Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

  Donovan stared at the crumpled paper in his fist. “I’m going in. Trenton, stay and get ready for a speedy liftoff.”

  Trenton opened his mouth to protest, but Donovan said, “We may not have much leeway, so I need my best man at the helm.”

  Trenton said, “You can count on me, sir.”

  “I always do!” Donovan turned to find Chella blocking his path. “I suppose you had some kind of vision! Do you know what’s going on?”

  Chella’s black eyes flashed. “I’m not a fortune teller, Captain.”

  “But you know something happened!”

  She nodded. “I’ve already stowed the breakables in the lab and came to help Maggie in the galley.”

  “Will we make it out of here okay?” Donovan asked.

  “I wish I knew.” She dropped her gaze. “My visions are obscure, the meaning unclear until everything’s over.”

  Donovan laughed gruffly. “We’ve all got special talents, and I count on my own. I won’t ask you to read the future, since you’re not a fortune teller.”

  “We’ll get out of here.” Chella tried to sound confident but doubt flickered across her broad ebony face.

  Covering the distance with speed uncommon in a man of Donovan’s size, he breached security, hoping the station police couldn’t stop him before he reached the fringe. Alex’s long legs must have carried him well into the spaceport by now. Donovan hoped his own athletic regimen might give him the speed to catch up. Reaching the fringe at a run, he automatically activated his gravity boots, and the magnetic current propelled him so fast the curved walls blurred.

  Navigating was easy. Space stations were constructed in standard designs so medlab six should be just ahead. He flashed his ID and the door opened. Good! Security hadn’t posted an order to detain them…yet. There may be time to get out safely.

  Recognizing the flurry of activity in the Transfer chamber, Donovan’s stomach clenched. He stepped into a waking nightmare with screens flashing, a dying patient, and Alex plunging smack into the middle.

  A medtech tried to block the doctor, but Alex hurled the man aside. The pompous medtech squawked, “What are you doing? Guard, remove this man at once!”

  Dr. Alexander growled, “Don’t obstruct my work or she’ll die!” His long fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’m Dr. Alexander and my authority supersedes any medtech on this base!”

  Donovan whirled, his wild eyes challenging the guard who started toward the doctor. Seeing Donovan’s gold uniform and imposing stature, the guard backed away.

  “Dr. Alexander?” The medtech’s face blanched and he stood wringing his hands.

  Alex nodded. “Who’s the idiot that monitored this patient?”

  “We compared badge numbers!”

  “And proceeded without proper monitoring?” Alex scowled. “Where’s your empath?”

  The medtech pointed at the patient. “She’s our empath. The senior empath left yesterday so Jenny was the only one on duty. I’m supposed to be on the boards, not running the whole Transfer.”

  Dr. Alexander said, “Hold the controls steady while I make direct contact.”

  The medtech nodded.

  The doctor scrutinized his patient, a blond woman in her late forties. Dried blood caked her hair, and deep gashes covered her face. Alex broadcast his thoughts to Donovan. It’s Krystal, I recognize her aura. She’s weak, dying.

  Alex rubbed his hands together, grabbed Krystal’s shoulders, and forced his mind to make contact. Donovan shared it all. Pain! Fear! Alex projected his memory of Krystal—happy, laughing, silken blond strands of hair floating in delicate tendrils as she somersaulted through the gravity chamber. The fear diminished. They heard Krystal’s weak mental whisper. Please help me, Alex.

  I’ll do everything I can, he told her.

  Jerking around, Alex shouted, “We don’t have much time. Secure Krystal’s clone from stasis! Get it in here immediately.”

  “Krystal? But this is Jenny!”

  Alex shouted. “Move!”

  “I’d do as he says,” Donovan said. “When he gets like this I’d rather be laser-blasted than get in his way, but it’s your choice, son.” His green eyes squinted menacingly.

  Faced with an imposing giant dressed in captain’s gold, sweat trickled down the medtech’s face. “Yes, of course.” He scrambled into action, shouting orders that spurred activity.

  Donovan rubbed his forehead, walked to Alex and whispered, “You’re broadcasting again. I saw everything through your mind.”

  Startled, Alex said, “Sorry.”

  To Donovan’s relief the fragile string that connected their minds dissolved. He shrugged. “It’s okay. At least I’m in tune with the situation.”

  “We can’t take her out in this condition. She’d die.”

  Donovan nodded. “Downworld sources report Krystal died yesterday, a suicide.”

  “Well, we know different! These idiots initiated Transfer without monitoring, using the wrong clone! Are they insane?” Dr. Alexander’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “The settings are all wrong, and I’ve no time to prepare the clone properly.”

  “Do your stuff, Alex. I’ll figure a way to get us out of here.” Donovan measured the lab with his gaze. “Word will hit administration soon.” He activated a hand-held communicator. “Trenton?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Prepare to take on fragile cargo that needs special handling.”

  “Understood.”

  Donovan disconnected. He maneuvered his large frame through the equipment-filled space to the outer periphery. Still housed in a life-support container, Krystal’s clone floated into the room on a hydra-lift.

  Dr. Alexander vetoed shifting the clone onto a table. Swiftly monitoring the new clone, he nodded with satisfaction. “We’ll proceed.” He worked feverishly, the Transfer machinery humming.

  Donovan remembered the first time he met Krystal, so many spans ago. He was a new recruit, young, green, and awkward and Krystal was the perfect woman, who he admired from a safe distance. Was this battered woman the vibrant, lively, and incredibly sexy woman he remembered? His heart pounded at the memory of Krystal. How would Krystal react to him? Foolish question! Krystal never knew about his youthful obsession, and he still felt awkward when it came to women. He played the role of spaceship captain, impressive and aloof, but Krystal would see him as a stammering old fool dressed in gold.

  Donovan dragged his mind back to the present. He must solve the critical problem at hand. Administration wouldn’t let them waltz out of here unhampered, and the Zebulon’s capture could jeopardize the entire exodus. Donovan clenched his teeth. A diversion! He needed something to keep security occupied while the ship slipped away.

  Leaving the lab, he paced off the size of the room. A medtech opened a nearby storage cell to secure a fresh oxygen tank. Emergency suits hung in the cubical within easy reach.

  “Can I help you, miss?” He flashed his most charming smile, the one that revealed a dimple in his right cheek. The medtech blushed. “Anything else you need?” he asked. Hefting the burden over a muscular shoulder, he peered over her head and memorized the combination while she locked the door.

  “Thanks.” The girl eyed his gold uniform.

  “Might as well help. I hate standing idle while I wait for the doctor.” He followed her back into the lab and swung the tank into position. His plan might work.

  Donovan asked, “How’re they doing? Will it be much longer?”

  “Transfer’s complete. We’ll move the patient to recovery soon.” She smiled coyly. “I’m off duty at 1730…”

  “Sorry. I’m slated for duty for the next full shift.” Donovan shrugged and the girl sighed. Attaching hoses to the oxygen tank, she cast a sideways glance at Donovan. He waved good-bye and stared into the recovery room.

  Located on the outer rim of the space station, the lab, recovery room, and hallway completed a wedge-shaped section designed as a self-contained emergency pod.

&nb
sp; Approaching the doctor, Donovan mumbled, “I’ve got a plan but we need an emergency.” Alex glanced up as Donovan pointed to the emergency instructions printed next to the entrance. He whispered, “Can you make any of this equipment blow?”

  Alex looked at the equipment critically. “Yes, I see. Give me a moment to clear the room.” His fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard and warning bells clanged. Techs froze and stared. Alex announced, “Equipment failure, you know the drill! Evacuate! Move the patient into the recovery chamber and get out. Move!”

  Two techs maneuvered the container holding Krystal into the recovery cubical while Alex manipulated dials and lights under the bewildered gaze of departing techs.

  Alex said, “Computer, equipment malfunction in medlab six. Request emergency status.”

  “Identity, please,” the voice responded.

  “Dr. Alexander, 977. Equipment failure is imminent. I will stay with the patient and one staff member.”

  “Code blue confirmed. Section sealed.” The overhead lights flashed blue. Alex flipped the manual communication switch off. Donovan opened the storage cell and secured two space suits. Handing one to Alex, he asked, “How long?”

  “Ten minutes. I’ll execute an overload and we’ll have five minutes until the explosion sends us into orbit.” Alex squirmed into the space suit. “After the explosion, we’ll have a supply of fresh oxygen in our suits, but Krystal only has thirty-minute’s air supply. Can we get to the Zebulon in that time?”

  Donovan labored to pull the suit over his large body frame. “I’ll tell Trenton the schedule.” He toggled his comline. “Donovan calling Zebulon.”

  “Awaiting orders, Captain.” Trenton’s voice sounded cheerful—always cheerful during an adventure.

  “Cargo expected on the quarter-deck. Three crates marked 15-0-60 Zebulon. Do you copy?”

  “Logged in and ready to receive,” Trenton replied. “Other cargo is stowed.”

  “Priority on loading schedule. New cargo is perishable and can support a delay of thirty minutes max. Do you copy?”

  “Orders logged.”

  Donovan shook his head. “I’ll be soothing Trenton’s feelings for at least three shifts for questioning his abilities.”

  “He’ll understand.” Alex fingered the self-sealing closures on his suit. “Trenton enjoys theatrics, so don’t fret.”

  Donovan followed the doctor into the recovery cell to check on their patient.

  Shrouded in a hazy mist, Krystal looked like a young princess sleeping in a glass coffin, her delicate features soft and smooth, like polished marble. His chest tightened. Why complicate my life with a boyish crush? It will be torture working by her side unable to stroke that petal-soft skin, but losing her would be far worse.

  Alex glanced up, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Donovan huffed, “Damn it! Stop reading my mind. She’s pretty, so don’t give me your know-it-all attitude.” Donovan stomped out of the cell, fighting the ache spreading through his chest by forcing his mind to think about something else.

  Alex turned to the keyboard. “No turning back, we’re set on overload.” He activated the comline. “Computer, we have an overload caused by a faulty intensifier. There has been no response to a manual shutdown sequence. According to emergency guidelines, we’ll take shelter in the recovery cell.”

  The computer said, “Rescue crew standing by, code red.” The overhead lights changed to flashing red.

  Donovan chuckled. “Won’t they be surprised when they find no one to rescue?”

  “Let’s hope so. I’d rather not end up in an Institute interrogation chamber.” A warning-siren howled and they raced to the recovery cell. “Could the blast breach the seals?” Alex asked with an anxious expression.

  Donovan clamped down the seals on his helmet. “These stations were built in detachable segments. The blast should eject this entire section in one piece. With luck we’ll join obsolete satellites floating in the outer system.”

  Alex nodded. “If we blow in the wrong direction, we could be the next shooting star downworld and history will record my demise in properly descriptive prose.”

  “Yeah! Inventor of Transfer dies in a blaze of glory,” Donovan quipped. “Trenton’s the best tracker in the galaxy. He’ll extract us from orbit and continue on course in one smooth move. No one will realize we’re missing.”

  “You put a lot of faith in that scoundrel.”

  Donovan grinned. “He is uncanny, can home in on prey by sheer willpower.”

  Alex nodded. “He might actually have that ability.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Alex said, “It might be a beneficial side effect of multiple Transfers. Hold on! We’re about to blast off.”

  Gripping their safety harnesses, the blast slammed their bodies against the hull. The explosion screeched through steel walls, rivets popping and floor joists rippling, as the skeleton cracked like a fragile eggshell. The section broke loose.

  Alex closed his eyes, Donovan clenched his teeth, and Krystal floated peacefully in her cubicle. Free-fall felt good after the concussion of the blast. The stomach-wrenching, erratic tumble of the pie-shaped section slowed to a gentle roll.

  Donovan started counting out loud, his voice sounding tinny over the suit microphone. “Forty-five, forty-six…Trenton…forty-eight…you human bloodhound…fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two…get your butt in gear…fifty-four…and come fetch us!”

  Donovan felt Alex’s mind touch Krystal. Even through tight mental barriers, the doctor’s raw emotions of worry and fear leaked out. Donovan felt chilled. Would Trenton make it in time? Would they plummet into the planet, or go spinning into deep space?

  “Three hundred seventy-five, three-seventy-six…you’re slowing down, old boy…three-seventy-eight, three-seventy-nine…in the old days…three-eighty-one…you’d have retrieved…three-eighty-three…us by now…three-eighty-five, three-eighty-six…”

  Krystal opened her eyes. Donovan heard Alex’s thoughts, Breathe slowly, keep calm. Her soft blue-gray eyes blinked. Stay calm.

  She nodded.

  “Six hundred ninety-one…Come on, Trenton…Six-ninety-four, six-ninety-five.” A clank echoed through the distorted framework. “About time, you old mountain goat.” Donovan grinned at Alex. “Now we know how it feels to be Trenton’s critters, waiting for him to open the trap.”

  Alex’s concerned gaze shifted to Krystal. “How many minutes of air does she have?”

  Donovan tapped on the oxygen tank attached to the cell and Krystal’s eyes followed the gesture.

  “Good move,” Alex said. “She can slow her own metabolism.”

  “She’s doing it. Trenton hurry, it’s getting tight in here!” Donovan pounded the hull with his fist. Clank. “That’s a response!” Reaching for his knife, Donovan tapped a staccato beat against the wall, and then paused to listen.

  “Five minutes!” He held up five fingers to show Krystal, but glassy eyes stared at him, unaware.

  “She’s gone into a trance, Donovan.”

  A red spot appeared on the wall, swelling to a large circle of glowing-hot metal. “They’re cutting through. Move as far away as you can, Alex. I’ll shield Krystal.” Donovan stepped between the wall and the container. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “Won’t be long,” he said. More tapping made Donovan laugh. “Maggie wants to know what we’d like for supper!”

  5 ~ Journey to Drako

  Kriegen roamed through the woods, restless. The ancestor voices remained quiet, a fact he appreciated tonight. Although he enjoyed long conversations while traveling through the mountains, he felt there was more to discover on his own. Two-legs fascinated him. He often gazed down at their desert encampment or forest village, and watched creatures that possessed intriguing skills. How did they capture and hold fire? How did they control creatures ten times their size?

  Tonight those questions flitted from his mind. Something drew him into the woods, compelled him to search—for what? The dark mo
on rose. Its rays warmed his pelt, illuminated the night, and drove him to run faster. Panting, he climbed until he reached the top of the escarpment. Suddenly he saw her, standing, silhouetted against the night sky. Moonbeams shimmered along her pricked ears to the tip of her bushy tail.

  Tendra! He ran eagerly forward until she turned snarling.

  Her fangs glinted and her eyes glowed. Stay away! We cannot bear to look upon you, regardless of the minds you host. Kriegen is dead.

  Blasted by her anger, Kriegen crouched, his ears flattened, and his tail curling under his belly.

  Tendra! The noble line you host is shamed by your actions! The voice boomed within their minds. Hear me, love. The voice softened to a caress. When your host body died, we suffered the pain of loss. The pain was bearable because your new host accepted your ancestor minds and you still lived. Our minds live, only the shell containing them is new.

  Kriegen…Do we truly hear your mindvoice? Tendra ran forward, stopping a few feet from the young host. We missed hearing you waken us and yearned for your mental touch, for the happiness of merging.

  The young Kriegen felt embarrassed overhearing this conversation, yet compelled by Tendra’s presence.

  Yes, Tendra, inside the new host my mind exists. This body is a container, holding us, protecting us. Listen and hear the seasons of the love we shared. We are bound together for more than the existence of one host body. Love us and our host.

  Tendra howled. Her mournful sound echoed through the mountains and valleys. Kriegen joined her, canting his voice in a discordant pitch, and soon the voices of other wolves merged from a distance. The howl drifted with the wind, melding past and future.

  She turned and stared into his golden eyes. Responding to a memory of playing tag in a field of flowers, he ran in a wild circle, darting one way and then another. Tendra barked, and chased him. They ran until their long tongues dangled. As the dark moon passed overhead, the two mates started a new life together, a reflection of many lives.

  *****

  “Welcome to the Zebulon, Krystal.”

  Krystal gazed into Donovan’s friendly green eyes framed by straggling curls of reddish-gray hair. She remembered him—but he was no longer a blushing recruit.