Giyarishis sat looking at the closed door thoughtfully for a few minutes then got to his feet and headed for his desk. Leaping up onto the pile of slightly firmer cushions, he took a small device from the belt he wore round his waist. Clipping it onto the side of the communications unit, he switched it on. Moments later, using his secret system, he was through to his contact in the Camarilla.
“Phratry Leader Kuvaa,” he said, dipping his head slightly and making a gesture of greeting to his Cabbaran colleague.
“Giyarishis,” said Kuvaa, her long nose wrinkling in concern. “All is well? No signs of our Children’s presence preparing the Outpost for the sand-dwellers has been discovered, has it?”
“None, Phratry Leader. The sand-dweller’s curiosity about us is contained as the Camarilla planned. It is about another matter I contact you.”
“Proceed, then.”
“The Hunter has arrived and believes his son is shared with the sand-dweller female.”
“As was predicted,” said Kuvaa.
“The cub’s ability is as powerful as we anticipated. I am watching his development but seldom he is allowed to use it. Sand-dweller gene traits not yet noticeable.”
“Watch the sire more,” said Kuvaa sharply. “He is the weapon. No time has there been for him to train properly. You must find the opportunity to take him aside, assess him, if necessary guide him. You altered DNA test results of cub so sand-dwellers know nothing of his true heritage?”
“Was done,” he confirmed. “All believe hunter-cub is only Human/Hunter hybrid. Genetic material of Doctor mixed for now dead Prime female scent marker. Was bound into Hunter sire’s sample when she mated with him on Kz’adul. When his mate’s egg fertilized, sand-dweller genes present too. Cub is product of all three species. Regrettably he also carries la’quo defect. Two instabilities. That is why I also watch him.”
“Conceded, but focus on his sire for now. Cub is merely the bridge, sire is the weapon.”
He dipped his head in affirmation, keeping to himself his thoughts that the cub was equally important. “The sand-dweller just requested me to prepare means to remove scent mark from Hunter when he is done with him so mating imperative removed.”
“Is progress,” said Kuvaa, obviously impressed. “He becomes aware of needs of those once he considered his enemy.”
“Wishes removal to be done medically. Not willing to have his mate do it. I have said not possible.”
“Tell sand-dweller only way is with female of his species naturally carrying chemical marker,” Kuvaa said. “The Doctor, his mate.”
“When you wish me to give sand-dweller last of his ancient racial memories?”
“Soon. When it does most good, diverts him from other courses back onto ours. You will know when. Is there anything you need?”
“Yes, Phratry Leader. Need birth tanks for sand-dwellers. Soon will want to breed.”
“Sand-dweller has the means to alter the females of his kind to birth own eggs now. Kouansishus gave it to him.”
“Will want tanks,” insisted Giyarishis. “And wants female Sholans.”
“No more Sholans,” said Kuvaa unequivocally. “Will give hunters more reasons to be defensive. They and the sand-dwellers must learn to need each other, learn trust, make alliance, or we are all lost.”
Giyarishis made a skeptical noise. “How, when such enmity exists and is fostered by presence and heritage of cub?”
“We have seen the potentialities, what can be. All is part of the wyrd. With your help, we will guide it to what must be. Tanks we will deliver in two days. Look for them in usual place, Giyarishis.” With that, the Camarilla Phratry Leader cut the connection and left Giyarishis no more reassured than he had been before.
Zhal-Rojae 7th day (November)
Unable to sleep, Kusac had risen early and after mapping out a training program for Kezule’s people, he made his way along the main corridor to the exercise hall. Though cooler than the rest of the Outpost, it was still warmer than the average Sholan home in winter. It was a large room, with a square, roped area for a fighting ring on one side and piles of mats on the other. The floor was covered with some absorbent material that cushioned his bare feet as he walked past the office and across to the benches on the far side. Primes, like the Humans, protected their feet from the ground. Coming to a stop by the benches, he bounced experimentally on the spot, finding the surface gave slightly like the sprung wooden floors in the gymnasiums back home. On a surface like this, even the Primes could work barefoot.
Throwing down the towel he carried and unfastening his belt, he began to slow his mind as he undressed. The night had brought him little rest. He hoped the exercises would bring him some calm before the day really began.
Absorbed in the intricate patterns of kicks and punches, the first he was aware of her presence was when the torc gave him a sharp jolt, almost like an electric shock. He was beginning to resent the torc; at times it was almost as if it had an intelligence of its own. Spinning round, he crouched down, ready to defend himself if need be. At the entrance stood the female Lieutenant who’d sat beside him the night before.
“Very impressive, Captain,” Zhalmo said. “Almost like a dance. I hadn’t realized combat training could be so graceful. Will you be teaching it to us?”
He relaxed, straightening up until he was standing again, watching her as she walked across the hall toward him. She was dressed for exercise in a skintight blue body covering similar to those he’d seen the Human females on his estate wearing to the gym. It went well with her green skin tones.
“Perhaps,” he said, reaching for the towel to rub his sweat-dampened pelt. “I thought your General said we were free to come and go as we wanted in the public areas on this level.”
“You are,” she said, stopping opposite him. “I’ve not been sent to keep an eye on you. I always exercise first thing in the morning. I have to if I want to keep pace with my brothers. They’ve got so many advantages over us females,” she said with a wry twist to her wide mouth. Her vertical nostrils flared slightly as she took in his scent. “There’s no need to leave because of me. I won’t disturb you. I didn’t know furred mammals sweated.”
“Some do,” he said, stepping back to pick up his tunic. “I was nearly finished anyway.”
“Probably an evolutionary change as you move farther away from your four-legged, plains hunter ancestry. I hope you don’t eventually lose the fur like the Humans did.”
He glanced up at her as he gathered his belongings. “You’re remarkably well informed,” he said drily.
“Basic cultural exchange information between the Alliance and us,” she said, stepping closer to him to place her small carry bag and towel on the bench. “I’d like to learn more.” Her voice was low and suggestive, her scent growing stronger.
Kusac neatly sidestepped her, looking up at the timepiece on the wall above the door. “That’s why we’re here, Zhalmo,” he said. “To teach you. I have to go now. I want to eat before I brief my crew in just under an hour.”
“Another day,” she shrugged, her large eyes blinking slowly. “There’s plenty of time. You’ll find a liaison with me will keep the civilian females from bothering you—and be more satisfying.”
His jaw dropped open in shock and he began to back away from her toward the showers. “The General,” he began.
“Won’t mind,” she interrupted. “In our first weeks here, because there are so many more of us females, there was no end of bickering until the unattached popular males—like yourself—had been chosen by a partner—or two.”
Vartra help him, but he was actually finding himself considering her suggestion! “I think you overrate me,” he said firmly.
She laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. “I think not, but you’ll find out for yourself. Enjoy your shower.”
CHAPTER 3
THE mess was a large hall capable of seating at least a hundred people, but apart from a few Primes clustered round two tables near the
serving counter, it was deserted. As it was his first public appearance, he’d anticipated some curiosity. All heads lifted to look at him as, with a confidence that was feigned, he strode between the empty tables toward the counter.
Food was plentiful, but fairly bland. His enhanced sense of smell identified it as either textured generic vegetable or synthetic meat protein enhanced with artificial flavors. To drink he was offered water or kheffa, the mildly stimulating herbal beverage Kezule had drunk the night before. He chose the latter.
His composure still a little shaken by his conversation with Zhalmo, he took his tray and headed for an empty table some distance from the group of fifteen Primes. Their scents, both male and female, were making him twitchy, even more so when he realized the females were continuing to watch him. He could feel their curiosity lapping at the edges of his mind. For most of them, he was the first adult Sholan they’d ever seen.
Angrily, he stared them down, aware of a brief gentle vibration from his torc as he watched them look away. His awareness of them faded and once again he realized the torc was warning him he needed to be more vigilant about his mental shielding.
While he ate, he thought over the times his torc had acted independently, warning him of danger and providing the necessary mental protection. What had the TeLaxaudin and Annuur done to it? How could a piece of metal be so responsive to his mental state? When Toueesut, Speaker of the Touiban swarm on his estate, had inserted a device into it that picked up and transmitted high level harmonics, he’d understood the technology behind it, in the broad sense at least, but this had him baffled. He was positive he hadn’t become slack despite the months he’d been without his Talent. Was he more sensitive than he’d been? Was that why the torc was expecting him to react sooner than he would have normally?
He almost took it off to inspect the inner surface but he resisted the temptation, knowing he’d find nothing. If there had been a difference, he’d have noticed it long before now when he removed it to shower. Whatever had been done to it was subtle, if it was the torc and not a response conditioned into him by someone on board the Cabbaran’s shuttle after they’d operated on him to restore his Talent.
Suddenly aware of Banner and the others’ presence, he realized the torc had relaxed its control again. He looked up at the entrance moments before they entered. While Jayza, Khadui, and Dzaou headed for the food, Banner came directly to him.
“Figured you’d be in here when you weren’t in your room,” his Second said, sitting down opposite him. “You aren’t trying to avoid me, are you, Kusac?” he demanded outright.
“Of course not,” he said, surprised that the other would think that. “I slept badly and went for a workout in the gym before coming here.”
“I was concerned after our conversation last night. Is there anything I should know before you brief us? You aren’t making it easy for me to keep the others in line if I obviously don’t know what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing I need to keep from any of you. I’ll brief you all in my quarters when we’ve eaten,” he said reassuringly, though fully intending to keep some facts to himself. “What about your meal? Aren’t you eating?”
“Khadui is getting it,” Banner said, eyeing his plate. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
“Just about,” Kusac confirmed, a brief smile flicking across his face as he pushed his empty plate aside. “We’ll definitely have to show them how to synthesize coffee.”
His briefing focused on the training Kezule wanted for his people, separating them into three units of civilians, one of his sons and daughters, and one of the fourteen Warriors.
“I hate to seem unsympathetic,” said Dzaou, “but with the M’zullians on the move and war possibly in the offing, our job is to get the cub and get home, not spend months here helping save their green asses by teaching them to protect themselves.”
“You were told from the start that this wasn’t a quick rescue and get out mission,” said Kusac, staring unblinkingly at the older male. “I gave my word to help Kezule in return for the cub. We’ll not be the ones to break the bargain. You’ve Challenged me once already, Dzaou. Any time you want to do it again, let me know, but I’ll tolerate no more outbursts like the one last night. I don’t care how badly you suffered at the hands of the Chemerians, it’s time you got over it.”
Dzaou half rose from his seat, rumbling his anger.
“Sit down!” said Kusac, pitching his voice in the command mode he’d been taught in AlRel. “For the benefit of the rest of you, Dzaou is from the past. He’s with us today thanks to early cryo technology. He was held in an internment camp by the Chemerians during the Chemerian wars two hundred and fifty years ago. No guesses as to why they left him in cryo that long,” he added sarcastically, staring at Khadui, Challenging the other Sleeper to call him a liar.
“Now you’re really flipped, Kusac,” began Dzaou.
“Be silent!” Though his voice was still quiet, his tone of command once more reduced Dzaou to silence. “You’re endangering us all by your refusal to take orders from me, and by your xenophobic attitude. The others deserve to know about your past. There’s more than one way to fight captivity. You at least were one of many, I wasn’t. If you carry on as you are, you can count yourself lucky if Kezule gets to you before I do!”
“The Captain’s right, Dzaou,” said Khadui unexpectedly. “Kezule runs this place on Valtegan military rules—they’re pasted on the back of the doors of our quarters. Even though it might amuse Kezule to see you flouting Kusac’s authority, the General can’t afford to let you flout his.”
Dzaou looked away, growling softly and muttering under his breath.
Kusac’s hand snaked across the table and grabbed hold of the older male’s, gripping it painfully. “Are you issuing a Challenge?” he asked softly. “Because if you are, it won’t be to First Blood. You’ll have to kill me.”
“No,” Dzaou snarled, trying to jerk free, aware of the others’ startled exclamations. “But only because of the cub. When this is over, Kusac, don’t worry, I’ll Challenge you to the Death Rite! Just when did you intend to tell us you’ve given the Primes the run of our ship?”
Kusac hid his own surprise as he released Dzaou and sat back in his seat. How the hell had he found out about his trip down to the landing bay with Kezule?
“Our ship? It’s mine, Dzaou, and built by the Primes, remember? They haven’t got the run of it. I took Kezule there last night because he needed some information from my database. The Primes even programmed the Venture II with the help of our Embassy. There’s nothing sensitive for them to find—unless you downloaded anything from Haven before I boarded?” He glanced over to Banner who shook his head.
“I only checked the nav station data,” his Second said. “We didn’t communicate with the Haven comm system at all.”
“And I followed procedure before we left the Venture. All nav information, apart from the encoded route to Haven, which Kezule knows anyway, was deleted. All he wanted was what little there was of Sholan culture in the recreation files, and there was damned little of that, as we know!” he said wryly. The journey had been tedious for the others as the Venture had little in the way of entertainment programs on board. “All that’s on it is some Story-teller and news vids, plus our half-finished Sholan knowledge base.”
“Why does he want that?” asked Jayza.
Kusac hesitated only briefly. He’d hoped to keep this to himself for now. “He wants me to help him turn this mixed group of Primes into a new culture, one without castes. One like ours.”
There was silence while they each absorbed what he’d said.
“It makes sense,” said Khadui. “Someone from Kezule’s culture would see the Primes as a dead end.”
“So I was wrong,” admitted Dzaou grudgingly, still massaging his wrist and hand. “Maybe helping Kezule is worthwhile. We don’t need another group of Warrior Valtegans out after our blood. If this place is one of the major outposts, it’ll be arme
d to the teeth.”
“But it can’t move far and he has no ancillary fighters,” said Kusac. “My bet is the Valtegans stripped it bare before abandoning it.”
“Then where did he get the other ship?” asked Khadui.
“At a guess, from a forgotten battle fleet probably stranded not too far from here,” said Banner. “Rezac said when they rebelled during the Cataclysm, the Sholan Telepaths who were pets of Admirals in the Valtegan fleet made the crews turn their ships on themselves.”
“We should still keep an eye on them,” said Khadui. “Gather what information we can without getting caught.”
“No,” said Kusac unequivocally. “We play it straight,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “No more sneaking around the base spying on them, Dzaou.”
“But . . .”
“You heard the Captain,” said Banner quietly. “We play it straight. Kezule asked specifically for him, because he knows he’s with AlRel. His speciality is understanding alien cultures.”
“Just so. Our main job for now is training. Kezule wants the fourteen M’zullians kept busy without teaching them much more than they already know. His group are far more volatile than ours were. They’ve already managed to kill five of their own during training because they were seen as too weak or a threat to the advancement of one of the others. Even more than the Primes, we have to show a united front to them. It’s imperative they know we’re their superiors in combat skills, otherwise they’ll turn on us.”
“Great,” muttered Khadui. “Always liked a Challenge, but this is a doozy!”
“I’ve another surprise for you,” he continued. “The slightly darker Primes? Look more closely at them and you’ll see the males have crests like Kezule. They’re his fourteen sons—and two daughters—all grown in a lab by their medical research department in an effort to fast-breed a Warrior Caste. Except Kezule doesn’t want to do that. As I said, he wants castes abolished and Warriors chosen for ability, not bred. That way, he hopes to have a more balanced society.”
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