As Tara stood watching the comings and goings of “normal” military personnel, she touched their inner most feelings and thoughts. Although fear of the anticipated battle was a common theme, the musing of the stationary freak show outside the bay temporarily interrupted it.
The psychic woman heard all the inner laughter or insulting comments of some passerby’s minds, while sensing the revulsion or pity from others. All of it magnified Tara’s own loathing and troubled feelings about herself—and about her appearance.
* * * * *
Tara had once been an exquisitely beautiful woman and a theatric star. Gifted in acting, song, and dance; she had delighted millions with her performances. However, at the height of her career, she one day had met a simple freighter captain. A gentle, strong, and morally upright man, much like Nathan Wakinyan, she had quickly lost her heart to him. A short time later, Tara had forsaken all the trappings of stage success for the love of this enchanting starfarer, becoming his wife. And Tara had never regretted any of it.
It was a good life, which opened new doors of learning and adventure. Over the years, Tara acquired and perfected the skills of a ship’s master, rivaling those of her husband. In time, however, the urgings to settle down grew, as so did her family.
With the birth of their two daughters, it became imperative that the children know a stable life. The couple then began to look for a safe haven that they could call home. The one they chose was Cramer’s World.
However, the bliss that they had sought ended a year later in horrid screams and the agony of transmutation. People died as their bodies’ physiology rebelled, replacing flesh, organs, and bones with outlandish substitutes—and at an accelerated pace.
The plague ravaged everyone; not even Tara and her family were spared. First her husband and then her children succumbed to the mysterious illness, and it did not stop there. After killing Tara’s family, it infected her and transformed Tara into what she saw as a hideous gargoyle—a pseudo human being. Yet, the transmutation carried some unexpected benefits with it. It nearly doubled the capacity of her brain, endowing her with physic abilities and higher intelligence. But this meant little to Tara, who deeply felt the loss of her family and looked upon her own misfortune as a curse.
The new awareness allowed Tara to know the truth about many things that were hidden in the minds of others, and for it, she wished she herself dead. Above the pain of her personal loss, it created new agonies for the once beautiful woman. No one wanted to look upon Tara, afraid of even remotely socializing with her. No one wanted to touch the monstrous freak called Tara Penelope Nargis. It was easy for her to cognized why whenever she looked into a mirror. It was her living nightmare that emulated hell itself.
* * * * *
As self-pity consumed Tara, an approaching commotion caught her and the other mutants’ attention. Military personnel were being ordered to step aside. Against walls they threw themselves, as sharp commands and yells by several Martian Marine officers motivated their response. The uniformed mariners did so speedily to let a small group pass down the corridor unhindered.
As the group drew nearer, Tara pushed herself away from the bulkhead to get a better view. She quickly recognized the unmistakable form of her friend Jerome Gris, leader of the mutants of Cramer’s World. He was huge, over seven feet tall: an incredible hulk of bluish-tan flesh. The mutant leader was a man of overpowering strength, genius, and creativity. It was he who not only made the pact with Paladin, but was also the architect and builder of the new Martian cities of Valamars.
Gris was talking to a smaller, muscular Martian officer of apparent Native American origin. Tara quickly recognized the aura surrounding the military man. It glowed with a brilliance of purity, honor, and bravery. She saw this once before in her mind; it belonged to the “knight” who had rescued her and her fleet.
Tara quickly became attentive to every word and thought, for the warrior touched something deep within, stirring loving memories of her dead husband. Suddenly, Jerome stopped and pointed her out to the advancing Lakota warrior. Wakinyan’s eyes then locked on Tara with a great curiosity that expanded into interest. Tara was startled by his spontaneous reaction, and stood motionless as the group came upon her.
“Commander,” Jerome explained, “this is the woman I’ve been telling you about. I want you to meet, Captain Tara Nargis.”
Wakinyan smiled as their eyes momentarily met. However, Tara quickly swiveled her head away in a jerk and dropped it in embarrassment of her own considered ugliness. The woman’s eyes shut, closing the door between them. She did not want this handsome man to look upon her—and then recoil from her grotesque appearance.
“Tara,” Jerome introduced, “this is Commander Richard Wakinyan.
Still, she did not move nor answer, hoping somewhere inside that they would go away.
Unexpectedly, a hand reached over and gently took her chin with a thumb and forefinger. The hand guided her head upwards and towards the front again. Tara opened her eyes and then came face-to-face with the leader of all Martian military forces.
“Hello, Miss Nargis,” Wakinyan’s voice softly greeted tenderly in a disarming smile. “So you are the brave and resourceful woman I’ve been talking to!” his tone was filled genuinely with appreciation and approval.
Tara tried to stumble out some words, but she was caught completely by surprise. He was gracious and extremely kind. Yet there was something else; he was not disgusted or reviled by her looks at all. Instead, her features had swung open the memories to Wakinyan’s past, and he reached out to her with a mental hug of nostalgic affection. Tara saw the fondness he once held for an alien woman called “O’lan-te-ahh” and how Tara reminded him of her. But beyond that, Wakinyan discerned something special in Tara. He also thought Tara to be—quite cute—and Wakinyan even wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Tara blinked uncontrollable at the startling revelation of the handsome man’s thoughts, and then trembled while fighting to hold back tears. For “her knight” openly saw her through eyes that could love.
“Mr. Gris has been telling me of some of your remarkable abilities,” Richard endeavored to get Tara to speak.
But Tara continued quivering speechless as she tried to look away again. Richard, however, did not let her.
“Tara,” Wakinyan bided with an amiable familiarity, as he held her head steady, “time is short, and I am very much in need of your abilities. Please. Won’t you help me—and all the people of our planet?” he asked in almost a pleading tone.
Meekly she signaled an “okay” with a nod.
Wakinyan released her chin and took hold of her hand. “You will stand next to me,” he declared softly. And with that, he escorted her into the hanger, much to the chagrin of all around who did watched.
Tara’s chest heaved deeply, but slowly as they walked together. She clearly sensed their life energies caress and entwine delicately around each other in a graceful dance. This dared her to push herself physically closer into him, allowing their bodies to come into full contact—and their souls to slightly merge. She was immediately filled with a vibrance that felt amazingly wonderful and warm. However, something else stirred in the ether between them. Sad tidings were drawing nearer to Wakinyan once again, attracted like a magnet. And from the unalterable sacrifices that would be made, the destinies of all were to be shaped.
A tear leaked out of each of her eyes in solace for the devastating grief the loss would bring upon him. Out of respect for this, Tara stepped back away from Wakinyan and allowed him the last few precious moments of unrealized anguish. Unknowing of what Tara perceived, Wakinyan guided her through the bay.
Despite its massive size, the bay was over-heated in body temperature. This gave rise to the unmistakable aroma of pungent sweat that filled the humid air. It seemed so heavy at times that some members of the assembly found it disgusting and the smell grew more offending as each second passed.
r /> The enormous gathering of officers impatiently awaited the arrival of their new commander to the deafening sounds of nervous chatter that reverberated incessantly. The topic of each conversation, however, remained the same: the engagement with the Earth fleet. Many were afraid and loudly voiced their opinions about how dire the situation really was, or how unsure they were about being lead by Wakinyan. Disagreeing words were openly traded, some very heatedly as tempers began to flare the longer the wait continued. The debates finally died into echoes, however, as Major Franks’ voice finally boomed over a loudspeaker, “ATTENTION!” All became as planks as they gazed up at the savage leading a freak on top of a work scaffold that substituted as a podium.
Wakinyan stopped in the middle of the platform, and eyed the crowd in an unblinking and craggy stare. A face of stone dared anyone to challenge his authority. None did.
Tara stood next to Richard with her hand still clutched in his tight grip. She glanced from him to the crowd, and then back again. Easily, she felt the tension rise within the space around her; it was dense—almost suffocating.
“What are they thinking?” Richard whispered to her.
Tara paused to touch each mind. There was a slight glow to her eyes that was mostly undetectable as she reached out.
“They’re scared—and very unsure of you being in charge,” Tara faithfully reported. Suddenly, her head dropped with an expression of sorrow, and she found it difficult to speak. Richard easily saw that there was more in their thoughts.
“Tara? What else?” he asked softly, prying for information.
Tara, however, pursed her lips in a lock. She apparently was hesitant to say.
“Tara—the truth,” Richard asked again.
“There is no hope among them!” Tara admitted as she looked back at Richard. “They have surrendered to death!”
“I see,” Richard responded to the grim news. He looked out among the gathering and visualized in his own mind the blackness that consumed each soul. “Well then,” he spoke with determination. “I guess I better do something about it.”
With a deep breath, the proud Lakota warrior took a step forward.
“STAND AT EASE!” Richard turned and shouted out. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am not here to win any popularity contest. I know that there is a faction among you out there that doesn’t think too highly of me,” Wakinyan provoked. “Frankly—I don’t give a damn!”
Each member was slightly taken back by Wakinyan’s honesty.
“But what I do give a damn about—is the helpless people on our transport ships! They are relying on us not only for their protection and safety—but their salvation! AND WE ARE NOT GOING TO LET THEM DOWN!” Wakinyan shocked the crowd with his sudden outburst of raised voice in an unequivocal promise.
“As you already know, we are faced with an extremely difficult situation,” Wakinyan continued, “and I want it to be crystal clear to each and everyone of you—what exactly is at stake!”
Wakinyan then signaled to Trager with a waver of his hand. The Earth command officer strode onto the platform and to Wakinyan’s side.
“This is Commander Trager, former first officer of the ESS Quinton. And if any of you don’t recognize the name, it the flagship of the Crimson Fleet—the same fleet that destroyed Mars—the same fleet that’s headed here!” Richard informed. “I do believe he has a few things to say to you. Commander,” Wakinyan beckoned the man to lecture.
Trager squared his jaw and began. He was remarkably calm, as he was candid.
The officer repeated the orders given to him by Admiral Darius along with the details of the massacre of Mars. The entire assemblage of Martian officers listened aghast, but intently as the deserter regaled the forum in hard and frightening facts. Trager was then very descriptive and very blunt about what was going to happen next.
After the deserter finished, Wakinyan stepped forward once more.
“I know that each one of you is scared,” Wakinyan challenged them with the truth. More than a few heads dropped momentarily low.
“So am I,” he admitted. “But I be damned if I let those murdering butchers just sail right in here and massacre the lot of us without firing a shot!”
Wakinyan then became outraged. “THIS FLEET IS NOT GOING TO ROLL OVER AND DIE! WE ARE MARTIANS!” he reminded them all, stoking the fire of pride within each heart. “AND THEY FEAR US! THAT’S WHY THEY’RE COMING HERE! THEY KNOW IT WAS US WHO HAD BEATEN THE ARRIS, NOT THEM! IT WAS US WHO HAD BEATENED THE CHA’LAS, NOT THEM! AND THEY’RE AFRAID THAT ONE DAY WE ARE GOING SAIL BACK TO EARTH—AND TAKE OUR REVENGE! AND—THEY—ARE—RIGHT!”
Wakinyan drew more air into his lungs.
“WE—ARE—THE MARTIANS! AND WE HAVE THE FINEST FLEET IN THE GALAXY! THERE IS NONE THAT CAN COMPARE TO IT! AND I DON’T CARE WHAT KIND OF TECHNOLOGY THEY HAVE; NOT ONE OF THEIR STINKING SHIPS IS GOING TO SURVIVE US—OR TOMORROW! THAT I PROMISE!” Wakinyan trumpeted wild eye and at the top of his lungs.
Randall smiled broadly as he watched his friend do a modern-day rendition of a War Dance to inspire the fleet. Randall knew, however, it wasn’t an act, but rather the spirit of a man who never accepted defeat.
As Richard paused, unexpectedly Randall’s hands began to clap, slowly at first. Other officers turned and looked at the new captain of the Crazy Horse as he broke the silence of the bay. It was then that Randall began to clap harder and faster. Suddenly, other hands joined in, a few at first, and then the clapping grew louder. It seemed to be contagious, as it passed from person-to-person. Within a minute, it became a thunderous applaud and was joined by buoyant smiles and whistling.
“WAKINYAN! WAKINYAN! WAKINYAN!” the Martian officers began to chant, bedazzled by the commander’s prophecy of victory.
Richard allowed the starfaring Martian warriors to remember their self-respect for over a minute. He then released Tara from his grip and held up both hands over his head to silence them.
“Should any of you have any doubts, I think it’s fair to say that we’re not going to negotiate a peaceful settlement with these murdering cutthroats!” Wakinyan joked.
Many officers laughed at the remark.
Wakinyan became a little more at ease. “My plan is simple,” he confided. “We’re going to give these Earthers what they want—but not the way they want it! They will bleed every step of the way, until they finally run into a Martian wall of steel! And then that wall is going to fall right on top of them! And the only thing that’s going to be left of them is elbows and toe nails!”
More cheering came as spirits rose and hope was renewed.
Wakinyan quieted the crowd once more and drifted back into seriousness. “There is much work to be done and little time to do it in. So let’s gets started!”
Each ear then turned and listened as the Martian fleet Commander revealed his strategy.
* * * * *
Chapter 22: Countdown
The staff meeting had progressed well in the forty minutes that it lasted, and Wakinyan’s unveiled strategy was more than well received. It was a fire that consumed the pall of hopelessness and brought forth a gleaming light of optimism. It was a simple plan that relied on deception and surprise; there was little to go wrong. In every mind that heard it, it conjured up untold devastation for the Earth forces. Only a few minor improvements were needed to the planned military operation, as the gathering transformed into a brainstorming secession.
Finally, it was over, but the Martian military officers left the hanger bay with renewed confidence and the absolute belief that they could win. Still, there were a few matters that were unclear, and several people lingered about for their own needed audience with Wakinyan.
Jerome Gris was one of these. He stood next to Tara and the other mutant officers patiently as Wakinyan held an impromptu conference with Trager and Winslow. As Gris gave a scorching look at the man, his anger was noticeably clear. The Martian officer provoked hostility w
ithin him for not only volunteering them to take part in the coming battle, but for the role they were expected to play in the conflict. It was an exceedingly dangerous one, if not suicidal. The mutant leader was not going to allow the slaughter of his people. Yet, Gris still held true respect for Wakinyan by the rescue of the last of his ships. For this act of mercy, his tongue was presently stilled.
“Well, that’s it,” Richard summed up his thoughts. “Any final comments?”
Winslow rubbed his chin, uncertain of a few trivialities. “I think using the re-programmed cipher scout to lure them in is a good idea, but what if they don’t go for it?”
Trager flashed a quick smile. “Selena is nobody’s fool, but she’s an arrogant ass. She believes that her state-of-the-art technology and overwhelming firepower is more than enough to give her a victory. Beside that—she hates Martians most of all! She’ll take the bait alright—but what she does afterwards is anybody’s guess,” Trager pointed out.
“Arrogance knows no bounds,” Wakinyan interjected, “and breeds stupidity! That will be her undoing!”
“I hope so,” Trager voiced concerned, “but you’ll be the ones facing her—not me.”
Wakinyan grimaced. “Tell me, if you had a ship, would you fight against her?”
Trager became totally serious. “I’d give my life for the chance!” the Earth officer’s anger boiled over at the thought of the “thing” that he loathed the most.
“Now, isn’t that a strange coincidence,” Richard feinted ignorance, “I been replacing officers on the ships held formerly by Earth loyalists—and I’ve seemed to come up one officer shy,” Wakinyan informed the other two men. “How would you feel about commanding a Martian battle cruiser: the Mir?”
Trager broke into a chuckle. “When can I take command of her?”
“Immediately!” Richard became no-nonsense again. “I’ll even give you a good first officer.”