Between Darkness and Light (11 page)

Resolutely, as she began to undress, she pulled her thoughts back to Shaidan and the sleep tape she wanted to use on him. Would it do more harm than good if he learned what he was missing by not being part of his own family? Maybe, but anything that got him closer to being normalized had to be better than leaving him as Kezule wanted.

She hadn't realized how like his father Shaidan was until she'd seen them standing together. Thoughtfully, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Kusac looked so different now that he was recovered. It was hard to see the gentle, drugged patient she'd treated on the
Kz'adul
in the angry Warrior leader of tonight.

Chy'qui's secondary plot against her and the treaty would have worked if Kusac had told his people what he believed had happened to him on the
Kz'adul
. Why hadn't he? Idly she wondered if he'd found the experience pleasant. It certainly couldn't have been wholly unpleasant from the way he'd spoken to her at Haven. Or had he kept silent because she'd tried to warn him that he'd been drugged and those who'd held him captive wanted to destroy the treaty?

Whatever the reason, the marker had to be turned off now, Kezule must see this. It was one thing allowing Kusac to think she'd visited his bed, another for the whole ship to assume she'd mated with the Sholan Captain and scent-marked him. Especially when Kezule's own daughter was playing up to him the way she had after dinner!

As she stepped into the shower and turned the water on, she remembered something else from their last meeting. Kusac had asked her if she was Shaidan's mother. Kezule's plan to blackmail Kusac into returning by using Shaidan had distressed her so much that she'd forgotten that until now. Kusac knew that the other cubs were hybrids, so what could have made him think Shaidan was any different? It was something she needed to look into tomorrow.

 

The briefing room was more austere than he expected. To the left of the door was a darkened screen with a desk in front of it, and to his right, a long oval conference table with seating for sixteen. It was to the table M'kou directed him.

“May I get you a drink, Captain Aldatan? We have alcohol but I noticed you avoided it at dinner. Perhaps you'd prefer one of our hot herbal drinks.”

Shaking his head, Kusac pulled one of the dining armchairs out and sat down. The seat was hard, despite the padding, not at all suitable for a species with a tail. He stood up, unbelting his robe before resuming his seat and curling his tail up beside him. The simple task of avoiding discomfort gave him something to do, stopped him from thinking. He was still trying to come to terms with the shock of having a half-Valtegan son.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table. A tight band of pain was beginning to form round his forehead. Cradling his chin on one hand, he closed his eyes.

“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.”