Dark Nadir

by Lisanne Norman

  “You’ll watch till I say otherwise! That is your mate, linked mentally to you! Would you die for them now? You’re a bigger fool than I thought!”

  Kusac closed his eyes. It had to be Kaid. He was the only one other than himself who could keep her alive. At least they had each other. Vaguely, he wondered why he still lived.

  “Say something!” hissed the enraged Valtegan.

  He chose to ignore the command. He could never tell whether an answer or silence was expected. Either at the wrong time would bring the same punishment. Somewhere, deep inside, where the drugs and their device hadn’t yet reached, he ached to be with them.

  * * *

  How could he ignore what was going on before his eyes? J’koshuk was angry beyond measure with his captive. He’d expected some reaction. If one of his people had witnessed such a betrayal, he’d have torn the window down in an effort to reach the male and kill him!

  He raised his hand to hit him, then remembered the Prime’s directive and lowered it, letting the Sholan go. Reaching for his wrist unit, he activated the control once, holding it down for the space of two counts.

  The male fell heavily to his knees before crumpling to the floor.

  That wasn’t the effect it had had before. J’koshuk was about to press it again when the white-robed Prime behind him stepped forward and grasped his hand, preventing him.

  “You have overused it. It is ineffective for now. He has become numbed by the pain. Return him to his cell.”

  “You do it,” snapped J’koshuk, taking a risk. He needed to know what his status was, if he had standing among them. This white-robed Prime was obviously of lesser rank than the grays. “I’ve his answers to process for the Seniormost. I haven’t the time to do your job.”

  There was the usual short silence, then: “I will return him,” said the Prime, motioning J’koshuk to one side with his pistol.

  Satisfied, he moved. Now he had an idea of where he stood. He left the room, heading back up the corridor that flanked the medical section till he reached the junction leading to the interrogation room on his left, the captives from the M’ijikk and his own quarters on the right. Activating the lock, he went in, going to the nourishment unit to fetch himself a drink.

  He settled himself at the desk, opening the drawer to take out some paper and a stylus. Putting his reader down, he sat back, letting his anger dissipate. So far, he’d given the Primes most of the answers they’d requested. Some had been beyond him as his captives didn’t have that information themselves. He sipped the herbal drink, picking up his last summary of information from the Valtegan captives. A picture was beginning, very slowly, to emerge, and he wanted to understand it. Understanding would give him an advantage, and an advantage would lead to consolidating his position here. He might still be a prisoner, but he was at least the most valued and trusted one. He aimed to keep it that way.

  The Primes had no interest whatsoever, as far as he could discern, in the U’Churians and the Cabbarans other than keeping them alive. Why they would want to keep such evil smelling mammals as the Cabbarans alive was beyond him. He’d have let them die. They were only mouths to feed, and bodies to guard. They contributed nothing, not even information.

  A thought occurred to him. Perhaps he was not privy to all that went on. It was true he’d not been aware of the two from the cryo units until he’d followed the guards down to the stasis room several days ago. Well, they had told him he was free to go where he wished within the proscribed area. Obviously it was to their advantage if he knew his way around.

  He hadn’t recognized her at first because he knew he’d had her killed on Keiss. She’d been another that had frustrated him beyond measure. Do what he could to her, she refused to talk, had laughed in his face, no less! The pain he’d inflicted on her was calculated to have a Valtegan screaming for mercy, yet she’d laughed.

  He shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward for his papers. Had she been that different that she’d cheated death? Had she come back now to haunt him? The male had proved to be as difficult, though he had felt the pain, of that he was sure. He smiled to himself. The rest of his crew might have mocked him because of his caste, but no longer. They now knew personally just how much pleasure he could derive from his work. There was a skill to it, in playing with a person, inflicting just enough pain to induce the right kind of fear so he spoke the truth. Too much and they said anything just to stop the pain. But apply it carefully, and over several days, and you could make the most difficult subject tell you his deepest secrets. Unless it was that damned Human female and her mate!

  He scowled, creasing his forehead. The dark-furred mate—what had the Seniormost said his name was? He looked at the reader, scrolling back to the beginning of the session. Kusac. That was it. He’d refused to speak about the female at all. He’d had to give up in the end. Even on the other questions, it had taken some time before he’d told him anything of use. Still, he liked to soften his prisoners up first, so the day had not been a total failure.

  He took another mouthful of his drink, feeling more relaxed now as he finished going through what he’d learned from his former crew. The weapon that they’d used on the two planets of Sholans seemed to interest the Primes greatly, but he’d been able to find out very little about it and its origins. However, that didn’t mean they knew nothing. His former senior crew members had not been made available to him. Obviously the Primes had conducted their own interrogations, leaving the bulk of his people to him.

  He had discovered that as they had taken up their positions round the first world, a shuttle had docked with them, and a package had been handed to one of the senior officers. It had been taken to the engineering area, and given to the head officer to install on their ship. After the second planet, it had been uninstalled and collected again.

  He remembered the reconnaissance patrol they’d flown several hours after they’d used it. The devastation had shocked them all. Sensor readings had been double—no, triple—checked, but remained the same. No life had been left on either world. He shuddered at the memory. War was one thing, annihilation on this scale was a threat to them all. Should such a weapon fall into J’kirtikkian hands, they could suffer the same fate. No matter the reason, Valtegan should not use such a weapon against Valtegan.

  Not being of a technical caste himself, the rest of the data concerning the device had meant nothing to him and he’d merely passed it on verbatim. A request to have it explained had gotten him nowhere; he’d been ignored.

  Following closely on this interest in the mystery weapon, was their concern over the war they were fighting in and around the J’kirtikk sector. Outside of the command crew, he was the only person who was aware that the enemy they fought was their own kind.

  They’d asked him how it had come about, but he couldn’t really tell them. For as long as he’d been alive, this war had existed, with sporadic border engagements on each side as they’d almost taken it in turns to try pushing through into the other’s territory. It hadn’t been going on for just his lifetime, but for many generations before him as well. It was their mission in life, to reunite the two worlds, weld them once more into an empire under the God-King, Emperor M’iok’kul. Which was only right. They should be united under one God. Anything less was blasphemy, which was his domain.

  The Primes wanted to know the state of the war, the weapons used, where encounters took place, how often, and if there were any subject worlds. That had surprised him. Why should they wish to rule inferior beings? They were dirt beneath the heels of the Valtegan people, not even true people, unworthy of notice—except for the females.

  He thought again of the Human female. They’d not had much success keeping her out of stasis until they brought the other Sholan male in. Yes, they’d healed her, but later, when they tried to reduce the drugs, she’d started to scream and could not be stopped. So back she went into stasis, but in a reduced field he’d heard one of them say, so she could heal. Now she’d been wakened succes
sfully, and they’d rewarded the Sholan male for doing it. But why him—the one who’d attacked and threatened their Interface, namely himself? If anyone deserved rewarding with female company, it was he, J’koshuk, for getting all the information they’d wanted.

  It had been a long time since he’d been allowed access to the drones. M’ezozakk, burn his memory, had forbidden him to go near them after he’d failed to get the four Sholan captives to talk. M’ezozakk had said abstinence became a priest. He hissed low and angrily at the memory. He had the same urges as the rest of the bridge crew, and the enforced celibacy had almost tempted him to drink at the common crew water fountains to suppress it, but he was of high caste, to abuse his system with those chemicals was beneath him.

  He’d been given the Human female once on Keiss, as a reward for uncovering a plot by four patients in the infirmary to steal the Human females for a night. He snorted at the memory. The soldiers had thought to test their new-found health on the females, interpreting their rising male chemical levels as the need to rut! Her skin had been softer than that of drones, he remembered. More responsive, too. The scent of her fear had acted like a strong aphrodisiac. It wasn’t often one of his caste got to be with a true female. Since they were larger than the males, and definitely violent, it took a strong male to even think of approaching the breeding room, let alone enter it. Besides, he knew the females had to be drugged into submission and there was always the risk it would wear off too soon. Not exactly an invigorating experience.

  They’d taken a J’kirtikkian craft once, with breeding females on board. He preferred drones—or Humans. He sighed, attempting to overcome his increasingly lustful thoughts by releasing the opposite, calmative chemicals, aware that he’d let his imagination roam into areas best left alone. He downed some more of his drink, feeling its soothing coolness spread through him, helping him regain his equilibrium.

  Picking up the reader and stylus, he started to scribble notes from it onto the paper, beginning his report for the Seniormost.

  * * *

  Day 29

  There had been something of a stir at the Retreat over the last two days. Food had been missing from the main kitchens, and no culprit could be found. Windows were shut, the door locked, but still the food went missing. Brynne’s jegget was the prime suspect despite his protestations that she’d been locked in the room with him each night.

  Guardian Dhaika had called him into his office, complaining bitterly, but had stopped just short of ordering him to get rid of her. Incensed, Brynne headed out into the grounds with her, letting her off the fine leash he’d fashioned for her to wear while indoors. He wasn’t taking the chance of her being mistaken for a wild jegget and being treated as vermin only fit to be killed.

  At first she’d poked around in the grass, finding cricketlike insects to eat, then, disturbing a small rodent, she’d scampered off in pursuit of it.

  “Belle!” he called, getting to his feet as he saw the flick of her tail disappear over the grassy knoll ahead of him. “Come back here!” He reinforced it with a mental command, but the jegget, usually obliging, was intent on the hunt, reverting to her wild nature for now.

  Cursing, he followed her, seeing the flick of her sable-tipped tail rise above clumps of grasses every now and then. He followed her down the hillside till he’d lost sight of the Retreat. He was in wild country now, not quite sure of where to go.

  A faint sound drew his attention. He listened, trying to identify it, and when he couldn’t, he reached out for it with his mind. He recognized the feel instantly and backed off. Derwent—and someone else. Cautiously, he hunkered down amid the long grass, wishing he wasn’t wearing his black robe. He stood out like a sore-thumb against the green landscape.

  He waited, hearing the noise again. It was the sound of feet trying to get a grip on stony ground and it was coming from around the bluff ahead of him. Remembering his training, he lay down in the grass and began to wriggle slowly closer. He heard a muffled cry, then the sound of someone falling. Again he reached out with his mind, this time for the other person and was shocked to recognize her, too. It was the female who had disturbed his sleep so many times over the last few weeks. What the hell was Derwent doing to her? Then he remembered the last dream he’d had. What if the rape hadn’t yet happened? Anger flared, for her, and for himself, that one person could so violate another.

  He’d reached the edge of the bluff now and could see them clearly. Derwent had her by the wrists and was busy binding them firmly with rope.

  “I knew once I had her, you’d come to me, Brynne,” he said, not bothering to look at him. “Your precious Leska, Vanna. How does it go?” he asked, pulling the rope tighter till the female whimpered in fear and pain. “When I hurt her, do you feel her pain? If I kill her, do you die?” Finished, he hauled her round in the gravel to look in Brynne’s direction.

  He knew it wasn’t Vanna, but Derwent thought it was, despite the fact that the two females were nothing alike. Brynne stood up slowly, wishing he hadn’t come alone.

  “What do you want, Derwent? You know that’s not Vanna. Let her go. It’s me you really want,” he said, beginning to walk toward them.

  “Stay right there,” warned Derwent, pulling a knife out and placing it against her throat. “I want sanctuary, and she’ll buy it for me, won’t she? Unless you want me to cut off one of her pretty little ears?”

  As Derwent glanced away from him long enough to move the knife to her ear, the female locked eyes with him. He could feel her fear as acutely as if it were his, read the plea in her eyes. The fear of rape was in her mind, too.

  Rage surged through him, a rage like he’d never felt before. Snarling, he launched himself at Derwent. Strength he didn’t know he possessed propelled him forward, knocking the other to the ground. As his hands closed round Derwent’s throat, his vision narrowed down to nothing, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Brynne, he’s dead. You killed him. Let go now.”

  The red mist began to clear and gradually his sight returned. He shuddered, feeling Jurrel unclenching his hands from Derwent’s throat and helping him to his feet.

  “She’s safe. We cut her loose.”

  He looked over to where she sat whimpering, Banner watching over her.

  He went over to them, crouching down in front of her. Ears plastered to her skull, brown eyes huge with fear, she stared up at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching out to touch her nicked ear. He could feel the self-control it took for her to keep it still, letting him examine it. It was barely more than a scratch.

  “She won’t talk,” said Banner. “What happened? Who was the Human?”

  “Derwent,” said Brynne shortly, letting her go. “He’s wanted for evading deportation.” He looked up at his two friends. “She’s coming back with me.”

  “The Protectorate will want to interview her about his attack.”

  “No!” he said, even before he felt her flash of fear. “No. She wasn’t here. Derwent attacked me. She’s not involved, understand?”

  A chittering by his feet drew his attention away from them. He bent down to pick up Belle. “She’s coming back with me,” he said more quietly.

  “She’s the one from the dreams,” said Jurrel. “Isn’t she? Him, too.”

  Brynne nodded, standing up and holding his hand out to her. Hesitantly, she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. “No one’s to know she’s here,” he said, catching the glance that passed between the two Sholan males. “I have my reasons,” he said to Jurrel. “Please. Trust me.”

  Jurrel flicked an ear in agreement, taking Belle from him as he held the jegget out.

  Brynne began to unfasten his robe, taking it off to reveal the T-shirt and jeans he wore underneath. “The dreams, finding her here, it isn’t just a coincidence.” He held out the robe to her. “What’s your name?” he asked gently.

  “Ghaysa,” she said, her voice barely audible as she accepted it from him.
She stood there, letting it hang from her hand, her eyes never leaving his face, obviously in shock.

  “We’re taking you to the Retreat,” said Brynne, “but you need to put the robe on. You’ll be safe with me, I swear it.”

  She nodded slowly, beginning to put an arm into one sleeve.

  He looked up at Jurrel and Banner. “You’ll help me get her in?”

  “Of course,” said Jurrel, stroking the jegget.

  “For now at least,” agreed Banner. “Belle fetched us. If it hadn’t been for her, we wouldn’t have known where to find you. That in itself is strange.”

  “I wasn’t soon enough,” said Brynne, taking hold of Ghaysa’s limp hand. “I didn’t think Derwent could get this far without being picked up.”

  He stepped between her and Derwent’s body as they passed it, trying to shield her from the sight of it. God knows, he didn’t want to see it again himself, but beyond that, he felt nothing, not anger nor regret at killing the man who’d once been just about his only friend on Shola.

  * * *

  Getting her into the Retreat was easy: they just walked in. No one would think to stop the Brothers and a Sister. They left her in Brynne’s room, with the jegget for company, locking the door behind them as they went to Guardian Dhaika’s office to report Derwent’s death.

  * * *

  The Protectors let Brynne leave first, but kept Banner and Jurrel for further questions as it was obvious they’d been more aware of what had happened than Brynne. They said he’d gone kzu-shu, into a warrior’s red-mist trance, where nothing exists but the prey. Given the fact that Derwent had nearly caused Brynne’s death by keeping him and his Leska apart when he’d been seriously ill, and the older male’s attack on him, it had been understandable, said the chief Protector.

  Brynne returned to his room to find Ghaysa curled up asleep in the center of his bed. This was the first chance he’d really had to look at her. A mane of hair of just about every conceivable Sholan color—brown, gold, ginger, and white—lay on the bed surrounding her head like a corona. Her pelt was the same glorious mix of colors. Hand reaching out to touch her hair, he sat down beside her.