"Why are you so protective of him, Kaid?" she asked, too emotionally and physically exhausted to care any more. "Are you his father? Did you go back too soon?"

  Kaid looked startled. "Of course not. What gave you that idea?"

  "You're so alike. Jo noticed it."

  "You've got an active imagination," he said, moving away.

  She watched him as he walked back to the table. There was something about him, something in the way he moved, held himself, that reminded her so strongly of Rezac— but she was too tired to think it through. Sleep sounded like a wonderful idea. She pushed herself up from the table and made her way through to the room she'd been allocated.

  Lifting off the folded cover first, she flopped down into the giant pillow-shaped bed. Almost instantly, it molded itself to her shape with a fluidity that was quite unnerving. And it was warm against her pelt, almost as if it was alive. She was too damned tired to even care if it ate her while she slept. At least she'd know nothing about it and it would mean an end to her troubles.

  * * *

  J'koshuk stood at the back of the room watching the wide screen. He had to peer around the group of three gray-robed figures, but he could see enough to know he wanted to remain where he was, at the back, and hopefully inconspicuous. They were watching the crew of the M'ijikk. They had been placed in a large, sparsely furnished open room. A dozen tables and benches were all the comforts they had. At one end, a partition had just been drawn back, revealing the cages of their food animals. The doors were triggered open and the terrified animals leaped out and scattered among the Valtegans.

  After the initial stunned reaction, chaos quickly followed as people dived in every direction in an effort to catch them. J'koshuk groaned inwardly as he watched the partition close, preventing them from recaging the creatures. Didn't the Primes realize what they were doing? The presence of the Sholans had set everyone's aggression level sky high, then they'd been taken captive without the opportunity to retaliate. Now this. It wouldn't be long before so much fresh blood and raw meat would send his people over the edge. Then they'd turn on each other.

  A calmness descended on him as he realized the Primes knew exactly what they were doing. What better way to reduce the number of captives and make sure those they retained were the best of their kind? One island of relative calm remained; those surrounding the general.

  It was silent— neither the robed ones nor the guards were communicating verbally between themselves in a way he could hear, and no sound penetrated from the room beyond. It was a stark contrast to the scene they were watching and sent a chill through him.

  A hand closed on his arm and he yelped in shock. It was the guard beside him. Silently he followed one of the gray ones out into the corridor, then into a room opposite.

  "These are your quarters. When you are not required, you will stay here. Your collar monitors your movements at all times. When we need you, there will be a pulse against your neck like this."

  Against his throat, he felt a sudden firm pressure that was gone almost instantly.

  "The door will be opened and you will be able to leave. You will come to the room we just left. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "If you prove dependable and worthy of trust, you will be allowed the freedom to leave this room when you finish performing your daily tasks. If you transgress, you will be punished and your freedom revoked. Should you transgress a second time, you will join the next culling. Is that understood?"

  "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, openmouthed 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."

 

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