Authors: Lisanne Norman
"Then we do what I recommended. We enlist their help. I believe they will have as great an incentive to wish to understand their Link as we do. That's why I suggested to the Commander that their confinement to quarters be dropped. Without exterior stimulus, there will be no need for them to explore their Talents," said the Mentor. "Continue to keep them under surveillance, and remember who you are dealing with. Use at least three telepaths at any given time and warn them to refrain from communicating with each other. Make sure each has a legitimate reason for being in the area. I can't shake the certainty that there is something at work here that we cannot comprehend, and we must control it. The impact on our society of telepaths who can fight could be catastrophic. We can't allow the old fears of us to resurface."
"Vartra knows what this is all in aid of!" said Terno. "I'm just glad that I'm not the Clan Lord or the Guild Master!"
"Perhaps you have the right of it," the Mentor said slowly. "Vartra may be the only one who does know the purpose of this Link."
* * *
The cold air of the corridor served to waken Kusac and dispel the feelings of unreality but started him shivering once more. Moving as quickly as his injured leg allowed, he headed for the elevator down to his level and the sanctuary of his room.
Once inside, he lowered the lighting to a vague ambiance and turned up the heating. Gradually the warmth began to seep back into his body. Going over to the dispenser he selected a glass of water. Sipping it slowly, he sat down in front of the comm. There were more messages for him. Tearing them off, he tried to scan the list, but his eyes refused to focus properly. Exasperated, he held the paper farther away, managing at last to read the names of the callers. No one important. He tossed it aside, letting it slide off the desk and drift to the floor.
Switching on the comm with its flare of bright screen triggered the headache that had been lurking ominously since he woke. He winced, turning the brightness down to the point where he could just see his text.
Lifting his glass, he swallowed a little more water. As it hit his stomach, the nausea returned. His hand shook as he replaced the glass and closed his eyes. He had to finish the file now. If he left it any longer, he might not be capable of doing so.
He lifted his head, squinted at the screen, and moved his hands to the keyboard. Claws extended, he began tapping in the information, aware as he did so that every joint and muscle in his body ached, particularly his hands. Maybe he was coming down with some virus and all these physical symptoms had nothing to do with his Link. Possible, but he doubted it. It was more likely due to the stress caused by the situation he found himself in.
Another wave of nausea hit him and he stopped, waiting till it had passed. What the hell was he doing to himself? All this to give her the right to choose when there was no choice to make! He must be mad to get involved with any female, let alone her, to the point where her principles mattered more than his life. Denying a Leska Link would never occur to any Sholan. It happened and you accepted it, with or without pleasure. For him it had been easy. Why, in the God's name, couldn't she decide?
Memories jostled for attention, a flash of them sitting against a tree in the forest, her head on his chest minutes after the Leska Link had formed; s/he looking at him through the flames of the campfire, realizing he was not the animal s/he had thought; the smell and taste of blood in his mouth during the fight with Guynor; after the Challenge when he explained what he knew of the Link; when s/he reached out to touch the awful wound in his/her shoulder... The images continued, flashing so quickly before his eyes that he barely saw them.
Moaning, he put his hands to his head, turning his thoughts inward as desperately he tried to make them stop. Gradually they slowed, finally ceasing, leaving him in a state of total confusion. Lowering his hands, he opened his eyes and looked around. The room appeared unfamiliar. Where was this and why was the comm on? The hands lying on the desk were covered in black fur. Yes, he was the furred one. As he looked, the fur faded, leaving a lightly tanned bare arm, the fingers tipped with paler nails, not dark claws.
He leaped to his feet, sending the chair flying backward. Forcing the terror aside, he tried to focus on the here-and-now, fighting to push the rogue images deep into his subconscious where they belonged while around him the room appeared to darken, then lighten perceptibly.
I'm Kusac, I'm in my quarters,
he kept repeating as he rested his hands on his desk in an effort to anchor his physical senses.
The disorientation eased until he knew where and who he was once more. Trembling with the aftereffects, he bent down and retrieved his chair. His head throbbed with the exertion.
Was Carrie experiencing this, too, and was she coping? At this moment, frankly, he was beyond caring. He sat down and continued laboriously to finish recording his data. Finally done, he indexed the file to Vanna's personal comm, date-sealing it to a time three days hence. He'd done more than could be realistically expected of anyone in his circumstances.
Closing down the comm, he eyed the glass of water. His mouth was so dry that swallowing hurt. Maybe in a minute he thought, his head drooping forward in exhaustion. He was too tired to stay where he was, too tired to move.
With a start he came to, realizing that he'd fallen asleep at the desk. Picking up the glass, he staggered toward the bed, placing his drink on the unit by the head of the bed. Sitting down, he undressed, then programmed in an alarm for the following day. He couldn't afford to be late for the courtmartial. Reluctantly, he picked up the glass and took a mouthful, waiting for the resulting nausea. He wasn't disappointed. When it passed, hands slick with sweat, he rolled into the depression in the center and let himself fall into unconsciousness.
* * *
The craft began to emerge from hyperspace on the outskirts of Keiss' solar system. An observer watching the quadrant would have seen it waver briefly as it continued its course inbound, skipping in and out of real-time like a stone skimmed across the water.
The shock waves of its brief emergences were picked up onboard the
Khalossa
almost immediately.
"I'm detecting what looks like an incoming craft, sir, but it's disappeared," said the navigator on duty. "There it is again!"
Sub-Commander Kolem looked up from his ops board. "Have you a visual on it?"
"Not yet, sir. I've never seen anything flick in and out of jump like that before."
"The craft is signaling to us on our frequency, sir," interrupted the communications officer. "It's one of ours. Code Three, Nine, Five, Zero, Red."
"Predict its next point of entry and try to get a fix on it. Relay your board to the main viewer."
"Relaying now, sir."
The main viewer lit up showing the outermost planets of Keiss' solar system. In one corner a flickering image formed into the outlines of a slim craft. A moment later it flickered and was gone.
"Got it, sir! Enhanced image replay now on screen."
The sleekly functional lines of an interstellar to atmosphere vehicle filled the center of the screen.
"By all the Gods," swore Kolem, staring at it, "They've finally done it! A Stealth multipurpose fighter! If we'd had half a dozen of those at the start of this mission, we'd have found Keiss and liberated it sooner, without the need for Vroozoi !"
"Message being transmitted on our security channel, sir," said communications. "They repeat, Code Three, Nine, Five, Zero, Red, and request permission for priority docking in our upper bay."
"Acknowledge, then relay the message to Commander Raguul," said Kolem, still watching the screen as the view switched back to real-time and the unmarked craft reemerged, this time to stay.
Commander Raguul's voice rang out through the comm. "Clear the upper docking bay of all personnel except those with top security rating. See that the route from there to my office is secure. Sub-Commander Kolem, report to the docking bay yourself with Sub-Lieutenant Draz. Raguul out."
"You heard the Commander, snap to it," said Kolem, getting out of his seat. "Page Draz and get him to meet me at the docking bay. The bridge is in your hands, Sub-Commander Rreba," he said, passing the science officer.
"Sub-Commander! The
Cheku
is demanding to know what's happening."
Kolem stopped and turned back to face the bridge crew. With a wide grin he said, "Tell the
Cheku
that the information they're requesting is highly confidential. We're not at liberty to divulge it to them because they lack the security clearance."
From behind the reinforced viewing screen in the gallery they watched the predatory vehicle move steadily to the turntable landing pad. It hovered briefly before descending, the high-pitched whine of the engines dying away to almost nothing.
Bay doors sealed and the small deficit in air pressure made good, the craft's hatch opened as Kolem and Draz crossed the metal floor toward it.
The Captain was dressed in the black fatigues worn by the Warrior Guild when on active duty in space.
"I'm Sub-Commander Kolem and this is Sub-Lieutenant Draz, head of Security. We'll escort you to our Commander."
"Our security needs have been seen to?" the Captain asked, giving a brief nod to each of the two officers.
"All has been done as you requested," confirmed Draz.
"Good. Our job was to convey our passenger to you. This we've done. We'll need to refuel before we can depart."
Kolem beckoned to the group of males at the far side of the hanger.
"They'll see to your needs," he said.
The Captain acknowledged this with a flick of his ears, then turned to beckon his passenger out.
From the hatchway emerged a figure heavily concealed by a voluminous cloak and hood of gray. His head inclined toward them.
"Welcome aboard the
Khalossa,"
said Sub-Commander Kolem. "If you follow us, we'll take you to Commander Raguul."
As the figure moved silently toward them, vague memories stirred in Kolem's mind. He glanced at Draz who responded with a minute flick of one ear. Like all senior officers in the Forces, they had served time at the Warrior Guild. They knew a member of the Brotherhood when they saw one.
Once a year the Brothers called at the guild to check over the students about to graduate. The cadets viewed their arrival with a mixture of hope and fear. To be singled out to join their elite Warrior force was an honor one was never sure one really wanted.
The journey down to the twenty-first level was made in silence. Their visitor obviously had no wish to communicate with them. As they preceded him along the corridor, both were aware of the fur on their neck and shoulders beginning to rise at his unnatural silence: not even his footfall could be heard. It was with relief that they delivered him to the Commander's office.
Commander Raguul's adjutant opened the door. "Thank you, Sub-Commander Kolem. The Commander wishes you to return to the bridge," said Myak. "Sub-Lieutenant Draz, would you join us, please?"
As the door closed, the visitor threw back his hood and, reaching into a pocket, withdrew a crystal cube. Walking to the Commander's desk, he handed it over to him.
"This contains my employer's instructions," he said, his voice notable only in that it had a slight highland burr to it. "You are to see that you facilitate those instructions, Commander."
Raguul regarded the cube, then the person, as his unexpected guest removed his cloak and threw it over the back of the chair opposite.
He wore a tunic of grey over which sat a jacket not unlike the Sholan Forces one, also in gray, bearing a red flash over his right shoulder. From the utility belt hung, among other things, an energy pulse pistol.
"I don't take kindly to being given orders on my own ship," said Raguul. "You have no business coming here." His ear flicked with annoyance. He knew without reading the cube that the male before him was one of the special operatives.
His visitor sat, face and ears imperturbable. "I suggest you read the orders now," he said.
Raguul leaned forward and inserted the cube into the viewer, scanning the data it disclosed. He removed it, handing it back across the desk.
"It seems you are correct," said Raguul, sitting back in his seat again, a slight opening of his mouth showing his faint amusement. "You have arrived at an opportune time, but you'll find the situation somewhat different from what you expected."
The visitor shrugged. "I was chosen because I am flexible. No problem is insurmountable."
"Hmm," said Raguul, not convinced. "Since this problem is now out of my hands, I'll leave you with Draz. He'll bring you up to date, and should you need any extra personnel, he'll be able to advise you."
"I'd like the briefing first, then some clothes and accommodation. I was forced to leave immediately to fit in with the
Striker's
schedule."
"My adjutant, Myak," Raguul nodded in his direction, "will take your requirements and see they are brought to you as soon as possible."
Raguul leaned forward. "Just remember, Brother," he said, "I am in ultimate command out here. I will be kept informed of what is happening, and I will have no conflict of interests in this matter. It is sensitive enough."
"My interests are confined to one area only, Commander. I accepted this mission because of the challenge it offered."
"Oh, you'll find it a challenge, believe me," said Raguul. "Draz, give our guest every cooperation. See he's quartered where he wishes and set up a secure line of communication between the two of you. When his clothing arrives, escort him to his quarters. You can use my outer office for the moment." He rose and eased himself out from behind his desk. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'm going back to bed."
As the door shut behind Draz and their guest, Myak selected the appropriate data cubes from the Commander's desk.
Raguul muttered darkly as he crossed to the door at the rear of his office.
"Pardon, sir?"
"I said, damned Brotherhood of Vartra! How they can claim to be priestly is beyond me! They give our guild a bad name!"
"They are a fully recognized sub-sect of the Warrior Guild, sir," said Myak. "Their abilities as special assault forces are invaluable."
"I still don't like having him on board. We can handle the situation ourselves." A pained look crossed his face and he pressed his hand to his stomach. "Get me something for my indigestion, Myak."
"Considering the political implications of the situation, perhaps his presence is a blessing in disguise, sir," said Myak, going to a cupboard on the far side of the room. "At least it's one less problem for you to worry about."
"You may be right," he muttered. "Did you pick up anything from him?"
"No, sir. His mind is as well disciplined as his body. He gives nothing away," said Myak, returning with a glass of white liquid.
Raguul grunted, accepting his medicine. "We'll see. When does the
Cheku
leave?"
"Tomorrow, at the eighth hour, sir, once the system defense vehicles arrive."
"Well, we managed to twist Vroozoi's tail nicely, Myak," he chuckled, handing the glass back to him. "Missing that Valtegan starship has halted his rapid progress, much to the delight of a lot of people in the Forces. I reckon that our officers will be able to dine out on that story for a good few years to come."
Myak grinned. "Yes, sir. I believe he's also highly displeased at the arrival of a Stealth fighter under orders kept secret from him."
Raguul got to his feet and stretched. "Life's tough up at the top, Myak. He'll have to learn to live with disappointment like the rest of us!"