Legend Beyond The Stars

by S. E. GILCHRIST

  None worked harder or faster than Tarak.

  Alana’s eyes remained fixed on his powerful figure. She flinched each time a cage clanked onto the floor as it was released. She tried not to look when they checked the contents for signs of life. The Darkons moved quickly and efficiently from one cage to the next.

  Someone was coming towards her.

  It was Tarak. He carried a limp form in his arms, his muscular thighs making short work of the distance between them. With care he laid his burden onto the floor at her feet and met her dazed eyes.

  ”Alana,” he commanded. The power of his voice reached deep inside and tugged at her heart. His fingers trailed a lazy path over her face. He pinched her chin. “Alana, look at me.”

  Feeling immeasurably weary, she raised her head. When their eyes met and held, the force of his personality fused life into her body. Her shoulders straightened. She stepped forward away from the wall. The glint of admiration in his eyes was all the motivation she needed.

  She snapped back to life.

  “I know you are hurt, frightened, confused. I know you are angry with me. But you are needed. This Jurian needs help. See what you can do for him,” Tarak said softly.

  “Of course.” Alana reached out a hand but let it fall away before she touched him.

  They stared at each other in tense silence. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she didn’t know how to say, but this was not the time or the place. Perhaps there never would be the time or the place. Perhaps the distance between them was too far to bridge. She nodded and he turned away. And just for a second, she thought she saw hurt in his eyes at her lack of response.

  She crouched and bent over the alien at her feet. “Jess, do you want to give me a hand here?”

  “This is so, like, the worse day of my life.” Jessamine’s voice was thick with tears. She raised her head and crawled over to the fallen Jurian. Heavy dark shadows lay thick beneath her swollen eyes and she murmured with genuine pity, “Oh Lord, what a mess. What are we gonna do?”

  “Something, anything. We’ll do whatever we have to do,” Alana said with grim determination.

  Jessamine smile was shaky. “Glad to have you back, Captain.”

  “I’m glad to be back.” Alana searched the room. “We need to find water and something we can use as bandages. Antiseptic would be good, but how the hell are we going to know whether they have any in this hell-hole, I have no idea.”

  “In books, the heroine always has handy, miles of petticoats.”

  Alana emitted a short laugh. “Yeah well, since neither of us is a heroine and I personally wouldn’t be seen dead in a petticoat, that’s not much use.”

  “I’m sure I saw a dispenser in the other room near the chute. I’ll be back.” Jessamine staggered to her feet, wobbled, gained her balance and disappeared through the hatch. She returned with a container of liquid. Together they helped the Jurian raise his head and attempted to get him to drink. “It looks like they’ve found more alive.”

  “Yeah.” Alana’s upper teeth sank so deeply into her lower lip they drew blood, but she tried to stop as Darkon warriors hastened past them, ducking through the doorway all carrying bodies with varying degrees of abuse.

  Later she could not say what made her jump to her feet, ignore her friend’s startled gasp, and run through the room towards Tarak’s side. She’d dodged past the metal cages, weaved around Darkon warriors, jumped over shrivelled corpses to arrive breathless and panting to where the Commander stood in front of an open cage.

  She cast the First Officer a wild-eyed look.

  Magar shook his head and indicated the huddled form of the cage’s prisoner. In a hushed tone he muttered, “Lord Dion.”

  The shock in his voice caused Alana’s flesh to prickle and shrink back from her bones. Although the name meant nothing to her, she braced herself.

  Tarak rattled a long drawn out sound which resonated with a shocked fury. He stooped and brushed aside the lank black hair from the Darkon’s scarred face.

  “My brother.”

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Command Centre was the perfect place to witness the Ark’s destruction of the planet Isla.

  Alana, her hands gripped together behind her back, stood with her small group of friends on the observation platform overlooking the control area. Every station was manned, all eyes fixed on the forward viewing screen. The air was rife with a feral anticipation.

  Alana doubted there wasn’t one person on that ship who did not harbour a surge of unsated blood lust. She knew the Commander had ordered this final battle to be broadcast to every corner of the ship. An order she approved of wholeheartedly—it would do the victims good to witness the violent end of the place where they had endured such traumatic experiences.

  Beneath her feet, the Ark vibrated with a power that boggled her mind. The massive ship gathered itself in preparation for the strike. Alana turned and made eye contact with her friends, her concern rising for their mental health when she saw the pale anxious faces of the women surrounding her.

  Jessamine returned her smile. She had been a tower of strength, her right hand while they organised the women who had not been injured into giving first aid and limited nursing to the wounded. Gratitude for her friend’s unstinting friendship warmed her battered heart.

  “Do you think there’s anyone left alive down there?”

  Shock still resonated through Elise’s anxious whimper. Alana noted how the girl’s eyes remained puffy and red-rimmed from her tears, and she frowned in thought. She had also noticed it had been Magar who had gathered the young girl into his arms and comforted her when Elise had succumbed to sobs of relief once they had all stumbled weary and worn onto the deck of the Ark.

  Something else she would need to deal with.

  “No, trust me, honey, the Darkons got every guy off that planet.” Jessamine reached out and pulled the younger girl into her embrace. She hugged her gently and Alana could see her own concern mirrored in her friend’s eyes as Elise clung to her warmth.

  Atolo and Rajan had a hell of a lot to answer for. It would take some time for the women to recover from their ordeal. What scared her most was the agonising worry some might never recover fully. As well as the physical there were mental injuries. It would be a long time before Alana would be able to rid herself of those pitiful, tiny images of what had been the frail beginnings of life.

  Her gaze swept around her friends; worry beat like a jack hammer drilling through concrete as she considered their condition. Before coming to the Command Centre, she had stolen some moments to confer with Jessamine.

  “Linette’s not good,” Jessamine had said her tone abrupt with angst. “She still hasn’t spoken a word to anyone.”

  “Yeah, I agree she doesn’t look well. Her eyes are so remote and shuttered, like there’s no one home.” Alana dragged a weary hand over face. She, herself, had spent her time since arriving on the Ark doing what she could for the more seriously wounded aliens. Seeing their horrific injuries had made her grateful they hadn’t been on Isla long enough to endure what the other inmates had suffered. “Any injuries?”

  ”No significant physical injuries, some bruisin’, lacerations, a sprained wrist. In the Analysis Chamber she refused to respond to any queries. The medic couldn’t obtain any info from her. Nor would she speak to me, but then she never did cotton onto me.”

  Alana had chewed her lower lip furiously for a moment before asking, “And the others?”

  “Tina is perkin’ up. It took her a while to stop shakin’. And little Elise hasn’t been able to stop talkin’. Rather more than usual.” Jessamine grinned.

  “They’ve become our shadows. I’m surprised they haven’t followed us here into the cleansing tube.”

  “There is no way in hell anythin’ else could fit in here,” Jessamine muttered with a faint attempt of humour as she bumped against the fittings. She tried to reach up to rub the sore spot but found it impossi
ble.

  “Sorry but I couldn’t think of anywhere else which would give us some privacy. Everywhere I look there’s some Darkon warrior dogging us.”

  Jessamine managed a small shrug in the tightly enclosed space. “They feel responsible, honey.”

  Alana arrowed her stare at her friend. “They are responsible!”

  Jessamine persevered, “They’re worried. I sure don’t believe they knew exactly what had been happenin’ there. Yeah, they knew there was a research camp, but I think they thought it was a type of medical research centre. You know, doin’ experiments on some poor rat type creature.”

  “They knew. He knew!”

  “I don’t believe it. You don’t either, not really. You’re just lookin’ for someone to blame. Plus, I bet you’re pissed off he left you behind.”

  Alana swore with fluency.

  “Don’t get pissy with me. Hey, I’m on your side here. You know they were as shocked as us. Maybe more so.” Wisely she then returned to the matter at hand, running quickly through the names of the women with the more significant hurts. She wound up saying, “We were lucky. Everyone will recover.”

  “Physically.”

  “Well, what we’ve been through lately is gonna take some time to work through emotionally. But we’ll get there.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “You do. It’s just buried under that mountain of guilt you’re layin’ on yourself. There is no way you could have prevented any of this from happenin’.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  Jessamine rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t, but don’t forget this has been a democratic partnership. We’ve all been makin’ these decisions with you, too.”

  Remembering her friend’s words now, Alana sighed and a wave of despondency crashed over her. Guilt ate like a cancer into her soul.

  She had to admit that Tarak had done what he could, his men had been ordered to keep away from the women. Although they still hovered on the fringes of wherever the women were, they obeyed his orders never venturing too close. She didn’t think that would last long though. Their race was too passionate, too stubborn, too driven, too physical.

  At the moment the Darkons were busy dealing with the aftermath. It gave all of them a respite. The warriors attended to the wounded and their allotted duties with a fierce emotion which Alana recognised. It was the same feeling burning unchecked in her belly.

  Vengeance.

  A pulse of power rocked the ship. Alana staggered to the side. Her gaze snapped back to the viewing screen. Light so dazzling it hurt her eyes, shot towards the planet. A cyclonic storm of destruction swept from the point of contact, molten fire appeared to bubble from the interior. It spread rapidly across the landscape. Then the planet exploded shooting debris out into space, a hurtling cloud of rock, fire, gas and smoke.

  She heard one of the women give a long drawn out sigh of relief.

  It was done.

  Time to move forward.

  Alana advised Jessamine to take the others back to their quarters and keep them busy caring for the injured. She headed towards Tarak, who stood with his broad armoured back aimed against her.

  They had not spoken since they had found Lord Dion.

  It was time he answered some questions.

  And this time she was determined to get answers.

  Her face composed and concealing the doubts and hope she still harboured, she reached his side. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her pants so she wouldn’t give into the need to hold him close. With difficulty, she swept her personal problems to the bottom of the pile.

  The women were her first priority.

  Then, there was that little matter of justice.

  She parted her lips in what she hoped was some kind of smile. “There has to be a reckoning for these crimes.”

  “This need not concern you. It is a Darkon matter.” He brushed past her and strode towards the bank of stations lining the room where Magar operated an intricate holo display.

  Gritting her teeth, Alana whipped her hands from her pockets and hastened after him.

  “This concerns all of us!” Her voice rang loud in the room. She did her best to ignore the black glances the other warriors sent her way. She was surprised at how much it hurt they now viewed her as the enemy. It appeared everyone on board the Ark knew of the accusations she had hurled at their leader.

  Of course it was only natural they would draw a line of loyalty with him.

  Just as she was also aware the women were drawing a line of loyalty with her.

  The distance between the two races was widening by the second. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. All she knew was she had to get all of them away from these men as soon as she possibly could before any more harm befell them.

  “Atolo must be found. He and Rajan must be tried for their parts in their acts against humanity. What they condoned and the roles they played must be punished.” Deliberately she omitted their royal titles. They didn’t deserve any respect. She took a deep breath. “What was going on in that place was worse than murder.”

  Tarak swung round and thrust his face close to hers. His frown was fierce and intimidating. His voice harsh with suppressed emotion. “This is my family, you are speaking of! My family you want against a wall and terminated. My name dishonoured for all the annals of time.”

  “I know and I am so very sorry,” she said in a soft tone.

  “You know nothing.” Tarak presented her with his back.

  The rigid set of his shoulder muscles told her without words, he did not want or need her pity. And she so ached to give him solace.

  Magar glared at her, for once his eyes were cold, all lazy amusement vanished from his face. Alana, encountering his accusing stare, swallowed hard on the misery in her soul.

  “I speak for all the women, not only for myself. I speak for all those who lost their lives, for those whose lives did not even begin. I speak for your brother.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

  He turned round and snarled, “You, a slave can speak for no one. Not even yourself.”

  Through lips that trembled, she uttered, “I am no one’s slave.”

  “No?”

  The smile which spread over the Commander’s face was terrible to behold and Alana had to battle the frisson of alarm the sight gave her. His sharp canines glinted. He folded his muscular arms across his wide chest. His stance was wide and arrogant. His masculinity a potent threat to her fragile heart.

  Her sorrow and regret knotted into rope and tightened her chest. Her eyes widened, blurring with tears she would not shed.

  “You, Alana are my slave. If I chose to, I could take you here and now. And you would welcome me. We both know you would do nothing to stop me.” He gave a rough laugh and watched her through narrowed eyes “If I chose to, I could throw you to my men and watch them take you. You are my slave. Never forget it.”

  All warmth left her shaking body as his sneering voice, his hateful words, rolled over her like an avalanche. The biting cold of his aloof eyes burned into her stunned gaze.

  Alana turned away.

  She left the Command Centre.

  She saw nothing.

  Heard nothing.

  Stumbling as if she was a blind beggar, she made her way to her sleeping quarters and stood in the centre of the room staring into nothing for a long, long time.

  In the Command Centre, Tarak emitted a roar of frustration and rage. He punched the nearest object with vicious force.

  The consol shattered into a mass of flying crystal, plasma, fragments of metal and wire.

  Beside him his second-in-command inspected the damage and said with laden sarcasm, “Nicely said, Commander.”

  “She is just a slave. It is time she accepted it. She has no say in Darkon matters.” His voice was hoarse with tightly held emotion.

  Magar snorted. “Aaaah, this would be the slave for whom you are willing to risk your honour, your rank—not to me
ntion your life. The same one you would kill for?”

  Tarak passed his hands over his face and turned to meet his friend’s understanding eyes.

  “It is well there is not a Darkon alive who would dare to touch her,” Magar continued.

  “You are correct. I should not have said such words to her.” Tarak swept his fierce gaze around the room ensuring every warrior appreciated the import of his declaration.

  “It is not to me you should be telling these words.”

  “It is complicated,” Tarak muttered.

  “She is right. This is why you are angry.”

  ”I am more than angry, Magar. My family has dishonoured our name, betrayed the Darkon code of honour.” He slowly closed his hands into rigid fists. “This, I must accept. This perfidy I either choose to ignore and we proceed with our original plan to attack the Elite Forces, or I betray my family.”

  “There is no need to tell me of your decision. I know what you intend to do.”

  His spirit heavy with resigned sadness, Tarak met his friend’s steady gaze. “The course of action I propose to take will be dangerous to me and to all who follow.”

  Magar quirked a brow and snorted. “And this is different? How?”

  Tarak paced to the viewing screen. Ahead he could see the nebulae, a turbulent churning of glittering green, gold and red dust and matter through which the ship would cruise before reaching the entry of the next vortex. From there it was a journey of six rones and they would reach the outpost.

  There was no choice.

  He had no choice. Whether history would paint him traitor or hero he did not know. Nor did he really care. What he did know was this slur on the long vaunted Darkon honour had to be expunged with justice. That the agony and pain inflicted on so many had to be balanced by the serving of said justice.

  He would continue on his chosen path.

  He would appoint himself judge and executioner.

  On his family.

  His second-in-command crossed the room to his side. “We all stand with you, Commander.” Magar’s hand reached out and they gripped each other’s upper arm firmly in the traditional manner of affirmation of vows.