***
He doesn't remember, he doesn’t, he doesn’t . . . Repeating the thought like a mantra, Hunk returned to the bunkhouse. He had to get away from the sultana’s garden, from the view through the window.
Anger coursed through him, unfamiliar in its strength.
How can he not remember? The words forced themselves to the top of his mind.
The drug. You remember what the witch said, about a drug? This drug that they can’t mix with alcohol? It takes away their memories, and they’re on it . . .
They’re not on it, he suddenly realized. His steps slowed. They’re not on it, for the next few days, to let that other medicine work.
If I can just get to them again, if I can just talk to them, alone, without anyone around . . . I might be able to make them remember . ..
Make Lance remember . . .
He fell back into his bunk, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. His dreams this time were flooded with memories, as they settled back into his mind . . .
But he couldn’t feel the tingle of danger.
***
The small blond form slowly rolled out of the big canopied bed, careful not to disturb the figure that still slept there. The frame creaked, very loud in the darkness, and the sultana froze stock still in the cold moonlight from the window, quickly glancing back over her shoulder. Pidge made a small sound, shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, and stood up. As quietly as possible, she dressed and picked up her shoes, then tiptoed to the door. It opened soundlessly, but just to make sure, she cast another look back at the bed. He was motionless, and she slipped out.
Now she didn’t have to be quite so cautious, with the heavy door between her and her harem boy, and the rest asleep in another room. She stepped into her shoes, and left her quarters.
Once in the corridor, however, she paused. This was not a message she wanted to deliver, but if she didn’t, she knew the witch likely would, and that would undermine her position. Before she could lose her resolve, she set off down the hall, making her way toward her husband’s suite.
It had not been easy for Lotor’s father to conquer Arus, she reflected, and it had been harder still to hold it. The desert had been a natural breeding ground for resistance, and numerous rebellions had torn the planet further. Zarkon, Lotor’s father, had systematically destroyed most of the native technology, reducing many people to starvation in the process. It had not crushed their spirit, as he had hoped; it had only made them more determined to throw off their oppressors, unlikely as that was fast becoming.
After more than two decades of this, Zarkon decided that if he couldn’t beat them, he would join them. He decided to marry his only son to the nearest female heir to Arus, and install him as sultan.
The ruler of Arus had been killed early on; his infant daughter had been taken into hiding, and no one could discover her whereabouts. It was widely rumored that she had died, but there were other tales, saying that she still lived, and was planning to take Arus back. Instead of sending men to look for this will o’ the wisp and be slain, Zarkon decided that the best alternative was the Crown Princess of the planet Pollux, Romelle.
Not for the first time since her marriage, the sultana cursed her ancestors for her royal blood. The first sultan of Arus had had two sons. The younger usurped the elder after their father died, and forced his brother to flee Arus. The elder son and his supporters found a planet almost like Arus, and settled there, calling it Pollux, but always longing to return to their homeworld. That was the legend passed down in the sultana’s family.
Of course, the Arusians had a different story, claiming that the elder son was cruel and evil, and the younger overthrew him to free the people from repression. But, short of bringing out their own princess, if she still lived, they couldn’t deny that Princess Romelle was the closest female heir, and that if they continued to rebel, they were doing so against their rightful ruler. Amid much muttering and resentment, the wedding took place, while the people hoped against hope that their greatest legend would come alive, and the robot defender of their world would rise.
And that was the reason why the sultana was creeping through the dark corridors of the palace in the middle of the night. The people’s faith in their legends had never died, and they still believed that five outworlders would bring the robot to life. While her harem boys were yet without their memories, there was still one loose end . . .
And what if he got his memories back?
The sultana stopped outside her husband’s quarters, and took a deep breath. She always dreaded any contact with him. Then she squared her shoulders and opened the door.
The dissonant music stopped immediately, and there was a harsh jingling of bells as the dancing girls halted awkwardly. Surprised, the sultan looked up from pawing the one he held on his lap, and the girl took advantage of his distraction to slip away.
Glowering ferociously, the sultan stood and stepped down off the dais. “This had better be good, wife,” he growled, advancing on her.
Smiling coolly, the sultana raised her chin and met his serpent-like eyes. “Oh, I think you’ll find it interesting.”
***
It was a complicated ritual, and required all of the witch’s concentration. Carefully, she opened her senses . . .
And felt something snap. Automatically, she glanced away for an instant, seeking the source . . .
The backlash was intense, and clawed at her mind like a maddened wildcat. She screamed.
***
Habit long ingrained brought Hunk awake as the sun rose. For the first time since he’d been on the planet, he felt rested. The other guards were still asleep around him, and the ones on duty had not yet been relieved.
Wishing he still had his pistol, he grabbed his sword and left. It’s easier each time to find the sultana’s rooms, he thought, walking swiftly down the dim corridors, still cool from the night air. It’s early enough that the sultana and her servant should still be asleep, so maybe I can wake up the team . . . and bring back their memories. I hope. I hope they’ve been off that drug long enough . . .
He tried the door and found that it was unlocked, unbarred. Of course, he thought wryly. Who would dare enter the sultana’s quarters without her permission? Slowly, he opened the heavy door, pausing to make sure he hadn’t been heard, then slipped into the main chamber. The doors into all the adjoining rooms were closed. He crossed quickly to the one to which Pidge had directed him the other night, and laid his hand on the wood. This one might be locked, he cautioned himself, and reached for the latch.
The careless swish of fabric behind him was his only warning. Instinctively, he ducked to one side, and the sword whistled harmlessly past him. The guard! he thought, groaning at his own inattention. Of course, there would be a guard through the night . . . and he would hear my footsteps . . .
Spinning around, Hunk knocked the guard’s sword away, and struck him hard in the midsection. When he doubled over, wheezing, Hunk hit him again, on the side of the head. The guard hit the wall with a thud and slithered down to the floor.
Lucky, Hunk told himself, staring down at the guard. He realized that he was panting slightly. I was lucky. Let’s see if it holds out. Hoping the scuffle hadn’t woken anyone, he hefted his unconscious prisoner over his shoulder and carried him to the small room behind the drape, where he’d spent most of the day before. There, he tore strips from the curtain covering the window, and bound and gagged his assailant. Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, he stood and twitched the curtain covering the door aside just enough to peer out.
The chamber was empty and silence echoed loud in his ears. Hunk sighed. No one heard us. He was about to step back out and continue with his mission, when he heard the creak of a door. He froze, and his eyes frantically searched the room. There was a figure exiting the sleeping room into which he’d carried . . .
He blinked. The gods were favoring him today, that was certain. “Lance?”
***
Lance woke abruptly, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. It was far earlier than he normally awoke; just past dawn by the way the daylight fell. The sultana had dismissed them well after midnight, exhausted from the entertainment they had provided. Pidge had been asleep in their chamber and Sven had carried him back to the sultana’s bedroom. It was the special mark of her favor and his youth, that he was allowed to sleep with her.
Lance had known that the light footsteps running away while he and Keith had performed for the sultana had belonged to Pidge. It always happened.
Something was wrong. The thought filled his mind suddenly, with a clarity that was unfamiliar, but could not be denied. Something was wrong.
His dreams hovered elusively at the edge of his awareness, just out of his grasp, but closer than they had ever been. It was even more frustrating than not remembering them at all.
Gently, he disentangled his limbs from Keith’s, trying not to wake him. Sven slept alone, his back to them. No, it was nothing in this room that had woken him. He stood and padded quickly to the door.
There was no one in the main chamber, and he stopped. He had expected . . . what? Had he expected someone to be here? And who?
“Lance?”
The strange deep voice calling his name spun him around, startled. He couldn’t believe his eyes when a guard stepped out from behind the drape. It was him, the one that had drawn his attention yesterday, the one that had made his head ache so.
Just the sight of him was bringing that pounding pain back, just behind his eyes.
The man was intimidating, tall and muscular, and Lance took a nervous step back, wanting . . .
Why is he smiling at me like that? Lance wondered unexpectedly. Why is he smiling at me like he’s so happy to see me? I don’t even know him!
The smile dimmed as the big man halted, realizing that every pace he took forward made Lance take one away. “Oh, Lance . . .” The words were barely audible. “You really don’t remember. I was hoping . . .”
After a moment, Lance found his voice. “Remember . . . what?” Why do I want to see his smile again? Oh, gods, what’s going on here?
Inexplicably, he felt better as the other smiled a bit shyly. “Well, me, for one. Who you really are, where we come from, why we came here . . .”
Lance’s heart started thudding hard against his ribs. “You mean . . . you knew me . . . from before?” Hope surged up from a place he’d thought long dead, and he couldn’t keep the pleading note from his words, as he asked again, “You knew me?”
“I . . . yes, I did.” The man’s brown eyes were far away, looking in on a scene that seemed at once to be both pleasurable and painful.
Forgetting himself, Lance took a step forward, within the big man’s reach, but not caring. “Oh, gods, tell me!” he begged. “Please, you’ve got to . . .”
“Lance . . .” Were those tears in his eyes? And why do I want to just reach out and wipe them away, why do they seem to make my heart twist?
“Are you all right? Why are you . . .”
The man smiled again, and scrubbed at his eye with the heel of one hand. “Oh, I’ve just missed you, that’s all.” He took a deep breath, and his voice didn’t waiver at all as he continued, “I’ll tell you anything it takes to make you remember. The five of us- you, me, Keith, Sven and Pidge- come from a planet called Earth, many light years away. We were sent by the Galaxy Alliance to explore this sector of space . . .”
The man’s deep voice was so pleasing to hear, so mesmerizing, that Lance almost couldn’t pay attention to his words. But it was the words that made him doubt. It’s as if he knows my mind, he thought, growing afraid again. He knows how much I want that, how much I want that kind of life, rather than this . . .
And the man seemed to sense his skepticism. His tone became infused with earnestness, as if by his words alone he could force belief. “We picked up this metal canister, and it had a distress signal inside, from here, from Arus. You and Sven argued against coming here. I guess you were right,” he said softly, the words directed more at himself than Lance. “But Keith decided that we should come here. If the invasion that the distress signal talked about was still going on, we might have leant a hand to the natives. But he said we should at least come and survey the situation. You didn’t even want to do that. You argued with Keith that we should just get information from orbit, that we would be able to figure out what was going on just from radio transmissions and such. I don’t know why he didn’t listen; maybe you fought too much.
“When we landed, we had only just gotten out of the ship when we were surrounded by soldiers. They attacked us, without even trying to determine if we were really hostile. There were too many of them, and they overwhelmed us. The next thing I remember is waking up in some kind of holding cell, feeling like I’d gotten the shit kicked out of me. The sultan and the sultana were discussing what to do with us. She was all set to have one of us killed, so we couldn’t reactivate this robot, whatever it is.”
The robot? Lance blinked. Alli had mentioned a robot, once, when the sultana was busy elsewhere. She’d told the story like it was a fairy tale, and had stopped talking when the sultana appeared.
“Come on, Lancer, I know you remember. She’s been giving you some kind of drug, but you haven’t had it for at least a day, come on! Think!” He reached out and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, and seemed to relax when he didn’t flinch away.
A . . . a drug? Lance stared at him, wide eyed. The sultana would never . . .
Wouldn’t she? another part of his mind demanded.
“That’s why I haven’t been here, they tried to give me that drug too. I couldn’t take it, I’m allergic to it or something, I just threw it back up. I can remember that, now. The witch did something else to me, she had me beaten and then I think she hypnotized me. I just got my memory back last night . . .”
“Did you now?” Lance shivered; he knew that voice, dreaded hearing those commanding tones. The guard paled and wrenched his attention from Lance to someone by the door. As if the movement freed him from a spell, Lance turned, the man’s big hand falling away from his shoulder.
The sultan stood blocking the door to the hall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Somehow, Lance thought, he looks even more sinister by daylight. The sultana stood just behind him, as if she had followed him in. Her face held no expression at all, her eyes icy as she studied him and the guard.
“That is unfortunate.” The sultan strode forward, and immediately a squadron of guards, led by Captain Yurak, appeared behind him. The noise of their boots as they stamped in shook the floor.
Lance felt a heavy hand descend on his shoulder, and jumped. He’d forgotten the man was behind him. And he hasn’t even given his name, he just expects me to know it, he thought, stunned by the speed in which everything was turned upside down. The hand did nothing, just squeezed his shoulder gently, then the fingers moved against his skin, tapping in a pattern of some kind . . .
“Unhand him!” the sultana ordered harshly from her place near the door. Immediately, Lance was released, the big hand lifted away. “Lance, come here.” The sultana was scowling, and inside, Lance cringed, but did was he was bid. The sound of so many people breathing seemed loud in his ears.
Doors on either side of the room opened, and several tousled heads poked out. Pidge peered out from the sultana’s bedchamber, while Keith and Sven stared at the scene in confusion from the harem boys’ chamber. Alli stood in a third doorway, her hand over her mouth, and her eyes wide. Her hair straggled around her face, making her look even younger than she already did.
“My lady?” Pidge’s voice quavered in the silence. He took a step from the doorway.
The sultana held one arm out to him, and he entered her embrace. Though she did not take her eyes from the guard, her voice softened as she said, “It’s all right, Angel.” As if her gesture was a signal, Keith and Sven joined them, and they clustered silently behind the sultana, in her protection.
In the space of a few heartbeats, the big space explorer was standing alone. Yurak glared at him fiercely and fingered the hilt of his sword. The captain’s face bore dark bruises, probably from where the sultan had struck him, Lance thought dazedly. Oh, gods, what is going on? He wrapped his arms around himself, miserable and mystified. Instantly, warm hands touched his back as Keith and Sven tried to comfort him.
The sultan’s bootheels rang on the floor as he advanced. A few paces from the guard, he stopped, and demanded, “How did you kill her?”
“Who?” The guard looked confused.
“The witch, Haggar. You killed her in retaliation for allegedly taking your memories. How did you do it?” The sultan’s voice was calm, almost uncaring.
He shook his head. “I didn’t . . .”
Like a striking snake, the sultan lashed out with the back of his hand, but the guard was quicker. He caught the sultan’s fist, held it away from his face with little effort, then let go. The sultan was frowning now, unused to having anyone defy him. The guard’s expression didn’t change, was still serious, but Lance thought he could detect a light dancing in the brown eyes.
Grudgingly, the sultan admitted, “You’re quick. But not very smart; by killing Haggar, my father’s trusted advisor, you have brought his wrath upon yourself. You should have made your escape while you had the chance.” His smile was unpleasant. “Instead, you came here to talk to my wife’s harem slaves . . . of what?”
“They do not belong to you, or your wife,” the guard declared quietly. “They are my teammates, my friends, and I couldn’t leave without them. I couldn’t just kidnap them, either. They remember nothing about their former lives, so I had to try to convince them.”
Lance closed his eyes, fighting hard to control his tears. This man he didn’t even know cared about their worthless lives enough to risk his own? And . . . and everything he told me before the sultan and sultana came . . .Gods, that is what I have imagined so many times, what I have wanted with all of my soul. He heard Keith gasp beside him, and knew he was just as effected by the words.
There was a rustle of fabric as the sultana shifted in front of him. Light footsteps pattered away.
“And did you?” The sultan spun on his heel, to look at the harem . . . at him, Lance knew. “Did he convince you that you were more than just a toy for my wife’s amusement?”
How he hated that mocking voice. He hated everything about this place, hated what it had done to him . . .
“Lance?” Keith nudged him, and he started. He needed to respond . . .
Deny everything.
The suggestion came from nowhere, popped into his head. He knew if he said anything other than what the sultan wanted to hear, he would die. He was certain that the space explorer would die, too, no matter what.
“No, my lord,” he whispered, every nerve in his body screaming that he was betraying the man who had taken such a chance. He stared at the floor, not wanting to see the hurt in those brown eyes. “He spoke of . . . of fantastic and impossible things, my lord. He . . . he must have lost his mind.” He glanced up then, to see the sultan nodding in satisfaction. Beyond him, he saw the explorer smile very faintly, as if approving.
He knew, Lance realized suddenly. It’s what he wanted. That’s what he was trying to tell me with the tapping . . . He closed his eyes, trying to find his balance as his mind whirled uncontrollably.
He remembered that they’d developed the tapping code as a contingency for trouble.
Getting teased for his “trouble warnings”.
How strongly he hadn’t wanted to come here.
Deep brown eyes gazing at him as if he were everything . . .
The sultan’s carrying voice brought Lance out of the swirling feelings. “Refresh my memory, Yurak. The penalty for murder is what?” He never took his yellow eyes from his intended victim. The big man matched him stare for stare.
“Death, my lord,” Yurak hissed, his black eyes flashing triumphantly. There was a muffled gasp from the sultana.
“So it is.” The sultan affected surprise. “Take him.”
In a flurry of motion and sound, the squadron of guards that had been waiting impatiently behind Yurak surged forward, attacking the lone man, who had no hope of holding out . . .
Except he did. Dodging, punching, kicking, bellowing an ululating war cry, the explorer fought back. Yurak and guards reeled back from his blows, but came on again. Watching the battle, Lance found himself panting from trying not to interfere. His palms itched as he clenched his fists. At his side, he could hear Keith’s breath coming faster as well, and he felt Sven shudder behind him. He caught his breath as the man cried out then turned to strike the man who had cut him.
Hunk, Hunk, Hunk . . . repeated itself in his head, unable to connect . . .
“Oh, gods.” The sultan drew his sword with a whispering noise. Lance straightened in sudden alarm, took a breath to call out . . .
Keith elbowed him sharply in the side. When he turned in astonishment, he saw Keith’s eyes were filled with tears. No, Lance, he mouthed silently. And he knew, and damned the fact that to help the man in any way would mean his own death, what the man had wanted to avoid . . .
Carefully, the sultan advanced on the battle, his eyes never leaving . . .
My lover.
Hunk!
I. Remember. Everything.
All at once, he was himself and he burned with shame as he recalled all of the things he’d done with Keith and Sven for the sultana’s amusement. Oh, please don’t hold it against me, Hunk, he thought despairingly, because I didn’t know . . .
He was whole . . .
Then he was in pieces again.
Hunk heard the footsteps behind him, and turned . . . and the sultan’s blade found his body, piercing him deep. Lance bit his lip hard to keep from screaming. He could see the metal tip protruding from Hunk’s back.
It was done so quickly that Hunk didn’t even have time to cry out, just to make a small gasping sound. Blood soaked his white shirt, blood dribbled from his lips. The light in his eyes slowly faded, and he slumped, sliding gracelessly off the sultan’s sword.
Oh, gods, oh, Hunk . . . Lance wanted to turn away, or to cry out but forced himself to watch. I must, he thought, numb. Not watching will cheapen it somehow . . . The sultan yanked his sword free with a grating sound as it caught on bone, and he shuddered.
“That was pathetic, Yurak.” Kneeling, the sultan wiped his blade on a clean bit of Hunk’s shirt, then stood, stepping almost absently over the spreading puddle of blood. “Pathetic! He was alone!” The sultan backhanded the captain. “Take it away,” he ordered, gesturing negligently behind him.
Slowly, Lance became aware of the sound of sobbing. He managed to tear his eyes away from the guards picking up Hunk’s oh, gods, Hunk body. Pidge had buried his face against the sultana, and his thin shoulders were shaking. She was stroking his hair, but her eyes were fixed on the doorway in which Alli had appeared.
“You let them watch, Romelle?” The sultan stood before his wife, glaring at her disapprovingly.
She shrugged, still soothing Pidge. “If they did not remember during that, they will never remember.” She returned the sultan’s glare. “Now get out. I didn’t intend for you to confront him here, and certainly not to kill him and leave such a mess.” Lance closed his eyes, teetering on the edge . . . Only Sven and Keith’s arms kept him from falling.
Snorting disdainfully, the sultan stalked away. The sultana resumed watching the doorway, and when Alli reappeared, she relaxed slightly. The chamber was now deserted, except for their huddle. Turning slightly, she pressed Pidge into Lance’s unresisting arms, then walked quickly over to where Alli stood. They conferred quietly for a moment, then the sultana left in a swirl of silk and gauze, her veil fluttering behind her.
Alli approached them. “You remember now, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft.
There was silence for a moment. Lance spoke, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know about them, but I do.” He met her eyes. “And I don’t want to forget.”
She smiled sadly. “You may not have a choice. On the sultan’s orders, my lady gave you a drug that took away your memories. Shortly- today, tomorrow at the latest- your body will start craving that drug. Haggar led the sultan to believe that it was a spell, or a complex mixture, but it is actually a simple brew from a few common herbs. I know how to make it.” She held out a glass carafe, almost full of a milky liquid. “When you start to feel ill, I’ll give you some. It will take away your memories and spirit again, but that’s how my lady has been able to keep you alive. If your friend had been able to take it, he’d be alive, too.”
Lance turned away, but Alli continued. “You haven’t been on it because it reacts badly with alcohol, and with the medicine the sultana gave you yesterday when you were sick. When that medicine has cleared out of your bodies, you will be able to take this again.”
“No.” Lance pulled away from Keith, from Pidge and Sven as they tried to hold him. “I don’t want to forget . . .” He fled into their sleeping chamber, fell on his knees and wept hard, clutching a cushion. Hunk . . .
I’m not going to forget again.
***
He was shivering from cold and sweating from fever. His belly cramped painfully. His body was wracked with dry heaves.
You may not have a choice. Alli’s words echoed through his skull, now sad, now mocking.
Opening his blurry eyes, Lance focused on the small glass Alli had set on the floor, some distance from him. It brimmed with that milky liquid.
No. He closed his eyes again. Hunk died trying to make me remember. I’m not going to . . .
Keith had followed him in . . . yesterday? The day before? and held him as he cried. He could recall that, could still feel his throat raw from the harsh sobs. Crying for what he’d lost, and what he might lose again . . .
Another spasm shook him, each wave of agony harder to bear than the last. “Oh, gods . . .” he whimpered. It hurt so much . . .
He opened his eyes again, watching in fascination as his trembling fingers reached for the cup. It sloshed as he picked it up unsteadily.
Oh, gods, just a little, just to dull the pain . . .
He sipped.
I’m sorry . . .
Fin
***
April 25, 2002
© randi (K. Shepard), 2002