Exasperated, Zayshul stalked back to her lab. This had wasted the time she’d set aside to confront Giyarishis and demand to know how her scent could have been imposed on N’koshoh, and how her DNA had become part of Shaidan’s. She was absolutely convinced Kzizysus had had something to do with it.
She had a patient due in ten minutes, and as it was the first of the females willing to carry her egg to full term, it was vital that she saw her in person to allay any fears she might have.
The sound of a commotion outside woke Kusac. Pushing himself up groggily on one elbow, he could see the TeLaxaudin at the door talking to M’zynal, one of Kezule’s commandos.
“Captain wakes,” he heard the TeLaxaudin’s translator intone in its flat, mechanical voice. “Arm heals well—used pool water on it to aid healing.”
“What’s happening?” Kusac asked, smothering a yawn as he sat up. He frowned, looking at the TeLaxaudin standing dwarfed between the two Prime guards who were glancing concernedly in his direction. “Have I been asleep?”
“Fall asleep during examination,” confirmed Giyarishis. “Sleep through power failure. Long wait till now.”
He looked back at M’zynal for confirmation.
“No one was in any danger, Captain. It was only the power for the doors and elevator to this level,” said the Security chief reassuringly.
With a grunt, he pushed himself off the low couch and got to his feet. Feeling the dressing on his arm binding slightly, he looked down at it, surprised to see that it had been replaced.
“I change dressing while you sleep,” confirmed the TeLaxaudin, shooing him out the door. “Used special mineral water to help healing. Now go, too much delay this cause. Things I have to do.”
“Your people were informed of the power failure, Captain. They’re still in the temple with your Second,” said M’zynal as they left the office and headed for the elevator.
Automatically mumbling his thanks, he got into the elevator with the two Primes. When it halted, he headed for the Sholan temple, glad to be away from the TeLaxaudin. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, the alien made him uneasy. The fact he’d fallen asleep in the examination room confused the hell out of him. He couldn’t remember why the TeLaxaudin had needed to see him, but then a lot of things had become blurred since the hunt—probably because of a residue of poison still in his system.
As he pushed open the temple door, he tried to clear everything from his mind except for thoughts of the following day’s festival. His actions the night before may have let himself and the God down, but he could ensure that he gave Him all He was due from now on.
Later, the communal Sholan lounge
“Masks?” said Kusac incredulously. “There will be no masks. You know they’re only worn by the dancers, not the priests.”
“I thought that would get your attention,” said Banner, mouth dropping open in a grin as he sat down. “You’ve been miles away all day.”
“No masks and no dancing,” he repeated firmly. “We have no need to scare Winter’s demons away out here, and since we have no females with us, no need of dancing to impress them and win a mating contract with one.” Memories of the last midwinter festival at home flitted through his mind. He’d danced for Carrie that year. He shut the memories firmly away.
“It is a fertility festival, Kusac. We need to pay at least lip service to that. Jayza says some of the civilian Primes heard them practicing and came to listen. Seems they have a tradition of drumming, too. As for us having no females, there’s a large number of Prime ones here only too interested in us. You can’t expect the crew to stay celibate in the face of such invitations after so long away from our own kind.”
He opened his mouth to forbid it, then, remembering the night before, promptly shut it again. He, of all people, had no right to prevent the others from liaisons with willing females, even if they were Primes.
“Perhaps after the religious side of the festival is over, you could allow the Primes who can drum to join us, then those who want to dance to the music can do so.”
It was a reasonable solution, one he had no rational justification for refusing. Reluctantly he nodded. “Keep the music secular,” he said. “None of the traditional sexually-charged beats. I don’t want this getting out of hand.”
Banner nodded. “That goes without saying. I spoke to the kitchen staff about the food we’ll need. They were twitchy when I requested a freshly killed animal carcass for roasting for the meal afterward and insisted on checking it with M’kou, but he authorized it immediately.”
He nodded, only half-listening to what the other was saying.
“You’re tired,” said Banner. “Why not leave the service with me, I’ll finish tidying it up for you.”
Sensing Banner about to reach out to touch his hand to attract his attention, Kusac was hard pressed not to move it away first. When the touch came, it was light and fleeting, as befitted a non-telepath touching one of the Talented.
“It’s finished. I already sent copies to each of the terminals in our quarters. I’ve reworked it, constructing it like a Storyteller’s reading so we all take turns presenting the story of Ghyakulla, Kuushoi, and Vartra. That way it involves us all.”
Banner raised an eye ridge. “Unusual way to do it,” he murmured, “but it should please the likes of Dzaou who’s had very little to do with the temple so far.”
He said nothing, merely lifted his drink and took a sip. Only he knew he’d done it that way because his conscience couldn’t face representing the God alone after what he’d done the night before.
The door chime sounded, making them look at each other in surprise.
“Enter,” Banner called out.
The door slid open to reveal M’zynal. “Captain Aldatan,” he said, “the General has returned and requests that you join him in his quarters for the evening meal.”
Had she told him? Was this a subtle way of separating him from his crew to confront him? Should he refuse the invitation? Thoughts tumbled one over the other in his mind until reason took hold. It was well known Kezule had brought two of the Royal Court females with him and had been seen more often in their company than in Zayshul’s. Primes bonded only for pleasure, moving on to their next lover when the mood took them, though some did choose to remain together for longer periods. Although Kezule’s and Zayshul’s marriage was a dynastic one, he didn’t think the General hypocritical enough to object to her doing covertly what he did openly. The only fly in that logic was that Kusac was the “lover” in question. If Kezule did know, and object, better that they had it out in private than publicly.
“I’ll make sure all the preparations for tomorrow are completed,” said Banner. “There’s very little left to do anyway.”
He nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll call you later.”
For the last few hours, he’d been aware on some level of a sense of suppressed excitement in the air. As the elevator descended to the Command level, it became more pronounced. It had to be due to more than just Kezule’s return.
As they left the elevator, he forced himself to take note of his surroundings. As on their deck, the Security office was the first room on his left, but this one was far larger. Almost immediately, M’zynal indicated they should take a left through an open air lock. The carpeted corridor was narrower than the main one, its featureless walls the same uniform pale gray as those on their level. Even M’zynal’s heavy boots made no sound on the flooring. Another air lock, then a left turn into a corridor that was obviously residential. They were nearing the air lock at the end before M’zynal stopped outside a door and pressed the buzzer.
M’kou answered the door. “Captain Aldatan,” he said, gesturing him in. “The General is expecting you.”
He entered the hallway, looking at the opening on his right where M’kou was pointing. “In there, Captain.”
He stood on the threshold, seeing nothing but his son sitting on the floor with Zayshul’s daughter piecing together a large j
igsaw.
“General Kezule will join you in a few minutes,” said M’kou quietly.
The voice startled him, and when he glanced back at where the young Prime had been, he was already disappearing through another doorway. Turning back, his eyes met Zayshul’s this time, and he didn’t need to be a Telepath to be aware of her immediate flash of fear. It was suppressed almost instantly.
“My husband told me you were joining us,” she said. “I didn’t expect you quite so soon.”
“M’zynal brought me,” he said, still hesitating in the doorway. “I didn’t realize it was to be a family meal.”
“I forget my manners,” she said, standing up. “Please, come in.”
Faint creases in the rainbow-hued skin surrounding her eyes betrayed her tension—she was no more happy with the situation than he was.
“Thank you,” he murmured, moving past the children to take a seat in the chair next to her sofa.
The presence of the two children wasn’t lost on him—it was a reminder of his and his son’s vulnerability, and of the fact that though he might be the father of Zayshul’s first child, he, Kezule, was her husband and the father of Mayza.
Acutely uncomfortable, he sat there watching them, trying not to let his imagination run away with itself. As smells of food began to permeate the room, he ventured a question. “Where is Kezule?”
“In the kitchen, supervising the cook,” she said. “The meal shouldn’t be long now.”
“You have your own cook?” he asked, filling the awkward silence again. She was wearing a perfume tonight, the one that almost masked her own scent.
“Of course not, we borrowed one of the mess ones. Shaidan, your father’s here. Don’t you want to come and talk to him?”
There was a small silence. “Mayza needs my help,” the cub said in perfect, inflectionless Prime Valtegan.
It was a tone he’d come to learn was as close as his son could get to showing he didn’t want to do what he’d been asked. He didn’t have time to respond before Kezule arrived to escort them to the formal dining area in the next room.
The General was the only one who was relaxed, with a seemingly endless flow of small talk about how the animals were settling into the large barn on the hydroponics level, and how the synthesized food Giyarishis and Zayshul had developed in advance for them seemed to meet with the creatures’ approval.
Zayshul busied herself helping their daughter coordinate her cutlery and mouth while Shaidan kept his head bent toward his plate.
“I thought we’d try a Sholan recipe,” said Kezule as the main dish was brought through. “Chiozo chose a recipe from the data you gave us and braved Giyarishis’ stronghold in hydroponics to request some suitable fruits. I had a taste earlier in the kitchen. I think you’ll like it.”
He couldn’t stop the quizzical flick of his ears even though he knew it would mean nothing to Kezule.
“Why? As a courtesy to you,” Kezule said, filling the wine-glasses in front of them. “After all, it isn’t every day my life is saved by someone from a species considered an enemy in my own time.”
Surprised, he murmured something he hoped was appropriate as he lifted his fork to try the food. It was good, by far the best meal he’d had since leaving Shola. The fruit gave the stew a piquant flavor like none he’d tasted before, but it enhanced the meat and was a welcome change from the bland food they were usually served. This time, he did drink the wine, but sparingly.
Dessert was a small selection of real diced and segmented fresh fruit rather than the synthesized sludge from the mess hall.
“Giyarishis says production has reached the level where we can serve fresh fruit in the mess every other day,” Zayshul said, spooning pieces of fruit onto a small plate for her daughter to eat with her fingers. “Your people won’t be needing so many supplements now, Captain.”
“Variety of diet is always welcome,” he agreed, still very much on edge. Kezule did nothing without reason and he couldn’t fathom the reason behind this very cozy family meal.
“It surprises me that as a priest you have no vows of chastity and asceticism as ours did,” said Kezule, finishing his dessert.
“There’s time enough for that when you’re in the grave,” he said, quoting a Human saying. “How can you understand the day-to-day problems of others if you deny yourself the pleasures of life?” He put his spoon back in the empty dish.
“Very true,” said Kezule, pushing his chair back from the table and picking up his wineglass. “Shall we leave Zayshul and the children to finish? I’d like a private word with you before they join us.”
He got to his feet, feeling his heart begin to race. This was it, then.
“Don’t forget your wine,” reminded Kezule, his tone still affable.
As he followed Kezule into the lounge, he braced himself, wondering if the evening of pleasantries had been just a means of softening him up for what was to follow. When he started to sit down on the nearest sofa, Kezule gestured to the one opposite where he was headed.
“Sit beside me, I’ve something I want to show you,” the Valtegan said, sitting down and picking up a small remote from the table in front of him. He pointed it at the wall in front of them.
A rectangular area darkened, then resolved into a screen showing a monstrous battle ship sitting in space, its hull partially illuminated by high intensity lighting. It only took him a moment or two to realize he was looking at a ship moored outside Kij’ik.
“That’s the Zan’droshi,” said Kezule. “My last command before the Emperor retired me to guard his hatchery on your world.” His voice held more than a slight trace of pride.
Even after fifteen hundred years floating in space, its hull scarred by battle and pitted by the many particles of dust that had bombarded it, it was still impressive.
“You told our people you were only a passenger on it,” he said automatically, looking at the Valtegan.
“Did I? It must have been one of the lies that I mixed in with the truth,” he said lazily, putting down the remote. “No one tells the complete truth under questioning, Kusac, as I’m sure you know from experience.”
He looked away, saying nothing, but remembering how he’d broken under J’koshuk’s questioning on the Kz’adul.
“Your people were good, Kusac, but not as good as our Enforcers,” said Kezule quietly. “They’re bred to have an appetite for cruelty. You’re lucky to have survived.”
He shrugged, saying nothing, waiting for the Valtegan to continue.
“Part of my reason for choosing this Outpost was that I knew my ship was in this neighborhood. I’ve had my people looking for it since we arrived here. Two days ago they found it.”
“Why bring it here?”
“For salvage purposes. One of the first things I located on it was the data bank. It has been successfully downloaded to our computing facilities here. There’s extensive information not only on my culture of fifteen hundred years ago, but also about our earlier past. I want you and Zayshul to work together on it to try and find anything relevant to the type of society I am trying to create here. There’s a library facility on your level that we’ll open up for you to use.”
Work with Zayshul? Too stunned to reply at first, he barely heard the rest of what Kezule said.
“I don’t need any help,” he said when he finally found his voice again. “She’s a doctor, not a sociologist.”
“She’s female, and a Prime,” said Kezule. “And you told me to let the females do what they do best, build societies. That’s why I need her involved.”
Why, after keeping them apart for so long, was he now throwing them together like this in a working environment?
“I also think it’s time Shaidan spent the odd night with you,” the General continued. “So once a week, you and he can stay overnight in quarters on this level. The first night will be the night after tomorrow, when your festival is over, if that’s acceptable.”
“What do you want in return?”
he demanded automatically.
Kezule’s crest raised slightly. “Very astute,” he murmured. “I want the Zan’droshi stripped bare of anything useful in six weeks. After that time, the remains will be nudged into a decaying orbit round the gas giant. While it’s here, it draws attention to us. I want it gone as soon as possible.”
“You could take your time if you put it in an orbit deeper in the asteroid field.”
“Too dangerous,” said Kezule, reaching into his uniform jacket pocket and drawing out a slim golden case. Opening it, he took out a thin, dark green cylinder about three inches long and proceeded to put it in his mouth and light it with an igniter he took from another pocket.
Kusac’s nose wrinkled in anticipation of the smell but it was actually fairly inoffensive. “I didn’t know Valtegans smoked. Something you found on the Zan’droshi?”
Kezule opened the case again and held it out to him. “Yes. I found these in the Officers’ mess. My favorite brand, too. Would you like to try one? I thought your people didn’t smoke but chewed twigs from a specific tree instead. This is made from only leaves.”
He shook his head. “No thanks. We don’t smoke.”
“The Humans do,” said Kezule, putting the case and igniter away. “Having a Human wife, I’d have thought you’d have tried it.”
“No,” he said shortly, not wanting to discuss his past life. “If you compute the orbits of the asteroids correctly, there should be no problem with moving the Zan’droshi deeper into the field.”
“Most of the orbits closer to the planet are too erratic to predict accurately. I won’t risk my people attempting it.”
He shrugged and went back to studying the image on the screen. “Helping to salvage a warship wasn’t part of our deal, Kezule.”
Between Darkness and Light Page 30
