The Sarran Plague (The Sarrans Book 1)

by A. C. Katt

  “High Lord, may I have an update on the bays? Are we leaking air?”

  “Maintenance is on it Jonal,” TeZarron replied. “They are sealing the area. Comb the ship. This is but the prelude.”

  “There is something lurking out there, High Lord. I’m not sure who, but they’re there and waiting.”

  There was no time. No warning. The Brightstar shook as if a fault line had ruptured around them. Flagen fell forward, pulling Jonal with him as he rolled under a heavy table to avoid falling debris. It was as if the ship shook for tines instead of sons. Warnings shrilled. Lights blinked; but the emergency lighting did not engage, the too familiar sounds of impending engagement pounded Jonal’s senses. He listened. Not the main engines, Jonal thought as he waited. Flagen said nothing. It was as if the man had gone mute.

  One, two. Jonal counted in his head. At three he grabbed an emergency comm from his pocket, he snapped, “Saxon, where?” He already knew. It was the reason he hadn’t moved immediately on the hit. He felt it.

  “Just coming in now, sir. Engineering. Causalities are heavy. Sir, Admiral Tonas has been hit.” Jonal felt Flagen’s indrawn breath as keenly as his own.

  “I’m on my way. On my orders, get the Anya out of Medical and to Quarters. Have Dr. Stern set up triage. All available med tech to engineering. Check with Juraens on the status of his search for Lt. Septis and with the men from Blue, White, and Red Moons. Co-ordinate outside defenses with Captain Kavack. I’m going for the fems, then Engineering. The comm line is open, put it in full data transmission mode.”

  “I’m going with you.” Jonal almost jumped at the sound of Flagen’s voice. “I’m a combat certified physician. Anya is good, but not trained in trauma. You will need my services. I am no traitor. I have already proven that. Please.”

  The please had cost Flagen. Cost him enough that Jonal knew he could trust him with this at least. “Yes,” Jonal said, “you have. I had intended to take you from the time of the first explosion. We leave now. Take my back.”

  Flagen returned Jonal’s offering with one of his own, “And you mine, for now.”

  Jonal nodded. “For now. Go.”

  If Engineering was hit, power would fluctuate. He opened the power supply next to the door and used the emergency pry to open the panels. “We take the stairs and cross-decking, I won’t be caught mid-transport.” Flagen followed. Two decks down they hit the crew quarters housing the single fems. It was bedlam. The Warriors from the Moonships tried to move the fems in order using cadet marching commands. It had produced frightened, angry fems. Jonal’s eyes swept over the crowd. He spotted the one named Syn with her fem Beast, The Duchess. He trusted the instincts of the feline.

  “Fem Sinclair,” Jonal’s voice reverberated throughout the corridor. The fems went silent. “I’m putting you in charge of this group. Get them in some sort of order to do what the Warriors ask of them, for their safety. Tell them they wouldn’t be happy if they were snatched by the Zyptz.”

  “I won’t be ordered about by a whore.”

  Jonal turned and stared at the black haired, blue-eyed fem who now defied a direct order during combat. ”And you are?” The crew backed away from Jonal and the fem as soon as Jonal’s jaw began to tic.

  “I am Madeline Dixon-Howard.” She paused, as if she expected some special recognition. “And she,” the fem waved languidly at Fem Sinclair, “is nothing but a street whore and I don’t take orders from street whores.”

  Jonal stared back in disbelief. He roared, “Fem, on the Brightstar you are whatever I say you are. Warriors,” he barked as two stepped up immediately, “two of you take this dimwitted excuse for a fem down to the brig to cool her heels. I have no time to deal with her now.” With difficulty, Jonal took hold of his temper, “Moonship Warriors, these fems are the Mission. They are the sole reason for this fleet and essential to our continued existence. You will control this situation and guard them as your honor demands. The Fem Sinclair will assist. I hope I am clear.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” answered a young ensign from Whitemoon.

  Jonal was halfway down the corridor when he stopped mid-stride.

  ::A little harsh, aren’t we?:: Tonas whispered into his mind.

  ::You sound weak. I know you are injured. Do not hide from me. I was frantic, I couldn’t hear you,:: Jonal snapped back.

  ::Hush, my Firefly. It’s shrapnel, in the knee. I’ll need a trauma doc; but I’m in no danger,:: Tonas replied.

  ::Flagen is with me. We are on our way down,:: Jonal stated.

  ::You and Flagen, together, Firefly you amaze me.::

  ::For you, I would travel with the Zyptz Queen. Save your strength, My Light. I’m coming.::

  “Sir…Admiral,” he heard the Fem Syn’s voice. She had followed him down the hallway. He stopped. Now that he knew the extent of Tonas’s injury, he had a moment.

  “My apologies, Fem Sinclair. I am Admiral Jonal. My BondMate is Admiral Tonas and our Fem is Dr. Anya Forrest. She spoke well of you. My Bonded and I respect our Anya and value her judgment. When I saw you, I knew I could leave the matter in your capable hands and continue on to take care of the ship’s business.”

  “Sir, I will do whatever is best to help the women, here. Please, about Maddy, she is young and was told some things by her family that…” Jonal held up his finger and gently touched her lip as Syn faltered.

  Jonal needed to move quickly, he mindspoke. ::No need to explain, Fem Syn. Because of Anya, I will oblige you this once in the matter of young Fem Dixon-Howard. However, we are in a dangerous situation. I must protect you and the others. I cannot do this if you are scattered throughout the Brightstar. If she does not stay put, I cannot guarantee her safety. She would not like life as a slave of the Zyptz.::

  Jonal smiled and bowed politely continuing on his way as Fem Sinclair ran to take up her duties.

  “Admiral,” Flagen asked. “Tonas’s injury?”

  “Bad, but not critical, shrapnel in the knee,” Jonal replied.

  “We need to get down there so the knee doesn’t lock up.” Flagen’s eyebrows drew together in thought. “The young one will see the Zyptz no matter what you do.”

  “I know,” Jonal sighed. “I have only a touch of Precog, but she has that destiny writ large.”

  * * * *

  The second blast sent Mark to his knees. The two Sarran guards had Anya protected beneath their bulk before he had the chance to shout out warning. The cacophony of sirens and whistles keened. Lights dimmed, then regained full wattage. Mark’s backup communicator vibrated in synchrony with those of the WarriorGuards.

  “Stern, here.”

  The conversation was a no-brainer. Anya was to be protected at all costs. The Sarran’s continued existence depended upon the safe arrival of these women from Earth and until a BondMate was chosen by a Council HighLord, Anya as Princess was chief amongst them. Tonas was hit; Mark was not prepared for the grinding in his gut.

  “Anya, the guards will take you to Quarters. Tonas was wounded in the blast, the Emergency Bays will be overrun, and they are taking him to meet you there.” Her pale face turned ashen. She grabbed the chair by the research holo, her tight grip visibly raising the blue veins against the white of her knuckles.

  “Jonal?” she asked.

  “Safe, on his way to Tonas. Flagen is with him. He’s actually a fine trauma surgeon.” Mark lips upturned in a forced smile that could be mistaken for a grimace.

  “And you?” Anya continued.

  “To Engineering to help with the wounded. The damage came from internal sabotage; although I wouldn’t rule out attack. Go now, Anya. Jonal has enough on his plate without worry for you,” Mark chided.

  She left with her escort. Mark realized he was a bit less tense, that was her intent. He pulled a cart from storage and stacked what would be necessary for triage if the replicators went down. His actions were quick, but precise. He made note that in the future, trauma carts would be supplied and stored in pre-determined locations thr
oughout the ship. Sarran medical treatment was far superior to Earth’s in all areas save one, trauma care.

  He calculated that with the Zyptz on their ass; that would soon change. He also expected that most of the Sarrans were suffering from PTS. The next group of women from Earth should include a boatload of psychiatrists, psychologists, and psychiatric social workers. His hands kept busy as his thoughts raced. He threw in several Marine Medical Corpsman Assault Packs or Medbags, surplus from the Iraqi War. He opened one and examined the contents, spreading the various packets over the stretcher. The Medbags were a sop to Morgan’s conscience; in case alien medicine didn’t do for the ladies. Sarran medicine did just fine. The only injuries the Sarrans didn’t treat more efficiently than their Earthen cousins were those caused by the wrong end of a weapon. Earth was a violent society, even when its governments were at peace. Sarrans were Warriors, but not violent by nature. All of their physical and mental acuities and abilities were honed for defense. There were, in essence, Universal Peacekeepers until the Zyptz Attack.

  Chapter 14

  “Mine honor is my life; both grow in one;

  take honor from me and my life is done.”

  —William Shakespeare

  Sarran Calendar: Cycle 9435.B1116 11:00 Trine

  Earth Calendar: July 26th, 11:00 A.M.

  The assault happened in slow motion. Mark felt hot breath on his neck, then something jammed over his eyes, nose and mouth. Someone held his arms. The cloth was wet; he didn’t recognize the smell. It had to be a drug. Mark twisted, trying to butt his head against the chin of his attacker. He felt tie go around his wrists.

  “He should be out. That dose would fell two Warriors.” Mark recognized the voice. It wasn’t one he would forget soon.

  “Bane,” he spat. “You’re crazy to be in here. This is one of the first places they will look.”

  “Worried about me, my Bonded?” Bane replied.

  “Bane, get what we need and let’s get out of here. Where are the ampoules?” The second voice Mark recognized it from earlier this morning; it was Septis. Sure as shit, he was the traitor.

  “Remember, Septis, the deal was he comes with us,” Bane answered.

  “That was the bargain before all hell broke loose. How do you expect us to get him out of here if he’s kicking and screaming,” Septis snapped. “The drug was supposed to knock him out.”

  “Their physiology is slightly different. It may take a little longer,” Bane replied with dead calm. It hit Mark then. Bane was a true sociopath and that made him immune to any argument. If he let Bane take him, he would be as good as dead.

  “So, my love, you see how it is? They need your DNA. But I need you so much more. I’ll only let them take a little at a time. I need to have some of you left.” Bane turned to Septis, “The extra ampoules are in the cold unit. I warn you now. You and they have nothing without taking us, the two of us, with you. The rest of the formula is incubated in my former Bonded’s blood. It was in the little cocktail I gave him when we tested our Bond. I am the only one who knows how to extract the exact proteins, in the precise order and amounts to mix with the ampoule. If you insist on leaving Stern behind, it’s on your head, Septis. I hear that the Alliance Representative is not kind to those who fail him.”

  “So, Bane, I’m your only ticket out?” Mark asked, fighting the effect of the drug.

  Bane’s ego was working against him. While he was spouting, Mark had backed up, inching his way to the stretcher. The Medbag he examined had a surgical instrument set, including a scalpel, small enough to cut his bindings without notice, but sharp enough to do deadly damage to his tormentor. He knew Septis would run if Bane went down. There was no percentage in Septis remaining behind. Therefore, that meant all he had to worry about was Bane. That was enough. Mark had been in Iraq and Afghanistain during the genocidal wars. He had seen torture and its victims, their blank faces and empty eyes. He had been taught to withstand pain and in fact, a certain level of pain brought him focus. The images that poured from Bane’s mind into his head made him scared, scared and sick. It had only been a few mots since Anya had left with the Warrior Guards. To Mark, it seemed like a few lifetimes.

  ::Treasured.:: Mark’s whole body jumped from the feel of Juraens’s presence in his mind.

  ::Don’t answer me. Your link with Bane is still operational. That is why he did not attend the hearing. I know he is there; I can feel your fear. I’m on my way. I will get to you. I swear. Use your mind against him. The surgical knife, use your mind to coax it toward you. Concentrate on the knife. Feel it move from the stretcher into your hand. Know that it will.::

  Mark had no experience with telekinetics, but he believed in Juraens. He focused. The small scalpel moved a millimeter. Mark inched closer to the stretcher. Without practice, he needed to shorten the range between his objective and his focus. He would try the mind thing once more. If he failed, he’d do it in James Bond fashion—by stealth. His eyes were covered so Mark decided it would look a bit better and get him closer to the stretcher if he staggered a bit. Bane expected this drug to make him woozy enough to cooperate. Maybe he’d buy into the act. Mark forced himself to stumble and recover.

  “Getting a little shaky there, dear. Is it the drug or are you looking forward to our time together and beside yourself with joy?” Bane asked with a snicker.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t look well on you, Bane. You’re entirely too smug to pull it off,” Mark hissed.

  “Are you losing your much-vaunted control, my love?”

  Mark felt the difference, the slight change in airflow, as Bane turned away to speak to Septis. Mark didn’t attempt to hear what was said. He poured all of his concentration on extracting the scalpel from the top of the Medbag. He sensed movement. It was slight, but it moved. Mark dug deep, trying repeat what he had done. Juraens had told him to coax, to be conscious of the movement. He pulled back and called it to him. It fell, smack into his right hand. He had the binding tie free in less than ten seconds. He was going to go for Bane.

  ::Wait, Treasured. I’m just outside. I don’t want to lose you. Wait until I give the signal. On the count of three. One, two, three...::

  The door flew open, Bane leaped to the stretcher to pin Mark and take him hostage. He didn’t count on the scalpel. Mark swung around and drew the scalpel across Bane’s face. Bane roared in fury. Septis ran out the side, two Psi Warriors followed. Juraens took hold of Bane by the neck and twisted. The sound of a spinal bone cracking echoed through the room. Mark grabbed the cloth from his head, rising slowly from the floor. He limped over to where Bane lay broken. His body finally reacted to the drug. He crouched down over Bane and looked up at Juraens.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Obviously.” Juraens shrugged.

  “We should have kept him for questioning,” Mark said.

  “Question him? His honor was besmirched. He held nothing worth hearing.”

  Mark shook his head. “Beloved, I believe I’ve been tapped to teach you Sarrans what to do when the other guys don’t play fair.”

  * * * *

  Tonas leaned against a titanium column with his legs stretched in front on the grid flooring. The cold metal pulled heat from his body, causing tremors. A medic removed the pieces of shrapnel from his knee and thigh. He realized the wound needed proper cleansing and stitches, however, Tonas demanded that Warriors with more threatening injuries be treated first. Jonal and Flagen were on their way. He could hold out until they arrived. The wounds still bled sluggishly through the gauze pads. His leg throbbed. He had fallen into a light doze. A sharp, abrupt stab to his right thigh opened his eyes to Jonal’s beloved face. The tic in his cheek and clench of his jaw gave away his anger as well as his worry.

  “You said it wasn’t bad,” Jonal hissed through his teeth.

  “It isn’t life threatening,” Tonas replied. “It is a flesh wound, deep, but not…

  “You could have lost the leg,” Jonal argued. “Flagen numbed it and is doing surg
ery, right here on the deck to save it, dammit. If we had delayed but a few mots more…” Jonal tightened the rein on his reeling emotions. ”There was also a high risk of infection. Fuck, Tonas. As the Co-Commander of this fleet, you owe our Warriors. You own them your life. That means you are obligated to stay alive for them, so that you can make the decisions that keep them alive. I’m no good without you. If you don’t take care, they lose us both. And Anya, what of our Anya?”

  “I’m sorry, Firefly,” Tonas said soothingly.

  “Don’t you soothe me, Tonas. I need your mind and I won’t have that if you are under a surgeon’s knife.”

  A fem’s voice resounded in both their minds. ::Stop arguing you two morons and bring him up here so I can take care of him. You are wasting time.::

  Jonal took the bright blond head against his broad chest and suppressed a sob, “You better be sorry, My Light, or I’ll booby trap your crutch.” Tonas’s smile came as more of a grimace but the attempt brought Jonal some relief.

  Anya’s answer was ::Stupid men!::

  “Flagen, progress?” Jonal asked.

  “I’ve cleaned the debris and cauterized the wound. I need one of those surgical kits Stern brought with him to ensure Tonas doesn’t come out of this with a permanent limp. I’ll get a stretcher.” Flagen rose from his knees as Jonal’s comm unit vibrated.

  Tonas listened as Jonal answered the comm. He lurked in his Bonded’s mind and was ready for the blue tint of rage on Jonal’s skin. ”Easy, Firefly. Call Flagen over and tell him. Please do it kindly. He went up against his brother today and I think it hurt him to do it,” Tonas said.

  “I’m not an ogre. Flagen is fine with me so long as he has relinquished any claims to you or Anya. He has your stretcher. We’ll tell him together.”

  Flagen and a corpsman made short work getting Tonas secured on the stretcher. “This isn’t necessary. Give me some support and I can walk to the transport,” Tonas said through gritted teeth.

  “Get on the cart. If you don’t stay off that leg, you’ll lose the use of it,” snapped Flagen.