TITLE: BROTHERS OF THE BLOOD: MARK OF CAIN

AUTHOR: PEJA

FANDOM: ORIGINAL FIC/SCIFI

RATING: R, FOR VIOLENCE

SUMMARY: A defeated band of mercenaries search for one of their missing in action and fid more than they expected.

ARCHIVE: NO, unless by special permission

Brothers Of The Blood: Mark Of Cain

By Chance Lee

The silent alarm dead center on his science console winked blood-red catching Dalton St Moritz of the corsair star cruiser Hellequin full in the eye and for one eternal moment he went deathly still.

Until a second throbbing flash freed him.

"Once," his words were a low dragon's purr rumbling 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 glimmered tauntingly up at him.

"Ah-h, right. That'll happen. 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."

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

"If it benefitted you."

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

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

Chuckling 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.

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. "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.

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 a 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 glaring at the glittering report. "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 colar 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 must have 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 were wrapping tighter and tighter around the noncommissioned privateer. A quick atmospheric check verified 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. 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?"

Daltona whirled his station full around, fire spitting from his blue gaze. "Do not provoke me."

Vertigo splashed over him like a sudden summer rain, 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 unmoving 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 the dimensional flux, 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." Then, "Something in this sector apparently interferes with human bio-electric fields. Packs some damn nasty vertigo."

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 nuclear 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 guess 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.

CHAPTER TWO

Brushing his little finger under his upturned left hand, Dalton repeatedly signed, `Almost. Almost.' Catching himself in the betraying gesture, he tightened his hands into white-knuckled fists. "Ian, report our status?"

"Amazingly enough," Ian rotated the flight module around and back toward Dalton's station on the raised, rear quarterdeck with a casual prod by his booted toe. "'Tis seeming we've dropped into the proper Euzkadi flight zones."

Dalton grunted, trying his legs. The crippling vertigo was gone, leaving behind only a vague distaste. "I'm glad to hear it."

"With relative success, I might be adding," Ian continued.

Dalton lifted a questioning brow. "Not before time."

"No before time?" Ian jerked straight in his seat. "That's all ye'll be saying, is it?"

Dalton met his gaze with practiced cool. "Yes. I believe it is."

Grinning a bit rakishly, Ian tug the silver devil's skull-and-crossbones encrusted with fiery red jewels that dangled from his left ear. "Aye, and ye be a right ungrateful man, I'm telling ye."

"You think so?"

Ian snorted. "Here I'm doing the impossible, bringing us back from the pits of hell," he complained, his thick brogue going syrupy. "And am I getting so much as a good man from ye? Nay. 'Tis dead insensitive ye are. Ye value me no."

A smile, rich with dark satisfaction, ghosted over Dalton's lips. "You expect praise for proving I was correct in bringing you onto my crew roster." He shook his head. "I should think it fortunate I am such an excellent judge of expertise, do you not agree?"

Ian's laugh rippled over the bridge. "I'll be taking that as a thank you, then."

"If it pleases you," Dalton said through an answering dark chuckle.

The light moment ended as quickly as it came, as a sudden thoughtful shadow crept over Ian's craggy features, swallowing his humor. "Ye know, I'm no completely convinced our making it through was nay a simple matter of luck."

"Luck?" Dalton drifted between the divided brass railings that encircled the flight level and down two steps toward his pilot. "Luck is a fool's explanation for destiny." His restless gaze drifted toward the main screen. "Can you pinpoint our arrival on Euzkadi?"

Sighing dramatically, Ian slanted him a grim look. "It's depending on Hellequin, it is."

"Damnation. Why can't I get a simple answer?" Shaking his head, Dalton sighed. "Forget I said that. You don't need to tell me where the problem lies."

Hellequin was an ancient relic. Even at the best of times she'd proven unreliable.

This was not the best of times.

"All right. Give me your professional estimate."

"Professional estimate, is it?" Ian folded his arms over his chest, studying the familiar configuration of the stars with a learned eye.

"Well?"

"We're here." Ian traced his index finger along the starchart, setting the jeweled death's-head signet ring he wore aglitter. "Euzkadi is there. If I'm having to guess, I'd say about ten minutes on the low end of the scale."

He tilted the flight module back away from the controlboard and cupped his palms over blood-shot eyes. "On the high side, fifteen."

"Fifteen minutes." A dangerous dragon's smile quirked Dalton's lips. "I'll have the truth soon, then."

"Aye, whatever that's meaning," Ian slit his lashes open. "But I gotta tell you, I'm definitely no looking forward to the end of this cursed flight."

"Explain."

"You dinna need me telling you what's coming."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps I would simply like to hear how you are sizing up our situation." He smiled grimly. "Come now. Indulge me."

"You're wanting to hear what I anticipate, is it?" Ian flailed the air with his hands. "Okay, the way I'm seeing it, the problem comes after we reach planetfall. We simply dinna have enough power to maintain a standard orbit for more than a few wee minutes. An hour at most.

"If we're meaning to hang around, and I'm willing to bet my life we are, sooner or later I'll be getting the order to land this temperamental lady, or at least attempt bringing her down. All without the computer making adjustments for any atmospheric abnormalities or, dare I say it, pilot error."

"You anticipate pilot error?"

Ian grimaced. "Ye just keep asking the impossible, Dal. Landing one of these rovers be a dead delicate maneuver even during simulation with complete computer control. They're designed for docking in orbit, no to touch earth."

"I understand your frustration, Ian," Dalton commiserated, hesitating for an instant before he dropped a comforting hand onto Ian's shoulder for the briefest of moments. "But I also know if it comes to it, you'll get us down. Down and safe."

Ian sent him a grimly appraising glance. "Your word? Or God's?"

A lazy, half-smile tugged at the corner of Dalton's lips. "Mine."

Ian's jade gaze flickered rebelliously for an instant, then he shook his head, chuckling. "Aye, it's your word I'll be taking."

"Yes, you will," Dalton said, hoping he had spoken the truth.

But he knew all too well the trouble they were in. The crew was dealing one-on-one with even the most minor of contingencies. Each correction they made created a waterfall effect that demanded new corrections.

Just holding the course was a cat-and-mouse game with deadly consequences. The proof being the wormhole incident they had just survived.

Barely.

Landing this particular ship, in its current state of disrepair, would be successful only if Ian possessed the skill and training to prevent them ending a bloody mess.

Undoubtedly Ian did have the skill. Dalton wouldn't have ordered Yessina to break deep cover from her position in Alpha Level Government Security to recruit the impulsive young man for primary pilot on this ship if he hadn't.

But even so, it didn't take genius to realize the impending landing, implemented without automatics to stabilize against outside hostile forces, natural or conceived in the minds of men, would definitely jumpstart the crew's hearts.

No. Ian needed the navigation computer operational at that crucial moment of descent. And that just wasn't likely to happen. Not the way things had gone up to this point.

Still, if Ian could swing a little of his infamous luck, if Dalton dared trust chance just this once, he reckoned Ian could manage the landing without killing everyone on board.

So long as the Euzkadi didn't throw an axe in the works.

"Arissa, have intercepters been launched?"

"Scanners read all clear, Dal." The petite, black haired woman seated in the right section of Operations rotated around toward Dalton. "Shall I activate stealth?"

Dalton's full lips twisted in a tight grimace. "We can't afford the drain on our energy reserves. Provided we still have any reserves left."

She sent him a searing smile. "I'm remedying that even as we speak."

"Given the current status of the ship, that's a neat trick if you can pull it off."

"I can pull it off, all right."

"You intrigue me, cara mia. Care to explain?"

She nodded. "You remember Hellequin's hull is laminated with solar cells?"

"Yes," he said dryly. "I also recall those cells were decommissioned until I made repairs on them. I have not done so as of yet."

"But I did," she told him, casting him a seductive, sideways glance. "It was meant to be a surprise."

"I don't as a rule like surprises, Arissa girl." A small smile curved his lips. "But this one pleases me. Tell me, cara, just exactly what benefits I can expect from this little gift of yours?"

"Not as much as you might like, Dal. The reserves are raising rapidly now we've regained normal space. But we're working with limited time. There's only so much energy the cells can process in the time allotted."

"You are hedging, my dear lady," Dalton purred. "How much power can I expect?"

She sighed. "We've currently got power for a temporary orbit. Perhaps another hour over the one Ian predicted. And a small measure for defense, but not much left over for anything fancy."

Dalton acknowledged the report with a curt nod. "I think it's time for some straight talk."

"No before time, if ye ask me," Ian mumbled under his breath.

Dalton arched one thick brow, acknowledging the remark, but otherwise let it pass. "You've all heard what's been said. That we daren't risk wasting our power levels without a damn good reason? And even then, it had better be a last ditch effort."

"It's in my mind that every effort we be making is a last ditch effort under the circumstances."

"Perhaps you're right, Ian. But we've already skirted a long string of problems on this flight. This lack of power is just one more added inconvenience."

Ian snorted crudely. "Inconvenience, is it?"

"The harsh fact is, the ship is crumbling around us."

I'm thinking we should have taken time for an overhaul," Ian grumbled, sparking Dalton's lurking temper. "But we dinna, and that's all right, too," he added quickly.

Glancing between the two men, Arissa grinned. "Sounds like a challenge."

"A challenge?" Dalton snarled, not at all liking the reminder that he was playing a dangerous game, staking his life, and theirs, against the odds.

And yet, he'd mastered the game long ago. The worse the threat, the higher the stakes, the better he came out ahead.

He faced danger knowing he lived on borrowed time. Beat the odds because he had nothing to lose.

It was the legacy left him by his revered great great grandfather when that great man had voiced his first protest against the Planetary Regime's policy of enforced racial blood-mixing. A legacy continued by his purist great grandfather and the doggedly determined son who followed.

A legacy that had, out of desperation, finally tainted his illustrious pure bloodline when his own dying father, bent on vengeance against those who had exposed him to biological poisoning, had entered into his mixed©blood conception, and with a Sicilian syndicate daughter, at that.

"Yes, it will indeed be a challenge," he said, reining his thoughts back to the situation at hand. "But one well met, I should think."

"Undoubtedly," she said, mimicking him with a knowing smile.

He gave her one last, harsh glare, then turned to include the rest of his crew. "It's confirmed in everyone's mind? If we hope to make a safe planetfall, we'll require every erg at our disposal. Not to mention a hell of a lot of luck?"

Ian lifted a questioning, bronze brow. "And now ye expect us to trust our survival to luck, is it?"

A short, mocking bark of laughter burst from his lips. "I leave nothing to trust. Least of all luck."

"You had me worried there for a wee moment."

Relaxing under the pilot's easy teasing, Dalton wandered past the steps, up the gentle slope of the outer rear quarter deck, then down the other side.

As he prowled the expanse of the upper bridge, his iced glance examined the faces of his crew, gauging their state of mind through his intimate knowledge of them.

"We'll be making our final approach soon," he broke the tranquility suddenly. "It could get busy then. If you have questions, ask them now. It might well be your last chance."

CHAPTER THREE

Dalton's quiet gaze swept the bridge crew once more, before settling on the woman seated at Operations. "Time to come clean, cara." His hushed words exploded with the quiet power of a minor atomic bomb.

Arissa slanted him a cautious glance. Then, pulling a resigned face, she lifted her chin and met his brutal stare fullªon. "I can't help wondering what we're doing out here. If this trip was a mistake?"

"You would, perhaps, care to expand on that thought?" Dalton suggested, his voice lowering dangerously.

A hot blush spread over her high cheekbones. "I wondered why we're going to Euzkadi in the first place."

"That is my private business, cara."

"Nothing's private when it endangers the rest of us. And I doubt these people could possibly have anything that might interest us."

"They have one thing that interests me," Dalton informed her. "Very much."

"Mayhap you'd be wanting to tell us what that's being, seeing as how tt's our lives you've put on the line," Ian said.

Moving to Dalton's side, Arissa rested a delicate hand on his chest and searched his shuttered eyes. "Dal, why are you being so secretive? What are you after?"

Dalton absently traced her delicate cheek, smiling darkly. "You will not like it, cara mia."

"Big change," Ian drawled. "We're no liking how we're being kept in the dark either, are we now?"

Dalton spread his hands before him, sighing. "Very well, then. The truth of the matter is I am following a lead concerning A Aztore."

"A Aztore? The Basque revolutionary?" Ian demanded, shooting to his feet. "You're telling us this is all about Adric Falcone?"

Dalton tipped his chin up, staring down his nose. "Exactly so."

"'Twas in my mind we'd determined ©A Aztore a dead issue. Literally."

Arissa laid a restraining hand on Ian's arm. "Dalton, what makes you believe Falcone can be found on this planet?"

"Adric is of Basque descent."

"Aye, it's common knowledge, that. So what?"

"Euzkadi is the predominant Basque dominion. It stands the test of reason that he would seek protection among his people."

"Come on, Dal," Ian said. "We've collected all manner of rumors concerning A Aztore."

"Quite true."

"And have done a right fine job of ignoring them for the most part."

"True again, but Domani believes he's tracked Adric to Euzkadi. His word is more than enough for me."

"We have reliable reports of his death," Arissa protested.

"The sheer number gives me cause to wonder."

"Ah, Judes, man, cut us a break," Ian snapped. "We've heard enough stories on that fabled one to keep us running in circles from here to the Second Coming if we've a mind to follow them all."

"As it is, we've run a damn long gauntlet," Arissa added. "From the computer reporting he'd landed his shuttle safely after your ship was engaged in battle over the Veegus homeworld where he was lost, too rumors of his death on Haven.

"Nothing we've discovered hints at even a chance that he's alive. So what makes this time so different? Why are we rushing to Euzkadi without taking the most simple preflight precautions?"

"The information comes from Domani."

"So you said. But what makes his lead more valid than the rest?"

Dalton's teeth flashed in a biting smile that never quite warmed the crystalline chill from his eyes. "Tell them," he commanded, nodding toward the man now seated alone at Operations.

Domani swiveled toward the quarreling trio. Under the lights, soft blue shades flickered beneath his pale skin, giving him a decidedly alien appearance.

"I have granted ©A Aztore and his fate a great deal of study," he said, his voice softly melodic. "In the end, I computed a line of cause-and-effect. From it, I was able to deduce the course he has chosen since he was lost. He is on Euzkadi."

Domani's startling silver gaze locked on Dalton. "A Aztore is alive, Commander. I am certain."

"Cause-and-effect?" Paris Sterling, a skittish, blonde man snapped, rounding the curved briefing area situated on the lower deck in front of Operations with a curious skipping step. "What is that, Domani?" he demanded, gulping from the wine glass he held in his hand. "Exactly?"

"Common knowledge tells us each action causes a reaction in the stream of reality. By tracing those reactions, I have track A Aztore through time and space."

Domani sought out Dalton's veiled gaze again. "There can be no question, Commander. A Aztore has a powerful life force. He leaves a strong mark on the space-time lines he travels through."

"Sounds like a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo, but for the sake of argument, let's say I accept it," Paris said. "It raises a whole set of questions, doesn't it? Like, if Adric's alive, why hasn't he made an attempt to contact us? Can any of you tell me why he hasn't let us know he was alive?"

He drew an agitated hand across his mouth. "Hell, we're supposed to be a team. Why would he hide from us? Why pretend to be dead? The very idea gives me the shivers."

"Mayhap A Aztore dinna want us finding him."

"And just what's that supposed to...."

Ian cut Paris' protests off with an up-held hand. "Be hearing me out. The war was hard on everyone it touched. We all lost, one way or another. Some lost more than anyone could have expected when we were induced to fight.

"Mayhap ©A Aztore was one of the big losers in the long run. Mayhap he had all the bloodbath he could stomach. 'Tis possible he found it easier to let himself be listed among the dead. After all, who has more freedom than a dead man?"

Paris flushed a deep angry red, waving his finger under Ian's nose. "You never knew Adric, but I fought at his side for a damn long time. A man gets to know how another man thinks when you depend on one another for survival." He flicked a hostile glance toward Dalton and drained the last of his wine. "Usually."

"Leave it alone, Paris," Dalton warned softly, plucking the empty glass from the man's hand and sliding it into a recycle cubby.

Paris watched the glass disappear with longing before adding, "Anyway, I guess I can vouch for Adric. And I'd swear he didn't abandon us willingly. He wouldn't do that. Never."

"Every man has a breaking point," Arissa said. "Even the most zealous."

Paris shook his head adamantly. "Not Adric. Never Adric."

"He hasn't made any attempt to contact us," Arissa pressed her point ruthlessly. "Don't fool yourself. We aren't hard to reach. Not if someone really wanted to get a message to us. Especially if that person knew our communications system as well as Falcone. But if he's actually alive, if he's simply concerned with staying alive, he might not rate his chances being very good running in our company."

"Rubbish," Paris maintained, though his voice quivered, lacking conviction.

"Is it? Domani, has Falcone been linked to any hostile activities directed at the Coalition since he was lost?"

"His name has not been mentioned in the Coalition terrorist bulletins. However, his erroneous death is a matter of public record." Domani lifted a brawny shoulder, giving a small shrug. "A Aztore has covered his tracks as well as any human could, Arissa. Everyone, including the Coalition, believes he is dead."

"Everyone." Dalton chuckled, waving his hand to include them all. "Except us, that is."

"A question," Ian said, then paused, coaxing a short burst of reverse thrust from the retros. The ship slowed, preparing for the final approach to the planet.

"If A Aztore is truly alive and disappeared by choice, if he has made a conscious decision to separate himself from this damn rebellion, what's making you think he'll join up with a wandering bunch of defeated rebels? Hell and we're nothing but mercenaries if the truth be known. Just trying to survive."

Dalton glided away from his crew, considering his answer with care. After a moment, he pivoted on his heel, and clasping his hands behind him, let his dangerous gaze slither chillingly over them. "Adric will come."

"Oh?" Paris questioned. "You think so?"

"He will come."

Paris rubbed the back of his neck, watching Dalton with open suspicion. "Tell me something, Dal. What's Adric been doing on Euzkadi all this time? Do you know?"

Dalton's heavy gaze rested on the fidgeting man, holding his silence.

Determination hardened Paris' hazel eyes. "Do you know, Dalton?"

"Oh, yes. I know."

Swallowing noisily, Paris gave his collar a jerk. "Well?"

Dalton scowled. The blasted man was behaving much like a small terrier with his teeth in a bone. A bone not so easily shared. One that would not go down at all well.

Still, unwilling or not, the question, once spoken, would not go away.

"Adric has been acting as a headhunter."

"A headhunter?" Arissa swung around, searching his carefully guarded features with wide, frightened eyes. "You must be joking? Or insane?"

Dalton cocked his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so."

"Christ's blood, Dal. What keeps him from turning us over to the patrols if we do find him?"

"That, cara mia, is the most beautifully predictable thing about his character. You see, Adric's got a virtually suicidal flaw. An inherent good will toward his fellow man."

"A headhunter with a soft heart? The job requirements deny such an idea. I repeat. What keeps him from rolling on us?"

"Adric will not betray us, Arissa. Even if he has gone over, he's still an idealist. More, he is indeed cursed with a soft heart, and an equally soft head." Dalton smiled sardonically. "And he once considered me a trusted friend."

"I don't believe this," Arissa squeaked. "You think he'll remain loyal because you were friends? Judes, Dal, we carry enough combined credits on our heads for most of our families to turn their backs on us. Damn a little thing like friendship."

Ian scowled, nodding. "The lass be right. If A Aztore's gone into the profession, he's nay about to stop and talk over old times. 'Tis more likely, he'll shoot us down. Collect the bounty. Cover his own ass."

"Adric will join us."

"What if he has other ideas, Dalton?" Paris demanded, gnawing at his white knuckles. "What then?"

"Not quite so sure of your idol?"

Paris shrugged. "Let's just say I'm nurturing a wait-and-see attitude under the circumstances, Riss. But I must admit I'm curious, considering this information, if it's true. Tell me, Dal, what will you do when Adric denies our hand of friendship? Hit him over the head with a hammer?"

A deadly gleam burned in the depths of Dalton's crystalline eyes. "Nothing so barbaric, my friend. No, if he has turned his colors, betrayed his self-proclaimed vow to my family, I'll simply kill him."

Kill him?" Paris blurted. "But why?"

Dalton's gaze glittered. "Adric is either with us or he is against us. If he is against us, he knows too much about us."

Yessenia shook her head, sending riotous red hair swirling around her waist. "Bullshit. You mean he knows too much about you, don't you, Dal? You and Paris."

The chill bite of Dalton's smile hit her like an arctic blast. "Quite right, my dear."

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." The lazy half-smile curved his lips. "But they don't know who or what we are."

"What's up with that? We just gonna sit here like clay decoys waiting for them to shoot us out of space?" Paris demanded. "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. "But you might be though, huh?"

Dalton smiled. "Quite. Ian, how long before we're within range of the planet's defenses?"

The 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 said."

"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. Making it dangerously unstable."

"And?"

"'Tis my opinion, 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.

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 his 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 and 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?