Dakoda's Revenge

by Suzi Goode

  "There's just no explaining some things to you, son, no matter how I try."

  "That's what you'd like to think,” Brody murmured, heat rushing to his cheeks. Once his uncle got an idea in his head, there was no dislodging it. His uncle had raised his voice so the man outside the screen door had quite possibly heard too.

  "That's what I know, son. Time to try something new.” The old man winked. He had a way of obtaining information that would rival the methods of the best intergalactic spies. “Go, uncle, go,” was all Brody could find to say.

  Chapter 17

  Odessa finally fell asleep, long after she heard Harley's light snoring. She was, once again, wearing the polished black helmet, but this time, she was enveloped in a foggy mist. When she tried to lift the confining headgear from her head, she couldn't, no matter how hard she yanked on it. The volume had been turned up, but all she heard was static cutting in and out, and the faint chatter of what seemed like millions of people talking all at once. Once in a while, she heard shrill laughter and a distinct word here and there that sounded English. The voices mingled, rising and ebbing in a nightmare cacophony.

  Angered by her inability to get the helmet off, she jerked harder, but it stuck fast to her head. She couldn't bear to continue listening to the people in the helmet. Where were they? What were they saying and feeling? How many were there? Desperation forced tears to roll down her cheeks before she thought to look around. She spun in a full circle, but there was nothing to see except for the cloying mist. How she yearned to be back in her uncle's three-story house, taking in the scent of his pipe and listening to the gliders of his rocking chair creak on the wood of the porch floor.

  One voice emerged from the others, a repetitive litany of “Can you hear me? Can you hear me?” For a moment, he sounded like Brody, but the voice was lost in the massive throng. Homesickness swathed her in poignant shades of cheerfulness and sadness. The tears came faster. She couldn't shut out the crescendo of voices. Madness was merely a heartbeat away.

  That was before she heard a faint male voice in snatches of monologue. “Come home ... distressing ... we miss you..."

  Another voice overrode the first. “Stop, old man ... hurt you ... cannot get back ... trapped on Romaydia ... no chance to get there in time."

  Odessa listened intently for the two voices, but once again, there was nothing but the combination of millions of voices. Hope unfurled like a rose petal within her. Had the first voice been her uncle's? The second had appeared to be that of Roland Baylon. Had Roland been communicating with her uncle? How and why?

  She snorted. Uncle Peter would never have worn a helmet, no matter how much anyone had bribed him. “The helmet,” she could hear him say in her mind, “is for bikers in their tight, black leather pants and jackets."

  Odessa heard the first voice again, and leaned forward intently as if to hear better. “'Dessa, how can we ... get to ... we need to know."

  The second voice snickered. “She can't ... get back to ... old man ... prisoner."

  Shocked, she heard the voice she believed was Roland's drift in and out before the other sounds blocked him out. She had known the answer to her predicament and why she had been shot, yet fully recovered within seconds all along. She had to wake herself up to tell Harley and implement her idea. The fog refused to dissipate. She shrieked in an irrational attempt to free herself. But on Romaydia in the mist, there was nothing rational. Nothing at all.

  * * * *

  Murrach Pardua stamped back and forth in his luxurious chambers. His well-laid plans were going awry. He paused at the wall and stared at the gilt-edged painting of an artist's rendering of the Milky Way Galaxy as seen from earth. The galaxy, along with the rest of the universe, was going to be his. No one would take that away from him. He had worked too long and hard to make Romaydia a friendly and safe space station to land on. The fact that was a lie hardly mattered. On Romaydia, Galaxians could associate with one another, and buy the Gr'iis Pardua had concocted as part of his plan to win the universe.

  He turned on heel and gazed into the mirror. A strong, healthy man looked back at him. And ambitious. No one could ever say that about him though. He had gone out of his way to ensure that he was perceived as a charismatic leader. Only his inner circle of men might guess he was other than he appeared.

  A man filled with unspent energy, he strode over to his ornate desk and seated himself. This was his dream. He had come from nothing, a pipsqueak on an unremarkable planet. By the time he ruled the universe, everyone would know he came from Pardue, a planet as dry as a rock. He had climbed from nowhere, annihilating anyone who stood in his way. All this after years of hard and determined work, and he was going to lose it all—unless he found Harley and dealt with him.

  Roland Baylon was a minor glitch in the state of affairs. Pardua laughed mirthlessly at his pun. He had always thought Baylon would be his most major problem, with his avaricious greed and his yearning for more and more wealth. No one could rival Baylon when it came to greed. Except for one man. That was Pardua himself. But he wanted more than wealth. He wanted power, and plenty of it. With riches and power, he could eradicate the decimating poverty of his youth. He would always have more food, more luxuries, more of anything than he could truly use. No longer would he be forced to struggle to survive. Now Harley endangered everything he had worked for.

  How could he have trusted the GDA agent who had ingratiated himself into Pardua's powerful organization? It had to be Ralph's fault. He slapped a button on his comspeaker and barked for Ralph. Traitors had to be done away with. One at a time.

  Ralph arrived quickly, as if he had been waiting in the wings for his father's summon. He stood at relaxed attention, but Pardua felt the tension emanating from him, saw the fear in his eyes. And the heavy bruise under his eye. Pardua made the discovery of his life. He enjoyed, actually thrived, on another being's smell of fear. The more one killed, the more one wanted to kill.

  A man of few words, he asked, “Why did you bring Harley into the organization?"

  His son swallowed hard and flushed an unhealthy pink. “I didn't do that, sir."

  "But now I have a traitor in my organization. Someone I trusted. Someone who knows more about me than perhaps any other man alive. Why is that?"

  Ralph shook his head, at a loss for words.

  "Answer me.” His mother had been a whore off the street of some planet he had long ago forgotten the name of. Like mother, like son, Pardua thought irritably.

  "I don't know, sir,” Ralph responded, every word forced.

  "Are you jealous because he took your position? Why weren't you smart enough to keep it?"

  "Devious enough, you mean?” Ralph questioned, showing his spirited backbone for the first time.

  Pardua snarled. “You don't deserve my sympathy."

  "Harley isn't your problem,” his son fought back. “He's mine."

  "Is that why he pounded you into the wall? Did he give you a headache?"

  Ralph said nothing again. He wasn't the type to normally fight back.

  Pardua's annoyance flared to dangerous life. Without warning, he lifted the small gun from his desk and aimed the small piece of metal at his only son's heart. “You betrayed me. Here's your punishment."

  The words were so simple, so understated, as the bullet sliced through the air. Ralph fell to the floor, gurgling, as the blood seeped from his mouth.

  "One less traitor to deal with,” Pardua said, blowing the whispering trail of smoke from the end of the gun. “Now, for Harley. He double deals, and now it's his turn to be exterminated like the bug he is."

  Pardua hit the button on his comspeaker again. “Get this mess out of my quarters,” he yelled at the flunkie who responded.

  He was gratified to see the short but sturdy man haul his son's body out into the corridor. Fear was quite an inspiring emotion, Pardua thought idly.

  "I will find you, Dakoda Harley, and I promise, you won't die as easily as my son did. You'll die slowly
, as slowly as I can think of. Along with Roland Baylon's woman. You deserve no better."

  He strode out into the corridor and started shouting orders. It was time to make a concerted effort to find the son of a bitch.

  * * * *

  Harley awakened to a piteous mewling coming from the woman beside him. His heart broke in two at the terror and grief projected by the sound. He had to awaken her, to hold her in his arms and protect her, even if it was only against a dream.

  He reached over and stroked her shoulder with an angel-soft touch. Her eyelids trembled. She was about to awaken. A high-pitched scream resonated around him. He hurried to throw his hand over her mouth. The tunnels weren't soundproof, and he suspected a scream wouldn't go unheard in the station itself. He had to keep her quiet to prevent her from alerting the soldiers to their presence.

  She went wild, scratching and clawing at his fingers before he lifted her against his chest and pinned her hands behind her in one big hand. “Odessa,” he whispered, hoping to snap her out of her nightmare. “Odessa.” The stifling air smelled of stark fear.

  Although he couldn't see her face, he knew the moment she opened her eyes. Her body shook against his. She struggled to free herself.

  "Odessa,” he whispered. “Please. Let go of the nightmare.” He wanted to tell her she was safe, but he couldn't bring himself to lie, to give her hope, no matter how fledgling it was.

  She slumped against him, tugging on the hand that smothered her lips. “Promise you won't scream,” he pleaded.

  She nodded adamantly. He released her, and she took great gulps of air before she looked over her shoulder at him. “I know how to get us out of here,” she croaked.

  Her face was much too pale. “I won't even ask what you dreamed,” he said gently. “How do we get out of here?"

  "With those,” she said, pointing an elegant finger at the helmets resting on the floor, side by side like lurking sentinels.

  "Oh no. Those aren't the solution. They're the problem. We have to find a ship.” Had she gone insane as she slept?

  She turned around and buried her fingers in his shirt and against his massive chest. “I was wounded earlier today, or was it yesterday? Doesn't matter, but I wondered why I didn't die."

  Harley frowned. “I didn't find any evidence you were injured."

  She gave him a weak smile. “I know you didn't. It didn't make any sense because I knew I had been shot. I felt it, and yet when I woke, when you were groping me,” she continued with a twinkle in the blue jewels of her eyes, “I slapped you and took off in a hurry."

  "Uh-huh. You didn't care for my hands all over your bare stomach."

  "Well, as long as you didn't push up my bra or anything,” she teased.

  "Okay. Go on. You should have died from that kind of a wound. How could you have healed so quickly?"

  "Don't worry about that,” a voice interrupted them. “I'll make sure this time she dies and she'll know it."

  Harley glanced upwards at the speaker. Baylon had an old-fashioned rifle trained on Odessa. Harley's heart sank. This couldn't be happening. Not again. First, Baylon had killed Abby, and now he planned to kill Odessa. Harley hung onto her, his fingers digging into her arms, but she didn't seem to notice.

  "You two-timing bastard.” She pushed to her feet. The whisper of leather brushed against leather, indicating Harley rising behind her. “You dumped me here. You deserted me, knowing what kind of hell this station was for women."

  Instead of appearing appalled, Roland's lips twisted in an ugly smile. “Of course I did. I'd had enough of you. This station was perfect for you to learn a little about what life is really like. You'll learn your brothers and that crazy fool of an uncle can't protect you from everything."

  He hadn't combed his short, burnt umber hair. Or else he had been in an unusual hurry. The top buttons of his baby-blue cotton shirt were unfastened, and tiny strands of reddish-brown hair peeked out above the upper-most button. The jovial demeanor he had cultivated had degenerated into a glowering, forbidding countenance. The black trousers he wore were stained at the knees with white powder-like substance.

  She clenched her fists at her side. “When I get my hands on you, you'll regret having met me."

  He burst out in cruel laughter. “You always thought you could handle yourself. My, but how misleading our thoughtless inventions of ourselves can be. I wouldn't threaten me if I were you. I'm the one holding the gun."

  Harley's fingers tightened around her arms. “Easy,” he whispered behind her.

  "Looks like you've acquired a real champion. Did I tell you what happened to his wife?” Baylon sneered.

  "Don't press your luck,” Harley warned. His arms shook. His fingers trembled with rage.

  "Or else what?"

  "Odessa has nothing to do with your little vendetta. If you have to take it out on someone, take it out on me."

  "How very gallant of you,” the sarcastic response came.

  "He's mine first,” Odessa ground out.

  "Don't you want to know what happened to his wife?” Roland didn't wait for her reply. “She burned to death in a warehouse while she was on a GDA mission with old Harley here. He should have died too, but he got luckier than he deserved."

  Harley tensed behind her. “Abby died a horrible death because of you. You are going to pay for what you did."

  "Really?” Roland's eyebrows shot up. “Look at this. A lynch mob. Only thing is,” he paused melodramatically, “I'm still the one holding the gun."

  Harley muttered, “Damn you to hell."

  "So what were you going to tell this old man, Odessa, about how to get off the station? What remarkably stupid suggestion were you going to make?"

  "I was going to tell him that all we had to do was to hire a ship,” she said, realizing with a sickening feeling that Roland had never thought of her as smart and capable and pretty. He had used her, relieved her of her virginity. The insight made her want to rip him apart more than she had when she had found herself stranded. Had she truly been able to hear his voice along with her uncle's from within the helmet in her dream?

  Roland stared incredulously before he burst into mindless laughter. “That's rich. A ship to get you off the station.” He sobered. “Women have no power here, not unless a rich man takes her between his legs, kind of like Harley did, but I'm sure you had your own agenda with her, didn't you, old man?"

  Harley hissed a frustrated breath.

  "Why don't you tell Odessa what you really wanted with her?"

  Harley made a choking noise behind her, forcing her to turn around. The color had leeched from his cheeks, making his tan skin sallow. His eyes were unreadable.

  "Come on, old boy. Tell her you wanted the same thing I did."

  Odessa decided to brave the storm brewing all around her, knowing that even if Harley and she escaped Roland, they still would have to get past Pardua and his soldiers. She turned back to Roland. “He made no bones about what he wanted. He was looking for you,” she said evenly.

  "My, my, and you still hung out with him, knowing he was using you to get to me? Pity, but that's not really what he had in store for you."

  "Couldn't have been any worse than being with you,” she flashed back.

  "Oh my, but you've gained some spirit. That's not allowed on this station. Not for women. But I know how to cure you of it."

  Harley interrupted. “You wouldn't dare."

  "Oh?” Roland's eyebrows knit together in a classic frown. “Which would be the worst fate? To burn to death in a warehouse or to be given to any man who wants you for a small fee? How would you live with yourself knowing your wife burned to death and your whore is forced to sleep with other men?"

  Odessa watched his hate-filled expression. “How many women have you done this to?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  "Oh, a few. They're easy to lure with adventure and love and wealth. They just don't know where they're headed until I put them into Pardua's care."

  So
he was a flesh peddler as well, she thought in disgust.

  "I should have guessed,” Harley said, his tone that of ice-cold stone. “And you accuse me of using other people."

  Roland shifted from one foot to the other. “Pretty women are worth a lot of money to a man who hasn't had any fun in a while."

  "Then why didn't you sell me?” Odessa's heart almost stopped. She hated the heartless devil. How could he promise women riches and love and then sell them?

  "I used you to lure Harley out. Had a debt to settle, my dear. But I'm not finished yet."

  "Over my dead body,” Harley growled.

  Roland burst out laughing again. “Of course, over your dead body. Do you think I'd have it any other way?"

  "He means to kill me and then sell you,” Odessa heard Harley whisper in her ear.

  "Brilliant deduction, Watson,” the other man sneered.

  Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing. She'd seen how a life of prostitution had shredded Violette's spirit, although the woman held onto the remnants of her dignity. Odessa had no idea what to do. The solution for their salvation lay so near and yet so far away. “I'm going to make sure you get what you deserve, even if I have to kill you with my bare hands. I won't ever let you sell another woman into slavery.” Shrinking back from the horrific idea, she stepped back against Harley.

  Her eyes went wide, as someone sidled into the tunnel and up behind Roland. Which was the worst of the two evils now, she wondered bitterly.

  The time for action was now or never. She knew she had to take a chance with her new-found knowledge. She gently scraped her heel against Harley's toes several times, hoping he would quickly catch onto her indication that she planned to launch herself into action.

  With split-second timing, she lunged to the side and dropped to her stomach as she slid forward on the slippery floor, hoping to act like a bowling ball rolling towards a standing pin. Harley lunged in the opposite direction. She bit back a cry of anguish, as once again, she felt a burning pain in her lower back. The collision with Roland's ankles made her give an agonized yelp.