Between Darkness and Light (Sholan Alliance)

by Lisanne Norman

  “Sleep tapes, he said.”

  “What else can you tell me about this person?”

  “He said he had grown-up children.”

  He sucked in a breath. It was definitely not one of them, which meant it could only be Vartra. “Have you told anyone else about him?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t. Keep this to yourself, Shaidan. Did you tell Aunt about me? Or anyone else?”

  “No. Why don’t you want anyone to know?”

  “The General dislikes Telepaths, he believes I’m no longer one. He mustn’t know about any of this. Can you do that? Not tell him?”

  “I can try,” said Shaidan dubiously. “If he asks me, I have to tell the truth.”

  “Avoid telling him the truth then.”

  “I can’t lie,” the cub said, slightly shocked. “It’s not right to lie.”

  “No, it isn’t. But if you tell the truth about this, I could get into a lot of trouble.”

  Then you are still a Telepath.

  He heard the question loud and clear, and the joy he felt was equally balanced by the fear he had of his son being unable to keep the truth from Kezule if asked.

  “Don’t ask me that, Shaidan,” he said quietly, reaching a decision. “Shall we carry on with our game?”

  “Yes. You aren’t angry with me or Aunt, are you?”

  “No. Now let’s forget about all this, shall we?”

  He met Zayshul later, much later, at the pool when it was empty.

  “You’re wearing the stud,” she said, pleased.

  “Yes. Zayshul,” he began.

  “The blue is much nicer against your pelt.” She reached up to touch his ear gently. “And with it matching Shaidan’s, I thought it less likely to arouse comment.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said as she moved closer and began to stroke his cheek. Her scent enveloped him, making it difficult to resist her. “Zayshul . . .”

  “We can’t be too long,” she murmured.

  “I know. When were you going to tell me about Shaidan mind-speaking to you?”

  She froze. “I . . . don’t know,” she admitted.

  “You’re a Telepath, and so are more of you, all females according to Shaidan,” he said accusingly.

  She rested her forehead against his chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you I could hear your son,” she said quietly. “Don’t be angry. Please.”

  “I can’t be,” he said, his voice tight with a mixture of emotions as he put his arms around her. “Shaidan would sense it, and I have no intention of upsetting my son. But believe me, I am angry. Does Kezule know about this?”

  “He suspects I am. He’s wearing a small psi damper, one he got from the Directorate when he raided them to rescue the children.”

  “Did you also know Shaidan’s been programmed with my memories?”

  “We suspected it when we realized they all knew how to use their telepathic abilities.”

  “How? How did they do that?” He could hear the growl creeping into his voice and tried to still it.

  “Mind scan. Chy’qui certainly had you long enough to do one.”

  “He destroyed my Talent!”

  “He must have done it before,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “I don’t know, Kusac. I wasn’t involved with you then.”

  “He took everything from me! Even my memories, dammit!” he snarled, trying hard to suppress the outrage he felt.

  “Not your memories. The children only got your knowledge of using telepathy, as far we know.”

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, for Shaidan’s sake if nothing else. “My son has a faint memory of my wife, Zayshul. They didn’t just give them knowledge of how to use their Talents.”

  “I’m sorry, Kusac, I really am, but I had nothing to do with it, you know I didn’t,” she said, stroking his arm in an attempt to calm him.

  “Did Kezule find the scan?”

  “No, I swear he didn’t. That’s why he wanted you to agree to another one.”

  “Hell will freeze first,” he growled.

  “I know,” she said soothingly. “But now isn’t the time to talk about this, when neither of us is really rational.”

  “You’re right,” he said, too aware of the warmth of her body pressing against his and his own body’s involuntary response to hers. “We’ll talk about it later, but in the meantime, for Vartra’s sake, be careful! Don’t make Kezule’s suspicion into more. And tell him nothing about Shaidan.”

  “I’m not a fool, Kusac,” she said, shivering as she felt his hands beginning to stroke their way down her back and flanks. “I’ve always protected Shaidan.”

  “I know,” he murmured, tilting his neck toward her as she began to nibble it. “This visit to Ch’almuth is going to be impossible. Is there any way you can stay behind?”

  “I can try,” she said. “But won’t it be worse when you return?”

  “Hiding a meeting on the N’zishok will be impossible, it’s far easier to lose ourselves here on Kij’ik. Now, enough talking.”

  Kezule’s suite, Zhal-L’Shoh 15th day (January)

  “Yes, you can stay here on Kij’ik if you want,” Kezule said lazily, pulling Zayshul against the curve of his body. “I thought you’d have enjoyed the chance to get off the Outpost and visit another world.”

  “I would, but the timing is wrong,” she said. “I have patients depending on me, pregnant females and Mayza, who’s still very young. I wouldn’t feel right leaving them at this time, even if only for six or seven days.”

  She’d chosen her moment carefully, knowing Kezule would want to spend the whole of the night before the journey with her. Right now, he was relaxed, his senses satiated by the meal she’d cooked him earlier, and their lovemaking.

  “I’ll send Ghidd’ah with you. You know she’s my right hand.”

  He grunted, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “Is this scent marker business getting you down?” he asked. “I thought you were coping well.”

  Panic fluttered in her stomach and she had to force herself not to stiffen in his embrace. “A little,” she admitted carefully. “It’s very difficult for me not to respond to him.”

  “He seems to be managing. I hear he’s mixing more, even talking softly to our females. Zhalmo is certainly taken with him. Perhaps a coupling between them would stop the marker.”

  “The marker can only be removed by the one who put it there,” she said stiffly.

  “And she’s dead. Yes, I remember. Giyarishis is working on it, I’ll have another word with him when we return,” he murmured, yawning, his hand idly caressing the gentle curve of her belly.

  She wondered if she should tell him that she’d spoken to the TeLaxaudin herself and he’d said there was no cure for the marker. Maybe Kezule knew already. Suddenly she was aware of his surface thoughts with no idea of how it had happened.

  He hadn’t visited Giyarishis in some time, but she could feel his absolute faith in the TeLaxaudin’s ability to find an acceptable solution to the scent marker.

  “Doesn’t the marker bother you?” she asked abruptly, turning round within the circle of his arm to look at him. “I know you can smell it.”

  “Not particularly,” he said sleepily. “I have no need to brand you as mine. To me, you smell more of Shaidan than him.”

  His mind was growing fuzzy, the images she was receiving beginning to blur as he drifted closer to sleep. There was a small spike of mental activity as he briefly enjoyed the fact he still had something Kusac craved.

  That annoyed her. “You said you hated the scent of mammals,” she said almost sharply.

  “I’ve gotten used to it,” he replied, pulling her closer again.

  His thoughts had faded now and she could feel his need for her warmth pressing against him, and the flash of irritation that she was delaying his sleep with her chat.

  “Sleep, pretty one,” he mumbled, tongue flicking out briefly to lick her cheek.
Then he was asleep, leaving her taken aback by the unexpected endearment.

  N’zishok bridge, Zhal-L’Shoh 18th day (January)

  Kezule had called him up to the bridge and sat him at a comm console just before emergence from the passageway.

  “Start the recorded message as soon as we emerge,” ordered Kezule.

  “Emergence in five seconds from my mark,” said Captain Zaykkuh. “Mark. Four, three, two, emergence!”

  He felt a slight wrench, followed by a brief moment of nausea, not dissimilar to that of a normal jump transition. Finished reconfiguring the console to his own needs, he hit Kezule’s recording, monitoring it through an earpiece as the message was broadcast on as many bands as they thought the Ch’almuthians might use.

  “This is the Prime vessel N’zishok, from K’oish’ik. Our mission is peaceful. We wish to reestablish communications with the sovereign people of Ch’almuth. We ask you to please respond to our message.”

  “Emergence on course, General,” said Maaz’ih from his Nav station. “Plotting course to spaceport landing site.”

  “Jump drive off-line. Maneuver drives initiated,” said Zaykkuh.

  “No life signs on the orbiting station, General,” said Maaz’ih from his sensor post.

  “I’m not picking up any communication signals, General,” said Zhalmo.

  “No space traffic either,” said Kushool, looking up from her sensor post.

  He turned in his seat to look at Kezule. “It appears that they are still planet-locked.”

  Kezule nodded. “So it appears. Screen on,” he said.

  “Course plotted,” said Maaz’ih, sending it to the pilot’s console.

  “Received and initiating,” replied Zaykkuh.

  The large view screen darkened then resolved to show a view of the approaching world. It hung in space, a mottled tan and green-colored globe, with small patches of deep blue where the mainly landlocked seas were located. Patches and wisps of white clouds were sprinkled across the hemisphere they could currently see.

  “A dry planet,” he observed.

  “We prefer such worlds,” said Kezule, resting his elbow on the command chair arm and his chin on his hand. “Any airborne vehicles?”

  “A few low-level ones,” confirmed Kushool.

  “Picking up communications now, General,” said Zhalmo. “The vehicles are being advised of our arrival and ordered to land immediately.”

  “Signals originating from an area corresponding to coordinates for the spaceport,” he said, tracking them on his monitor.

  “Any response yet?” asked Kezule.

  “None.”

  “Appears to be a communications blackout,” said Zhalmo a few minutes later.

  “I’d say they’ve been visited before, and not peacefully,” he ventured.

  “I have to agree,” said Kezule, watching Ch’almuth grow larger in the screen. “At least we’re not being attacked yet.”

  “Do they have that capability any more?”

  “Not from what I’ve been picking up,” said Zhalmo from beside him.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” said Kezule, keeping one eye on his monitors, the other on the view screen. “Stay alert.”

  The spaceport, as they approached it, looked deserted, the buildings surrounding it a strange mix of neglected and ruined. As the N’zishok settled slowly to the ground, they saw a small group of people emerging from what would have been the control building.

  “Picking up thirty life-forms in all,” said Kushool from her sensors post. “Only six leaving the building.”

  “Reading no weapons, but I am getting several blank spots in buildings around the port perimeter,” said Noolgoi.

  “Zhalmo, take over gunnery, M’zynal, I want you with us,” said Kezule, getting up. “You, too, Kusac, and bring Lieutenant Banner. Zaykkuh, keep the ship running ready to leave.”

  Leaving the comms earpiece behind, he got up and followed Kezule off the bridge to the elevator opposite, calling Banner on his wrist comm. On Deck One, where the landing party was gathering, there were only a few people waiting for them—D’haalmu, Chiozo, Shezhul, and Banner. M’zynal went over to a locker and, unlocking it, pulled out side arms which he began distributing.

  He was bringing Banner up to date when he sensed the Security chief trying to get his attention.

  “Captain,” M’zynal said, holding out two pistols. “For you and the Lieutenant.”

  He raised an eye ridge as he accepted one. “Trusting us with weapons?”

  “Stunners. You know how to use them?”

  He nodded as Banner inspected the one given to him. “You can change the settings to kill.”

  M’zynal gave him a long look. “General’s orders, but he doesn’t believe lethal force is appropriate here.”

  “Let’s hope he’s right,” said Banner, slipping the pistol into the empty holster on his belt.

  When he put his own there, he found it a shade too small for a good fit, but it was acceptable.

  Shartoh was handing out small ear and throat pieces. “Communicators,” he said. “Put the microphone on the neck of your robe so it touches your throat, Captain. I hope the earpieces are comfortable. Our ears are quite a bit smaller.”

  “They’ll do,” he said, positioning it carefully.

  When they were all ready, Kezule led the way to the starboard elevator down to the landing bay. Once there, they gathered by the landing ramp. Beyond the faint blue glow of the force field, the small group of Ch’almuthians seemed to shimmer in the distance.

  “No fighters,” Kusac sent to Banner, using hand signals.

  “Lower the field and the ramp, Zhalmo,” Kezule ordered.

  “Aye, General,” he heard her say through the earpiece.

  The field down, the searing heat of Ch’almuth hit them, almost taking their breath away.

  Banner glanced at him. “So I was wrong about the fighters. You’ll cook in those black woolen robes,” he said quietly, hand blocking the throat mike.

  “A robe for you would have been a good idea,” he murmured, watching the Primes and Kezule form a small group in front of them. “The less alien we appear to them, the better.”

  Banner grunted. “Let’s just hope they aren’t like the M’zullians.”

  As they followed Kezule’s group down the ramp, they began to be able to identify individuals among the approaching Ch’almuthians.

  “This place hasn’t been used in years,” said Banner in an undertone, hand again blocking the mike so his voice didn’t broadcast. “Have you seen how much grass is growing in those cracks?”

  “I have.” He was more concerned with what thirty people were doing out in the middle of nowhere at a derelict spaceport. He lowered his mental shields, passively absorbing what he could from the strangers.

  When they were twenty feet away from the ship, Kezule gave the order to stop.

  The sun was still high in the sky, and standing on the dark surface with no shade, the fierce heat was beginning to get to him. Without thinking, he began to slow his heart rate by a fraction and lower his body temperature.

  “They’re unarmed, General, as far as I can tell,” said Noolgoi’s voice in his ear.

  As the group drew closer, he began to notice details, like they all were male, and all had pallid, almost Valtegan-colored skins. The clothing they wore—embroidered or patterned loose-sleeved tops over trousers—was not that of people living rough, or even what he’d expect of peasants from the surrounding villages they’d flown over. Another anomaly to add to the others.

  They stopped a few feet away, one stepping forward a little. This close, he could see other, more subtle details, like their lack of crests, and their build—all were more bulky than the Primes, with more variety in their features and body shapes. One was even stout. And though they had all registered his and Banner’s presence, there had been no reaction to them.

  “My name is Nishon. How may we help you?” said the lead male.
/>   “We know you received our message. I’m Kezule shan Q’em-go’h, from K’oish’ik. Our mission is peaceful. We wish to open friendly communications with you and your sovereign world.”

  As he spoke, Kusac noticed the glances the other five Ch’almuthians exchanged between themselves. He nodded to himself, pleased Kezule had remembered his briefing on the importance of letting the Ch’almuthians know they considered them as equals, not still part of a long lost Empire.

  “I see you know my name,” Kezule continued smoothly.

  “I know your family name,” said Nishon cautiously, trying not to stare at Kezule. “To us, K’oish’ik is a legend, so is the name of its Emperor.”

  “Once Emperor of your world,” said Kezule. “But my family no longer rules. It died out in the Fall of the Empire.”

  “We’re peaceful here, an agricultural world. What do you and your alien companions want of us?” asked one of the others, his tone slightly belligerent as he came forward.

  “Trade,” said Kezule. “We’ve come to make trade negotiations with you.”

  “Trade?” said the second male incredulously.

  “They’re afraid, Kezule,” he said subvocalizing into the mike. “And hiding something.”

  “Yes, trade,” Kezule confirmed. “If you don’t wish to trade with us, we’ll leave peacefully. We’re not here to take anything from you by force.”

  “And what can you possibly offer us in return?” demanded the belligerent one.

  “What currency do you use?” asked Shezhul. “Is it still the old Imperial one?”

  “Yes,” said Nishon, turning to look at her.

  “Then we can pay, or if you prefer, we can offer our services by providing medical aid, or by repairing any electronic or mechanical equipment you have.”

  This time, Nishon turned to look at the others briefly.

  “We have no need of . . .” began the one beside him.

  “Be silent, Shaalgo,” said Nishon sharply. “The decision isn’t ours to make,” he said apologetically. “I will have to send your request to the Elders of our community. Perhaps if you tell me what kind of goods you are in need of, I can tell you if we can provide them.”