Arak's Love: A World Beyond Book 2

by Michelle Howard

  The overhead lights in this section blared down on them from between exposed ceiling beams. Arak clicked his mic, his cat snarling with the need to break through his skin. “Not liking this, Jaron. Where are they?”

  A huff of breath. “Gregir and Davar have visual on twelve Antares in a room wearing haz-suits and nose filters. Fine white dust in the air around them.”

  Antares. The industrious workers were known for loving labor jobs. It helped that their four arms could multi-task with little thought. Didn’t matter how hard or how long, they’d work until they dropped. This flaw in their nature also explained why there were so few Antares still living.

  Geile met Arak’s gaze, his lips pressed in a grim line. Jaron’s details confirmed that bliss was definitely being manufactured here. Arak bit back a frustrated sigh and prepared himself for dealing with a dozen drugged out Antares because even with those nose filters, grains of bliss would drift into the dealer’s blood stream. Eyes, ears, nose. All points of entry that effected anyone who worked on the strong hallucinogenic.

  Arak slowed his pace and crouched outside the wood door of the only room in this area of the plant. The lower half of the frame consisted of solid, black wood, while the upper portion consisted of glass. He leaned up, took in everything he needed to see and knelt back on one knee. It confirmed Gregir’s observations. Men in all white body haz-suits and black masks over their lower faces bent over two steel tables lined with clear bottles containing blue liquid. Six men to a table, their multiple arms moving like whirlwinds as they stuffed, sorted and packed.

  In the corner someone had pulled over a rolling tray with opened boxes of white powder. Bliss in its raw form for inhaling to get a slow build up, blue liquid for injecting for those who preferred a faster trip to fantasy land.

  “Geile and I are here,” Arak whispered, gesturing to Geile the number of men inside and their positions.

  “Gregir and Davar should be above you if you’re outside the door.”

  Arak tipped his head back and sure enough his teammate clung like a mosimio stretched out on his belly on the girders. His black uniform blended in with the meager darkness his spot provided. Sniper laser propped on his shoulder, Gregir didn’t bother looking down, his full concentration on the men in the room. Across from him, Davar had his weapon aimed and ready. Arak faced Geile but the man didn’t check on his brother merely waited for Arak’s direction. “Affirmative.”

  Jaron continued in a steady voice. “Heading in your direction now. No other living heat signatures detected in the building. Coming fast from your left, hold fire until I arrive.”

  Muttered conversation from the busy Antares flowed to his ears but Arak couldn’t make out the words. He reached into one of his pockets and opened a full, tinted face shield. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Geile doing the same. Arak clipped the short breathing tube to a connector on the collar of his uniform. He’d have enough air for forty-five minutes, sixty if he regulated his breathing during the attack.

  The air stirred behind him but Arak didn’t flinch when Jaron placed his hand on his shoulder. His team lead already wore his face shield, features shadowed.

  “Ready?”

  Arak nodded and slid the mask over his face. Gregir, Davar and Geile did the same.

  “Weapons to stun. Mission is to subdue. They’ll be transferred until they’re judged and sent to a prison colony.”

  Standard procedure. Gregir probably had enough information recorded on his body cam to provide sufficient evidence to put away the techs when they were sent for trial. Arak eased his weapon up and changed the setting to stun.

  “On my mark. Go!”

  Geile’s booted foot kicked the door in, slamming it against the interior wall where it sagged from a busted hinge. Someone inside shouted and a few tried to hide under the tables. Arak fired at the two who tried to bolt on his left. Another fell to the floor thanks to Geile. Arak rolled to his feet and lunged at the Antare trying to escape through the door they’d used. He grasped the collar of his haz-suit and yanked the fleeing bliss dealer off his feet.

  A screamed rang out behind him and glass shattered. Jaron stalked a figure cringing in the corner, hands up in surrender.

  Jaron’s laser never dipped. “Jutak warriors! On the floor, all hands behind your back.”

  “Let me go! I’m sorry! I got nothing to do with this.” Arak’s prisoner pleaded.

  Another benefit of Antares. They weren’t fighters, preferring to reserve their energy for task-oriented work.

  “Sit,” Arak ordered, tossing him to the floor, while counting off in his head how many were down. Ten, including his. Two were missing. “Two more, Jaron.”

  “Eyes on target. Far right. Behind the wall mounted cabinet,” Gregir murmured in his ear.

  Arak’s gaze shifted. The multi-shelved cabinet ran from floor to ceiling but the small wedge at the bottom revealed two sets of paper covered shoes. Arak started to warn Jaron when the Antare at his feet exploded from the floor and shoved Arak in the middle with both sets of arms as he dashed toward the door again.

  Arak cursed and turned, firing at center mass. The escapee fell to the floor with a thud. Jaron shouted a warning and Arak snapped around as the two hiding men burst from behind their cover. Shots from above rang out, dropping them both before they reached him.

  Arak cursed again for good measure, heart pounding. “Call it in. They’re obviously not walking out of here under their own steam.”

  Jaron exhaled harshly in Arak’s ear comm. In the low lighting, the tinted shield hid the team leader’s face from view. “Done. Special bio team coming in for pick up.”

  Gregir and Davar climbed from their post and hopped the last several feet to the ground, weapons slung over their shoulder, masks firmly in place. All of them took in the drug filled room with dismay. A special unit also needed to be brought in to clean up otherwise they ran the risk of an innocent cleaning crew catching an unwanted high or death.

  “Let’s drag these guys out,” Jaron said as if reading Arak’s mind. “I don’t won’t anyone exposed to the bliss in here.”

  Geile slung two of the techs over his shoulders, arms flopping and carried them out. Gregir did the same then Davar. Arak eyed the bulk of the one by his feet.

  “Why do I get the heavy ones?” he asked.

  Jaron snickered and bent to grab one slack set of arms on a white covered tech. Much skinnier then the one he’d be forced to carry. “Maybe because—”

  “I’m not going!”

  The sudden scream came from one of the men on the floor near Arak. The Antare lunged toward Arak, his eyes gleaming with a manic light as he charged. Four arms latched around Arak’s waist and shoulders. He fell backward, hitting the table with a loud crash, his laser flying from his grip. Bliss powder flew in the air creating a thin, white cloud. Dust grains fell on him as they grappled.

  Behind Arak, Jaron yelled and kicked at the tech with a booted foot. The action only served to enrage the Antare more. His attacker’s fists swung wildly as he lashed out behind him, striking Jaron by pure chance. Jaron stumbled and his head slammed into the corner of another table. Arak had only a moment to glimpse his team lead slump to the floor, his head at an awkward angle.

  Arak grabbed the snarling man’s hands but the bliss had given the tech the strength of a stricter reptile and he broke the hold with a third arm. They struggled together on the floor, Arak landing on his back. Something in his right shoulder snapped. The tech reached for Arak’s mask trying to rip it free. No way could Arak allow that. With his heightened sense of smell, he’d inhale the bliss immediately and turn into a raging beast.

  When the tech’s efforts to dislodge Arak’s face shield didn’t work, the man gave a pretty good rendition of a growl. In frustration the tech tore his own nose filter from his face and panted. Grey eyes peered down at Arak, glowing with a crazed light. Red streaks fanned from the whites of his eyes, the first sign of a bliss high gone wrong.


  “Must keep working,” he panted, breath fogging the shield covering Arak’s face. “Not stopping. Can’t stop.”

  Arak raised his left arm to block the violent blow aimed at his head. The face shield and its limited supply of oxygen made Arak’s reflexes slower than normal. Another fist he couldn’t dodge tapped his temple good, jostling his brain. Arak cursed. Play time over. He popped his claws on his right hand, ignoring the pain tearing through his shoulder muscle. Arak grappled with one set of the Antare’s arms then flipped him over his head.

  The man roared as he slid several feet over the floor, stopping when his body hit a corner wall. Bliss floated around them in a fine mist. Face red, the tech pushed off the floor with a loud screech. The haz-suit bore a jagged tear across the front and the black filter mask hung loosely about the worker’s neck. Arak had enough time to leap to his feet and brace for the attack. Another enraged roar and the Antare rushed toward him, arms akimbo.

  Arak held still and debated the possibility of taking this one in alive. From the crazed look on his features, it didn’t bode well.

  “Move!”

  As soon as he registered Jaron’s command, Arak ducked to the right. A blast hit the blissed out worker at the center of his chest. The Antare jerked but kept coming toward Arak, lips parted as he squealed and howled. Spittle flew from his mouth. Another blast poured forth as Arak dove for the floor and rolled into a crouch beneath a cracked table missing the fourth leg.

  “Shoot him, Jaron. Stuns not working,” Arak yelled.

  “I see that now,” Jaron snapped while firing.

  With a final jerk and a startled cry, the man staggered back then fell to the floor. Dead.

  Silence reigned for a beat.

  “Well, that was fun,” Jaron quipped, coming over to help Arak to his feet.

  “Yes, a veritable party for all.” Arak searched the floor for his laser. His heart pounded against his chest with enough force to bruise. The oxygen alert on his face shield began a low and steady beep.

  The door crashed back open and Geile followed by Davar with Gregir on his heels stormed into the room, weapons up. They took in the destroyed table, the two stunned techs and the one clearly deceased victim by his blank stare aimed at the ceiling.

  Geile holstered his laser. “Told you they would be fine.”

  Chapter 15

  After their team successfully turned the Antare over, Arak slumped against the exterior wall of the warehouse one booted foot propped behind him. Waiting for the haz transport to pick them up instead of the shuttle they’d used to get here had him antsy. He wanted to get back to Enotia but all of them were covered in white flecks of bliss. Using their Jutak transport to go home in their condition would jeopardize their pilot and the interior of the shuttle would have to be sanitized. For that reason alone they had to continue to wear their face shields for protection against breathing in the deadly drug.

  Adding to his anger, the oxygen alert in Arak’s face shield continued its annoying beep. He’d burned most of his allotted time with the fight. Twenty more minutes and things would be very uncomfortable. Arak tipped his head back and locked his jaw. The artificial light of Avida crested over the star filled sky to usher in the simulated ‘morning’. Another mission well done for the Jutaks. Torkel would be pleased.

  “How are you holding up?” Jaron asked with a side glance from where he slouched on the wall to Arak’s left.

  As long as he didn’t move, his body felt fine. To test the theory, Arak adjusted his stance, sending fire zipping along his right side. He refused to mention the pain in case Jaron decided they needed to delay their departure further. “I’m fine.”

  Geile snorted. “The Antare dislocated his shoulder.”

  Arak jerked his head up and snarled then immediately regretted the action when another blaze of pain licked along his injured shoulder.

  Through the tinted mask, Jaron’s brows dipped in concern and he rose to his full height.

  “Not a problem, Jaron,” Arak declared before the team lead could touch him. Putting truth to words, Arak rammed his side into the wall and stifled a pained cry as his shoulder snapped back into place. The oxygen alert increased its beeping. Panting, Arak met Geile’s gaze. “Fine, see?”

  From his place standing further down the wall, Gregir chuckled.

  “Ebo.” Jaron shook his head and patted his multiple pockets. Before Arak could issue a protest, his team leader jabbed a needle through the fabric of his pants.

  “I hate needles!” Arak sucked in a gasping breath. The pain meds worked efficiently. He leaned back carefully, not willing to debate Jaron’s actions. The shoulder only hurt a little now as opposed to the gnawing bite of earlier.

  Arak wanted to return to Sylvie but the minute they loaded onto the haz transport, Jaron nixed the idea.

  “We’re heading to Nata Ollo because of the potential bliss exposure.” Jaron dropped onto his seat beside Geile, directly across from Arak.

  “We could get treated by Dr. Maku,” Arak protested.

  “Our med center is not equipped to sanitize all of us. The risk to the Unit is too great.”

  Everyone groaned, though they understood the reason. Nata Ollo was one of the top medical and chemical centers in this sector of space. It was the best place to be treated. As soon as their transport landed on Nata, Jaron herded everyone through a side door and straight into decontaminate units. Arak ripped the face shield off and gulped down fresh air. The others watched closely but he waved them off, chest heaving.

  Once he had himself together Arak followed the medical staff to another room. He spent an hour standing beneath undulating lights, ten minutes to destroy uniforms in bio-incinerators followed by a pounding hot shower in the cleansing unit with his teammates on either side of him.

  Water beat on him in a steady rhythm long after Davar, Geile and Gregir left. At least the shower helped with his shoulder. Steam rose from the floor as the liquid circled down the drain. More water dripped from Arak’s soaked hair onto his nose. His cat paced, wanting to return to Enotia. Claim Sylvie. Take Sylvie. The demand pounded at his temples and he found himself growling in a continuous rumble. His claws emerged and gouged the tiles his palms rested on.

  “Arak?” Jaron watched him from the arched doorway, a black towel wrapped around his lean waist.

  With a muffled curse, Arak stepped out and dried off quickly. “I’m good.”

  His team leader held his stare a moment longer. “The doctors want to check us over. Preliminary reports show no contamination but a scan will say for sure.”

  Arak heaved a sigh. He didn’t need a scan to tell him what he already knew. If any ounce of bliss had penetrated his clothing or mask, his cat would have gone wild and no one would have been able to stop him. Since Jaron wasn’t going to let the matter go, Arak dressed quickly in the light blue paper pants and shirt they’d all been issued and followed Jaron down a long tiled hallway, silent but for the sound of their paper shoes whispering along the floor. They entered the room together.

  Geile, Davar and Gregir must have passed inspection and now wore spare uniforms provided by another Jutak team in the past no doubt. Seated on a narrow sheet covered bed, Arak rolled his eyes when the tech handling his shoulder confirmed it was already half-healed. Jaron used the one finger move Faye had taught them all during a soku fueled evening. Arak laughed at the memory.

  The head doctor tapped keys on his tablet before speaking. “I believe your men are fine, Jaron but I recommend you all stay a little longer in isolation to be certain no one exhibits signs of inhaling bliss.”

  Arak leaped from the bed, prepared to march for the nearest transport to Enotia. It took Jaron, Geile and Gregir to restrain him. Arak faced the doctor who’d taken several steps back.

  “How long?”

  With a watchful stare the doctor answered, “Three days.”

  The driving desire to touch, hold and stroke the female on his mind took precedence over the rest his body neede
d. His friends let him go slowly. With jerky steps, Arak headed to the bunk he’d been assigned. The others sensing his mood kept their distance.

  He tossed and turned each night, thoughts of Sylvie enflaming him until he took himself in hand for release when the burning heat of his arousal got the better of him. It wasn’t enough. Arak craved her and fisting himself was a poor substitute. If he commed her it would only increase his need.

  On the morning of the fourth day, the doctors cleared them for the return trip to Enotia. Arak kept to himself during the ride, battling the continued stirrings of arousal. As soon as they arrived at the Jutak facility, he shoved his gear into his locker, careful to secure his extra weapons in the shelving unit. Wincing from his still tender shoulder, Arak shrugged into a clean uniform shirt and wondered if he could get in and out of the building before anyone questioned his rush.

  Jaron left as soon as he finished dressing to file their mission status. Geile and Gregir sat on the bench seat across from him as they placed their belongings in the lockers, taking their time as they pulled on their boots.

  “Later, Arak,” they called out.

  He nodded and rose to his feet, slamming his locker harder than necessary. A rough hand grabbed Arak’s upper arm before he could make his escape. He tensed and came face to face with his unit leader. Arak heaved a sigh at the glower on Torkel’s face.

  “I can explain, Torkel.”

  “Talk fast.” Torkel braced his weight and folded his arms over his chest in a stance that intimidated many.

  ***

  Arak banged on Sylvie’s door and waited, shoulders hunched. Torkel had taken his explanation better than expected and let him go with a warning. Anger and frustration coiled in Arak’s gut as he pounded again. Where was she this time of night? Didn’t she understand his desire to see her as soon as he returned? Sylvie hadn’t answered her comm earlier and now she wasn’t answering her door. Sylvie always answered for him.

  “She’s not home, officer.”