“Try this, Captain,” said M’kou quietly. A warm, slightly spicy smell drifted up to his nostrils. “It’s louz. It’ll help the headache.”
Opening his eyes, he looked up at the Lieutenant’s bent head, noticing now what had been nagging him from the first. “You’ve got a crest,” he said. “Like Kezule, not a ridge like the Primes. You’re half Prime, half . . .” He stopped, headache forgotten. “You’re mature at ten. That’s the same age as Shaidan and the other cubs.”
“Very astute, Captain,” said Kezule as the door closed behind him. “M’kou is indeed one of my sons. I have another thirteen with me, and two daughters. However, they’re older than your son by two years. And your next question is—how, isn’t it?” He crossed the room and took the seat opposite Kusac. “A cup of kheffa please, M’kou. I would take your louz, Kusac. It’s good for shock and you still look pale around the nose and eyes. Finding out you have a son you knew nothing about isn’t easy.”
Was there a trace of sympathy in the General’s tone? Mechanically, Kusac reached for the cup M’kou held out and took a sip. It was pleasant, and its warmth as it hit his stomach did make him feel better, helped to clear his head of the pain and clarify his thoughts.
“How?” he asked as M’kou brought the General his drink. “The cubs are hybrids, half Human, half Sholan. How were they conceived?” He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “It’s only been five months. How can they be ten years old?”
“You can stay, M’kou,” said Kezule, aware his son was about to leave. “Growth tanks, Kusac. Since the Fall of our Empire, the Primes have been unable to carry their young full term. I’m not a doctor, but as I understand it, they’re removed before the shell develops and put in one of the tanks. Growth can be accelerated, and it was with my offspring. On the Kz’adul, the telepaths in your crew were harvested by Chy’qui for the Directorate because they wanted Sholan hybrid telepaths. I was also harvested, but by Prime Medical Research, to provide sons and daughters for their new Warrior caste. M’kou is one of those children.”
He tried to distance himself emotionally from what he was hearing. “They wanted to use the cubs in the coup against your Emperor.”
“They were fairly central,” Kezule agreed.
“Why did you rescue them? You’ve no liking for our people,” he asked, even though he was sure of the answer.
“I wanted one of the cubs,” said Kezule, raising his cup and taking another mouthful. “Your son.”
“Why’s Shaidan different from the others?” he blurted out unthinkingly.
Kezule put the cup down carefully in its saucer, then smiled, showing dozens of small, pointed teeth. “You tell me, Kusac.”
He had to fight to suppress his instinctive shudder. “You know what I mean,” he said, shying away from the obvious answer. He’d no wish to discuss Zayshul’s part in this with her husband, even though he was blameless. “He behaves like a slave and barely speaks our language.”
“My wife told you. The Directorate programmed them with sleep tapes. Zayshul was able to undo it for the others.”
“I want my son deprogrammed too.”
“No. He’ll remain as he is until your work here is finished. He’s my guarantee that you’ll cooperate with me.”
“Dammit, Kezule, you’ve no right to make my son suffer for . . .”
“Shaidan isn’t suffering,” Kezule interrupted. “I don’t take revenge on children.”
“Haven’t you caused my family enough pain?” said Kusac, staring at him. “You held my daughter and sister captive, you tortured my bond-brother . . .”
“I did what I had to,” Kezule interrupted again, this time more sharply. “I wanted to return to my own time. You had no right to drag me to the future! Your people nearly killed me with their beatings—they humiliated me, forced responsibility for a worthless Sholan female onto me, made me do things I’d never even have considered in my own time!”
Kusac gave a derisive snort. “You were never in any danger. You were worth far more to them alive than dead and you knew that!”
Kezule’s hand crashed down on the table, making the cups jump in their saucers and spill their sweetened contents over the polished surface.
“Enough!” he roared. “I don’t need to justify my actions to you!”
Kusac didn’t flinch. He knew Kezule had no intention of harming him.
“You start training my people tomorrow,” the General said in a milder tone. “As I said, I have fourteen sons and two daughters. You met one of them earlier.” He grinned again, and this time, his eyes echoed his amusement. “I noticed she found you attractive. I also have fourteen M’zullian warriors and forty-four civilians, many of them females. Most of them have had some basic training. Take care with the M’zullians, Kusac, they’re more aggressive than the ones you’ve been working with on Shola. Keep them occupied during training, but see their skill level falls well beneath that of the rest. We’ll have trouble otherwise, as they seek to improve their status by killing anyone whose level of competence they consider they’ve surpassed.”
“That’s all you want?” He couldn’t believe it was that simple.
“Not all,” said Kezule, picking up his cup and drinking the remainder. “Your ship has data banks. I want information about your people and your culture. Trying to breed a Warrior caste and graft it into the Prime culture won’t work. They’re dying out as a species. The M’zullians and J’kirtikkians are no better. You have effective warriors yet you’re all one caste. If my species is to survive, the castes need to return to what they used to be, they need to be reintegrated into one again and for that, I need your expertise.”
Kusac had listened to him in mounting anger. “You’re mad. Do you really think I’m going to help you save your species after what you’ve done to my family, and when you’re keeping my son away from me?”
“Am I mad?” Kezule replaced his cup and lounged back in his seat. “Perhaps. When you’re not working, Shaidan will be brought to you for at least two hours each day. You’ll be left alone, undisturbed by me and my soldiers, apart from one guard outside your room. I’m not asking you to betray your species, Kusac, merely to help mine. The information I want is freely available to our people on Shola. As you once said to me, I can take the information I want. For now, I’m asking you for it—and your help.”
The news that Kezule was allowing him access to his son took his breath away, until he thought it through. It made sense. Why anger him any more than was necessary? Was Kezule actually genuine in what he said he wanted to do?
“Deprogram Shaidan and give him to me and you have my word you’ll get my full cooperation,” he said quietly. He couldn’t afford to let his crew know Shaidan was his son, not least because of Banner’s position as a Special Operative for Lijou.
“No,” said Kezule with finality. “He’s your incentive, and my insurance. If you don’t like what I’m offering, you’re free to leave at any time, but Shaidan remains here.”
A coldness crept through him then. He’d tried, offered Kezule one last chance to play this straight and he’d been turned down—as he’d expected. This was the second time the General had held a cub of his hostage. He intended to see it would never happen again. Whatever it took, he’d do it to save Shaidan from Kezule, even if it involved sabotage and murder.
“The Venture’s only a scout ship, not a First Contact vessel. She doesn’t carry that level of information,” he said quietly, taking another sip of his drink.
“Then give me what you have and let me judge its usefulness for myself. As for the rest, you have the knowledge of your own society, and as a member of your Alien Relations, you understand other species and their cultures. You will help me by observing my people and telling me what needs changing.”
Kusac looked away. He didn’t like telling Kezule anything about the Sholans but unless he played along, he’d get nowhere. “Our culture grew out of the ruins of our Cataclysm, after we overthrew your
people, Kezule. Just as you discovered you can’t graft on a Warrior culture, neither can you graft on a Sholan one. Your new society needs to evolve to fit the nature and needs of your own kind. We had two years of darkness and rain when the sun was obscured by the debris caused by the asteroid from our moon hitting our planet. When it was over, those who survived formed Guilds to ensure no skills were lost. Our Warriors evolved to protect the weakest in our society, the telepaths. You want your Warriors as soldiers, to fight wars.”
“What about your organization?” asked Kezule, pointing at his robes. “Zayshul told me you belong to a religious order. Where do you fit into these Guilds?”
“We’re Warrior priests. We were among the first to come down from the mountains after the Cataclysm,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Priests who fight. An interesting concept. More wholesome than the Enforcers.”
Kusac looked up sharply, eye ridges meeting in a frown, ears tilting back. “You still have Enforcers? I was told the Primes had none.”
Kezule eyed him thoughtfully. “Of course, you met one on the Kz’adul, didn’t you? J’koshuk, your jailer, was an Enforcer. They’re still agents of the Emperor, but their red robes are rarely seen outside his council chamber. Likely the Primes said there were none to put your people’s fears to rest. They still track down heretics, look for sedition, but mainly among the Courtiers. A secret police force, if you will. There are no Enforcers among the people here, Kusac. I have as little love for them as you. It seems I chose better than I knew when I chose you to help me. Your Order rebuilt Shola, now you can help me rebuild my people. I want to know how your society works, what place Warriors have in it—how they’re chosen and trained. I want that training for my people.”
“It’s not that easy, Kezule,” said Kusac, unable to shake off the chill that went down his spine. “As I said, what worked for us may not suit your people.”
“You’ll find a way, Kusac. Play it straight with me and you’ll continue to see your son every day. If not . . .” He left the rest unsaid as he got to his feet. “You can take me to your ship now for the data.”
He remained seated; there was no easy way for him to say this to the male he considered his greatest enemy. “Kezule, my crew are unaware that Shaidan’s my son, or that the other cubs were hybrids,” he said stiffly.
“Oh?”
The politely curious look on the General’s face made him furious. Against his neck, his torc began to vibrate gently again, warning him that his anger was making him lose control of his Talent. He resented having to admit this vulnerability to Kezule. “It would . . . complicate matters if they know I’m spending time with him each day. They’ll want to know why.”
“In that case, I’ll send someone to bring you to Shaidan each day. Your secret’s safe with me, Kusac,” Kezule said with a slight smile.
Banner was waiting for him in his quarters when he returned.
“I don’t want to talk right now, Banner,” he said, heading past his Second for the bedroom. “We’ve an early start tomorrow morning. I want everyone in here for a briefing at third hour.”
“We need to talk now, Kusac,” said Banner, getting to his feet. “What happened to you back there? You nearly lost it. I appreciate Kezule’s taunting you, but the whole situation almost blew up in our faces.”
“Blame Dzaou,” he said, stopping at the door. “His outburst started to escalate the situation. You said you’d spoken to him. Did you?”
“Of course I did, but Dzaou’s outburst doesn’t explain your reaction. You’ve got to distance yourself from the situation, Kusac. You’re taking it too personally. Dzaou’s saying Shaidan’s your cub. Of course, none of us believes him, but your reaction didn’t help.” He stopped briefly. “Is this because of Kashini?” he asked carefully.
The torc’s block on his mental abilities had gone now and Kusac could sense Banner weighing him. Since they’d left Haven, the relationship between them had changed. As the only Special Operative left, his Second had assumed Chima’s job even though the original mission was over. Banner was watching him for any signs of instability, or collusion with Kezule, and had orders to stop that happening at any cost, including his life if necessary. It was a very thin tightrope he was walking, and it wasn’t going to get any easier.
His headache had returned and suddenly he felt utterly exhausted. Briefly he wished that Kaid and Carrie were there, but they belonged to the past and a life that no longer existed for him.
“J’koshuk had me behaving like Shaidan—never looking him in the face unless he ordered me to, telling him how grateful I was to him and the Primes for letting me live . . .” He stopped abruptly, hoping Banner would think he was being overwhelmed by memories. “It goes against the grain to see a cub conditioned like that.”
“None of us can afford to let it get personal, Kusac,” Banner said quietly, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Remember, Kezule didn’t condition Shaidan. He didn’t harm any of the cubs. In fact he made a point of taking in Gaylla to save her life. Nor did he harm your daughter when he had her. I’d bet my life that Shaidan isn’t in any danger from him. Forget you’re a father. If you don’t, then Kezule will have a hold over you.”
Kusac nodded, forcing himself not to flinch away from his Second. Thank Vartra that Banner didn’t know how close to the truth he was.
“Is it just training that Kezule wants from us?”
“I’ll brief you and everyone in here tomorrow at third hour, Banner,” he said, putting his hand up to rub his aching head as he turned to go into his room. “I really must get some sleep.”
“The others are waiting for me. I need to tell them something,” his Second insisted. “Especially after you hit Dzaou. That didn’t go down too well.”
“Tell them what you want, I’m going to bed,” he growled, stepping into his bedroom and closing the door, angry that Banner expected him to justify his actions.
Zhal-Rojae 7th day (November)
Giyarishis the TeLaxaudin had made his quarters in the science area of the fourth level. Here, on the topmost floor of the asteroid, under the reinforced arched roof, were the enclosed work areas for hydroponics, the protein vats, the labs that served them, and the empty barns and “field” where herd beasts had been housed then released for Valtegan officers to hunt. Kezule found him overseeing the six civilians who had been designated to help him tend the rapidly growing crops—crops which Giyarishis had already established before they’d reached Kij’ik, just as he’d reestablished the field area and the pool.
“They do well,” said Giyarishis’ translator as he gestured delicately toward the trays of foot high vegetation. “Soon ready for all to be eating.”
Kezule eyed the exotic grasses and vegetables dubiously. They ranged from broad-leafed plantains to fleshy water-retaining succulents, and all were unknown to him. Once more he wondered whether the TeLaxaudin had a ship hidden somewhere in the asteroid belt or if he’d been dropped off with his cargo of plants to restock this area. Scans had found no signs of any other craft, and when asked, Giyarishis’ translator conveniently spat untranslatable static at them.
Despite Giyarishis’ assurance that the plants were not only edible by his species, but also tasted reasonably pleasant, he’d had Zayshul test them in the labs on the Command level. Not only had they proved to be safe, but they held most of the vitamins and minerals their species needed, and could be tolerated equally well by the Sholans.
“Enough feeding,” Giyarishis said to his helpers. “Stasis on again. Not growing while off.” Dark eyes swirling as his secondary lenses adjusted to near sight, he turned to Kezule. “We go talk,” he said before stalking jerkily toward the exit air lock and the control room beyond.
“You wanting what?” the TeLaxaudin asked as he folded up his thin frame on the soft floor cushions in his office. “Male has seen offspring?”
“He did. The scent you put on the Sholan child worked well,” Kezule said, lowering himsel
f onto the sofa opposite him. “Kusac thinks my wife is Shaidan’s mother. I came to congratulate you.”
“Not do. There already.”
Startled, Kezule leaned toward him. “What? But you told me you’d done it!”
“Said only done.” Giyarishis made a negative gesture with his hand.
“How?” He was confused. If not because of Giyarishis, then why was Shaidan carrying a variant of Zayshul’s scent?
“Scent mark contaminate male’s breeding sample. Both should not do same time. No matter. You want, you have. What now?”
He frowned. Was it his imagination or were too many people around him capable of knowing what was in his mind? What Giyarishis said was true. The means didn’t really concern him. Only the fact that the scent had brought Kusac to him, and had made the Sholan believe that Zayshul was Shaidan’s mother was important. He dismissed the matter from his mind for now.
“I came to ask you if you could alter the adult Sholan’s scent mark. Not now, but when I’m finished with him.”
“Bound to him it is. Only female can change. Wife must do.”
“No,” he said unequivocally. “The scent was artificial, put there by another female, not her. You communicate with scents far more than we do. Surely it can be undone the same way.”
“Too difficult. Easy do natural way.”
“I said no. It’s likely the scent was created by the TeLaxaudin on the Kz’adul anyway. If he could do it, you can undo it. You find a way. There’s no rush,” he added, getting to his feet hurriedly as he began to smell the harsh scent he knew denoted TeLaxaudin anger.
The TeLaxaudin was beginning to hum. “Why undo?” the translator demanded.
“I don’t want him permanently fixated on my wife,” he said, backing toward the door. He had no desire to find out what the TeLaxaudin could do if really angry. “It’s used by the females to identify desirable partners. It attracts them.”
Between Darkness and Light (Sholan Alliance) Page 8
