A Thousand Words For Stranger (10th Anniversary Edition) Read Online Free PDF

backed away and a short, heavyset woman took their place. She wore her uniform casually, its sleeves, with their insignia of a full commander, pushed up to reveal thick, tanned forearms. There was, however, nothing casual about the look in her sharp eyes. “I’ve seen the others, Hom Barac sud Sarc,” she responded briskly. “Or what’s left of them. Force blades are illegal on Auord.”
    Feeling acutely at a disadvantage, Barac tried his most charming smile, but his face hurt too much to hold it. What had happened since his assailants resorted to the unfair tactic of a blast globe? What was he doing here, flat on his back, held by blanketing that could more bluntly be called a restraint? He gathered himself. “Hopefully,” he said, “attacking an innocent tourist is also illegal on Auord, Commander . . . ?”
    “Bowman. Commander Lydis Bowman,” she supplied readily. Her voice was deceptively friendly. “Chief Investigator for the Board of Interspecies Commerce—the Trade Pact—in this quadrant, Hom sud Sarc. These are members of my staff, Constables Terk and ’Whix.” Barac probed delicately for her thoughts, then for those of the others, only to recoil from the blank nothingness where they should be. Shielded. How quaint. Useful no doubt as a barrier against their own feeble Human telepaths.
    Barac opened his mind, allowing the merest edge of his thoughts to enter the M’hir. Some Clan scholars argued that the M’hir was a construct formed by Clan thoughts over generations of use. Others, with equal passion, described the M’hir as another dimension, in which disciplined Clan thoughts slipped like needles through thread, bypassing normal space.
    Most Clan, like Barac, ignored both arguments. What truly mattered was that the ability to enter the M’hir belonged only to the Clan. The M’hir gave Clan thoughts the ability to transcend distance, to transport matter, to touch layers of thought in other minds—such as those of Humans—believed unreachable.
    Barac remembered how his link with the M’hir had grown each time he entered it, starting with childhood dreams of that darkness filled with the passage of power. His adult ability in the M’hir might not be as great as some of the Clan, but it was respectable for a sud. Barac was sure he could bypass Bowman’s shielding as he focused his strength in the M’hir.
    What was this? A taint of metal, of nonlife, opposed his inner sense, obstructed the flow of power through the M’hir around each of the Humans and the Tolian. Impossible. No other species even suspected the existence of the M’hir; how could these have a device to affect it?
    Bowman’s mind-deadening device must be something totally new. The Clan routinely planted false reports, sabotaged research. Yet here was the proof of the Humans’ stubborn persistence. There were too many of them to control.
    And so the Humans had at last achieved more than they should, Barac realized, vastly uneasy as he pulled his thoughts back to normal space. He could only hope they didn’t know.
    “We’ve managed to keep life in one of your assailants, Hom sud Sarc,” Bowman had continued, unaware of Barac’s probing—or its failure. “She’s yet to speak to us.” Unspoken, but understood, was the inevitability of that conversation.
    Barac blinked slowly, marshalling his thoughts with feverish haste. “What can the criminal tell you? Nothing you don’t already know,” he predicted. “They were taking advantage of a fool out in the storm.” Recognizing this sounded less than gracious, Barac tried his smile again. It usually worked with Humans. “I’m truly grateful for your rescue. I’m certain they meant to kill me.”
    “I’m sure they did,” Bowman agreed too cheerfully, waving a hand. One of the uniformed officers, Constable Terk, brought her a stool. Barac had to twist his neck to keep her in sight. “But you proved very stubborn,” Bowman continued. “Let’s see: five dead, one