Destination Alara

by S. Y. Thompson

  The fire was a distraction to catch her alone.

  Fighting with all her strength, the high queen resisted her assailant who pushed her backward toward the gorge. She yanked the woolen cap from her attacker's head and gasped in astonishment. Through the anger on the contorted visage, she easily identified the person.

  "You?"

  Her enemy didn't pause; no empathy appeared. A foot in Dorma's mid-section drove the air from her lungs. She bent forward in reaction but still they grappled, rolling on the ground as each tried to gain the advantage. When a final violent shove sent her flying from the canyon's rim, she realized how foolish she'd been to send her guards away.

  VAN TRIED TO swallow the lump in her throat but it refused to dislodge. She buttoned her jacket, thinking that the last time she'd worn the dress uniform had been a happy occasion. She'd received a medal from High Queen Dorma and a passionate kiss from Cade. Now they were both gone. One had died at the hands of a megalomaniac and the other from grief. Rumors abounded that Queen Dorma had flung herself from the highest point of the Solstice Canyon.

  She didn't know if it was true, but the image of a woman so riddled with sorrow that she'd take her own life didn't sound like the person Van had met so briefly. Dorma had seemed a force of nature, full of energy and vitality. Then again, people did all kinds of unexpected things. Van never would've guessed she herself would fall so completely for a royal heir.

  Thoughts of Cade caused her jaw to clench. Pain surged through her and her stomach roiled while guilt rocked her to the core. She couldn't deny her own culpability in Cade's assassination and it was tearing her up inside. Even the loss of her troops during the assault on Tokar so long ago didn't weigh as heavily and she knew it was something from which she'd never recover.

  Finished donning the uniform, Van checked her appearance in the full-length wall mirror. Absently, she noticed the garment hung more loosely upon her frame. Her cheeks looked hollow and she seemed pale. She hadn't been able to eat anything since Cade's murder six days ago and news of the queen's death added to her nausea. Now, she prepared to attend the double funeral when all she wanted was for everyone to leave her alone.

  And then what? Wallow in self-pity because the only woman Van had ever loved was dead? Van needed to face it. She was no hero. She couldn't even keep Cade safe.

  Anger swelled inside her, hot and fast, a maelstrom of grief, self-loathing and interminable acrimony. Along with the fury came the feeling of falling into a dark well of despair. On all sides, hidden forces maneuvered, plotting mayhem and destruction in a desperate bid for power and she had no idea who they were. Without that key information, she could see no way to bring Cade's killer to justice. Adrenaline pumped through her and she turned away from the mirror to lash out in her rage.

  Van grabbed a chair from behind by the top rail and swung it sideways, shattering the mirror. Glass and fractured wood flew in every direction, but she'd already dropped the remnants and moved on. Van yanked every drawer from the dresser and destroyed them by slamming them into the walls or tossing them across the room. One she used to hammer against the top of the chest until it turned into a pile of splinters. Another she sent through the gallium window to land on the castle lawn. She didn't realize she was screaming or that her hands were lumps of raw, bleeding flesh.

  The door to the bedroom burst open, but it didn't register. Caught in the haze of maniacal ferocity, she sought to demolish anything she could lay her hands on. Someone shouted but she wouldn't, couldn't, stop. Paul grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against his chest.

  "Stop it, Van. You're hurting yourself." His voice gentled as he tried to reach her.

  Van's legs gave out on her and she slumped to the floor. Vaguely, she saw him nod to someone and the door closed. She stopped struggling, inhaling in great shuddering breaths as though she couldn't get enough air. Wordlessly, she turned in Paul's arms, pressed her face against his chest and burst into tears. For a long time, he simply held her, sitting on the floor and rocking her. He didn't speak, but Van didn't want him to.

  The rest of the day passed in a haze, a nightmare of half-formed, disjointed images. The physician easily repaired her wounded flesh but couldn't touch the hollow ache as she watched the procession. Full military honors accompanied the dual crystal coffins, announcing their passage from the Alaran hospital to the final resting place. Heavy security contingents lined every street and encircled the cemetery to ensure no surprises on this global day of sorrow.

  Through the transparent catafalque, Van saw Queen Dorma posed in a stately repose, her crown shimmering in the afternoon light. The Alaran flag draped Cade's casket, concealing the fact that her body was absent. After words she scarcely heard, pallbearers consigned them to the family mausoleum. Mourners wept and eventually dispersed when a gentle rain started falling. Van remained steady until she was alone. Precipitation soaked into her uniform, hair and eyes. Her skin chilled and gooseflesh erupted on her arms, but she scarcely noticed.

  Cade was dead yet it still didn't seem real. The anger from that senseless death hadn't faded in the slightest, nor did Van think it would anytime soon. Until it did, she thought it best to avoid polite company.

  "Van, are you okay? Come in out of the rain before you get sick."

  She might have found Paul's concern touching...if she could feel anything. Van ignored the question. "It's time to move out, Commander. We still have a crew to retrieve and a mission to start."

  "What?" He smiled wryly. "Patrolling the outer edge of the system to guard against Gothoan invaders? Sounds like a huge waste of time."

  Her temper overflowed, fueled by his careless words. "And it was just a diplomatic run to Psmanth, wasn't it," she snapped, piercing him with a glare. "That's how we lost her and I won't have it. Lose the complacent attitude, Commander. Is that clear?"

  Although he became serious, she detected no sarcasm. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good. We'll leave orbit in one hour. Prepare for an extended stay. We're not setting foot on a planet until we either track him to one or blow him into space dust."

  She didn't wait for a response since nothing he said would matter. There wasn't any room for compromise. She headed back into the castle, intent on changing into her duty uniform. Water streamed from her trousers onto the marble floor as she crossed the foyer. A small commotion drew her attention and Van stopped, looking toward the dining hall to see Saral Barab. A group of five surrounded her and Van realized they were members of the royal advisory board.

  It made sense. With both Cade and Dorma gone, the crown would fall to the next member of the royal family. Van only wondered why Temis didn't want the position.

  As Dorma's sister, Temis stood next in line, but apparently she had no interest in politics. Watching Saral, Van wondered if she was the right choice. Saral looked regal enough, beautiful in an exotic way even for an Alaran. Her skin was almost unbelievably blue, the tips of her ears nearly touching behind her head. In the Rear Admiral's fleet uniform, she made quite an impressive sight. Anyone would easily fall in line with her anointment to the throne, but not Van. To her, no one but Cade should ever sit in command of the system's home world.

  Saral must have felt her lingering gaze. Her eyes drifted from Councilwoman Rhettin and found hers. For just an instant, the black eyes narrowed in what felt like a menacing stare. Van felt her body's instinctive reaction, the release of adrenaline as she sensed a threat. Then Saral smiled and dipped her head once and the sensation passed. Van frowned as she continued on her way, convinced she'd imagined the perception of intimidation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "DROP IT, COMMANDER. I'm not going anywhere."

  "And when I have to carry you off the bridge, what then?"

  Byra had the sense to keep his voice down so the crew wouldn't overhear, but there was no mistaking the mixture of hurt and anger warring in his eyes. Her formal treatment of a man who'd long been a friend wounded him and her obst
inacy in insisting on remaining in her chair pushed his tolerance.

  Van couldn't seem to help it. She hadn't cried since the day of the funeral three weeks ago and now she felt numb inside. Treating him like a stranger preserved the emotional cocoon in which she found herself. Additionally, it almost forced him to give her distance, space that she needed to drive on in the relentless pursuit for the one responsible for her anguish. Under her orders, Pandora pursued every ion trail indicative of a vessel's energy signature. They investigated every ship, questioned every crew and if anyone dared to offer a threat of a weapons attack, Pandora blew them into space dust without hesitation.

  Pirates ran from them on sight now. Smugglers attempted to bribe the captain or offered unconditional surrender. None of them mattered. Van's sole concern was a certain Gothoan with a red-clawed three-headed eagle painted on the hull of his vessel. No one she questioned admitted to any knowledge of his whereabouts, many didn't know of whom she spoke. It had come to the point where Van questioned if she'd managed to deal a more lethal blow during their encounter than Mentis let on. Rather than delight at his possible destruction once he'd left her presence, she raged at having her revenge thwarted. She wanted to see the knowledge in his eyes when she extinguished his life with her own hands.

  "Captain," Lieutenant Commander Ozal reported from the aft tactical console. "Ion trail detected at bearing one twenty-one mark four. Initial scans indicate a Hokaran pleasure ship."

  Van sat up a little straighter in her chair and fixed her sights on the forward portal. Her body still reacted like it had with the last twenty-seven vessels they'd confronted, heart pounding and adrenaline surging. If she could have, she'd have taken the fight directly to the Gothoan sector but Pandora was under strict orders not to leave the system.

  "Set an intercept course, Ensign Yugi." The young navigator immediately changed their flight path and Van was never more pleased to have her original crew back aboard.

  Twenty minutes later, they met and questioned the captain of the small tub. She'd been satisfied that they weren't enemy insurgents within the first few moments, but Van still questioned them and issued a warning about touring so far from their home world. The sector was a dangerous place these days and an attack could come without notice from any direction.

  By the time she finished, the captain clearly wanted nothing more than to escape her presence and Van felt exhausted. The forward viewer winked off, replaced by the backdrop of space and she almost sagged in her chair. With the adrenaline purged from her system, she felt more exhausted than ever. Van stood, maintaining as much dignity as she could on shaking legs, and turned command over to Commander Byra, effecting not to notice the relieved look on his face.

  Her young navigator, Ensign Yugi, surprised her by speaking. "Captain, are you all right? Would you like for me to walk with you?"

  Looking into the blue eyes of Pandora's only full-blooded Alaran, Van saw the depths of her compassion. In the scheme of things, Ensign Yugi remained a rookie to ship's operations, but Van couldn't find it within her to chastise the officer. Nor could she continue to look at her. Yugi remained a visual reminder of what Van had lost because she shared Cade's planetary history.

  Van swallowed and shook her head, her tone far gentler than she'd used with Paul. "Return to your post, Ensign."

  Traveling through the ship in the lift, Van allowed the hum of machinery to quiet her internal demons, if only for a short time. She was ready to fall over by the time she reached the sanctuary provided by her quarters, but instead of stripping off her clothes and climbing into bed, she collapsed on the couch. Van couldn't even think of sleeping in the bed. The last time she'd been there, she and Cade had made love. Looking at the sleeping mat, or even entering the room, was too painful because of the memories conjured.

  Fully dressed, she lay on the sofa and closed her eyes. As tired as she was, every nerve ending sang and throbbed. Her head ached and felt as though stuffed with cotton. Still, she didn't really expect to sleep, not having done so for more than an hour at a time since Cade's death. Van decided she'd just rest for a while, close her eyes. Maybe then her headache would go away and she could think.

  Her body made the decision for her, overriding her mind's unrelenting insistence on action. Muscles relaxed, twitching occasionally from overuse. Slowly, inevitably, she nodded off. Cade's kiss teased her unconscious thoughts and a fleeting smile ghosted across her lips. Her hand jerked before her fingers relaxed, curled toward her face as she lay in an almost fetal position, unwittingly attempting to contain all the turpitude and torment she felt.

  Just starting to doze off for the first time in nearly a month, Van jerked upright with a shouted curse when the communication system in her quarters sounded.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but you have a priority communiqué from Coalition Headquarters."

  "Put it through," she snapped.

  When the face of Commodore Grier popped onto the computer screen, Van's ire overrode her common sense. "What the hell do you want?"

  Blonde eyebrows did their best to climb off the top of Erika Grier's forehead. "Since you look like hell, Captain Swann, I'll ignore that."

  Anything but contrite, Van sighed her frustration. "Apologies, Commodore. You caught me off guard. What can I do for you?"

  "For one thing, you can stop terrorizing the quadrant. Headquarters is flooded with complaints of the Coalition Captain carrying out her own personal crusade throughout the sector."

  Van's face froze, her lack of expression masking the surge of anger that was her constant companion these days. "I thought my job was to keep the system safe from rebels and potential invaders."

  "You're right, but that doesn't mean scaring the wits out of innocent commanders of every little pleasure cruise."

  She remembered the Hokaran ship from a few hours ago. "That was fast."

  Grier nodded. "Especially when one of the guests aboard that ship happens to be my boss, Fleet Admiral Akkadia. Now I'm telling you this as your friend and as your commanding officer, drop your hunt for vengeance, Van. Let the intelligence corps handle this."

  "Are you kidding me? Those morons couldn't catch a cold. We know exactly who authorized this trip, but the intelligence guys are a bunch of diplomats who tie everything up with red tape and their so-called negotiations. We should go in there blasting every warship we find to smithereens."

  "Before you get up on your high horse, I'd like to remind you that you are one of those morons. We can't just fly into Gothoan space with guns blazing and demand retribution for something that could be the act of a single individual."

  "Right, a single individual who just happens to have a Gothoan warship that's armed to the teeth."

  "I can't argue with that," Grier admitted. "In fact, I didn't call to argue with you at all."

  Van's eyes narrowed. She'd been blinded by the storm constantly brewing inside, but now that she looked closer, Grier seemed excited. She kept tapping a finger on her desk in front of the monitor and her eyes shifted about ceaselessly.

  "You found something," she stated with conviction.

  "Maybe." Grier raised a hand to caution Van and force her to listen. "A deep space survey ship on its way to the Terran Sector reported faint traces of an Alaran on Gothos Prime. They admit that it was only for an instant and that their instruments could have malfunctioned, but we're treating the report seriously."

  "My crew and I can be on our way to Gothos immediately. I'll need reinforcements..."

  "Stop, Captain. You won't be going."

  "You can't be serious. We're the closest ship to the Triangulum Galaxy. We can be there in a little over a week if we use the ram-jet engines."

  "Precisely my point. You're the only Coalition vessel patrolling the outer rim of the system in that quadrant. If Gothoa does plan an invasion, Pandora is the only defense. Without you there, we'd be offering them the perfect opportunity."

  Van dragged her fingers through her hair in annoyance.
"This is crazy. Is the Coalition at least planning for them to pull something? After everything that's happened, I'd hate to think the rest of the galaxy is just going along like usual."

  "Rest assured, the military is stepping up its presence in the sector and all citizens have been alerted to a possible renewal of hostilities with the Gothoan Empire."

  "Hostilities?" Van spat. "You mean we might have another war on our hands. What are you going to do about Admiral Meryan? Are you just going to leave her there to fend for herself?"

  Grier's eyes widened and her head went back as if someone had slapped her. "You're assuming that she is on the planet, don't forget that. That being said, we can't ignore the possibility. We dispatched a highly fortified scout ship with a squadron of our best close combat soldiers this morning. Their mission is to slip behind enemy lines undetected, determine if the admiral is or was ever there, and how to retrieve her if possible."

  The highly trained soldiers Grier referred to had to be a part of the Scorpion Group and Van felt a little better. No unit had ever existed that was better prepared for battle in or on any terrain. She knew Headquarters expected to find Cade on Gothos or they wouldn't have sent the Scorpions, and Van wasn't about to be left out.

  "They're the best, all right, but you said they just left this morning."

  "That's right."

  "Pandora is a lot closer to the Gothoan system and can beat them there. We can provide reinforcements if they need us," she hastily added when Grier looked as if she might argue.

  "I'll say this once, Van. No. I shouldn't even have told you about this, but I know there was something between you two. Consider it a professional courtesy and let the Scorpions handle it."

  The compassion in Grier's voice only irritated her more, but there wasn't any use in continuing the discussion. The commodore had given her a direct order and expected her to follow it.