However, Joseph knew the hopelessness of making such demands. Even if he could overcome the tethers of lifelong subservience to government and Church, it would get him nothing but death. Copeland would simply contact Commander Chase, put him in charge, and have Joseph executed. That the Holy Leader could control them even over a distance was not in doubt. Perhaps escaping through death would not be such a terrible thing, but the captain knew his would not be the last. Joseph’s officers and a lot of his remaining crew continued to believe in Copeland’s leadership with rabid fanaticism. They would be dangerous to the rest who now had every reason to doubt as the captain did. The executions that Joseph had thus far averted would forge ahead without his tenuous leadership to block them.
So why was his first reaction to Copeland’s approval always unmitigated joy? Why did he still feel unworthy when the Holy Leader seemed disappointed or, even worse, disapproving?
Simply put, Joseph was as fucked up in the head as Chase and Robards. His particular brand of insanity had asserted itself in a different way than the others. Where it made them strong, he felt weak. The awful thing was, Chase and Robards knew just how feeble their elected captain was. His was the kind face they used to keep the would-be deserters calm and in line. He had served their purpose well over the last couple of years, but eventually they would tire of the masquerade. Joseph was sure that day was looming close.
He was in far over his head and had been from the moment they’d made him captain. It was all he could do to deal with one emergency at a time, and there was always some crisis to be dealt with. The current disaster he faced was the impending starvation of his crew and lack of power to run the battlecruiser. The fate of Joseph’s ship relied on Browning Copeland. Their continued survival rested on the awful deal the Holy Leader had made.
Copeland’s perfect teeth beamed an exalted smile at Joseph. “You are only five days from Bi’is space, Captain Walker? Excellent.”
Joseph snapped a dutiful nod. “That will put us eight days from their research station, Holy Leader.”
“I am pleased with your work. You will receive many blessings for your service to me.”
With those words, the now hated warmth filled Joseph’s chest, that instinctive reaction of serving the Voice of God and earning his esteem. Soon enough it was followed by a curdling of his stomach as his right mind reminded him that Copeland was no righteous leader.
Even the way the Holy Leader had managed to escape Armageddon unscathed sickened Joseph. Copeland had claimed that God had come to him in a vision, warning him that the Kalquorians were on their way to invade Earth. God had insisted he leave Washington, D.C. and save himself.
Which led to the question that bothered Joseph the most: if Browning Copeland knew the end was coming, why didn’t he warn everyone else to get the fuck away from the main cities too? Why had so many innocents been left to die?
The question brought pain and impotent rage. However, the captain of the renegade cruiser didn’t have time for pain and he didn’t dare indulge too much in the fury at senseless loss of life. In his position, he didn’t have the luxury.
Joseph drew a deep breath. He needed to ignore all the wrongs that had befallen the human race right now. He had enough problems without setting Browning Copeland against him.
Those problems were why he dared to broach a touchy subject. “Holy Leader, about the Kalquorians we’ve taken prisoner?”
“Yes?”
“Why do the Bi’isils want them so bad? Why are we taking them to a scientific research station? Both species are members of the Galactic Council, so Bi’is is prohibited from taking Kalquorians as either slaves or experimental subjects.”
There was the disapproval he’d known was coming. Being prepared didn’t mean something inside Joseph didn’t shrink to see it on Copeland’s face.
The Holy Leader said in a forbidding tone, “What Bi’is wants with Kalquorian subjects is none of our affair, Captain. All that matters is that you hand off your prisoners and collect the funds promised.”
That led to Joseph’s main concern. He fought the little voice screaming in his head that he’d only piss off the Holy Leader with more troubles. He had to speak.
Damn it, be a man for once in your life. Stop acting like a brainwashed robot. Too many lives are at stake to mindlessly march to orders!
Screwing up his courage he said, “That’s another issue, sir. My crew is on strict rations to the point of desperation. There are signs they are heading for mutiny. If more of the Bi’isil payment could be allocated to my ship, that would take some of the pressure off. The men believe in you, but they’re running on fumes now. We can ask only so much sacrifice from them.”
The Holy Leader sighed, the sound one made when greatly put upon. “The crew knows you are my hand-picked captain for that ship. You may have a few faithless ones, but most know better than to thwart the living embodiment of God’s word.”
Joseph kept his expression bland with effort. The truth was, he’d been the first officer of this oversized bucket when the previous captain committed suicide in the wake of Armageddon. Terrified of the responsibility of commanding the then 1000-strong crew, Joseph had argued against taking command of the ship. Well-liked and thought of as fair, the crew had voted to make him captain despite his efforts to avoid it. They had also voted to not surrender to the Kalquorians, which Joseph had thought of as a mistake. Mitch Chase and Alec Robards, the next senior officers on the ship, had insisted it was Joseph’s God-ordained duty to lead the ship and to keep it out of their enemy’s hands. Hounded and begged from all sides, Joseph had finally conceded to the will of his crew. He had also promoted the experienced and battle-hardened Chase to be his first officer, not knowing he was playing right into the man’s hands, not realizing Chase would turn him into more a puppet than a leader.
It was over six months later that Joseph learned the Holy Leader was still alive. Browning Copeland had nothing to do with him becoming captain.
Copeland continued listing the reasons he couldn’t give Captain Walker’s greatly dwindled crew more to survive on. “It isn’t just our ships that use the funds. There are those who must be appeased with their share too. It is enough that I have to deal with the greed of the Basma. I don’t need it from my own thankless flock as well. The trouble with so many of the rabble is they have no idea the trials their leaders face.”
Walker didn’t know which made him more uneasy; that Copeland considered those who still looked to him as ‘rabble’, or the Holy Leader’s strange partnership with the Kalquorian known as the Basma.
According to the Copeland, the Kalquorian Empire was facing a problem in the wake of the war. A small group of their people showed signs of rebellion. This faction apparently preferred that the purity of the Kalquorian race remain intact rather than introducing Earther DNA to produce hybrid offspring. It didn’t matter to those Kalquorians that they would soon be extinct due to their female population’s growing infertility. Much like the most radical of the Earthers left alive, dying was preferable to mixing the species.
The Basma was the leader of this growing revolt, a shadowy figure that Copeland admitted he hadn’t seen the face of. What he did know was that the man was high enough in the Kalquorian Empire’s hierarchy to know the movements of Kalquor’s fleet. It had been information passed along by the Basma that had allowed Joseph’s undermanned battlecruiser to capture Captain Zemos and his crew.
Joseph lowered his eyes and spoke carefully. “I beg for your pardon, Holy Leader, but I don’t trust this Basma. We don’t even know who he is.”
He heard Copeland snort in derision. “It is enough that he tells our remaining ships where to find, destroy, and capture other Kalquorians. He gave you your prize, didn’t he? He’ll give us many more, and you and your crew will have greater riches in this world and the next.”
At the warming tone, Joseph raised his gaze to Copeland’s face. He was greeted with a beatific smile, a smile that said all was for
given. The hated warmth filled the young captain’s heart.
The Holy Leader said, “My brave servant, I know how hard your lot has been, as we have all suffered since Armageddon. I am here with you and I know your pain. I will see to it that your crew receives extra compensation for this mission, Captain. Tell them I am happy to reward their patience and service to the holy work they continue in these dark times.”
Joseph drew a deep breath. He hoped the offer of more funds was a promise and not simply bait that would be snatched away as soon as Copeland got compliance.
He said, “Thank you, Holy Leader. My crew will be glad to hear of your neverending benevolence.”
Copeland nodded. “Blessings on your endeavors.”
His image blinked off, and Joseph checked to make sure the entire transmission had been severed. Confirming it had, he allowed himself a frown.
None of this was right. He knew the most sensible thing he could do was run like the coward he was. Joseph wanted nothing more than to sneak into the battlecruiser’s fighter bay, jump in one of the hundreds of one-man crafts, and make his escape.
However, that would leave the weakest members of the remaining crew at the mercy of those still determined to exact the harshest penalties. Joseph himself was hard pressed to keep his first and tactical officers’ love for brutal punishments in check. They were hardliners, men perfectly willing to perform executions to keep the crew in line.
Joseph couldn’t abandon the others in the hands of such men. In particular, he knew Elisa Mackenzie faced more dangers than the rest. First Officer Chase had grumbled more than once that she shouldn’t be allowed to roam the ship, tempting the men from performing God’s work. Captain Zemos’ claim that Remington had behaved towards Elisa in an improper manner also underscored her vulnerability.
Joseph couldn’t leave. For some of the crew, he was the only thing between them and even worse sufferings than they knew now. He snorted derisive laughter at himself. That he should be the sole hope of others was a pathetic lot for them, the poor souls.
Chapter 4
The dream was back, all in its haunting horror. Elisa moaned in her sleep, knowing what was to come, knowing the terror of sweetness drowned in shame.
She stood in her spot in the choir hall, in the last row of the girls. They sang a song, one of her own. In fact, it was the very tune she’d sung for Clan Zemos in the waking world. That had never happened, of course. Elisa’s silly song was not in the recital they practiced for, but dreams never made much sense.
Two rows of girls stood before her, girls from age eleven to eighteen. Their voices soared high and beautiful, just as she remembered. They were among the best in the southeast district. The sound of so many young, gorgeous voices was enough to bring tears to Elisa’s eyes.
Though she did not dare to turn her head, she heard the boys behind her. Some sang as piping high as the sopranos, while others had deep, pulsing tones that shivered the spine. Only one voice mattered, though. It came from directly behind her, a clear, ringing tenor made more provoking because of who sang it.
She felt him touch her, as he always did at this part of the dream. It was a touch that provided equal parts joy and angst.
Star-crossed lovers, Elisa thought. The romantic notion brought bitter amusement as Audie pressed the note, folded as small as a postage stamp, into her palm.
She waited for the dream to turn ugly, as it always did at this point. Now all eyes would turn to her, the choir director would point in accusation, and there would be shouts decrying Elisa’s harlotry. She cringed in anticipation.
Instead, the singing went on. No one noticed her secret sweetheart had passed her a note filled with declarations of adoration and love, a note that would declare their sin.
Confusion warred with relief. The dream had been the same for years. Why was it changing after all this time?
Then came a touch Elisa had not expected. Audie’s fingers stroked through her hair, sending thrilling shivers down her spine. She gasped.
How could he dare in front of everyone? Was he trying to get them both executed?
The gentle caress moved to her shoulder, his palm cupping and sliding down her arm, warming her even as she froze in place. Elisa looked at those in front of her, not daring to move as Audie touched her in full view of camp counselors and fellow singers. The choir sang on, not noticing the illicit drama taking place.
His hand traveled back up to her shoulder, where it stopped. Now there was pressure. He was turning her to face him, to look into his sweet, lovely face.
No, no, Elisa’s thoughts screamed. They would get into so much trouble, more than what they had faced 33 years ago during that fateful summer. She must not turn around. She must not.
Yet her body refused to obey the dictates of her terrified mind. She slowly pivoted towards the boy behind her.
Elisa had been facing the front of the practice space, which took place in the camp’s basketball gym. She stood on bleachers three steps up. She was on the end of the row, with no one on her right, the direction Audie turned her. As she moved, the backs of the heads of the girls before her and Mr. Collette, the choir director, slid from view. Now there was the basketball goal before her wide eyes. The poster hanging on the wall behind the foul line declared ‘Strong bodies + strong faith = victory for God!’
Next came the door that led outside, the door Elisa came through each afternoon, her eyes already searching for Audie as she entered. She stared at it for the moment, thinking she must spring down from her perch on the bleachers and run to escape the judgment to come. Instead of launching her into flight, however, her treacherous feet continued to turn towards Audie.
Her chin lifted so she could gaze into his eyes, eyes surrounded by long gorgeous lashes that every girl at camp envied. But instead of those fringed circles of clear blue, Elisa stared into a pair of slitted-pupil purple eyes.
It wasn’t Audie. Elisa looked into the face of Dramok Zemos.
Her heart tried to stutter to a stop before taking off in thundering flight. What was the Kalquorian captain doing here?
Elisa had never seen Zemos look at her with anything except kindness and warmth. In the dream however, there was dangerous demand in his expression. The heat in his eyes was so fiery that just his gaze threatened to consume her. The look was one of pure animal lust, so blatant that it could not be mistaken for anything else.
The voices around her continued to sing, as if the most terrible creature known to Earth was not standing there among them. As if Zemos was no more than a ghost. As if Elisa did not commit the sin of letting a man, an alien man, touch her.
She forgot that she only dreamed, that none of this was real. She stood before Zemos with terror and want in her pounding heart.
His hand on her shoulder moved to grip the back of her neck. Zemos’ face lowered to Elisa’s. He was going to kiss her. She could read the intention as easily as if he’d shouted it. Still, her body refused to seek escape though her mind screamed she must.
Elisa stood frozen as the first questing touch reached her lips. The pressure of the Dramok’s mouth grew on hers until it was forceful and demanding in its want. She moaned against the weight of the kiss, and his tongue shoved into her mouth.
At last, her hands and arms found life. Elisa lifted them, not to shove Zemos away, but to cling desperately, to claim this moment of pleasure before the others saw them and brought it to an end. He growled at her surrender. She sobbed with joy as he gathered her body to his, pressing her close as if to meld them together. His erection prodded at her stomach, throbbing as if it possessed a heartbeat of its own. Elisa whimpered in fear. He was so big!
More hands slid over her suddenly and shockingly nude body. A hand clutched the hair at the back of her head, tugging Elisa’s mouth from Zemos’. She stared into the ferocious face of Nobek Oret, who stood on her left.
His fangs were down, showing themselves from behind his human-square teeth. He grinned with feral promise as Zemo
s’ mouth, deprived of hers, moved down her neck.
“Lovely,” came a whisper through the singing voices. Elisa’s eyes rolled in their sockets to find Miragin standing on her right. He also showed fangs, turning his calm face bestial.
Something told Elisa she must not speak. To do so would gain the choir’s attention, though the presence of the Kalquorians had somehow not been noted. With the Kalquorians filling her vision, Elisa couldn’t see any of the other children or the choir director. The singing continued, letting her know they were still there. She knew she must be silent or terrible things would happen.
Mouths and hands moved all over her shaking body. Elisa bit back moans as Zemos hungrily sucked on her breast. Oret knelt to rub her ass with bruising force, nipping at the round globes. Meanwhile, Miragin kissed her with the same raw passion Zemos had, his fingers sliding through the wet folds of her slit. A blast of heat filled her belly at the clandestine touches.
Hands and mouths were everywhere, tasting and groping her flesh. She melted in their clutches, no longer caring that they must be discovered. It only mattered that she found completion before that happened, that for once passion be realized. All she wanted was to be with the men she loved, if for just this first and last time.
Miragin’s thick finger entered her. Elisa cried out, overcome at the penetration. He stroked in and out, fucking her. Oret grabbed her wrists, pinning them at the small of her back and holding her helpless for their attentions.
Miragin released her mouth. “You will come for us,” he whispered. “You have no choice.”
Insistent lust licked its way through her core. The Imdiko’s thrusts grew stronger, more insistent. Carnal fury bit deep, jolting her from belly to skull.
“Surrender,” Oret’s harsh voice rumbled in her ear. “We will accept nothing less from you, little Earther girl.”
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