Turning Point (10 page)

She stopped abruptly, seeing the bridge ahead of her. Once she crossed it, she was on her way out of the valley. To the west, across the slopes of the Plateau Hills, lay the nearest settlement, but another settlement wasn't what she wanted.

Defiantly, she stamped over the bridge and headed north to the forest. The guerrillas were another matter. Whereas her father's underground movement worked passively, cajoling and bribing information out of the Valtegans, the Terran outlaws used aggression as their main tool. They existed in a state of undeclared war with the Valtegans, harassing their off duty troops and the permanent garrison alike, both in and out of the main pleasure cities of Geshader and Tashkerra. Being fighters, they weren't dedicated to perpetuating mankind, just to protecting it. They couldn't afford to be altruistic being so short on numbers. Every able-bodied person, male or female, was expected to fight. Yes, it had to be the guerrillas. Even her father couldn't request that they send her back!

Kusac plodded gamely along beside her. He wasn't finding the going too difficult at the moment, but he suspected it might become worse as time went on. His hip joint didn't feel as flexible as it should, but that was probably just stiffness as the Terran medic had said. Anyway, he was trying not to favor it.

Now that they were well on their way, he could afford to relax his vigilance a little. He thanked Vartra again that the girl had been too angry to notice his gentle molding of her resolve. Had she not been so distracted, he had his doubts as to whether or not he would have been able to influence her at all. Her mind was becoming so much stronger these days. When she “told” him to go over to the rucksack in the garden, he had instinctively tried to block the order. Against his will, however, he had responded. Of course, she thought him merely an animal not a sentient person and had been totally unsubtle in her command, but it didn't change the fact that it was the first time in his life that anyone had controlled his thoughts or actions.

Could her Talent be greater than his? Only Vartra knew. He sighed, dismissing the thought almost as it formed. That was unimportant, but it did matter that Carrie soon learn the code of ethics that went along with possessing a Talent.

 

Dusk was fast approaching when they reached the edge of the forest. Carrie slowed to a stop as she looked at the mass of trees ahead of her. In the half light, their tall dark boles looked somber and menacing. Among them waited many dangers, the least of which was the forest cats. The tales she had heard of creatures in this part of the valley didn't bear remembering. She groaned and, shutting her eyes briefly, gave her head a little shake to dispel the phantoms that seemed to lurch out at her from every dark shadow. She opened her eyes again and found that everything had returned to normal. Kusac and she were alone amid the sea of dark towering trees. Determinedly, she suppressed even these thoughts. A vivid imagination was definitely not an advantage on a trip like this. At least she wasn't alone. With Kusac for company, she should be safe enough, especially from forest cats. Reaching out, she put her hand on his collar and began walking toward the nearest trees.

The ground underfoot was soft and spongy, a carpet of decaying leaves. Soon they would have to stop for the night. Carrie felt in her pockets for the torch she had brought with her. Dragging it out, she switched it on and swept the beam around her, looking for some dry ground on which to camp. The light picked out the trunk of a huge evergreen only a few meters away. Its massive spread of branches had protected the ground about its base from even the worst of the spring rains and when Carrie went over to it, she found the pile of needles surrounding it quite dry.

She shrugged her arms out of the straps of her rucksack and lowered it to the ground. With a sigh of relief, she stretched her shoulders, kneading the sore spots gently with her hands. Although the rucksack had seemed light enough when she left, for the last couple of hours it had felt as if she had been carrying a ton. She was not used to walking any distance either, she thought ruefully, giving her aching calves a good rub before calling Kusac over.

“Food, Kusac. Go and catch food,” she said, taking his face between her hands. She tried to project into his mind the picture of one of the rabbitlike creatures that abounded on the planet.

“Hunt,” she said, bringing the image of him chasing the creature into her scenario. “Fetch food.” She released him, hoping that her earlier success would be repeated.

It was. Kusac had picked up the message loud and clear. Carrie was no longer a pupil; she had learned how to utilize her Talent, and was now beginning to exploit it—and him—to the full.

Kusac moved a few meters away and began to sniff the air near the ground. Picking up a scent easily, he loped off, quite enjoying the opportunity for a little night hunting.

His fears over his leg had proved to be unfounded. The slight stiffness he had experienced was probably due to lack of proper exercise. He was ready now to begin his search for the rest of the scout ship's crew. At least he knew where they would have been heading. The life pod, dropped by the first survey team as a matter of course, had landed somewhere in the swamps ahead of them. That much they had all learned before they had been attacked by the battle cruiser orbiting the planet. His crew mates would definitely make for there if they were still alive.

Aboard the pod was a transmitter capable of sending a message directly to their Mothership. Within a few days, a rescue mission would be on its way. But judging by the lack of activity among the Valtegans, his crew mates had not yet reached the pod and sent the message. This worried him. By the same token, they had not been captured.

The Valtegans' discovery of their computer cube was a bitter blow. Were they able to access its information, they would have a map of not only their search area, but the Sholans' home planet as well. He needed to get that information to Captain Garras as soon as possible.

Tomorrow would settle some of his worries. He would have to tell Carrie who he was before they broke camp, which would be no easy task, but he needed her help to guide him through the swamp. Then, when they found the rest of the crew, she could tell the Captain what message she wanted sent to her home planet. They could do that for the Terrans, if nothing else.

Kusac ducked quickly behind a low bush. In a small clearing ahead of him grazed several of the little rabbit creatures. He tensed, then sprang. A split second later a scream of terror sent the animals rushing for cover. Kusac's mind seemed to explode with the sound.

Help me, Kusac!
The cry vibrated inside his skull, catching him in mid-leap and felling him like a stone.

He lay there, stunned for a moment by the force of her call.

Coming,
he replied briefly, trying to ignore the buzzing in his head as he got to his feet and began making his way swiftly back to the camp.

What kind of danger?
he demanded, tightening his link with her as he sensed her thoughts becoming incoherent with terror.

He tuned into her mind instantly, seeing her backed against a tree, ringed by four Valtegans.

“How you live?” hissed their officer, taking her face roughly in his hand and turning it. “We kill you. I know.”

“Kill again,” said another, “but later.”

“
You
killed her,” whispered Carrie, her hand going up to catch his wrist. The physical contact let her feel his mind. “And you enjoyed doing it, you bastard!” Her other hand came up in a roundhouse, catching him on the side of the face.

The Valtegan reeled, stunned by the unexpectedness of her blow.

Moments later Kusac erupted into the clearing, his face a snarling mask of fury.

One hand, claws fully extended, lashed out at the nearest Valtegan, raking deep furrows across his chest and flinging him to the other side of the clearing. With a sickening thud, the body caromed off the trunk of a nearby tree to fall in an untidy heap at its base. The others released Carrie, who slid bonelessly to the ground, and began backing away, reaching for their guns.

With a deep-throated growl, Kusac rose to his feet and lunged at the first, hitting him a massive blow on the head. There was a sharp crack and the soldier collapsed.

Pain seared across Kusac's forearm as one of the energy weapons went off. A killing rage took hold of him and, leaping forward, he landed between them.

When reason returned, he stood alone in the center of a devastated clearing. At his feet lay two bodies. Carefully he nudged one with his foot but when he saw the head lolling at an impossible angle, he let it roll back into place.

Leaving Carrie where she had fallen, he checked the other three Valtegans. They were all dead. Good. When he had seen to her, he would drag them off into the forest and bury them somewhere.

His body began to tremble as reaction set in and he sat down hurriedly before his legs gave way beneath him. He had never killed a person before; animals, yes, but neither that nor his training had prepared him for the reality of taking a sentient's life. His anger had helped but, Vartra knew, it had been justified. They had killed Elise and dared to lay their filthy hands on his Leska!

He stopped, taken aback by his use of the term. It happened sometimes among his kind that a male and a female were linked through their Talent by an indissoluble bond, but that this bond could exist between two Alien races was just not possible! They were too different, surely. Yet there must be more similarities between them than he had guessed to make him even think that she was his Leska. No, it was just not possible.

 

The smell of hot coffee brought Carrie back to consciousness again. Remembering the Valtegans, she remained perfectly still. Hardly daring to breathe, she opened her eyes fractionally and, peering through her eyelashes, discovered she was lying beside a small camp fire. On the other side, not quite obscured by the flames, sat Kusac.

“Very sensible,” he said, reaching for the mug and pouring some coffee into it. “But your caution is not necessary. I have dealt with the soldiers. Come, have some coffee. I've already drunk some and it doesn't taste too bad. It has a pleasantly euphoric effect, in fact.”

Carrie sat up and reached for the mug that Kusac was holding out to her. Cupping her hands around it, she took a careful drink, keeping her gaze warily on him all the time.

“I should have guessed,” she said quietly.

“I think you did on a subconscious level,” he replied, raking in the fire with a long stick until he had pulled out two largish brown objects.

“I managed to catch some food as you suggested.” His amber eyes narrowed slightly in amusement as he glanced up at her.

Carrie shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the amused overtones of Kusac's thoughts.

His mouth widened in his equivalent of a grin, and pulling the plate out of the rucksack beside him, he began to break open one of the objects before him. The outer casing of baked mud broke away easily, filling the air with the aroma of roast meat. Kusac dropped the meat onto the plate and began chipping away at the second rabbit's casing.

“You only brought one plate,” he said, his tone slightly wistful, “so I am afraid we will have to share.”

Images of Kusac tearing into the camp and laying into the Valtegans with massive and deadly paws drifted through Carrie's mind, to be firmly banished as she got to her feet and moved round the fire to sit beside him. A friend could not be rejected because of fears over the way he had protected your life.

Kusac felt an easing of the tension within him. She was not afraid! Their relationship must change, he was aware of that, but, thank Vartra, the girl did not fear him. He needed her help and cooperation, and for that she must also trust him.

“Be careful,” he warned, seeing her about to reach for the meat. “It's hot, even for me.”

Carrie nodded and lifted a piece of meat gingerly, blowing on it before popping it into her mouth. It tasted wonderful, the best she had ever eaten. With all the upsets and alarms she had been through today, she was ravenous. She reached for another piece, accidentally touching Kusac as she did so. Starting slightly, she stared at his paw, recognizing for the first time that it was a hand not unlike her own.

She looked at his face, realizing that it was not the cat's face she had always seen before, but one more nearly resembling her own people's.

Feeling her surprise, Kusac turned his hand over so she could see the palm and held it out to her.

“Fingers make life a lot easier, don't they?” he said, his voice almost purring with amusement.

Carrie looked down again and reached out to turn Kusac's hand back over. At the end of each finger, almost buried in the thick black fur, was a sharp, horny nail.

“We still use the natural weapons that Vartra gave us,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to read the emotions which fluttered, half-formed, through her mind and across her face.

Her people appeared to be peaceful apart from the guerrillas, and the thought of allying themselves to a race with powerful natural weapons such as those of the Sholans might well be distasteful to them.

“Vartra?” she asked, letting go of his hand and smiling quizzically up at him.

“Our Creator and Protector,” he replied, remembering his relief when he had discovered the Terrans were not a Godless race.

“Why have I never noticed your hands before?” she asked, picking up another piece of meat. “Or your face? Have you been disguising them with your Talent, the way I do when Valtegans are about?”

“It seems I have picked up a few ideas from you, but I have never needed to disguise myself much,” replied Kusac. “Since I came to this planet, for one reason or another I have been restricted to moving about on all fours. I usually only travel that way when I need the extra speed. To do this, I have to retract my fingers like so,” he demonstrated, and, like a cat sheathing its claws, his fingers disappeared within the thick fur. “That way I only run on the palms of my hands, which are fairly insensitive. Normally I walk upright like you.