Between Darkness and Light

by Lisanne Norman

  “You can’t come with us, Toueesut,” said Carrie gently. “We don’t know how dangerous the situation we’re walking into will be.”

  “We come too,” said Toueesut, his hands on her suddenly still. “Your Clan are we, where else but at your side we be?”

  “We should discuss this later,” said Carrie uncomfortably.

  Toueesut put his hand on her arm, his fingers gently moving as always. “My government wishes us to be with you as a neutral third party to help this matter go well. There is much sense in this considering the bad history there has been between you and this Kezule.”

  Carrie smiled, putting her hand over Toueesut’s. “We’ll discuss it with Kaid later when the cubs are settled.”

  Kij’ik, hydroponics level, same day

  The air outside the Security office that fronted Giyarishis’ quarters was filled with two ranges of high-pitched humming and the low clicking of mandibles. It certainly sounded like there were two of them. Zayshul ventured in, stopping at the doorway into his office as the smell hit her.

  “You’re having a scent war!” she exclaimed, staring at the two gesticulating aliens.

  The two figures froze briefly, their billowing draperies settling around their bodies as, their argument forgotten for the moment, they looked at her.

  “Prime Doctor Zayshul,” said Giyarishis’ translator as the scents in the air were immediately neutralized and replaced by one of calmness.

  The newcomer, wearing strips in tones of orange and red, looked her up and down then pointedly turned back to Giyarishis.

  Irritated at the insult, Zayshul stepped farther into the room, catching sight of the collection of bags and containers lying on the floor.

  “Introduce me, please, Giyarishis,” she said, “since your colleague lacks the manners to do it himself.”

  “Hkairass,” said Giyarishis, walking over in his distinctive stiff-legged gait to join her. “Last night arrive.”

  She knew instantly that the two didn’t get on and Giyarishis was looking to her for help. Pulling her hand out of her trouser pocket, she contrived to drop something and knelt to pick it up.

  “You owe me,” she murmured quietly as several fronds of his translucent draperies stirred and brushed against her face. A scent, matching her own pleasure scent, drifted up from them.

  “I hear you two were working most of last night,” she said, straightening up. “In which case, we need to sort out some quarters for you, Hkairass.” She called out to the Security guard outside.

  “Send for a couple of people from Housekeeping, please, Sergeant, and have them report to the Security room with bedding and cushions suitable for setting up quarters for our visitor Hkairass,” she said. “And take his luggage out into the corridor—I’m sure Giyarishis doesn’t want it cluttering up his floor.”

  “I stay, he move,” said Hkairass turning abruptly to her, his draperies beginning to twitch agitatedly. “I superior.”

  “Not,” said Giyarishis. “You just arrive.”

  “I Skepp Lord,” said Hkairass. “Orders I give, you take.”

  If ever an electronic translator could sound haughty, his did, she thought. Its tone of voice was slightly different from Giyarishis’, too. It sounded deeper and altogether harsher to her ears. The gentler scents Giyarishis was emitting were fading under an onslaught of more determined and angry ones—ones that she sensed matched the colors Hkairass wore.

  “I, too, Skepp Lord. I long time here, experience I have, help allies. You none, you stay home, criticize,” said Giyarishis.

  The guard hesitated, looking at her.

  “Carry out my orders,” she said to him. “Hkairass, Giyarishis is my colleague and has earned a position of trust here on Kij’ik. Pleased though we are that you’ve joined us ...”

  “What you want unimportant. I here now, take charge,” interrupted Hkairass’ translator.

  Thoroughly irritated, Zayshul turned to the guard. “Sergeant, forget the last order. Just escort Hkairass down to the priests’ quarters next to our temple,” she said coldly. “This is our Outpost, Hkairass. You’d do well to remember that I choose with whom I work. Giyarishis has a valid point. I don’t care who you are, he’s been here doing the hard work, you haven’t.”

  Hkairass folded himself up on the floor as the Security officer approached him. “I not move. You sand-dwellers no idea my importance. I grace you with my presence, expect respect.”

  “Get him out of here now, Sergeant,” she snapped. “Carry him if you have to!”

  “Yes, Doctor,” said the Sergeant, advancing on the small alien.

  Hkairass vented a sound like a small explosion of air and shot upright as the Prime touched him.

  “I go,” he announced, stalking out of the room, his draperies swirling round him. “Disrespectful. Uncivilized. Time-wasting,” said his translator as he disappeared with the Sergeant in tow.

  “What a pleasant individual. Do you know him?” asked Zayshul, turning to pick up the bags and carry them into the Security office. When she returned, Giyarishis’ soft gray draperies were moving in a billowing wave around him as he worked at neutralizing the bad smell Hkairass had literally left behind.

  “I regret know. Not liked, he.”

  “Why did he come? Did you send for him?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the two easy chairs as the TeLaxaudin moved off to his drink-dispensing machine.

  “Not contact my people, they contact me. He arrive with parts needed. Angry I insist do immediately.”

  “Well, I have to say, he didn’t make any effort to be pleasant.”

  “Likely sent to be rid of,” said Giyarishis in what she could have sworn was a gloomy tone as he paced over to her with a fruit drink.

  “Thank you,” she said. “He’s not becoming our problem. If he does, he can stay in his new quarters until your people send a ship to take him back!”

  Giyarishis emitted a deep thrumming sound of laughter as he folded himself comfortably on his cushions beside her. “Is good. Do now. Less trouble.”

  Zayshul chuckled and sipped her juice. “What needed repairing so urgently?” she asked.

  Untranslatable static burst from the speaker at his side. He tried again. “Sensor, but not.”

  She nodded, accepting there was no equivalent Prime word. “Was he sent because he’s good at repairing things? Is he actually your superior?”

  The TeLaxaudin laughed again. “Could say, better breaking things. No, not superior, I am because work off-world. Diminishes me to him.”

  “Why do you work with us?” She was curious to know. They appeared so physically fragile that she’d have thought they’d have preferred to stay on their own world.

  “Interesting. Always new happenings,” he said, dipping his long insectoid tongue into his drink. “I worry about Captain, too. Unexpected was his actions.”

  Guilt that she’d actually forgotten about Kusac for a few minutes washed through her and she put her drink down and got to her feet. “We were all surprised,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotions. “I should go now, in case the General changes his mind and lets me treat him.”

  “General foolish. Needs Captain. Must learn trust.”

  “They’ll never trust each other again,” she said. “I only hope he won’t try to prevent Kusac from leaving with his son.”

  “You talk, influence him.”

  “I have been, Giyarishis, but he won’t listen to me,” she said, trying to keep the distress out of her voice. At one point yesterday during their fight, she’d been afraid she’d lose both of them, and when Kusac nearly ripped Kezule’s throat out, she’d had to stop him the only way she could. She did care for Kezule, it was just that all too often matters became either black or white for him, with no shades of gray. As for Kusac ... She sighed. Ambivalence was the only way to describe what she felt. Like Kezule, he could show his temper, but given the nature of what was drawing them together, there were times when he was almost tender
toward her, like the morning after the night they’d slept together.

  “Thank you for removing Hkairass,” Giyarishis said, breaking into her thoughts as he looked up at her, the lenses of his eyes swirling as they readjusted. “You have my gratitude—and this ... one ... you say I owe you.”

  She laughed. “I meant you owe me a favor. Don’t mention it,” she said, moving toward the door. “There isn’t enough living space here for the two of you anyway.” A thought struck her. “Does Hkairass work in medicine like you?”

  “Regrettable, but also engineering.”

  “Maybe we can persuade him to work there rather than with us.”

  Kezule stared at the image on the screen in Security. He’d spent the night alone, thinking, in one of the priests’ rooms next to their temple. His thoughts hadn’t brought him any comfort. Zayshul had been right. Had he not arranged for the female to visit Kusac, none of this would have happened. Reviewing the security tapes had confirmed that the Sholan’s shot had not been intended, again just as Zayshul, and M’kou had said. As the shot from the energy rifle hit Kusac, the force of the impact and the shock he’d experienced had caused his hand to clench automatically on the trigger mechanism. M’kou just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  None of this had assuaged his anger, but if he had to be honest, much of it was with himself. The fact still remained that Kusac had to be punished, and publicly, or it made a mockery of having any rules and laws to govern this society that they’d both—he and Kusac—worked so hard to build.

  “Get him cleaned up,” he said. “His punishment will start as soon as he’s ready to move to the assembly hall.”

  “What about a fresh dressing, General?” asked M’zynal.

  “There’s a lot of ... stuff ... coming out of both sides of that wound.”

  “Get Ghidd’ah to dress it, but nothing else.” He turned to leave. “And give him some clothes, dammit! I never said he was to be left without them!”

  “General,” said M’zynal, then stopped.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “He’s not fit to stand at all, let alone for several hours.”

  “Then get him a chair,” he snapped, exasperated.

  “With the wound where it is, he can’t sit either,” said the Security chief apologetically.

  “Dammit, you sort it out!” he hissed, crest rising in anger as he stalked out. “He threatened me with a gun, damned near ripped my throat out, he and his crew were assembling guns and explosives, and he will be punished!”

  Once Ghidd’ ah had her anger under control, she examined the unconscious Kusac. Then she started organizing them.

  “I’ll need a floater,” she said, “and surgical gloves, scissors, antiseptics. They’ll know what to give you. Get them to fold three sheets onto the floater,” she called out after them. “While we’re cleaning him, you can get that foul bedding out of here and remake the bed with fresh.”

  “If he’s on the floor, he can feed himself and drink without moving,” said M’zynal. “It also makes it easier for us to clean up if he ...”

  “He needs the fluids he’s drinking,” she interrupted. “Same with the food. He won’t be passing anything soon. But you’re right, the floor is probably better for him. Get it scrubbed down with strong antiseptic while I’ve got him in the shower.”

  With him lying on the floater on his good side supported by two nurses, Ghidd’ah began to soak off the blanket, trying not to rip his fur out at the roots. As soon as the water hit him, he woke, and though he tried desperately, he was unable to bite back his cries of pain. Thankfully, both wound sites were oozing so much of the gray-brown slime of dead tissue that nothing was stuck to either of them. When it came to washing the muck out of his pelt, she was thankful when he passed out again. She was shocked to see just how much fur he’d lost, and how thin he was getting.

  Hands cuffed behind their backs in metal restraints, and each held by two guards, Banner and the others were taken to the briefing room. On the table in front of the large tactical screen were spread the various weapons and other items they’d made over their months on Kij’ik. Behind it, Kezule and M’zynal sat.

  They were lined up in front of four chairs, facing the Valtegan and the Security chief. Off to one side stood Q’almo, another of Kezule’s sons; all of them were armed with stunners. Kezule wasn’t about to underestimate them again, Banner thought grimly.

  “I take it you recognize the various items in front of us,” said Kezule, looking up at them. “All of them were made to disrupt, to disable, or to kill. Since you arrived here, you’ve been given the freedom of this level and the one above. You’ve been treated with respect and trust, yet you do this. Why?”

  “You brought us here under duress, General, by withholding our Captain’s son from him,” said Banner coldly. “You also kept extending our stay here. What did you expect us to do under the circumstances?”

  “I told you many times you were free to leave. You chose to remain. I didn’t expect you to plot to kill us.”

  “You knew we wouldn’t leave without the Captain and Shaidan.”

  “You weren’t invited to come here in the first place,” said Kezule. “Despite that, you were made welcome. You admit to making these devices?”

  “Yes, we made them. You’d have done the same had the position been reversed. When you escaped from the Forces on Shola, you killed several people,” said Banner. “We’ve killed no one, yet.”

  The word hung in the air between them.

  M’zynal reached for the box beside him and put it onto the table. “These are items we found in your Captain’s quarters,” he said. “There’s enough nitrogen compound here to make several sizable bombs. Plus a homemade garrotte, a tube and homemade darts.”

  Banner frowned. The nitrogen bombs didn’t sound like Kusac. He’d had him pegged as more of a face-to-face fighter, confirmed by the way he’d gone for Kezule the day before. The darts were likely an influence from Kaid. Beside him, he could feel Dzaou was becoming restless.

  “I think you planted that nitrogen,” he said. “That’s not how the Captain works.”

  “I resent your accusation. It was hidden in his kit bag at the bottom of his wardrobe,” said M’zynal, his voice taking on an edge. “My people have always respected you and your Captain; we wouldn’t stoop to such depths.”

  Then he sensed Dzaou’s anger, directed against Kusac, and turned to look at him. “This has your spoor written all over it, Dzaou. What do you know about this?” he demanded, playing a hunch.

  “It wasn’t his,” muttered Dzaou angrily. “I remember the Captain taking it from me. Bastard messed with my mind afterward.”

  The skin between Kezule’s eyes creased in a frown. “Indeed,” he said. “You surprise me. You have no love for your Captain, yet here you are taking the blame for this.”

  Dzaou smiled widely, displaying his teeth. “Not blame, credit. Stop jerking us around, Kezule, just cut to the kill. We all know you’ve dragged us here to execute us along with him. So announce our sentence and get it over with. Stop trying to justify yourself!”

  “Dzaou, shut up!” snarled Banner, rounding on him only to be pulled back by the guards behind him. Half his anger was with Kusac for concealing and lying about his telepathic abilities. If he’d messed with Dzaou’s mind, had he done the same to his?

  Placing his hands on the table, Kezule stood up and stared at them. “You’re here to admit your guilt about making these devices,” he said, gesturing to the contents of the table and the box. “And of plotting to cause us harm. Your Captain obviously knew what you were doing, as Dzaou has just said, therefore I am holding him, as your commanding officer, responsible for you. He will be punished, not you.”

  “That’s unfair!” exclaimed Jayza as M’zynal began packing the items into the box.

  “I believe it’s very fair,” said Kezule, coming out from behind the table. “He gave the orders, or at the very least was a
ware of your activities since he was doing the same. Sit down.”

  “You have no right to do this, Kezule,” Banner said angrily, taking a step forward. “If you harm the Captain ...”

  “Be silent!” ordered Kezule as the guards hauled the struggling Banner back and deposited him forcefully on a chair. “You should have thought of the consequences before you started planning this! I repeat, you were all free to leave any time you chose!”

  “Shaidan wasn’t!”

  Kezule ignored him and leaned back against the edge of the table, folding his arms and looking at them. “Your Captain attacked me physically and mentally ... ” He stopped as he saw the look on Banner’s face. “You didn’t know your Captain had his telepathic powers back? Well, I can confirm he has,” he said. “Not content with those attacks, he pulls a gun on me in a situation where he knew innocent civilians, including his own son, were at risk. My son M’kou was shot ...”

  “So was our Captain,” said Khadui.

  “My son was shot with a chemical bullet,” said Kezule very quietly, leaning forward. “A bullet designed by your people to destroy certain organs we Warriors possess.”

  Banner couldn’t prevent the shock he felt from showing on his face. “What?” he asked, ears flat against his skull. “Where the hell did he get that? Chemical weapons are banned under Alliance laws.”

  “You’re lying!” said Dzaou. “No such thing exists.”

  “It does,” said Kezule. “Not only did he have a gun that passed all our searches, he also had a spray canister of the same compound. He intended to use it, Lieutenant. He did shoot my son, M’kou, and when his plans fell apart, he did try to rip my throat out.”

  “The gun went off by accident,” said Banner, trying to put his anger with Kusac aside and concentrate on the issue at hand. “When he was shot, he instinctively pulled the trigger.”

  “Considering what the gun was loaded with, I believe his intent was to shoot me when he’d finished using me as a hostage,” snapped Kezule. “For this, and his attempt to bite my throat, I’m fully entitled to have him executed!”