Circle's End

by Lisanne Norman

  “The same on Kij’ik, and in the Prime Palace,” added Kusac, anger growing inside him at how he’d been manipulated all along by Annuur’s people.

  Annuur stamped a hoof on the floor. “Not us!” he said firmly.

  “Yes, you! Especially that mystic of yours, Naacha,” snarled Kusac.

  “You too powerful after mental operation,” sighed Annuur, waving a forelimb expressively. “Had to restrict your new powers, let you grow into them, train you. Unavoidable this was, for your safety, and your Family’s.”

  “You had no right to mess with my mind!”

  “Have you powers to deal better with this enemy now?” demanded Annuur, as Kusac took a step angrily toward him. The small Cabbaran pushed the tall U’Churian aside when Tirak would have stepped between them. “Should we have left you crippled as K’hedduk left you, with no purpose, no hope? Tell me we did wrong!”

  “You should have asked me!” he snarled, fighting to keep his voice down and his vision from narrowing into Hunter-mode.

  “Must focus on battle we fight now,” said Annuur. “Later we discuss this. More important stopping K’hedduk is now. Time for the rest later.”

  “And how in all the hells do I do that with your people—sorry, your enemies—mentally manipulating me?” he demanded.

  “Working on that now are we,” assured Annuur. “Tirak and Mrowbay to be guarding our investigator. Ask them if this not true!”

  Tirak nodded as Kusac looked to him. “Yes, we’ve just been detailed to guard a Cabarran female called Kuvaa. I insisted on talking to you first to know if their claims of helping you were true.”

  “He’s right. We need to focus on the enemy we can see and know is a present threat,” said Rezac. “Then we deal with them.”

  Kusac took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, and nodded slowly. “There will be a reckoning,” he said. “For now, we’ll help. Prove yourselves worthy of trust in the meantime, Annuur.”

  “Oh, there will indeed be a reckoning,” said Annuur, his tone also grim. “Meanwhile, inform me if you hear voices seeking to influence you. Give what details you can and we will investigate. This interference is not sanctioned or tolerated by us!”

  “Just who the hell is this us, and what gives you the right to interfere at all?” demanded Rezac.

  “Not now,” said Annuur dismissively. “Change to Valtegan form you must now, Kusac, so we can begin this mission. All is ready. I have drugs you need, everything, and Azwokkus stands waiting.”

  M’zullian Palace, Lassimiss’ rooms

  His senses strained to their limits as he materialized in the darkened room, Kusac dove across the carpeted floor for the cover of the nearest piece of large furniture. He heard an indistinct crackling sound, then a thin shaft of energy hit the space he’d just vacated. Faint sparks glowed briefly in the dark as the stench of burning carpet filled the room.

  “Dammit, Lassimiss! Stop shooting, it’s me!” So much for him not attacking me! Kusac mentally snarled to Rezac.

  “Who is me?” demanded the TeLaxaudin from the darkness.

  “How many other people visit you with translocators?” he demanded, inwardly cursing his inability in Valtegan form to read the air currents in the room and tell if the alien was standing still or moving closer to him. “It’s Nayash!”

  “How you sneak in using that?” Lassimiss retaliated. “I not give you coordinates! Who did? What you want?”

  “I worked it out for myself,” he said, carefully edging round the side of the chair, attempting to keep its bulk between them. “Put the damned light on! We need some of that aid you promised us.”

  Silence, followed by a series of sharp clicks and humming that the translator failed to render into speech, then gradually the main light came on.

  “Show yourself, Hunter,” Lassimiss said. “Then tell me what you need.”

  Cautiously Kusac peered round the edge of the chair. “Give me your word you’ll not shoot at me again.”

  More untranslatable humming and clicking. “Do not provoke me, then. Show yourself!”

  Slowly, Kusac rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off the small alien peering out at him from behind a sofa.

  “We need printed papers,” he said. “Leaflets.” He waved the piece of paper clutched in his left hand. “We cannot print more of them and we’ve used what we had.”

  “Give to me. Will see what can be done,” said Lassimiss, large eyes swirling, holding out a small and imperious hand.

  “Come and get it,” said Kusac. “I’m not stepping into the open until you do.”

  “Then no help!”

  “Meet me halfway,” said Kusac, gesturing to the low table that stood between them. “You shot at me, after all. I have reason to be cautious.”

  “Then leave. No help for you. It matters not to me.”

  “I’m not leaving,” said Kusac. “I’ll remain here until I get what I need. Pity if Emperor K’hedduk sends someone to fetch you.”

  Staccato clicks greeted this as Lassimiss’ mandibles clashed, but cautiously he edged out from behind the sofa.

  Kusac also moved into the open. As they slowly advanced toward the table, Kusac saw Annuur suddenly appear behind Lassimiss, weapon ready.

  Kusac reached for his gun. A short phut of air, and the TeLaxaudin collapsed like a bundle of twigs as the anesthetic dart hit him. Remembering his instructions, Kusac cautiously approached the supine TeLaxaudin. The moment coalesced into one of trust for Kusac—did he trust Annuur to be telling him the truth or not? He locked eyes with the other, and with the briefest of nods, pulled the trigger again, shooting Lassimiss in the neck, then handed the gun back to Annuur.

  The air shimmered and another TeLaxaudin, dressed in shades of soft gray appeared. Instantly, both Annuur and the stranger were all over the fallen one, pulling the off-white draperies aside and stripping off what looked like jewelry—rings, bracelets—and searching in almost invisible belt pouches, as well as Annuur tapping its limbs in various places with a small, faintly glowing rod.

  “We disable him, make him unable to fight back when we resuscitate him,” said Annuur looking up briefly.

  Kusac straightened out of the defensive crouch he’d been in and joined them, looking down at the untidily sprawled alien and the large pile of devices beside him.

  “Did not know he had this,” said the strange TeLaxaudin, sitting back on his haunches examining an elaborately jeweled bracelet.

  “He was wearing all that?” asked Kusac, pointing at the growing pile. “I didn’t see any of that on him.”

  “Not jewelry, his arsenal,” said the newcomer tersely. “Annuur, see what he carries! Contraband weapons—neural disruptor, nanites even! This is very bad.”

  “Poisoned flechettes, too. You lucky he only shoot at you with energy weapon, Kusac,” said Annuur, carefully lifting the items one at a time and putting them into a soft cloth bag he took from a pouch at his waist belt.

  “He wasn’t supposed to shoot me,” said Kusac.

  “Hoped he would not, but you accomplished mission. Allowed us to intervene.” The newcomer folded himself back on his spindly haunches and looked up at Kusac, his large eyes swirling as the lenses adjusted to near vision. He extended a dainty hand toward him. “Azwokkus I am. A pleasure to meet you . . . Kusac.” There was the faintest of hesitations before he said his name.

  Slowly Kusac crouched down to the other’s level, reaching out to him until their fingers touched. His hand was grasped firmly, far more firmly than he had expected. Azwokkus’ hand felt cool and dry to his touch—and he could feel each of the fragile bones beneath the surface. Then the hand withdrew, leaving him with the knowledge that he had been honored with a great measure of trust by this physical contact between them.

  “I am replacing Lassimiss. No longer will any aid be given to the sand-dwelle
rs. He must be removed, then we talk,” he said, gesturing to the still form.

  Azwokkus stood up, draperies moving gently around him.

  Annuur looked over at Kusac. “Be quicker if you helped,” he said pointedly.

  “Um, sure,” said Kusac, reaching out from his squatting position to pick up the nearest piece of jewelry. It resembled a jointed finger, complete with a thin nail at the end.

  “How is this a weapon?” he asked, turning it over in his hands.

  “Careful!” said Annuur sharply. “Worn on finger, it bends and he sends mental command for thin metal shards, like needles, to fire from the tip. Put in bag! Must hurry!”

  Kusac placed it carefully in the drawstring bag Annuur held open for him, then reached out to pick up a couple of conventional looking rings. “What will you do with him?”

  “He will tell us everything,” said Azwokkus, unclipping something from his belt and attaching it round Lassimiss’ arm. “We then collect more evidence to indict his faction, prove they acted against council wishes, aided enemy to us all. Threat posed by sand-dwellers must be negated once and for all.”

  “We need you to read his mind,” said Annuur. “Give Azwokkus knowledge transfer of Lassimiss’ dealings with K’hedduk he needs.”

  “You aren’t serious, are you?” Kusac asked

  “Very,” replied Annuur. “You do with M’zullians and Primes, what problem doing with TeLaxaudin?”

  “I’ve spent nearly two years living with Kezule and his people, I know them well, know how they think. The TeLaxaudin are an unknown species to me. I don’t know how their minds work. Besides, he’s dead according to you.”

  “Have you tried?” demanded Annuur.

  “I tried with Kizzysus and got nowhere,” he admitted.

  “Then on my own wits I will have to depend,” said Azwokkus. “A little forgetful I may seem to be, but not to be helped.”

  “How are you going to resuscitate him?” demanded Kusac.

  “His heart stopped long enough for Unity to decide he is dead, but not long enough to really kill him. No tissue damage will the poison cause. Once back on our world we can revive him.”

  “I go now,” said Annuur as the last item was placed in the bag and he pulled the drawstrings tight. “Tell Azwokkus what you need, we help where we can.”

  “How?” asked Kusac.

  “Translocator also communicator,” said Azwokkus. “I show you.”

  “Be safe, Azwokkus,” said Annuur, pulling his own translocator free of his belt. “And you, Kusac!”

  “Wait!” said Kusac, reaching out for the Cabbaran, but he and his prisoner had already blinked out of existence.

  “It can wait,” Azwokkus hummed gently. “Focus on main task for now we must. I am here to aid you, despite what the sand-dwellers think. They will not notice it is me, not Lassimiss. What is needed by your team?”

  “Don’t you know that already? You’ve been spying on us for Vartra knows how long!” Kusac said, getting to his feet as his anger finally began to surface.

  Azwokkus’ eyes swirled rapidly as he gazed up at Kusac. “I have little time now. Must familiarize myself with this room, become Lassimiss to them. Waste that time, will you?”

  Automatically, Kusac raised his hand to his brow to run it through his hair, only to realize at the last minute he wasn’t his Sholan self.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, pulling his scattered thoughts together. “Maps. We need maps. They’re difficult to get without drawing attention to ourselves. And a way to hide our searches of the databases here. We’re vulnerable, unable to safely hack into their very old-fashioned systems.”

  “Maps I can get. Holoprojector of place I can also get. Will send you a device to use for your data searches, a safe one, untraceable.”

  “That would be very useful. What else can you give us?”

  “No weapons, but supplies for you and those in the mountains can we deliver. Food, consumables. Printed leaflets, too.”

  Kusac nodded. “Those we can use. How much notice do you need? And show me how this translocator works, so I can also communicate with you.”

  “Please,” said Azwokkus, moving closer to him and holding out his open hand.

  Kusac dug the device out of his pocket and passed it over to the TeLaxaudin.

  “Dials you set like this,” he said, showing him as Kusac leaned closer.

  A faint leathery smell exuded from the small alien, one he’d not noticed till now.

  “Do you have an arsenal like Lassimiss?” he demanded abruptly.

  The insectoid face tipped up toward him again, the small frontal mandibles on either side of the mouth clicking as the eyes above them whirled briefly with rainbow colors before stilling.

  “I have one, yes. We are fragile people, not suited to personal conflict. Among us, weapons are rarely used. Presence of them is enough of a deterrent.”

  His head dipped down again to the translocator. “This setting,” a long thin finger pointed to it, “will let you leave messages. Light blinking here means safe for you to translocate to me. This light means message for you.”

  Kusac nodded and accepted the device back. “What about using this to travel to other places? Places I choose?”

  “No. Cannot do,” said Azwokkus with finality. “Much power it uses, too noticeable here on M’zull. Use restricted. Return to your residence now. Work must I do, settle in and become Lassimiss. Your help tonight appreciated.”

  The TeLaxaudin touched his belt and Kusac felt the room begin to fade as darkness snatched him. Then just as suddenly, he was back in his room at the villa where Rezac was waiting anxiously for him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Arrival at the M’zullian Palace, Zhal-Zhalwae 17th (May)

  THE drive to the Palace had taken a good three hours, even in the fast vehicle that was his staff car. With him were Rezac, Cheelar, and Noolgoi. The other two had gone ahead earlier with Laazif to run security checks on the apartment.

  The countryside finally gave way to the sprawling city with its squat, grubby industrial buildings. Plumes of smoke rose from the tall chimney stacks that dominated the skyline.

  Cheelar pulled a face as he peered through the one-way glass. “I can smell the pollution even in here,” he said. “Depressing.”

  “The people don’t look much better,” said Noolgoi from the other window.

  Kusac said nothing, just kept watching as they passed the males in shabby clothes standing in groups around the factory doors.

  “Lunchtime, I guess,” said Cheelar, glancing at his wristwatch. “At least they get a break outside.”

  They sped through the district, leaving the factories behind. Tall walls with railings set on top became common, the entrances guarded by soldiers.

  “Barracks, from the look of them,” said Kusac. “Institutional buildings.”

  “Aye,” said Rezac, leaning across Cheelar. “Barracks, hospitals, and schools.” He pointed to one building with fencing instead of walls, behind which lines of youngsters in military fatigues were being drilled.

  “There’s some houses and stores this side,” said Noolgoi.

  “Makes you appreciate not having to call this home,” said Kusac quietly.

  The road, which had been straight until now, began to wind its way upward toward the Palace perched on top of the hill. Every now and then there were gaps between the buildings for parks or street malls. Trees now dotted the sidewalks, both fronded ones and bushy ones as the neighborhood took on an appearance of affluence.

  Flat-roofed houses with porticos and verandas sat back amid manicured lawns edged with flowerbeds and paths. Their colors ranged from the natural terra cotta to whites and beige. Pedestrians here were nearly all in military uniforms and walked with a sense of purpose. Armed guards at the entrances to these private or public buildings
were common.

  At last they swung round in front of a building they instantly recognized—the Palace. It differed from the one on the Prime world not by the architecture, which was similar, but the decorations and the murals. All were of a definitely martial nature, and depicted more modern times. This Palace was intended not to awe the population, but to strike fear and obedience into it.

  Inquisitors, sent Rezac.

  I see them, replied Kusac, eyes fixed on the mural above the vehicle entrance they were approaching.

  No, walking out there, in the open!

  Kusac looked away in time to get glimpse of the group of three red-robed priests before the car slipped into the shade of the access tunnel.

  As they emerged again into daylight, they could see that the central courtyard was vastly larger than the original on the Prime world.

  “Do you think it was built larger, or was that done later?” Rezac asked quietly.

  “Later. The architecture is similar, but not the same,” said Cheelar. “It would also be an open insult to the Emperor of the time, to have a colonial Palace larger than his.”

  The landing pad, sent Rezac. It’s to my left, where the cafés and stores are on the Prime world.

  Kusac grunted, keeping his eyes on the other side of the courtyard. There, the familiar giant stone statues were on either side of the staircase leading up to the portico and the main entrance. As the vehicle swung round to stop by the stairs, a small contingent of three figures—Laazif and two other Primes—detached themselves from a group of people standing by a small fountain surrounded by tall, spreading trees.

  The vehicle slowed to a stop and Laazif ran forward to open his door. Kusac remained in the car until the other three had exited their side and joined M’yikku and Noi’kkah as his honor guard.

  Putting on his uniform hat first, Kusac climbed out of the vehicle into the sunlight and heat.

  Laazif bowed. “Welcome, Lord Nayash, to the Sun Palace. If you will follow me, I’ll take you to your apartments.”

  Gesturing ahead of them, Kusac murmured, “Lead on, Laazif.”