“Kezule told you all this, and you read it from his mind,” he said. “What do you really want from me, M’zayash?”
Instantly her mental pressure stopped. Surreptitiously, he wiped his hands on the sides of his robe. Gods, Noni could learn lessons from this one!
She smiled, reaching out to touch his hand briefly. “I have what I need, Kusac Aldatan. Kezule may be holding your son, but that’s not what keeps you at his side, nor working for his cause. Stay here and rest. You may wash your face and hands in the fountain, the water gets purified as it recycles,” she added, getting to her feet.
When she’d gone, as he rolled his sleeves up and leaned over the water to drink and wet his face and hands, he realized he was shaking. He knew she’d picked up nothing from him, so she must have taken that information from Kezule. But she did know that he had enough ability left to maintain effective shielding.
“Would you like to use this cup?” asked a voice from behind him, making him jump and spill the water in his hands.
He turned round to find a child standing beside him, holding out one of the ubiquitous widemouthed cups.
“Thank you,” he replied, taking it from her. She looked to be about Shaidan’s size, but what age she was, he had no way of gauging. He dipped it into the crystal clear water, drinking deeply before handing it back to her.
“I’m five, and M’zayash is the oldest Elder,” she said confidentially, “and really scary. You’re a Sholan, are you? Were we really once enemies?”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“M’zayash relays information to all of us who can hear her mind, and speak it for the others.”
“Are there many like you?”
“About a quarter of us girls.” She grinned, eyeing him appraisingly. “You look friendly.”
He had to smile. “I am. I wouldn’t harm you.”
She reached out a tentative hand toward his bared forearm. “Can I touch? I’ve never seen a covering like that on a person before. Can you take it off?”
“It grows on me. Yes, you can touch,” he held his arm out to her. The small hand stroked his pelt cautiously and he was aware that she was sharing the experience with everyone who could hear her.
Her face lit up just like his daughter’s did when she got a treat. “It’s so very soft, softer than a bird’s feathers.”
“You have birds here?”
She nodded, taking her hand away. “Nothing with fur, though.”
He risked opening up his mental shielding for a moment by just enough to be aware of her mind constantly exchanging information with the others in her village. This was the way his Clan was evolving, into a community that could share information and thoughts simultaneously with each other.
“I have to go now, and help prepare a meal for us all, Granny says.”
“She’s your grandmother?” he asked, taken aback.
“My Noni,” she confirmed as she skipped away, her skirts swirling round her bare feet.
His stomach lurched with the shock of it and he got up to kneel by the side of the fountain, scooping water over his face. She knew, dammit! Despite all his efforts, she knew what he was! He shook himself to get rid of the excess, wondering when she’d tell Kezule, wondering why she’d chosen to speak to him. Was his shielding that obvious, and that weak? Why hadn’t his torc warned him?
All your secrets are safe, she sent. I needed to know if you worked with him voluntarily, and if you were his enemy or friend. You’re neither, but you admire what he’s trying to do. It’s enough I will help you.
He groaned, resting his arms on the fountain surround, hands still dangling in the cool water.
The remainder of the meeting was short. In under half an hour, Kezule came out, followed by the others. The General came over to where he was lying along the edge of the fountain.
“We’ve got everything we asked for—more in fact,” he said as Kusac sat up. “They are recruiting young folk, including several families with children, from the surrounding villages. We’ll have about sixty new colonists.”
“Kezule, do you realize that the females here—yours, too—are telepaths?”
“I don’t want to talk about that now,” Kezule said, a shuttered look coming across his face.
“You need to if you’re going to be taking them home with us,” he said, swinging his feet to the ground.
“I wear a psi damper,” the Valtegan said shortly, turning away from him. “I’ve been aware of this for some time. Zayshul doesn’t yet know what she is.”
“She’ll realize soon. Can you cope with them?”
Kezule turned back to look at him. “I can, and will, cope,” he said, a low hiss underscoring his words as the female Elder joined them.
“If you want our people returned to what they were before the males rose up against the Empress Queen Kszafas, then you will have to accept that we females tend to be telepaths,” M’zayash said, drawing them with her away from the fountain.
“You obviously had a lot of the Intellectual caste living here before the Fall,” Kezule remarked, obviously not pleased that she’d overheard their conversation.
“No, we just made sure they bred prolifically,” she countered with good humor. “They didn’t object.”
“I don’t suppose they did,” said Kezule, with a slight smile despite himself. “Where are we going now?”
“To eat, where we’ll discuss the trade price, and the maintenance manuals you can give us for our equipment,” she said, moving ahead of them.
“What did she want with you?” he demanded, sotto voce, holding Kusac back. “You shouldn’t have left like that, it could have undermined my authority!”
“You’re being paranoid,” he said, pulling himself free. “She only wanted to know I wasn’t your slave or vassal. I had no choice but to go with her.”
Kezule hissed softly as he passed him but said nothing more.
N’zishok bridge, Zhal-L’Shoh 19th day (January)
The following day, while his crew were helping Kezule and his people check off the supplies as they were delivered to the N’zishok, or repairing worn-out equipment in the village, Kusac and M’kou had been interviewing their prospective new settlers. In reality, it meant the work fell mainly on his shoulders as he also had to give M’kou a crash course in what qualities to look for, as well as some basic AlRel skills. M’kou had proved to be a quick learner and well suited to the work. Only five of the prospective candidates had been turned down so far, but there were at least another twenty still to process the next day.
By the time they returned to the ship, he was almost too exhausted to eat but he forced himself to accompany M’kou up to the main mess on Deck Three, the bridge level, where they joined Kezule. On this voyage, though they hadn’t been confined to their own deck, a guard was stationed on duty outside the bridge at all times.
As he pushed his plate aside and reached for his cup of kheffa, he realized his hand was shaking slightly and the headache that had been threatening him all day had started to settle in with a vengeance.
“You don’t look too good, Captain” M’kou said.
“I’ve a headache,” he said, reaching for the pouch on his belt where he kept analgesics. As he tore open the blue wrapper, he was aware of Kezule watching him.
“That bad?”
“I get them from time to time,” he said, taking the pill with a mouthful of kheffa. “A leftover from my time on the Kz’adul.” He got to his feet, picking up his tray of dishes. “You’ll excuse me if I turn in early.”
Kezule nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning. The sick bay is opposite your rooms if you need anything.”
N’zishok, Zhal-L’Shoh 20th day (January)
The night had passed for him in a fitful haze of periods of fever and nausea. By the time he realized the alarm on his wrist comm was going off, it had been buzzing for about ten minutes. Then, as the muscular cramps began, he realized what was wrong.
Using only t
he Voice function, he called the sick bay. A male answered him.
“Captain Aldatan here. Get me Ghidd’ah,” he said tersely.
“I’m on duty . . .”
“Do it,” he snarled.
Within a few minutes, she answered him. “How can I help, Captain?”
“I’m sick,” he said hoarsely. “I need your help. Come alone, and don’t tell anyone.”
“Can you answer the door?” she asked. “I can get a passkey if not.”
“Get the key,” he said, signing off and falling back on the bed as a wave of nausea swept through him, leaving him sweating and shaking.
He lay there, trying just to get through the next few minutes without throwing up. He didn’t notice her arrive, but when the next spasm hit, she was there, holding a bowl for him when his stomach finally rebelled.
Afterward, she gave him a cup of water to rinse his mouth out with then helped him lie back among his pillows.
“Zayshul and I’ve been expecting this,” she said quietly, reaching out to take his hand comfortingly in hers. “She told me everything, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. She and I are old friends.”
The look he gave her was haunted. “She shouldn’t have told you.” He drew his hand away from hers.
“She had to once you asked her to remain behind. At least I can treat you.”
“The marker’s turned her scent into a drug for me, hasn’t it? And I’m addicted to it.” He remembered how ill he’d been after his failed suicide attempt when he’d overdosed on sleeping tablets and analgesics washed down with neat spirits.
She nodded. “You’re going through withdrawal symptoms. I do have some medications to make you more comfortable and take the edge off the symptoms.”
“Will I be free of the marker once it’s over?” he asked, turning onto his side in an effort to still the trembling of his limbs. The mattress flowed against his limbs, cushioning and supporting him.
Ghidd’ah reached for her medical bag, pulling it closer to where she sat on the floor beside his low-level bed. “No, I’m afraid not. Coupling gives you the actual addiction, but the pull of the marker is so strong you can’t avoid doing that.” Opening the bag, she pulled out a small, sealed bundle which she put to one side, then took out a hypo and began preparing a shot.
“I’m giving you this to calm your stomach and relax you so the cramps will subside. I have another for the headache. It’ll make you drowsy and you should sleep for most of the day.”
Tearing open a sealed pack, she parted the fur on his shoulder and swabbed the skin before applying the hypo.
It stung slightly and he put his hand up to rub it.
“Zayshul also gave me a blanket for you,” she continued as she prepared the second shot. “It’s identical to those on the ship. She used it before you left. We don’t know if it will do any good, but it should have enough of her scent and natural body oils on it to alleviate your symptoms considerably. I’m also having you transferred to the sick bay—I want to monitor your condition.”
“I don’t want to leave here,” he mumbled as he suddenly found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He was only vaguely aware of the sting of the second shot. “Don’t want her blanket. I’ll fight it.”
“No, you won’t,” said Ghidd’ah firmly, putting the hypo away in her bag and closing it. “You’ll do as you’re told. My patients don’t suffer unnecessarily, even if they feel it is good for their souls.”
He blinked up at her. “I’m not punishing myself,” he said, slurring the words as he tried to lift an arm that wouldn’t cooperate. “Will she be suffering, too?”
“Maybe you’re not now,” she conceded, unpacking the blanket and replacing his with it, making sure that it was touching as much of his body as possible. “No, Zayshul won’t suffer.” She then draped his own over the top to hide Zayshul’s scent from the other Primes. “Now try to sleep,” she ordered, leaning down to stroke his cheek gently before pulling out her communicator.
By the time he’d been transferred to a floater, the nausea had mercifully receded and so had the spasms. Cocooned in the scent of Zayshul’s blanket, he was only vaguely aware of the sound of Kezule’s and Banner’s concerned voices. Ghidd’ah was telling them not to worry, he’d only picked up some minor local fever, but was being quarantined in the sick bay until he’d recovered.
At first, he tossed and turned in a delirious haze of half-formed images and sensations that remained just beyond his ability to decipher. Then, as his temperature lowered in response to the drugs and the cooling properties of the almost living, formfitting Prime bed, and Zayshul’s blanket, the fever dreams began at last to make some sense.
Swirling blue tattoos etched into shaved cheeks filled his field of vision, hypnotizing him with their complexity until nothing else existed for him.
He felt a blow to the side of his head, sharp and hard enough to break his involuntary trance and make his eyes water as his head rocked on his neck.
“Listen, not look!” said the voice in Cabbaran.
He looked above the tattoos, at the eyes, seeing Naacha this time.
“Shielding you had before implant not enough. Need better—far better,” said the Cabbaran mystic. “Build protection for mind same as build protections and danger warnings into ship. Same as force shields which change frequency. Same your mind do. Do now. Start outermost layer.”
Hour after hour, they’d sat there on the floor of the Cabbaran shuttle on his estate while he learned to set his personal mental space farther out than he’d ever done before, and learned to set triggers into each layer, warnings that would alert him to changes around him. The first would tell him if his name was spoken in a certain way, the next if another strong Talent was within fifty feet of him, another if anyone should take too great an interest in him—and so it went on.
For the first few, Naacha had mentally grasped hold of his mind, showing him how to set the alarms; the rest he had to set himself. Once he’d finished, he was made to lower the shields one at a time, then set them up again swiftly with his warning systems still functional and in place. Then, with Annuur’s help, his alarms, then his shields had been tested. It had been grueling, unremitting work, but by the end of it, even with his ears still ringing from Naacha’s repeated cuffs, and his mind feeling bruised, he could block all but a sustained forced contact from the mystic without betraying his psychic abilities.
“Now the hard work begins,” said Naacha, finally satisfied with him.
And it had. He’d had to be shown the new mental pathways in his mind because the old ones no longer existed. Every skill he’d possessed before had to be relearned, and they’d only five days in which to do it. There had been accidents, like the time the lab had exploded when Naacha had been showing him how to affect the molecular structure of objects in order to move them. He’d panicked, and Naacha had been unable to control him because his shielding had become too strong for the Cabbaran to penetrate. They’d had to sedate him to stop him that time, and the next, when he’d been tracking Tirak mentally through the ship. He’d lost his patience because he couldn’t find him and had lashed out mentally. The backlash had rendered the U’Churian unconscious for two hours.
He suddenly knew that because of his lack of self-control, and Naacha’s inability to stop him, while he’d still been sedated, the mystic had gone into his mind and sealed off certain of the skills he’d learned, including most of his ability to shield. He had been uncontrollable, and in possession of knowledge and tools too powerful for him to be allowed to wield them. Shutting him down temporarily had been their only option, and was why they’d bio-engineered his torc to act as a temporary mental shield for him.
“You’re a hunter,” Naacha had said. “Hunters use stealth far more than force. Learn this well.”
As his control over his returning abilities as a Telepath increased, the torc had intruded less often, and the knowledge of the skills he’d had locked away had started to return.
“Excuse me?” asked Ghidd’ah, sitting at his side monitoring him, but he had already drifted into sleep.
Ghidd’ah pushed Kezule and Banner firmly out of the sick bay into the corridor. “I will not have you raising your voices in my infirmary,” she said sternly, closing the door behind her.
“What’s wrong with him?” demanded Kezule.
“I told you both, he’s picked up a local fever, nothing more.”
“That’s not just a fever,” said Banner. “Not when he’s throwing up like that.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” said Kezule accusingly. “Have you tested him for poison, or bites? That M’zayash female took him off alone for a good quarter of an hour!”
“It’s not poison, General,” began Ghidd’ah.
“Dammit! I can’t have him falling ill like this! I need him and his expertise to finish interviewing these volunteers!” He was having visions of his carefully laid plans suddenly collapsing.
“He’s in no fit state to leave his bed,” interrupted Banner.
“M’kou can handle it. Have you run diagnostic tests on him, Ghidd’ah?”
“Of course I have! I’m not an amateur, Lieutenant,” she said stiffly. “He has contracted a local virus, that’s all. Some form of gastric fever, nothing more. You’ve seen him for yourself. Unpleasant, but not dangerous.”
“I need him up and functioning,” insisted Kezule, reaching out for the door mechanism.
“No,” said Ghidd’ah, moving to block him. “He’s not leaving here. Do you want this virus spreading throughout the whole ship?”
“She’s right,” said Banner. “He’s better in isolation. We could end up being stranded here for up to a week. I can help M’kou.”
Between Darkness and Light Page 47
