Legend Beyond The Stars (31 page)

“Were you not listening?” hissed Norman.

If the Jurian had been in front of him, Tarak would have closed his fingers around his scrawny neck and shook him until his eyes fell out. He found he could not speak past the fury pulsing behind his forehead.

His second-in-command roused himself from his shock and interposed. “The signal is not clear. Repeat.”

“They have been taken to some place called
‘the camp’
. I have no knowledge of such a planet,” Norman whined.

The Jurian rattled on in a garble of disjointed sentences but Tarak no longer heard him. Horror gripped him by the throat and squeezed with the inexorable grip of fingers of death.

Around him, his warriors exchanged uncertain glances. He knew they would have heard of the existence of the camp and the rumours. It was whispered any who went there never returned.

The pressure of Magar’s hand enclosing around Tarak’s arm brought him to his surroundings.

His horror mirrored in the anxious face of his First Officer.

In every warrior turned towards him, he registered the same expression in their eyes.

The prattle of the Jurian droned on.

Acid ate into his gut while his men looked to him for answers. For hope. For reassurance.

Suddenly, he could see the path he needed to take clearly before him. The time for secrecy had long past. He would tell all of the dishonourable path the Darkon Council had chosen to follow in their desperate search to overcome the Darkon race’s threatened annihilation. Every muscle in his body tensed beneath his armour at the thought of revealing how far the mighty Darkon warlords had fallen.

With a few brief words, he cut short the Jurian’s mounting hysteria. In a voice devoid of all reflection, he recounted the purpose of the camp and all he knew of the research being
undertaken. He finished with the final shameful admission, “The camp is run by Atolo and has the king’s sanction.”

Precious sectons ticked by.

Then in the heavy silence, he heard the calm, unflurried voice of Magar, “We had best make haste then. Co-ordinates, Commander?”

The frozen ice world of Isla was the furthermost planet from Cerciron. Little warmth reached its barren wastes from the twin suns. It lay isolated and mostly forgotten, its importance as a prosperous mining colony long elapsed in the annals of Darkon history. Consequently, Isla was the perfect place to run a controversial research station.

They had reached the planet several rones earlier and, disembarking from the fighter, Tarak glanced in satisfaction at the Ark as it hovered in the distance well out of the range of the puny gravitational pull of the small planet. A harbinger of destruction with its array of weapons concentrated on the formation which housed the centre. One word from him, and the whole planet would be engulfed in a fiery inferno.

The thought pleased him.

Satisfied his craving for vengeance.

But first, he would find her. Dead or alive, he would take her from this place. And then, he would return to Cerciron.

The predator lurking deep within him was awake and hungry for blood.

Leaving a squad to guard their rear, he led the way to the chutes and then to the main level. At every level, a few warriors exited. Their mission: to set nix charges and sweep each floor for any females. No prisoners to be taken, all who had participated in the camp would be exterminated on sight.

He had no doubts his men would obey his commands to the letter. In their faces the same fierce determination, the intensity of their driving force glowed like hell-fire in their black eyes. The menacing dominance of power which pulsed around a Darkon warrior when he was in full battle mode had struck terror into the hearts of their enemies since time began.

It would do so again.

When they reached the main level, he braced himself. With a few words he had prepared his men for sights he feared would freeze the very spirits.

The thought of such measures being inflicted on his Alana, gave him the strength of ten men, the determination of a hundred.

His protective helmet activated, he snarled and erupted from the chute at a run. He sprinted along the corridors, occasionally checking his location with his display compu, his warriors at his heels.

He burst through the dual doors, his weapons ready. The guards who rushed towards him, he blasted with his plista gun, their bodies exploding into a mass of blood, bone and gore.

Warning sirens split the air, the shrill sound competing with the blasts of weaponry and the raucous screams of men. Well trained from many cycles of war, his warriors voiced no cries as they battled their way through the complex. The air filled with smoke and through the filters of his protective armour, Tarak smelt the stench of death, warm blood and the metallic tang left behind from the electron blasts.

There were several full complements of guards but they were not battle hardened. Trained only in security measures, they panicked. As if to reinforce his assessment, a small squad of five threw their hands into the air when he advanced. With no hesitation and in a blur of movement, his star cutter spun through the air severing their hands from their bodies. He leapt past the guards as they sank moaning to the ground, leaving them to his men as he pounded down the aisle past the metal coffins with their pitiful occupants.

By the stars of Cercis, where in this cesspit was she?

Terror beat at the back of his mind, aware time was passing inexorably by. Every moment he was delayed by these dregs, could mean the difference between life and death for her. Desperation clawed at his throat but his Darkon force controlled his mind, allowing him to coldly analyse the situation.

One of his men reported in and advised his squad had located some females. His soldier’s voice was taut with suppressed emotion and Tarak knew without having to be told, some if not all of them had been ill-treated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a whirling, purple cloak.

Atolo!

A roar erupted from his throat and Tarak raced after his fleeing uncle. A quick check on his navigation compu showed Atolo was heading in the direction of the outer reaches of the complex, intent on saving himself. He was too crafty not to have an escape plan with flyers located close by.

Tarak stopped and gazed with frustration at the dwindling figure. If he followed him, he would be led further away from Alana. He would deal with him later.

Her life force called to him.

Now.

He turned and pounded back the way he had come. If he was correct, his uncle had emerged into this sector through oval blast doors which were almost hidden behind a massive display of specimens. Tarak grimaced with the disgust churning in his gut, as he sped past and the contents registered.

He would burn this place to the ground.

The blast door refused to yield.

He beat back his frustration. With maximum efficiency, he competently set a small nix charge in the centre of the door and stepping to one side, crouched. The blast a moment later showered metal debris over his figure. He shook it off and stepped through the remains of the shattered door, his cyber sensors scanning the room beyond for danger.

The vast chamber was empty.

He deduced after hearing the alarms the operators and guards had fled. Overhead the lights flickered and Tarak stifled a curse. His lips thinned as he contemplated the ramifications of the life support system failing.

The work of Atolo?

An intention for all here to perish?

The lights flickered once more before returning to their former brilliance. In the harsh light he saw a number of examination platforms each with a bound silent figure lying incumbent, lining the wide aisle. His nostrils flaring with outrage at the extent of his family’s duplicity he stalked into the room. Behind the line of tables were row upon row of medie tubes over which hovered programmed machines.

Instinct screamed that in one of these metal caskets, Alana was imprisoned.

A loud click, a continuous drone began above him. The automated machines kicked into action.

Tarak bounded towards the first row.

Chapter Sixteen

Agony wracked Alana’s body as consciousness returned. Her body feeling as if she had been run over by a tank, she tried to move. First she wriggled her fingers and toes. All good, then her arms and legs but found she was restrained by cold metal brackets which cut sharply into her skin adding further to her misery.

At least no bones were broken.

The sensation of being trapped caused panic to flutter urgent wings at the back of her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she gazed out of the flexi glass. Her stare travelled upwards where a machine hovered above the tube in which she was encased. It hummed and whirred. With horror she noticed it was descending towards her.

Oh God
.

Her gaze focussed on sharp thin blades coming closer every second to her helpless form. She struggled, desperate to free herself. Wetness seeped from where the bands cut into her flesh. She smelt the odour of fresh blood and knew it was hers.

In the distance came the sounds of shouts and faint pitiful wails. So the other women also faced similar threats. Alana glared with impotent fury and here she was, trussed up like an Egyptian mummy with little hope of escaping and helping her friends.

A shudder shook her from head to foot.

Any minute now and the very core of her womanly essence would be ripped from her. All those tiny little cells—the beginnings of human existence she, as a woman, had been gifted with to be stolen, dissected, examined. A gift she had denied for so long in her fear history would repeat itself. She fought to regain some kind of control over her breathing but her heart was racing with the speed of a runaway brumby. Terror had swollen to a huge ball lodged like a rock in her throat. She couldn’t swallow, she couldn’t breathe. She thought of her family and a short sob escaped her dry, cracked lips.

To be robbed of her gift, to die like this—so far from home.

The flexi glass slid soundlessly open and those glinting blades lowered closer. Alana clenched her jaw.
This was it
.

She would not scream she vowed. She would meet her fate with courage. She hoped like hell, it would be quick.

And damn if she wouldn’t somehow find a way to come back, and make those bastards pay for their crimes.

Closer.

A face loomed above her. She blinked in disbelief as she recognised Tarak’s sharply hewn features. The skin was pulled tight across his nose and cheek bones, his black eyes flickered with a blazing yellow fire. He appeared like an avenging angel emerging from the wisps of smoke and the greedy shadows of death. Or demon, Alana thought in confusion as her lashes fluttered over her tear filled eyes. For a brief moment, she wondered whether she was dreaming but his harsh tones disabused her of that fantasy.

”Lie still, Alana. I will have you released.”

His voice dispelled the last of the haze from her mind. Remembrance of the events of the past day bombarded her with all its horrific images. Fury at his betrayal surged through her veins with all the destructive power of a category five cyclone, quelling the joy the sound of his voice had engendered. Adrenaline flooded her body.

“Stay away from me, you traitor,” she snarled. If only she could reach the small knife tucked inside her boot, she was sure she could somehow thrust it into his heartless body.

She glared her hatred at his hard face and her gaze clashed with the permafrost of his mocking eyes. A deep furrow appeared between his brows, his lips flattened into a savage thin line. Waves of concentrated power vibrated from his body.

“Close your eyes,” he growled.

His helmet activated covering his head and he intersected his body between Alana and the machine. Raising his blaster, he aimed and pressed the trigger. Alana squeezed shut her eyes. She heard the sound of the blaster and blocked the noise of shattering metal from her ears.

When she opened her eyes, the robotic machine vaporised, a shower of tiny metal fragments rained down. Tarak still remained where he was, perfectly still, his body shielding hers. His visor slid up. Their eyes met.

And for a few seconds, Alana gave herself over to a wistful daydream where all that force, all the intense emotion he emanated was caused by concern for her well-being. Despite her best efforts, tears slipped over her cheeks. His armoured fingers brushed against
her skin with gentleness. She noted the feral light in his fathomless eyes and trembled. She wanted so badly to fling herself onto his hard chest and burrow her face in the comfort of his embrace.

But he had betrayed her.

He had given her and the other women over to the enemy. To be used like lab rats.

He would pay
.

Hunger for vengeance gave her strength to overcome the sickness seething deep in her belly.

One by one, Tarak released the straps and she wriggled her tingling hands and feet to increase blood flow. Before she could lever herself upright, the Commander scooped his arms under her body and lifted her clear of the container. He set her on her feet, his arms tightening with reassuring strength as he held her against him. Even through the thickness of his armour, the heat of his body warmed her chilled limbs forcing life to flow through her veins. Cursing her weakness, she clutched him close, her eyelashes fluttered shut.

Her body throbbed. Her flesh where the blasts had made contacted burned. Even her teeth ached. Alana slid her tongue over her gums checking to see if any were missing.

His harsh voice washed over her, “Can you stand?”

Pride had her straightening her shoulders. There was no way she would show any weakness in front of her enemy. Her lover. She clenched her jaw and pushed against his chest. He released her so suddenly she staggered. Quickly, he stepped forward and gripped her arm.

Furious, she batted his touch aside and forced herself to ignore his presence as he loomed above her.

Why was he here? Why was her releasing her? What was his agenda?