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possible. We must warn Sira, of course. Whatever the Council plans, it will not be an acceptable solution to the doom facing our kind. They are too blind, too set in maintaining all as it has been. It has become dangerous to so much as suggest change, as you all know.”
    There was a pause as the food and drinks ordered earlier arrived. After the servo was safely distant, Rael leaned forward, eyes intent. “I know where Sira has gone. It’s time I went to her. I can convince her to come to you, Grandmother—”
    Ica smiled thinly, a chain reaction compressing the fine wrinkles framing her lips. “Don’t make the mistake of believing your father that Sira has been exiled by the Council. It was her decision to dwell apart. She is powerful, resourceful, and full of anger. That anger is a force to be reckoned with—both by us and by her. You, especially, must remember this, Rael.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    The old Clanswoman’s eyes glittered. “Sira is no longer Clan, not wholly. Since imprinting upon the Human—” Ica deliberately avoided the more potent term, Choice, “—she has become unpredictable at best, clouded by emotion, tainted with unusual ideas. I agree you must go to her,” this with a gesture that silenced Rael’s protest before it was uttered. “But she is no longer the sister you admired. She is no longer the helpless ‘Human’ you aided on Acranam. She has become someone else—someone who has learned to wait, to prepare, and, I suspect, to hate. I would rather know what Sira di Sarc plans than what the Council of the Clan has arranged. It may matter more in the end.”
    Larimar pushed his dish away and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve heard a great deal about Sira di Sarc—who hasn’t? But nothing that suggests that she would be capable of resisting the will of the Council.”
    “She resisted the will of your former leader, Yihtor di Caraat, easily enough!” Rael snapped. Larimar’s jaw clenched.
    “Acranam is not being called to account here,” Ru interjected quickly. “We are gathered in an effort to save our species. Old disputes have no relevance.”
    Although Ru was an unfamiliar peacemaker, being one who usually ruffled, rather than smoothed, feathers, Rael made the gesture of appeasement. “Sira and I have always been heart-kin.”
    Ica sighed softly, as if for once she wished to acknowledge her great age. “Just as long as you realize, Rael, that our cause must be held as greater than any emotional ties. It may be that Sira will judge us—and you—as much her enemy as the Council.”
    The others were silent, eyes carefully averted. Rael gained no help from them. She met the implacable face of her grandmother with pleading in her eyes, their luminous green grown dark. “It will not come to that. Sira will understand and help us willingly. You’ll see.”
    “I hope so, Rael. But willingly or not, Sira di Sarc must help the Clan. We can permit her no other choice.”

Chapter 4
    “PLEASE reconsider, Mystic One,” the cargomaster’s plumed antennae were drooping below his shoulders, giving the Drapsk a comically tragic look. “These gifts were ill-chosen—give me time to make a new selection—”
    I sighed, quite sorry I’d let the Drapsk in the door. But it had seemed only polite. “Your gifts are magnificent,” I said, and not for the first time. “Perfect. I can’t accept them because I’m not coming with you. It is my decision to make, Cargomaster, and I have made it.”
    The Drapsk stood mutely, double-elbowed arms wrapped around a collection of packages continually threatening to topple. I hadn’t exaggerated in my compliments. The gifts were magnificent: gems, intricate sculptures, rare perfumes, and tapes of antique Human literature. I’d been taken by surprise, both by their quality and by the unexpected aptness of their selection. Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t have been; the Drapsk were master traders, always careful to scout ahead and know