CJ Johnson, Writer
Men of Anderas
Men of Anderas
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Men of Anderas: JarDan
www.newconceptspublishing.com
July, 2009
“By the Ancients, JarDan! Why do you insist on continuing this voyage?” Dak yelled in
exasperation. “We have more than one hundred females in sleep chambers. If the other
travel crafts have been half so successful we’ll not have to make another trip to Earth for
years.”
The frustrated second-in-command glared in angry confusion at the stiff back of his
friend and liege. This voyage was taking its toll on the entire crew. Every day brought a new
case of space fatigue. So far, the cases were all mild. It wouldn’t be long before it affected
the highest levels of command. Even the commander, Tor JarDan.
Their travel craft had been in Earth’s orbital field for twelve months. No travel craft in the
history of Anderas had undertaken such an extended journey. From initial take-off to return
was never more than six months. Yet, JarDan showed no intention of returning to their world
nor would he explain his reluctance to leave.
Dak tried again to reason with his friend. “JarDan,” he began with forced calm, “you’re
the Commander of the Destiny and as such I’ll follow your orders without question.” He
ignored the snort from across the room. “The crew is restive and their concerns are valid.
Every hour we delay in leaving orbit puts all of us at risk. They deserve to know why you
refuse to leave. If you continue with this course of action, there will be trouble. I feel it.”
“Perhaps you should refer the crew to the page in their manual that deals with the Order
of Command of a Travel Craft.” Sarcasm tinged the deep voice as the dark-haired leader
turned from his perusal of the blue and white planet beyond the window port.
“If that fails to satisfy their curiosity then you might mention that I am the Prince of Tor.”
Dak drew himself to attention at the rebuke from his Commander. “My apologies, your
Highness. I will pass your message to the crew. I bid you good night.”
“Dak …”
The voice was soft but the command to halt was there, nonetheless. JarDan watched
as his best friend stood stiffly at attention.
“I’m sorry. My temper controls my tongue these days. You take advantage of the fact
that we’re as close as brothers. No other man would question my orders then dare to take
offense when I snap in anger.” Turning back to the window port he waited until he heard Dak
sit before continuing.
“I don’t know that I can explain what I don’t understand myself. This is our third trip to
Earth, but this time is different. There’s something pulling at me with all the force of an
electromagnetic field. I wake up in the middle of the night with such an overwhelming sense
of urgency that it takes all my willpower not to teleport --somewhere -- anywhere -- down
there. I can't stay away from this window. Watching. Waiting.”
JarDan turned and pinned his friend with a look, willing him to understand. “Does space
fatigue cause this kind of madness? Have I put the ship and crew in jeopardy because of
my fixation with this planet? I think of my father and know I need to return to Anderas, but I
cannot issue the order. I know without a doubt that my destiny is waiting down there and if I
leave Earth’s orbit I will regret it the rest of my life.”
Turning back to the window port and the beckoning planet below, JarDan sighed
deeply. “What’s down there, Dak?”
The buzz of the intercom interrupted any comment Dak might have made.
“Tor here.”
“Commander, you said to notify you if I noticed … you know … anything unusual, Sir.”
JarDan shook his head. “Yes, Ensign, I’m aware of my orders. What have you found?”
He shoved his hair back from his forehead. “And Ensign, short and to the point please.”
“Yes, Sir. Well, Sir, it’s a storm, Sir. A real killer, Sir. It will cause massive destruction,
Sir, in an area in central North America.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that, Ensign. They’re a common occurrence in that area.”
The deliberately patient tone of voice was a warning.
“Well, Sir.” Stammered the young man. “It’s difficult to explain, Sir.”
JarDan waited for several seconds before realizing the young man was not going to
offer further information. “Ensign!” He barked. “You have exactly ten seconds to make your
report -- officially -- or I will relieve you of your post. Is that clear? And one sir per sentence.”
JarDan shot a warning glance at his chuckling companion.
“Yes, Sir. The storm is not so unusual, Commander,” answered the navigator briskly. “It’
s the woman, Sir.”
“A woman?” His senses went on full alert. Something was happening. Something
important. He felt it in the quickening of his pulse.
“Yes, Sir. She’s standing knee-deep in mud and … she’s attacking her vehicle, Sir.”
“I’ll be right there. Captain Beldon will be in charge of the Flight Deck. Have the
Teleport Crew stand by for my orders.” He severed the connection before the young
navigator could begin another monologue.
“JarDan! Where are you going? You’re not even dressed!”
JarDan glanced at the flowing robe he wore, its distinctive white color and gold
embroidery a symbol of his royal heritage.
“Come on, Dak! There’s no time for me to change!”
“But where are you going?” Insisted Dak.
“Down there!” JarDan yelled, heading for the elevator, barefoot and wearing nothing but
the loose, caftan-type robe, a crooked grin spreading across his face. This tingling
awareness had to signify something. An end to his quest? By all the Ancient Prophets,
could this woman be the reason? Attacking her vehicle? In the middle of a storm?
Amazing!
* * * *
Melodie slid from the battered old truck, gasping as the thick, black mud sucked her feet
into its depths. Rain soaked her clothes, chilling her skin to goose-flesh. She strained with
the effort of lifting one foot then the other from the clinging mud. Using one arm to shield her
face from the driving rain and the other for balance, she struggled against the pull of the mud
and the buffeting wind. Every deafening explosion of thunder and blinding flash of lightning
emphasized the deadly consequences of her mad dash across the state. Pride goes
before a fall, Melodie Anne, and just look where it’s gotten you now. When all you have left
is pride and a truck with more rust and dents than paint, it’s hard to give it up.
If she could find the farmer who owned this field, she could beg the use of his tractor to
pull her truck from the mud. Since she hadn’t passed any houses in several miles, the
farmer had to live in the direction she’d been driving. The house should be fairly close, but
with the way her luck was running these days, she didn’t count on it. It was going to be a
cold, wet walk no matter how far. With a sigh of resignation, she took firm hold on her
determination and began the arduous task of fighting her way through the mud to the road.
As soon as she rounded the front of the truck the full force of the howling wind hit her
hard. Turning her back against the storm’s fury, she never saw the tree limb hurtling toward
her until it slammed into her back, knocking her face down into the mud. Her small measure
of emotional control snapped like the limbs of the falling tree that caused her to swerve off
the road, sailing across the fence into the mud. Struggling to her feet, she grabbed the limb
and beat against the hood of her truck.
“You miserable hunk of rusting junk! How could you do this to me? I’ve babied you for
years and this is how you repay me? It’s not fair! It’s just not fair.” She beat on the
defenseless truck until she had no energy left to fight. Exhausted, she lay across the warm
hood, cursing the pride that drove her from the safety of Reverend Simmons’ home into this
crazy dash across Missouri.
Finally, her tears and anger spent, Melodie knew she had to find shelter from the cold
rain. The truck was no longer an option since the entire passenger side of the front
windshield was gone, shattered by an exploding tree limb -- the same limb currently
embedded in the back of the passenger seat. She would have to abandon the truck until the
storm passed. The only building in sight was an old barn, one wall completely gone, the
other three listing to the side. It wasn’t much but she didn’t have time to be picky. The
danger lay in crossing the open field. She would be a walking lightning rod.
Before she had gone more than a few feet, she heard the unmistakable freight train roar
of an approaching tornado. Wiping water from her eyes, she watched the gyrating cyclone
perform a terrifying ballet across the pitifully few miles between it and the acres of open,
muddy field around her, moving closer and destroying everything in its path. There was no
refuge in the open field and no time to get to cover.
So this was it. She never expected her life to end this way -- nor so soon. Grandpa
used to say that everything happened for a reason. If the Good Lord felt you needed to
know what it was, He’d tell you -- just have a little faith. Melodie had no fear of death. She
believed strongly that her immortal soul would find a better world and this gave her strength.
Words like -- alone -- bankrupt -- homeless -- wouldn’t exist in Heaven.
She stood with calm acceptance as the tornado advanced with deadly precision,
sucking the very air from around her, knowing that soon she would see her family again.
Suddenly, a brilliant glow appeared in front of her. From this glowing orb of light
stepped a giant of a man. A man too perfect to be real. Long, dark hair and robes of white
and gold adorned his magnificent body – surely he was an angel sent to guide her passing.
His strong, powerful arms closed around her, offering warmth and security, drawing her with
him into the light.
Cradled in the embrace of the angel, Melodie watched in serene fascination as the
churning destructive force of the tornado ripped through the field around them. The truck,
her clothes, everything she had left in the world was at the mercy of the demonic wind.
Twisted metal and flying bits of rags were all that remained of the woman called Melodie
Smith.
“Close your eyes,” whispered the deep, masculine voice of her angel. “I’m taking you
somewhere safe.”
* * * *
“Dak!” Bellowed JarDan as he stepped from the teleport platform with the unconscious
woman in his arms. “Notify the MediCenter. I think she’s in shock.”
Without slowing his pace, the Prince of Tor carried the woman to the waiting elevator. A
team of medical personnel with a mobile stretcher waited just outside the door when the
elevator stopped. JarDan forced himself to place her on the stretcher but followed closely
while the team wheeled her into an examination tube. His reluctance to leave the woman’s
side strengthened his belief that she was the reason for his delay in returning home.
By the Ancients, he hated the smell of a MediCenter. Shutting his mind to the antiseptic
odors, he watched the six-member team scurry around attaching monitors and sensors to
the bed where the woman lay.
“Leave her to us, Commander.” Doctor Sladal stated, trying to usher the hovering
prince from the room. “She’s in no danger; merely wet and cold and suffering from her first
trip through a teleport unit. Surely you remember how debilitating such excursions are until
your body acclimates itself. You will do her more good by letting us do our job.”
“Stop treating me like a five-year old, Sladal. I have no intention of leaving this room
until I know everything there is to know about her condition.”
“As you wish. It will take a few minutes to get her cleaned up and into dry clothing. At
that point I will be able to examine her and give you a report.”
JarDan nodded in absent agreement as he reached for the wet shirt.
“Your Highness!” You cannot undress this woman!”
JarDan grinned at the shocked expression on the doctor’s face. “I’ve seen naked
women before, Sladal.”
“I have no doubt. However, you paid those women for that service, did you not? Have
you paid this woman for the privilege of undressing her?”
“Sladal, you walk a very narrow line with your comments.” JarDan warned in a cold,
steely voice. “I tire of repeating myself. I. Am. Not. Leaving.” Without waiting for further
comments JarDan returned his attention to the unconscious woman, quickly stripping the
rest of her clothes from her body. He cleaned the mud from her skin before covering her
with warmed sheets while the medical team cleaned the mud and debris from her hair.
Her face, neck and lower arms were much darker than the rest of her body, evidence of
spending long hours working in the sun. The untanned skin was a pale ivory color. Her
breasts weren’t large but JarDan knew they would fill his palm to perfection. He gently dried
her skin with the warm towel, feeling a strong surge of desire when her nipple, drawn tight
from the cold rain, tightened even more with his touch. He wished he could take full credit
for the pebbled condition.
With a quiet groan, he relinquished her care to the medical team. He hadn’t visited a
pleasure station since before he left for Earth more than a year ago and his reaction to this
woman was strong. The thick blanket shifted with each soft breath and accented the way
her hips flared from her narrow waist. Taking a deep breath, he forced his attention to her
face, grateful that his robe was loose enough to hide the physical evidence of his interest.
Thick, dark lashes rested against her pale cheeks. Her nose was short and tipped on
the end. High cheekbones balanced a wide, full mouth and a stubborn chin. Taken one
piece at a time, she was merely pretty, but the total woman was striking.
Minutes turned to hours and still she remained unconscious. JarDan paced the small
cubicle until his concern for her drew him back to the woman. Now free of mud, her hair
hung over the side of the bed. The heavy, black mass created a living cascade that brushed
the tops of his bare feet. His fingertips softly stroked the midnight wisps from her face,
willing her to open her eyes.
An unseen hand brought a chair and JarDan moved it so he could watch her sleep.
When his helplessness threatened to overwhelm him, he began to pace again, watching the
clock as the cycle repeated itself.
“What’s wrong with her, Sladal?” He asked for the hundredth time since the doctor
activated the examination tube.
“Physically, nothing. The monitors indicate that she is a perfectly normal, human
female. The memory scan should be completed within the hour.
JarDan paused his restless pacing to stroke the pale face, fascinated when a strand of
hair curled itself around his hand, binding him to her. Another sign. He now had his
answer. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew that this woman was the reason for his
extended delay in returning to Anderas. A deep feeling of protectiveness washed over him
when he held her chilled hand in his own, tracing the calluses on her palm with a gentle
caress of his fingertips. It surprised him to realize that she had known hardship, years of it if
her hands were any indication.
He glanced up as Dak walked through the door. He could see the questions in his
friend’s eyes but he had no answers.
“It’s been hours, Dak. Sladal doesn’t know what else to try.”
“Give it time, JarDan. We’ve loaded the course coordinates for Anderas. When Sladal
completes the mind scan and we know her status, we can be on our way home. Why not
change into a clean uniform and get some rest? You’re covered with dried mud. I’ll stay
with her until you return and call immediately if there’s any change.”
Reluctantly, JarDan acknowledged the wisdom of Dak’s suggestion. He turned to
leave, but found himself returning to stare at the sleeping woman.
“As I trust you with my life, so guard hers.”
Dak responded with a slow nod of his head.
JarDan moved toward the elevator, allowing the guard inside to speed him toward his
quarters. He refused to consider the possibility that she may have someone special in her
life. She belonged to him. Every second he spent with her calmed the driving urgency that
had plagued him for months. Now he felt -- complete. Dak was right, he needed a bath.
The Prince of Tor wanted to be at his best when she met him for the first time.
The Prince of Tor wasn’t the only one who showed in interest in the Earth female.
Across the room, unobserved by the busy medical team, a grey-haired MedTech watched
and waited. He recalled his death pledge, given years ago. This was his chance to show
the master he was still a worthy Minion of the Dark. The end of the House of Tor was
approaching, and if Tor JarDan was interested in this woman then she must die, too.
Smiling with evil pleasure, the MedTech slid his hand into his pocket, assuring himself the
vial of liquid was still there.
The drug could bring intense pleasure or horrible death. Pleasure stations throughout
the galaxy once used it to stimulate sex drive. Scientists discovered that when used just
before space sleep, the disruptive physiological side-effects would cause the heart to
explode. Now, only the few stations still offering the more perverted pleasures used the
outlawed drug. He would find a time before the female went into space sleep to administer
the drug.
“Sladal! Sladal! I think she’s waking up!” The MedTech watched as Captain Beldon
hurried from the room in search of the doctor.
Using the pretext of straightening the blanket on the bed, Torak uncapped the vial and
dribbled the lethal fluid into her mouth. Hearing the approach of the other men, he resealed
the vial and turned from the bed. Did he use enough? She needed to swallow the entire
bottle, but there just wasn’t enough time. It would have to be enough. She had to die. It
would please his master. With a crisp salute to Captain Beldon, he left the MediCenter. It
really was too bad he had to put her to sleep.
He remembered his one experience with the drug. It took hours before the whore began
to suspect something was wrong. Torak smiled at the memory. Confusion and mindless
rambling were the early signs, but the woman was too stupid or too drunk to realize what
was happening. When her skin got too sensitive to stand her clothes, she knew then. She
knew, but it was too late. By that time, it wouldn’t have made any difference who she was
with. All she could do was ride out the increasing waves of desire.
Trying to satisfy that female had damn near killed him. Yes, it was just too bad Tor’s
bitch couldn’t stay awake and enjoy what was coming. His hollow laugh echoed through the
deserted corridors.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
www.newconceptspublishing.com
July, 2009
“By the Ancients, JarDan! Why do you insist on continuing this voyage?” Dak yelled in
exasperation. “We have more than one hundred females in sleep chambers. If the other
travel crafts have been half so successful we’ll not have to make another trip to Earth for
years.”
The frustrated second-in-command glared in angry confusion at the stiff back of his
friend and liege. This voyage was taking its toll on the entire crew. Every day brought a new
case of space fatigue. So far, the cases were all mild. It wouldn’t be long before it affected
the highest levels of command. Even the commander, Tor JarDan.
Their travel craft had been in Earth’s orbital field for twelve months. No travel craft in the
history of Anderas had undertaken such an extended journey. From initial take-off to return
was never more than six months. Yet, JarDan showed no intention of returning to their world
nor would he explain his reluctance to leave.
Dak tried again to reason with his friend. “JarDan,” he began with forced calm, “you’re
the Commander of the Destiny and as such I’ll follow your orders without question.” He
ignored the snort from across the room. “The crew is restive and their concerns are valid.
Every hour we delay in leaving orbit puts all of us at risk. They deserve to know why you
refuse to leave. If you continue with this course of action, there will be trouble. I feel it.”
“Perhaps you should refer the crew to the page in their manual that deals with the Order
of Command of a Travel Craft.” Sarcasm tinged the deep voice as the dark-haired leader
turned from his perusal of the blue and white planet beyond the window port.
“If that fails to satisfy their curiosity then you might mention that I am the Prince of Tor.”
Dak drew himself to attention at the rebuke from his Commander. “My apologies, your
Highness. I will pass your message to the crew. I bid you good night.”
“Dak …”
The voice was soft but the command to halt was there, nonetheless. JarDan watched
as his best friend stood stiffly at attention.
“I’m sorry. My temper controls my tongue these days. You take advantage of the fact
that we’re as close as brothers. No other man would question my orders then dare to take
offense when I snap in anger.” Turning back to the window port he waited until he heard Dak
sit before continuing.
“I don’t know that I can explain what I don’t understand myself. This is our third trip to
Earth, but this time is different. There’s something pulling at me with all the force of an
electromagnetic field. I wake up in the middle of the night with such an overwhelming sense
of urgency that it takes all my willpower not to teleport --somewhere -- anywhere -- down
there. I can't stay away from this window. Watching. Waiting.”
JarDan turned and pinned his friend with a look, willing him to understand. “Does space
fatigue cause this kind of madness? Have I put the ship and crew in jeopardy because of
my fixation with this planet? I think of my father and know I need to return to Anderas, but I
cannot issue the order. I know without a doubt that my destiny is waiting down there and if I
leave Earth’s orbit I will regret it the rest of my life.”
Turning back to the window port and the beckoning planet below, JarDan sighed
deeply. “What’s down there, Dak?”
The buzz of the intercom interrupted any comment Dak might have made.
“Tor here.”
“Commander, you said to notify you if I noticed … you know … anything unusual, Sir.”
JarDan shook his head. “Yes, Ensign, I’m aware of my orders. What have you found?”
He shoved his hair back from his forehead. “And Ensign, short and to the point please.”
“Yes, Sir. Well, Sir, it’s a storm, Sir. A real killer, Sir. It will cause massive destruction,
Sir, in an area in central North America.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that, Ensign. They’re a common occurrence in that area.”
The deliberately patient tone of voice was a warning.
“Well, Sir.” Stammered the young man. “It’s difficult to explain, Sir.”
JarDan waited for several seconds before realizing the young man was not going to
offer further information. “Ensign!” He barked. “You have exactly ten seconds to make your
report -- officially -- or I will relieve you of your post. Is that clear? And one sir per sentence.”
JarDan shot a warning glance at his chuckling companion.
“Yes, Sir. The storm is not so unusual, Commander,” answered the navigator briskly. “It’
s the woman, Sir.”
“A woman?” His senses went on full alert. Something was happening. Something
important. He felt it in the quickening of his pulse.
“Yes, Sir. She’s standing knee-deep in mud and … she’s attacking her vehicle, Sir.”
“I’ll be right there. Captain Beldon will be in charge of the Flight Deck. Have the
Teleport Crew stand by for my orders.” He severed the connection before the young
navigator could begin another monologue.
“JarDan! Where are you going? You’re not even dressed!”
JarDan glanced at the flowing robe he wore, its distinctive white color and gold
embroidery a symbol of his royal heritage.
“Come on, Dak! There’s no time for me to change!”
“But where are you going?” Insisted Dak.
“Down there!” JarDan yelled, heading for the elevator, barefoot and wearing nothing but
the loose, caftan-type robe, a crooked grin spreading across his face. This tingling
awareness had to signify something. An end to his quest? By all the Ancient Prophets,
could this woman be the reason? Attacking her vehicle? In the middle of a storm?
Amazing!
* * * *
Melodie slid from the battered old truck, gasping as the thick, black mud sucked her feet
into its depths. Rain soaked her clothes, chilling her skin to goose-flesh. She strained with
the effort of lifting one foot then the other from the clinging mud. Using one arm to shield her
face from the driving rain and the other for balance, she struggled against the pull of the mud
and the buffeting wind. Every deafening explosion of thunder and blinding flash of lightning
emphasized the deadly consequences of her mad dash across the state. Pride goes
before a fall, Melodie Anne, and just look where it’s gotten you now. When all you have left
is pride and a truck with more rust and dents than paint, it’s hard to give it up.
If she could find the farmer who owned this field, she could beg the use of his tractor to
pull her truck from the mud. Since she hadn’t passed any houses in several miles, the
farmer had to live in the direction she’d been driving. The house should be fairly close, but
with the way her luck was running these days, she didn’t count on it. It was going to be a
cold, wet walk no matter how far. With a sigh of resignation, she took firm hold on her
determination and began the arduous task of fighting her way through the mud to the road.
As soon as she rounded the front of the truck the full force of the howling wind hit her
hard. Turning her back against the storm’s fury, she never saw the tree limb hurtling toward
her until it slammed into her back, knocking her face down into the mud. Her small measure
of emotional control snapped like the limbs of the falling tree that caused her to swerve off
the road, sailing across the fence into the mud. Struggling to her feet, she grabbed the limb
and beat against the hood of her truck.
“You miserable hunk of rusting junk! How could you do this to me? I’ve babied you for
years and this is how you repay me? It’s not fair! It’s just not fair.” She beat on the
defenseless truck until she had no energy left to fight. Exhausted, she lay across the warm
hood, cursing the pride that drove her from the safety of Reverend Simmons’ home into this
crazy dash across Missouri.
Finally, her tears and anger spent, Melodie knew she had to find shelter from the cold
rain. The truck was no longer an option since the entire passenger side of the front
windshield was gone, shattered by an exploding tree limb -- the same limb currently
embedded in the back of the passenger seat. She would have to abandon the truck until the
storm passed. The only building in sight was an old barn, one wall completely gone, the
other three listing to the side. It wasn’t much but she didn’t have time to be picky. The
danger lay in crossing the open field. She would be a walking lightning rod.
Before she had gone more than a few feet, she heard the unmistakable freight train roar
of an approaching tornado. Wiping water from her eyes, she watched the gyrating cyclone
perform a terrifying ballet across the pitifully few miles between it and the acres of open,
muddy field around her, moving closer and destroying everything in its path. There was no
refuge in the open field and no time to get to cover.
So this was it. She never expected her life to end this way -- nor so soon. Grandpa
used to say that everything happened for a reason. If the Good Lord felt you needed to
know what it was, He’d tell you -- just have a little faith. Melodie had no fear of death. She
believed strongly that her immortal soul would find a better world and this gave her strength.
Words like -- alone -- bankrupt -- homeless -- wouldn’t exist in Heaven.
She stood with calm acceptance as the tornado advanced with deadly precision,
sucking the very air from around her, knowing that soon she would see her family again.
Suddenly, a brilliant glow appeared in front of her. From this glowing orb of light
stepped a giant of a man. A man too perfect to be real. Long, dark hair and robes of white
and gold adorned his magnificent body – surely he was an angel sent to guide her passing.
His strong, powerful arms closed around her, offering warmth and security, drawing her with
him into the light.
Cradled in the embrace of the angel, Melodie watched in serene fascination as the
churning destructive force of the tornado ripped through the field around them. The truck,
her clothes, everything she had left in the world was at the mercy of the demonic wind.
Twisted metal and flying bits of rags were all that remained of the woman called Melodie
Smith.
“Close your eyes,” whispered the deep, masculine voice of her angel. “I’m taking you
somewhere safe.”
* * * *
“Dak!” Bellowed JarDan as he stepped from the teleport platform with the unconscious
woman in his arms. “Notify the MediCenter. I think she’s in shock.”
Without slowing his pace, the Prince of Tor carried the woman to the waiting elevator. A
team of medical personnel with a mobile stretcher waited just outside the door when the
elevator stopped. JarDan forced himself to place her on the stretcher but followed closely
while the team wheeled her into an examination tube. His reluctance to leave the woman’s
side strengthened his belief that she was the reason for his delay in returning home.
By the Ancients, he hated the smell of a MediCenter. Shutting his mind to the antiseptic
odors, he watched the six-member team scurry around attaching monitors and sensors to
the bed where the woman lay.
“Leave her to us, Commander.” Doctor Sladal stated, trying to usher the hovering
prince from the room. “She’s in no danger; merely wet and cold and suffering from her first
trip through a teleport unit. Surely you remember how debilitating such excursions are until
your body acclimates itself. You will do her more good by letting us do our job.”
“Stop treating me like a five-year old, Sladal. I have no intention of leaving this room
until I know everything there is to know about her condition.”
“As you wish. It will take a few minutes to get her cleaned up and into dry clothing. At
that point I will be able to examine her and give you a report.”
JarDan nodded in absent agreement as he reached for the wet shirt.
“Your Highness!” You cannot undress this woman!”
JarDan grinned at the shocked expression on the doctor’s face. “I’ve seen naked
women before, Sladal.”
“I have no doubt. However, you paid those women for that service, did you not? Have
you paid this woman for the privilege of undressing her?”
“Sladal, you walk a very narrow line with your comments.” JarDan warned in a cold,
steely voice. “I tire of repeating myself. I. Am. Not. Leaving.” Without waiting for further
comments JarDan returned his attention to the unconscious woman, quickly stripping the
rest of her clothes from her body. He cleaned the mud from her skin before covering her
with warmed sheets while the medical team cleaned the mud and debris from her hair.
Her face, neck and lower arms were much darker than the rest of her body, evidence of
spending long hours working in the sun. The untanned skin was a pale ivory color. Her
breasts weren’t large but JarDan knew they would fill his palm to perfection. He gently dried
her skin with the warm towel, feeling a strong surge of desire when her nipple, drawn tight
from the cold rain, tightened even more with his touch. He wished he could take full credit
for the pebbled condition.
With a quiet groan, he relinquished her care to the medical team. He hadn’t visited a
pleasure station since before he left for Earth more than a year ago and his reaction to this
woman was strong. The thick blanket shifted with each soft breath and accented the way
her hips flared from her narrow waist. Taking a deep breath, he forced his attention to her
face, grateful that his robe was loose enough to hide the physical evidence of his interest.
Thick, dark lashes rested against her pale cheeks. Her nose was short and tipped on
the end. High cheekbones balanced a wide, full mouth and a stubborn chin. Taken one
piece at a time, she was merely pretty, but the total woman was striking.
Minutes turned to hours and still she remained unconscious. JarDan paced the small
cubicle until his concern for her drew him back to the woman. Now free of mud, her hair
hung over the side of the bed. The heavy, black mass created a living cascade that brushed
the tops of his bare feet. His fingertips softly stroked the midnight wisps from her face,
willing her to open her eyes.
An unseen hand brought a chair and JarDan moved it so he could watch her sleep.
When his helplessness threatened to overwhelm him, he began to pace again, watching the
clock as the cycle repeated itself.
“What’s wrong with her, Sladal?” He asked for the hundredth time since the doctor
activated the examination tube.
“Physically, nothing. The monitors indicate that she is a perfectly normal, human
female. The memory scan should be completed within the hour.
JarDan paused his restless pacing to stroke the pale face, fascinated when a strand of
hair curled itself around his hand, binding him to her. Another sign. He now had his
answer. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew that this woman was the reason for his
extended delay in returning to Anderas. A deep feeling of protectiveness washed over him
when he held her chilled hand in his own, tracing the calluses on her palm with a gentle
caress of his fingertips. It surprised him to realize that she had known hardship, years of it if
her hands were any indication.
He glanced up as Dak walked through the door. He could see the questions in his
friend’s eyes but he had no answers.
“It’s been hours, Dak. Sladal doesn’t know what else to try.”
“Give it time, JarDan. We’ve loaded the course coordinates for Anderas. When Sladal
completes the mind scan and we know her status, we can be on our way home. Why not
change into a clean uniform and get some rest? You’re covered with dried mud. I’ll stay
with her until you return and call immediately if there’s any change.”
Reluctantly, JarDan acknowledged the wisdom of Dak’s suggestion. He turned to
leave, but found himself returning to stare at the sleeping woman.
“As I trust you with my life, so guard hers.”
Dak responded with a slow nod of his head.
JarDan moved toward the elevator, allowing the guard inside to speed him toward his
quarters. He refused to consider the possibility that she may have someone special in her
life. She belonged to him. Every second he spent with her calmed the driving urgency that
had plagued him for months. Now he felt -- complete. Dak was right, he needed a bath.
The Prince of Tor wanted to be at his best when she met him for the first time.
The Prince of Tor wasn’t the only one who showed in interest in the Earth female.
Across the room, unobserved by the busy medical team, a grey-haired MedTech watched
and waited. He recalled his death pledge, given years ago. This was his chance to show
the master he was still a worthy Minion of the Dark. The end of the House of Tor was
approaching, and if Tor JarDan was interested in this woman then she must die, too.
Smiling with evil pleasure, the MedTech slid his hand into his pocket, assuring himself the
vial of liquid was still there.
The drug could bring intense pleasure or horrible death. Pleasure stations throughout
the galaxy once used it to stimulate sex drive. Scientists discovered that when used just
before space sleep, the disruptive physiological side-effects would cause the heart to
explode. Now, only the few stations still offering the more perverted pleasures used the
outlawed drug. He would find a time before the female went into space sleep to administer
the drug.
“Sladal! Sladal! I think she’s waking up!” The MedTech watched as Captain Beldon
hurried from the room in search of the doctor.
Using the pretext of straightening the blanket on the bed, Torak uncapped the vial and
dribbled the lethal fluid into her mouth. Hearing the approach of the other men, he resealed
the vial and turned from the bed. Did he use enough? She needed to swallow the entire
bottle, but there just wasn’t enough time. It would have to be enough. She had to die. It
would please his master. With a crisp salute to Captain Beldon, he left the MediCenter. It
really was too bad he had to put her to sleep.
He remembered his one experience with the drug. It took hours before the whore began
to suspect something was wrong. Torak smiled at the memory. Confusion and mindless
rambling were the early signs, but the woman was too stupid or too drunk to realize what
was happening. When her skin got too sensitive to stand her clothes, she knew then. She
knew, but it was too late. By that time, it wouldn’t have made any difference who she was
with. All she could do was ride out the increasing waves of desire.
Trying to satisfy that female had damn near killed him. Yes, it was just too bad Tor’s
bitch couldn’t stay awake and enjoy what was coming. His hollow laugh echoed through the
deserted corridors.
(Excerpt unedited and may differ from published version.)
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