[Makebelieve] Fic: Mark Of Cain 4

[makebelieve archive]

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CHAPTER FOUR

A flash of bright green on the Navigation panel set the sensitive nerves
jangling in the back of Ian's neck. "Hey, boss, they be scanning us."

Dalton's chilled glance flicked over the beacon. "So they know we're here."
A lazy half-smile curved his lips. "But they don't know who or what we are."


Paris snorted disparagingly. "What's up with that? We just gonna sit here
like clay decoys waiting for them to shoot us out of space? Adric could well
be needing...."

"Patience, Paris," Dalton murmured, rubbing his hands together in a
slow-moving circle. "Adric is among his own kind, remember? One must assume
he is safe and reasonably happy with his people. A few hours more or less
will not be the death of him."

"No," Paris snapped stabbing Dalton with a hard glare. "But you might be
though, huh?"

Dalton smiled. "Quite." He turned his attention to the watchful pilot. "Ian,
how long before we're within range of the planet's defenses?"

Intuitive short hairs quivered at the nape of Ian's neck once more as he
consulted his starchart. Acting on his own nervous suspicions, he called for
the planet's historical stats, scanning them before he finally responded.
"We're approaching orbital range. Unless Planet Security breaks their
standard defense pattern and send out a patrol, I'm thinking we're probably
safe until we make an initial orbit."

"Is that option open to us at this time?"

"The power levels be giving us the window we expected. We have a wee bit of
time to stay out and observe before we commit to landing or no. I'm asking
how you want to play this one, boss?"

Dalton's crooked smile flashed. "Put us in a stationary LEO over this
colony." He pointed toward a remote section on the fifth smallest land mass.
"Then, as you say, let's feel them out before we commit ourselves."

"I dinna remember that being what I asked."

"No?" Dalton asked. "I must have heard you wrong."

"Aye, that ye did." Ian squirmed as the cold fingers of premonition twisted
his guts. "Dal, are you sure ye want to do this? There be danger...."

"I am aware of the danger. Initiate the orbit."

Nodding, Ian offered up a prayer to the elemental gods that he was as
skilled as he often boasted. "Domani, compute the orbital coordinates."

Domani instantly rattled off a series of numbers.

Not wanting to kick the sequence, Ian repeated the numbers aloud, laying in
the coordinates. He urged the crippled ship into the requested flight plan,
locking in the orbit. "Orbit achieved."

His concerned gaze lingered on the instruments before him.

"Problems?" Dalton asked softly.

"I'm nay sure. The sensors indicate a high degree of gravitational activity.
'Tis fluctuating erratically." He scowled, making several minor adjustments
in the flight plan. "Effecting our trajectory, Dal. Our orbit is dangerously
unstable."

"And?"

"'Tis my opinion, if this contues, the orbit could decay at any moment."

"Serious enough to cause immediate danger to the ship?" Dalton demanded,
consulting his own monitor. "Or can you handle it?"

Ian sighed. "I be on top of it for the time. We should be safe enough,
unless it suddenly goes way off scale."

"There you have it, then. You'll just have to keep an eye on the flux. Let's
not panic without due cause."

"As you say," Ian muttered. "Without due cause me furry ass." Leaning back
in the enveloping flight chair, he sucked a deep breath through his teeth,
pressed the heels of his hands into his gritty eyes, and tried to relax.

As Ian's hands fell back to his controls, a slight movement drew his
attention toward Communications and his much cherished handfast bride. He
was swamped by another warning wave of anxiety, this one coming from her.

"Dal, the planet is hailing," Yessenia said. "They're demanding we identify
our vessel. Explain why we invaded their trade zones without proper
authorization. Do I comply?"

Dalton's silver-blue gaze glowed. "Considering our reasons for being here,
Sennia, I don't think it would be a good idea." His glance swept the bridge.
"Go to alert, people. Let's find out if this planet is as bad as it's
painted."

The crew responded quickly, each one knowing what was expected after sixteen
months together, bringing his current station to active alert in total
silence.

"The planet's hailing again." Yessenia broke communications with a flip of
her wrist, grinning wickedly. "Contact is terminated. As per instructions."

Dalton acknowledged her with a curt nod. "This is it, people. Things are
going to heat up now, or not, depending on the mood of planet security. Ian,
special attention to that gravitational flux."

"I'm on top of it, boss. 'Tis knowing my job, I am."

"That, I think, is going to be put to the test. I hope you are up to it."

"Count on it."

"I'm afraid we are forced to trust your skills, Ian," Dalton said dryly.
"Paris, monitor the planet. Report any hostile activity."

Paris was already bent over his sensors. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"Domani, increase magnification of the planet to maximum. I want to know if
anyone so much as spits into the wind in our direction."

"Maximum intensity now."

The planet blossomed fully over the screen, blotting out the stars and
catching Ian's attention. He had to admit this was a pretty planet, done in
hues of pinks, lavenders and misty grays with just enough green spreading
out from the equator to make it ascetically pleasing.

Still, past experience had taught that the beauty of a planet often
disguised the inner ugliness of spirit that dominated sentient beings. If
the report he'd just read was true, this planet and its inhabitants were
isolationists. And ranked high among the worst offenders.

"Do you require a rundown on the planet?" Domani asked, drawing Ian's
attention.

"That won't be necessary," Dalton assured him. "Euzkadi was settled by the
banished Basque Nationals when they refused to bow down under the pressure
of the world order and mix their bloodlines. It seems this particular band
of people had managed to keep the bulk of their population pure from the
beginning of recorded history. Am impressive accomplishment. And one they
were quite determined not to have undermined. Even for the betterment of the
so called human nation."

"How did they avoid wholesale slaughter," Arissa wanted to know. "Your own
line was slated for eradication?"

"It would be bad form to massacre an entire race because it would not
conform. So, like the telepaths, psychics, healers, whatever, they were
disposed of in a...humane manner."

"And sent off world to die a quiet death," Paris added.

"Or to be harvested for slave labor as the mood struck them," Ian grumbled.

"Yes, Ian, death or slavery were the desired results, but the Euzkadi and
several other hardy races, yours included, have confounded homeworld desires
and survived. Even on your world, your people have won more than they have
lost."

"'Twas nay enough to save me, was it?" Ian demanded. "To save Miramani."

"The past can not be undone, Ian," Dalton said. "Just overcome. Your twin
knew that."

"Forget all that for now," Paris interrupted. "It seems the Euzkadi have
flourished."

"After a manner of speaking, yes. It took the Euzkadi, with a minor helping
hand from the Coalition, two hundred and fifty years, but they finally
managed to bring certain areas the planet up to a spectral class G2 rating
through massive terraforming."

"I thought you said they were a banished colony. Doesn't that usually mean
total disassociation?"

"Not when the planet has something the homeworld wants."

"And Euzkadi has something they want?"

"Indeed they do. The planet turned out to be rich in several heavy elements
vital to the space industry."

"But why would Earth give this planet to a banished race if they could use
it themselves," Paris asked.

"The survey team sent here obviously got careless. Did not realize the
planet's value until the Euzkadi were already settled. It was in their favor
that they held title to the planet before they approached homeworld with the
news of their value. The Coalition was forced to aid in terraforming the
environment in exchange for mineral rights."

"Ingenious."

"The Euzkari are an ingenious people. Mind you, the Coalition only bothered
with the equatorial areas. That was where they found the mineral resources
they needed. The polar regions are not yet habitable."

"Sounds like you've done your homework," Paris sneered.

"I always do. It keeps us alive."

"It keeps you alive," Paris snapped, his hazel eyes flashing angrily. "We'll
only survive as long as our lives are convenient to you."

Dalton's gaze glowed, darkening to an angry sapphire. "We'd all be a lot
better off if you concentrated your attention on the sensors," he warned
softly. "Everything else is better forgotten until we're out of danger."

"Commander, I have the battle computer online," Domani said, capturing
Dalton's startled glance.

"How?"

The man shrugged. "It is standard procedure to bring the computer online in
any dangerous situation. I gave it a shot."

Dalton nodded. "I doubt we should depend very heavily on the computer.
However, since Yama seems to have rallied himself enough to get the battle
computer back on our side, why don't you give stealth a try, Arissa? Just
the defensive shields, mind. Nothing else. After all, they have already
sighted our ship."

"Initiating." She thumbed the lever beside her left hand. "Shields are
activated." Her black eyes remained fixed on her terminal. "The power is
coming up. We'll reach full power in three. Two. One." Her smile was
dazzling. "Power on, Dal."

A red beacon suddenly began a rhythmic flash in the middle of her console.

"Damn," she whispered, running her slender fingers over the controlboard.

Dalton scowled. "Report."

"We've got trouble."

A sardonic half-smile pulled at his lips. "I had surmised that."

"Isn't that nice for you," she grumbled, re-routing power through the
shields. "Ah, double damn." She slammed a frustrated fist against the panel
when the controls refused her commands. "Domani, system check."

Leaning across the console, Domani punched in several diagnostic checks,
then turned to meet Dalton's serene gaze. "Commander, there's been a failure
in the defense system. Shields are non-operational."

Dalton nodded thoughtfully. "And the battle computer?"

"I am sorry, Commander."

Sighing, Dalton glared toward the planet. "Wonderful."

"Commander." Domani looked up from the second terminal under his control.
"It appears we are trapped in an energy damper." He met Dalton's stare. "The
damper originates on the planet."

"And this damper?" Dalton said softly. "It is directed at our defenses?"

"That is correct, Commander."

Paris threw Dalton a heated glare. "Caught like mice."

"Ian," Dalton snapped. "Do we still control navigation?"

"Sure and we do, boss."

"Then break us the hell out of this damn orbit," he growled, his voice thick
with frustration. "Take us away from the planet."

"I've already laid in the coor...." The Hellequin shuddered violently,
bringing Ian up short. "What in the name of Hell?"

"What's happening?" Paris cried, his pupils dilated by terror.

"Arissa," Dalton snapped. "Report."

Her dark head was already bent over the sensors. "Checking." Then, "It's a
grav beam, Dal. The planet's locked us in a drag. I'd wager that's what was
interfering with the orbit before. They probably hit us with an intermittent
beam to test our power," she shouted over the howl of the stardrive.

"Ian, counter it."

"I canna. We dinna have power to pull out."

"My God, I don't believe this." Arissa swiveled around, catching Dalton's
heated gaze. Her own eyes wide and frightened. "Dal, they've increased the
attraction. They're pulling us into the atmosphere."

Paris bolted to his feet. "We'll burn up."

"Sit down, Paris," Dalton snapped. "Ian, there might be power if you
redirect everything else. No, don't argue. Just get me full reverse. Hit
those thrusters hard. Bleed them dry if you must, but break us free."

Ian gave one, quick nod. "Attempting full reverse."

The screaming force of the retros sent Paris reeling back into his seat.
"She can't hold up under this kind of strain," he cried, turning to Ian in
desperation. "Can she?"

Ian scowled at the frightened man. He didn't have time to answer stupid
questions. Not now.

Squashing the pain of his protesting shoulders into the far recesses of his
mind, he concentrated on the struggle he waged against the grav beam.

"Can she, Ian?" Paris pressed.

Didn't the man ever let up. "I'm thinking we're about to find out."

"Power at twenty percent," Arissa shouted as a second warning beacon flashed
before her eyes. "How about it, Ian? Can we break free?"

"Break free, hell," Ian said, his emerald eyes glowing. "'Tis lucky I'll be
if I can keep her in one piece. Face it, people. We're going down." He
leaned into the controls, adjusting the rate of thrust. "'Tis only a matter
of how we get there."

The color drained from Paris' gaunt face. "We're going to burn up."

Grimacing, Dalton shook his head, dismissing the man without a word and
turned his clear, veiled gaze back to Ian. "Can you control our descent?"

Ian grunted. "'Tis sure as hell I'm going to give it me all. We've a slim
chance if I can keep her at a slow, controlled glide. I be warning ye,
though, 'tis a delicate piece of flying. If they're increasing the beam too
much in compensation for our drag, we could be forced into an entry pattern
with too damn much angle. On the up side, if that happens, we've got nay
more worries."

The ominous sound of an explosion filled the bridge, halting the nervous
flow of his words.

"Stabilizers," Dalton shouted, saving himself from a nasty fall by grabbing
his console. "Domani, what caused that?"

"We've lost the stardrive, 'tis what," Ian snapped before the other man
could respond. He applied a short burst of thrust, bringing the shuddering
ship back into the easy, gliding descent.

"Switch to impulse," Dalton commanded.

"Ian just blew the last of our impulse reserve, Commander," Domani informed
him without emotion.

"Blood of the virgin," Ian grumbled. "I'll be having to attempt a forward
slip to bring her down, but from this altitude.... If anyone's knowing any
prayers, now might be a good time for saying them."

"What's it mean?" Paris squealed, clutching the arms of his seat, his eyes
squeezed tight.

Ian glared at the panicking man. "'Tis meaning we be going to crash."

"Crash?" Paris screamed. "Crash?" His liquid hazel glance darted around the
bridge desperately, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "Crash, hell.
You mean we're going to die."

"Well now," Dalton drawled. "That remains to be seen. Why don't you shut the
hell up. Let Ian concentrate on getting us to the surface alive."

He paused, catching Ian's bleak glance and the quick shake of his head
before Dalton returned his brooding attention to Paris. "None of us need
hearing your fears right at this minute, and it's a little too late to try
crawling inside a bottle. Save it."

"Commander," Domani drew Dalton's attention. "I am reading signs of extreme
stress along the outer hull."

Dalton sighed, frowning. "Do what you can." His remote glance moved slowly
over the bridge. "Just hold her together for a few minutes more."

"I will do my best, Fa....Commander."

The ship dipped dangerously, wavering from side to side.

Ian, his shoulders and back screaming for release from the trembling burn of
exhaustion, dragged back heavily on the flight controls. "Hold on. This
promises to get a little rough."

"Activate the external buffers, Domani," Dalton snapped.

"Buffers activated," Domani threw over his shoulder. "The hull is
overheating. Going critical." He flipped a lever near his hand. "I have
activated the coolants, Commander."

A piercing whistle sounded from Communication. Yessenia leaned over her
console, straining to hear the incoming message over the roar of impending
disaster.

She suddenly sat bolt straight, fury blazing in her brilliant emerald eyes.
"Those bloody-minded, murdering bastards."

Dalton quirked a thick, black brow, his lips twitching with suppressed
amusement. "Problems?"

She swiveled her station around toward him, the anger coming off her in
palpable waves. "Planet Security demands a report on the ship's distress.
They want to know if their grav beam is responsible. Seems they think they
can assist us, control our rate of descent, if we hand over computer
control."

A dark dragon's laugh erupted from deep in Dalton's chest. "Ignore the
fools, Yessenia. Break contact. They have done enough damage trying to force
us down. They sure as hell can't help us now. Not if this is an example of
their control."

Amazed Dalton could laugh so freely in the face of imminent death, Ian
instinctively cast a mental probe in his direction.

And was rocked to his soul.

The intrusive read didn't reveal even a trace of fear in the man who
commanded them. Only calm acceptance, and perhaps, a deep-seated hunger for
the danger.

Could Dalton actually have that little emotion? Could any man be so out of
touch with his own humanity, with his own mortality, and not lose what made
him human?

"You Medusan infidel," Dalton snarled, jerking Ian back to himself. "You've
got a job to do. One that doesn't include checking out my thoughts. Keep out
of my head."

Before Ian could respond, the Hellequin nosed down into a deadly dive.

Acting on the most basic need to survive, Ian forgot his intrusive behavior
and struggled against the superior pull of the gravitation beam. Fought
until finally, in heart-stopping inches, he somehow managed to haul the ship
out of the blood-chilling plunge.

"Fifteen seconds to impact," Domani shouted over the roaring engines.

"Activate station buffers," Ian snapped, managing to hold the ship steady
while he wriggled into his own, less confining, safety harness.

With his restraints finally in place and secured, Ian cast a mournful glance
over his immobilized friends. "'Tis fun, it's been," he mumbled, his words
cloaked by the screaming stardrive.

Then it was too late...Even for prayers.

The Hellequin shuddered under the first resounding impact, slashing through
the top branches of a thick, lemon-yellow forest.

The force of collision tore through Ian's body, wrenching his already
exhausted arms in their joints. Sharp, thrusting pain stabbed though his
chest and shoulders.

The ship, a stone tossed from a careless hand, bounced off tree tops.
Skipping, bobbing, it sheared through the branches before sinking swiftly
into the swirling, liquid darkness.

Hard earth reached up hungrily to meet the disabled ship and with a
resounding crash, the maimed spacecraft skidded, bounced, out of control.

The age dulled hull, superheated from entry, cut a deep swath through the
standing timber until, finally, the star-rover slammed into the immovable
face of a rocky cliff.

The force of this last, violent impact tore the crew from the protection of
their malfunctioning buffers. Flailing bodies hurled from their restraints,
reeling through the air, and smashed viciously against walls and consoles,
before landing in scattered heaps, like five broken dolls on the buckled
floor.

Ian, still secured by the back-up restraints, shuddered and dropped his face
into trembling hands.

It was beyond belief, but he somehow managed to survive.

But had he really survived? Or was it possible he'd been delivered into some
private hell the dark energies had prepared for him? Had he been received
into the land of purgatory that waited for all of them at the end of their
lives?

Was he really alive?

Or was he actually dead and dreaming?

end part 4



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