Legend Beyond The Stars (30 page)

Since they had left the docking station at Cerciron, all his senses had been screaming at him that danger threatened his slave. During the entire time of the voyage to the Karton Vortex, he had argued with himself.

Tarak growled low in his throat and shifted his feet, ignoring his second-in-command’s surprised glance.
She was nothing but trouble
, he grumbled knowing full well he didn’t believe this at all. For the hundredth time, he went over the safety measures he had ordered in place prior to the Ark’s departure. His orders had been meticulous. There was no room for error in his carefully thought out plan. Yet still the hairs on his neck were standing on end as if jolted by a bolt of Darkon voltage.

He prowled the length of the Command Centre. As he drew closer to the perimeter of the room, the walls undulated, a ripple of motion crossing the smooth surface as the ship’s sensors picked up his inner turmoil.

Tarak stopped.

He knew what such an event portended.

All Darkos ships were intricately linked to their specific commanders by a nano engineering secret known only to those who held the highest positions within the Darkon Council. The Ark had registered his confusion and had gone into self preservation mode. As a consequence it would begin to run its series of checks and countermeasures to maximise the optimum chances of continued existence, both for the ship and its occupants. Soon it would begin to spit out alternate plans and options for his assessment.

From its very bowels came a muted rumble of confusion. A surge of current flowed through the floor beneath his feet. His inner conflict was causing his ship to prepare for
various scenarios. If Tarak did not reach a decision within the next few sectons and take control, his ship would make a decision for him.

Tarak swung around to find his men standing at battle attention, their eyes fixed on him.

He thought of his duty.

He thought of the long cycles of training he had undergone, the aons of war and battles he had waged.

The dead lay littered at his feet.

The expectations of his father. The role all expected him to play, being the next and last Darkon leader had long disturbed his rest and played havoc with his beliefs—with the warrior he was born to be.

He thought of the deeply entrenched traditions of the Darkon warriors. And he thought of their honour and proud history.

Here and now, the decision he made would decide his destiny.

His lips twisted.

There could only be one choice for him.

His path lay so clearly before him he wondered why he had taken so long to recognise it. He raised his chin high, in no doubt his course of action would end in dishonour and death. Just for one moment he imagined he could see his mother smiling with encouragement and then the image faded. He would not fail his Alana, he vowed. His female would not suffer the
same indignities and miseries inflicted on his mother and sister. This valiant female, he would defend with his very body, as a shield if he had to.

He would return to her. He had been a fool to have left her and the other females to such an uncertain fate. With the acrid taste of bitterness scorching bile through his gut, he finally acknowledged he had no faith in his father’s word.

The goddess Cercis had sent Alana to him at what he believed to be their last cycle in this world. Cercis had given him a gift to fill the void of black emptiness that had existed within him for so long, a gift of light and warmth.

A gift to be cherished and protected.

A gift he should never have left to another’s care.

He had no expectations of a future, but for a short while he had experienced a rapture which had taken him to the very stars.
She was his destiny
.

“Ark, open all internal lines.” He waited, mentally counting the time until his order was carried out and his voice would be carried to all corners of the ship. He was impatient now to act and cursed the delay as time ticked by. Finally, Magar gave him the signal to proceed.

An icy calm settled into his very bones. “This is Commander Tarak. The Ark is within range of the Karton Vortex, ready to make the jump to the Besa System. All have been briefed of our mission and know the situation is dire for us as the last of the Darkon people. Our mission—attack the Elite Forces’ garrisons in what I believe will prove to be our last battle. The Ark and all who traverse with her will perish.”

He paused and paced to the centre of the Command Centre. His voice rang clear and cold. “Should we return now to Cerciron, there will be no mercy from the king. Indeed our honour would demand we expect no mercy. We will be stripped of our names and ranks. Our very existence will be eliminated from the Book of Darkos.”

His First Officer checked his screen when Tarak paused. “PONR, twelve sectons.”

“I am relinquishing command to First Officer Magar who will lead you in the coming battle. I will take one fighter ship and return to Cerciron. It is my intention to prepare the warriors left behind for the coming invasion. Provided my life is spared from my father’s wrath,” he added and smiled. “To all who serve on the Ark I wish you a swift journey to your lasting rest. I am honoured to have fought by your sides.”

With long strides, he reached Magar, who appeared to be speechless. Tarak observed with dry humour his friend’s gaping jaw before clasping Magar’s arm and drawing him close. Looking at his comrade for the last time, he smiled again, at peace now his decision had been made. “No messages, old friend?” he teased.

Magar shook himself rather like a draptile wakening from a long hiatus. “There are no messages as I am going with you.”

Surprised and a little annoyed, Tarak drew back. “I need you to command the Ark.”

“There are many officers here Tarak, who are capable of command. Give the command to one of them as I am going with you. Do not bother to give me an order to the contrary as I will not obey. You should know by now I would follow you into the pits of Zersk and beyond. Old habits are hard to break,” he said with the undercurrent of lazy amusement which characterised his voice.

”Ten sectons to PONR,” Wray announced.

With one sweeping long look around the Ark’s Command Centre he committed the serious faces before him to memory, and Tarak gave his men a quick smile before striding to the exit. Behind him Magar issued instructions to Wyameh. He did not wait for his friend, the fighter needed to depart from the Ark before PONR was reached or it would be sucked into the Karton Vortex. He was saddened at the thought of leaving the ship he had commanded for so long but the die was cast.

Tarak smoothed a hand over the side of the Ark with affection as he exited from the chute, feeling the wall ripple in response his eyes already fixed on the line of fighters standing at the ready in the departure bay. His mind plotted and discarded plans for the forthcoming engagement. He punched in his code on the entry portal of his personal fighter, when to his astonishment he heard a noise which had him spinning round on his feet. The massive outer blast door of the Ark began their closing sequence.

Teeth bared in anger, he contacted the Command Centre via the compu on his arm. “Wyameh, open the outer door. That is an order.”

“Tarak, wait!” Magar ran across the runway.

“We are all going with you.” Magar reached his side and grabbed Tarak’s upper arm. Before the other could speak, he continued, “All on the Ark have voted to return. Already Wyameh is resetting the co-ordinates.”

“We are too close to PONR for the Ark to turn around safely,” Tarak snapped.

Magar grinned. “The Ark can do it. Emergency thrusters have been engaged.”

Tarak hesitated, and a shudder ripped through the ship. He heard the roar of the power drive as they went into action, reversing the massive structure away from the destructive pull of the Karton Vortex.

“This is certain death for all of us,” he growled.

Magar shrugged and spread his hands. “Our destiny lies with our leader. And Tarak, the Ark is waiting for its Commander to take control.”

“You are all fools. Although I will not deny your presence at my side gives me great encouragement. Very well, we will return to the Command Centre,” said Tarak in exasperation, wincing as he heard the scream of the Ark’s engines. “It will be a miracle of Cercis if this force does not tear us apart.”

Magar clapped him on the back and together they returned to the Command Centre.

Emergency procedures were implemented and the next few sectons were hectic with activity. Tarak surveyed their actions with grim satisfaction and waited. On his orders, the Ark terminated all non essential activities. Any areas not inhabited by the warriors were sealed off and all support systems to those chambers ceased. Lighting was at a minimum, reduced to a faint white glow from the ceiling and marking walkways. All else was darkness. Alarms rang down the long corridors and galleys.

The force field of the Karton Vortex sucked at his ship and from his position in the Command Chair, Tarak could feel his body stretch painfully while the Ark struggled to free itself. The noise was horrendous and he gripped the consols harder, his whole being merging with the Ark willing her success. He heard the shriek of metal rendering, a long drawn out
sound of an animal in its death throes. The floor beneath his booted feet contracted fiercely. The ship shuddered violently as if it would be rendered into two.

Then the Ark surged forward. The alarms ceased and in the quiet the reassuring thrum of her powerful engines could be heard. The ship quickened her velocity and sped free of the pull of the Vortex.

Exultant cheers came from the warriors and enthusiastic back slapping was indulged in. Tarak allowed them their moment of victory. He released his grip on the metal arms, soothing his hands over the warm surface, reaching deep within his spirit to the core of his ship. He let his pride and satisfaction flow forth.

The Ark responded.

All systems reinstated.

With the Command Centre’s full lighting and functions restored, Tarak couldn’t help grinning triumphantly. The Ark settled into its normal smooth pace.

“To Cerciron,” he ordered, his mind now fixed on the fathomless depths of space that lay beyond the viewing screen.

Several rones later, he idly watched the trailing embers of glittering space dust while the Ark cut a path through the cloud, a remnant of a meteor which had disintegrated long ago. With half his attention he listened to the conversations between his men and reflected on their absorbed concentration as they performed their allotted duties. The mood on the Ark had changed; even the ship had picked up the vibrations.

All were focussed solely on returning to Cerciron as fast as possible and to their females.

He admitted most of his thoughts were wholly concerned with Alana. He wondered whether she would be pleased to see him. He frowned as he considered their parting and her irritatingly cool behaviour in the departure bay. The desolation in his heart at leaving her behind had been replaced with hope. He determined his first duty would be to ensure she was pleased with his return. No doubt she would still be angry with him but he would woo her into a gentler frame of mind and do his best as a Darkon warlord to remind her she belonged to him. There would be no more talk of leaving. They would face their destiny together. Before that happened, they would make the most of the time they had left. Heat scorched a river of need through his body.

“Commander.”

The tension in his First Officer’s voice banished his fantasies. His senses sharpened to battle response as he waited for Magar to continue. Silence fell on the officers on deck.

“There is a transmission coming from Cerciron.” With his bones gleaming palely through the taut skin over his cheekbones, Magar’s face revealed his apprehension. “The signal is weak and intermittent.”

Tarak strode to his side, his attention riveted to the display. His throat dry he ordered, “Relay to all channels.”

Magar swiped his hand over the data on the clear plasma screen before him, his fingers flying over the panel. A crackle of white noise reverberated through the Centre. Through the hiss and pop a faint voice could be heard.

”It is hard to pick up.” Magar worked at the controls, a heavy scowl on his face. “There, point of origin locked.”

There was a sudden blast of sound which then faded to a murmur in the background. The Jurian called Norman’s high pitched wail now recognisable to all, cut through the silence with the intensity of Vapon fire.

“She is gone! They are all gone.”

The fateful words punched straight to Tarak’s solar plexus and resonated in the ensuing silence.

Agony sliced his heart, decimated it into tiny pieces until it lay bleeding, still beating but empty at his feet.

Blackness clouded his vision and his mind free fell into the vacuum of space.

He could hear nothing.

He was too late
.

He had failed her
.

Misery crushed him. It flooded every pore of his being then faded, leaving behind a empty chasm he knew would never be filled. His limbs as heavy as a fully armoured battle drone. A sour taste lingered in his mouth. Bitterly he recognised it, the taste of defeat.

No, it was not defeat. It was death
.

Rage roared through him. He would find whoever was responsible and they would pay. Pay dearly until the ending of time. Like an avenging god, he strode to the consol brushing past the other warriors who stood as if turned to stone.

“Details.” His frigid voice sliced through the confused babble of the Jurian’s lamentations.

There was a hiccup and the sound of snivelling. “The Royal Guards took them during the sleeping rones. I did not realise they were gone until the first meal. I searched all quarters but none were left. I could not help them.”

Tarak blinked. He exhaled in one long slow deep breath. He repeated the Jurian’s words over and over in his mind. Hope flickered then burned life through his shattered emotions.

“No, but you can help them now, Jurian,” he said, his voice as rough as asteroid stones held rigid control. “There is no evidence then of their demise. Are they still on the planet?”