Ash opened his eyes, and swore softly. It was a favourite expression of his, a satisfyingly lyrical run of sounds he'd learned from a Charreki trader last fall when the woman's shallow-keeled coaster had run aground during a storm and stranded her with him in the Caves for nearly three weeks. That wasn't all she'd taught him, and he twitched again at the memory, thoroughly distracted now, and sighed in exasperation, uncoiling from his meditative pose to stretch the kinks out of his spine.
He'd ported straight up to the eyrie when he came round from the shock of mindsharing, spent a few dazed minutes checking and re-checking the Tank stats, then got a Fetcher to mix him a strong sleeping-draught and dozed off right there in the chair. He'd woken almost a full day later in his bed, rested but restless. No dreams, or none that he could recall, which had been the point of the knock-out draught after those nightmare-ridden hours tangled in the Wraith's mind. Coming up here to the sea-caves to clear his head had seemed like a good idea a few hours ago, but the presence of the creature in the Tank pulled at his equilibrium like a lode-stone.
Ash yawned delicately, then less so, wondering how he could possibly still be tired. Mindsharing was a strain sometimes, sure, especially without the help of the Mirror, but that was usually because he was trying to share with some dead-brain. The Wraith, on the other hand... Ash shivered involuntarily, spoiling the tail-end of his stretch. A race of telepaths, and not just some vestigial ability but the full whack if he was any judge. Its sheer strength was frightening. Its mind had not been completely alien, not after that first stultifying touch, but it had called him 'strong - for a human' with unconscious superiority, then subdued him without breaking a sweat. And this, he reminded himself bitterly, was a damaged Wraith, one whose mental state was 'questionable', who was dangerous because he was not whole, whatever the hell that meant.
Ash was beginning to be able to guess at some of what it might mean. Unfortunately, if he allowed himself to consider such a thing, then certain other things followed in logical conclusion.
He ported back to the eyrie without getting up, and settled into the comforting embrace of the chair, sliding into the interface like a fish into water: Sanctuary had left an advance payment, two plastic cases, deposited by the alien craft at the same time as his unwelcome visitor, containing valuable mineral salts that even he had difficulty getting hold of. He groaned out loud as the data came back: the cases were empty.
Ash withdrew from the interface, fuming, and slapped his open hand on the edge of the console hard enough to sting. "Stupid. Stupid, Ash!" What had he been thinking? He knew how trade worked, knew better than this–
Well. However it happened, however she'd worked the trick, it just confirmed his fears: Sanctuary wasn't coming back. For whatever reason – weakness, injury, a questionable mental state, whatever – she had abandoned the one she had sent to him. Ash suspected gloomily that the only person to whom this would appear as news was himself.