Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (39 page)

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,”
the engineer replied impassively.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s packed with
enough high explosive to vaporize a star cruiser,” Abner answered
in an uninterested tone, “and any type of interpolated tapering
will detonate it as well.”

Benson just shook his head.
“You know, just once I’d like to have death not as being a mission
option.”

“That’s life in the
military,” Abner chuckled, but then his tone grew serious. “Start
to slow down, I think I’ve spotted it!”

The shuttle then began to
reverse thrust as it came upon the nearly invisible cylinder. Under
Abner’s guidance, Benson carefully aligned the shuttle to the
floating device. As the cylinder spun and idly rotated in space,
the shuttle’s control arms cautiously reached for it.

* * * * *

Tara
Nargis leaned casually against a bulkhead of the
Mariner
, just outside the
landing bay where the staff meeting was to be held. She, Martin
Pearl, and other captains and executive officers from the small
fleet from Cramer’s World were personally requested by Jerome Gris
to be in attendance. Her mind was fixated in imagining what new
contemptible task would be asked of them next.

As Tara
stood watching the comings and goings of “normal” military
personnel, she touched their inner most feelings and thoughts.
Although fear of the anticipated battle was a common theme, the
musing of the stationary
freak show
outside the bay temporarily interrupted
it.

The psychic woman heard all
the inner laughter or insulting comments of some passerby’s minds,
while sensing the revulsion or pity from others. All of it
magnified Tara’s own loathing and troubled feelings about
herself—and about her appearance.

* * * * *

Tara had once been an
exquisitely beautiful woman and a theatric star. Gifted in acting,
song, and dance; she had delighted millions with her performances.
However, at the height of her career, she one day had met a simple
freighter captain. A gentle, strong, and morally upright man, much
like Nathan Wakinyan, she had quickly lost her heart to him. A
short time later, Tara had forsaken all the trappings of stage
success for the love of this enchanting starfarer, becoming his
wife. And Tara had never regretted any of it.

It was a good life, which
opened new doors of learning and adventure. Over the years, Tara
acquired and perfected the skills of a ship’s master, rivaling
those of her husband. In time, however, the urgings to settle down
grew, as so did her family.

With the birth of their two
daughters, it became imperative that the children know a stable
life. The couple then began to look for a safe haven that they
could call home. The one they chose was Cramer’s World.

However, the bliss that
they had sought ended a year later in horrid screams and the agony
of transmutation. People died as their bodies’ physiology rebelled,
replacing flesh, organs, and bones with outlandish substitutes—and
at an accelerated pace.

The plague ravaged
everyone; not even Tara and her family were spared. First her
husband and then her children succumbed to the mysterious illness,
and it did not stop there. After killing Tara’s family, it infected
her and transformed Tara into what she saw as a hideous gargoyle—a
pseudo human being. Yet, the transmutation carried some unexpected
benefits with it. It nearly doubled the capacity of her brain,
endowing her with physic abilities and higher intelligence. But
this meant little to Tara, who deeply felt the loss of her family
and looked upon her own misfortune as a curse.

The new
awareness allowed Tara to know the truth about many things that
were hidden in the minds of others, and for it, she wished she
herself dead. Above the pain of her personal loss, it created new
agonies for the once beautiful woman. No one wanted to look upon
Tara, afraid of even remotely socializing with her. No one wanted
to touch the monstrous
freak
called Tara Penelope Nargis. It was easy for her
to cognized why whenever she looked into a mirror. It was her
living nightmare that emulated hell itself.

* * * * *

As self-pity consumed Tara,
an approaching commotion caught her and the other mutants’
attention. Military personnel were being ordered to step aside.
Against walls they threw themselves, as sharp commands and yells by
several Martian Marine officers motivated their response. The
uniformed mariners did so speedily to let a small group pass down
the corridor unhindered.

As the group drew nearer,
Tara pushed herself away from the bulkhead to get a better view.
She quickly recognized the unmistakable form of her friend Jerome
Gris, leader of the mutants of Cramer’s World. He was huge, over
seven feet tall: an incredible hulk of bluish-tan flesh. The mutant
leader was a man of overpowering strength, genius, and creativity.
It was he who not only made the pact with Paladin, but was also the
architect and builder of the new Martian cities of
Valamars.

Gris was talking to a
smaller, muscular Martian officer of apparent Native American
origin. Tara quickly recognized the aura surrounding the military
man. It glowed with a brilliance of purity, honor, and bravery. She
saw this once before in her mind; it belonged to the “knight” who
had rescued her and her fleet.

Tara quickly became
attentive to every word and thought, for the warrior touched
something deep within, stirring loving memories of her dead
husband. Suddenly, Jerome stopped and pointed her out to the
advancing Lakota warrior. Wakinyan’s eyes then locked on Tara with
a great curiosity that expanded into interest. Tara was startled by
his spontaneous reaction, and stood motionless as the group came
upon her.

“Commander,” Jerome
explained, “this is the woman I’ve been telling you about. I want
you to meet, Captain Tara Nargis.”

Wakinyan smiled as their eyes momentarily met.
However, Tara quickly swiveled her head away in a jerk and dropped
it in embarrassment of her own considered ugliness. The woman’s
eyes shut, closing the door between them. She did not want this
handsome man to look upon her—and then recoil from her grotesque
appearance.

“Tara,” Jerome introduced,
“this is Commander Richard Wakinyan.

Still, she did not move nor
answer, hoping somewhere inside that they would go away.

Unexpectedly, a hand
reached over and gently took her chin with a thumb and forefinger.
The hand guided her head upwards and towards the front again. Tara
opened her eyes and then came face-to-face with the leader of all
Martian military forces.

“Hello, Miss Nargis,” Wakinyan’s voice softly
greeted tenderly in a disarming smile. “So you are the brave and
resourceful woman I’ve been talking to!” his tone was filled
genuinely with appreciation and approval.

Tara
tried to stumble out some words, but she was caught completely by
surprise. He was gracious and extremely kind. Yet there was
something else; he was not disgusted or reviled by her looks at
all. Instead, her features had swung open the memories to
Wakinyan’s past, and he reached out to her with a mental hug of
nostalgic affection. Tara saw the fondness he once held for an
alien woman called “O’lan-te-ahh” and how Tara reminded him of her.
But beyond that, Wakinyan discerned something special in Tara. He
also thought Tara to be—
quite
cute
—and Wakinyan even wondered what it
would be like to kiss her. Tara blinked uncontrollable at the
startling revelation of the handsome man’s thoughts, and then
trembled while fighting to hold back tears. For “her knight” openly
saw her through eyes that could love.

“Mr. Gris has been telling
me of some of your remarkable abilities,” Richard endeavored to get
Tara to speak.

But Tara continued
quivering speechless as she tried to look away again. Richard,
however, did not let her.

“Tara,” Wakinyan bided
with an amiable familiarity, as he held her head steady, “time is
short, and I am very much in need of your abilities. Please. Won’t
you help me—and all the people of our planet?” he asked in almost a
pleading tone.

Meekly she signaled an
“okay” with a nod.

Wakinyan released her chin
and took hold of her hand. “You will stand next to me,” he declared
softly. And with that, he escorted her into the hanger, much to the
chagrin of all around who did watched.

Tara’s chest heaved deeply,
but slowly as they walked together. She clearly sensed their life
energies caress and entwine delicately around each other in a
graceful dance. This dared her to push herself physically closer
into him, allowing their bodies to come into full contact—and their
souls to slightly merge. She was immediately filled with a vibrance
that felt amazingly wonderful and warm. However, something else
stirred in the ether between them. Sad tidings were drawing nearer
to Wakinyan once again, attracted like a magnet. And from the
unalterable sacrifices that would be made, the destinies of all
were to be shaped.

A tear leaked out of each
of her eyes in solace for the devastating grief the loss would
bring upon him. Out of respect for this, Tara stepped back away
from Wakinyan and allowed him the last few precious moments of
unrealized anguish. Unknowing of what Tara perceived, Wakinyan
guided her through the bay.

Despite its massive size,
the bay was over-heated in body temperature. This gave rise to the
unmistakable aroma of pungent sweat that filled the humid air. It
seemed so heavy at times that some members of the assembly found it
disgusting and the smell grew more offending as each second
passed.

The
enormous gathering of officers impatiently awaited the arrival of
their new commander to the deafening sounds of nervous chatter that
reverberated incessantly. The topic of each conversation, however,
remained the same: the engagement with the Earth fleet. Many were
afraid and loudly voiced their opinions about how dire the
situation really was, or how unsure they were about being lead by
Wakinyan. Disagreeing words were openly traded, some very heatedly
as tempers began to flare the longer the wait continued. The
debates finally died into echoes, however, as Major Franks’ voice
finally boomed over a loudspeaker, “ATTENTION!” All became as
planks as they gazed up at the
savage
leading a
freak
on top of a work scaffold that
substituted as a podium.

Wakinyan stopped in the middle of the platform, and
eyed the crowd in an unblinking and craggy stare. A face of stone
dared anyone to challenge his authority. None did.

Tara stood next to Richard
with her hand still clutched in his tight grip. She glanced from
him to the crowd, and then back again. Easily, she felt the tension
rise within the space around her; it was dense—almost
suffocating.

“What are they thinking?”
Richard whispered to her.

Tara paused to touch each
mind. There was a slight glow to her eyes that was mostly
undetectable as she reached out.

“They’re scared—and very
unsure of you being in charge,” Tara faithfully reported. Suddenly,
her head dropped with an expression of sorrow, and she found it
difficult to speak. Richard easily saw that there was more in their
thoughts.

“Tara? What else?” he asked
softly, prying for information.

Tara, however, pursed her
lips in a lock. She apparently was hesitant to say.

“Tara—the truth,” Richard
asked again.

“There is no hope among
them!” Tara admitted as she looked back at Richard. “They have
surrendered to death!”

“I see,” Richard responded
to the grim news. He looked out among the gathering and visualized
in his own mind the blackness that consumed each soul. “Well then,”
he spoke with determination. “I guess I better do something about
it.”

With a deep breath, the
proud Lakota warrior took a step forward.

“STAND AT EASE!” Richard
turned and shouted out. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am not here to win
any popularity contest. I know that there is a faction among you
out there that doesn’t think too highly of me,” Wakinyan provoked.
“Frankly—I don’t give a damn!”

Each member was slightly
taken back by Wakinyan’s honesty.

“But what I do give a damn
about—is the helpless people on our transport ships! They are
relying on us not only for their protection and safety—but their
salvation! AND WE ARE NOT GOING TO LET THEM DOWN!” Wakinyan shocked
the crowd with his sudden outburst of raised voice in an
unequivocal promise.

“As you already know, we
are faced with an extremely difficult situation,” Wakinyan
continued, “and I want it to be crystal clear to each and everyone
of you—what exactly is at stake!”

Wakinyan then signaled to
Trager with a waver of his hand. The Earth command officer strode
onto the platform and to Wakinyan’s side.

“This is
Commander Trager, former first officer of the
ESS Quinton
. And if any of you don’t
recognize the name, it the flagship of the Crimson Fleet—the same
fleet that destroyed Mars—the same fleet that’s headed here!”
Richard informed. “I do believe he has a few things to say to you.
Commander,” Wakinyan beckoned the man to lecture.