Between Darkness and Light (118 page)

Hands cuffed behind their backs in metal restraints, and each held by two guards, Banner and the others were taken to the briefing room. On the table in front of the large tactical screen were spread the various weapons and other items they'd made over their months on Kij'ik. Behind it, Kezule and M'zynal sat.

They were lined up in front of four chairs, facing the Valtegan and the Security chief. Off to one side stood Q'almo, another of Kezule's sons; all of them were armed with stunners. Kezule wasn't about to underestimate them again, Banner thought grimly.

“I take it you recognize the various items in front of us,” said Kezule, looking up at them. “All of them were made to disrupt, to disable, or to kill. Since you arrived here, you've been given the freedom of this level and the one above. You've been treated with respect and trust, yet you do this. Why?”

“You brought us here under duress, General, by withholding our Captain's son from him,” said Banner coldly. “You also kept extending our stay here. What did you expect us to do under the circumstances?”

“I told you many times you were free to leave. You chose to remain. I didn't expect you to plot to kill us.”

“You knew we wouldn't leave without the Captain and Shaidan.”

“You weren't invited to come here in the first place,” said Kezule. “Despite that, you were made welcome. You admit to making these devices?”

“Yes, we made them. You'd have done the same had the position been reversed. When you escaped from the Forces on Shola, you killed several people,” said Banner. “We've killed no one, yet.”

The word hung in the air between them.

M'zynal reached for the box beside him and put it onto the table. “These are items we found in your Captain's quarters,” he said. “There's enough nitrogen compound here to make several sizable bombs. Plus a homemade garrotte, a tube and homemade darts.”

Banner frowned. The nitrogen bombs didn't sound like Kusac. He'd had him pegged as more of a face-to-face fighter, confirmed by the way he'd gone for Kezule the day before. The darts were likely an influence from Kaid. Beside him, he could feel Dzaou was becoming restless.

“I think you planted that nitrogen,” he said. “That's not how the Captain works.”

“I resent your accusation. It was hidden in his kit bag at the bottom of his wardrobe,” said M'zynal, his voice taking on an edge. “My people have always respected you and your Captain; we wouldn't stoop to such depths.”

Then he sensed Dzaou's anger, directed against Kusac, and turned to look at him. “This has your spoor written all over it, Dzaou. What do you know about this?” he demanded, playing a hunch.

“It wasn't his,” muttered Dzaou angrily. “I remember the Captain taking it from me. Bastard messed with my mind afterward.”

The skin between Kezule's eyes creased in a frown. “Indeed,” he said. “You surprise me. You have no love for your Captain, yet here you are taking the blame for this.”

Dzaou smiled widely, displaying his teeth. “Not blame, credit. Stop jerking us around, Kezule, just cut to the kill. We all know you've dragged us here to execute us along with him. So announce our sentence and get it over with. Stop trying to justify yourself!”

“Dzaou, shut up!” snarled Banner, rounding on him only to be pulled back by the guards behind him. Half his anger was with Kusac for concealing and lying about his telepathic abilities. If he'd messed with Dzaou's mind, had he done the same to his?

Placing his hands on the table, Kezule stood up and stared at them. “You're here to admit your guilt about making these devices,” he said, gesturing to the contents of the table and the box. “And of plotting to cause us harm. Your Captain obviously knew what you were doing, as Dzaou has just said, therefore I am holding him, as your commanding officer, responsible for you. He will be punished, not you.”

“That's unfair!” exclaimed Jayza as M'zynal began packing the items into the box.

“I believe it's very fair,” said Kezule, coming out from behind the table. “He gave the orders, or at the very least was aware of your activities since he was doing the same. Sit down.”

“You have no right to do this, Kezule,” Banner said angrily, taking a step forward. “If you harm the Captain ...”

“Be silent!” ordered Kezule as the guards hauled the struggling Banner back and deposited him forcefully on a chair. “You should have thought of the consequences before you started planning this! I repeat, you were all free to leave any time you chose!”

“Shaidan wasn't!”

Kezule ignored him and leaned back against the edge of the table, folding his arms and looking at them. “Your Captain attacked me physically and mentally ... ” He stopped as he saw the look on Banner's face. “You didn't know your Captain had his telepathic powers back? Well, I can confirm he has,” he said. “Not content with those attacks, he pulls a gun on me in a situation where he knew innocent civilians, including his own son, were at risk. My son M'kou was shot ...”

“So was our Captain,” said Khadui.

“My son was shot with a chemical bullet,” said Kezule very quietly, leaning forward. “A bullet designed by your people to destroy certain organs we Warriors possess.”

Banner couldn't prevent the shock he felt from showing on his face. “What?” he asked, ears flat against his skull. “Where the hell did he get that? Chemical weapons are banned under Alliance laws.”

“You're lying!” said Dzaou. “No such thing exists.”

“It does,” said Kezule. “Not only did he have a gun that passed all our searches, he also had a spray canister of the same compound. He intended to use it, Lieutenant. He did shoot my son, M'kou, and when his plans fell apart, he did try to rip my throat out.”

“The gun went off by accident,” said Banner, trying to put his anger with Kusac aside and concentrate on the issue at hand. “When he was shot, he instinctively pulled the trigger.”

“Considering what the gun was loaded with, I believe his intent was to shoot me when he'd finished using me as a hostage,” snapped Kezule. “For this, and his attempt to bite my throat, I'm fully entitled to have him executed!”

“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.”