by blood wind
expected him to lunge at her, but he turned away, dismissing her with his action, and picked up the pajama bottoms.
Once outside his cell, Bridget leaned against the wall, feeling sweat dripping down her cleavage. Her hands were trembling and her head felt light. “I can't do this,” she whispered and closed her eyes. “I can't!”
“Bridie?”
Bridget jumped, her nerves already taut. Dr. Beryla Dean, the Director of Be -Mod 9, was standing a few feet away. She smiled apologetically. “I didn't mean to give you a heart attack, dear.”
“He has a way of setting your nerves on end, doesn't he?”
“He's a Reaper,” Dr. Dean replied, knowing that was explanation enough for her assistant's nervousness.
“Do you want me to go in with you?”
The Director shook her head. “No need. I can handle him. Just make sure everything is set for tomorrow.” A worried look passed over Bridget's face. “I hope we're doing the right thing.” Dr. Dean smiled grimly. “He's our only chance, Bridie.” She reached out and put a motherly hand on her assistant's shoulder.
“And so are you.”
****
“DO YOU have any questions?” Dr. Beryla Dean, the Director of the Behavioral Modification Unit asked.
A look of annoyance passed over Cree's face. “Questions about what? Whether I will survive or not?” The Director's smile slipped a notch. “That isn't in the equation, Captain. You are in top physical shape.”
“Lucky me.” He folded his arms over his massive chest. “What now?”
“They told you that you would be spending the night here, didn't they?”
“They didn't tell me anything,” he ground out. “When are you going to start the session?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Dr. Dean answered. “The chemicals we use must be administered when you have an empty stomach to keep you from aspirating food into…”
“I have eaten nothing today,” he interrupted her. “I am ready now.”
Dean shook her head. “I have to abide by the Court's mandate and it states the sessions must begin tomorrow at oh six hundred hours.”
Cree snorted. “We can't have you disobeying the Court's mandate, now, can we, Madame Director?” Dr. Dean looked down at his medical records then at him, paused then spoke on a rush of breath. “And I'm afraid I can not order your nightly medications, because it might interact with the chemicals I am to administer to you tomorrow.” For the first time, Cree faltered. He seemed to lose some of his bravura. “I am to be denied the med?”
“I am afraid so, Captain,” she replied. “I have spoken with your Controller and he assures me there is no chance you-”
“I cannot sleep without it! Am I expected to stay awake all night worrying about what torture you've planned for me come morning?”
“I'm sorry,” she told him. “I know it will be hard for you, but-”
“You are a gods-be-damned Terran, aren't you?” His eyes were pinpoints of dark hell-fire.
Dr. Dean's chin came up. “I am,” she stated. “I was a medical student when I was abducted, but I finished my medical training at the University of Medical Research on Rysalia Prime if you are concerned about my qualifications.”
“I don't give a crap where you trained. You have no idea what going one night without the chemical will do to me!” The Director drew in a long, steadying breath. “I have seen the effects of trisomidine withdrawal, Captain, and I assure you I know the-”
“Get out,” he said, his voice a low growl.
“Captain…”
“Get out!” he bellowed and took a threatening step toward her.
Dr. Dean spun around and hurried to the door, barely closing it behind her before it rattled beneath the pounding of a heavy fist.
“Lock it!” the Director commanded an orderly. She plastered herself against the far wall of the corridor, watching with wide eyes as the pneumatic lock slipped into place, keeping the Reaper inside. The pounding went on for several seconds then abruptly stopped. Hurrying to her office, Dr. Dean went to the monitor that looked into Cree's room and turned it on.
Sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, the Reaper was staring fixedly up at the camera. He seemed to know she was watching him for he snarled at her, his lips skinned back from his teeth.
“I'm not so sure you are going to be able to handle him without physical restraints,” someone said from the door and Dr. Dean looked away from the monitor.
“He'll calm down,” Beryla said with more confidence than she felt.
“You'd better hope so,” her visitor cautioned. “You know what his kind is capable of doing.” A shudder ran down the Director's spine and she nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Be careful tomorrow, Beryla. I would suggest you have extra security on hand and heavy tranquilizer darts at the ready.”
“Yes,” the Director agreed. “I think that would be wise.” She sat down behind her desk and let out a long sigh. “Everything hinges on tomorrow, doesn't it?” When there was no answer to her question, she looked around and found her visitor had left.
Beryla Dean turned back to her monitor and stared at the warrior sitting perfectly still in the corner of his room. It was only noontime. By the time night fell, he would begin to feel the symptoms of trisomidine withdrawal and would become agitated, restless and potentially dangerous.
Not unlike the potent Class Three narcotics of her home world, trisomidine was a very powerful chemical. The neuroleptic drug controlled the nerve pathways of the brain that utilized the tissue chemical dopamine for the transmission of nerve impulses. Triso, as it was commonly known, was both psychologically and physically addictive. Developed to control severe psychotic behavior, it was routinely given to warriors of the Reaper caste to prolong the intervals in between Transition cycles.
The Vid-Com clicked on with a pleasant chime then a well-modulated female voice announced a visitor to the Director's office.
“Enter,” Dr. Dean commanded. She looked up to find Ivonne O'Malley standing in the doorway. “What is it?” Ivonne came into the room and closed the door behind her. She was pale, her eyes haunted. “We're having a slight problem with Bridie, Dr. Dean.”
The Director sighed. “I know. I've spoken to her.” There was a slight twist of irritation on the older woman's face. “Is she carrying on again?”
“She offered fifty thousand credits to anyone who would take her place,” answered Ivonne.
“Oh, for the love of Christ! You'd think we were asking her to sacrifice her virginity on an altar slab!” Despite her obvious unease, Ivonne smiled. “If it were anyone else but him…” She shrugged. “She's terrified of him.”
“Who isn't?” Beryla drummed her fingers on her desk, thinking then shrugged fatalistically. “It's too late to change recipients now.” Her expression hardened. “She'll just have to understand that.”
“Will you tell her or do you want me to?”
The Director swore beneath her breath. “I'll tell her.” She got up from her desk, glanced at the monitor then instructed Ivonne to stay and monitor their patient. “If anything drastic changes with Cree, call me immediately.” Ivonne settled into the Director's chair. She focused on the monitor and felt a chill go down her spine. The Reaper was pacing his cell, stopping now and then to glare murderously at the camera. The sound wasn't on so she leaned forward and flipped on the volume, but there wasn't anything to hear save Kamerone Cree's angry breath.
It was easy to see why the Reapers were so feared she thought as she watched him pace. He posed a threat although he was secured in a Maximum Four holding cell. The fury etched across his broad face only served to underline the tenseness of his powerful body. As he moved, there was a lethal grace Ivonne knew would be all stealth and unrelenting purpose when needed.
When he stopped and glared intently at the camera, she imagined he could see right through the instrument and into her own troubled gaze. Reapers were born psychic, enhanced with the keen i
nstincts of a predatory beast. Often able to read minds, they posed a very real threat to their human counterparts when they used that preternatural talent. Almost nothing could be kept secret from them.
“Stop staring at me, bitch!” Cree snarled, spitting at the camera.
Ivonne jumped, her hand going to her throat. The harsh words were flung at the camera like laser blasts and were punctuated with a growl that left no doubt in her mind the warrior was infuriated beyond his ability to conceal it. She gasped as he made a leap for the camera, swatting a heavy hand at the apparatus, before crashing to the floor. He tried again, failed, and let out a howl of frustration that made the hairs on her arm stir.
Ivonne flicked on the Vid-Com beside the Director's chair.
“Yes, Miss O'Malley?” the computer answered the call.
“Find Dr. Dean and let her know Captain Cree is quite agitated.”
“Certainly, Ma'am.”
Ivonne returned her attention to the monitor and was surprised to see the Reaper standing still staring at the camera. For a moment or two, he seemed to study the camera's position, then as she watched in awe, he leapt again and this time managed to grab the camera housing. On the monitor, there were a series of squiggly gray lines overlapping his angry face then the screen went black.
“Oh my God!” Ivonne breathed. She knew that an ordinary man could not leap high enough to grab the camera.
But then again, Reapers were not ordinary men.
Ivonne thought back to the indoctrination she received secretly from a Resistance fighter her first week on FSK -14, some fifteen years earlier…
While Earth was still staggering from the assassination of the greatest political leader our world had ever known, the Rysalians were systematically eliminating anyone they considered a threat to their multi-world domination; not even newborns of the ruling classes escaped the Rysalian sickle of destruction.
To that end, Dr. Piev Jale, the head research scientist on board frontier station Khamsin-14, had engineered a new retrovirus that caused instantaneous infertility in his female lab specimens. The retrovirus, codename V-7, attacked the ova and destroyed all the egg cells, thereby rendering the female unable to conceive. The inability of enemy females to bear offspring would mean no future enemies about whom Rysalia would need to worry. Therefore, V-7 was developed as part of a huge stockpile of biological weapons to be added to the Rysalian Empire's war arsenal for use in future conflicts. If Rysalia could simply stop their enemies from reproducing, ultimately, there would be no more enemies with whom to share their part of the universe. It had the full endorsement of all high-ranking members of the fleet command.
Once the retrovirus was deemed safe for transport, two hundred titanium canisters were sent via three long -range cruisers to the holding facility on Rysalia Prime. Each of the other fifteen space stations was to receive a dozen canisters each to be incorporated into the weapon's array of that station's assigned warship.
While FSK-14's own warship, The Whirlwind, was having her cache of V-7 installed, the canisters of the retrovirus suddenly exploded in the cargo bay. The pressurized contents were forced out of the ship's forward hold and sucked into one of the space station's air registers and from there into FSK-14's ventilation system. The bacteria invaded every chamber, every corridor, and the respiratory system of every living thing aboard.
The results were disastrous.
What had been harmless in lab animals became lethal to the females of FSK-14. Every woman who breathed in the odorless, colorless gas drew deep into her lungs the live bacteria and was dead in less than one hour from massive hemorrhage of the uterine blood vessels.
Before news of the disaster could reach Rysalia Prime-and before the other fourteen space stations could be warned of the potential danger-each of the poorly manufactured pressurized canisters exploded, sending clouds of deadly gas into the lungs of every Rysalian female in the empire. Within two hours, all the women were dead.
Such a tragedy stunned the men of the Rysalian Empire.
To have lost their mothers and wives, their lovers and sisters and daughters, was a crippling blow. Humbled by their grief, the Rysalian's accepted peace terms from their enemies and set about to re-populate their world with willing women from among their former enemies.
But the gods had frowned darkly upon the Rysalian warriors and their attempt to rule their part of the universe. The retrovirus, while harmless when inhaled by Rysalian males, nevertheless attached itself to the reproductive system of its victim and began to mutate amongst the spermatozoa. While no longer lethal, V-7 still carried with it devastating results: the instantaneous infertility of any female who engaged in sexual relations with a Rysalian male.
And there was no way to reverse the contamination of the spermatozoa.
As their male population began to decline, the Rysalians ranged farther and farther afield from their home world, seeking out carbon-based humanoids with which they might successfully mate and repopulate their dying world. The search within their own galaxy had proved futile; the females they found were just as susceptible to the bacteria as were their own.
Then, when their race was on the very brink of extinction, captain Kyrish Brell of the Rysalian Fleet Command encountered an anomaly while on a routine run of the gamma quadrant. The long -range cruiser was sucked into a massive wormhole and jettisoned out into an area of space widely thought to be uninhabited. After ascertaining he could make the return trip through the wormhole without endangering his ship and crew, he tried his luck in the solar system into which he had been thrust.
Passing planets that showed no signs of sustaining life, as he knew it, the captain finally arrived at a small, blue -green, pear-shaped ovoid.
What he had found was Earth, or Terra as he named it in his own Rysalian high speech. Captain Brell and his men transported to the surface of this undiscovered world and encountered a female species that was not unlike their own. With methodical intent, twenty young women of childbearing age were abducted, taken on board Brell's ship, The Windlass, and examined for their ability to conceive. Only one was rejected and she was soon replaced with another fertile female. Satisfied with his human cargo, Brell returned to FSK-14. Once there, the women were handed over to specially selected males of the elite warrior caste whose task it was to impregnate them. When the first female conceived, there was uncontrolled jubilation throughout the empire, but the jubilation soon turned to abject disappointment. Though all twenty females conceived and bore offspring of the Terran -Rysalian union-twelve females and nine males-the female children were born without reproductive organs; the males with contaminated spermatozoa.
Such news was bitterly disappointing to the Rysalian males. If these females ’ children could not reproduce, what good were they? It was decided by the high council of scientists that from that time forward, all female fetuses growing in Terran wombs would be aborted while the male fetuses would be left to term. It did not matter that these male children could not reproduce.
After all, Terran women could easily be harvested from their backward world to be used to re-populate the Rysalian Empire.
What Rysalia needed were more Terran women to bring forth Terran-Rysalian males who would become fierce warriors over time.
In order to advance this Rysalian objective, special sections of the Rysalian Fleet Command were formed for the sole purpose of extracting suitable females from Terra. They were called Retrieval units.
The men of the first section were called Hunters. They were transported to earth and left there to blend in with the inhabitants.
Their job was to seek out young females of exceptional intelligence, maximum physical heath, and arresting beauty: all attributes thought to be necessary for optimum breeding ability.
The second section, the Shepherds, were assigned the job of ‘herding’ those women who were selected to a pre-arranged spot where the third section, the Harvester, picked them up and brought them to Rysalia. Once on FSK-14, the women w
ere turned over to the fourth section, the Breeders, who assigned them to their mates.
But it was the infamous fifth section we feared the most. It was these men who struck fear into the heart of every woman brought to FSK-14.
'Run and the Reapers will find you,’ they told us.
'Disobey and the Reapers will punish you,’ we were warned.
'Harm your mate and the Reapers will kill you,’ they promised.
The Reapers were the demons of every Terran woman's nightmare.
And one in particular was a nightmare in his own right.
His name was Kamerone Cree.
Chapter 3
CREE NEITHER glanced at the women standing in the doorways of the other Treatment Suites, nor paid heed to the whispers that followed in his wake; he was used to it. His full attention was on the two people who awaited him at the end of the long hallway down which he passed. The guards escorting him to the Director's office-two in front, two to either side of him, and two bringing up the rear-held charged phasers set on heavy stun at the ready. Such elaborate security precautions irritated Cree more than he would have thought possible. To be unceremoniously ordered from his cell and told to report to the woman's office like an errant schoolboy did nothing to lighten his black mood.
“You destroyed Imperial property, Captain,” the Director informed him as he walked up to her. “Our budget is quite small and repairing it will be expensive, never mind the annoyance of requisitioning a technician in here to install a new one before you return to your cell.”
“So take it out of my credits.” He swept the woman standing beside the Director with an insulting glower, then folded his arms over his chest. “Is there anything else?”
Bridget almost smiled at the look that came over Beryla Dean's face. Had this been any other warrior, the Director might well have had him slapped in irons until time for his session.
“You seem to forget that you have been placed under my authority, Captain Cree,” Dr. Dean reminded him. “I will no more tolerate your insubordination than would your Commanding Officer!”
