Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

said despite the want for more. “Most can master control of the Aut mind in a short time. But be warned, their minds are so open that it’s easy to overdo it.”
“And where do I find an Autlach willing to let me play with his head?”
Krell sighed at LaRenna’s naiveté. “Where Auts play, girl. The market. The best time to toy with an Aut’s mind is when you’re right beside him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Krell tossed LaRenna her cloak. “We’re going to the Common Grounds. It’s midday, so the place will be teeming with unknowing subjects.” And they were off, LaRenna once again running to keep up with her teacher’s gait.

Chapter Fourteen
Dearest LaRenna,
This note was given to Master Yeoman Quall to be forwarded to you. I pray it reaches you. Nobody will tell me where your posting is. It seems to be a closely protected secret. Just like you, disappearing without saying goodbye. You probably love the mystery of it. I hope you find the adventures you are seeking. Remember, I post on the Predator. Please send word as time allows. I miss you.
Yours always,
Malley Whellen
Third Engineer


Chapter Fifteen
Identical Taelachs feed off their twin’s negative energies, creating a disastrous combination of hatred and insanity.
—common Taelach knowledge
Bane woke with a jerk then stared at the ceiling, wondering how long he had been unconscious. Seizures came so frequently that he’d lost all sense of time. The hour, he surmised, must be evening because voices and the clanking of dishware echoed up the stairwell. The noise was louder than it had been in some time. Business must be good.
He rolled to his side and balanced on one elbow. His tunic was fresh, his bed linens clean, and a tray of warm food lay within easy reach. “Bless Starnes’s soul.” Bane was humbled by his loss of control. No matter how bad it became, and it was frequently that, his son always tended to his needs. Shaking, he reached for the water glass and drew a sip over his cracked lips, wincing at the pain that accompanied swallowing. He returned the glass to the tray and lay back, startling when another thud on the adjoining room’s wall made the water slosh. Footfalls vibrated and a low drawl cursed. Bane sank in his bedroll. If he pretended to be asleep, he might be left alone. Eyes shut tight, he listened to the disjointed ranting that flowed from the next chamber, praying they wouldn’t come to include him.
Brandoff stumbled across the room, a near empty wine crystal in her hand. “Stay upstairs, Brandoff. Be quiet, Brandoff. Quit your bellyaching, Brandoff. I’m sick of it!” Brandoff pried her boot knife from the wall, circled, and threw again. Thud! The knife sank to its intricately carved hilt. “Why’s it always me who ends up stuck high and away? Always me who’s left hanging while Cance makes things happen?” Thud! “Cance doesn’t trust me to take care of things. Why couldn’t I disguise my appearance, too?” She jumped back to avoid a bad throw that ricocheted off the wall, stepped on the blade’s tip to raise the handle, picked up the knife, and threw it once more. Thud!
Cance bounded up the stairway in an angry snit. The throws were audible through the bar’s thin floors. “Brandoff! What the fuck are you doing? This bar is packed and I’m trying to conduct a business meeting. I don’t have time for your games.” Thud! The knife sailed past Cance’s head, imbedding in the wall.
“I’m bored outta’ my mind. There’s nothing for me to do. Let me put my cloak on and come downstairs. I promise to stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut. Come on, Cance!”
Cance jerked the knife from the wall and flung it between her twin’s feet. “Not a chance. Hyped and drunk as you are, you’d pounce on anything that bounced or wiggled through the door. I’d have to keep constant watch on you.”
Brandoff slid the knife into its sheath then collapsed, weary with boredom, into a chair. “I’ll even work the kitchen, Cance. Come on. I’m going crazy up here.” Brandoff dropped to the floor, rattling the room again, her hair flying forward as she begged for something to do.
“You want to keep busy?” Cance shoved Brandoff back into the seat. “I’ll give you something to do. Wait here.” She vaulted down the stairs to return momentarily with a heaping pile of dirty kitchen linens that she shoved into Brandoff’s arms. “Knock yourself out.”
Brandoff dumped the insulting bundle. “Do I look like your fuckin’ Aut drudge?”
Look, Brandoff, Cance pushed the tiniest of phases. You have your role to play in a couple of days. Be patient. Please. There’s a clean set in the washroom. Fold them, start these, and I’ll be up in a while to check on you.
All right. Brandoff’s hair fell into limp clumps about her drawn face. I’ll do them, just promise we’ll be out of this hole soon. I’m feeling useless.
Useless? Where would I be without the best pilot in the Sarian system? Brandoff’s ability to fly almost any craft, Taelach or Autlach, was the main reason Cance had risked taking her unstable twin from Trimar’s snowfields. There was little sibling bonding between them and what existed was often volatile. I need you, Brannie.
You do?
’Course I do. “Now, my Kimshee senses tell me the old man is awake. Have him keep you company and help fold those linens.” Cance paused on the stair head to peer down at the main dining room’s crowded conditions. “Starnes wants to go to the Hiring Hall in the morning and I think maybe he should. I’m no bartender and he barely has time to cook, much less throw together drinks and serve them. Behave yourself, Brandoff. I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, Cance.” Brandoff gathered the linens as the door fell shut. “Bitch, you think you know