Between Darkness and Light (48 page)

Like the others, he removed his belt knife, bonding bracelet, wrist comm, and, with a few misgivings, his neck torc, leaving them on the bench before joining the others on one of the exercise mats. Since there were five of them, they were each taking it in turn to sit out so they could work in pairs. He sparred with Jayza first, then moved on to Banner. Despite his injured arm, his Second made him work hard to get his blocks and countermoves in place, making no allowance for failure. Although the blows that contacted him were pulled and not full force, they did hurt and succeeded in banishing the semipermanent daze he seemed to live in, making him focus completely on his fighting techniques.

Suddenly, it was as if time had slowed down for everyone but him. He'd experienced it once or twice before, but only in life or death situations, never during practice or training sessions. Instinctively, he slowed his own pace, continuing to let the odd blow get through while one part of his mind observed the phenomenon as if divorced from it. There was nothing to be gained by using his sudden extra speed to beat Banner and, quite possibly, more to lose. If this happened again, and he proved to have a dependable edge over the others, better to keep it to himself, the analytical portion of his mind said.

“Now you know why I said you needed to practice,” said Banner, straightening up when the timer on his wrist comm sounded. “Speed isn't the only thing that suffers, accuracy does too.”

“Point taken,” he said as they moved on to their next partners.

This time, he was facing Dzaou. The other's mouth dropped in a feral grin that showed his teeth and never reached his eyes. He ignored the implicit threat, forcing his ears to remain upright and his hackles to stay flat.

“Time to see what you're made of now you can't hide behind your rank,” said Dzaou in a low voice.

Without warning, he found himself fending off a full-scale attack with Dzaou's blows and kicks coming in at full impact. Caught unprepared, and cursing himself for it, it was a good three seconds before his reactions kicked in and he was able to dance out of the way and retaliate. Again, time slowed for him, however, he found it easier to match his speed to Dzaou's. Even at that pace, he managed to land a couple of hard blows before Banner intervened by clouting Dzaou hard round the ears.

“This is a practice session,” Banner snarled, “not an opportunity for your private vendetta! Go work with Jayza. Khadui, take over with Kusac!”

As Dzaou shrugged, flicking his ears arrogantly, then walked away, Kusac remembered the time he'd done the same to the young Prime Prince on Shola.

“I'm fine,” he replied more sharply than he intended.

The memory of that day was burned in his mind for more personal reasons than Kaid's justifiable anger at his attack on Zsurtul. It was then that he'd asked Kaid to make good the pledge they'd exchanged across the Warriors' tomb when they'd become sword-brothers.

He hadn't been prepared for his mind to merge with Kaid's, nor for it to waken his Link to Carrie. It had surged through them, awakening in them sexual responses identical to those he and Carrie had shared on their Link days.

Abruptly, he pushed the memory aside, shaking his whole body as if ridding it of water, trying to forget that in the row he'd staged with Kaid, he'd broken that oath by calling his honor into question.

“Are you sure?” demanded Banner, catching him by the arm.

This time, he didn't pull away. The touch of one of his own kind was reassuring in a world gone mad. “A random memory, nothing more,” he said more gently, letting his Second's emotions wash over and through him, feeling his concern, and a hint of something more. “I'm fine,” he repeated, moving carefully away.

Showering afterward, he found his ribs tender where Dzaou had hit them and winced as he tried to avoid twisting his body to rub soap on his back.

“Need some help?” asked Jayza.

“I'm done now,” he said, giving up the struggle and just letting the water sluice though his pelt.

“Are you bringing Shaidan to our lounge this evening?” asked Banner, stepping out from his shower stall and stopping in front of him.

“No. Kezule's given me a room for the night on the Command level,” he said, turning off the water and reaching for his towel.

Dzaou gave a bark of laughter. “From the sound of it, Kezule's turning you into his pet! You were with him yesterday, too. Soon he'll have you following him around like Shaidan was!”

Ignoring the gibe, he began toweling himself as he walked over to the bench where his tunic and belt lay. He sensed Banner following him.

“Is there something about this I should know?” his Second asked quietly.

Should he say nothing, or tell him? He decided on the latter. “Shaidan's spending the night with me once a week, on the Command level.”

“Memorize what you can of the layout—you know the drill, where the exits are, if they're guarded, then you can sketch it out for us. This is a great opportunity to. . . .”

“Get the cub used to being Sholan,” he interrupted. “What for? They outnumber us by too many. Besides, I gave my word—for all of us.”

“Be realistic, Kusac!” hissed Banner, trying to keep his voice low so as not to attract Dzaou's notice. “Kezule keeps altering your agreement. If he feels no need to stick to it, why should you? I'm not suggesting we plan a coup, but knowledge of the layout of the Command level could be invaluable one day.”

“Enough plotting,” he growled. “I've made my decision. Blame it on my Telepath training if you want, but I, at least, am acting with honor.” Pelt still wet, he threw aside his towel and began pulling his tunic on, anxious to leave Banner and his awkward questions.

Judging by its proximity to the sick bay complex, the small suite on the Command level, almost a carbon copy of his own, was one that was intended for use by medical staff.

“Should you need anything, Captain,” said M'kou, opening the door for him, “someone will be on duty opposite your room all night.”

“Guarding us?” he asked, his ears adopting a cynical slant.

M'kou smiled. “On call for the sick bay, actually,” he replied. “The food replicator has been set with familiar dishes for you. Shaidan has already eaten, but I don't believe you have.”

“Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “Can you change the day for me for next week? This is the evening when we work out. I've been missing practices for too long.”

“Certainly, Captain. Someone will come in the morning to take you back up to the Officers level. I wish you a good night, Captain, Shaidan,” M'kou said, nodding to him, then toward where the cub sat on the sofa.

When they were alone, he turned to his son. “Are you still hungry? I know I was at your age.”

Shaidan shook his head.

“Maybe another dessert?” he suggested, heading over to the dispenser.

 

The food was bland, much like the meals had been when they'd first arrived, but it was filling. Shaidan played with his dessert while Kusac ate, both of them deep in their own thoughts. He didn't need his Talent to know his son was unsettled because he didn't want to be there.

“Where am I to sleep?” Shaidan asked at length, pushing his plate aside.

“In the bedroom with me,” he said, finishing his meal with a swig of the coffeelike drink. “You're not wanting to go to bed already, are you? I had hoped we could talk.”

“I'm tired,” the cub said, getting up from his stool.

 

“There's only one bed,” said Shaidan, eyeing first it then his father nervously.

“We'll share it,” he said gently, putting a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. “It's quite usual for parents to share beds with their cubs.”

“I've never shared a bed.”

“Didn't you and the other children creep into each other's beds before you were rescued?”

Shaidan shook his head slowly. “Why would we do that?”

Why, indeed, he sighed to himself. The Directorate programming had ensured they were each secure in their knowledge of the lowly place they occupied in the order of life around them.

“It's a big bed, Shaidan, there's plenty of room for us both. You'll hardly know I'm there,” he said as his son began taking his tunic off. He watched, checking the visible texture of his cub's pelt, both the long hair on his chest and belly as well as the shorter fur covering the rest of him. He had to give Zayshul her due, at least she appeared to be grooming him reasonably well.

As he took the tunic from him, the light glinted off the metal collar. He frowned, and reached out to touch it briefly. “When we leave here, Shaidan, I swear you'll never have to wear this again.”

“I don't mind it,” Shaidan said as he clambered onto the bed and slid down under the covers.

His son settled at one side of the large bed, he returned to the living room where he prowled restlessly round, looking in every drawer and cupboard for he knew not what—maybe some sign of the previous occupant—but they were all empty. The room had obviously not been used since Kezule had arrived at the Outpost.

He sat down at last, flicking aimlessly through the channels on the vid unit, ignoring those playing the few Sholan Storyteller tapes they had, and the couple of ancient rousing Valtegan battle ones, stopping when he came to the one showing Kezule's derelict ship. Sealed containers, glinting by the light of the distant sun, were strung out like strange jewels in the space between the
N'zishok
and Kij'ik as they were ferried slowly to the landing bay. Sighing, he leaned back, resting his head against the back of the sofa.