Between Darkness and Light (2 page)

Captain Zaykkuh instructed them to dock the
Venture II
in the ship's landing bay.

As they made their approach, Kusac looked around at his crew of four. “This time, we really could be walking into a trap,” he said. “I'm prepared to risk myself, but no one else. You can drop me off and go back to Haven.” He still wasn't sure whether or not he was glad of their company.

“We made our own decision to join you,” said Jayza.

“There's no way I'm leaving one of our cubs with aliens like them,” growled Dzaou.

He stared fixedly at the tan-pelted male, frowning and swiveling his ears forward. “I'm still in charge, Dzaou, remember that. I want no unauthorized rescue attempts. You'll not put either the cub's, or our lives at risk.”

“Kezule's request could be genuine enough,” said Banner, looking briefly away from his console at Kusac. “He seemed pretty reasonable, wasn't at all what I expected.”

“Never forget Kezule is a Valtegan,” Kusac responded. “He's not a Prime. After his escape, he beat his Sholan female companion almost to death then raped her. Don't be fooled by his apparently civilized behavior toward us.”

“Keeza agreed to go into his prison cell with him,” said Banner. “She was working undercover. He needed to pair with her to save her life.”

“After he'd bitten her to inject a poison that made her protect him while he hibernated to heal!” he said harshly. “Kezule's dangerous; Valtegans are stronger and faster than us. To them we're inferiors, not even worth considering as people.”

“How do we tell Primes from Valtegans?” asked Jayza, breaking the small silence that had fallen after Kusac's outburst.

“All the females, and all lighter colored males are Primes,” he answered, moderating his tone. “The only other Valtegans are the M'zullian half-breed warriors like those we have on Shola. Be especially careful with them, they could still have a psychosis about our species.”

“Approaching their landing bay now,” said Banner as the entrance to the
N'zishok
loomed large in the main view screen.

“Take us in,” he said as they returned their attention to their work.

 

Wearing his black priest's robe over his uniform tunic as a way of setting himself apart from his crew, Kusac began to lead the way down the
Venture II
's ramp, cautiously feeling the way ahead with his mind. This time there were no psi dampers in the docking bay. He sensed some twenty people nearby, mostly in small groups of two or three. Just as he focused on the largest, a group of six, his torc began to vibrate gently, automatically warning him that his mental touch was too strong and he was risking discovery. Instantly, he drew back.

The coldness of the deck beneath his bare feet made him shiver, reminding him this time of his return as a Valtegan hostage at Haven so many months before. Dismissing the memory as irrelevant, he put his small kit bag on the ground and watched the welcoming party cross the landing bay toward them. Peripherally, he was aware that only one other vehicle was in the bay and that the other Primes present were involved in refueling and servicing it.

“I've sealed the
Venture
as you ordered, Captain,” murmured Banner, coming to stand at his right. “No one but us can get in.”

He nodded, studying the group of four green-clad soldiers who came to a stop in front of them. The lead two, dressed in black fatigues with gold details, were Primes. All carried side arms.

“I thought you said there was only one Valtegan here,” muttered Dzaou.

“M'zullians, like those we have on Shola,” reminded Banner quietly.

“Captain Aldatan,” said the lead male, taking a step away from his people. “Welcome to the
N'zishok
. I'm Lieutenant M'zynal, current head of security, and this is Lieutenant Shartoh.”

He studied the young male in front of him, aware of his hackles beginning to prickle as he smelled the other's scent. The same height as himself, just over six feet tall, the Prime's flesh was pale green with a slightly sand-colored tint to it. The round, hairless skull was topped by a ridge that began just above the brows. Large eyes, almost bulbous, regarded him unblinkingly. Under a nose with small vertical slits for nostrils, the wide, almost V-shaped mouth held scores of tiny, pointed teeth.

M'zynal indicated the male on his left. “I'm afraid I must ask you to hand over your weapons before we can escort you to your quarters. You won't be needing them while you're with us.”

He'd anticipated this. The la'quo pellet gun, broken down into its innocent-looking component parts, was stowed in various locations throughout his bag. He was confident that neither it, nor the pellets concealed inside a jar of tooth cleaning paste, would be discovered. The spray he'd left lying in a drawer of personal items in his cabin, hoping by its very anonymity it would pass any search.

“We're prisoners, then,” he said, reaching for the gun that he carried in plain view on his weapons' belt.

Lieutenant M'zynal looked slightly shocked, his bifurcated tongue flicking out briefly. “Not to my knowledge, Captain. On the contrary, we've been told to treat you with all courtesy. Even we don't normally go armed on the
N'zishok
.”

His companion gestured two of the M'zullian guards forward to take their weapons.

“Knives, too,” Shartoh said as he watched them hand over their firearms. “You understand, I'm sure, that we'll have to search you and your luggage once we reach your quarters.”

Dzaou let out an exclamation of rage, silenced only when Kusac raised his hand warningly. “Our knives aren't considered weapons,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “They're eating utensils and the badge of our graduation from the Brotherhood itself. We won't remove them.”

Shartoh hesitated, looking to M'zynal for instructions.

“Will you give me your oath they'll not be used as weapons?” the young Prime asked.

Kusac stepped forward, holding his palm up in front of the startled Lieutenant's face, and tensed his fingers. Five claws, each nearly two inches long, almost as sharp on the inner curve as they were pointed at the tip, slid out from their sheathings in his fingers.

Startled, the Prime nevertheless held his ground.

“You think we need knives, Lieutenant M'zynal?” he asked, a faint purr underlying the words. The claws retracted, his fingers relaxed and were once again a hand. “No more than you do.”

“You may keep your knives,” M'zynal said, his voice betraying only a slight quiver. “As you rightly reminded me, we both have formidable enough natural weapons. However, we'll still need to search you and your belongings once we reach your quarters.” He indicated the elevator at the far end of the landing bay. “If you'll follow me, I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next few days until we reach our base.”

 

Gradually lowering his mental shields and increasing his sensitivity, he allowed himself to passively absorb the thoughts of those around him as they followed M'zynal. During their journey here, as well as erasing Banner's memory of his masquerade as L'Seuli at Haven, he'd managed to relearn how to gauge the amount of mental filtering necessary to cut out most of the white noise and concentrate only on the minds he wanted. There was little he could glean, though, as he hadn't yet remastered the skills required to read alien minds, and all the Primes and Valtegans had strong natural mental barriers.

“Your weapons will be returned to you when you leave us,” said M'zynal. “While you're with us on the
N'zishok
, and at Kij'ik, our base, your access to certain areas will be prohibited for security reasons. However, you're free to come and go as you wish throughout the rest of our facilities. Unless, of course, we're actually working together.”

He could feel Dzaou's smoldering resentment and turned his head to glance at Banner. Before he could say anything, his Second flicked an ear in affirmation and fell back to take hold of their gunner by the arm. Briefly Kusac wondered what psi gift the other had that was now allowing Banner to second-guess his concerns.

“What kind of work?” he asked as they entered the elevator.

“Training,” said M'zynal. “And comparative anthropology.”

“What makes you think I know anything about either?” he asked as they began to move upward.

M'zynal's round yellow eyes regarded him unblinkingly. “We know you're a member of Sholan Alien Relations and that you were involved in training the twenty warriors we sent to you,” he said quietly. “Don't underestimate us, Captain. We're not like the Valtegans you met on Keiss, nor those you have on Shola. You know very little about either the General's time or the Prime culture.”

He was the one who looked away, uncomfortably aware that the young Prime was right.

“Where is Kezule?” he asked abruptly. “And the Sholan cub?”

“The General and his wife have had to return to our base, but he asked me to tell you that he's looking forward to meeting you in a week's time.”

He cursed softly. This he hadn't anticipated. “And the cub?”

M'zynal looked at him oddly and he felt the other's curiosity that he should be so interested in a hatchling. “With the General. He keeps him with him at all times. Shartoh will show you round once we've got you settled. The cabins are standard Prime ones with the low formfitting sleeping mats. It's only for three days, though. Once we reach Kij'ik, you'll find the beds there are the regular kind.”

“I take it you don't like the low mats,” Kusac said, glancing back at him. He knew all about the communal sleeping arrangements and mats on the
Kz'adul
and began to wonder if this young officer was indeed a Prime despite his lighter coloring.

“They don't suit everyone,” M'zynal said as the elevator stopped.

They followed him down the corridor till he came to an open door. “This is yours and the two next door are your crew's cabins. You all have your own showers and toilet facilities, and the Officers' lounge is at the end of the corridor on your right.”

He looked in, coming face-to-face with another Prime officer. With an exclamation of surprise, he stepped backward into M'zynal.

“This is Noolgoi,” continued the Lieutenant, a trace of pain in his voice as he put a steadying hand under Kusac's elbow.

“I can manage!” Kusac snapped, pulling away from him and turning back to the room. The other male had exited and backed off down the corridor by a few feet, looking as rattled as he felt. He could smell the faint scent of apprehension from him and realized Noolgoi had got as much of a shock as he had.

More cautiously this time, he looked inside. It was a standard single occupancy cabin with a desk and chair, a couple of easy chairs and a table. Beyond it he could see the open doors to the bedroom and the bathing room. It seemed spacious enough.

“Will the doors be locked?” demanded Dzaou before Banner could prevent him.

“Ah, thank you for reminding me.” M'zynal dug deep in his uniform jacket pocket and pulled out a small packet. “Your keys, Captain,” he said, holding them out to Kusac. “There's one for each of you. The General assumed you'll want to lock your quarters when you're not in them.”

Gesturing to Banner to take the key cards, he stepped inside.

“Noolgoi will show you the Officers' mess and recreation lounge on this deck once you've settled into your cabins. If you'll allow us to do the search now, Shartoh can take you on a tour of the ship before our evening meal,” said M'zynal. “You can join us in the Officers mess or eat in your rooms if you prefer, just call Noolgoi on the desk unit and let him know your choice.”

“He wakes,” he heard Naacha say quietly.

“About time,” a deeper voice replied. Sokarr's.

Annuur stirred, feeling a deep ache in every bone and joint. At the edges of his mind, he sensed the presence of his three sept companions, felt their concern for him. Naacha, the mystic, his mind calm as always, his concern masked with his customary gruffness even there; Lweeu, mate and life-giver to them all, her youthfulness betrayed by the constant sea of half-formed fears and worries that she tried to keep to herself; and finally, Sokarr, their nurturer . . .

His eyes flew open and he lifted his head sharply to look at Sokarr, trying not to groan out loud at the pain it caused. His last coherent memory before being thrown from his navigation couch against the far bulkhead had been of watching one of the ceiling struts falling toward Sokarr and Lweeu and being unable to warn them.