Legend Beyond The Stars (34 page)

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 mention 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.

The warmth engendered by his friend’s unconditional support eased the burden of the role he would soon play. Whatever the future held, Tarak knew he had never been more proud of his friend and his men at their decision to join him on the hazardous journey ahead.

Their strategy needed to be assessed and decided upon and soon but first he needed to check on his brother. He frowned. He refused to dwell on his recent encounter with Alana. Tarak rolled his tense shoulders. “Any update on Lord Dion’s status?”

One of the officers shook his head. “No, Commander. Last intel, Lord Dion was still in the medie chamber.”

“First Officer Magar, you have the bridge. I will be with my brother if needed.”

His long strides made quick work along the corridors of his ship. He responded absently to the salutations of his men as he passed. He longed with a fierce desperation that made a mockery of his pretended indifference to go to his Alana and take her into his arms. Everything seemed much simpler when he held her close.

The world faded away. His duty, his responsibilities, this nightmare world they inhabited, it all faded to nothing. It was more than the intense pleasure he experienced with her touch, it was the rightness of being by her side. The bleak emptiness existing in his spirit would be filled with the warmth of her presence.

With the peace and hope she alone could give him.

His mouth twisted.

The overwhelming relief which had flooded him when he found her unharmed had left him lightheaded only to have his euphoria savaged by the missile of accusations Alana flung at him. His feeling of betrayal abated as his cool logical brain overrode his confused emotions. He understood only too well why his passionate Alana had reacted as she had given the events in her past. If he had been as open with her as she, than perhaps he could have averted their terrible experience on Isla. No, he did not blame her for her hasty words.

He was the one to blame.

What had possessed him to lose control in such a way?

A Darkon warrior never allowed emotion to rule. Always logic and control were their byword. Never in his life had he experienced such depth of feeling his Alana evoked inside of him. But if there was one thing he was certain of in this world of madness he inhabited—her life, her well-being surpassed all other matters of importance.

With slow deliberation, he uncurled his fisted fingers. He doubted she would welcome him after their last encounter. And why should she? Did he not leave her behind, to face danger alone? He had known both his father and his uncle were actively involved. He had known of the research. The fact he had not realised the full extent of such experiments did not absolve him of his culpability. In his arrogance and pride he had fooled himself into thinking his family would not betray his trust.

His obstinacy could have cost Alana her life.

The burden of guilt lay as heavy as asteroid rocks in his gut.
By the hem of Cercis’ cloak!
If he had only listened to his inner voice. Gone with his gut feelings and turned his back on the age old Darkon traditions. He should have treated her as his equal, told her of his suspicions, found a solution together instead of bowing under the pressure of his royal responsibilities.

His stride lengthened as he stalked the corridor, ignoring the murmured greetings of his men as he passed. He had been weak, he admitted. And then to lash out in his confusion and pain to say such words to her. As if he could ever do such a thing and there could be no doubt she had accepted his words at their value. Would she realise he had spoken out of horror, injured pride and self loathing? That still a fragment of loyalty bound him to defend his family’s actions? What must she think of him, knowing he came from such roots? Would she believe him when he told her he was not aware of the true extent of the research being undertaken?

Perhaps it would be better to let matters stand as they were now. The indignities the women had suffered, she had suffered, could not be erased.

Round and round his thoughts ran until with weary acceptance he came to the only conclusion.

No, it was time to sever all connections with her.

Somehow he would find the strength to leave her alone. Send her and the other women on their journey to locate their home planet. And he would rain down justice until the stench of the Darkon dishonour was washed away forever.

He punched in his personal code and entered the Analysis Chamber which also housed the medie centre. On the threshold, he paused amazed to see not only the Darkon medics tending to the wounded but also the females.

Winding his way through the rows of recovery bunks, he took his time to linger and speak words of encouragement to the occupants. He spoke to the medic in attendance, impressed with how these females ignored their problems and worked with such gentle determination. Truly, they were a superior race; worthy of alliance with the Darkon warriors.

No they were superior to the Darkons.

His brother lay in a medie tube immobilised by restraints. Grief stricken, Tarak stood and stared at Dion. There were so many tubes and wires attached to the battered body, Tarak could not count them all.

“Must he be bound in such a way?” he asked his voice thick with emotion.

Char, the chief healer shook his head. “The extent of Lord Dion’s damage is such, he must not move or he could cause even greater harm to himself. We must be gentle.”

Tarak swallowed hard. “What is his status?”

When the medic remained silent, Tarak fixed him with a commanding stare. Char still mute, moved out of earshot of the tube indicating to Tarak to follow. He obeyed. Here in this domain, Char ruled. Tarak’s hands clenched tight knowing by the expression on the healer’s face, the news would not be good.

“Lord Tarak you must prepare yourself.”

“I do not accept that. You must be able to do something.”

The healer shook his head again in denial. His voice low, he said, “Spend what time you can spare with him. He drifts between our world and the next now. Perhaps he will hear you and it will give both of you ease. Excuse my leaving, Commander but my presence is required elsewhere.”

Tarak nodded his acquiescence and the healer hurried off. Tarak’s surroundings faded away and he was back in the days of his boyhood. Back from military camp to where he had been sent when a few cycles old. Back to his father’s house on their glorious lost planet, Darkon. Back to where the Darkon suns shone warm upon the rich soil giving life and abundance to their race. Back to when his mother and sister were alive. When his little brother had raced out on unsteady legs, his baby face alight with excitement at Tarak’s return.