Fusion (Crimson Romance) (31 page)

Their support of a doomed allied cause had garnered them nothing. They’d helped that Earth girl get to the bridge when they thought they could outwit D’uhr.

So why had they done it? As the saying often went,
what was in it for them
?

He tried to recall those emotions and thoughts of the fictional Craetorian colonel. The same one who had captured the love of a brave girl. But that man no longer existed.

He snorted in derision.

That man had
never
existed. That doomed creature had been a creation of Aigean’s mind and based upon the characteristics of some fictional hero. That persona had been created so Aigean’s crew would see a chance at survival and put off their attempts to mutiny. She had no control over them any longer and now feared their refusal to obey would get her killed. She already blamed and hated D’uhr for the destruction of her home, so she’d created a myth her employees could believe in, and a way to strike back at a Condorian she hated. Her actions were born of deceit and sedition, not the common good of her crew.

As he saw it, there were no men or women who were heroes. The Condorians were creating the only reality that would last. He’d tried to convince people on Craetoria to reunite their race with the Condorian Empire and make the Volan whole again. But they’d insanely embraced some altruistic future to which only fools aspire. They’d clung like children to a vision called hope when the only hope anyone had was what they could bribe, pander, or blackmail out of someone else. And if he must be the sex-toy dog of a petty tyrant, then so be it. He would survive where others would not. And whatever dreams these so-called allies had of a better future would die with them.

He was a survivor and a realist.

As they progressed through the passageways and finally exited the vessel through the cargo bay, Soldar witnessed hundreds of crewmembers and fully armed Condorian soldiers assimilating outside the Venus. In the blowing red dirt of Reisen Four, the crew was slowly being lined up against the hull of the ship. D’uhr’s men were arming their weapons.

The last time he checked, it was well after midnight. The light was so poor that it was difficult to see at first but his eyesight quickly adjusted.

Even the sickest among the Condorians seemed present, regardless of whether they even knew what was transpiring. Just as Fornax ordered, his men had dragged hacking and coughing Condorians out on stretchers or hover platforms. They’d even been tossed on the ground.

If there was any truth to the theory that Aigean or her crew had dosed Condorians with sleeping potion, Fornax’s men would assume those Condorians in semi-conscious states were ill, not intentionally drugged.

Soldar said nothing about the matter. Aigean had lied about everything so there probably never was any such sleeping concoction at all. Mentioning it now would only rekindle Fornax’s suspicions, and he was tired of fighting them off. Besides, what did the knowledge of such goings on matter? Aside from him, everyone who wasn’t a Condorian was about to die.

As he stood there watching the crew cling to one another, he wondered why they had not done as Aigean had once suggested and poisoned the enemy. Perhaps she’d talked them out of it until she could first see D’uhr writhing in agony by her own hands. Or maybe she convinced them such actions would bring catastrophic results.

False belief in her wisdom or fear of Condorian wrath notwithstanding, look where inaction had gotten all these servants. Knowing they would never be allowed to survive and spread tales of D’uhr’s hidden sanctuary, they’d have been better off ignoring Aigean’s role in their lives and fighting in any way they could.

But then that one, deceptive little concept always surfaced. He surmised the crew had been consumed with
hope
. Perhaps they’d sadly mused over a method for escape, or considered a way for rescue from the Allied Forces.

He shook his head in wonder. As on many occasions, he felt sorry for those who harbored faith. Faith made people wait too long. Faith required people to believe in miracles and accept inaction versus taking charge of a situation. As always, hope got no one anything. Only playing one’s cards the right way meant survival.

Pity was the only emotion he could muster on their behalf.

He strode to a nearby rock. The wind picked up and he wanted to block as much of the blowing red dirt as he could.

At least the hull of the Venus provided the doomed with some measure of protection. While he didn’t really care, he found no amusement in making them uncomfortable. The Condorian guards and officers still well enough to participate in the upcoming slaughter saw this as a perfect opportunity to belittle the helpless. They faced the ill-fated men and women of the Venus and yelled nasty insults.

For all the groveling the employees of the Venus had done, and all the service offered, the Condorians were showing no compassion except for a quick end. In fact, all the servants’ crying, hugging, and heartfelt wishes to meet in the afterlife seemed to only enrage D’uhr’s men. If those wretched souls would just shut up and stand still, the guards might leave them alone. They could meet their respective makers that much faster.

He sighed and glanced away. It was all so depressing, really. Life aboard D’uhr’s command ship wouldn’t be so pleasurable. But he’d be alive and away from Craetorians who’d pursue him into eternity.

A guard walked by him and spit up blood. Soldar backed away so none of it would land on his boots.

There was no denying some illness was eating away at the Condorian contention. Men among the ranks were actually doubled over in pain. Even in the dim light he saw how the mottling on their skin gave way to rotting flesh. D’uhr, Fornax, and many of the others hadn’t yet displayed
that
putrid symptom.

Then his mind raced ahead. How was he supposed to entertain his benefactor if such loathsome sores developed? The mottling, red rings on D’uhr’s body were bad enough but this new development was disgusting.

Perhaps he’d be relegated to consuming more alcohol or imbibing drugs as some of D’uhr’s men did. In his case, he had no symptoms to alleviate but being smashed would be one way to get through the night while a festering egomaniac laid next to him.

He grimaced and shuddered at the thought. What was he to do now? What if the rest of the men on D’uhr’s command vessel were in this state? He’d get through this wretched day then consider options. All he had to do was stay healthy. Take one day at a time.

Sounds of weapons being primed dragged his mind back to the present. It seemed more people had been lined up against the hull while he reflected. As he took in the numbers a guard began passing out more ammunition.

It was going to take a lot to kill all those souls. In fact, there seemed to be more of them standing than guards. At that moment, he wondered why the fools didn’t rush the Condorians. It was a strange thought since he was more inclined to suggest barter than hostility. He rubbed his temple when a dull throb began to make its way forward, from behind his eyes.

Familiar voices filtered to his location. He saw D’uhr watching Fornax, and caught an exalted look of triumph and pride on the admiral’s face. Even in the haze of blowing red dust, that haughty expression couldn’t be mistaken.

Creator’s blood, they were taking their time! Why didn’t they just get on with the massacre? He fully expected the Condorians would scavenge for anything that might be hidden within clothing. Rings, ornaments, and baubles from another life, or a home left far away, would be looted. Even corpses of those suspected of swallowing goods would be opened. No one was going to bury the dead. Bodies would be left to rot. But if they’d just get it over with, they could leave this horrible place.

Again, he came back to the same harsh conclusion. If this was the so-called hope that allied planets of the galaxy bought, with blood as the price, he wanted no part of it.

His attention was suddenly captured by a tall, matronly figure in a black robe. There was no mistaking the Elderian who’d cause so much trouble. Aigean Florn stood in the dusty swirls with her head held high, looking into the distance. Her bearing was inappropriately regal as poor, clueless Gentis clung to the very mistress who would have sold her out for revenge.

He shook his head in disgust. They all might still be inside pleasuring themselves if Aigean hadn’t tried to screw with his head and make him shape shift at some opportune moment. He assumed her crew didn’t know what she’d done or they wouldn’t get near her. He considered telling them just to see if they’d finally gather the courage to fight. But again, they’d waited too late. Their circumstances left them no other options now.

Aigean’s appearance reminded him how close to death he’d been. All because she couldn’t do her own dirty work.

Oddly, he couldn’t remember when she was supposed to have put the order to kill D’uhr in his head. But D’uhr and Fornax assured him that was exactly what happened. The Elderian had admitted to it, or so he was told.

On that night when he believed he was undercover with the girl known as Lyra Markham, he knew he’d shifted then. He’d actually felt it happen. Perhaps
that
was when he was supposed to do the deed, and something had gone wrong. He lifted his gaze and glared at the Elderian. But for his talent in convincing D’uhr he was no assassin, he’d be standing against that hull with all these other poor creatures, or
worse
. To add insult to injury, his sleeping late with D’uhr had kept the woman from being tortured. And while he wouldn’t wish this treatment on any of the others, Aigean had earned it.

Some of the fated crew noted his presence and began to watch him. He shifted his gaze from Aigean and stared back at them. This small group of blue-robed servants and nearly nude prostitutes whispered to each other. Even in the haze he caught a very unexpected expression on their faces.

Was it disappointment?

He quickly looked away.

There was nothing he could do or say to change their plight and he heartily wished they wouldn’t stare. How dare they even silently offer their shame for
him
?

D’uhr shouted out last minute orders.

Fornax approached and Soldar sighed heavily. Would he never be rid of that little by-blow from a contracted breeder?

“You show little concern over the impending demise of all these people, Soldar. Are you not even the least bit distressed?” Fornax asked as he nodded toward the Venus’ crew.

“Why should I be? I’m on this side of the line,” he quipped.

Fornax smiled cruelly and nodded at the gest. “There will come a day when my father tires of you. And there will be a time when your resemblance to and association with Aercos slips away,” he said as he looked Soldar over with contempt. “When that day comes, you’ll be where the crew of the Venus is now. And it will be me on the butt-end of a laser-photon rifle.”

Soldar moved very close to the smaller man. “Until that day arrives, I suggest you get on with your duties and quit inflicting me with your presence. You’re covered in dust, you smell like the bottom of a sewer, and you’re downwind.”

Whatever else they might have said filtered away in the dust-filled air.

Both men turned when a group of Condorian guards dragged, rolled, and pushed some crewmembers out a side hatch. These new additions to the doomed had apparently been unaccounted for and only located now, as the ship was thoroughly searched.

Accompanying these newly found crewmembers was a tall, attractive woman with short blonde hair. She knelt down to help those with her as they fell to the ground. It seemed some were ill and Soldar suddenly feared the sickness
had
spread to the rest of the crew. If that was true, he could be infected.

Before he could contemplate the matter, several of D’uhr’s guards approached these new employees. They’d obviously been hiding, and the fact they’d done so enraged the guards. He quickly backed up when Condorians began shouting and pointing. The robes of some of these newly located servants were removed.

D’uhr lunged forward and cursed loudly in his native tongue. He raised his fists into the air in a show of absolute rage. Then he opened his hands and placed his palms on his bald head. It was as if he’d momentarily lost reason.

Soldar’s attention was drawn to the dusty melee. He saw what had angered the entire Condorian contingent.

These newly located servants weren’t sick, they were injured. Their wounds had been bound to stem the flow of blood. The white bandaging around their limbs and torsos almost glowed in the half light and the red dust.

Some of these injured helped others stand. The blonde woman seemed intent on remaining with them. He hadn’t recalled ever seeing her before. Surely he’d have remembered such a beauty. It seemed she was no prostitute. She wore the same robes which delineated Aigean’s staff from the sex givers.

At that moment, a tall, slender figure sprang toward the injured and tried to ward off the guards who were kicking and beating them.

Lyra.

He automatically took several steps forward but stopped, glancing quickly around to see if anyone noticed his movement. Seeing that no one paid the slightest attention to him now, he put his attention on the Earth girl once more.

Lyra’s face was a mask of bruised and swollen flesh. There was no mistaking the evidence of some guard’s brutality. Thankfully, her clothing remained intact. D’uhr might have kept his word about no raping. But there’d never been anything mentioned about no beating.

He noted how she and the blonde woman embraced each other when they met. The two women put their bodies between the guards and those they protected. D’uhr called his men back, and the newly found occupants of the Venus were also pushed against the hull, along with the servants. It seemed Aigean’s people wanted to protect these newly discovered comrades every bit as much as Lyra and her blonde friend. This was the first time he’d seen any sign of gumption among the Venus’ crew.

At a loss as to what had just happened, he turned to the Condorians. D’uhr approached and his eyes were wild with ire. The irrational glaze in them reminded Soldar of a crazed animal.