Pleasure Dome

by L. F. Hampton

  "Enough!” the old king bellowed and pounded his long official staff. Again it boomed. “By the gods, enough. What is the meaning of this?"

  No one spoke. None dared. Finally, Gabriel stepped in front of his grand sire. Blood dripped down Gabriel's body with stinging reality. He heard the collective breath of the Chakkra standing behind him draw in. They were afraid.

  He turned, giving them a crooked sneer over his shoulder. “Why we're only having a training lesson, Grand sire. Your warriors have agreed that I am well trained.” He gave a mocking snort. “Well enough, in fact, to leave Chakkra.” He stared blandly at the warriors who stared back, dripping blood and holding body parts that were sliced and diced.

  "Isn't that true, my teachers?” His throbbing sight narrowed on them until several heads nodded mutely, although no one looked up. Gabe's grand sire looked from the littered floor to the wounded warriors then to Gabe.

  "Chakkra do not fight among themselves. Nor do they leave their home world."

  Gabe gave a bitter laugh. “Is that so? Then why did you kill my father, my mother?” The old warrior flinched and swayed. Gabe knew that the king had ordered no one to repeat the tale of his birth and the slaying of his parents. Gabriel shook his head bitterly.

  "I was born aware, old man.” Gabe ignored the shocked gasp of those around him. “I know—I felt—what you did to them, your own son, my father and my gentle mother who should have had diplomatic protection. I knew them better than you. I also knew they had done nothing to you.” Gabe was relentless in his hasty speech, sure that all heard the soul-wrenching pain, the condemnation in his voice. “They only wanted to live and love in peace. And for that, you killed them—your own offspring. Just because his way wasn't your way."

  Gabe stopped. He fought the trembling that had started in his voice. He had been saving this rage since his birth. On a deep inhale, he continued, just as strong as when he started. “I hope all of you rot in the decay of my hatred."

  He swept the area with his glittering gaze. In disgust, he threw his bloodied blades down at his feet. Several warriors jumped. Gabe's sneering laughter sounded strange even to his ears. He realized that in his entire lifetime, he had never laughed once. Just for the joy of it, he did it again.

  The crowd drew farther back, but just the same, all heard Gabriel tell his grandfather. “I am leaving Chakkra. It is not my home. I won't come back. If you, any of you, ever come after me—” His words gathered until they soared. “If I see any of you again, I will kill you on sight. Then I will come back here and wipe out every member of your family. Understand?"

  "Go then.” His grand sire grunted in a harsh whisper. “You abomination, get you gone.” His white head never rose, and the ruler of Chakkra left the room before the warriors shuffled out. Not one Chakkra looked at Gabriel. And no one stopped him from taking a scout ship.

  Half a light year from Chakkra, Gabriel vomited until he had nothing left to come up. His ribs hurt from the violent strain of his beating, but he ignored his cuts and bruises. He may have disgraced his mother's gentle admonition to “do good, learn and to work for peace,” but he had appeased his father and his Chakkra blood that called for revenge for their deaths.

  Gabe never returned to Chakkra, nor had he even thought of those warriors for all these years. Why did he think of them now? In the distance, his darkness was brightening—

  Gabe awoke with a startled jerk. The past retreated with his awareness of the present. He was on Hydra. Had he really heard Chakkra spoken in the Treaty's corridors, and had he actually fought warriors of his kind? His head wound bled, hurt, but other than that, Gabe doubted his wounds were serious. He really did have a hard head.

  Awareness flicked through him. The ones, whoever they were, who attacked him on the Treaty didn't fare as well, and for that Gabe was truly sorry. And he knew he had left dead behind him. He had killed in a fit of Chakkra rage.

  Dear gods, he was a diplomat, and he had to keep reminding himself of that fact through the resurgence of his remembered hatred. His pounding pulse still spoke otherwise. After leaving Chakkra, he had vowed to follow his mother's wishes for peace. He even took her last name of Merriweather. Through the years, he had curbed his warrior instinct and honed his empathy senses to become a bringer of justice and of peace. Gabriel had sworn to never take another life and he hadn't—until now.

  When he was jumped in the Treaty's corridor, Gabe was overpowered by unidentified armed men. They spoke in what his mind recognized as Chakkra war speech, and when one warrior stuck a blade to his throat, ordering him to submit, Gabe had reacted as a full fledged Chakkra warrior. His enraged battle haze had wiped out all vows of peace. As surly as he knew his name, Gabriel Merriweather knew he had killed two, possibly three, captors. Three more were left wounded before someone knocked him out with a cowardly club from behind. Evidently, he had cracked his forehead in the fall to the deck.

  Gabe swallowed guilt against a swollen throat. It wasn't cut, but his neck muscles were swollen and bruised. Even a half-breed Chakkra was hard to take down. He remembered little of the final outcome, awakening to his present state of a throbbing head and bound arms and legs.

  For a long time, Gabe wandered in a dream where Chakkra kicked him in the head to make him fight. But now, in the present, when he regained his senses, Gabe felt sick about the loss of life. He recalled the spark of life fading from the eyes of the men he had killed. He jerked in his chair.

  "Don't move.” The burly man sitting across from Gabe glared at him over the barrel of his old fashioned pistol. “Don't you move one little bit.” The guard straightened and gripped the shaky weapon until his knuckles went white. His voice rasped. “Don't try any funny mind tricks either. We know about your evil ways, Mr. Empath."

  Fear radiated off the man's sweaty scent, and Gabe fought to keep from wrinkling his nose at the sour odor. He also tried blocking out the miasma of conflicting emotions that bombarded him from his surroundings. Over and over, he attempted to engage the suspicious guard in meaningful conversation. No such luck. From what Gabe gleaned from the man's emotions, the guard lacked a high intelligence. Only fear and distrust flowed from him.

  Finally, Gabe tried again, keeping his voice level. “I don't practice evil, Mr.—” He waited for the guy to supply the name, but again, the man only squirmed on his seat. “Really, I'm not a bad man.” Gabe shrugged his bound shoulders. Metallic ropes tied him to his chair so tightly that Gabe couldn't do more than wiggle. If they had been fashioned of natural fibers, he could have dissolved the molecules in a snap. But any manufactured metal resisted Chakkra atom-releasing manipulation. Gabe couldn't even open his hands so that he could show empty palms in a peaceful gesture. “As I've told all of you over and over, I'm an ambassador for the Guild's Diplomatic Corps. I'm only here to offer the people of Hydra a treaty with the Guild."

  "Yeah. Sure you are.” The man squinted and nodded sagely. “I've passed those lies on. And they are surely lies. That's why we were warned about your attack. You killed some of our friends on your ship.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “But we're ready for you now. We've got other friends in high places. Friends who will take care of you."

  Truth rang in his words, and Gabe wondered who had so distorted his mission. Someone “in high places” wanted them to fail. Someone who knew Gabe was an empath and had warned the prisoners of Hydra to beware.

  Finally, the door behind his guard opened and a trio of men in black uni-dress trooped in. The big guy in front tapped Gabe's guard on the shoulder. “We'll take over from here, Smithy."

  Smithy rose slowly and backed out the door, never taking his frightened eyes off Gabe. Gabriel squelched the notion of scaring the guy further with a fierce glare. The superstitious guard would probably believe Gabe had the power to curse him with the evil eye. But not this new guy. No, this lean convict was made of tougher stuff. Gabe got no reading at all from him. Tranq? No, there was no dampening of the emotional field that swamped the place.
Still, the man controlled himself well. Gabriel couldn't get a clear reading, and he assessed Gabe with the same intense scrutiny.

  "Now, suppose we get down to business. I've been told you are Commander Gabriel Merriweather of the Diplomatic Corps?” The tall man with silver winging through his cropped dark hair took the seat that Smithy had vacated. His dark gaze remained neutral, calm. His jet-colored eyes shone solid black with no pupils. He placed his elbows on the table, laced his fingers together and rested his chin on the square knuckle joints. “We're not here to harm you further. Do you understand?” His baritone voice was indeed all business, but Gabriel could read the man's sincerity without his empathy talents. Gabe gave an affirmative nod.

  "I'm Thresher, Marcus Thresher, and I'm the elected leader of Asylum,” the man said. He stared intently into Gabriel's gaze as if to drill home his point. “We no longer think of our home as Hydra, Commander. We haven't been a prison for a long time."

  Gabe nodded again, deeper this time, but stopped the motion quickly. Such movement made his head hurt worse. For a moment, his vision swam and he saw two images of Thresher. With shallow breaths, Gabe willed the pain away so he could think. His diplomatic skills came in handy while he sorted through the facts. Even without his empathy senses, Gabe knew the man in front of him had a lot more to say, and he really didn't want to interrupt.

  "I don't know why you've come here, Commander, but I think it's for something other than what we've been told.” Thresher leaned forward, nearer Gabe, and his eyes glittered like black ice. “I have a feeling we're being used. Both of us. And I, for one, don't like being used.” He leaned back, and some of the tension left his stiff shoulders. The guards behind him relaxed a margin but didn't leave their protective positions. Thresher waved his hand in a forward rolling motion. “So tell me, Commander, what's your story?"

  Gabe straightened in his chair and kept a wary eye on the two guards. Blind obedience emanated from them. Easy to read. No matter what, they would take their lead from Thresher. Gabe ignored the throbbing in his temples and kept his head tilted so his gaze remained clear. He flexed numb fingers. The blood flow wasn't entirely restricted.

  His voice came out steady when he said, “I'm sorry about the men who grabbed me on the Treaty. I didn't know who they were, and with a blade to my throat, I reacted badly."

  Thresher shrugged. “They weren't my men. I didn't give the order to nab you. It came from outside Hydra."

  Gabe lifted one brow and waited for him to continue. When nothing came, Gabriel decided to reveal more than he had been cleared to. “In addition to being Commander of the Diplomatic Corps of the Spacing Guild, I'm a master empath, Mr. Thresher.” Gabe waited for confirmation that the man understood that their information had been correct.

  Thresher blinked a slow-eyed answer and sat straighter in his chair. His voice remained neutral as he said, “I'm familiar with empaths. And at least part of our intel on you is true.” He inclined his head and made another forward roll with his fingers. “Continue."

  While Gabe considered how he should respond, he twisted his neck in an attempt to ease the knot in his tense joints. They creaked, but some of the pressure was released. Finally, he decided truth—the whole truth—was the best way out of this situation. Thresher was still hard to read, perhaps due to his so called experience with empaths. Only an odd tranquility came from the man, and it was something Gabe had never encountered before. Was the man some kind of tranq?

  "Mr. Thresher, this would be easier if I knew what you've been told—and where you got your battle cruiser."

  "Tell me your truths first, and then I'll decide what information I'll share with you. And for the record, it wasn't our cruiser that attacked your vessel."

  Thresher didn't seem to be in a hurry, but Gabe was. How long had he been here before he had awakened? The crew of the Treaty would be fast on his heels. Gabe had to head them off before an unnecessary war broke out. Enough people had died on Hydra already. This was supposed to be a peaceful meeting. Damn it! Gabriel jerked upright and flinched at the blinding head pain.

  He couldn't keep excitement from his voice as he said, “That must be their plan. Whoever set my abduction in motion hoped that it would lead to a battle between the Guild and the people of Hydra—uh, Asylum—before we met and understood the situation.” He hurried on at Thresher's deep scowl. “They don't want a treaty with you. Don't you see? They don't want you in the Spacing Guild for some reason. They don't want Hy—Asylum to become a free colony.” Gabe wanted to grip Thresher's fists and make the man see his reasoning. Instead, he flexed his bound hands and waited.

  Color flushed Thresher's face, and a broad muscle jumped in his rugged jaw. His black eyes narrowed. Gabe knew someone would pay for the deceit.

  "Send for Tyner,” Thresher ordered over his shoulder without turning around. One of his guards left. The other shifted closer, his hand nearer his weapon. “Now, tell me about your plan for the Guild's offer."

  Gabe hurried through his treaty's outline. He'd do more of an in-depth review later. As Gabe spoke, some more tension drained from Thresher's features. He pursed his lips into an all business moue. His rugged expression fell deeper into thought, although his dark eyes reflected such fathomless depths that Gabe was still at a loss to read beyond them. He knew Thresher was willing to listen, but apparently that was all he was prepared to do until after he spoke with this Tyner, whoever he was. Gabe squirmed in his seat and fought the ropes that bound him to the chair. His splitting headache was beginning to blur his vision.

  "We will have an ambassador, a say in Guild business?” Thresher stated after mulling over Gabe's hastily listed treaty offers.

  "That's right. You will have trade restored immediately upon signing the treaty. Livestock and any colonists who want to settle here will have arrangements made for them.” Gabe stared intently at Thresher. “But, you do know that before females come here, laws and bonds will have to be posted."

  A pained look flickered over Thresher's hard features. “We are well aware of our black past, Commander. I wasn't here then but the perpetrators were dealt with long ago, although the wicked tale will never die.” For a moment, the man stared at the rough hewn table beneath his scarred palms. Then he raised his solemn gaze to Gabe's. He had to clear his throat, but his words still rasped. “Did any of the rescued captives from 1251 survive? I know of the few who were hospitalized on Delta Three. Did they make it?"

  "Yeah, a few.” Gabe found his voice was just as husky as Thresher's. Funny, the guy had access to information that only the Guild and the survivors knew. “But you won't want to meet any of them.” Gellico's image flashed in his mind, and Gabriel was sincerely glad he wasn't in Thresher's shoes. Any minute now, he expected Gellico and the Treaty's crew to show up.

  Hurry, hurry he silently repeated in a mantra to the man sitting across from him.

  Suddenly, Thresher untied Gabe and ordered his wounds treated. And as quick as his order, a grizzled medic came in and treated Gabe with a stinging solvent and a rough pressure bandage that irritated the skin around his head. Beyond the crude medicines, Gabe noted that most of their furnishings were also crude parodies of modern amenities. Feeling better, he gave the room a thorough once over. Thresher nodded in agreement to the question in Gabe's eyes.

  "We've come a long way since 1251, Commander, but we've a long way to go. We could use the help in establishing a colony. I'm sure the Guild colonies always need the farming trade.” His gaze lowered. “And I'm also sure I would not want to meet the dancers who survived that terrible year.” Thresher seemed lost in the haunted past.

  "I wouldn't recommend it.” The words barely left Gabe's mouth when the door to their room blew off its hinges. Gabriel, Thresher and his men managed to drop to the floor before lasers blasted. He hadn't felt his rescue team's approach over the diverse emotions that swamped the room—almost a fatal mistake. But his men knew better than to fire into a hostage's location. What had gotten them so out
of control? Scorch marks rimmed the walls. Sparks pinged off metal. Gabe's heart was pounding so hard that he barely identified the frantic thoughts of the troopers who were rushing into the room. They were definitely his men and bent on violence.

  "Cease fire! Damn it! Listen to me!” Gabe heard Asher yell over the lasers that were still pinging and the returned blasts from Thresher and his men. Someone had supplied the convicts with antiquated firepower, Gabe realized. They were using old MK-15s.

  "Hold your damned fire!” Gabe recognized Asher's frantic voice, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the firing stopped. He slowly rose from behind the shattered table that they had used for shelter. Thresher rose just behind his shoulder. The man wisely kept Gabe in front of him and his men.

  "This is the speaker for Hydra, Major Jones,” Gabe hurried to tell Asher, who took a menacing step forward. “Someone doesn't want this treaty and tried to sabotage our meeting. It wasn't him or his men."

  "Got that, Commander.” Gellico stood to the left of Asher with her laser still leveled at Thresher and his men. Her eyes glittered dangerously. “Who?"

  Asher and his men stepped back, way back, from her. Gabriel shook his head and flinched at the motion. Dizzy, he staggered. He knew he had to save the situation before it got ugly—well, uglier than it was. He clenched his jaw and grunted, “Not these men, Gelli. It wasn't these men.” Now he knew who had stirred his Marines to heated battle rage.

  Her eyes remained narrowed, her stance rigid. Her finger tightened on the laser, and Gabe felt his heart rate notch up. He didn't dare move or Thresher was a dead man. This close, Gabe wasn't sure that he wouldn't be one either.

  Behind Gabe, Thresher muttered for Gabe's hearing only, “They were hired mercenaries, Commander, and we didn't hire them. Tyner was the only contact."