Lords of Mayhem

by Angelique Anjou

  “Hit it with a torpedo before it takes the top off the ship!” someone yelled.

  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, an explosion rocked the ship, fire and smoke erupted and then silence and blackness as space enveloped the ship.

  “Kick it in the ass, Burke, before that bitch implodes and takes us with it!”

  Anya gripped the arms of her seat as she felt the ship begin to accelerate. In the viewing screen above the heads of the pilot and co-pilot, Anya saw the SP-13 crumbling in upon itself even as they left it further and further behind. Abruptly, a fireball blossomed. When the smoke and fire began to dissipate, she saw the space station had vanished.

  A near crushing sense of loss washed over her as understanding began to filter through her shock. The station was gone and everyone they had left behind with it.

  Anya!

  The word was like a shout in her mind. She clapped her hands to her skull, covering her ears to try to block out the sound of anger, hurt, betrayal, and loss.

  When she opened her eyes, she discovered Laine was crouched in front of her. His expression was grim, but there was both sympathy and a gleam of triumph and relief in his eyes. “Come on,” he said, unfastening her restraints. “Let’s get you into sick bay.”

  Anya lifted her arms to drape them around his neck as he scooped her from the seat and hefted her against his chest. “What happened?” she asked in a choked voice as he left the cockpit and headed into the rear of the ship.

  “Long story,” he muttered tiredly.

  “Tell me anyway,” she said sniffing back the tears she hadn’t even realized were flowing down her cheeks.

  “When I get you settled then.”

  She subsided until they reached the sick bay. Settling her on one of the three beds the sick bay boasted, he glanced around and finally dragged up a stool and plopped down on it tiredly, examining a laser burn along one arm.

  “The last thing I remember, I was in the lab,” Anya prompted. She frowned, struggling to remember more.

  “I was shot,” she added in surprise, lifting a hand to her chest.

  “Ricochet,” Laine muttered. “They were firing at that—thing that crawled out of the ‘artifact’.”

  “He called himself Legion,” Anya murmured, feeling again the painful sense of loss she’d felt before.

  Laine glanced at her and then frowned thoughtfully. “Wasn’t there something in ancient mythology about Legion?”

  Anya nodded, remembering it as Laine prompted her. “Evil. It was supposed to be an evil manifestation.”

  Laine grunted. “Well, he got that much right. It was an evil son-of-a-bitch! Vance managed to crawl away—set off the alarm. He killed the others outright. It was Vance that told us he’d locked himself into the lab with you, but we thought you were dead. Vance said you had caught a blast right in the chest.”

  Anya looked down at her hands. He hadn’t been evil. He’d been enraged that they’d hurt her. She didn’t think he would’ve done anything if they hadn’t. She was almost certain that he hadn’t even realized when he had thrown the men from the room that he had hit them hard enough to kill them. She didn’t know why she thought that, but she felt, deep down, that she was right. “I did. He—I don’t know how he did it, but he healed the wound.”

  Laine stared at her hard for a moment and finally shrugged. “That was three days ago. I guess you were right about the mind control, too, because we discovered real quick that half the crew was already ‘turned’. When we tried to respond to the alarm, they turned on us and locked us into the brig. Fortunately, Russo’s had some experience with lock up. It took him a while, but he managed to get us out. The alien had his ‘puppets’ working on modifications to the station. No clue what they were up to, but I saw we didn’t have a chance of retaking it.

  “The alien apparently thought we wouldn’t be a problem, because he’d left Carol to watch you—which was how we figured out you were still alive. There wouldn’t have been any reason to have anyone watching you if you were dead.”

  Anya forced a smile. “Then I have to thank you for rescuing me.”

  He gave her a crooked grin reminiscent of his old self. “It was my job—I’m just sorry I couldn’t get the others out.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Rest. It’ll be months before we make it home.”

  He paused at the door and looked back at her. “When you’re better, maybe you’ll consider thanking me more enthusiastically.” He grinned at the look she gave him. “Just kidding—unless, of course, you change your mind.”

  Exhausted, Anya settled back against the pillow and closed her eyes when he’d left. The pain from her wound seemed to have subsided somewhat, but the emptiness still ached. Melanie had been among those lost. They hadn’t been the best of friends, or even friends for very long, but she felt the loss keenly and shock and sorrow at all the others who hadn’t made it out.

  After a while exhaustion took its toll and she drifted.

  Horror filled her when she opened her eyes and found herself drifting in space, surrounded by cold and darkness. She screamed, but no sound emerged because there was no air to carry it.

  She saw the pale white of his robes first, the golden hair drifting around his head like strands of hair floating on water. In the next moment, he was floating before her, grasping her upper arms tightly, pulling her against his hard length and murmuring words to her that she couldn’t understand but somehow knew were the words of a lover. A feeling of tremendous relief and gladness swept through her. She was safe. Legion had found her.

  * * * *

  With an odd mingling of gladness and distress Anya roused toward consciousness. Yawning, she yielded to the urge to stretch, feeling both pleasure and pain as the movement pulled at her muscles and joints popped. She encountered a barrier with the luxurious stretching of her frame, however, that brought her to full alertness. Startled, she opened her eyes. The surprise turned to confusion when she discovered that she was inside a sleep pod.

  What was she doing here?

  Frowning thoughtfully, she searched her memory. They flooded into her mind the moment she beckoned, filling it with the same distress and horror she’d felt as she watched the space platform disintegrate. She realized after a few moments, though, that she couldn’t bring forward any memories beyond that.

  It disturbed her, sent a cold chill of uneasiness through her.

  Swallowing against the dryness in her throat, she searched for the release to exit the pod. The hiss of air escaping filled her ears as the cover lifted. The temperature difference between the air in the pod and outside of it created a fog around her, blinding her briefly. It was a struggle to get out, but she managed after a few aborted tries and stood shakily beside the pod for several moments, trying to figure out why she felt so weak, glancing uneasily around the cabin when she realized none of the other pods were occupied.

  Why was she in a sleep pod? How had she gotten there?

  Why couldn’t she remember anything at all beyond drifting to sleep in the sick bay after they’d escaped?

  Naked and shivering from the coolness as well as nerves, trying to shake off the fear that she was alone, Anya grabbed the suit that had been left folded at the end of her pod and got into it. The gooseflesh that had pulled at her skin all over her body, making it feel as if it was too tight for her, began to abate once she was dressed. The chill from her anxiety didn’t.

  She finally found the crew—what was left of it—in the rec room. They’d been bantering with one another until she stepped into the opening to the room. Laine spied her first. One by one the others ceased talking and turned to stare at her.

  Without exception, everyone stared at her as if they’d seen a ghost.

  She frowned. “What happened? Why was I in a pod?”

  Russo, the nearest, seemed to come out of his shock first. Surging to his feet, he approached her, grasping her around the shoulders and walking her to a seat. “Why don’t you sit down before you fall
down?” he said gruffly.

  She hadn’t realized how close she was to collapsing until she’d felt the support he offered. She flicked a faint smile of appreciation at him as she settled and he moved away again.

  “How are you feeling?” Laine asked, his tone sounding strange.

  She frowned, doing a mental search. “Weak.”

  The men in the room exchanged glances. Laine shrugged. “You’ve been in the pod a while. I suppose it’s understandable.”

  “How long?”

  He seemed reluctant to tell her, but apparently realized there was no point in beating around the bush. “Since we escaped … pretty much. Do you remember?”

  Anya shuddered. “Yes.” She looked around at the men in the room. “We’re the only ones?”

  “Dillon, Pike, and Cooper are on the bridge,” Laine responded tersely. “But, otherwise, we’re it.”

  Seven—including her. She swallowed against the wave of nausea that realization produced. “You still didn’t tell me how long I was in the pod,” she persisted after a moment.

  Burk chuckled uncomfortably. “We’re almost home! Lucky you. You slept through most of the trip.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. Somehow, she didn’t feel lucky. No wonder she was so weak! “Months!”

  Laine’s lips tightened with irritation. “You’re the med officer, Rambo! I couldn’t wake you up when I went to check on you. We thought, at first, that you were just sleeping, but … we decided you’d slipped into a coma and since none of us knew what to do about it, we put you in the pod until we could get home and get medical help. Command advised us.”

  She nodded tiredly. What was the point in arguing, particularly since she didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects beyond the weakness—which was probably a natural side effect of an unusually long hyper-sleep? “I don’t suppose I could get food?”

  Laine got up at once and sauntered toward the food unit. He returned a few minutes later with a sloshing bowl and cup. Anya felt her stomach growl at the smell wafting off the soup, but disappointment filled her, as well. “Soup? I’m starving.”

  He grinned at her. “Sorry, doc! You know the drill. Nothing but clear liquids now.”

  She sighed, knowing he was right and still irritated to have to slurp liquids when what she really wanted was food! She discovered fairly quickly that it probably wouldn’t have done her any good if he’d given her what she wanted. She wasn’t even able to get much of the soup down and, once she had, all she really wanted to do was sleep again.

  Laine scooped her up and carried her to her quarters. His high-handedness annoyed her, but she was obliged to admit she might not have made it under her own steam. He’d barely settled her on her bunk and left when she dozed off.

  “Anya!”

  There was anger in the tone, but something else, as well—relief? Fear?

  She turned and saw him moving swiftly toward her across the glade, and then, before she could decide whether she was glad to see him or frightened of him, he’d reached her, enveloping her in an embrace so tight it hurt. He eased his hold almost as soon as the pain reached her awareness, however. Slipping his arms from around her, he gripped her upper arms in a tense hold, scowling at her angrily.

  “Where were you? I could not find you! I thought ….”

  She studied him curiously, more than a little unnerved by his anger, but confused both by the admission that he hadn’t been able to reach her and the anguish she saw in his eyes that she suspected was the root of his anger. “Captain Laine said I was in a coma—He thought I was, anyway. I suppose I must have been … which I don’t guess is much of a surprise, really. I should be dead.”

  “You should not be dead! I would not allow it. I held your life force, repaired the damaged tissues. I have studied the physiology of your species carefully. I did it right. I know that I did! You should not have slept so deeply I could not reach you!” He paused, obviously considering the possibilities. “It is because they took you from me before you were completely healed!”

  She studied his achingly handsome face, feeling sorrow slowly fill her as it dawned on her that this must be a dream. She’d seen him die with the others. “You aren’t real. You’re dead. I saw the platform destroyed. Everyone died.”

  He made a derisive sound. “The other life forms perished. If I was so easily destroyed, I would not have ….”

  “The other life forms …,”she said when he broke off, feeling a terrible anguish coil inside of her—and anger. “Life forms—They were people, damn it! People I knew … friends!”

  His expression hardened. “I did not take their lives from them. They perished at their own hands.”

  “Because you manipulated them, controlled them.”

  He was silent for several moments. “I would not have done anything that would endanger you. I manipulated their minds—seduced them, as you called it. I did not control their actions.”

  “And they’re dead because you did!”

  “They would have tried to destroy me if I had not—as they nearly destroyed you!”

  “That was an accident. They didn’t mean to hurt me,” she said angrily.

  She had the sense that he had been about to point out that they had fully intended to cause him harm, maybe because she knew they had, but he seemed to catch himself, consider what she’d said.

  “And it is forgivable because they did not mean to cause harm?” he asked curiously. “You are not angry with them? You do not think I should have avenged the wrong because they did not succeed?”

  Anya made a sound of irritation. “Of course I’m angry! They shot me! I nearly died, but I don’t hate them, knowing they never intended for me to be hurt. I didn’t wish them harm.”

  “Why are you angry with me, then, when you must know that I did not mean to cause harm?”

  “How am I supposed to know that? How can I believe that when it’s obvious you feel no remorse?”

  He frowned at her. “Explain remorse,” he commanded.

  Anya shook her head at him, realizing abruptly that he didn’t feel remorse because he didn’t know how. It wasn’t just that the people who’d died had meant nothing to him. It wasn’t even just that he saw them as lesser beings and therefore insignificant. He wasn’t human. He hadn’t even understood death.

  “I do not understand your species,” he said tightly. “I have not had time to observe and come to understand all.”

  “But once you do, you think you’ll be able to feel all the things that we feel?” she asked skeptically.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Your arrogance, human, is only surpassed by your ignorance!” he growled.

  Chapter Six

  Anya gasped in a harsh breath when she woke. The emotions roiling inside of her from the dream remained distressingly fresh—even the images remained as vibrant as if it was a memory, not a dream.

  Rubbing her eyes and then wiping away the perspiration that had dampened her face, she discovered her hand was shaking. She stared at her hand for a long moment, trying to will the shaking away, and finally pushed her covers aside, sitting up.

  She felt—wrung out, as if she’d been struggling in her sleep.

  She hadn’t even struggled in the dream.

  It had to be a dream—this time.

  The thought made her throat close. He was gone and she’d hardly even begun to know him. She didn’t know what distressed her more, that or the fact that he had told her that he was the last of his kind and now even he was dead—an entire race of people.

  What had happened to them? How could a race with such amazing abilities have been wiped from existence?

  He’d claimed he was a god.

  He was certainly arrogant—not very surprising, she supposed, given the things she knew he was capable of and might be capable of—but she realized that wry amusement had threaded his voice when he’d told her that. Actually, he’d basically told her that his people, or he, had been perceived as gods by more primitive p
eople, which also wasn’t that surprising. She remembered suddenly that he had asked her if there were legends of ‘gods’ like himself in the history of mankind.

  She’d ignored the question, irritated by it. She realized now, though, that there had been hopefulness in the question. I have found no others. He thought the physical similarities might indicate that the human race was genetically connected to his own.

  Maybe they were. How astronomical were the chances, she wondered, that they would be so physically similar and not derived from the same gene pool?

  Then again, even though it had become an established scientific fact that some people had capabilities beyond the normal range of human abilities, there were certainly none capable of doing anything like he was and wouldn’t those extraordinary abilities have been passed down through genetics?

  Too watered down by the influx of another gene pool entirely?

  Maybe.

  Did it matter now, when he and all of his kind were lost forever?

  Shaking that thought off, she got up and bathed. She felt stronger than she had when she’d woken in the pod, not as shaky, at any rate.

  A jolt went through her when she surveyed her reflection in the mirror in the bath.

  There wasn’t a sign—at all—of the near fatal wound she’d sustained, no scar tissue, no reddened or pink healing skin. Her chest was as unblemished as if nothing had ever happened.

  She might almost have been convinced that the incident had been nothing more than a nightmare except everything she’d been told by the others supported the actuality of it.

  No wonder they’d all behaved so strangely around her!

  When she’d dressed, she went in search of food. The mess hall was empty except for ensign Steven Pike. He blushed when she entered the room, then paled, studying her surreptitiously while she got her food and beverage. She joined him at the table. “Where is everyone?”

  “They’re busy doing the final checks.”

  Anya frowned curiously. “Final checks?” she echoed.