Shades of Gray (19 page)

“Why so important?” she asked, wrinkling her snout. “His will is as ours—oppose reunification of Sand-dwellers.”

Aizshuss stopped in front of her, abruptly folding himself up and squatting down. Eyes swirling rapidly as they adapted to the nearer field of vision, he leaned toward her, exuding an even stronger scent of outrage as his mandibles began to move more rapidly.

“Hunter for intelligence, among other qualities, was chosen. Much we wished hidden has he pieced together due to null zones.”

Azwokkus let loose a sudden burst of humming that rose rapidly in pitch until it passed out of her audible range. The effect on Aizshuss was instantaneous. Rocking backward on his feet, he almost overbalanced, then, recovering, turned to face him. A brief exchange followed, punctuated by competing scents, brought to an end only by the intervention of Shvosi.

“Enough!” she said, trotting across to them, side-swiping Aizshuss as she passed. Then she butted her head into Azwokkus. “Isolationists we fight, not each other!” she snarled as both the TeLaxaudin, limbs flailing, tried to pick themselves up. “Laugh at us they would if Unity not excluded from here. Kuvaa young, learning Camarilla ways—bad examples not needed from our leaders!”

Aizshuss stiffened, then inclined his head toward both Shvosi and Kuvaa, his draperies flicking slightly as the outraged scent was changed to one of almost neutrality. “Apologies. Age forgets how learning takes time.”

“Apologies,” Azwokkus hummed gently, accepting Kuvaa’s hand to pull him upright on the yielding cushions.

Thank you,
she sent, knowing his embedded devices would allow him to pick her up through the physical contact.

Did not I tell you we respect your physical strength?
he replied with a trace of humor.

“Our weapon against M’zull, the Hunter is,” said Aizshuss, his tone this time more even. “I explain. If Hkairass not convinced us the Hunter’s psi abilities and emotions destroyed by torture and implant, Reformists would not agree to return his abilities and enhance them. This, even though best hope that way lay of preventing reunification. Enhancing made him our weapon, gave him abilities greater than any Hunter before. Risk is ...”

“He discovers what Camarilla have done,” finished Shvosi.

“But we did good,” said Kuvaa, confused as she looked from one to the other of her three mentors.

“Some,” said Azwokkus, mandibles quivering. “Not good trying to force mind Link to Sand-dweller female. Object he might to new abilities, Sand-dweller implants ...”

“Our monitoring of him,” added Shvosi. “That he did notice, once.”

“Twice,” corrected Kuvaa, beginning to understand. “He seeks us, not stopping Sand-dweller reunification. He needs direction, to forget what he has uncovered.”

“Exactly,” agreed Azwokkus. “Isolationists’ policy exposed us to discovery because we losing control of him.”

“If we ever had it,” sniffed Shvosi pessimistically.

“If we ever had it,” agreed Aizshuss. “Now best chance of diverting him is through his family. Hkairass’ party miscalculated. We correct it; ascendancy to main party is ours. We shape future with more concerns for nexuses.”

“We fail ...” Kuvaa stopped, shuddering at the thought of what could result.

“We not fail,” Azwokkus hummed. “Through him, we reach his family, control them if not him.”

“But potentialities not obvious,” she objected. “All in flux now.”

“Because he remembers. Stop memories, flux settles, our way is clearer again.”

“And Humans? Where they fit into this?”

The other three exchanged glances.

“They don’t,” said Shvosi quietly. “Until recently, they were nothing to us.”

“Red Leader to Command. Cargo acquired. Rejoining unit now.”

“Acknowledged,” said Kezule, watching the
Mazzu
with its trail of small meteorites head slowly toward where the
M’zayik
was herding a now sizable collection of floating debris.

It had been a slow and boring task, not without its dangers. The
M’zayik
had managed to get itself holed, and only the quick actions of its crew had avoided loss of life. Now, floating well outside the influence of any stellar bodies, they were finally ready to mine the largest three.

As he watched, the
M’zayik
activated its beam, pushing a group of rocks into slightly closer proximity to the main group. The large ones hung motionless toward the rear. Even with explosives buried deep inside them, they posed a deadly threat to K’oish’ik. If they got too close before they were detonated, the resulting debris would rain down upon the helpless inhabitants. He intended to make sure that could not happen.

“Ready for stage four, Command,” said his Comm officer.

“Initiate,” he said, checking the clock. They were still slightly ahead of schedule. “Tell them to take their time. I want no casualties. We have ten hours left before rendezvous.”

Huddled on the rock floor near the center of his prison, Vartra sensed their presence outside the confines of the opaque force field within which he was being held. Curled around himself, his tail wrapped across his limbs, he’d tried to keep warm during the long night, but the rock had slowly leached all heat from him. He was unclothed, plucked as he had been from Kuushoi’s bed, he knew not how long ago. There was no way for him to reckon time here. He only assumed that it had been night because they’d left him alone for so long.

Well, Hunter priest, willing to cooperate with us now, are you?
The sharp thoughts of his main captor stabbed through his mind like a knife, starting up the headache again.

“No finesse,” he muttered to himself. “Just savages.”

Feed him, give him blankets,
sent the other, its thoughts less abrasive.
No use him expiring of cold and hunger. These Sholan Entities are as weak as I said they were.

Two folded blankets suddenly landed on top of him, and a tray of food slid across the floor toward him from the edge of the “field.”

He lay there, too stiff and cold to move.

He stirred, slowly uncurling, dislodging the blankets. Reaching for one, he pulled himself onto it, breaking his contact with the icy floor. The other he tugged closer, then, clumsy and stiff, he opened it up and managed to wrap it around his shoulders.

You demanded food,
said the other.
Eat.

Staggering to his feet, he clutched his blanket tightly and took the few steps to the tray. Lifting it up in one shaking hand, he backed off back to his place, almost falling down on the other blanket. He picked up the bowl, moving aside the green leafed plants to find the fruit and clusters of grains below. It might be long enough before he was given any more food, better to fill his belly now.

Picking up a cluster, he put it in his mouth, spitting it out as soon as he saw what lay beneath it.

“Bugs! I don’t eat bugs,” he snarled, throwing the bowl aside.

“That’s jegget food! We eat real meat, from animals, not bugs!” he snapped. “You call me a Hunter? Well, that’s what we do, hunt meat.” He bared his teeth in a feral snarl, looking around his prison so no matter where they were they would see it.

“Rodents on Shola.”

He reached for the bulb-shaped container of liquid on the tray, almost afraid to find out what it contained, but his thirst was worse than his hunger right now, and that in itself was strange. Normally he needed to eat and drink only occasionally.

He took the top off and squirted some of the liquid into his hand, sniffing it.

Fruit juice,
sent the gentler mind.
Nothing more.

Faintly, at the edges of his senses, he almost heard them arguing mentally with each other. He dipped his tongue in the liquid in his palm; it was indeed fruit juice, sharp and refreshing, and he drank thirstily.

A plate suddenly slid across the floor, coming to rest against his foot. So they could see him clearly, and the force field was definitely only one way, designed to keep him in. He glanced at the plate. This time it held a chunk of cold meat and a large piece of bread.

He shuddered as he picked up the plate and began devouring the meat and bread, dreading what he knew was to come.

All too soon, his meager meal was finished. As he laid his plate aside, the now familiar pain lanced through his already aching head, felling him to the floor in agony.

Tell us about the Hunter,
said the harsh mind as it began peeling away his mental defenses a layer at a time.
Tell us his nature. Many follow him—who does he look to? Who influences him?

He could barely think, the pain was so intense, but he retained just enough control to start pulling his consciousness deeper into himself.

No! I’ll tell you nothing,
he sent. But his deeper self was crying,
Goddess, Ghyakulla, where are you when I need you? Help me!

“
Venture II
to
Rryuk’s Profit
. Requesting permission to approach for docking,” said Kusac, slowing the
Venture
until, their velocities matching, he was trailing the
Profit
.

“
Profit
to
Venture
, permission granted. We’ve rigged up a temporary docking ring on the dorsal surface—can’t miss it, it’s lit up like a festival tree. Once you’re docked, we’ll engage the electromagnets and a force field to keep you in place.”

“Affirmative,” he replied, frowning briefly. The voice, and the accented Sholan with its almost perfect pronunciation, was vaguely familiar. He shrugged it off—a coincidence, nothing more, caused by the fact the ship had once been Tirak’s—and concentrated on moving into a tight trail position. “Be advised we have docking clamps on the exterior of our vessel.”

“We copy that,
Venture
,” said the
Profit
.

“Taking over comm, Captain,” said M’kou quietly.

“Acknowledged.”

“Two thousand feet and closing,” said Banner, beginning to count the distance down for him.

The rear of the
Profit
was starting to fill their forward view. Senses strained to the utmost, he began to gradually increase the speed—too close and they’d end up a fireball.

“Fifteen hundred.”

Soon . . . but not yet, his instincts told him.

“One thousand.”

Not yet ...

He felt as if he could reach out and touch the
Profit—
he could certainly feel the life-forces of those inside her.

“Nine hundred.”

He could sense the
Venture
all around him, humming as if she were alive. She? Why she, part of his mind wondered.