“You speak Terranen?” Gerry asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to bring a Zalaban translator in.
The prisoner stared at him wide-eyed and nodded.
“Explain to me--because I truly would like to know--why you would jeopardise the lives of the 1.7 million people aboard this starship by attempting to steal a shuttle to take you back to a planet you were willingly evacuated from?” Gerry’s voice dripped with harsh sarcasm.
A war of emotions played over the man’s dark features but he remained silent.
Gerry tapped his desk with his index finger and tried another tack.
“I am told you wanted to go back for someone who was left in Zalaban. Who?”
The giant looked as if he were about to speak, but stubbornly said nothing.
Exasperated, Gerry said, “Our intelligence reports say there’s no one left. That makes you a thief and a suicide risk, and you’ll spend the rest of this trip in the brig in solitary confinement. Is that what you want?”
The man hesitated and shook his head.
Gerry relaxed a little. “We’ve been sent here to help evacuate Zalaban, and that means everyone. If you don’t tell us if there is anyone left down there, we cannot help them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The prisoner nodded briefly. Gerry waited. When no more was forthcoming, he said, “I’m going to ask this for the last time before I have you escorted to solitary. Is there someone left on Zalaban?”
“Yes.” The prisoner’s voice was low, hesitant, almost a whisper.
Gerry leaned forward, satisfied he was getting through to him. “Who?”
“Alarija.”
The name hit Gerry with the force of a sledge-hammer hitting a giant bell. A vibrant resonance filled his head like a strong attack of vertigo. He was so dizzy he felt nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. Images of a woman with masses of dark hair flashed across the inside of his eyelids and just as quickly faded away.
Gerry took a ragged breath and blinked his eyes clear as the vertigo abandoned him. “What did you just do to me?” he demanded.
Sorovski stepped forward, alarmed at the exchange. “Sir, the Zalaban are noted for their psychic powers, the use of which is illegal off-planet. UA Ordinance ZK235 subsection C states that--”
“Thank you, Commander. I know the law and I’ve read the Zalaban culture file,” Gerry snapped.
At Soro’s expression, he forced himself to take a steadying breath. “I apologise, Sorovski. The … er … experience caught me off guard.”
“Apology accepted, Captain,” but Soro’s voice was cooler than usual.
“You must listen to me now,” the prisoner said suddenly. “I will speak to you. Alone.”
Gerry turned to him. “You’re in no position to--”
“We both want the same thing. To save Alarija.”
“Who’s Alarija?” Gerry pressed.
“I will speak to you alone or not at all,” the prisoner said stubbornly.
Gerry considered the options and nodded. “All right.”
Sorovski frowned and couldn’t help interfering again. “Captain, it’s highly dangerous to be left alone with someone who has shown themselves to be unstable when you do not know the extent of their psychic powers.”
Gerry nodded. “I’m aware of that, Soro. But we’re leaving in two days and I don’t think this Alarija person can wait, do you?”
Despite Gerry’s attempt to unruffle his feathers by adopting the informal nickname, Sorovski pressed his lips into a thin line of disapproval. “As you wish, Captain.”
With a flick of his head, he indicated that the guardsmen leave the room before him. He turned in the doorway and looked at Gerry pointedly. “We’ll be standing guard outside.”
“Thank you.”
When they were left alone, Gerry noticed the prisoner visibly relax. Gerry pushed his chair back and strolled around the large perspex desk. He stood before the Zalaban prisoner, calculated his possible strength and agility, then leaned back on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms, affecting an attitude of informality.
“Your name?”
“Marsalir.”
“Tell me, Marsalir. I’m all ears.”
He looked uncertain for a moment before nodding. “I would show you, if you would allow me?”
Gerry frowned. “Show me?”
“I have established a connection with you.” Marsalir hesitated. “It was what you felt before. Now, if you will permit, I can show you … Alarija.”
Gerry shook his head. “Who is she? Tell me that first.”
Marsalir’s expression became almost reverent. His hard face softened. His eyes took on a glow. “She is the Chosen One, the Master’s Voice, the True Prophetess. Her beauty is boundless. Her power is supreme. She can call up the wind and the waves. She is our queen and Saviour. She is the sacrifice to the Sacred Eye--”
“The Sacred Eye?” Gerry interrupted. He was a little disturbed by the fanaticism in the prisoner’s expression.
Marsalir lifted his cuffed hands and pointed to the large porthole set in the side of the room. It gave a view of the side of the starship to the right, the rounded edge of the blue planet of Zalaban to the left, and in the middle a streaking, burning mass the size of a small coin hanging in the blackness of space. It was the G4768 Xena, commonly referred to as the Loreto Asteroid, or what the Zalaban’s were calling ‘The Sacred Eye.’
“What do you mean by ‘a sacrifice to the Sacred Eye’?”
“She will be the Saviour of Zalaban, the ultimate sacrifice. She will join with the Masters and together they will repel the Sacred Eye. She will be consumed, sacrificed for the greater glory.” It sounded as if he were reciting a well-rehearsed litany, but dully. The fire had gone from his eyes.
A human sacrifice. And who were the Masters? Gerry tried to recall the information in the history and cultural files on Zalaban. Nowhere was anything like this mentioned. The Zalaban social system was extremely hierarchical and patriarchal, and governed exclusively by The Elders. Perhaps this man, Marsalir, was merely a hallucinating psychotic.
“She is real.”
Gerry started as Marsalir answered his unspoken question. He tried to extinguish his unease at the fact that Marsalir seemed to have read his mind. “Then why doesn’t she appear in your official histories?”
“She belongs only to Zalaban.”
Gerry shook his head. “I’m sorry, unless you have proof--”
“I will show you Alarija.”
Gerry felt as though someone had blasted into his head, swamping all other thought. His mind became enveloped in a fog-like glow, and then the fog parted to show him a magnificent sight.
A white castle, like in the medieval Terran fantasies, rose from the sea like an elegant spiral of conical-topped towers. The highest tower was needle-thin and leant far out over the ocean. It was as though he were watching through a birds-eye view, flying closer till he could see a door cut into the white stone of the turret and the balcony perched on its side. There was a figure standing there, leaning on her elbows looking out over the sea, her long dark hair whipping about her as she watched the waves lapping hungrily against the sides of the turret. Beautiful.
The image dissipated and was replaced by another. Now the woman stood in the doorway to the balcony with her back to him. She turned slowly, and Gerry caught the first glimpse of her pale elfin face dominated by large dreamy eyes. She wore a gown of gold in the flimsiest of materials, wrapped tightly over her full breasts and flaring in golden folds over curving hips. A gem-studded belt clinched her tiny waist. Her hair was studded in tiny flashing jewels. She was exquisite.
Again the image changed. Now she stood at the foot of the bed, her long hair loose and draped over the front of her body. Gerry drew in his breath as he realised she was naked. She smiled, her eyes darkened by lust, and lifted her hair away and over her back. Her breasts were full and high, the pink nipples hard little nubs. Her skin was creamy and lush, her legs l
ong with a small thatch of hair where they joined.
She sat on the bed and parted her thighs.
Gerry felt the blood rush to his cock. And suddenly it was as if he was in the room with her. He could feel the smooth texture of her skin beneath his hands as he explored the luscious curves and came to rest in the burning heat between her thighs. His lips tasted the pink nipples, suckling at them like a man gone mad. His fingers delved inside her, slipped into the hot cunt. She bucked beneath him, hips grating against his hand as his finger delved inside her, swirling. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face to hers.
Her eyes were large and lust-filled, her skin flawless. He had never seen anyone more beautiful. Her pink tongue moistened her sweet plump mouth--God, what he would do to have that mouth wrapped around his cock!--and said, “Pleasure me with your mouth, Marsalir.”
Marsalir! So he was re-living Marsalir’s experience. The images were projected memories. Yet it was as if he was there, experiencing it himself.
Gerry’s cock stiffened, straining against the material of his uniform, as he knelt before her. He felt a sense of worship as his tongue traced down that stupendous body, laving at each nipple and moving down over her flat belly to kiss the inside of each delicious thigh. He spread her legs and gently caressed the folds of her damp sex, opening it like an unfurling flower between his thumbs. The entry to her vagina glistened, plump and wet, and her clit was red and swollen. He bent his head and flicked his tongue over the engorged nub, once, twice, then closed his mouth over it and suckled.
He thrust two fingers inside her, feeling her tightness loosening as he worked another finger inside. His hands pumped inside her, but superficially, as his mouth nibbled and suckled at her clit. She gasped and arched her back, thrusting her hips into his face. Removing his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue. He moaned as he first slipped inside her, feeling the warm of her body wrapped around his tongue. He pumped his tongue inside her, deeper and deeper, as he rubbed a thumb over her engorged nub which seemed to vibrate under his fingers.
Gerry’s cock was aching now, and he loosened his buttons to ease the strain. His cock popped out into his hand as though it had a life of its own, demanding release. He fisted it firmly in his hands and began stroking its hard length as he stroked the beauty with his tongue, penetrating deeper into her slick hole.
Her hands were clenched in his hair, and suddenly she cried out and her thighs clenched on either side of his head as her body rocked with the force of her orgasm. He tasted the deluge of her cum enveloping his tongue. He lapped up the creamy sweetness as his hand pumped at his cock, aching for his own release.
He looked up and saw she was smiling at him in dreamy contentment, her eyes filled with love. Gerry felt his heart twist and tumble as her green-eyed gaze met his.
She vanished. Disoriented, Gerry blinked. Marsalir had moved and now stood a foot in front of him, observing him with intensity. Gerry realised that he was leaning back on the desk, his trousers unbuttoned and loose about his hips. He looked down at himself and saw his stiff cock jutting up, the purple head fisted in his hand.
This part hadn’t been in the vision. This part was real.
“I … you didn’t come,” Gerry groaned in frustration, feeling the throb of his unfulfilled desire in his hand.
“She makes you ache,” Marsalir whispered, his eyes darkening. “Always an unbearable ache.” He shook his head. “There is no release for me. No release.”
Marsalir’s gaze moved down to Gerry’s hips and he inched closer. Caught in the thrall of his own sexual arousal, Gerry was unable to stop as Marsalir reached out to touch Gerry’s cock. His breath caught in his throat as Marsalir’s fingers circled the head.
“I am no longer a man,” Marsalir said, his hand stroking gently. “It’s been so long since I touched … I have no--” He bit his lip.
A eunuch! Gerry thought in wonder. As able with his tongue as he was with his hands, which had brushed his own aside and were now lightly caressing the length of his cock. Oh God, this was--unimaginable.
“Let me help you find release,” Marsalir whispered as his strong hands closed around him. “And then you will save her.”
Gerry gasped as Marsalir pulled at the length of his cock. Maybe he’d gone too long without sex--or maybe he still had the image of Alarija in his mind, her moist mouth gasping in pleasure. All he wanted--needed--was release. Marsalir seemed to know that, seemed to be playing on that. The vision of Alarija must have been calculated, otherwise why had he been shown precisely those images?
Damn it! He groaned as Marsalir’s hand worked over him. It was too late. It had gone too far. He was perilously close to orgasm. He closed his eyes and gave in to the rising sensation, shifting his hips on the desk as he leaned back on his hands.
“Let me see her again,” he said harshly, opening his eyes to stare at Marsalir. “I must see her.”
Marsalir nodded as if he understood the obsession. Gerry watched disbelievingly as the eunuch suddenly fell to his knees before him and grasped Gerry’s member in his handcuffed hands. As Marsalir’s warm mouth slid over the swollen head of his cock, Gerry’s was blasted so hard by an image of Alarija that his head jerked back.
She was leaning back against white stone. Her hair was loose and wind-whipped, falling about her luscious, naked body. He lifted his head from between her legs, which were resting on either side of his shoulders, her heels digging into his back. Her fingers gripped his hair, holding him fast. His hands kneaded the smooth flesh of her ass resting in his hands. An expression of ecstasy transformed her features.
Three of his fingers were inside her. He bent and laved at her swollen nub, groaning as he felt the eunuch’s tongue working over his cock. He tried to wriggle another finger inside her.
“No, Marsalir,” she panted. “You mustn’t break me. I must remain a virgin.”
A virgin! Oh, God, a virgin. He pulled back, staring up at her, seeing the underside of her pink-tipped creamy breasts and her flushed face above them. So beautiful.
She suddenly looked disconcerted. “Marsalir?”
“I’m not Marsalir,” he said fiercely, pulsing with a need that almost hurt. “It’s Gerry. Gerry.”
“Gerry.” She squirmed in his hands, shifted her hips closer to his face. “Oh Gerry, fuck me with your tongue. Please.”
Gerry’s cock felt about to burst as he groaned and buried his face in the warmth of her sex. As his tongue plunged deep inside her, he felt the juddering contractions of her orgasm even as he plunged his own cock deep into the eunuch’s throat. As she cried out, arching her back as she came, his own orgasm rolled over him like a dark wave. Resting his lips against her tender clit, he bucked his hips uncontrollably as his seed shot in a hot torrent into Marsalir’s willing mouth.
She faded, was gone. Eyes closed, Gerry heard the sound of his own harsh breathing in the silence of his quarters in the starship Lucero. He felt the eunuch’s mouth remove itself from him, heard the man shifting.
“We’ll find Alarija,” Marsalir said softly. “The Elders will try to interfere. You must not let them. Agreed?”
Gerry thought of Alarija’s face transformed by ecstasy. It had seemed so real. She had called his name. He had been there. He just knew it.
He opened his eyes and sat up. Marsalir was standing across the room now, in the same spot where the guards had left him, his face impassive. Gerry began to button up his trousers. He knew that what he and Marsalir had experienced together would stay in this room. Because it hadn’t been about them. It had been about Alarija.
“Agreed.”;
He also knew, with a certainty that felt like a hot poker branding his soul, that he would stop at nothing until Alarija was safe aboard his starship. In his arms.
Chapter Three
Alarija turned restlessly in her bed. In her dreams, the man named Gerry knelt before her as Marsalir had once done. His face was handsome, strong, with straight brows over hazel eyes, eyes
that gazed at her in worship as Marsalir’s had done. He wanted her, but there the similarities ended. While Marsalir was content to serve her, she knew this man would not rest until he possessed her, body and soul. And she--yes, she rejoiced in it.
Alarija woke with a cry. Her bed rocked and swayed and, for a disorienting moment, she thought she was on a ship, as she had been when she was a small child, tossed high up on the waves of one of the wooden fishing vessels belonging to the fisherman in her village.
Her eyes focused as she realized it wasn’t a dream. She was awake, and it was her tower that swayed from side to side. She slid over her bed and rested her bare feet on the floor. Shifting to catch her balance at the pitching floor beneath her feet, she made her way to the door to the balcony and peered out.
About her, the waves roared and pounded, smashing against the side of the tower furiously. There was no storm. The sky was a dark purple and clear. The Sacred Eye burned sharply, circled by a halo of vermillion.
Alarija caught a glimpse of the gleaming back of one of the Masters, not two hundred feet away. Closer than they’d ever been. There were more of them to the right and the left, lifting their huge slick bodies out of the water and diving back into the water with a flick of their tails. The huge waves buffeting her tower was no more than the wash left in the wake of their gargantuan splashes.
They were angry. She could sense the cold fury in their twisting, circling bodies. And though this time they did not speak, she had the feeling it had to do with her dream and the man named Gerry.
* * * *
They had almost reached the shuttle when The Elders found them. Gerry had changed his dress uniform for combat fatigues tucked into laced boots, and a short waterproof jacket over a padded vest. He was armed--a phaser in the holster at his hip, a blade in the side of his right boot. Marsalir’s handcuffs had been removed and he was unarmed.
Sorovski had tried to change his mind, had not succeeded, and now watched them from the edge of the shuttle launch pad with a scowl on his face. And although a row of guardsmen lined the perimeter of the launch pad, the Zalaban Elders managed to get through.
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