Legend Beyond The Stars (18 page)

“What?” Tarak bellowed. “She’s what?”

Now he knew the reason for his disquiet. He fisted his hands and with difficulty he controlled his need to smash them into the nearest object. His men edged away.

His Alana, disobeying his very specific order, had stolen a flyer and was even now sauntering about on this planet.

Alone.

Unprotected.

By the hem of Cercis’ cloak, when he got his hands on her, he would make sure she never went anywhere again. If he had to chain her to the wall, he would do so
.

”Where?” he barked into the communicator. Tarak sucked air into his lungs, as Magar’s voice gave the coordinates for the flyer she had taken. His anger pulsed hot through his veins, warring with the cold voice of warning his instincts still insisted on being heard. “One moment, Magar.”

He buried his anger, regained control of his rioting emotions and motioned for silence. He strained, utilised his senses with every fibre of a well-trained Darkon warrior.

There was danger here, he could taste it.

And in the very depths of his being, he knew his Alana was in the thick of it. Then, it came to him. The transmitter; no scratches, no scorch marks. Tarak’s lips curled in a snarl. He opened communications again.

“Magar, send out a reconnaissance squadron. I want to know who else is out there. Keep the ship on full battle code. All posts manned and ensure the Ark is ready to hyper jump when necessary.” Tarak signed off. He gestured to his warriors. “Alana is on the planet. I suspect the signal was transmitted to lure us here. If so, there will be at least one Elite troop lying in wait for us. Prepare for battle.”

He split the warriors into three groups, intending to rendezvous at the fighter shuttles if they were not intercepted. But if they met up with their enemy, they would then merge into a three pronged attack formation if what he suspected was true. If there was an Elite Force on the planet, there would be an ambush set up not too far from the landing zone. The Elite’s would be eager to not only take out his team but also grab this opportunity to thieve with their greedy hands, the Darkons’ ships.

He punched the code into the panel lining his forearm, thereby launching several probes from the fighter shutters. He programmed them to cover a vast expanse of land. A constant stream of data would automatically be picked up by the warriors’ sensors and also stored in the fighter shuttles.

The order for stealth mode given, a current of power snaked out, flickered over their bodies. A crackling sound rent the air. The Darkon warriors vanished from sight.

Leading the group to the right of the direction where they had been heading, Tarak considered the difficulties involved in locating Alana on this planet. He anticipated she would head towards the signal but locating her would be complicated by the variables which encompassed the number of Elite Forces that were on ground, the equipment she was using and the foreign landscape. Even now, she could be a prisoner of the Elite, swallowed by a toxic bog or heading in the wrong direction.

No sooner had he thought of the latter, than Tarak discounted it. His Alana was intelligent and military trained. She would not make such an error.

The problem was in which direction was she heading now—towards the signal or back to her flyer?

Upon return to the Ark, he resolved he would waste no time in executing procedures to ensure each female slave was implanted with a tracking device.

Every instinct he possessed told him she was in grave danger. He increased the pace, stretching his legs to their full extent, running fast over the rough terrain. Once he was within range, he would use the infrared sensors to scan for her heat signature. If he had left men or even one warrior stationed in the battle shuttles, she could be located easily. The sensors on
board the shuttles had a longer range capacity than the smaller ones inbuilt into the Darkon’s armour.

His lips tightened. He had underestimated her tenacity.

Ahead lay a large outcrop of rocks, from which small gushes of gas spurted into the atmosphere. He halted his company and he deliberated the results of the first stream of data from the pulse probes. There were two squads of Elite troops on this planet, the smaller group not far from where his company were located.

He ground his teeth at the remainder of his data. He was right to feel uneasy if what he suspected was true. Tarak gestured at the knoll, signalled the call sign for
‘arm weapons’
to his troop and readied himself for battle.

Excellent, he could do with a bout of hand-to-hand fighting
. It might relieve the cauldron of tempest bubbling through his veins.

He motioned for two separate scout parties to circumnavigate the base in opposite directions. They would come at the enemy from both sides, compelling them to form into a group instead of the twin lines of defence which was moving steadily in the direction of where Tarak believed Alana to be.

With weapons drawn, he and his men converged on their objective. The Elite troop was not entirely taken by surprise as their senses had picked up the Darkon signatures, but they were no match for the battle-seasoned warriors as they cut a swath through the Elite ranks. The battle was swift, bloody and soon over.

Tarak ordered his men to continue on with his original three pronged attack on the main contingent and leaving Wray in charge of his team, he saluted his men and left. Checking the co-ordinates on his compu, Tarak broke into a ground eating lope. He was almost there, when the air was rent with a howl which froze his blood and caused his stride to falter.

A draptile. The Elite’s were using a draptile to hunt their quarry
.

And Tarak had no doubt their quarry was Alana. With difficulty, he managed to keep his breathing regular. His heart pounded heavily as he bounded forward.

The ground sloped downwards. The bogs became wider and deeper. Tarak could feel the pull in his calf muscles as he waded through the thick, deep sludge. He changed direction, heading towards another outcrop of boulders and thick algae.

His payload should be dead ahead.

Sweat soaked her body. Her flight suit stuck like a second skin and breathing was difficult. Without checking, she knew her oxygen levels were dangerously low. Behind her, lay an injured alien, a trader, huddled into a ball. But there in front of her, stood something much more frightening.

With her legs braced, one hand clenched around her knife, she focussed her gaze on the thing which crouched, snarling, less than three metres away.

To Alana, the creature appeared to be some type of prehistoric reptile, with its armoured skin, long lizard-like tail which was almost twice as long as its body, curled upwards and ended in a sharp hook.

She swallowed hard as she flexed her fingers around the knife and wondered whether it would penetrate the creature’s tough hide. Somehow she needed to dodge the long, cruelly curved claws and the deadly looking spurs on its hind legs. Coolly, she studied the creature. Spiked blades snaked from its chest and looped over each shoulder. Curved horns sprung from both sides of its head.

It snarled. Saliva dripped to the ground where it sizzled and hissed.

Alana sighed.
Great, just great! Not only was it a walking advertisement for knives, it drooled acid
.

Its lips rolled back over an enormous number of teeth. Along its back, lay a high, bony and horny ridge. The back of its head was protected by curving spikes. She doubted she would be able to get her knife anywhere near its neck.

Alana drew a deep steadying breath, gagged. Even through the filters on her helmet, she smelt its stench. It reminded her of rotting flesh—she did not even want to think what that signified. She edged sideways and noticed a thick metal collar encircling its neck.

Shock froze her to the spot for a few seconds.
Don’t tell me this is someone’s pet!
No lap dog this, she acknowledged, more likely a hunter. And now it had found its prey.

A whimper came from the bundle on the ground behind her. She could try to outrun it, but if she did it would mean she would be leaving the wounded alien to its fate.

Alana did not need another death on her conscience. She took a cautious step forward. Hope rose when she noticed a slight gap in the horns on the creature’s back. If she leapt onto its back perhaps she could slip her knife under the spikes and pierce its brain from behind … well, it was worth a try. She flexed her fingers to release some of her tension and took a firmer grip on her knife.

The beast lowered its head, preparing to charge.

Alana made her move.

“No!”

Alana hesitated, shot a look over her shoulder as Tarak pounded towards her. He reached her side with a few long strides, and grabbed her about the waist. With a careless flick, he whirled her around and she fell to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering with machinegun precision. He stood directly in the line of fire, between her and the creature.

In wonder, she eyed Tarak’s broad back. It had been a long time since anyone had thought she needed protection.

Her heart brimmed as she gazed at his armoured figure.

“Here.” Tarak tossed a box over his shoulder. As Alana reached out to catch it, he continued coldly, “Listen carefully, slave. This device holds the location of the fighter craft. If the draptile overpowers me, you will leave immediately and head to the ship.”

With a roar that almost eclipsed the beast’s howl, the Commander leapt forward just as it sprang. The draptile’s claws clattered sharply on the stony ground. At the last minute,
Tarak twisted to the side and the creature missed him by centimetres. Tarak slashed out with a blade that made Alana think of scimitars. Several of the horns on the reptile’s bony spine flew through the air.

But as the animal rushed past, its tail swept downwards. The bright sun glinted evilly off its lethal hook. Tarak ducked his head as the hook slashed the air above him. He pivoted on his boots and charged it head-on as the reptile turned for another attack.

Alana swallowed hard on the sob of fear which rose unbidden to her throat.

Oh God, it’ll impale him!
She took a hasty step forward thinking to divert its attention, when Tarak reached out and grabbed one of its horns. Using it as leverage he vaulted onto its back, leaned forward and with a battle cry slit its throat with his blade.

He sprang clear, landing on his feet, assessed the creature’s death throws as it collapsed onto the ground shrieking, foam and saliva dripping from its snarling mouth, its black blood staining the algae-covered ground. It shuddered and jerked in spasm, then stilled.

Tarak remained standing at the ready for a few beats before he sheafed his blade and turned around.

Relief flooded her.

She dropped her knife and ran to him. As soon as she reached his side, she ran her hands frantically over his arms, shoulders, and his chest, anything she could reach. Through the thick supple armour she sensed his tension.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” She wished she could see his face, but it was hidden behind his protective helmet.

Tarak pushed her hands away. “Be still!” he snarled.

Oh boy, he sounds seriously pissed off
. She stared at him, as he in turn swept his hands over her body then unhooked a shayote from his belt and waved it over her. He examined the data and grunted as he clipped the instrument onto his belt.

Next he checked her gauges while she stood still and silent. He growled low in his throat and Alana quivered. He unhooked a cylinder from the field pack on his back, removed the oxygen tank from her back and fastened on the new one. His movements were so quick and deft, Alana had barely taken a few breaths before the operation was complete.

He tapped the gauge with his finger.

“Is it working?” he asked, his voice arctic cold.

Alana took a few cautious breaths and sighed in relief as her lungs filled with air. “Yes, it’s fine.” She added quietly, “Thank you.”

“We leave now.” He grabbed her arm and hauled her away. “The Elites always unleash the draptiles in pairs.”

Alana dug her boots into the ground and tugged. She gasped. “Wait. What about him? We can’t leave him. He’s injured.”

With a grumble, he dropped her arm. Alana ran back to the trader, Tarak following on her heels.

She dropped to the trader’s side and touched him gently on his shoulder. The trader groaned and opened his one eye.

”Are you able to stand? Can you walk?” she asked.

The trader, his features twisted with pain, answered in a language Alana’s translator was unable to interpret. Her gaze switched to Tarak.

“He is speaking old Utheran and advises he cannot walk. He believes his legs are broken,” Tarak responded coolly.

Alana hesitated. The alien’s hood had fallen off, and in his leathered, grey skin, his red eye was a dull glimmer as he stared back at her. She bit her lip as she encountered his look of entreaty.

“I will carry him,” she said.

“We are wasting time,” Commander Tarak snapped.

He pushed past her, eased his arms under the trader and effortlessly lifted him into his arms. As he stretched to his full impressive height, Alana acknowledged her admiration for his powerful form. Despite their precarious situation, desire stirred.

Horrified at the direction of her thoughts, she heaved to her feet. She could feel the intensity of his gaze as she picked a strand of algae off her filthy suit.

Tarak moved to stand in front of her, waited until she had lifted her eyes to his face. “Hear me well, slave,” he stated. “You will run behind me. Not beside me. Not in front of me. But behind me.”

“Yes, sir!” Alana snapped, bristling at his tone and words, irritation suppressing her earlier tender feelings.

”Then move.”

The Commander broke into a ground-eating stride, the weight in his arms seemingly not slowing him one whit. Alana glared at his armoured back as he made easy work over the heavy ground, while she laboured to keep up with him.

Of course, it was easy for him with his great, long legs
. She sniffed.
And it didn’t help this planet was hell-on-earth
.