The Gate to Futures Past by Julie E. Czerneda Page A

damaged packets, the better. Luckily, most were still intact, now taking up useful table space. He supposed Morgan would insist they be secured, too. Maybe the Om’ray could make nets—
    Gurutz scowled. Maybe it was his normal expression; Barac hadn’t seen the Sona scout smile since the Cloisters turned into a starship. “We should have brought the Human.”
    â€œHoll sent us.” A selection based, the First Scout suspected, onhis cousin’s whim. Sira might forgive the interruption of her stolen moment with her Chosen; that didn’t put her beyond making the cause—him—pay. “If you can find Morgan, feel free to invite him along.”
    â€œFind that one? Easier to spot a red brofer under a blood bush.”
    No doubt an apt comparison, whatever a “brofer” might be. He’d known Morgan wandered. Where, being the question. Barac eyed the Om’ray with real curiosity. “You tried to follow him, didn’t you?” Something he’d have advised against. The Human had—disquieting—skills.
    Then again, so did the Sona. Gurutz lifted a hand, holding it out empty. “We’ve all tried,” he admitted. “Do you know where he goes?”
    Away from us, Barac guessed, with a certain sympathy. “Mapping,” he said out loud. “Besides, we’ve the help we need right here.” He glanced down to his left, where a silent presence quivered with desire to matter. “Ready, Arla?”
    Dappled fingers touched the strip of cloth acting as a blindfold. “Whenever you say, First Scout.” Young Arla di Licor was a Looker, his rare Talent reacting to any change from his last memory of a place.
    It wasn’t a comfortable gift, the sensation incurred ranging from mild awareness to nauseating disorientation. Which would be why Arla hadn’t come alone. His older brother, Asdny, hovered nearby. His role, normally, was to keep Arla away from
Sona
’s modifications and safe.
    Not today. That Talent should tell Barac what they needed to know.
    Holl and Leesems hadn’t objected when he’d included their son in this excursion—who would, seeing the delight on Arla’s face—but they’d not been pleased. Holding him responsible, they were, for Arla’s well-being.
    As if he could guarantee the unknowable.
    The younger M’hiray waited, fingers ready. Gurutz looked at Arla, frowned, then dared send
disapproval
at Barac.
He shouldn’t be here.
    The First Scout didn’t bother to reply. Gurutz grumbled because Om’ray were like Arla’s eccentric family, keeping their unChosen close until ready for Choice and even after, the newly Chosen living with one set of parents or the other. More protective than Aryl remembered, but Cersi’s Clans had been forced to change, isolated by the Oud, under attack by the Vyna.
    They weren’t on Cersi, Barac told himself. Arla’s temporary discomfort could identify a serious problem. Besides, as a M’hiray, he should consider the male unChosen expendable, if he considered him at all.
    Enora hadn’t—why was he arguing with himself? Enora sud Sarc, his mother, was—had been—an empath and kind. Oh, he’d known his worth to the Clan; he’d been made a First Scout because his death wouldn’t matter.
    Gurutz and other Om’ray scouts were selected from Chosen who’d earned the right. They had skill, experience—
    The best of reasons to be cautious. When his brother had been murdered, hadn’t his Chosen, Dorsen, and their unborn died, too?
    Different ways—he was M’hiray—
    â€œSomething wrong, First Scout?” Was the corner of Gurutz’s lips turning up?
    â€œWe each have our strengths,” Barac replied, uncaring if he made sense. Why keep comparing them? Why not—combine them?
    Why stay M’hiray and Om’ray? Together, weren’t they already something else?