WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (18 page)

Malcolm Drake frowned. He knew all about the Captain’s lucky talisman, and how he held it whenever he was unsettled. The Captain had been edgy ever since he boarded
Assurance
. It was the Lady, no doubt, but it was having a queer effect. A confident man, Forseth had a “Do or die” and “to hell with them anyway” attitude. Now he snapped at everyone. If the Captain had ever felt overly concerned before he had never shown it.

Yes, Drake decided. His friend had changed. Without conscious thought he recalled the war on Stridos. Working with local police, they had safely landed, right on the front line. Their mission was to set a pulse bomb that deactivated armaments. The shockwave would kill every combatant within a ten-kilometer radius. All previous efforts towards reconciliation had proven futile — one nation stubbornly refusing to obey the cease fire. They intended to stop the fighting. If their comparatively moderate efforts failed, the UWG would use “The Device” and millions would die.

Drake flinched with the memory. A sniper had found them after the ordnance had been set to blow in less than fifteen minutes. He had shot the sniper but in return he had been hit in both legs.

He put his hand to the injuries. He had been hit by a burn bullet, which left a consuming fire that had continued to eat away a large portion of flesh after initial contact. He had opted not to repair the scars; he wanted to remember. Drake’s face hardened. As if he could forget.

Unable to move, he had lain where he had fallen. White-faced and strained, his legs burning like molten metal, Drake refused to lose consciousness. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he waited for the explosion and the end to come. Would he feel anything? Incredibly, through the smoke and chaos came the Captain.

“Righto, Drake, on your feet, man. We’ve got to get out of here,” he said in a steady voice.

“Captain,” Drake replied urgently. “Quickly, get away. Forget me. I can’t walk.”

Seeing the pilot’s wounds, Forseth’s expression became momentarily grim. He frowned and hesitated. Then he grinned broadly as if amused by the ill-timed circumstances. Shrugging, he appeared to dismiss yet one more obstacle. “Well, then, I’ll just have to carry you,” he replied, reaching toward him.

Drake stared in awe. Carry him? Through this mess? Was the Captain smiling at his mad decision, his attempt to defy fate? Or had he actually found some perverse humor in the situation?

Firmly grasping the Pilot by his arms, Forseth swung him over his shoulders. The pain was acute and Drake groaned and almost fainted. Another explosion went off, nearer this time. The enemy had seen them.

“Captain,” Drake begged, his appeal a mere whisper. “Save … yourself.”

Forseth gave a lighthearted laugh. “Are you kidding?” Picking his way through the wreckage he said, “I am saving myself. You don’t think I know how to pilot that cruiser, do you? Without you, how will we get off this lousy planet, for world’s sake?”

Drake passed out as he began a gleeful giggle. Beyond all reason he felt fortunate. His last conscious thought was that he had never known anyone like Forseth before, and if he died now he would die happy, having served under him.

When Drake came to he was on the medical deck, lying next to the Captain. Forseth lay on his stomach with a piece of shrapnel imbedded in his back the size of a saucer. He had apparently lost a lot of blood. It didn’t make sense. He had been lying on the Captain’s back so how had he received that injury? There was only one explanation. Forseth had been wounded before he rescued him, and that, Drake found out later, was exactly what had occurred. His friend had lifted him and carried him on his injured back. The pain must have been excruciating. Yet his Captain had saved his life and piloted them off-planet. He achieved both before finally collapsing from loss of blood.

Drake shook his head, coming out of his reminiscences, automatically checking Icom navigation and the time. It was late. The Captain and he were alone on the Bridge. It was his watch and Forseth should have been in his bunk as well.

“Are you going to turn in, sir?” Drake inquired, politely solicitous.

“No,” Forseth replied. “I can’t sleep.” He started to pace and said, “I just don’t get it, Malcolm. He stopped pacing and turned to face his pilot. “We are well past the Age of Perdition. The Freeworlds are at peace and the government appears to be operating without flaw. Those with injustices or grievances make pleas for redress to the Council. Oh, sure, there is the odd small civil skirmish, and the Alliance is still an issue. Sure, there are pirates to keep in check. So why? Why do I feel so certain that there’s a conspiracy? I tell you, I’ve never been so concerned about a mission in my life.”

The pilot shrugged, but he was pretty sure that he knew what the Captain’s problem was.

He sighed as he remembered. After two years, Malcolm Drake still missed his wife. Verla had been ill with a rare form of cancer, the one-in-a-million type that was resistant to treatment. She had lost her beautiful red hair, and had thinned to almost nothing.

As she got progressively more unwell, Drake had never felt so afraid, while he had been her sole concern. Who, she worried, would look after him when she was gone? One day as he was holding her, she had looked at him with an expression that communicated more clearly than any verbal utterance. Her eyes pleaded forgiveness for the separation she was responsible for, yet couldn’t avoid.

She had died in his arms.

Drake cleared his throat. “Sir,” he said with careful thought, “Ah … you know what? I think perhaps … Well, I think you’re in love.”

A
board
Conqueror
, Captain Pagett slowly regained consciousness. He was startled to find himself on the deck. Shakily he got to his feet. Glancing toward the console, he swore. According to time standards, two days had passed. Looking around he saw others also awaking and pulling themselves off the floor. He ordered a scan to verify the timer and contacted operations via Icom. “Damage control,” he said. He noticed that his hands were shaking.

“Yes, sir,” a calm, professional voice answered. “I’ll have it for you in a moment, sir.”

Pagett rested against the console, trying to piece together his last conscious moments. The ship, having completed a scan, informed him there was no malfunction. Ship logs, however, only showed static.

Two days had passed.

Numb incredulity slowly wearing off, Pagett realized that they must have travelled through a distortion. These were incredibly rare. No one had retained consciousness while passing through one. There were many unproven theories about the cause. What they did know is that a distortion always put the vessel ahead in time. If too much time passed, everyone died of thirst or starvation. They must have passed through one — it was the only explanation.

Such luck! Neopol had been testing him on autopilot, otherwise who knows what would have happened? Captain Pagett pressed his lips together in anger. They would arrive in plenty of time to conceal
Conqueror
.
Darla Wu
would be taken by surprise. His eyes hardened. Anyone who could inhumanly murder everyone on that world deserved to die. He recalled the building with all the dead children. Forseth would be punished. And apparently he did it all for a woman.

“Sir?” came an enthusiastic voice. “It’s a miracle, sir. No one wounded except two technicians who lost consciousness with their carbonizers on. Both suffered minor burns. No mechanical problems. The ship never knew the difference, sir.” Pagett noticed that the officer spoke rapidly, an aftereffect of shock, no doubt. The man was relieved to be alive.

“Very good, and thank you. Captain out.” Admiral Neopol arrived on the Bridge. Pagett turned to meet him.

“I heard the report from Operations. What’s our status?”

“Sir,” Pagett said. “
Conqueror
will arrive at Delian within twenty-four hours.”

“Very good, Captain.” Neopol grinned. “Quite extraordinary. I’ll inform the crew.” Mentally accessing ship wide Icom, he said, “Crew of
Conqueror
, today we all go down in history. We have successfully passed through a time distortion. Damage control reports that of the entire crew, only two were harmed and those were minor injuries. Congratulations to you all.” The crew cheered.

“On a more serious subject, we will be in Delian’s orbit within the day. Our plan is to conceal
Conqueror
and capture their ship. Those responsible for the destruction of the Delian people will be punished for their crimes.”

The crew cheered once more, and the Admiral waited with amused patience for them to settle down. “The section officers will arrange for orderly meal provision. I’m sure that we all are rather hungry, having not eaten for the last two days.” He gave a good-natured laugh. “This is your Admiral out.”

Smiling at
Conqueror’s
Captain, the Admiral nodded. “Mr. Pagett, I’ll be in my quarters if you need me.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Captain Pagett replied, as Neopol strode toward the lift tube. They had survived a major crisis and the Admiral had managed the situation calmly and efficiently.
That Neopol,
Pagett thought.
Sometimes he’s not too bad.

The “Age of Expansion” begun as a result of the discovery of Omni. By 2190, over 59 habitable worlds had been colonized. A number of factors made the exodus successful: inexpensive, accessible food and energy; an increase in viable lifespan; the use of robotics and Icom. The newly formed UWG gave colonists free travel, housing, and financial and tax incentives to colonize. Vast wealth was created by those early settlers.

—
Icompedia

D
arla Wu
orbited Delian while Captain Larren Forseth and his crew focused upon their mission: to find out what happened to the people of Delian. Each man worked in their normal, professional capacity — completely unaware that they were going to have a bad day. A very bad day indeed.

Police sensors had already confirmed a total lack of human life. Now they needed hard evidence. The only way to get that was to land on the surface of the planet. With three crewmen left on board
Darla,
Larren and the rest of his men took a shuttle to Delian. It was clear that the Lady Sartha had told the truth. Larren never doubted it, but it was difficult to see the confirmation of genocide. They landed outside a fabricated stone building, surrounded by hundreds of dead horses. When the men disembarked they wore masks, not for the fear of poisonous gases but because everywhere they went there was still the sickly stench of death.

With a tightened jaw, Captain Forseth glanced toward his navigator. Heet’s face was ashen; he had always been an animal lover. Once on some planet or another, Larren had seen him put his own life at risk to rescue a stray pup from the flames of burning wreckage.

Stein,
Darla’s
Medical Officer, had been studying one of the corpses, recording everything, and obtaining medical and forensic samples. “No possibility of some freak biological illness or disease, sir,” he said. “These animals have been gassed.”

Drake, who had walked some distance, began to run back toward them. Larren wondered why his pilot was running and why he hadn’t just sent an Icom message. Larren tried to access Icom, but it was offline.
What?
Only an enormous power source could disable Icom. A thrill of shock and unease made him draw in a sharp breath as he searched the Delian skies.
What in Perdition was going on?

“Captain,” Drake’s voice was high and urgent as he arrived out of breath. “Another vessel is signaling, relaying only to myself as
Darla’s
pilot. Icom is blocked for all communication. It’s
Conqueror
, ordering us to return to
Darla Wu
. They want us to dock within their vessel. They order immediate compliance or they’ll fire on us, sir. And sir,” he breathed, “the Admiral — his name is Neopol.”

That knowledge struck Captain Forseth like a punch to the chest. They were all in serious trouble. He and his crew were caught in a trap, with a fleet warship sealing off all chance of escape. But how had Neopol and
Conqueror
known where to find them?

W
ith a solid thud of metal against metal,
Darla Wu
settled into
Conqueror’s
enormous holding bay. The sound of docking clamps engaging was typical and familiar, yet today it made him think of prison doors slamming shut.

With effort, Captain Larren Forseth maintained a composed expression. His crew looked toward him with trust in their eyes. Whatever this misunderstanding was, he knew they expected their Captain would get them out of it. Larren took a deep breath and hoped their confidence wasn’t misplaced. He had told no one except Drake the truth about the Lady Sartha and her son. It was safer that way. Knowing nothing was as much protection as he could give the Delian escapees. Now he was sorry that he had confided in Drake.

Sartha’s words about Neopol echoed in Larren’s mind.
“I’m afraid he’ll kill you.”
He reassured himself that the Lady Sartha was only a mind-reader and not a prophetic seer.

Darla’s
portal opened to reveal an armed detachment of grim, no-nonsense Marines waiting with their service weapons drawn.

“You in
Darla Wu
. Come out unarmed, with your hands up where we can see them. Any unexpected move and you’ll be shot,” a voice outside ordered.

Darla’s
crew filed out with arms held high. Once on
Conqueror’s deck
each man was hand cuffed, none too gently, arms behind their backs.

“Hey,” Larren objected, “go easy. We haven’t done anything. What’s this all about?” he asked, protesting their arrest as well as the rough treatment.

A Marine dressed in combat utility tan, twisted his arm with brutal force. “We know just what you’ve done, murderer.”

“Murderer?” Larren queried, repeating the word in an astonished tone. “We came to Delian to investigate a report that the planet had been gassed. We are policemen — not criminals …” A tall, heavyset Officer arrived, interrupting him before he could explain further. Larren noticed he wore Admiral’s stripes on his impeccable fleet dress blues.

“That is enough, Captain Forseth.” The Admiral slurred his title as if he had never earned or deserved the position. “We know exactly what you and your little band of traitors have done. We saw the results of your handiwork on Delian.” He gestured to the Captain of the Guard with well-manicured hands. Larren was momentarily surprised to see a number of heavy gold rings on the Admiral’s fingers. “Take them to detention. I’ll personally deal with them there.”

“Wait,” Larren said loudly. “We didn’t commit genocide …”

A man in charge of Larren hit him in the stomach with his baton, demonstrating the full force of his rage and disgust. Winded, Larren said no more as he was roughly dragged away, yet he didn’t understand it. Fleet personnel didn’t act like this. Why were these Marines so certain that he and his crew were guilty?

The rest of
Darla Wu’s
men received similar treatment. The arresting Marines of
Conqueror
despised them and they were determined to show it. Neopol stood by, listening to the sounds of struggle, beatings and protests, all in clear violation of Fleet detainment protocols. Larren noticed that the Admiral was not opposed to such blatant demonstrations of hostility, nor did he attempt to hide his satisfied smile.

On the detention deck,
Darla Wu’s
crew lined up, waiting for the Admiral. Many already had torn shirts and bloody faces. Individual possessions had been taken from the men, carefully labeled and placed in boxes for later examination. Larren, with dismay, had been forced to relinquish the clear Plexiglas marble that encompassed a little blue stone. The loss of his childhood good luck charm seemed an ominous portent.

The Admiral arrived and studied them dispassionately. “Men of
Darla Wu
… or should I say animals.” His face hardened. No one objected. They had already discovered what happened when one disagreed. “We know that you’re guilty of genocide.” He seemed amused at the silent opposition in their eyes. “Lock them into the chairs. Ensure they’re secure. After that, you may leave me to deal with them. Sub-Lieutenant Janson, Dr. Ching, Dr. Smith and I know what to do.”

“Aye aye, sir,” came a chorus of voices. The Marines did as ordered and then they were alone.

“My dear Captain Larren Forseth,” the Admiral said, standing over him. “So good to finally meet you face to face.”

Larren remained silent.

“I am Admiral Neopol, and you and your men have information I want. For instance, what was the planned destination of the Delian warship,
Assurance
?”

“That was in my report.”

“I don’t believe you, Captain. I think that you are hiding something.” Neopol’s voice seemed deceptively mild. He appeared calm, but his eyes, bright and excited, gave him away. Larren felt a shock of real fear after looking into those eyes. Neopol was enjoying this. Was he insane? Or some sort of sadist?

From further down the room, one of the crew from
Darla Wu
objected loudly over something. For a moment both men were distracted. Neopol intervened, giving instructions to one of his adjutants, and the room became quiet once more.

Neopol turned his alert, penetrating gaze back to Larren.

This man is dangerous,
Larren thought. He steadily met Neopol’s examination, overcoming a nervous impulse to lick his lips or to give in to his now urgent need to swallow. Over an extended period of time Larren knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up to such concentrated scrutiny. Never had Sartha and her son been in more peril. Larren alone knew their actual plans. There was nothing for it. He had no idea how to achieve it, but the only safe way to ensure Neopol never knew his secret was for him to die with that knowledge unspoken. But how could he get Neopol to kill him? The Admiral had a supersized ego. Perhaps simple taunting would do the trick.

Neopol snapped his fingers and Janson placed a patch on Larren’s temporal pulse. Larren knew it for a lie detector.

“Now, Captain,” Neopol asked again, with a dangerous edge. “Where was the woman bound?”

“Truso.”

Neopol nodded and Janson hit him with a baton, a swinging full-strength blow to his unprotected shins. Larren bit back a scream and grunted as the sudden pain forced the air from his lungs.

“You were lying, Captain,” Neopol softly admonished.

Larren regained his breath and said, “Truso.”

The Admiral nodded and Janson, with detached precision struck him again in exactly the same place as before. This time Larren did scream.

“Listen, Captain Forseth,” Neopol explained. “I need to know where
Assurance
has gone and I need to know now. You may believe me when I say the woman won’t be harmed.” He crossed his arms and stared at his captive, his expression implacable.

Gritting his teeth, Larren raised his head, scanned the man’s face, and remained silent. The Admiral was lying. He intended to kill the Lady Sartha and her son, Larren felt sure of it. That thought made Larren angry and that was good. Anger brought out a stubborn quality within him that made him fearless.

“You know,” Neopol said, “I pride myself in being able to pick my man — to spot every weakness.” He spun and began to pace. “In your case, I have spent considerable time studying the police net concerning you and your exploits.” He turned to face his captive. “You are a mildly interesting case, but despite your accomplishments I believe that we will discover you are quite predictable.”

Neopol raised one heavily ringed hand with a flourish, and gestured into the air. “A dashing warrior. A hero. The man who risks his own life for others.” He grinned mockingly. “I know the type.”

“And what type are you, Neopol?” Larren was moved to ask with abrasive contempt. “Liar? Cheat? Baby killer?”

With unexpected fury Neopol punched his prisoner in the face. One ornate ring caught on Larren’s cheek, and the force of the blow drew blood. Larren’s vision blurred and he felt his eye begin to swell.

“You are a fool,” Neopol said, his face flushed with rage. “An unfortunate, tiny little man, who will never look further than helping others — others who are just as tiny and unfortunate as yourself. You have no idea of what I am capable, of what I have already achieved. My entire career I have researched the human animal, those base, senseless creatures that have no foresight. People need to be protected. Without direction and order they are too dangerous to live.” The Admiral’s expression became absorbed. “I am so close. I can feel it. Soon I’ll be able to control or destroy anyone, on any world.”

Larren began an intentionally derisive laugh. “Me the fool? You’re the fool. You’ve wasted your life. You began with the wrong premise.” In his heart he knew the truth, it was like a revelation. “You’ll never know how to control those who are better than you. People can be beaten into compliance. They can be forced to obey, but the moment your back is turned, they will fight their oppression. People have the choice of their own destiny,” he said with contempt, “and you are insane.”

In a fury Neopol pulled out his sidearm. His jaw clenched and his face became red with apoplectic rage. He aimed the weapon at Forseth and suddenly stopped. Larren saw the big man’s tight jaw begin to loosen. Neopol let out his breath and returned his side arm to its holster.

The two men stared silently at each other for a long moment.

Neopol’s lip curled and the tableau broke.

“Very clever, Captain, but I saw no fear in your eyes. Were you attempting to make me lose my temper and kill you out of hand?” He gave a satisfied nod and said, “You may be more intelligent than I thought.” Neopol paced for a few minutes until he appeared to regain his composure.

“Allow me to show you, Captain, just how predictable you are.” He gave Larren a mocking smile and a roguish conspiratorial wink. He pointed to the nearest of Larren’s men, who happened to be Wright.

“Doctor Ching,” he asked, “will you be so good as to examine this subject?”

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Ching replied. He scanned Wright, noticeably transmitting relevant information to an Icom display on the detention room wall. “Ready, sir.”