WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  Neopol motioned to Smith and Janson. A bot moved from an outer corridor wheeling the Probe.

  Hours later Captain Larren began to surface from the unconsciousness in which he had, at last, found refuge. Someone was shaking him. Every part of his body hurt. He didn’t want to wake.

  “Go away,” he whispered. His throat was raw. It had to be that demon, Neopol. His men were dead.

  “Captain, Skipper,” an urgent voice called him, nagging and begging.

  Larren wrestled with reality. Neopol had laughed as he discovered each new phobia or secret fear while tormenting his crew. He remembered him actually finding and torturing a cat in front of Heet, the well known animal lover. Neopol had been vastly entertained and amused to discover Heet seemed to suffer equally whether it was an animal under his knife or a fellow crewmember. The Admiral was inhuman … and insane.

  Hours, his men had suffered for hours. Then Neopol had started on him. The pain had been indescribable. Still half dreaming, he wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. All his men were gone — except perhaps Drake. Good old Drake.

  “Please, Larren. You must wake up.”

  Larren opened his eyes. Focusing, he stared in disbelief. “Drake,” his voice was husky, hardly able to be heard. He had been thinking of Drake and now his pilot stood in front of him. Was he dreaming? “Malcolm?”

  “That’s right. Drink this, Captain.” Larren swallowed. It was only water, but it soothed his throat like ice on a burn.

  “God, Malcolm, you’re alive.” Larren automatically reached for him, and found he was no longer bound. Larren gripped his friend’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”

  The Pilot’s eyes were full as he stared at his Captain. He hugged him gruffly.

  “Why, Drake,” Larren managed. “I didn’t know you cared.” He laughed with relief.

  “Quickly, sir …” While Drake spoke he pulled Larren to his feet. He put an arm around him, to steady him. “We’re still in detention, but I have a plan.” Drake gave him a sly, eloquent grin. “I don’t think you could’ve thought of a better scheme yourself, sir. Come on. I know a way out of here.”

  Larren stood and swayed. With Malcolm’s help he was shaky, but he walked. Burning depravation — that probe. He felt drained. Neopol said that in time he planned to give him a memory wipe and implant. Once implanted, he would actually believe that he had committed genocide. Then he would receive a public trial, and the most extreme penalty possible. Brainwashed as he would have been, he would have not only accepted punishment for something he hadn’t done, but he would have sought it. Larren knew he would have wanted to kill himself if he thought he had committed genocide.

  “Let’s go,” Larren said, increasing the pace, the thought of Neopol’s schemes urging him on.

  “The sooner the better,” Drake rejoined fervently. The two men weaved through the halls of the great vessel to the docking bay.

  “You haven’t found a way to fly out of here, have you?”

  “I have.” Drake grinned like a pirate. He pointed to a small interstellar shuttle, one that had few comforts but could travel for extended distances. It was the type of craft that was ordinarily used for infrequent courier missions, where urgent messages had to be delivered by hand. He said, “You have the luck of the Goddess, Larren. There is an Omni corridor nearby. I’ve programmed the shuttle’s navigation through Conqueror already.”

  “There’s room for only one on a ship of that size, surely,” Larren protested.

  “That’s right. Your vessel will only be in Conqueror’s sights for a few moments. I plan to distract them while you enter Omni. They’ll be only a few hours behind when you exit. You’ll have to find a way to hide yourself on Kalar by then. I have a really good feeling about this, Larren. You only need to get in and go.”

  “I’ll not leave without you.”

  Drake ignored him. “Everything’s arranged. I’ll distract Conqueror, drawing their fire in our sweet Darla, while you escape. Rough on the old girl, but she’ll understand. I’ve jammed sensors so the dock will remain open.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “No one will be able to stop us. It’ll work — I know it will.”

  Larren’s said in a carefully measured tone, “Why don’t we both get away safely?”

  “No,” Drake said with stubborn determination. “I’ve had time to think this over — you haven’t. This is the only way to ensure one of us escapes.”

  Larren was about to protest, but Drake silenced him, putting his hand up to stop him. “Listen to me. You saved my life …”

  “Irrelevant,” Larren said. “You’d have done the same for me.”

  Drake grabbed his arm, gripping him fiercely. “It was everything. It gave me many more years with Verla, years I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I loved Verla, Larren.” Drake spoke quietly. “Now she’s gone.”

  “That’s no reason to give up.”

  Drake took Larren by his shoulders and shook him, his anger flaring with the insult. “I’m not giving up. I’m giving you life. Don’t you see?” He pleaded. “Go and live your life now, with her.”

  Larren said nothing. He had no reply to that.

  “She needs you, Larren, to protect her.” Drake’s dark eyes hardened, his face set. “To avenge her.” His expression softened as he released Larren’s arms and stepped back. “God grant that you have the same amount of time together that Verla and I had. You love her. Go to her. Hurry.” He gave Larren a shove toward the small shuttle.

  Larren hesitated, but only for a moment. Drake was right. Sartha and Ash needed him. Neopol knew they were escaping to Kalar … they were in more danger than ever. He gave his pilot a quick, firm hug, communicating the words he could not say, the feelings he’d never be able to express. “You are my best friend.”

  “And you are mine.” Drake smiled. “Goodbye … and good luck.” He ran off to Darla Wu while Larren boarded the shuttle. Generators could be heard engaging, and then, within moments, both vessels were away.

  On the bridge of Conqueror, Captain Pagett sounded battle stations; his voice could be heard throughout the rooms and corridors of the great vessel: “The prisoners are escaping. What for World’s sake is wrong with the hold doors? Don’t let them get away!”

  Once outside the warship, the tiny interstellar shuttle engines whirred, well into their boost sequence. There was nothing for Captain Forseth to do; everything was pre-programmed. He was a spectator as he stared out at Conqueror suspended above him like a planet. Darla Wu had pulled away, making itself a target. The police cruiser was clearly on an attack vector.

  Larren imagined Malcolm Drake aboard Darla. Drake would be mentally ordering a number of assault programs via Icom, preparing to attack Conqueror, a Fleet warship, with the diminutive Darla Wu. The vision of his friend, smiling and no doubt whistling tunelessly as he worked, brought a burning sting to his eyes. Malcolm wanted to do this. He had been glad to sacrifice himself — had been willing to die for him. Larren watched breathlessly as a series of Darla’s missiles hit the navigation center of Conqueror before she could get her shields up.

  As Larren began his jump into Omni he looked back toward Conqueror. He wanted one last glimpse of his friend, as well as his beloved ship. As he turned his head, he witnessed Darla Wu exploding, being blown to kingdom come. Malcolm Drake had known that he could not last long against Conqueror. He had intentionally directed his cruiser toward the navigation and weapons sections of the battleship, attempting to at least knock out short-range armament. It was a hopeless gesture, but with fantastic fortune, he had scored a few hits.

  Larren jumped to Omni with the exploding cruiser vivid in his mind. Malcolm Drake, the best friend a man could ever have, gone. His men tortured and murdered in front of him. His ship, everything destroyed. There was nothing left.

  This terrible pain. It was unproductive. Larren shut his eyes and put his hands on his head; he struggled for self control. He worried that he might actually go mad.

  T
hink how lucky you are.

  Yes. He was lucky. He was alive. Leave it to Drake to have thought of such a brilliant plan. Larren shook his head and silent tears rolled down his face. Knew what he was about, Drake did. Not one in a thousand would have found a way out of Conqueror’s clutches.

  A heavy ache pressed against Larren’s chest, and he wiped his eyes.

  Oh Goddess, the pain.

  He had lost everything, everything. He couldn’t think any more. It was too much.

  This must be shock.

  Yes, that’s it. He was in shock. This, whatever this was, would wear off in time. He would just have to take it. Relax and take it. He would get through this. He got through the probe. He had wanted to die then. He didn’t think he could get through it, he would have done anything to stop it, but he had survived, hadn’t he? If he survived the probe, he could survive this.

  I’m losing my mind.

  No. No, you are not losing your mind. You just need to be still. Just be still and relax. Sleep. You need to sleep. You’re okay now. You’ll be okay.

  Stone still, eyes blankly staring, Larren sat with his jaws and hands tightly clenched. Face set with firm resolve, he somehow controlled the deluge of grief and despair that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Minutes passed as the small courier sped through Omni. Larren remained still, heart and body set in stone. He hardly breathed. There was one visible sign of life. Larren had a twitch in his cheek that jumped steadily with no volition of his own.

  And sleep didn’t come.

  Aboard Conqueror, after interrogation of the technician, the Admiral once more had his temper under control. The technician had followed his instructions exactly, disabling all accessible ships on the flight deck. Darla Wu, the courier vessel, in fact any of the ships in docking could have been flown for a short time, but would have become dead in space within minutes. They would also have been unable to fire weapons. What Neopol hadn’t taken into account was the expertise of that pilot, Drake. Who would have thought the man would not only suspect such a subtle trap but would have the knowledge and ability to avoid it? He was only the pilot of a police cruiser. There was nothing special about him. How was Neopol to have predicted such intelligence and aptitude in a menial pilot?

  Neopol hadn’t considered that Drake would have created the diversion, sacrificing himself, either. He assumed the men would both attempt an escape in one vessel. What was the man thinking? Why had he chosen to die for his Captain? Such loyalty. It was completely illogical. Drake had been a wildcard, he reassured himself. It wasn’t his fault. Neopol understood the human animal both inside and out, but no one could have predicted such an anomaly as Drake.

  Neopol sighed with disappointment. A surprisingly capable man, the pilot of Darla Wu. It would have been a pleasure to interrogate him. Neopol had looked forward to the recapture of Forseth when his ship’s power suddenly cut off. Forseth would have gained a few minutes of freedom; golden moments where he would feel safe, would not fear pain or death. Recapture might well have created complete breakdown, causing total despair, perhaps even madness.

  Never mind, he consoled himself. Forseth was only one man. The fool would be caught. He was undoubtedly on his way to Kalar in a futile attempt to warn the Queen of Delian and her son. They both had to die. Neopol smiled, recalling the intimate details he had discovered through mindtap. Touching, really, how the heroic Captain had formed such an attachment to the beautiful Lady Sartha. He had already planned to put their affair in a United Worlds media release, as a twisted motive for the destruction of the Delian people. But he had not known that Forseth was actually attached to the Delian Queen. Perfect. It seemed that life really does follow art, and vice versa.

  Satisfied that everything would still work out Neopol sat down to compose a press release. Lord Andros would forgive his misadventures once the last Delians were dead and he recovered the Testimonials and the King’s Mirror. Andros needed him. Neopol smiled. And he would be rewarded with a long life.

  Let’s see. How does this sound? “Freeworlds Policeman discovered to be working for years undercover for the Alliance. He and the Queen of Delian successfully murdered her spouse by annihilating an entire race. They also stole the Delian Testimonials of Truth and the King’s Mirror, both worth a fortune, in order to live together with the stolen credits of their vile crime.”

  Neopol grinned. Not a bad basic outline. A bit excessive on her part, of course, but he would show that the woman was actually quite mad. With a bit of embellishment, it should be believable. He would send the media release via tubeport to every world. It would cost a fortune, but the UWG could afford it. Forseth had a head start on that shuttle.

  He communicated fresh orders to Pagett via Icom. They had better make all haste to Kalar to apprehend the fugitives. When this media release got out, the good citizens of Kalar may well have Forseth and the Queen of Delian torn limb from limb. He didn’t want them dead. Not yet. He had a comprehensive set of experiments for them in mind.

  Quite comprehensive.

  14. Wolf Cub

  People feel more comfortable and secure if they have a known enemy. Having a common foe unites families, countries, nations and worlds. I have provided “off-worlders” as natural enemies to every world. These are the scapegoats that I allow them to vilify, hate and destroy.

  — High Command, private records, Lord John Andros

  It was quiet in the wolves’ lair and Ash slept undisturbed.

  Where am I? Ash wondered. He was a child, a baby at his mother’s breast. Mother soothed him.

  His vision shifted. Suddenly Ash was fully grown, a man with adult male needs — needs that were about to be met. He lurched at the thought, flushed and excited. There was a moment of confusion as Ash, with feverish haste, began to take off his police uniform.

  His police uniform? Even his sleeping self was well aware that he wasn’t a policeman and had never worn a police uniform. It didn’t matter. Aroused, he knew what he wanted: a woman as hot as he was. Burning. Fevered. Yes, that woman …

  Ash’s mind was assailed by visions, his body with sensations. Skin to skin, soft and feminine, the woman smelled wonderful, thrilling and familiar. Ash caressed her, and suckled her breasts, making love. Everything was perfect, but then something terrible happened.

  Pleasure turned to abhorrence.

  An animal had her, sharp teeth drove into her neck. It was a wolf!

  The woman he was making love to was his own Mother … and she was dead!

  Ash jerked and woke up. He opened his eyes and recoiled with surprise. He was lying next to Seeta and he had been nursing, suckling the mother wolf’s teats, drinking her milk!

  Ash almost threw up.

  Seeta gazed anxiously at him as he reoriented himself to the present.

  He moaned, putting his uninjured hand on his head. Looking around the den, he listened to the storm blowing forcefully outside. His arm ached, and his head felt like it would split. The dream of Forseth was disturbing, but the remembered loss of his mother produced a deeper pain. Ash shut his eyes, recalling the terrible fight they had had before she died.

  How long had he journeyed through that snowstorm? It was a miracle he had survived. He tipped his head up, and said, “Thank you, Jana.”

  Ash had been taught from an early age that he should always be grateful. His parents had impressed him with that, and consequently thankfulness had become a habit. He remembered his mother saying, “Offer thanks, my son, regularly and often. We are only truly alive in those moments when we are conscious of our riches.”

  His eyes welled as he thought of his mother. He was grateful to have had her for as long as he had. Somehow being thankful made him more able to accept her death.

  He took stock. He still had a temperature but it was well down from what it had been. Good. At least that terrible fever had broken. Ash, a veteran of serious illness, knew that although he felt weak and lightheaded, he was through the worst. His fingers searched his
thigh for the King’s Mirror, the talisman of his world. Had he lost it on his journey to the den? No, it was there. It was safe.

  “Nightmare or not,” he said out loud, “the real world is still pretty daunting. Except for you, Seeta. If it wasn’t for you I’d be dead.” He stroked her fur, noticing with relief that Long Fang was absent. The enormous male wolf scared him. Checking Icom he found he had been insensible for over thirty hours, not uncommon for him when he had a fever.

  Seeta licked him with her raspy tongue. The bad weather had not yet blown itself out. It was the worst storm of the winter, with every wolf seeking the safety of its den. It was lucky they had had a good feed before it hit.

  Ash untied his pack and took out a hypo. He and gave himself another generous amount of antibiotic, this time including pain relief. The web sling had remained in place, with his wrist above his heart, so he left it alone. His arm throbbed and it was swollen, but the tips of his fingers were pink and warm. Hopefully it would mend correctly. It sure hurt.

  Seeta watched his activities with attentive interest, only once leaning over to lick him.

  The painkiller gave immediate relief. Despite everything, Ash felt surprisingly well. He thought that with all that had happened to him the Dark Sankomin would be intruding. So strange. He looked down at Seeta’s thick red coat, her absorbing yellow eyes and felt a strange sensation. Warmth. Safety. A sense of rightness. It was like he had found something that had been missing.

  Such an odd feeling, like coming home.

  He put a hand to his cheek, suddenly remembering where Mother Latnok had touched him with one gnarled knuckle. What had she said? “Now, young wolf, remember who you are.”