0036393001337282886 wind demon 01

by blood wind

The only way for them to achieve their goal was to stop the Empire's spread of influence. To halt the genetic programs designed to create blindly obedient males who obeyed Empire mandates with cold-blooded precision. To stop the harvesting of females from which came males who did not question the insanity of faceless, emotionless breeding. To stamp out the notion that emotional attachment to one's offspring was a bad thing.

  But the women of the Resistance were not the only ones who thought this way.

  Among those who wished for a drastic change in Empire policy were numerous high -ranking officers who saw the folly of a continuation of indiscriminate breeding. Who had the wisdom and foresight to understand that things had gone way beyond Confederation control and intent. The other worlds of the Confederation: Serenia, Ionary, Chale, Virago, Oceania, and Necroman, did not treat their females in the way Rysalia had subjugated theirs. Kinsmen of some of the women held by the Empire were beginning to speak of war. The tide of complacency that had endured for more than forty years was now turning against Rysalia and those who understood this, sided with the Resistance.

  ****

  “HE WILL receive orders to report to the Ministry of Science for transportation in just a few minutes. He will be ordered to leave in the morning,” Beryla told Hael.

  “I am glad I won't be in his quarters when he finds out the transport to Hell-12 has finally come through,” replied Amala Dayle.

  “Bridget says he got angry with her when she requested an additional hour away tonight,” said the Director.

  “Did he grant his permission?” asked Hael, knowing the man would not.

  “I don't need to answer that,” Beryla snapped.

  “He is not going to be happy when she stays anyway,” said Amala.

  “Is she worried about tonight?”

  “I explained to Bridget he wasn't angry at her, but at himself for not understanding the emotions ripping through him right now.

  He knows the time is getting close for him to leave her. He isn't dreading the punishment; he's dreading not being with her.”

  “He's never known jealousy before,” Amala reminded her. “Or felt overwhelming attraction that is as alien to him.”

  “Attraction, hell. You mean lust.” Hael snorted. She was standing at the bank of windows in Beryla's quarters that overlooked a black expanse of space. “The implant he has in his hypothalamus was placed there to control his sex drive. I have used a synthetic neurotransmitter to counteract the damage done when he was ten. Now he has the same sexual function as a normal male.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the glass. “And I am sorry I ever got involved in this.” Dr. Dean rolled her eyes. She was getting tired of Hael Sejm's attitude. The woman was becoming increasingly vocal in her disagreement with the Resistance's goals. If Sejm had her oddball way, every man ever born would be strangled at birth and sex would become a thing of the past. As much as Beryla understood the dark moods into which her friend often fell, she could not help wonder if the rape of Hael Sejm so many years earlier had slightly unhinged the biochemist. Her intense distrust and dislike of men were not good things. In fact, it was becoming clear to most of the levelheaded members of the Resistance that Hael Sejm would have to be watched if they didn't want disaster to strike.

  Amala, too, was worried about the Chalean scientist. The two women had taken an instant dislike to one another upon meeting many years before and that dislike had grown steadily worse since Amala had become the consort of Commodore Lexis, the OIC

  of the Ministry of Public Education.

  “No matter your feelings, Hael,” Amala said, her attention glued to the despondent chemist, “you must say your prayers to Alel for Bridget's safety tonight.”

  Hael looked around, her face concealing her innermost thoughts. “Oh, I have already done that. I have also prayed to the Great Lady.”

  Beryla Dean felt a cold finger of dread go down her spine. She had heard of the Great Lady, the Prophetess of the Daughters of the Multitude. The sect had a sanctuary on Rysalia Prime left over from the days before the catastrophe that had killed all the Rysalian women. Not even the Empire dared venture inside the sacred grounds of the religious order for it was rumored the Daughters were sorceresses of the deadliest power. She had never met a woman who professed to be a part of the religion, but she wasn't surprised Sejm would be.

  “The Great Lady will provide for us,” Hael said, turning back to stare once more out the window. “She will see us free of our enslavers. I promise you that.”

  ****

  THE SUMMONS to the Ministry of Science came at a little past 1900 hours. The message was clear and to the point: He was to report to the transporter room the following morning at 0700 hours for transport to Hell-12.

  Cree slammed his fist against the wall, denting the metal. He crumpled the summons in his hand and pitched it across his living area, stalked to a chair, overturned it, then righted it with several heavy slams that should have cracked the frame. He sat down heavily in it, a deep scowl etched across his handsome face.

  “Why now?” he seethed, pounding his fist on the chair. “Why the hell now?” He'd thought he had at least another week before having to go to that living hell

  Another week to spend with Bridget; to try to understand why his every thought was of her; to make some sense of why he couldn't wait to see her each morning; why he needed to see her each night before he turned in to lie sleepless and miserable in his bed; to calm the raging sexual yearning that caused that sleepless, miserable condition.

  Shoving himself out of the chair, he stalked across the living area, kicking aside any offending obstruction in his path. He plowed his hand through his hair and, grabbing a handful, tugged brutally at his scalp in an effort to drag his mind from her.

  “Hell!” he snarled, searching out the digital time display above the Vid-Com screen. 1948 hours. It would be more than an hour before she was due to return. The thought infuriated him beyond endurance. He wanted her here, now! He needed her here, now!

  Why did he agree to let her go tonight anyway? Something had told him not to do so. Had he sensed this evil was coming?

  “Captain?” the Vid-Com broke in on his static thoughts.

  “Shut the hell up!” he ordered it.

  “I have…”

  “I told you to shut up!” he roared.

  The Vid-Com clicked off with a snappish little blip of sound.

  Cree threw his head back and howled with frustration. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to dismantle that interfering piece of electronics. He sat down and locked his attention on the digital time dial across the room. The longer he watched the numbers change, the more irritated he became. At 2015, he got up and started pacing, throwing savage looks at the numbers that, to him, seemed to be crawling. At 2045, he began to calm down just a little. Only fifteen minutes left before Bridget left Dr.

  Dean's quarters and another five for her to reach their quarters-he could control himself that long.

  “I will tell her that I will miss her,” he heard himself saying. “I need her to know I will miss her.” He stopped, thought about that then nodded. There was no harm in Bridget knowing he would miss her.

  He looked at the digital readout: 2147. How could only two minutes have passed when it felt like twenty? He began to pace again.

  “I must tell her I will be thinking of her.”

  He stopped again, this time abruptly and with a frown. Where had that thought come from? If he told her such a thing, what would she think?

  He sat on the arm of his chair, propped his chin in his hand and mulled over his own question. Coming to no definite answer, he glanced up only to find the digital readout seemed to be stuck at 2047.

  “Move, you gods-be-damned thing!” he yelled at the readout and the number 8 shifted into view. Once more he hopped up and paced.

  “I need to tell her it will be hell while I am away from her.”

  That thought could not be construed as anything abn
ormal. After all, Hell-12 was a penal colony. He was not going to enjoy himself there.

  Another look at the readout said 2053.

  Cree forced himself to calm down. He went to the sofa, sat down, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. He willed his heartbeat to slow, his nerves to smooth out. He used every technique he had mastered over the years to force his body to relax.

  One technique was to place his palms on his thighs and to rub gently until he became aware of nothing but the friction of flesh against fabric. He concentrated on the motion, unaware that his hands were moving to the insides of his thigh. Without even knowing he was doing it, his right hand shifted over and began a movement of its own.

  “Captain!” the Vid-Com admonished.

  “Leave me alone,” he whispered.

  “You must stop doing what you are doing. It is forbidden.” The Vid-Com's voice held a strong warning.

  Cree stopped, aware of where his hand had strayed. He lifted his head, looked down at the rigid shaft straining against his trousers and snatched his hand away.

  “I have sent for a surrogate.”

  The Reaper shook his head. “You can just send her back!”

  “I am not going to argue with you, Captain. Your actions have made it necessary for sperm release and-” Irrational fury blazed across Cree's face and before he knew what he was saying, his words came out with enough force to shatter crystal:

  "The only place my sperm is going to go from now on is inside Bridget Dunne, you meddling hot-wired bitch!"

  Shocked by his own words, Kamerone Cree's eyes flared wide and he slapped a hand over his mouth as though by doing so he could keep anything else of a forbidden nature from coming out.

  “You do not have permission to empty your seed into that particular Terran female at this time, Captain, ” the Vid-Com said smugly.

  “And even if you did have permission to mate with her, she would be inaccessible to you for the prescribed twenty -four hour period.”

  His voice had dropped to a near-whisper. “What are you saying?” he'd asked so quietly his words barely moved the air.

  The Vid-Com's smirk was mocking. “At the present time, twenty-one thirty hours…”

  “Twenty-one thirty?” he demanded, his attention flying to the digital readout.

  “As I was saying,” the Vid-Com snapped. “At the present time, the Terran female known as Dunne is preparing to engage in sexual intercourse with another male. Ministry of Public Health regulations clearly state that she may not have sexual intercourse with a different male for twenty-four hours.”

  Cree walked to the Vid-Com screen, staring at it with disbelief, slowing shaking his head in denial “The Terran female I mean is having supper with Dr. Dean in the Director's quarters,” he said in a quiet, no-argument voice.

  “No, Captain, she is not,” the Vid-Com informed him. “Your live-in companion, Dr. Bridget Siobhan Dunne is at this moment with Commander-”

  “Get me Dr. Dean's quarters!” he demanded. “Now!”

  Almost immediately his order was obeyed. Dr. Dean's cheerful face appeared on screen. Behind her were two other women.

  “Good evening, Captain. How may I help you?” asked the Director.

  “Let me speak to her,” Cree ordered.

  “Who, Sir?” Dr. Dean asked, her face a study in puzzlement. She turned away, then looked back at him. “Dr. Sejm? Dr.

  Dayle?”

  “Bridget, damn you!” he bellowed. “It's…” He glared up at the digital readout then returned his hateful glower to the Director.

  “It is 2140 and she is not home yet!”

  Dr. Dean stepped back from the Vid-Com as though he might reach through it and grab her by the jugular. “Captain,” she said, blinking with trepidation. “Dr. Dunne is not here. I haven't seen her all day.”

  “All day?” he repeated.

  “No, Sir,” the Director replied. “Was she-”

  Hot rage exploded in him like a pulsar cannon's blast. His fist went through the Siliplex on the Vid -Com, cutting him deeply across his knuckles, cutting off the concerned face of the Director. A growl worse than that of a were-tiger in full pounce erupted from behind lips drawn back over gnashing teeth and he stormed from his quarters with only one thought in mind: To find Konnor Rhye's quarters!

  ****

  BRIDGET LOOKED down at her watch: 2215 hours. She shuddered, wondering how long it would take for Cree to find them.

  “Stop worrying,” Konnor advised. He pulled her tighter against him. “By the time he realizes where you are it will be too late.

  He'll have to report for transport.”

  She felt bad about using Konnor. Basically, he was a good man; with a promising career in the Ministry of Acquisitions that she knew tonight would effectively be put to an end. He was a patient man and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. She hated to hurt him, possibly cost him more than his position at the Ministry; but most importantly of all, she feared making him a sworn enemy of a man as powerful as Kamerone Cree.

  “I am not afraid of him,” Konnor had told her when she voiced her worries to him.

  Konnor knew nothing of the Resistance's plans for Cree. He had no idea he was a part, an integral and absolutely vital part, of those plans. There was no way he could know he was being used to turn the Iceman into a green -eyed monster. Bridget liked Rhye. He was a sweet, endearing man whom she knew truly loved her. She hated to use him. His was a gentle soul, so unlike the monster that had been created within Kamerone Cree.

  “A monster,” she whispered.

  “Don't,” Konnor advised. “I can protect you.”

  No, you can't. You can't even protect yourself, sweet man that you are. She buried her face against his shoulder and began to cry.

  “Sweeting, please don't cry,” Konnor pleaded with her. “We will be together. I promise you that. You belong with me. He might have been able to buy you out from under me, but he can't buy what you'd already given to me.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Bridie.”

  Although she didn't love Konnor Rhye, she did have some tender feelings toward him. He had been the Keeper on board the ship that had brought Bridget to FSK-14. He had shown immediate interest in her and had kept Captain Kullen from attacking her on more than one occasion. She had been only too glad to use him early on in their relationship to keep from being sent to the breeding pens. He had even been useful in getting her the assignment to Be -Mod 9. But as the years had passed, and she had become part of the Resistance, the role Konnor was to play in her life diminished in lieu of snaring a man of Cree's power. Guilt at misusing Konnor Rhye had begun to set in Bridget's mind and she had begun to feel sorry for him. Feeling his lips on her forehead once more, that guilt became harder to bear.

  “You're trembling,” he told her, bringing her back from her guilt-ridden memories. He drew her naked body closer to his own.

  “Should I have the Vid-Com turn up the heat?”

  Bridget burrowed her fingers possessively through the wiry curls that covered Konnor's chest. It wouldn't be long now before Cree found her and she wanted to hold on to this fiercely protective male as long as she could.

  “Just hold me, Koni,” she begged. “Please just hold me.”

  “Gladly, milady!” Rhye was a handsome man, Bridget thought as she inhaled his warm scent. Although his dark hair was receding and thinning on top, it did not detract from his overall sensuality. His brown eyes were soft and friendly, prone to sparkling with wry humor; and the twin dimples that indented his cheeks gave him a playful, boyish look that belied the steely strength Bridget had often glimpsed. In his middle thirties, he would never stretch beyond the rank of Commander for he was a Keeper, but he had the intelligence and savvy to go well above that meager rank. His frustration at not being able to advance was one of the reasons the Resistance had okayed him for their purpose. The man obviously had issues with the Empire's mandates.

  Bridget worried that her betrayal of him wou
ld destroy the good man he was and make him hate her, as well as every other female.

  ****

  FOUR HARD-FACED men strode behind the Reaper as he came like an avalanche down the corridors of Level Three.

  People moved out of their way; hurriedly entered their quarters and locked the doors behind their passing. The grim look on the black-clad warrior's face; the meaty fists doubled at his side; the determined, deadly, and brutal glint in his dark eyes were all evidence of the man's rage.

  “Which room?” Cree's tight voice was a death knell as he walked, his boot heels drumming sharply on the metal floor.

  “307, Sir,” answered Ensign Hascom, the Chief Security Guard. He glanced at number 301-his own quarters-as they passed and was glad it was not him the Iceman was after.

  Only two people out and about in the Level Three corridor at that time of the evening stopped to stare as the quintet of steely-eyed men halted before number 307. The Reaper did not bother to order the men with him to attempt to seek legal entry of the quarters in front of which they had stopped. Instead, he had stepped aside and ordered phasers to blast through the titanium door.

  Konnor Rhye instinctively threw himself over Bridget as the blast rumbled through the living quarters beyond his bedsuite door.

  The smell of charred titanium and the purposeful thud of stamping feet advancing on the bedsuite were proof enough that Bridie needed his protection. He would gladly give his life to save hers and never stop to think twice about doing so. If there was any way he could keep the Reaper from hurting her, he would try. He was reaching for his phaser, fully intending to cut the bastard down, when hard, unrelenting hands took hold of his arms and dragged him -naked and struggling-up out of the bed and off Bridget.

  “You are under arrest, Commander Rhye,” Ensign Hascom told him.

  “For what?” Konnor flung his head around, found Bridget staring at him with terror. “It's going to be all right, Bridie. I promise you. I won't let him-” Konnor yelped as his arms were savagely twisted behind his back.

  “Don't hurt him!” Bridget cried out, coming to her knees on the bed. “Please, I beg you. Don't hurt him!” The two Security Guards averted their eyes from the nude woman kneeling on the bed as she grabbed frantically for the sheet that had been pulled from the bed by her lover's removal. Wrestling the Keeper between them, they dragged him back, away from the bed, and held him as the other two guards manacled his hands behind him.