Dark Nadir Page 18

  “Yes,” he croaked, his mouth suddenly dry with fear.

  “A nourishment unit is supplied. You will eat and drink what is provided. There will be no more raw food. This is a designated rest period. You will eat and sleep for the next ten hours.” With that, he was left alone, the door sealed and locked.

  * * *

  The suite was large, meant for six if the number of bed units was an accurate guide. There were two main rooms—a lounging area and the sleeping one, as well as bathing facilities. He found a small pile of leisure items—games and reading material—from the M’ijikk in one of the beds, and a change of his own clothing. He’d been expected, like the Sholans.

  His stomach growled, reminding him it was many hours since he’d last eaten, and he went to investigate the nourishment unit. He’d gone beyond fear now, and was working on autopilot.

  The unit had been relabeled in his own language, just as when he’d been alone with them, his captors had communicated with him in Valtegan. The food, however, was alien and cooked, and included items labeled: Meat with green plants; Meat with liquid and green plants 1; sweet, sweet with liquid 1. Drinks were no better. He chose meat without liquid and a drink of plain water.

  The food arrived hot and steaming gently. The smell turned his stomach, but mindful of the warning of his host, he took it over to the table and began to cut it up with the provided cutlery. The knife was so soft that it barely sliced through the meat and the pronged thing he gave up on, using his fingers instead. At least the meat was still pink inside and hadn’t been cooked all the way through.

  It lay in his stomach like an inert lump, making him feel bloated and uncomfortable. The water did little to help digest it and he got up to investigate the unit again. Perhaps there was something listed that would ease his discomfort. He staggered a little, catching hold of a chair back to keep his balance. He felt weak. This cooked food just didn’t agree with him.

  Trial and error produced a brew that though warm, had a vaguely familiar taste to it. As the warmth spread through him, it began to ease the pain in his belly. He headed toward one of the padded chairs this time, lowering himself into it with relief. Eating cooked food might give him a pain in the gut, but if it kept him from the culling he’d just witnessed, then it was a small price to pay. He took a large mouthful of the drink, his thoughts turning to Mzayb’ik, wondering how he’d fared. Had he been one of those who’d stood by the general? Likely. Mzayb’ik wasn’t a true opportunist like him. He had too much of a sense of loyalty, which got you nowhere at the end of the day. Lifting the small bowl, J’koshuk took another sip of what he assumed was an herbal tea, then rested his head against the back of the chair and yawned. All he had to do was follow their rules—for now at least. There had to be a chance for advancement if the Primes intended to keep them all captive. Whatever their ultimate purpose and destination, he would do well to be indispensable long before they arrived at it. It was what his caste were best at, after all. Surviving.

  * * *

  “The Cabbarans won’t like this,” said Sheeowl, pushing her food about her plate with the bendable fork. “It’s mostly meat, and half raw!”

  “They’ll like the vegetables, though,” said Giyesh. “Nice and crunchy.”

  “Mine’s all right,” said Kate. “You need to change the settings, that’s all. I put them on high and the meat’s cooked right through.”

  “Could be worse, could be raw meat,” observed T’Chebbi, munching contentedly on her meal. “Wonder what they gave the Valtegans.”

  “You realize that the food could be drugged,” said Tirak, eyeing a chunk of meat he’d finally managed to impale on his fork.

  Kaid had already finished. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m not eating much and only drinking water from the faucet. Even if it is, we don’t exactly have an option, but we’ll have an idea of what it does.”

  “At least they gave us our own food and drink replicator,” said Jeran.

  “I think I’ll follow your example,” said Tirak, pushing his half finished meal aside.

  “Nothing is free. It’s the price they’ll ask for all this that worries me,” muttered Tallis.

  “There’s no point in worrying about that now,” said Tirak, getting up from the table. “I’m convinced that these are the Valtegans’ enemy. Kaid, a word if you will.”

  Kaid joined him on the couch farthest from the others.

  “We need to work together on this. My priority is escaping. What’s yours?” asked Tirak.

  “The same, or getting a message out to my people telling them what happened.”

  Tirak nodded. “So far, so good. Have you any thoughts on how we’ll accomplish this?”

  “None yet. We’re not far from the flight deck, that’s a plus. The corridors were deserted but we don’t know where in their daily cycle we are. It could be their night for all we know.”

  “It might have been deserted, but you can be sure they’ve got us and the corridors under surveillance. They know too damned much about us for my liking.”

  “I wonder if they found out about us before they took the M’ijikk, or after. They could have been pacing it, waiting for an opportunity to attack.”

  “Some attack! Not a shot fired, we were all out cold on the deck!” snorted Tirak. “They must have been on top of us by the time that alarm went off. Why didn’t M’ezozakk spot it? Not much you can do to defend yourself against that type of technology. And how the hell did they get our craft into their hangar?”

  “Possibly some kind of beam, maybe magnetic. We’ve certainly nothing like it. If we do get back to your ship, we’ll have that to contend with when we try to escape. But our first step is to get out of these rooms, and stay out long enough to board the Profit. For that we need some of those suits, enough of them to look like a party of guards escorting the prisoners.”

  “They wouldn’t be taking them back down to the flight deck.”

  “Perhaps they want information from the ship’s computer, or if I’m right and the elevator’s next to their sick bay, maybe they’re escorting them there for a medical.”

  “Rezac had medical attention. Perhaps he remembers where he was taken,” Tirak observed. “Jo’s unlikely to have been aware of anything much.”

  Kaid shook his head. “He said something about a medic treating him in the hold. I don’t think he’ll be able to tell us much.”

  “Worth a try. So for now, we observe.”

  “We observe their routines, listen to noise levels outside, and look for opportunities to escape. We let them relax, think we’re afraid to try anything. One day, they’re bound to make that one slip of attention that’ll give us our opportunity to escape.”

  “Agreed. Tell me, Kaid. Why d’you launch the cryo units?”

  “M’ezozakk would have recognized them from Keiss,” he said. “It was their best chance for survival.”

  “And now? Will you tell these aliens they’re out there?”

  “I can’t. We don’t know how safe we are. At least out there, they have a good chance of getting picked up by our people when they come looking for us.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” said Tirak, getting up.

  Kaid leaned against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep, to forget the happenings of the past few hours for a little time at least.

  * * *

  Brynne had been told to report to Vartra’s Retreat when his Link day with Vanna was over. He was discovering it was quite different from Stronghold. Its emphasis was on the religious side and though there was a gym, it was not part of his schedule. He was taking a private condensed course on the cults of Vartra and Ghyakulla and religious meditation techniques. Interesting as it was, it had more of the feel of history lessons about it than anything else.

  His time was divided between there and Stronghold, where the physical side of his training continued, mainly with Jurrel as a tutor and sparring partner. His meetings with Kha’Qwa were part
of his schedule, but as to what their purpose was, he wasn’t certain. Discussions on social studies and current events were mainly what they talked about. But he did enjoy his visits with her.

  The need for Link days with Vanna was diminishing as her pregnancy advanced, so he was free to stay longer. This, coupled with the fact that it was difficult for him to remain isolated from the Sholan community because it was all there was, meant he was having to make the effort to fit in for the first time.

  “Is this actually a religious establishment?” he asked of Jurrel as they made their way from the refectory to one of the smaller common rooms.

  Jurrel gave him a curious look. “Tell me how you think it should be,” he said.

  “I always associated retreats with people getting away from it, taking a break from the outside world—no comm units, no broadcasts and newsvids, just peace and quiet and prayer.”

  “We have that, but of course,” he said with a slow, open-mouthed smile, “we don’t disturb them.”

  “What about the priests or priestesses coming here to shut out the outside world totally and just pray or study?”

  “There are those,” Jurrel agreed. “But they tend to live at shrines and come here only for study. We have a wonderful library of ancient texts and prophecies.”

  “What about the self-denial? The living in poverty, working the land, and so on?”

  “Oh, we have people who do that, too, but not in our Order unless they’ve retired. The Brotherhood dues you pay also go to the upkeep of land where we can retire when we’re no longer able for active service either as a priest or a warrior. Remember, Brynne, that Vartra is a God of Warriors, too. As for asceticism, why not enjoy good food? One can always fast if need be.” He stopped, holding Brynne back at the door to the lounge. “It would be easier for you if you stopped trying to find a Terran comparison for everything when one doesn’t always exist. Just be one with us, enjoy our world.” He let him go and pushed the door open. “And our good food,” he grinned, mouth opening widely.

  * * *

  The beast was exhausted, they’d have to make a stop. Clenching his fists in the crest of hair down its spine, he jerked back sharply, causing it to lift its neck and snort. Its headlong flight began to slow gradually and by the time it was walking, sides heaving and sweating, he was able to bring it to a halt. Sliding down, he kept one hand firmly wound in the mane.

  Leaning heavily on his mount, he continued limping toward the distant mountains. There hadn’t been any sign of pursuit yet. The false trail he’d cast must have worked. Now it was time to find a safe place for them to hide out for a day or two so he could rest up and let his wounds heal a little more.

  He winced as his foot turned on a stone, pulling at the swelling on his leg. He’d have to clean it again when they stopped. No matter what he did, he just couldn’t seem to get out all the poison. A couple of days and it was as bad as before. Worse, if he was being honest with himself. The swelling kept growing larger and his fever was barely kept in check by the plants he’d eaten and chewed up to use as a poultice. Living rough and having to be constantly on the move didn’t help at all.

  Water wasn’t far off, he could smell it now. Having grown up in the city, he knew nothing about herbs and plants, but somehow he’d known instinctively what to look for. He tried to think of home, but it sent a sharp pain through his head. Shaking it, he stumbled on. Didn’t do to think about the past. The future mattered now, getting up into the mountains so he could find that place he kept seeing in his dreams. The place with the sweet smelling tree.

  He’d have to hunt for food for both of them. The beast was so domesticated it wouldn’t know how to go about finding prey in the wild. Suddenly he found himself falling as a root grabbed at his foot. The ground rushed up to meet him, knocking the breath from his lungs as he measured his length. How long he lay there, he’d no idea but gradually was aware of the beast tugging at his hair, lipping at his face with a tongue that felt like a piece of thick, wet sandpaper.

  “Yeah, I’m awake again,” he mumbled, trying to push himself up, but he was too weak to stand this time. He lay there, smelling the dampness in the soil, feeling the chill air on his pelt, wondering if he’d finally reached the end of his endurance. The beast snorted and nosed something wet and bloody into his face.

  “What the . . .” He put out a hand to investigate and found the carcass of a fish. He began to laugh.

  * * *

  He was being shaken quite forcefully, Brynne realized as he surfaced from sleep. “What the hell are you doing?” he mumbled, flailing at the hands. “Get off me, Jurrel!”

  The shaking stopped and he pushed himself up from the tangle of soaking sheets. His hair was plastered damply across his face and eyes. Reaching up, he pushed it aside then scrubbed at his beard and mustache. Jurrel was squatting on the bed near his feet.

  “Woke you again, huh? Sorry,” he mumbled, beginning to unwrap himself from his damp bedding. “What was I doing this time?”

  “Laughing. Don’t tell me, you were watching performing jeggets,” said Jurrel dryly. “I think you owe me a decent explanation this time, Brynne. And don’t tell me you just saw animals because I don’t believe you!”

  “I told you, it’s nothing,” he said, getting up and heading for the bathing room.

  Jurrel launched himself off the bed, grabbing him by the arm. Brynne pulled away angrily. “Don’t touch me!” he said, his voice almost a snarl. “I’m a telepath, I can’t stand to be touched when this happens!”

  Jurrel took a step backward, hands held outstretched to show he meant no threat. “Brynne, you have to talk about it. You can’t let this keep on happening without telling someone! You need help.”

  “I need a shower,” Brynne retorted, continuing into the bathing room. He stepped into the cubicle and turned on the water. He wanted to be left alone, nothing more, but Jurrel always stuck with him like he’d been glued on. They might be afraid something would happen to him during one of these visions, but each one scared the crap out of him.

  Sighing, he reached out for the container of soap. It wasn’t there. Dashing the water from his eyes, he continued to fumble on the small shelf where it usually lived.

  “I have it,” said Jurrel quietly from behind him. “I left it out when I showered earlier. Would you like me to help? If you won’t talk, then perhaps I can relax you by washing you.”

  Human reactions fought with Sholan ones as, water sluicing down his body, he stared at Jurrel. He didn’t know how to respond. He’d shared showers before, but not with males of either species—not this intimately. He snatched the bottle from Jurrel’s hand. “I’ll do it myself,” he snapped, turning his back pointedly on him as his world suddenly exploded into a room of blinding lights, white tiles, pain, and someone else’s absolute terror.

  * * *

  His head hurt and when he tried to move, he felt sick.

  “Be still,” said Jurrel’s calm voice from beside his ear. “You fell and hit your head.”

  “My side,” he mumbled, trying to move his hand down to feel himself. “I hurt it, too.”

  “Your side is fine. I caught you. You hit your head on the wall as you fell.”

  “Must see,” he said, forcing his head off the tiled floor. The room swayed and spun around him and he had to swallow hard to stop himself from throwing up. He felt himself being supported into a sitting position.

  “You’re as obstinate as any Sholan,” Jurrel complained, wrapping a towel around his shoulders as Brynne looked down at his side.

  “Nothing!” he said in shock, pulling at his naked flesh. “Not a mark!”

  “I did tell you,” his companion said quietly, beginning to rub him gently with the towel.

  “I felt it, Jurrel—a burning pain in my side, just over the ribs.” He looked up at him, confused.

  “What did you see?”

  “A room, lights and—tiles,” he said, glancing down at the tiled floor beneath him.

/>   “Visions are strange things. Some are just snatches of scenes you never see any more of, some are events that might be happening, or might be to come in the future. Sometimes you never know what they are,” he said, putting a hand under Brynne’s chin and turning his face so he could look into his eyes. “Follow my finger.”

  Shivering, he did as he was asked, then clutched the large towel closer. Jurrel got up and went for another.

  “You’ve got a mild concussion, no more. We have people who know how to make sense of visions. If you’ll tell no one what you see, how can we help you?”

  “What is it with this world? This kind of thing doesn’t happen back on Earth,” he said as Jurrel helped him stand. Nausea swept through him again and he had to clutch at the Sholan to stop himself from falling over.

  “How do you know? Until we came, your people didn’t even believe in telepathy and your gift was considered a freak and unstable,” he said calmly, leading him back through to the bedroom and sitting him down on his own bed.

  Leaving him there, he went for Brynne’s toweling robe and helped him into it, tying the belt round his waist before pulling the covers over him.

  “I’m going to fetch fresh sheets,” he said, turning to leave.

  “It’s a journey,” said Brynne, lying back against the pillows that smelled acutely of damp Jurrel. “I’m seeing someone on a journey.”

  Jurrel squatted down on the floor beside him. “Who? Do you know who it is?”

  “No. In the dreams it’s always happening to me.”

  “Can you tell where you’re going?”

  “There was forest at first, now it’s plains. I always travel at night to avoid being caught. I had a riding beast this time.”

  “Is it sequential? Do you pick up where you leave off?”

  “No. I’ve traveled in between each dream. In this one I’d stolen the beast perhaps the day before. I’m injured, I know that.”

  “In the side?”

  “Yes, but the worst one is on my leg. I have a fever.”

  “Can you recognize any of the landscape?”

  Brynne began to shake his head then moaned as he regretted it. Jurrel reached out to touch his forehead, brushing aside the forelock that had fallen across his eyes.