MORGAN LOST HIS SMILE and tightened his shields the instant he passed through the door. Much as he’d like to view this as an adventure, it was as far from it as any action he’d seen on Karolus. The Sona had been willing to murder them.
He was more than willing to find out how.
“$#@*~”
Destin, the First Scout herself, gesturing for him to follow her down the hall. Three more Om’ray stepped up to flank him. Instead of moving, Morgan brought up one hand, fingers spread, then slowly reached into a pocket. Her pale eyes tracked the movement, flicking to his face, then back.
He fastened the comlink to the collar of his coat. “Repeat.” A burst of fluid sound came from the small cylinder.
The Om’ray nearest him grunted, “(*#&@S”
The ’link rendered that as: Oud tricks.
They weren’t surprised by his tech. “Not Oud,” Morgan replied earnestly. With the barest rudiments in the ’link, he couldn’t trust it with anything complex. Unfortunately, this was, if he understood Cersi at all, a crucial point. “Not Oud. Mine.” Morgan pointed to himself.
“$#%”
That one he’d figured out already: “not-real.” “Not Om’ray,” he corrected firmly. “Chosen.”
Destin studied him for a silent moment. Come. She paused, then added, Chosen.
Translator’s working, he sent in triumph. Morgan didn’t look back at the sound of raised voices. Sira’d told him what she planned to do; the Om’ray, he thought fondly, didn’t have a hope of resisting. Still. Don’t trust them.
I won’t if you won’t. A rush of affection . . . something wistful.
He wasn’t the only one who relished exploring. Morgan hid a smile. Next time, chit.
Once he’d determined this new world’s risks.