Between Darkness and Light (126 page)

Kaid looked at her in surprise, then, as he went over to her, the tension gradually left his body and face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, squatting in front of her. “I don't want you thinking we're giving up this site too easily.”

She shook her head. “Call it a hunch, but I don't think we are in the right place.”
I know that because of our differences over Kusac in the past you don't want to be the one to say we should return to the
Tooshu,
Tallinu, but I think it's the right thing to do,
she sent.

He nodded, letting her feel his gratitude for her understanding. “Ashay, tell Captain Shaayiyisis to set course for the
Tooshu,
please,” he said quietly, pushing his feelings of failure deep to the back of his mind where no one could sense them.

We've all been cooped up here for long enough with everyone's emotions—ours particularly—running so high right now. We could do with losing ourselves on a ship the size of the
Tooshu
again.

“Aye, sir,” said Ashay somberly, propelling himself to his feet with his massive leg muscles.

Kezule, feet propped up on the low table in front of him, was in his office on the Command level. The table itself was strewn with papers and several reader units, one of which M'kou, his arm now out of its sling, was still reading.

“What's your assessment?” asked Kezule when his son finally put the reader down. He was exhausted. The last few nights, what sleep he'd been able to snatch had been haunted by guilt over how badly he'd handled his relationship with Kusac and his crew, and visions of a future dominated by K'hedduk's Empire.

“Our defensive capability is adequate. The meson cannon here is now functional, and we have six of the twenty smaller asteroids fully armed and responding to the bridge. Our offensive force is the
N'zishok
, the
M'zayik,
the
Mazzu,
and twenty-five fully operational fighters, with the Ch'almuthians providing us with another two cruiser class ships, almost fully operational, and a third from their space station, but it needs work. Four cruisers, one destroyer and twenty-five fighters.”

He fell silent and stared at his father until the General looked up at him. “We need the Sholans,” he said quietly. “We don't have enough trained crew or pilots.”

“I know,” said Kezule, equally quietly. “And I'm unlikely to get their help now.”

“Have you spoken to the Captain since his punishment?”

“I've been putting it off.”

“May I offer you some advice, Father?” M'kou asked very quietly.

Kezule looked up at him, surprised that his son had chosen to address him so informally.

“Go ahead.”

“Give him his son back, and tell him honestly what the situation is. There is no other way he'll even consider helping you.”

“Even if he agrees, will his crew?”

“If they've any faith left in him after the lies he's been forced to tell them, yes, they will.”

Kezule winced at the implicit responsibility his son put on him for Kusac's need to lie.

“You need to trust each other, Father. It is in the interests of his people to help us take K'oish'ik back from K'hedduk, and Kusac has as much reason to hate him as we have.”

“I don't know if trust is possible after all that's happened between us,” murmured Kezule, getting to his feet.

“Would you like me to come with you?” M'kou asked.

Kezule threw his son a grateful look, but shook his head. “I have to do this myself,” he said.

Kusac finished his stretching exercises then limped to the washbasin for a drink of water. The sleep cure combined with his trance had healed his leg to the point where the entry wound was almost completely healed, but the exit one was still open and giving him some pain. The exercises were necessary, though, to build up his strength.

Filling the drinking vessel again, he carried it over to the night table and placed it there before settling himself on his bed, his back against the wall and his legs folded in front of him.

He was beginning to wonder how much longer Kezule would leave him kicking his heels here. Since he'd awakened in the sick bay and been transferred back to his cell a couple of days before, he'd only seen Ghidd'ah when she came once a day to change his dressing and see if he needed pain medication. His only other visitors were M'zynal and one other guard at meal-times. Ghidd'ah had been able to tell him little in the way of news about his crew, but she did keep him updated on how his son was coping.

This had given him plenty of opportunity to think about his time on Kij'ik, and his relationship with Zayshul. Facing the reality that they did have a relationship had not been easy, nor had the knowledge that when he'd discovered he could turn off the marker, he hadn't done so. However, he had modified it, so that it no longer made him ill if he was deprived of her company. Then there was his lack of honesty with Banner and his crew. He felt as if a veil had been lifted from his mind, letting him see clearly at last, and what he saw of himself was not comforting. There was also the issue of how he'd been able to heal so quickly, and the strange dreams that had haunted his subconscious during his sleep cure. Something else tugged at his mind, something connected with Shaidan and how his son had saved his life.

Closing his eyes, he recited the Litany for Clear Thought. When he was done, for the first time since he'd left Shola so many months ago, and trying to remain objective, he purposely turned his thoughts to his family. He counted up the days, remembering the celebrations he'd missed sharing with them. First had been the birth of Kaid's and Carrie's infant, their Triad child, then Kashini's first birthday, the midwinter festival, his own birthday, Carrie's birthday—the list was long. Then he remembered another: it was two years ago to the day that he and Carrie had Linked as Leskas.

He bowed his head, blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes, his objectivity utterly gone as he was overwhelmed by his emotions for her, and Kaid. On its heels came what he'd been trying to remember, the memory of the gestalt that Shaidan's fear for him had triggered—a gestalt that had brought him back from the jaws of death, and bound his son to his Triad.

The sound of voices outside made him look up and glance toward the transparent wall. Kezule was standing at the desk talking to M'zynal. Hurriedly wiping his hands across his face, he braced himself mentally for the confrontation he'd been expecting for days.

M'zynal opened the door for Kezule, carrying in a chair which he placed by the bed before leaving them alone.

Kezule sat down and looked at him. “I'm glad to see you've recovered so quickly.” Reaching into his pocket, the General pulled out a packet which he tossed over to him. “I thought you might like these. They were found behind seat cushions in the common area on the
Venture
.”

Catching it automatically, he was surprised to find it was an unopened pack of stim twigs. As Kezule reached into his pocket for his smoking case and removed one of his brown cheroots and lit it, he took out a stim twig.

“I'd like to see my son,” Kusac said, taking advantage of Kezule's apparent friendliness as he put the twig in his mouth. As the slightly bitter taste flooded his mouth, the familiar brief surge of light-headedness hit him.

“Your son is with Lieutenant Banner, as are his personal effects. He'll be living with you from now on,” said Kezule.

He blinked in surprise, searching for something to say. “How is M'kou?” he asked at length.

“My son's arm is fine. Your drug had the desired effect, though,” Kezule replied.

Kusac didn't miss the note of tension in his voice. “It was an accident. I didn't intend to shoot him. I only wanted to leave here with my son and crew.”

“I know,” said Kezule, interrupting him. “I saw it all on our security tape.” He looked away for a moment. “About the female I sent to your room ... I apologize. I had no right to do what I did,” he said, obviously acutely uncomfortable. He looked up, meeting Kusac's gaze. “I only sent her in an effort to help us all, there was no other ulterior motive.”

“You had no right to do it.” Anger over that still smoldered.

“And you had no right to make illegal weapons,” Kezule countered. “There was wrong on both sides. Though your reaction was understandable, you left me no option but to punish you. I did what I could to minimize it.”

“M'zynal told me,” he said shortly, sensing much in the way of regret over his own actions that the General could never say. “What did you do to my crew?”

“Nothing. Your crew weren't held accountable for what they did, only you were.”

He nodded. As their Captain, it was only fair: he was responsible for their actions. “What happens now, Kezule?” he asked after a moment's silence.

“You're free to leave Kij'ik with Shaidan. I was hoping that you might stay.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I ... need your help.” The words seemed to stick in Kezule's throat. “K'hedduk survived our attack on his base and has staged a successful coup. He's claimed the Throne of Light.”

Kusac stared at him as he tried to make sense of this news and think through its ramifications.

“I'm asking for your help to retake K'oish'ik, and prevent K'hedduk from rebuilding the Empire,” said Kezule, spelling it out when he said nothing. “K'hedduk is apparently the brother of the M'zullian Emperor.”

“And if I refuse?” he asked at length when the General said nothing more.

“As I said, you and your crew can leave now. All I ask is that you consider what it would mean to the Alliance if K'hedduk succeeds in reuniting the Empire. We both need to let the past between us be over, Kusac, and start fresh.”

It will be over when I decide, not you,
he thought, but kept it to himself. “Why me? If you contact Haven, they'd help you.”

“I trust you,” said Kezule, taking a drag on his cheroot. “You kept your word over helping my people, despite ... everything. I need you to contact your authorities on my behalf, and I want you to lead your people alongside me and mine.”

Wisps of half-remembered phrases began to form in his mind, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of dèjá vu. “You expect me to trust you?” he asked, hearing his voice as if from a great distance.

“No,” said Kezule very quietly, meeting his gaze. “I wouldn't, if I were you. I'm asking for a chance to earn that trust. For what it's worth, I swear on my daughter's life that it won't be misplaced. I know why you were ill when we visited Ch'almuth, and that you fear you can't leave Zayshul. We'll get Giyarishis to work on finding some way to free you from the scent marker.”

“What if he can't?” he asked, trying to ignore an insistent memory of Dzaou's mask at midwinter.

“Then you and your family, all your family, will be welcome—and free—to live here, close to Zayshul, if that's what you choose to do.”

Frowning, he took the twig out of his mouth and put his other hand up to rub his forehead. That damned memory was plaguing him like a tune heard once on the vid channels that refused to be forgotten. What the hell had a mask of L'Shoh to do with this? He stiffened, letting his hands fall into his lap.

You must make a pact with the Liege of Hell.
The words, originally said to Kaid by Vartra, came into his mind as clearly as if the God Himself was standing beside him. Despite the fact Kezule wore a psi damper, he reached out mentally for the Valtegan's mind. It took only a moment to bypass the device, and even less to penetrate, unnoticed, his natural shielding and read what was really in his mind.