Legend Beyond The Stars (19 page)

She stumbled through a bog. Her breathing sounded loud and erratic, feeling light-headed, her heart strangling her lungs and her legs as useless as soggy pasta. Lactic acid began a slow burn in her stomach. Any minute now and she’d start vomiting.

Even worse, despite her best intentions, she was falling behind. Alana rubbed her side and winced.

Up ahead, Tarak slowed his pace. Alana grimaced when she saw he had stopped and was waiting for her to catch up.

Her gait faltered as she lurched to a stop beside him.

“We will rest here,” he ordered.

He doesn’t even sound out of breath
, Alana thought in resentment. “I don’t need to rest. I’m fine,” she gritted through her teeth. She could feel his gaze raking her from helmet to booted toe. Pride straightened her shoulders, her chin lifted. She snatched her hand from her aching side.

“Then move faster.”

He turned away and set off again. Alana repressed a groan and followed. His pace was slower to ensure Alana could match it. She now ran a few steps behind. She noticed him speaking into his communicator and wondered whether the other warriors were waiting on the fighters.

Was that the glint of metal ahead?

She squinted into the distance. Closer they ran and soon she could make out the welcome shapes of the ships.

Thank God
. Any further and her legs would have given out. There would be no living with him if he had had to carry her too.

Chapter Ten

Alana staggered over to a bench in the holding cabin of the lead fighter ship and collapsed exhausted onto the seat. Misery ate at her soul. The silence of the ship enfolded her like the walls of a coffin.

After the Commander hustled her in and out of a decontamination chamber, he had stood over her, waved a clenched fist in the air, barked out a long list of orders and instructions. Then he had turned on his heel and marched off. Alana had heard the locks snapping into place, as he secured the outer door of the fighter. She took a long shuddering breath. She doubted he would want anything to do with her after her little foray which had so nearly ended in disaster.

And all for nothing.

She leant back against the wall and closed her eyes. A lone tear trickled slowly down her cheek. The Commander had informed her in a brusque cold tone there was no way anyone could have survived the shuttle’s impact. The signal had been a ruse to lure either Darkon warriors or her and/or her fellow slaves onto an inhospitable planet and terminate them.

So Carly and the other missing women were gone.

And Tarak had left to join his men to fight an Elite contingent.

Moving slowly as if she was older than dirt, Alana unfastened the clips, removed the helmet from her throbbing head, tossed it to one side. She refused to acknowledge the sick feeling which had lodged itself in her throat and threatened to engulf her fragile emotions.

With trembling hands, she soothed her matted hair and heaved herself to her feet. She would concentrate, this time, on Tarak’s instructions. She took off her flight suit and, holding it gingerly by her fingertips, she wandered across the room and placed it in the disposal bin. It was beyond salvaging. She kicked off her boots to relieve her aching feet. Dressed in her tee shirt and cargo pants which she had worn under the suit, she headed for the cleansing tubes.

Her spirits lifted.

Several litres of water chugged down her throat relieved most of her dehydration headache. Her energy resurfaced. She decided to check on the trader. Anything to keep her mind busy and focussed away from one pissed off warlord.

As she wandered through the empty ship, Alana was once again struck with the curious humming noise it made. Trailing her fingers along the wall, she noticed how it flexed and moved with the slightest indentation of her touch.

Surely it couldn’t be alive?
She made a mental note to query Norman when she was back on the Ark.

She frowned as she approached the medic room.
That is, if he and the other women who had helped her were not incarcerated in some cell
.

The trader reclined on the central examination table. He had raised his head when he heard the door opening but upon recognising Alana, he emitted a relieved sigh and resumed his resting position.

Alana walked over and saw he now wore a translator collar. Good, no communication problem. “How do you feel? Is there anything I can get you?”

“No. The Darkon warlord gave me a pain blocker,” the trader whispered.

Alana wondered why she was surprised. As soon as she thought she had the Commander pegged, he turned around and did something which baffled her. Look at how he had carried the trader in his arms all this way to the ships. He could have left him to die. And why the devil did her thoughts keep returning to him?

She smiled in a friendly fashion at the wounded alien. “Perhaps some water?”
Did his species drink water?

“Water would be good,” he admitted.

Glad to be useful, Alana crossed to a storage cupboard and poured water into a metal container. She propped the raider up by placing an arm around him and guided the cup to his mouth.

“This is good.” He sighed when finished. He lowered his head with obvious relief.

After tossing the cup into the cupboard, she secured the door. Turning back to the trader, she found his eye fixed on her.

“You are from the planet called Earth. Yes?”

Her breath faltered and she bounded across the room, her stomach tight with tension. “Do you know its coordinates? Have you been there?”

“Not I.”

Her disappointment with his response corroded her spirits as effectively as acid rain. She shoved her hands into her pockets and stepped away, intending to leave when the trader spoke again.

“You saved my life.”

Heat stained her cheeks but she continued to hold his gaze. “Not really. Commander Tarak was the one who carried you to the ships.”

“Perhaps. What will become of me?”

“I imagine as soon as you are well enough, you will be free to leave.”

The trader snorted. “This will be so, once you have asked it off the Darkon warlord.”

Annoyed, Alana rocked back onto her heels and glared at him. “I’m sure he’ll release you without any recourse to me.”

“Perhaps,” the trader repeated. He rummaged about his flight suit and withdrew a small cube which he held out to her. “Take this as my gratitude.”

She examined it while she turned it over and over in her hands. “What is it?”

“A data block. It holds gateway maps.”

Excitement bubbled as her hope re-emerged. She remembered Norman mentioning travellers used gateway maps to traverse the long reaches of space and she rather thought she recalled a mention of black holes too. As soon as she returned to the Ark, she would get Norman to examine it. She tightened her hold over the precious cube.

“Gateway maps,” Alana whispered.

”Guard it well,” the trader said as he watched her reaction. “Use it only when you have the greatest need.”

She beamed. “I will. Thank you.”

He nodded, and closed his eye. “Now go. I will rest.” He waved a hand in dismissal.

Amused at his regal bearing, Alana muttered a farewell and stashed the data block into one of her pockets. She wandered back to the holding area to await Tarak’s return. She retrieved her boots and after looking at their dubious condition, decided to remain in her socks.

Not long after, she heard locks being disengaged and a noisy commotion at the door. She tossed the boots into the corner and braced her shoulders.
Here we go
.

Commander Tarak stalked through the door followed by a troop of his warriors. By the amount of back slapping and noisy irreverent comments being made, Alana deduced their mission had been successful. Relieved, she rolled her eyes at this universal display of manly bonding.

Her gaze met Tarak’s across the room. He had removed his protective helmet and stood legs braced apart, arms slightly bent. The coldness of his gaze pierced her heart. Her breath caught in her throat at the ferocity of his glare.

So, he was still furious with her
. She swallowed and noticed how his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Tarak brushed past her, his lips clamped into one grim line, heading for the flight deck. Heat burned her face. She stomped after him and placed a hand on his arm which he shook
off as if she had placed a live snake down his pants. He whirled so fast to face her she had to take a quick step back or cannon into him.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed his men perform a quick shuffle to their posts. She stifled a half smile at the sight of such battle hardened warriors so obviously intimidated by their leader.

Well, he might be their commander but sure as hell wasn’t hers! Perversely she decided to add more fuel to the fire.

She arched a brow and met his cold stare with studied nonchalance. “If you could arrange for the flyer to be refuelled, I will fly it back to the Ark.”

The shocked look on some of the warriors’ faces was balm to her wounded feelings but this vanished like smoke in the westerly wind when the Commander leaned closer until their noses almost touched. Mesmerised, she stared at the specks of Baltic amber which flecked his raven eyes as his glare bored holes into hers. He raised his fist and jabbed the air with one blunt hard finger.

But she was not afraid, she realised. With every fibre of her being, she knew he would never physically hurt her.

“My flyer. My Ark. My slave,” he stated slowly, his voice colder than an Arctic wind in winter.

Chill spread over her skin.

He stabbed at the air once more. “And you, my slave. You will sit down, strap yourself in and remain there until I give you leave to move.”

Alana blinked back scalding tears and glared at him.
Insufferable oaf
. She opened her mouth to make a scathing comment when the words withered on her tongue, as he placed a finger on her lips.

Leaning closer still, until his breath stirred the tendrils of her hair, his voice rumbled into her ear and she gulped. “Be very careful, Alana. You will not enjoy the consequences, should you continue to disobey me.”

Positive her face was as red as a field of poppies, she walked with as much dignity as she could muster to a seat, secured the harness, aware of his narrowed eyes watching her every move. As soon as she was strapped in, he spun round and left the room.

Alana scowled. She didn’t know if she was furious or mortified—or worse hurt. Her thoughts and warring emotions churned like a demented washing machine. The return flight to the Ark passed unnoticed and it wasn’t until the warriors beside her released their restraints that she realised they had arrived. She fumbled with her harness and sat slumped against the hard metal chair and waited. What had happened to her friends? Would they be punished? And if so, how? She wished she could summon up the energy to engage in another battle of wills with Tarak, but she was just too tired.

That’s all it was, just plain tiredness
. She dammed the misery which lapped like quicksand at the edges of her mind.
God, what a pisser of a day
.

The hatch opened and the Tarak strode through.

Immediately she straightened, shoulders back, chin up even while her heart plummeted to the tip of her sock-covered toes, at the sight of his stern visage. She had done what she believed was the right thing to do. She still believed it.

If Captain Planet here had allowed her to accompany him, she would not have resorted to underhanded tactics
.

Her fingers drummed for a second on the metal armrest. Damn him, this was not all her fault!

Lips compressed, she jumped to her feet. She snapped out a jaunty salute and smirked.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her towards the door, ignoring her spluttered words of outrage. Through the outer door of the fighter, over the landing platform and across the runways he stalked, hustling her along so fast, she jogged at his side to keep up.

Warriors took one look at his face and scattered like leaves in a cyclone as he swept past.

Ahead his second-in-command waited beside the blast doors. Someone else who was annoyed with her, decided Alana as she encountered Magar’s sour glance.

No doubt here to report more of her wrong-doings.

The First Officer snapped to attention and crossed his arm over his armoured chest in salute.

Before he could speak however, the Commander cut in, “Remove the Ark from this vicinity immediately. There is a trader who requires medic assistance. Attend to it.” Tarak’s voice grated along her nerve ends as if rats scratched their sharp claws into ice. “And Magar, ensure I am not disturbed.”

He pushed Alana into a nearby chute. She squeezed her eyes shut as they hurtled to another level.
Never will I get used to these things!

The Commander gripped her arm again and pulled her out, along another corridor. Was he going to imprison her in some small, dank cell? Unease beat a rapid tattoo in her throat.

“What are you going to do with the others?” She could have kicked herself when she heard the note of entreaty in her voice. His face was etched with a grim, implacable determination which caused her stomach to fall away into nothing. When he remained silent, she almost wailed, “It was all my idea. I take full responsibility. Everyone was only acting under my orders. Even Norman … oomph.”

Her words were smothered as he ground his mouth against her lips. He thrust her roughly against the wall, the hard sharp planes of his armour pressed into her body. Bracing his strong, muscled legs either side of her, he trapped her within his space, pinning her.

Dimly she heard a door close shut behind them and guessed they were in his sleeping quarters. She gripped his upper arms for purchase. He probed the edges of her quivering lips with his tongue demanding entrance, continued to ravage her mouth. His touch swept over her body, he squeezed and plumped her breasts. She tried to wriggle away, to turn her head but his warning growl stopped her movements. Her bones melted in the burgeoning heat of her response as it raged through her veins with the conflagration of a bushfire blazing down a hillside. Her blood pulsed in her ears in tune with the heavy thudding of her heart.