcus could change their world the same way. He hadn’t understood.
    Until now.
    Enris found himself short of breath. “The Oud,” he said finally, firmly, “have always been here. Like the Tikitik. Like us.”
    Marcus considered him silently for a moment, then made the gesture of apology he’d learned. “My mistake.”
    There was nothing on his face but kindness.
    Without touching him, without reaching for the Human’s feelings—certain to cause Marcus pain—Enris couldn’t be sure.
    He didn’t need to be. After Marcus Bowman was willing to believe what he’d