“You do that and you’ll have to kill us all,” snarled Banner, his hair rising round his face. “Because, by Vartra, I’ll not stop hunting you till you’re dead! If Kusac had originally wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be standing there now! You and M’kou brought this on yourselves, Kezule, by drugging him and sending that female to rape him!”
“Which is why I’m not executing him,” said Kezule quietly.
Banner stared at him, confused.
“He will be penalized for his own seditious actions, and for your behavior. I’m sentencing him to three hours in the punishment booth. You can hold yourselves responsible for a good part of that time.”
“He’s just been shot!” exclaimed Jayza. “You can’t do that to him!”
“Watch me,” said Kezule grimly, taking a remote activator out of his pocket and handing it to M’zynal. “On that screen. Q’almo will see you’re returned to your rooms half an hour after your Captain’s punishment starts.”
Kusac had come round as they were finishing drying him off. The matter oozing from his wounds had already saturated the fresh dressings. Still feverish, and panting in an effort to reduce the pain, he could tell by his scent when Kezule returned even though he was unable to focus on him.
“Come to gloat?” he managed to say.
“I want him awake,” said Kezule, ignoring him. “And fit him with a medical sensor. I want him monitored at all times.”
“I’m giving him no stimulants,” said Ghidd’ah firmly.
“I didn’t ask for any,” Kezule said coldly. “He must be conscious when the punishment starts, after that I don’t care. When she’s done, take him into the hall,” he ordered M’zynal, turning to go.
“I need to change the dressing again,” said Ghidd’ah, firing a shot into Kusac’s upper arm. “You’re not intending to put him in that booth, are you, General?”
“This isn’t enough?” he muttered as the nurses began to hold him still for Ghidd’ah to replace the soiled dressing.
Kezule swung round. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “You brought this on yourself, Kusac! Had you not tried to leave here at gunpoint, you wouldn’t have been shot! Dammit, there were only three weeks left!”
He stopped, and when he spoke again, the anger was gone from his voice. “You put your own son’s life at risk by pulling a gun on me, and you and your crew have been making explosives and other weapons. I’m holding you responsible for their actions as well as your own. You cannot go unpunished, and you know it.”
The moment Ghidd’ah touched his leg, he was beyond answering. His moans of pain rose to a brief high-pitched keen, then the dressing and its bindings were off. By then, Kezule had gone.
“Make it double thickness,” Ghidd’ah ordered then bent down to whisper in his ear. “You’ll pass out quickly because your blood pressure’s so low. I am so dreadfully sorry I’m hurting you, Kusac, but I can’t help it. Zayshul tried to get Kezule to allow us to treat you, but he’d have none of it.”
“Finish,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
His leg was now so swollen that keeping the dressing on without the bandage binding was no problem. When they were done, they eased him off the floater onto his good leg. M’zynal caught him and supported him as they slipped a clean tunic over his arms and sealed it.
He knew nothing of the journey to the hall, only that he returned to a world dominated by pain as they began to ease him onto a narrow padded stool they’d placed in the booth for him. He resisted, bracing himself on his good leg, holding onto their forearms, tightening his grip and moaning when they moved his injured leg to the side of the sloping stool so there was no weight or pressure on it.
“I need my arm, back, Captain,” said M’zynal, carefully trying to pry his left hand off.
He let him remove it, glad of the continuing support from the young Prime officer as his hand was guided to the corner of the stool, next to his uninjured right leg. They pushed him back against the rear of the booth, lifted his head, and easing the psi damping collar up, snapped a restraint round his neck.
Consciousness fading in and out, and hardly able to keep his eyes open, he could see nothing but M’zynal’s face as the Security chief took hold of his other hand and began to loosen it. Automatically, his grip tightened, claws extending and puncturing the Prime’s forearm.
As M’zynal hissed in pain, Zhalmo’s hand clasped over his wrist in a numbing grip. “No, Kusac. Let him go. Don’t move, M’zynal, you’ll only make it worse,” she added quietly.
I can’t. It’s all that’s holding me up, he thought, but the words came out as an unintelligible mumble.
“I’m fine, just get his arm in the restraint,” said M’zynal tersely.
As she wrenched his hand loose, he sat down hard on the stool, clenching his free hand till the claws dug deep into the underside and biting down on his lip to stifle his cry of pain. Panting heavily, he barely noticed as his now limp right arm was fastened to the rear of the booth.
Vivid memories of watching the now dead M’zullian soldier in the booth came to him as the pain began to ease. As they shackled his other arm, the first stirrings of fear began to wash through him. He thanked Vartra that his vision was so poor he was spared the sight of the crowded hall. But was it crowded? His physical senses shot, he reached out mentally only to have crippling pain flare up and down his spine then explode outward along every nerve. Every muscle spasmed and locked, making his back arch away from the booth wall and forcing him off the stool onto his good leg. Unable to make a sound, he stood there, transfixed in agony.
Then it was over and, keening almost inaudibly, he slumped back down onto the stool, hurting his neck on the restraint.
“What the hell happened?” demanded M’zynal.
“Psi damper cutting in,” said Zhalmo briefly. “Captain, don’t use your mental abilities, the General put a damper collar on you.”
He’d forgotten about it, he realized, feeling cold metal encircle his waist as the final restraint was locked in place. Taking a shuddering breath, he tried to remember why he was here. It came flooding back—how his rage with Kezule had been so great he’d risked everything he’d no right to risk—his son’s life, those of his crew—on an insane plan conceived in anger.
“Shaidan,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My crew ...”
“Safe, all safe,” said M’zynal quietly. “The Doctor will make sure your son doesn’t see this.”
When the headset was adjusted over his eyes, he tensed, clenching his hands and bracing his foot against the floor beneath him. Faintly, he could hear Kezule talking. He began to breath more rapidly, afraid to see what images Kezule had loaded for him.
Ghioass, the Camarilla council chamber
This transition had been much easier, thought Vartra as he got to his feet.
“What do you want of me this time?” he asked, trying to sound bored.
“The Hunter is in danger, you must go to him and guide him.”
“Guide him how?” he asked sharply, pretense forgotten.
“You must tell him to reach for the healing place, then guide him deep inside himself to this location.”
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through his brain as another mind penetrated his, pulling his consciousness deep within him.
The place is just beyond here, sent the presence within him. It does not exist within you. Unless he can do this, he will not survive.
His mind was suddenly released and he staggered, leaning against the sides of the force field in which he was trapped.
“Go now and do this.”
Almost instantly, the familiar warping of space began, forming the tear between their place and his. Rapidly it lengthened and widened, the vortex sucking him into its maw before he’d time to gather his wits.
When his world returned to normal, he found himself on Kij’ik at the back of the assembly hall.
Unseen by everyone, he walked toward the booth where Kusac was restrained, knowing tha
t this time at least, he would gladly comply with the Camarilla’s order.
“This is uncivilized!” hissed Khadui, trying to get up, only to be firmly pushed down on his chair again as they listened to Kezule telling the assembled Primes why Kusac was being punished. “He has no right to do this!”
“Remain in your seats,” said Q’almo. “We have orders to stun you if necessary.”
Banner’s vision was beginning to fade round the edges in rage as he stared at the screen. Even though the camera was some distance from the front of the hall, he could see how badly swollen Kusac’s leg was. He began to slow his breathing, pushing back the encroaching huntersight. They were powerless to even help themselves right now, and if truth were told, this was at least better than the deaths he’d expected them all to face.
“Three hours,” said Jayza, his ears invisible in his brown hair. “Kezule said that long could kill you or make you go mad.”
“Depends on what tape they use,” said Khadui quietly. “Kezule fitted the crime to the tape last time, so they won’t use that one.”
“Enough talking,” growled Banner. They might be forced to watch this, but they’d do it with as much dignity as they could muster.
“With the punishment tapes, you experience the pain first-hand,” Kezule was saying. “Every blow will feel as real as if it is happening to you. This is a tape we found on the Zan’droshi, one showing the Valtegans on Shola rounding up the Telepaths for questioning. It will be repeated until the three hours are over.”
“A piece of ancient history for you,” murmured the guard behind Banner.
“Be silent!” said Q’almo, glaring at the civilian. “Unless you’ve a fancy to try the booth for yourself?”
“No, sir!” said the guard, the fear in his voice and scent obvious.
The tape began to play and Banner divided his attention between watching Kusac and the images on the screen in the hall.
When the tape began, he found it so real it was as if he’d been transported there himself. He could smell the fumes from the vehicles, feel the sun on his body, and the faint breeze stirring his hair.
It was early summer, and the streets in front of the stores were fairly crowded. There were no cubs of any age, he noticed, only adults. At every road junction, groups of six heavily-armored Valtegans stood, energy rifles held at the ready. In the hand of one he could see a small device like a scanner cum motion detector.
The mood of the people was tense, their fear barely under control as they hurried past the Valtegan soldiers keeping their eyes averted. When one of the guards looked his way, he shivered, hoping not to be noticed. He heard a shot, and the Valtegan’s scanner filled his view. It had started to emit a low beeping and on the small screen, he could see a flashing red dot some fifty yards away, going by the grid marks.
They were heading into the crowd now, pushing the Sholans aside with no regard for their safety. The fear was so palpable he could almost touch it. A small knot of Sholans saw them coming and began to run. Terrified shoppers ducked into the stores or plastered themselves against the large windows as the soldiers ran past. Shots rang out again, then the gun belonging to one of the soldiers was forced down.
“We want them alive!” said their leader. “Unit two, head them off at the junction!” he called into his communicator.
Fear so powerful it was making his own heart beat faster flooded through him as the soldiers closed on the three runners. The other unit came into view ahead of them as the remaining shoppers fled for cover, leaving the street empty of all but the three Sholans and twelve Valtegans.
He frowned as the guards drew closer—one of the Sholans, the female, was blonde, her hair worn in a mass of tiny beaded braids. She clutched at the dark-pelted male beside her. The male with them was armed, and pushing them behind him so his body shielded them, he started shooting at the guards. Their situation was hopeless but he intended to make their capture cost the Valtegans dear.
Hisses of pain surrounded him, then a single shot hit the Sholan. As he fell to the ground, exposing the couple, Kusac recognized who they were. The female started screaming and he was suddenly catapulted into the mind of the male—Rezac.
Rezac’s mind was full of rage and fear in almost equal proportions as he launched himself at the approaching soldiers. He knew they’d no chance of escape, but that wasn’t what he wanted now. He wanted a quick death for himself and Zashou.
The soldiers weren’t gentle and as the blows fell on Rezac’s body, he felt each one—the fist hitting him on the jaw, the knee in his stomach, the hands grasping his arms, claws digging into his flesh even through his clothing. Then they grabbed Zashou and her fear exploded in his mind as well.
It’s not real, Kusac, said a quiet voice inside him. It’s a tape, an image from the past. You know it is.
He tried to jerk his head to one side to avoid another blow to his head but only succeeded in almost choking himself on the neck restraint. Whimpering, he tried to struggle against his captors just as Rezac was doing.
It’s not real. It’s a tape, said the voice insistently. Pull back from it, Kusac. Pull back.
Confused, he shut his eyes, blocking out the images, but not the sensations as a booted foot hit his good leg. Flinching, he tried to remember who he was and that he was on Kij’ik, not Shola of Vartra’s time.
That’s it. Pull right back, Kusac, said Vartra’s voice.
“Vartra?” he mumbled in surprise, his eyes opening again, expecting to see the God—or the person—standing in front of him.
He was in a room with Zashou now, seated at a table, being questioned. They held him on his chair while pulling Zashou to her feet.
“Leave her alone!” he/Rezac yelled, trying to fight off the guards as they began to fasten a metal collar round her neck. His rage burned brightly, fueled by the terror she felt as she began to yowl.
He fought harder, winning free at last and hurling himself across the room to his Leska. Lashing out at the guards, he made them back off. Grasping hold of the collar round her neck, he pulled at it, forcing the not quite fastened clasp to part. He flung it aside as a rifle butt swam into view, cracking him hard on the side of the head.
His consciousness as Rezac began to fade—only for the tape to start again, but in the brief moment of respite, he heard Vartra’s voice in his mind again.
Close your eyes! Don’t let the tape capture you again! You must go into a trance, Kusac, a healing trance like you did before. Only much deeper.
Still feverish, he was finding it really difficult to work out what was real.
I’m real, nothing else is. Focus on me, said Vartra. Now, before it’s too late.
“Now.”
Yes, now! Relax, let your mind go, let it fall into a trance, Kusac.
The collar against his neck was sending small tremors of pain up and down his spine as he tried to reach inside himself.
Then turn it off, you fool! said Vartra scathingly.
That shocked him into action and he reached for the mechanism, trying to ignore the pain as it intensified and jangled his nerves. Suddenly it stopped, and he sagged against the restraints in relief, instantly regretting it as they cut into his neck and wrists.
Now let your mind fall into that trance, said Vartra. Let go, I’ll be there to catch you.
It didn’t make sense, but then nothing did right now. He could feel the tape sequence reaching the part about the scanner and shuddering at the thought of experiencing that again, he let go. He felt himself falling deeper and deeper within his own mind, but there was no fear as he could sense he wasn’t alone.
As his descent began to slow, he sensed Vartra urging him on.
Deeper, you must go deeper, then reach for the healing there.
What?
Deeper, Kusac! Beyond me. Then reach for healing and you’ll find it.
Makes no sense, he objected, even as he obeyed. He felt divorced from everything now, the constant pain in his leg had faded to an un
pleasant memory. Then even his awareness of Vartra began to fade and he felt more alone and lost than ever before. He began to panic, terrified he’d never find his way back, that he’d be trapped forever in this abyss of his own mind.
Biofeedback. A half-forgotten phrase said by Zayshul, or Kezule, that he remembered was important. He focused on the memory, turned it round in his mind’s eye, examined it for more information. There are glands you can access using biofeedback.
Blue swirling tattoos and a voice—Naacha, the Cabbaran mystic—telling him to reach inside himself for what he needed. Healing, he needed healing, that he did know because Vartra had told him. He reached, and found it, a gland, alien in concept, but flesh of his flesh. He tried to access it but found he no longer had the energy to use it. He’d left it too long.
He sensed his heart rate falling and his consciousness shrinking. Around him the distant motes of light he knew were his thoughts began to fade. Thoughts of Shaidan, and Carrie and Kaid surfaced briefly and though he tried to hold onto them, they, too, eluded him. He didn’t want this ... then that thought was gone.
All that remained was the darkness that surrounded him. It was almost complete now. He could feel himself unraveling as the few remaining lights began to dim. A strange calmness settled over him.
So this is death, he thought as even his self-awareness began to shrink, slowly at first, then more rapidly till there was nothing.
The Tooshu, same day
Kaid had just told Prince Zsurtul the news of the coup led by K’hedduk on K’oish’ik. He’d been hoping to do it before the needs of his Link day with Carrie were too great and had decided it was best to tell him alone, male to male. However, he’d suddenly discovered that Carrie had been right when she’d said the youth would need the comforting only a female could give.
The young Prince was sitting on his bed with his face in his hands, sobbing, when Carrie joined him in Zsurtul’s quarters.
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