DARKWIND
By
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
© copyright November 2006 Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright November 2006
ISBN 1-58608-986-2
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication:
To GJB:
“Honey? Honey? Wake up. Wake up.
Give us a little kiss. <smack> Want some coffee?”
REAPER GLOSSARY
THE BEGINNING:
A scientist on Rysalia Prime named Dr. Dearing Noah Jarl took his pet dog, Brídín with him on a botany expedition to the rainforests of Resuello deep in the mountains of the planet Meiriceá in the Aneas Quadrant. Once amid the lush tropical flora and fauna, the dog became attracted to a certain plant growing there. It was a fern-like growth, low to the ground, with several spiky stalks jutting up from the center of spiky, serrated-edged fronds. Upon each stalk was a large round seedpod with what resembled a small crown sitting atop a pale green inverted bowl. Upon disturbance of this pod, a cloud-like mist of spores arose from the plant. The dog inhaled these spores and a violent sneezing erupted in the animal. Blood began seeping from its eyes and nostrils.
Rushing his pet back to the shuttle craft, Dr. Jarl returned to Rysalia Prime and took the dog to his lab. The animal exhibited signs of acute distress. A scan of the canine’s internal organs revealed a shocking discovery. The unknown spores had invaded his bloodstream and were multiplying at a rapid rate. It soon became obvious the spores were of a virulent variety and the inhalation of them by humanoids might have devastating consequences. Later than evening, the animal began to change.
According to Dr. Jarl’s statement: “He started to convulse, falling to his side, howling in agony, his paws flailing the air. His bones began to crack, to elongate, his flesh turning to a leathery consistency, and his canine shape evolving into that more of a lupine creature. What had once been a very tame, gentle animal became a ravaging beast with glowing red eyes, sharp claws, and even sharper fangs. The enraged animal tried savagely to get out through the bars of the secure environment. I had no doubt had Brídín been able to break free of his enclosure he would have attacked me without fail.
Feeling great remorse at what had become of my beloved pet, I knew the best thing to do was to put Brídín out of his misery. Taking up my laser rifle, I shot him, crying the entire time I attempted to put him down. But the canine did not die. Seven times I shot him at close range but I could not kill the beast. I did manage to knock him out with a high-powered narcotic dart and as he lay unconscious I made the most devastating decision of my life. I decided to spray him with a quick-acting combustible and set fire to it. I was in agony as I was forced to end my pet’s life. I sat by his cage until his body was nothing but a charred husk.
But Brídín—at least a part of my beloved Brídín--was still not dead. From out of the smoldering carcass of the canine something crawled and lay there slithering on the floor.
What came from the canine was a revenant worm (see Parasite).
Note: It would later be discovered that the highly toxic spores that had infected Brídín were from a strange fungus that grew upon those seedpods on Resuello and not from the pods themselves as originally thought. The fungus growing on the plants was unlike anything known to science at that time. This fungi--like all fungi--reproduced by scattering thousands of spores. Upon each spore, there was a strange microscopic growth and it was this growth that had infected Brídín and that had grown to maturity inside him. The plant was given a name: lycant and warnings were sent out that the plant was deadly and all traces of it should be eradicated.
With the arrival on Rysalia Prime of two scientists named Coden Sejm and Barriq Cean (see Ceannus)—both of whom were genetic engineers--Dr. Karl began experimenting with the parasite’s DNA. Sejm had been carrying on stem cell research in Diabolusia … which is against the laws of that world…and had fled before he could be sent to prison for what he was doing. It appears Cean had a hand in helping Sejm escape though it is unknown from where Cean had come. It is believed Sejm and Cean were lovers.
Apparently Cean was not unfamiliar with the spores although he was unaware of the parasite that could result. The team worked with mice at first, genetically modifying the embryonic stem cells. The altered cells were implanted into a blastocyst--an embryo--which was in turn then implanted into the uterus of a mouse. A mouse was created that was stronger, more intelligent, more cunning, and far more vicious than the other mice. It was also capable of transforming into something no man could adequately describe. They moved on to dogs then apes, genetically modifying the DNA of the animals, eliminating traits they felt did not enhance the creature and magnifying traits they found acceptable.
It was only a matter of time before Karl, Sejm, and Cean began experimenting on humans.
REAPERS
Also known as deargs duls. There are numerous tribes of these beings scattered all over the megaverse. It is known there were colonies on Chale, Theristes, Rysalia Prime, and Ghaoithe, but many colonies exist that are unknown to all but their inhabitants.
Characteristics of a Reaper:
(1. Possesses superb mental and physical abilities beyond the range of humans
(2. Psychic abilities to send and receive thoughts to and from humans and animals alike
(3. The strength of twenty men
(4. The ability to live ten to twenty times longer than a normal humanoid
(5. The ability to shapeshift at will
(6. The ability to track any being through DNA taken from the target's blood
(7. Illness, wounds, etc. are healed automatically by the parasite. Appendages that have been torn or cut off will regenerate.
THE PARASITE or REVENANT WORM:
The Queen--also called the Hellion--is about a foot in length although She can grow
longer. She is coiled around Her hive (see Hive) of about four-dozen nestlings. She is an eel-like abomination with green flesh covered in hard scales and a triangular head that has warts protruding from it. The tip of Her tail is forked and covered with sharp spines. She has red eyes that are elliptical in shape like a viper’s. In the triangular maw of Her mouth are rows of sharp teeth. Between Her fangs drips a slimy, milky, threadlike acidic fluid that can eat through any material except glass; the smell of this acid is extremely noxious.
Each time She lays her eggs She gives off a hemotoxin which destroys human blood
cells. This happens about four times a year. This is when Reapers Transition.
She has a psychic bond--a symbiotic relationship--with Her host, the Reaper. She feeds
off his blood and controls him with painful scrapes of Her spines upon his organs. She will bunch Her body against his back to create agonizing probes into his flesh.
She can cure illness, regenerate growth of organs or appendages that have been damaged or removed. Unless She suffers catastrophic harm such as massive ghoret bites (see below) or removal, She will heal Herself and Her Reaper indefinitely.
It is possible for Her to go into an extended state of hibernation if necessary to protect the
life of Her host.
THE HIVE or NEST:
The hive of fledglings or nestlings (also called leeches) is a grayish-green honeycomb of wriggling bodies that are produced by the Queen without need for fertilization. The worm-like beings are in a sac that is attached to the Reaper’s kidney. Most are no larger than a man’s little fingernail.
The adult leech can store up to six months of Sustenance before it needs to be fed again. The pupae--its young in the cocoons--are in a non-feeding state of development so they have no need of nourishment until they hatch. Once they do, they attach themselves to the underside of the Queen until they can break free and live independently in the sac.
Fledglings are harvested once they reach maturity and stored for implantation into Reaper candidates.
SUSTENANCE:
A Reaper must consume blood on a daily basis in order to maintain a normal existence. The lack of Sustenance causes discomfort and hunger that can only be assuaged with drinking the blood. Withholding Sustenance for a long period of time will result in the Reaper Transitioning to his lupine state and remaining that way until Sustenance and a large dose of Tenerse is supplied to him. Usually taken from donors and stored for the Reaper’s use, the most effective Sustenance would be, of course his own or that from another Reaper. Such blood is black so thus contaminated with the parasitic spores that make him what he is. Any blood a Reaper consumes is encrypted into his genetic makeup. It is bookmarked and stored for retrieval just as any data is. That is how a Reaper can find his target when he’s on a termination mission. He’s given a vial of the target’s blood and he will home in on that scent.
TENERSE or TRISOMODINE:
This drug is a very powerful chemical. It is a neuroleptic which controls the nerve pathways of the brain that utilize the tissue chemical dopamine for the transmission of nerve impulses. Developed to control severe psychotic behavior, it is made from distilling the alkaloid in the Clavicepts purpurea fungi that infects grains of rye wheat and related grasses. When distilled it is purple in color with a cherry taste but is odorless. It is given to a Reaper to keep him on cycle, to regulate his cycles and to control him since the drug is highly addictive. It is also given to him to help the severe headaches Reapers are prone to experiencing. The drug is so potent, however, it can cause such bad headaches and acute nausea in susceptible humans.
When mixed with a variety of other liquids, tenerse produces various other effects:
(1. Milk: strong sexual arousal; aphrodisiac
(2. Ale: severe, irrational anger
(3. Water: potent sedative; hangover cure
(4. Wine: stupor, hallucinations, ear ringing
(5. Brandy: Uncontrollable anger
(6. Taro root: severe heightening of pain
(7. Vinegar: severe lessening of pain
(8. Fruit juice: poison
(9. Mead: madness, irrational behavior (depending on amount)
(10. Distilled Water: what Reapers take to control Transitions
By itself it can be a strong soporific which causes deep sleep. If used over a long period of time, it can cause blindness in a human. This is not the case with Reapers whose parasites would prevent such a thing from occurring.
TRANSITION:
When the time of the male’s puberty comes upon him, a Reaper will undergo his first Transition. It is the increase in the levels of testosterone that causes this. Excessive levels of testosterone can bring on Transition outside a Reaper’s cycle and this is why when he is extremely angry, Transition will generally occur.
Transition occurs roughly quarterly.
The sequence of Transition begins with the Reaper’s body heat increasing. He will sweat profusely, his face and body slick with perspiration. Manifestation of the cycle beginning are: sweating, shuddering violently, pacing, groaning, raking his fingers through his hair, bending over the growing pain in his abdomen as his body begins to change. His eyes will begin to glow red and then the actual physical changes will begin.
Physical changes: His cheekbones will flare, become elevated, jawbone thrust out with a shriek, and his head will sweep back to form sharp, pointed ears. His nose will elongate to a wrinkled snout with wet, sucking sounds. His nostrils will widen and flare--the better to inhale scents. Sharp, yellowed fangs will erupt from his gums and protrude from leathery lips dripping thick streams of saliva. With a netherworldly howl of frustration and pain he will hunker down and turn his head from side to side in his agony, his chatoyant eyes seeking out any trace of warmth from which he can feed. He will drop to all fours and his torso will shorten as bones and cartilage move. Legs will shorten, hips and shoulders re-joint until there is no longer anything even vaguely human about his appearance. In undulating waves, his body will compact with the grinding, stretching, and popping sounds of bones separating, changing and organs rearranging themselves inside his body. Bristling fur will push outward all over his body to form a thick coat, his arms and legs will become those of a lupine-like creature, and his hands will become paws. His fingernails will grow at an alarming rate to become thick, horny plates that will eventually transform into curved claws as sharp as a dagger’s blade. His thirst will cause him to lurch like a drunken man as his parched throat demands Sustenance. All ability to speak will have left him and his human control will vanish as the parasites inside him whisper vile demands he can no longer ignore.
Transitions last anywhere from an hour to several weeks. This depends on the Reaper, how much Tenerse and Sustenance he has had before the cycle begins, and the levels of Testosterone in his body. It also depends upon whether or not the Reaper has mated. Mated Reapers will not endure Transition as lengthily as though who are not mated since mated Reapers regularly use up their high levels of testosterone.
Reapers can Transition out of cycle if there is need to but doing so will alter the natural cycle and could conceivably be dangerous for any human they are near.
CONTAINMENT CELLS:
Since Transition is a highly volatile state of being and therefore by its own state dangerous to humans and animal alike, a Reaper should be confined during Transition. A cell or otherwise strong building should be provided for his/her use. Traditionally, a containment cell is seven feet by seven feet in diameter; twenty feet in height; there are no windows. Embedded in the stainless steel wall are two horizontal iron beams upon which is welded a solid sheet of metal six feet long by four feet wide; this serves as a bed although it has no padding, no covers. In the northeast corner of the cell is a four-inch wide waste removal hole; in the southwest corner cell, is a showerhead set flush against the stainless steel ceiling. A wire-encased light is recessed into the center of the ceiling and the light is never extinguished but always set at a very low level since Reapers are highly photophobic during Transition. The walls are stainless steel and the ceiling and flooring are re-enforced concrete with titanium rebars.
TRANSFERENCE:
If at all possible, a small amount of Sustenance should be given to the candidate prior to the Transference. If this is not possible, Sustenance must be given shortly upon the candidate's reversal to human shape after the initial Transition. Reaper blood is preferable for this procedure.
If it is a simple Transference (meaning one in which a Queen is not exchanged), the donor lays on his/her belly and the back is bared. A six inch slit is made over the right kidney and a fledgling is extracted through the wound. The Queen will have instructed one of the parasites to donate itself. The parasite is placed in a glass receptacle. The candidate is laid on his/her back, the back is bared and a duplicate incision is made. The donated parasite is then dropped onto the recipient's back and will burrow down into the wound. The wound will close almost instantly. If there is to be an exchange of Queens (with the recipient's Queen already dead or dying), the incision needs to be roughly one foot in length to accommodate the larger size of the hellion.
BEHAVORIAL MODIFICATION:
Whenever his trainers believe a Reaper is ‘throwing off’ or ignoring his conditioning, he is remanded to the Be-Mod 9 for therapy. This is a facility where physical torture and psychotropic drugs are used to re-enforced the Reaper’s all-consuming loyalty to the Empire. It is believed that only extreme pain, mental torment, and a broad spectrum of intense drug therapies can break through the Reaper’s natural defenses and thus take him down to his lowest point so he can be re-programmed. Through this extreme regimen the scientist hope to eventually abolish the human part of the Reaper. The stronger the Reaper, the more intense the therapy. Some warriors do not survive the regimen intact.
PART ONE
Chapter One
On Board the United Space Alliance Medivac Ship, The Orion
Dr. Caitlin Kelly sighed deeply as she sat up and swung her legs from the bunk. She was tired ... more exhausted than she could remember being of late ... and wished she didn't have to get up. She sat there for a moment, staring blankly across her cabin and sighed once more, closing her eyes against the weariness that made her want to lie down again. She rubbed her aching eyes then forced herself to stand and stretch, feeling the pull of stiff muscles as she did.
“What you need,” she mumbled, “is a tall, dark, handsome space pirate to come along, sweep you off your feet, then ...”
“Dr. Kelly?” the ComLink clicked on with a soft, pleasant male voice that had been designed to soothe. The intership communications system could be a nuisance at times for it seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Aye?”
“Captain Wellmeyer requests your presence on the bridge, Ma’am.”
Caitlin pursed her lips in annoyance. “Tell the Captain I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Understood. Were you able to sleep, Doctor?” The ComLink was also programmed to be solicitous of Caitlin’s well being.
“Afraid not, Coni.”
“I am so sorry,” the ComLink replied with an almost-human sigh. “Perhaps you should seek a med for the problem.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for you concern, Coni.”
“You are most welcome, Dearling,” was the reply.
Caitlin winced. Lately, the A.I.--the Artificial Intelligence unit--inside her ComLink was beginning to show human male traits she had not included in its programming. The terms of affection was one such trait that, should anyone else hear it, could cause a raised eyebrow among the crew.
She made a mental note to make a few adjustments to Coni’s programming.
But as tired as she was, re-programming affectionate ComLinks wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Heaving another weary sigh, Caitlin stripped off her outdated and threadbare flannel gown and stepped into the sonic shower, wishing she could bathe under a cleansing, refreshing hot water cascade instead.
When she was dressed in her dark blue medical jumpsuit, she rode the elevator up two decks to the bridge, nodded politely at the Com Officer, Helen Bryan, as she passed and went to Captain Wellmeyer.
“You rang?”
Captain Herb Wellmeyer scowled. “We’ve got a problem with the oxygen scrubbers and I’ve sent two crew members to sick bay.” His frosty gray eyes slid from Caitlin’s dark cinnamon hair to the tips of her polished boots. “While you were getting your beauty rest, I had a crisis.”
Caitlin didn’t bother to comment on his remark. Herb Wellmeyer’s definition of a crisis could be anything from a lack of sufficient coolant in the warp drives to a lack of sufficient foam on his glass of replicated beer. With his stubborn neo-German pragmatism, anything that didn’t fall directly in line with his way of thinking and his conception of an orderly universe was a matter of utmost importance in his mind even if it was nonsense to everyone else.
“What does engineering say about the scrubbers?” asked Caitlin.
“Did you hear what I said?” Wellmeyer snapped. “I sent two crew members …”
“To sick bay,” Caitlin interrupted. “Aye, I heard you, Sir. I assume it was with minor headaches and dizziness due to insufficient oxygen levels in their work stations?” She locked her dark green eyes on his narrowed gray orbs.
“Naturally!”
“And I also can assume they are feeling better or you would have had Coni wake me earlier?”
The Captain clenched his jaw. “I have told you before that I did not approve you giving your ComLink a name. It is--”
“--they are all right?” she stressed. She heard his teeth grinding and didn’t need to look down to know Herb Wellmeyer’s beefy hands were clenched into fists at his chubby sides.
“They will survive,” he acknowledged.
A slight smile tried to escape Caitlin’s tight control over it and she had to turn away.
“That’s good.” She arched a titian brow at him. “Is there anything else?”
Wellmeyer’s chin jutted out. “Your lack of respect is starting to wear thin, Caitlin,” he said beneath his breath. “And I am beginning to--”
“--I’ll be down in sick bay if you need anything else, Captain.” She saw a flare of irritation dart across Wellmeyer’s face, but she ignored it.
Turning away, she winked at the Com Officer who tried unsuccessfully to hide her own amusement. Taking the elevator down to the fourth deck, Caitlin walked to the computer and punched up the med notes on the two crewmen who had been admitted for observation. As she suspected, neither had been in any immediate danger and both were sleeping peacefully beneath pure-oxy domes. Nevertheless, she checked their vitals.
“I spoke with engineering,” Jax Vance, one of her four corpsmen, explained to her. “A simple malfunction in an o-ring. It’s been taken care of.”
“Thanks,” Caitlin replied, then asked if he would get her a cup of black coffee.
“Still not sleeping?”
“Nope.” Caitlin sat down behind her desk and leaned back in the form-fitting chair. “I jolted awake at oh-three hundred sweating like a big dog.”
Jax grinned at the Southern expression that always brought back fond memories of visiting the Americas when he was on leave two years earlier. “Another bad dream?”
“I guess so,” Caitlin answered, shrugging. “All I remember is sitting up with a gasp, my heart pounding. I was trembling so it must have been a real doozie.”
“Perhaps you should speak with Counselor Rema.”
Caitlin shook her head. “I don’t believe in that headshrinker crap. It’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo. Besides, Rema is an idiot.”
Jax couldn’t argue with the doctor. He felt the same way toward the psychic from Old France. “You should talk to someone, though,” Jax told her. “I hate to say it, but you’re starting to look a little ... well--” He blushed. “--rough around the edges,” he finished, his blush deepening.
“Hell, Jax. Don’t mince words!”
“I just hate to see you--”
The sick bay ComLink clicked on. “Dr. Kelly, report to the bridge immediately!”
“On my way!” Caitlin responded.
“What’s going on?” Caitlin asked the Com Officer when she reached the bridge.
“We have a medical distress signal from Sector Nine,” explained Helen.
“Sector Nine?” Caitlin questioned. “Isn’t that in the middle of the Sinisters?”
“Right near the edge,” the First Officer, Linwood Dixon, reported from his console.
“But there shouldn’t be anyone in the Sinisters. A downed ship, maybe?”
“Bryan?” Wellmeyer demanded. “Try hailing them.”
“There is no answer to my hail, Captain,” Lt. Bryan informed him, giving the Captain a look that said he should have known she’d already tried that.
“Damn!” snapped Wellmeyer, running a hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t have time for this!”
“We are a Medivac ship, Captain. If we get a distress call, we are obligated to investigate and render aid,” Caitlin said needlessly and was rewarded with a glower from her commanding officer. She smiled brutally. “The Directive states ...”
“Shut up! Plot a course to wherever that distress beacon is coming from, Dixon,” the Captain ordered. He narrowed his eyes at Caitlin.
“You’re about one insult away from having a note put in your jacket, lady.”
Caitlin’s smile became hateful then she turned around. “I’ll be going down with the away team,” she announced. “Where exactly will we be going, Lieutenant Dixon?”
“It’s a small planetoid just inside the Sinisters, Ma’am.”
“Completely out of our territorial assignment,” Wellmeyer complained. “Who the hell knows what kind of situation we’ll run into beyond the No Man’s Land boundary!”
“What’s she like?” Caitlin asked, ignoring Wellmeyer’s statement.
“Breathable atmosphere and sufficient gravity. No need for anything special.” Dixon typed in some numbers. “I’ve done a diagnostic and there doesn’t appear to be any problem with going in.”
“Life forms?”
“I’m only reading two: very faint. According to the data I pulled up on this hunk of rock, there is no indigenous life. There is water, but very sparse vegetation. She’s just a big old piece of granite lolling there.” He looked at Caitlin. “There’s never been any life reported in the Sinisters, Doc. A mining transport ship from Gemini Prime was by there this morning at oh-three hundred and didn’t report anything out of the ordinary.”
“Somebody’s obviously there now!” grumbled Wellmeyer. His face paled. “Or something.”
“Something evil, maybe,” Bryan said beneath her breath.
Ensign Thommy Loure’s big eyes lit up. “Remember that old video we saw last week? The one with the alien that gets inside people’s stomachs.”
“Stow that kind of talk, Mister!” Wellmeyer pointed a finger at Loure. “There are no monsters in outer space.”
Loure and Dixon exchanged glances then looked away, both trying to hide their amusement.
“Dixon, Loure, you’ll accompany Dr. Kelly to the surface,” the Captain ordered, “since you find this so damned amusing!”
“Aye, Sir,” the two crewmen agreed, eager for adventure.
“How far away are we from our target, Dixon?” asked Caitlin.
“Ten minutes, Ma’am.” The lieutenant’s fingers moved like lightning over his keyboard. “You’ll just about have time to get your little black bag before I get us there.”
“I’ve told you before,” Bryan chastised, “she doesn’t make house calls.”
“Knock it off!” Wellmeyer shouted, his patience almost at an end. He hated this ship. He hated this assignment. But most of all, he hated his crew who were loyal to Caitlin Kelly and most of the time ignored him, though he outranked the female doctor. The crew—to a man—believed Kelly should have been given the command and their attitudes were beginning to wear thin.
“Eight minutes to target, Dr. Kelly,” Dixon said formally.
“Get your asses to Transport,” Wellmeyer ordered his away team.
“And don’t dawdle down there. We have to be in Sector Four by twenty-one hundred tomorrow with that shipment of antibiotic!”
Caitlin shook her head and walked to the elevator, went inside and waited until the two men joined her. When the titanium doors slid shut, she turned to Loure, her face perfectly solemn. “In case we encounter eggs or pods of any kind while down there, don’t go poking at ‘em, okay?”
“No, Ma’am,” Loure replied, shaking his head. “I will not.”
“And keep your big mouth shut,” added Dixon. “Can’t get in if your mouth is shut.”
“Avoid vines, as well,” Caitlin put in.
“And siren calls that might make you want to wander off in search of strange kitty,” Dixon added, wagging his brows lewdly at Loure.
“Kitty?” Caitlin echoed, knowing full well what Dixon meant.
Dixon shrugged. “Never know about alien critters, Doc.” He swiveled his head toward her and locked gazes. “Their anatomies may be different from ours.”
“Understood,” she replied.
The elevator settled at the Transport deck and she preceded the men from the cage. She nodded politely at the Chief Engineer, Thom Christopher, and then took her place in the Transport modules, Dixon and Loure flanking her on the pedestal.
“Ready, Doc?” asked Christopher.
“As I’m gonna be. What are you registering down there, now, Pete?”
“Two diminishing life forms.”
“Humanoid?”
Christopher shook his head. “Can’t tell.”
“Pod people,” Loure said softly. “I knew it.”
“Just our luck,” Dixon sighed. He rubbed his stomach and belched.
“Engage,” Caitlin ordered, her lips twitching but her eyes wary.
Chief Christopher watched as the away team faded from his view, their molecules flung toward the barren planetoid where no life had been reported before.
Barren, Caitlin thought, wasn’t a sufficient word to describe the gray plateau on which she and her away team formed. The sky was a darker gray, the vast wisps of fog that defined the interior of the Sinisters obscuring what light could pass from the distant sun. Massive, jagged rock formations jutted upward like hands reaching toward the gods. The rocks gave off a faint milky glow that suggested veins of embedded quartz. A wind skirled over the vast plain below them where only a few mounds of tumbled scree littered the miles upon miles of wasteland.
“A real hospitable place, huh?” said Dixon.
“Hope you brought your vid-cam, Linwood,” Loure responded.
“This would make a nice postcard.”
“Yeah,” Caitlin agreed. “A postcard from hell.”
She saw nothing to indicate a landing site or--for that matter--a crash site. Behind them was a sheer cliff of wind-beaten stone and off to one side was a succession of what could pass for steps leading down to the plateau.
“Just where in the blazes are we supposed to be going?” She reached up to touch the small ComLink unit attached to her jumpsuit.
“Matheny?” she said, irritation clear in her tone. “Where are our patients?”
“Below you, Doc,” Matheny reported. “Chief couldn’t get you inside the plateau. Some kind of interference.”
“Okay.” Caitlin headed for the weather-carved steps. The steps didn’t look treacherous, but she cautioned her men just in case.
* * * *
He was barely conscious, his life force almost drained, but he picked up the scent of a female. His nostrils quivered and his fingers flexed. The heart inside him struggled to keep beating; to force life through his veins. He tried desperately to lift his head, but could not.
He was too injured, too weak, and with the last ounce of his remaining strength called out to her.
First officer Dixon plowed into Caitlin’s back as she stopped on the last step before reaching the black sand floor of the wasteland. He saw her look around, her forehead creased. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, ma’am?”
Caitlin shook her head. “Imagining things, I guess. Must have been the wind.” She moved off the last step and grimaced as her boots sank ankle-high in the powered sand.
“Volcanic ash,” Loure told them.
“Oh, this is just getting better and better.” Dixon pointed off to their left. “There is a cave entrance over yonder.”
Caitlin turned to look in that direction. There was indeed a gaping hole that was more than likely a cave entrance. Being claustrophobic, she wasn’t all that keen on venturing inside, but considering the fact that no ship, no building, no nothing was out here in this windy desolation, it looked as though the cave was their destination. She touched her mini ComLink again. “How far inside the plateau, Matheny?”
“Nine hundred yards, Ma’am,” the science tech reported.
Caitlin winced. “Swell.” She hissed turned to Loure. “Did you bring a lamp?”
“Yes, I did,” Loure, replied, his face solemn. He and Dixon both had known Caitlin a long time and knew her fear of enclosed places. “Want us to go in alone?”
She grunted. “No. I gotta get over it sooner or later.”
“It can just as well be later,” Dixon said gently.
“I can do this,” Caitlin snapped and struck out for the cave entrance.
* * * *
His breathing changed when the female scent became stronger. In his mind, he could see her, but her form was unfamiliar: delicate and dark, smaller than he. But she was a female and it was a female he needed. He tried to call out to her again, but found he had expended what little energy he had left. If she were to find him, it would have to be from the mental call he had been generating for weeks now in the hope he would be heard.
Loure led the way into the cave. The interior was stygian dark so he turned on the mercury light. He glanced at Caitlin and noticed she was trembling and her face was glistening with sweat. If there were anything either he or Dixon could do to help her, they would have. As it was, the big man was suffering right along with her although the cave held no special horrors for him.
“What kind of atmosphere does it look like we have in here, Matheny?” Caitlin asked her ComLink. She was trying to hold on to her nerve, forcing herself deeper inside the maw of the cave.
“Breathable oxygen. A little thin, but sufficient,” the science tech told her from the Orion. “No sign of contaminants.”
“It smells,” Dixon observed.
“Corruption,” Caitlin told him, putting a hand to her mouth.
“Rotting bodies.”
“Ah, yes,” Loure grunted. “I had forgotten what that unique odor was.” Both he and Dixon had been newbies in the med corps during the last Middle Eastern conflict. They had seen many dead bodies in that war.
“Where’s the smell coming from?” Dixon asked, swallowing against the nausea creeping up his throat.
“Over there.” Caitlin pointed to a sweeping archway of stone.
Loure swung his lamp that way. There were two women lying face down on the cave floor. Clothed in deep green robes, they gripped some kind of staff-like weapon in their hands. Obviously they had been guarding the entrance when they died.
“Run a diagnostic,” Caitlin told Dixon.
Dixon walked to the bodies, grimacing at the intense odor. He thumped the scanner, tried again then looked around. “It’s not registering.”
“Matheny?” Caitlin called up to the Orion.
“Aye, Ma’am?”
“Do you have a fix on the bodies we’re viewing?” She turned so her ComLink could pan the corpses.
“Aye,” was the reply, then a short silence until the tech had his sensors locked on the bodies.
“Cause of death?” Caitlin asked, impatiently.
She could almost hear Matheny’s mental shrug. “Poisoning of some kind.”
“Race?” she queried. “They’re humanoid females, but extremely large specimens.”
“Don’t have a clue what race they are, Ma’am,” Matheny reported. “Not in our data banks.”
“Oh, hell,” Caitlin sighed. “I was afraid he’d say that.”
“I see light,” Dixon said.
“You see life?” Wellmeyer barked and the surgically implanted receivers behind the left ears of the away team vibrated painfully, causing each of them to put a hand up to cover that ear.
“Light,” Caitlin corrected, annoyed with the interruption. “He sees light!”
“You’d better hurry or there won’t be any life,” Wellmeyer reminded them, equally loud. “The readings are dismally low.”
“Don’t shout when you are speaking to us, Sir,” Caitlin snapped. “We can hear you perfectly well!”
“Then hurry up!” Wellmeyer groused.
“Butt wipe,” Caitlin murmured under her breath and motioned for the men to advance.
The away team moved further back inside the cave toward a faint source of light about a hundred yards away.
* * * *
Her scent was stronger now: a hint of lavender; a touch of citrus.
He inhaled as best he could for the pain was terrible and the very movement of his chest nearly caused him to blackout again. Ashamed, he heard himself whimper with the agony exploding inside him and strove with iron-hard control to keep awake.
“Just a moment longer, Khiershon,” he told himself. “Just hold on a moment longer. She will hear you. She will come for you.”
* * * *
There were nine female bodies lying side by side ... hands clasped ... at the entrance to a large, circular chamber. Their faces were bloated and blotched with a crimson rash that had spread down their necks. Their lips were blue, their eyes wide and staring. Ranged in a semi-circle, the women were clad in identical black robes with bright blue sashes. They were large women, tall women with unbound hair long enough to sweep their waists. Clad in dark leather sandals with crisscrossing straps that wrapped around their legs all the way to the knee, they also wore gauntlets of the same color at each wrist.
“These women are giants!” Dixon whispered. “Look at their hands! Those hands are bigger than yours, Loure.”
“Big mamas, huh?” Loure knelt by the closest woman and ran a diagnostic. He looked up, surprise on his beefy face. “Conium maculatum poisoning.”
“Speak Alliance, will you?” Dixon grumbled.
“Hemlock,” Caitlin translated. “They ingested hemlock.”
“From the looks of these gals, they are some kind of religious order. Maybe they use in it their rituals.”
“Rituals,” Caitlin repeated. “You think they were performing a ceremony?”
“Maybe they’re celebrating National Socrates Day,” Dixon observed. He pointed to a large goblet sitting atop a flat stone that could have been used as an altar of some kind. “I bet if you run a scan, you’ll find hemlock in there.”
Loure moved over to the goblet, passed the scanner over it and nodded. “That’s exactly what it is and in high concentrations at that.”
“We got two alive somewhere in here,” Dixon said. “We’d better be finding them fast then.”
Caitlin nodded and they moved into the circular chamber. She opened and closed her left fist to keep from screaming as the walls around her began to close in. She was having difficulty drawing air into her lungs and could hear her heart pounding dangerously fast in her ears. The craggy surface of the cave seemed to be pressing toward her, though she knew that couldn’t be happening. Having suffered from claustrophobia all her life, this enclosed place was causing sparks of ghostlike light to flit across her vision. It was dark, dank, and a feeling of overbearing foreboding trembled down her spine.
* * * *
It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. The pain had all but taken control of what mind he had left. He could hear her voice now. It was soft yet strangely hollow. And she was not that far away.
His mind shut down for a second or two and he panicked, thinking she would never find him if he lost consciousness again. He had to stay alive just a bit longer.
“Here I am,” he whispered, his cracked lips bleeding. “Find me.”
* * * *
“Here’s one more,” Dixon said and knelt down. “She must be a guard, too. She’s got the same kind of staff we found with the two other women.”
“Matheny? How much farther?” Caitlin asked, wiping a hand over her sweaty face. They had found eleven bodies, yet there was still a reading telling them there were two faint blips of life somewhere inside the cave.
“Looks like about twenty feet, Ma’am,” Matheny responded from the Orion.
Caitlin looking about them. “Which way? A dozen passageways lead off this central chamber!”
“The scanner can’t be any more specific, Ma’am, I’m sorry. We are getting some odd interference up here, Dr. Kelly.”
Caitlin let out a discouraged breath. They were four corridors straight ahead.
“I am here, Lady.”
As soon as the words registered, Caitlin turned, facing aft. “Back there,” she said. “He’s back there.”
“He?” Loure questioned, exchanging a look with Dixon.
But Caitlin was already moving down one of the dark stone corridors, Loure’s light casting a wavering glow on the sharp walls as he bumbled along in her wake.
They found a twelfth woman sitting on the ground, her head against a closed iron doorway built into the rock wall. In the woman’s lap was a long rod with a bulbous projection at one end that flared out like the points of a star. She watched them coming toward her with a look of incredulous dismay. “How did you get in here?” she said.
Caitlin reached the woman first and saw that her lips were already turning blue from the poison. She knelt beside her. “I have an antidote.”
The woman shook her head. “Too late,” the woman told her. “Far too late.”
“Why?” Caitlin asked. “Why did you ... ?”
“You must not let him out,” the red-robed woman said and with her last bit of strength grabbed Caitlin’s arm and held it with unbelievable power. “Just let him die. When his earthly body is drained of life, you must remove his head.”
Caitlin looked past the woman to the locked hatchway. “I am a Healer. I am sworn to save lives. Let me help you.”
“We have done all we can do.” She tugged painfully at Caitlin’s arm. “If you release him, you will live to regret doing so!”
With the last word, the woman’s hand dropped from Caitlin’s arm and fell into her lap. Her head tilted to one side as though she was contemplating, then her eyes closed.
Caitlin looked past the dead woman and saw there was a heavy wooden plank barring the door. She stood. “Dixon, pick her up. Thommy, get that door opened, now!”
He heard the door of his cell opening, but he could not lift his head. He could not see the face of his savioress, but her scent was strong in his nostrils. He could feel the heat her body radiated and longed to touch her, to draw her to him.
“Sweet Mary and Joseph!” Loure exclaimed as he held his light up so the room into which they had ventured could be illuminated.
Caitlin felt her knees grow weak at the sight she and her men beheld, and she recoiled for a moment, unable to believe her eyes. He was hanging spread eagle from thick chains embedded in the cave walls, his feet barely touching the ground, his manacled wrists flung wide to either side of his sagging head. His bare chest was a riot of cuts and welts and star-shaped burns that glistened with each shallow breath he took. The black leather britches he wore were torn at one thigh, ripped along one cuff.
“Is he ... ?” Caitlin swallowed, bile rising in her throat. “Is he alive?”
Dixon moved past her and ran the scanner. “Aye,” he said.
“Barely.”
“Move aside,” Caitlin ordered.
When her fragile hands touched him, he whispered a sigh of relief that his prayers to Alel had been answered. He forced his eyes open and found himself looking at her slender legs then his vision was moving up her shapely body as his head was tipped away from his chest.
“Oh, dear god,” Caitlin groaned as she saw his face. She was staring into dark amber eyes filled with unspeakable agony. She reached out her free hand to stroke back the limp black hair which fell across his face: a face scored with savage bruises and vicious cuts, but a face of such striking male beauty, it took her breath away. She knew he would be tall--not as tall as the women who had imprisoned him but taller than herself. He would be just what a man should be.
“I knew you would find me, milady,” she heard him whisper and his sad amber eyes closed.
Caitlin knew enough about torture to know this man had been hanging like this, crucified against the stone wall, long enough to restrict his breathing. He could barely draw air into his collapsing lungs.
“Get him down,” she ordered, her mind racing. “Get him the hell down!”
Dixon flicked open his laser and made quick work of the clasps that banded the prisoner’s wrists. Loure moved into position to catch the unconscious man as Dixon lowered the brutally abused arms. With his powerful physique and well-honed strength, Loure swung the unconscious man into his arms and headed through the cave, Dixon walking ahead to light the way.
“Take us up!” Caitlin ordered as the away team and their patient exited the cave. “Hurry!”
* * * *
Captain Wellmeyer watched from the doorway as Caitlin and her corpsmen worked on the unconscious man. He was unnerved by the physical condition of his passenger and ill at ease with the twelve dead bodies now residing in his cold storage compartment. When, two hours later, Caitlin stepped away from the gurney and went to her desk to sit down, the captain followed. “Is he gonna make it?” he asked.
Caitlin nodded, so tired she didn’t feel like answering. She leaned back in her chair and put her hands up to rub at her eyes.
“We took a sample of the DNA from the bodies. They aren’t anything like us,” reported Wellmeyer. He shuddered. “Never thought I’d ever see a being from beyond our galaxy.”
“Neither did I,” Caitlin replied. “Our patient is more of an anomaly than the women. His anatomy is acutely different from our own. He’s got organs I can’t even begin to guess the function of.”
“I had them bring up everything we could find in the cave,” Wellmeyer told her. “There wasn’t that much. A few religious-looking things, a scroll, a book that might be someone’s journal, and the four weapons.”
“What was on the scroll or could we decipher it?” asked Jax as he joined them.
Wellmeyer shrugged. “Atherton says it looks similar to ancient Viking runes, but she isn’t sure. She’s gonna work on it later this evening.” He was referring to Cathy Atherton, the Systems Operating Officer who maintained the ship’s computers. “Once she’s finished with the scroll, the computer should have enough data to translate whatever the hell is in the book they found.”
Caitlin blinked. “Has she scanned it into the system?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Wellmeyer replied and watched as Caitlin swiveled around in her chair and called her computer online.
“Access scroll scanned in by Lieutenant Atherton,” Caitlin said. She waited until the screen popped up on her computer then sat forward, the better to see the strange characters.
“Well?” Wellmeyer grunted. He leaned over her, peering at the screen.
“It’s definitely runic-based,” Caitlin answered, irritated at his breathing down her neck. She used her mouse to highlight one particular word. “This looks almost Arabic, though.” She frowned deeply, and then told the computer to analyze the scroll with perimeters set to the ancient Arabic language. Almost at once, the computer screen split into two windows: the scroll’s writing on the left, the translation into Arabic in the right.
“Bingo,” Jax said quietly.
“Computer, translate right window to Alliance Speak,” ordered Caitlin.
The screen split again until three windows stood side by side.
“Maximize right window.”
The right window filled the screen and Caitlin leaned farther toward it. She scanned the short document. “It’s a Death Warrant,” she told the men.
“For him?” Wellmeyer snapped, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
“It appears so,” she replied, staring at the word that was undoubtedly her patient’s name.
“Does it say why it was issued?” Jax asked.
“Crimes against womanhood,” Wellmeyer snorted as he read the document over Caitlin’s shoulder. “His name is Khiershon Cree, son of Kamerone.”
“What does that mean, I wonder? His crimes against womanhood,” Jax questioned. “Rape? Murder?”
“It could mean anything,” Caitlin replied and turned so she could look across the sick bay at the unconscious man. “Whatever he did, they hated him enough to want to hurt him badly before they killed him.”
“The question is,” mumbled Wellmeyer, “what stopped them? Why kill themselves before they carried out his sentence?”
“Maybe they thought he was already dead,” Jax put forth. “I mean, they were obviously involved in some kind of religious cult. Swilling down a cup of hemlock is not something any sane person would do.”
“I think they were questioning him,” Caitlin said and when they asked her why she felt that way, she couldn’t answer. It was a gut feeling and one that had been nagging at her.
“Trying to find an accomplice, maybe?” asked Wellmeyer.
“Or accomplices,” Caitlin corrected. “Maybe he’s a warrior and his people are at war with those women.” She drew in a long, tired breath. “Who the hell knows?” She covered her face with her hands. “Until he wakes up and we can question him, we won’t know.”
“If he doesn’t speak Alliance, how will you communicate?” asked Wellmeyer.
Caitlin pulled her hands away from her face and stared up at Wellmeyer. That idiotic question was just one more reason she detested Herbert Wellmeyer, and another reason the bureaucrat had no business being in command of a Medivac ship.
Jax hid his amusement by ducking his head and when it became apparent Caitlin wasn’t going to answer, he replied, “He spoke to her when he was found, Sir.”
“Oh,” Wellmeyer grunted. He realized he should have known that, but hid his embarrassment by maintaining a bored look. “Then perhaps she’ll be able to understand him.”
Jax rolled his eyes and turned away. He wished—not for the first time—that Caitlin had been assigned CO of the Orion.
Wellmeyer looked around, found no one paying any attention to him and turned to go. “Report to me as soon as you learn anything concrete.”
“You’ll be the first to know, you sanctimonious bastard,” Caitlin muttered. She watched him leave then turned to catch Jax’s eye. “That man couldn’t pour piss out of a gravity boot with the instructions stamped on it.”
“Now, now,” Jax said, wagging a finger at her. “That isn’t nice.”
Caitlin smiled. “And could probably be classified as insubordination.” She couldn’t stop the yawn that came and gave in to it.
“Why don’t you go lie down and try to sleep, Doc?” Jax suggested. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”
Caitlin was dead tired. Her weeks of sleeplessness were beginning to take its toll. She knew she wouldn’t be any good to anyone if she didn’t get some rest. Getting wearily to her feet, she put her hands to the small of her back and stretched, rolling her head from side to side. She looked at her patient, knew he’d sleep on for a while yet, and told Jax she was going to her quarters. “Call me the moment he even bats an eyelash,” she ordered.
“And a thick, luscious eyelash at that,” Lisa Mahon, one of the med techs, sighed wistfully, then gasped at her indiscretion. She blushed. “I’m sorry, Doc. I don’t know why the heck I said that!”
Caitlin grinned. “You’ve been on the Orion far too long, Lisa,” she replied. “I think you need to take a much-needed shore leave, lady!”
“We all do,” Lida, one of the other med techs, agreed.
As she took the elevator to her quarters, Caitlin could not stop thinking about her patient. It was more than the brutal physical abuse the man had suffered making her unable to get him out of her mind. Or the unstable condition he was in that could go either way, back to health or into cold storage alongside the women who had tortured him. She just could not seem to force her thoughts away from him. Or get his face from her mind’s eye. Or his voice from some deep responsive part of her.
“I knew you would find me,” he’d said.
“How did you know?” she asked, unaware she had spoken aloud until the elevator ComLink asked if she needed anything.
“No,” Caitlin replied. “Just a good night’s sleep.”
“May I suggest a Temparest, Dr. Kelly?” the ComLink asked. “I could have Counselor Rema ...”
“No, thank you,” Caitlin said forcefully. “I don’t need any sedatives.”
There was a slight, irritated pause, then, “As you wish, Doctor.”
The ComLink cut off with a click.
Her quarters felt confined and Caitlin asked Conar to spray the room with a mist of lavender. “And I’d like to hear a gentle rain with thunder in the distance,” she added.
“I shall do as you ask, Dearling,” her ComLink acknowledged.
Caitlin opened her mouth to instruct her AI unit to cease with its affectionate--and to her ear, intimate--sobriquets, but she closed her lips again. The ComLink’s soft words and sensual voice were as close as Caitlin had been in several months to a lover’s voice.
She stripped, put on her old flannel gown, frowning at the rent under the left arm and the threadbare condition of the bodice. She made a mental note to order another gown when she got to Fealst. It would be months before it was brought up from Terra, but at least she’d know it was on its way to her. There was nothing as comforting as sleeping in a warm, flannel gown two sizes too large.
Except maybe in the brawny arms of a tall, dark haired, amber-eyed man with ...
Caitlin paused as she was about to crawl beneath the covers and wondered where the hell that thought had come from. She probed at it--much as one would an aching tooth--then decided she was too tired to dwell on the matter. She plumped her pillow into submission, lay down, wiggled comfortable beneath the covers then gave her ComLink two final instructions.
“Lights out and access mainframe language translation of runic scroll, duelize, and begin downloading data as soon as I am in REM sleep. I want to know how to speak that language.”
“It will not disturb your sleep, Dearling?” the ComLink asked in a caring tone of voice laced with just a touch of admonishment.
“Just do it, Coni,” Caitlin ground out. “And stop questioning my orders.”
There was a brief pause, then, “Aye, love,” the ComLink sighed, giving in to her wishes.
As REM sleep took over Caitlin’s tired brain, the translating of the strange language into ancient Arabic, then into Alliance language, began its transmission into the surgical implants behind Caitlin’s left ear. Within half an hour, she had assimilated the new language--which she learned was called Rysalian High Speech--and would be able to speak it like a native.
“Rysalia,” Caitlin whispered in her sleep.
“Aye. That is my world.”
Caitlin frowned as she slept and turned jerkily to her left side, out of the normal right-sided position in which she slept. Her heartbeat began to accelerate as she began to come out of sleep.
“Caitlin, rest.” The command was as soft as a feather across her troubled mind.
“Khiershon,” she mumbled. She turned to her back, one arm flung over her eyes and gave a hitching breath. Once more, she tried to wake, but the soft voice intervened.
“You must sleep.”
A soft, gentle fog came over her mind and she fell through it, going into a deep, soothing sleep.
She did not feel the gossamer touch upon her brow nor feel the heat of the soft green pulse of light that spread over her forehead for a moment before vanishing.
* * * *
Communications Officer Helen Bryan had gone to bed about half an hour after Caitlin and was already sound asleep when the dream came. She smiled, turning to her side to draw her pillow into the harbor of her arms. Pressing her face tightly against the soft material, she sighed deeply and let the dream take her where it would.
There was a soft, pink glow on the hills overlooking her North Georgia home. The air was resonant with the smell of honeysuckle, Wisteria and gardenia. A soft rain had washed the pollutants away and clung to the grass like diamonds. Among the kudzu clinging to the old pine trees, fireflies flitted, vying with the raindrops to add sparkle to the dying day.
He was standing beneath the sweeping majesty of an ancient live oak tree as she topped the rise. The wispy beards of Spanish moss wafted behind him and a gentle breeze ruffled his dark hair. He was smiling, his teeth glowing in the advancing night.
“Helen,” he whispered and his voice was like silk running over her body.
She came to him, looking up into eyes the color of topaz and smiled shyly.
“You have come of your own desire?” he asked.
Helen could do no more than nod. She could not find her voice as she stared hungrily at his sensual lips, aching to have him kiss her, touch her, ply her body with his own.
“Do you like what you see?” His voice was low, deep, and infinitely mesmerizing.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Do you want what you see?”
Helen’s body throbbed for a moment. “Aye, more than I have ever wanted anything!”
He smiled, a knowing, ancient look as old as time. His hand came up to cup her cheek and his thumb eased over the flesh of her lips.
The need began in the very pit of her belly and spread. Moisture oozed between her legs, making her knees weak. She reached out to him, clasping his waist, and then pressed against him, her cheek to his wide chest as his hand slid from her head to the nape of her neck. She could hear his deep, rumbling voice vibrating against her ear as he spoke.
“What would you have me do, Helen?” he asked.
She pulled reluctantly away from the heat of his body and looked into his eyes, drawn deeply into the vortex of his gaze. “Take me,” she whispered. “I want you to take me.”
His hands were on her shoulders, moving her gently back from him, then pushing with firm strength until she began to sink to her knees before him.
* * * *
Lisa walked out into the cooling desert of her Texas homeland to find him.
Marjorie swam through the North Atlantic’s cold waters to reach the island where he waited.
Jillian gathered heather in the English mist to take to him in a rose-draped bower.
Cathy climbed the rolling hills of her Midwestern farmland.
Shirley ran to him along the teeming banks of the Irish countryside.
Nicole danced for him in the moonlight beneath a lowering Welsh sky.
June read poetry to him as a gentle rain fell on the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean.
And the others ... all the women onboard ... each found him in her own way, in her own homeland, each searching in her own way for the gentle hand he held out to them.
All except Caitlin, who slept soundly for the first time in weeks.