Legend Beyond The Stars (29 page)

He hurried forward, leaving Alana standing transfixed as if her body was a lump of petrified wood. Her head whirled. Atolo’s words echoed round and round inside her mind.

In the distance she heard the sound of bolts being drawn back as black anticipation sucked her soul into a void of horror.

No, please don’t let it be what I think it is
. She thought of the other women, thought of all they had been through. She wanted to scream out her rage until she could scream no more.

I have to be strong
.

Breathing short shallow breaths, her weary eyes refocussed as she beat the panic back to the furthermost reaches of her mind. She snapped her back straight. This was not going to be good.

Atolo flung open the double doors. He hastened back to her side, his grip on her arm as sharp as pincers. He hauled her forward and bent until his face was level with Alana’s. Emotion had stripped the charming veneer from his features and she shuddered as her gaze clashed with the eyes of a fanatic.

“We have to survive. The Darkon warlords must rise and rule again. We will beat this upstart and all who dared to turn against us will be destroyed. You understand. From the first secton we met, I sensed your intelligence. I could smell your determination to survive. Your will to live. It is strong. You will be a worthy specimen.”

His purple cloak, a sharp contrast with his blindingly white tunic, flared out as he hustled her along the wide aisle, pointing out with glee and pride the points of interest.

Alana stumbled along, her mind numb, refusing to register the sheer horror of the sights in front of her eyes.

”I have ensured the camp is manned by only those devoted to the traditional values of the Darkon warlords. Here we can carry out our experiments in peace without fear of interruption. We have been close many times but always there has been something, some little factor which has caused us to fail. We were at a standstill. Our research could go no further.” He gave her a cheery grin. “Then our dear boy brought you to us.”

Oh God, no, I won’t believe Tarak could be involved in this crime
.

“I knew as soon as he told us the impotence which had cursed us since the retro virus had been cured, that could mean only one thing. You and the others. You are the missing factor.”

He was dragging her along now, his face alight with a terrible determination—dragging her down the aisle of that awful room with its grotesque occupants.

She swallowed, gathered herself. “It won’t work you know,” Alana said, her voice cracking. “We are not your missing link. Everyone knows stress causes impotence not some stupid virus. Tarak has come to terms with the demise of his race. And once he reached that moment of inner acceptance, wham. No stress. We just happened along at an opportune moment.”

Atolo cast her a look of uncertainty, then shook his head. “No, you are not a student of science. You know nothing of these matters. We will succeed.”

He let go of her arm and rubbed his hands together. “Let me give you a guided tour. I know you are eager to be instructed. Do not waste your time in thinking of means to escape. The voyager you arrived in will now have departed and as our little camp here has been designed to exist independently, there will be no other arrivals until such time as I decree.”

With slow unwilling feet, Alana followed the Darkon warlord as he wove his way past a line of vertical metal casings which were connected to the ceiling by intricate tubing and what she took to be wiring cables. With iron self-control, she gazed unflinchingly at the occupants. She assumed at one stage they were females—of what species though it was hard to tell given the condition of the bodies. Even enveloped in murky fluid she could see how battered their remains were and a red mist of rage boiled through her veins.

She took a hasty step towards the alien to be brought up short by the sight of four warriors suited up for battle striding towards her. The officer shot a suspicious glare at her before conferring with Atolo. The small squad fell back a few paces and waited. Alana took her time memorising their features. If she was granted the opportunity, she would ensure everyone involved in this appalling camp pay for the misery they had inflicted on these defenceless creatures.

She showed her back to the soldiers and asked, “These men wear the insignia and battle dress of king Rajan’s private guard. Tell me Atolo, does that mean this place has his sanction?”

The warlord turned away from his communiqué with his officer to say, “All the royal council are aware of the camp.”

Alana swallowed hard on the bile which burned her throat. She was proud her voice did not quaver when she continued, “And Commander Tarak, does he know too?”

Surprise widened Atolo’s eyes. “Of course. Now we must hurry.” He waved the warrior away. “I am eager to begin. This section here, we have some interesting specimens of our earlier research. Up ahead we have preserved the results of our experiments in more
recent years. As you can see, we had almost reached a stage of achieving an actual embryo. Almost but not quite.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Alana shook her head in violent denial, refusing to accept his words. She saw his mouth moving as he gesticulated with pride at the tiny vulnerable life forms curled up in the familiar foetal position in their lonely tube coffins.

Her body spasmed.

A shudder so profound it almost felled her to the ground wracked through her. The monster’s voice had receded to a thin drone in the background. Alana heard nothing through the roar in her ears. She could barely see as she stretched out a trembling hand and touched the uncaring metal. A bitter wave of revulsion shook her to her core and she struggled for air.

And Tarak knew of this?
Could this be the secret her lover had kept from her? That plus the knowledge her friends and herself were destined for these horrendous research chambers? She thought back over all the times she had sensed he had held something back, something of vital importance. She recalled the eerie atmosphere pervading the Darkons’ city, the grim almost despairing auras that clung to Tarak and his warriors. Deep inside amid the cauldron of horror, doubt and remembered grief, murderous thoughts poisoned her mind.

She jerked her hand from her jailor, lurched to the side and vomited.

Over and over until nothing remained but hollowness.

Emptiness.

She scrubbed at the tears on her face and retched again. She knew she would carry the image of the frail shrivelled body until the end of her days.

Her eyelids were as heavy if they were weighted with bricks and her body felt as if lead was in her veins. She shuddered and realised she huddled on the icy floor. The faint sounds of whimpering were coming from her own throat.

So cold, she was sure she would never be warm again. Her movements slow and jerky her hands scrubbed at her face. She wiped her sleeve under her dripping nose. Only one thing mattered now. Her mouth hardened into a thin line as her brain kicked back into gear.

I’ll kill them
.

All of them
.

Every last Darkon.

And she would save Commander Tarak for last.

Alana rose to her feet. Her expression caused the wary group of soldiers to fall back, their hands hovered over the blasters strapped to their belts. Her gaze met Atolo’s, his face wreathed in smiles.

“Feeling better now?” he queried, his face a picture of concern.

“Much better. Everything is finally … in perspective.” Alana bared her teeth in a parody of friendliness. Behind her she heard the squad move closer, their boots scrunching on the ice. “Any more surprises, Atolo?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately this is the limit of our research. We will begin again.” His voice hardened. “Let us now proceed to the experimental chamber. Do not try to resist, Alana. It will be futile. Bring her. And Gerd, ensure that mess is cleaned up.”

Chin up, shoulders square, Alana followed his brisk figure as he pushed through another set of rounded blast doors. On the threshold she paused, her eyes sweeping the interior taking note of the lack of exits, the number of guards and masked workers. She tried to ignore the terrifying number of empty metal cases, the raised slabs with their array of metal restraints, the machines suspended from the ceiling with their ominous humming.

Across the room huddled a small group of terrified women, amongst them Alana recognised her friends: Jessamine, tall and defiant, Linette rigid, her face as white as the walls behind her and devoid of all expression, the terror on the faces of the younger girls, Tina and Elise.

I’ve failed them
.

I’ve failed all of them
.

The realisation beat a furious tattoo on her brain and ripped with destructive force through her soul. The ‘
whomp, whomp’
sound of hover blades echoed in her head.

“First we will harvest the egg cells from your womb. Then the cells and organs from your body. Finally we will conduct experiments on your brain. Now we will find the hidden link. Now we will be saved!” Atolo clapped his hands together in triumph.

He stood a few metres from her.

Her control vanished.

Alana attacked. She twisted from the waist and in a half crouch slammed into Atolo’s body, knocking him to the ground. Her clenched fist ploughed into his face and she had the satisfaction of feeling the bone giving way under her onslaught. Warm blood splashed over her hand. She grabbed handfuls of his hair, smashing his head into the hard floor. She had her elbow wedged up under his chin, pressing inexorably on his jugular, when a blast of pain jolted through her.

Still she retained her hold.

She thought she could hear the shrill, high screams of women, as if from a great distance.

Another burst of fire seared through her body.

Stars exploded before her eyes and Alana fell into oblivion.

Chapter Fifteen

The Ark cruised through space towards its objective. Soon it would reach the PONR, the event horizon at the very edge of the Karton Vortex, a massive black hole of heaving antimatter which sucked in anything which came too close to its ever expanding borders. Here the Ark would power up the Darkos sphere drive, continually spinning rings of energy which protected the ship and its occupants allowing them to pass through the entrance and propel them through the chosen palpitating tunnel to their point of exit.

Once inside the Karton Vortex, all external communications would be lost.

And once they had emerged from the hole, the distance between the ship and the outpost would be too vast to receive or send any exchanges with Cerciron.

No way to know when Cerciron was under attack.

No way to know when their last outpost had been destroyed.

An eerie silence shrouded the Command Centre where the warriors performed their duties with grim determination, the bleakness in their spirit etched into the implacable planes of their faces. Tarak, feeling as if he had left his soul behind, stood in the midst of a holo display clad in full protective armour, dispassionately interpreting the scrolling data.

“PONR in thirty sectons,” Magar stated in soft tones from his post.

Tarak spared a quick look at his second-in-command, noting the desolation in his friend’s eyes. When they emerged from the Karton Vortex it would not be long before they reached the Besa System wherein lay the planets, Olman and Verrilous—home to the Elite Forces’ main garrisons.

“Weaponry status, Magar.”

”Sir. Full quota, sufficient to inflict large scale damage to the Elite Fleet.”

“But not sufficient to turn the tide of this war, aye my friend?”

Magar spread his hands wide. “If we still had control of the Darkos system, we could defeat them.”

“If we still had control of the Darkos system,” Tarak said wryly, “there would be no war.”

“We cannot defeat them.” There was no question in Magar’s voice, rather a weary acceptance.

“No. We merely give our remaining people a little more time of life.”

“If only there was still such a thing as the Darkon people, instead of only warriors. It would make our sacrifice a little easier to bear.”

“You are forgetting our slaves.”

“No, I am not forgetting them. I hope they will leave Cerciron in time and find a haven far from this madness.”

Knowing full well the other warriors were listening to their conversation, Tarak advised, “You are aware of my orders, Magar. The old voyager will take them and any others who wish to leave Cerciron, to safety.”

There was a noticeable lightening of mood in the room. Not much but enough. Tarak and Magar exchanged a swift glance of understanding. The least they could do for their men
was to give them the hope this suicide attack would gain those remaining on the last outpost sufficient time to escape.

Tarak closed his eyes, and there imprinted on his very being hovered the face which had haunted him from the first moment he had beheld her on the Trader’s ship. His Alana. The courage and valour with which she met every new challenge awed him. Her generosity of spirit and the fire of her passion had held him in thrall ever since their first joining. Her fascinating blue-green eyes which either sparkled with defiance or glowed with the warmth of the emotion he knew was only for him. Her fire-bright hair and wondrously pale skin, her fierce independence, the stubbornly firm chin and soft mobile mouth that held such sweetness; he knew he would meet his maker with her name on his lips.

He recalled what she had told him before they had left Cerciron. His fists clenched, the muscles in his arms and thighs bunched rigid with tension as he battled his need to return to her side. Rage blazed unchecked within him. He had heard the hurt in her voice, seen the desolation of loss in her eyes.

He would have done anything to give her ease. His need to enfold her into his arms and protect her till the end of time had shaken him to his core.

But he had left her.

He had turned away back to his duty.

Left her with no comfort and he could not shake the feeling he had failed her in some essential way. Rolling his shoulders, he glared at the changing cyber data. There was a familiar prickling at the base of his neck.
By the cloak of Cercis, something was wrong
.