[Makebelieve] Fic: Brothers Of The Blood: Mark Of Cain (no slash here - mainstream work)

[makebelieve archive]

First, a word of explanation...this is a story I wrote several years
ago...its been written and rewritten to the point that I can't tell if its
worth the paper its written on, per say, so I'm posting  it here to get some
in my face feedback on how to make it work. I'm hoping some of you
gentlefolk will come to my aid in the writing of this monster..and it is a
monster...completed on the computer, barring glitched chapters since its so
freaking long since I even looked at the bleeding thing. That said...read,
if you will, and hit me with your thoughts ...


Brothers Of The Blood: Mark Of Cain
by PEJA

ORIGINAL FIC/SCIFI
RATING: R, FOR VIOLENCE
SUMMARY: A defeated band of mercenaries search for one of their missing in
action and find more than they expected.
ARCHIVE: NO, unless by special permission

<lj-cut read more>

The silent alarm pulsed blood-red, catching Dalton St Moritz of the corsair
star cruiser Hellequin full in the eye. For one eternal moment he went
deathly still, his narrowed gaze locked on the beacon of destruction.

A second throbbing flash freed him from his paralysis.

"Once," a low dragon's purr rumbled from his throat. "Just one blasted time,
I would really appreciate a simple straightforward operation without some
bloody crisis or other cropping up."

The alarm winked tauntingly up at him.

"Ah-h, right. That'll happen." He thrust backward in his seat, continuing to
glare at the offending flashing.  "I certainly hope he's worth the risk."

"Problem?" Yessenia Manatu asked from her station behind and opposite him.

"Nothing important," Dalton threw over his shoulder, his body following his
words around.

"Says you." She taunted, rotating around to face him as well.

Dalton crooked a sardonic brow. "I would lie?"

She met his gaze steadily. "If it benefited you."

He offered his most disarming half-smile. "You know me well, cara." The
smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I will alert you if the need
arise."

"You do that." She rotated back toward her own station.

Chuckling darkly because it was expected of him, he reclined into the
butter-soft leather embrace of his seat, propped his elbows on the curved
oak arms and scrutinized the ominous warning over steepled fingertips.

Another savage purr erupted from his lips and he jerked forward in his seat.
Two perfectly manicured fingers thumped the irritating beacon as if it were
defective and battering it would cease its play of light.

The alarm never missed a beat.

"I don't bloody well believe this."

"Don't leave us in the dark too long, Dal," Yessenia's words floated back to
him.
He grunted. "Have I ever disappointed you?"

"You really want an answer?"

His dark throaty chuckle drifted between them. "I think not."

"Wise man."

"Don't mind me, Senna. I'm over-taxed. Not at my best."

"You know, I'd really love to see your best just once." She turned away once
more. "Give me something to compare against these bits you claim are not."

His hand swooped across the instrument panel, killing the alarm and keying
up an engineering report in a single predatory motion. "You'll be the
first."

Liquid-silver, blue-flecked eyes scoured the details dribbling across his
monitor.
Bad. This is bad.

If the data were to be believed, a three second hiccup had interrupted the
matter/exotic matter converter maintaining the wormhole they were traveling
through. More than enough of an interruption to crumble the delicately
balanced vortex where even the most minor pause carried a ninety-nine nine
chance of being a death sentence.

For one sensually exquisite moment he allowed himself the seductive luxury
of pure unadulterated terror, relishing his quickening blood, the dryness in
his mouth, even the damp sweat slicking his palms.

"No," he snarled suddenly, sprawling back in his seat and sneering at the
glittering report repeating over his monitor. "I'll be damned if I'll accept
this. Not without a lot more reliable evidence than a malfunctioning
computer."

His rapier glance darted over the data once more, dissecting the engineering
report piece by piece, searching for something, anything, he may have
missed.

Only to be rewarded with stomach-clenching failure.

"Bloody hell. If I were superstitious, I might think this mission was
cursed," Dalton rasped, shoving the errant ebony curl that had dared fall
over his high forehead back into place.

He jerked open the stiff Chinese collar of his tunic. "Come on, St Moritz.
"Wishing won't change it. Deal with it."

Arresting his runaway emotions through the sheer force of his disciplined
mind, he adopted a lockjaw control he was far from feeling and angled his
entire U-shaped station around toward the flight deck. "Ian, verify a glitch
in the Casimir generator."

Ian Horizon, lazing inside the cocooning flight module mid-level of the
three-tiered bridge, barely shifted his auburn head. "'Tis right unlikely.
I'd have sensed...."

"Belay that," Dalton purred. "I don't give a damn what you believe you may
or may not have sensed. My instruments indicate an imminent phase shutdown.
Verify."

Sighing, the pilot pushed lethargically out of his relaxed sprawl. "Okay.
Okay, if it's making ye happy," he grumbled, checking his own glittering
flight panel.

Seconds later, his deceptively slender form stiffened in the confines of his
seat and the color flushed from his angular wolfish features. "Hell and it's
lax I've gotten. Neglected the bleeding power levels."

One winged brow crept higher. "That's a confirmation?"

"Aye, confirmed, it is. Sure and I be damn sorry, boss."

Dalton waved the apology away. "Just give me the stats."

Nodding, Ian ruffled unsteady fingers through his auburn curls. "'Tis nay
good. The wormhole's gone rogue. Consuming energy well past the maximum
rate. It's already drained an excessive amount of antimatter from the
stardrive. The reserve exotic matter be nigh depleted as well. I'm thinking,
we're about down to impulse."

"Consequently, I suppose a break down of the anomaly can not be far off."

"Nay very far, no."

Dalton slanted him a pensive glance. "Total devastation, do you think? Or
partial?"

"Ye be asking can I get the ship through in one piece?" Ian shrugged. "I
canna answer. Blast it, Dal, I messed up."

"This is neither the time nor the place for atonement."

Ian's jade gaze flashed dangerously. "I'm no making atonement. Merely
stating the obvious."

A sardonic, lop-sided smile twisted Dalton's lips. "As you say." His veiled
glance skimmed the ashen faces of his five man crew. "We're in serious
difficulty, people. Unless...."

Without warning, the ship lunged violently to the right, then back, rocking
wildly. Thrown off balance, Dalton crashed against the padded edge of his
station. The impact stole his breath, leaving him dazed, disoriented.

"....helm be responsive but sluggish." Dalton caught the last of Ian's crisp
report through a red haze. "Dammit, boss, what's happening?"

Ignoring the fire in his every breath, Dalton dug his left hand into the
edge of his science console, steadying himself, then, right-handed, keyed up
the short-range scanners.

Validating his worst fears.

Undulating currents of fast-shifting space wrapped tighter and tighter
around the non-commissioned privateer. A quick atmospheric check verified
that blustery gusts resembling earthly cyclonic winds were buffeting the
ship as space filled in on itself.

With enough momentum to rip the very fabric of the universe inside out.

"The wormhole's unstable," Dalton provided without emotion, massaging his
bruised chest. "Aborting around us."

"Dal, you'll be checking out the main screen," Ian managed a choked whisper.
"Now."

Looking up, Dalton forgot the ache in his breast.

The usually constant stars flickered on and off, on and off, before his
eyes, enacting a macabre bit of hide-and-seek in the endless midnight sky.

Then, quickly as it had begun, the chilling stellar game ended, plummeting
Hellequin into absolute dark, one more midnight shadow in a realm of
shadows, falling away from reality.

"Sensors register nay sign of the event horizon," Ian reported. "The
wormhole's sealed."

"Yes. Quite fascinating, is it not?"

"Fascinating?" Ian sputtered. "Fascinating how?"

Dalton smiled grimly. "It's always been a rather whimsical fancy of mine to
observe just such a naked singularity first hand."

"Ye wished this might happen, then?"

"This?" Dalton drawled with a short, bitter laugh. "This is, perhaps, just a
little too first hand even for my jaded tastes, Ian. But now I have the
opportunity, it's a great pity I haven't time for a thorough analysis. I can
only hope the computer records the event for later study."

"In case ye have na noticed, boss, there's nothing out there. The stars. The
planets. They're all gone."

"That's altogether apparent."

"Do ye be listening to me? Do ye no understand? Other than Hellequin and
what's left of the wormhole, 'tis nay measurable mass...."

"Quite. Still and all, as we have not yet determined precisely what has
happened, panic would seem most unwise."

"So, there's some ideas ye be having, is it? Other than the obvious?"

Dalton lifted a lethargic shoulder. "Adhering with the laws of probability
we've very likely experienced a dimensional shift. Nevertheless, I'm not
willing to lock myself into that unpleasant scenario until I've made a
definite confirmation."

"But, surely...."

"I said I'm not making a determination without all the facts," Dalton
repeated, halting Ian's outburst. "Whatever has befallen the ship, however,
is most unfortunate."

"Unfortunate?" Ian gave a short, silent laugh. "That's rather calling a
mountain an ant hill, do you no think?"

"That remains the question. As I said, we've most likely dropped out of
normal space."

"Into what, I'm asking?"

Dalton favored him with a shadowy half-smile. "Into this."

"Dal, if we've fallen through the wormhole, 'tis theoretically possible we
have been transported into...."

A black scowl swallowed up his smile. "Control your pagan instincts, Ian.
You're a talented pilot. That's what I need from you. Your flight training
will get us home not your paranormal Medusan beliefs."

"'Tis sure of that ye be?"

Ignoring the sharp throbbing pain in his chest, Dalton whirled his station
full around. "Do not provoke me."

Before his chair came to a halt the agonies of his bruised chest spiked and
vertigo embraced, leaving him dizzy, teetering dangerously on the edge of
his seat.

"Boss?" Ian's voice sounded a long way off.

"I am not sure of anything," Dalton forced between numbed lips.

"Aye? Well 'tis certain I've never heard even a single whisper of anyone
having survived a collapsed wormhole. Mayhap it is, you'll be so kind as to
tell me what makes ye think we will?"

Taking his apathetic body to task, Dalton reared his head back and glared
down his narrow aristocratic nose with all the imperial arrogance of his
unbending British half. "I have an objective to complete."

"Oh? Aye, and that's making all the difference," Ian jeered, his own Celtic
blood coming to the fore.

"You understand, then," Dalton returned softly. "Good. Now, be quiet so I
can think."

With Ian sputtering for an retort, Dalton reclined his languorous body into
the deep-cushioned seat and weighed the odds of regaining their own
space-time continuum. Odds that no matter how he figured them each time
landed down-side up.

What the hell. He'd never before thrown in the towel just because the stats
decreed survival impossible. Fuzzed reasoning or otherwise he wasn't
starting now.

"Right, then," Dalton said suddenly. "Let's get this done." Challenging the
natural impairments, both mental and physical, caused by his injuries, he
pushed from his seat.

A mistake.

His bruised chest squeezed against burning lungs. Dark tearing claws strafed
the deepest crannies of his mind, vampiricly draining his strength, his very
lifeforce. He could actually feel the blood boiling in his veins, reducing
into a thick, viscid sludge.

And he stumbled against the science console.

"Be ye all right, Dal?"

Supporting himself with shaking arms braced against the console, Dalton
lifted his too heavy head. "I'll survive. Just don't make any quick moves.
Not anyone."

"What's ailing you, boss? Are ye injured? Ye have been pushing yourself
overmuch of late, and now ye've taken a heavy hit...."

"No. Nothing," Dalton said. His body exposed the truth, trembling as if he
were ravaged by a severe bout of the ague. "A little groggy, perhaps."

"Aye? Well you might be sitting yourself down a spell anyway. Ye look like
the very devil's spent a week squiring your soul through the pits."

Dalton bullied his exhausted body to accept a ragged breath. "Don't concern
yourself."
Apprehension flickered in Ian's eyes. "You look like hell, Dal. Mayhap ye
should...?"

"Leave it," Dalton cut him short. "I'll be fine once we get back to our own
continuum."

Ian ran a searching glare over him, then shrugged. "If you're saying so,
boss. Getting back can no happen to soon for me, provided we can pull off an
impossible dream."

"Well then, I strongly suggest we find a way of making this particular
impossible dream a reality," Dalton advised, pushing his rebelling body
fully erect.

No good.

His legs quivered under him.

His strength wilted, melted, seeping away like slick, wet ice in the noonday
sun.

He tumbled awkwardly back into the cushioned seat, trembling as if he'd aged
a million years in that split second of time.

His body had betrayed him.

And Dalton most certainly did not welcome treachery from his own blasted
body.

Not now.

Not ever.

Acting with savage survival instinct, he gnashed sharp teeth through his
tongue, deliberately mangling the delicate tissue into a mushy pulp.
Bright-colored stars exploded behind pain misted eyes. Salty-sweet blood
flooded his mouth.

And the lethal shadows scattered into the dark recesses of his mind.

He swirled the rich blood-wine around his torn and throbbing tongue. His
eyes drifted blissfully shut. Tipping his head back, the intoxicating elixir
trickled hot and sticky down his throat.

His triumphant smile slipped, though, when another numbing blast of vertigo
vibrated through his frame, forcing him to acknowledge that he was far from
all right. That he was, in fact, all too mortal. A mere man, possessing the
fragility of every natural-born human. The same human frailty that could
easily prove a fatal handicap in this dangerous instance.

An admission carrying with it the bitter acceptance that only bloody-minded
arrogance, unyielding beyond death, kept him on his feet.

He just hoped he had the fortitude to finish the job before this sector of
space finished him.

Don't think on it, he censured himself, broadening the sensor sweep. Bracing
his trembling arms on either side of his terminal, he studied the
soul-rending data scrolling over the screen.

"As we suspected," he said, crashing heavily into his seat. "The wormhole's
deposited us on the wrong side."

"But that means...."

"Don't give up on us, Ian. I'll not die here," Dalton's sharp gaze left no
room for argument. "We'll need power if we're to restore the throat and
complete phase. Find me some."

Ian stared, open-mouthed, for a brief second, then bent to study his
instrument panel. "'Tis unlikely, Dal. The reserve exotic matter 'tis near
exhausted."

"Scan for any trace exotic matter in the surrounding area."

"There's noth...." He hesitated, leaning deeper over his console. "By the
goddess, there be something. A radioactive band like I've never seen
before."

"Can it be distilled for use?"

"Without a full analyze? Sure, if you're wanting to risk a possible
catacysmic meltdown." he sighed, shaking his head. "'Tis like I said.
There's nay usable matter on this plane, Dal."

"I don't accept that. Options?"

Ian shifted in his seat. "I have been thinking on one possibility."

"We are running short of time, Ian."

He nodded. "There's a wee bit of unprocessed power in the impulse stores.
Will be somewhat unstable, but if I can do a slow dump into the exotic
matter we have left without blowing up the ship, I might just be able to
squeeze out enough energy to give us a wee, tiny chance."

"How much impulse power exactly?"

Ian grimaced. "Enough to keep us in life support for several days. But I'm
thinking radiation will kill us much sooner, so why conserve, do ye no
agree?"

A slow smile curled Dalton's lips. "Oh, indeed, I do."

"You realize if this dinna work we'll nay be around to know it?"

"Better a quick death than a lingering one."

"Aye, agreeing with ye, I am," he said as his fingers inched cautiously over
the navigation panel.

Lead-handed, Dalton dragged his own monitor down. "Make it quick, Ian.
Hellequin's shielding can't deflect near enough radiation in its current
condition."

"I ken. I'm reserving only enough thrust to maneuver us inside the throat.
Everything else will be diverted through the Casimir generator. Directed at
the wormhole in a series of graduated bursts. One of them should key the
gate." Glancing up, Ian stole a moment to study the swirling maelstrom. "I
be hoping."

"Ian, our safety zone has vanished," Dalton told him. "Rad's are red-line.
It's now or never."

"Cross your fingers. I be opening her up."

Dalton watched, breathless, while the mists parted, exposing a pinpoint,
ebony throat. The stargate quivered, growing slowly at first, then faster,
until the event horizon, and a promise of home, was revealed.

He drew a quiet breath. "Minimum thrust."

Power surged underfoot. The Hellequin lurched forward into a newly born,
tranquil tunnel within the swirling fog. Mist, or perhaps the wraiths of a
million lost vessels, wrapped around the ship.

"Steady on. Don't upset the balance."

Dalton's warning came too late.

The vortex collapsed, snatching the battered ship up in its brusque grip.
Potent counterwinds beat a ruthless tattoo against the battle-scarred hull.

Hellequin, little more than a toy in the hands of a cruel and malicious
elemental child, strained noisily under the destructive currents.

"Hold her steady, man," Dalton snapped. "You're losing her."

A dark wolf's growl rumbled from Ian's chest. "The gate only opened
halfway." He wrapped the gleaming flight module around his lean body and,
bending over the controls, tweaked the power feed ever so slightly. "Will be
rough going, but I'm thinking I can get her through."

"You better be right."

"I'll be having you know, 'tis damn dangerous flying, what with the
mainframe down to manuals," he grumbled, his hands dancing over the
controls. "I dinna usually handle the grunt work. If I miscalculate even one
one-millionth of a decimal...."

"Yes, yes, yes. I am more than aware of all that. I am also aware of the
fact that Yama is out of commission for the duration. Near as I can tell,
that just means that this time you prove your worth like the first
astropilots. This time you fly our foul-tempered lady by the seat of your
pants."

As if to reinforce his taunting words, the stars strobed in and out of
eternal obscurity, casting the ship in a precipitous game of cosmic Russian
roulette.

"Dammit, you're losing her. Get control of this ship before you bury us."

"Hell and I be doing the best I can. This isna a bleeding joyride for me
either, ye ken?"

"The way you've been handling her so far, I had wondered."

Ian snorted. "Aye. Right. This is just me way of proving what an
extraordinary pilot I really am, is it?" he drawled, siphoning a dribble of
energy from the impulse engines. "One way or another, this is our final
attempt. I'm taking her through."

Ian nudged the flight controls. Inch by inch, the once graceful ship defied
the deadly strength of the vortex, slowly defeating the quicksand of the
dimensional fold.

"Hellequin's answering the controls," Ian said with a short, triumphant
laugh. "Gaining momentum. Damned if I dinna hazard we're gonna make it."

The spontaneous laughter was a freeing balm on Dalton's jangled nerves.
"Bring her home, Ian. Bring her back to our side."

Caressing the helm with gentle fingers, Ian murmured soft, soothing words,
coaxing Hellequin forward like a charismatic man tempting a haggard woman to
do his bidding.

As if the ship understood and responded to his quiet urging Hellequin
lumbered across the event horizon, easing into the wavering throat of the
wormhole.

Once inside, the singularity's forward force catapulted them through the
reborn gateway.

A heartbeat and a millennium later, timeless, familiar constellations formed
an eternal fire against the perpetual twilight, welcoming ship and crew back
into their own universe.

end part 1

Let me know if you want more. The story is complete, but I'm doing a polish
and hope to post a chapter every couple of days if there is any interest


-- 
PEJA
The wwomb archive http://www.squidge.org/~peja/cgi-bin/index.php accepts all
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