Blood of Denebria (Star Sojourner Book 4) (18 page)

“Will you help us, Terran? Will you take up the call to avenge my murdered comrades? Will you?”

“I'll do whatever it takes, General Roothe, to locate the SPS, and to contact planet Alpha on the BEMs' intention to invade Denebria.”

“Is there no place in your plan for vengeance?”

“General, you'll have your vengeance when the BEMs are driven off your world and their invasion is foiled.”

He grasped my shoulder and squeezed a little too hard. “I will have it before that, my cousin.”

“All right.” I bit my lip and nodded.

* * *

Jules!” A tall Denebrian dressed in a uniform of green, tan, and brown splotches strode into the room with a black bag and sat on the chair next to my cot. His skin was olive, with reedy brown in the creases. He looked familiar. Weed followed him and stood by the cot.

“Hi,” I said and tried to place him.

“I know.” He chortled. “We all look alike. Doc, from Korschaff.”

“Oh. Of course. Doc.”

He sat down beside my cot. “You look well, Jules. Your color is good. I mean, for a human. But then, you Terrans come in such a variety of colors. For instance, your friend Chancey. His skin is black.”

“Oh yeah. He's black.”

“That's what I just said.”

“I mean…forget it.”

He opened his bag and took out a bulging, plastic packet. “Is there prejudice between the different Terran shades?”

“Yeah. Still is.”

“That's unfortunate. I met your friends on my way to the village. The big Vegan, Huff? You know, the one who took apart our ER?” He raised his brows.

“Yeah, yeah.” I nodded.

“He was very concerned about you. I told him that we had been in contact with the village and that you were alive and recovering from a bad wound.”

“Thanks, Doc. He worries.”

He looked up. “He fainted.”

“Oh, shit. Poor Huff.”

Doc unwrapped the packet and I realized it was a bag of IV fluid. “Bat gave me this for you and showed me how to use it. With burn wounds, fluids are very important.” He tapped the packet. “This contains an antibiotic to prevent infection. Another problem with burn wounds.”

I have always had an aversion to shots. “Get that thing away from me,” I said softly as he pulled the sheath off the needle. “I'm doing fine.”

“Now don't be silly.” He pushed up the left sleeve on my sweater.

I pushed it back down. “I'm not being silly. I don't like shots!”

“Shots?” His bushy brows furrowed. “This is an injection.”

“Call it whatever you want, but get it away from me.”

He sat back. “Are you serious?”

I stared at him.

He shook his head. “Is this the Terran who will lead our troops in an attack on the BEM garrison? Is this the Terran who will locate the Star Positioning System and contact Alpha, and prevent a war?”

“The same.”

“Jules. Be reasonable. With this medication you'll heal faster. There are a lot of people waiting for you to be back on your feet. We're counting on you and your tel powers.”

“Count slower.”

He looked at Weed.

Weed turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

“Where's he going?” I asked.

Doc shrugged. “Let me change the gauze pads. Is that all right, or do you also have an aversion to fresh gauze pads?”

“No. Go ahead.”

He did. Well, now, the wounds look good.”

“I told you.”

Weed returned with two male Denebs.

Uh oh,
I thought. I pushed up my left sleeve, gritted my teeth, and closed my eyes.

I felt Doc tap my vein. “Oh, here it is. It's blue!”

“Hurry up,” I told him between teeth, “before I puke!”

“Before he
what?
” Doc asked Weed.

“I don't know,” Weed said. “I don't even ask anymore.”

I didn't feel the needle slide in. It must've been coated with a numbing agent.

“There now,” Doc said. “You want a lollipop?”

I slid him a look. “Everybody's a comedian.”

He chuckled. “Oh, your friend Reika sent a present for you.” He reached into his bag with two hands and took out a dish covered tightly with a dark plastic wrap.

Weed dragged a chair close to the cot and Doc put the dish on it.

I began to drool. I sat up as Doc opened the cover. Mock chicken! Mashed potatoes dripping with butter. A crisp salad. A slice of mud pie.

“She said you would like this better than cornbread and pumpkin, although I don't know why.” Doc unwrapped utensils from a napkin.

“Gimme that!” I grabbed them from his hand.

* * *

The healing medication worked wonders. Maybe Reika's meal, too. After three days, and three bags of antibiotics, I was on my feet and feeling pretty fit, although I will never again eat cornbread or pumpkin. And as for maple syrup. Let the trees keep it.

“Where do these tunnels lead?” I asked Weed as we strolled though one.

“To various escape routes. The longest one exits past the village.”

“Has General Roothe been asking about me?”

He nodded. “His plan is in place. But he waits for Doctor Pinebole to tell him when you are ready for it.”

“Doctor Pinebole?”

“Are you going to start that again?”

“Has the general been in touch with my friends?”

“No. he says your friends refuse to be part of his plan.”

“I'd like to talk to General Roothe about his plan.”

“I doubt that he'll grant you an audience. He shares his plans only with his top officers.”

“Is his war office here in the underground?”

“War office? I suppose that's what a Terran would call it. We like to think of ourselves as freedom fighters.”

“OK, Weed. His Freedom Fighter office.”

He glanced at me with a tightened mouth. “It's on a lower level where BEM missiles, should we be discovered, will not damage it.”

“Good thinking.”

“Actually, your team leader, Joseph of Earth, suggested it to General Roothe.”

I restrained a smirk.

“I'd like to meet with my team, Weed. Where are they?”

“Still camped by the cliffs. It's a good hiding place, with caves, and a fresh stream.”

I nodded.

Joe had been an experienced counter-terrorist captain before he retired. He was well versed in the art of war, especially guerrilla warfare, while Roothe was a novice from a race of novices in the ways of combat.

“Can I borrow a ground car…or a horse?”

Weed paused and turned to look at me. “General Roothe warned us that you might want to return to your friends. He needs you
here,
Jules, to implement his plan.”

“To locate the SPS?”

He shrugged. “That too. But primarily to keep us informed on the enemies' movements and tactics.”

There was no use arguing. Again, we were at odds. The general's first priority was his obsessive quest to kill every BEM on the planet, while my team's mission was the SPS and contact with Alpha.” I picked up a twig and twirled it. All through Terran history, there had been dictatorial leaders, obsessed with their own quest for power, or revenge on other countries, who had sent their troops on suicidal missions. Roothe was not much different, except for his total lack of experience.

“OK,” I said casually and continued walking. “Is it day or night?”

“It's night, Jules.” He stopped again. “I cannot allow you to leave to meet with your team. Haven't you wondered why I am always with you?”

I kicked dirt. “I figured we were friends, Weed.”

“I think you're smarter than that. Come. Let's go out the tunnel for some fresh air, if that's what you want. I am supposed to keep you content. This tunnel leads to an abandoned shed by the farmhouse, and the barn where we found you.” He shrugged. A gesture he'd picked up from me. “Anyway, I don't think you'd leave without your stingler.”

“You got that right,” I said.

We came to the tunnel's entrance. To our left was the farmhouse and the barn. To our right, the lights of the village. I took a deep breath. “I've forgotten the smell of fresh air and the feel of a breeze on my face,” I said, and mentally marked the location of the tunnel entrance.

“Oh, it hasn't been that long, now has it?”

“Maybe it just feels that way.” I walked ahead.

“Jules.”

I turned. “Yeah?”

“Suppose we stay by the tunnel's entrance. It's safer here.” He rested a hand on his holstered stingler. It would be set for stun, I knew.

“Oh. OK.” I walked back and gripped his shoulder. “You know, Weed, I've agreed to help your people because of what you've all done for me. I might've been dead…or worse yet, captured by the BEMs if you hadn't helped me.” I shook his shoulder and smiled.

He smiled back. “You're our cousin now, Jules.”

“Yeah.” I hit him hard across the jaw.

He collapsed in a heap and lay motionless. I rubbed my sore knuckles. “Glass jaw, Cous.” I took his stingler and strapped it on. Then I dragged him into the tunnel, far enough back so he wouldn't be seen by anyone from outside. I ripped some vines out of the dirt wall and tied his hands and feet. “Really sorry about this, Weed,” I said and meant it.

I jogged back through the tunnel and found the slope leading to the lower level.

Roothe's office was empty and locked. One kick and the wooden door splintered and swung open.
Great security,
I thought.
Freedom fighters, my ass!

I searched the room and found three rolled and tied parchments. I lit a lantern, untied one and spread it out.
Dammit!
It was written in Denebrian. I should have guessed that. At the bottom of the document were crude drawings of the BEM garrison with some surrounding Deneb village houses, and their HQ in the desert. If the General had any written plans, these parchments had to be it. I folded them and stuffed them into inner pockets of my jacket. Now all I needed was a willing Deneb to translate the words.
Easier said than done,
I thought as I trotted back up to the tunnel and to Weed, who was awake.

“What did you do?” he croaked.

“Sorry, cous. Only what I had to. I untied his legs and dragged him to his feet. I even brushed him off. “There! You should be able to make it back OK.”

“You ungrateful… You – “

“Try crotefucker,” I suggested, then turned and jogged to the barn.

“Crotefucker!” he screamed after me.

Of the four horses, I chose a young bay stallion with the deep-chested body of his ancestral Arab stock. I made friends with him by stroking his neck, and an offered handful of grain I'd scooped out of a bin, then saddled him, took a canteen and filled it, tied it to the saddle horn and led him out of the barn.

Weed staggered out of the tunnel exit, using a wall for support.

I mounted and trotted up to him. “Get back inside, cous, the BEMs can probably see just as well in the dark.

He peered up at me. “Do you know just how much hot trouble I will be in with the general? I will be cooking!”

“Want to come with me? I can use an interpreter.” I leaned over the saddle. “In the end, Cous, we have the same goal, except my captain knows how to achieve it.” I shrugged. “While your general is a babe in a very dangerous woods. What say?”

He glanced back at the tunnel entrance. “I will be ostracized for allowing you to escape.”

“Help us, Weed. Dammit. We're here on Denebria to save your people.”

He glanced back once into the tunnel, then turned and nodded.

I swung off the horse and stared him in the eyes. “Do I have your word of honor as a Denebrian freedom fighter?”

He pursed his round mouth. “You do.”

I smiled. “Then turn around. When he did, I untied his hands. “There's a roan mare in the barn who looks strong enough to travel all night. Take a canteen.”

I waited as he went to the barn, and came out with the roan mare. A canteen hung from the saddle horn.

“Let's go, cous.” I mounted and turned the stallion toward the distant cliffs, and tapped his sides. He broke into a canter.

Weed mounted and cantered beside me.

Once out of town, we slowed to a ground-eating single foot, and true to their ancestry, the two Arabs continued into the high plains without working up a lather.

Dawn was spreading her veils. I wanted to outrun them. If the general decided to send out a search party to retrieve his wayward Terran telepath, he'd have to wait for daylight to do it. The air and ground vehicles, bought from traitors who acquired them in exchange for slaves, were basic pleasure craft, without weapons or surveillance equipment.

We let the horses rest and get a drink from a fast-running white-water stream, then continued east, side by side, toward breaking dawn.

A slim figure mounted on a sorrel horse, at the crest of a hill, pointed a rifle at us. To the north, the cliffs loomed with ragged crevices at their bases.

We reined in.

“Who would that be?” Weed asked.

“That would be Wolfie,” I told him. “Standing guard in the middle of nowhere. Just don't tell him I said that! Just put your hands up and ride slow.”

“But I'm unarmed, cousin.
You
have my stingler.”

“Does Wolfie know that?”

We approached him with our hands raised.

“It's Jules!” I called when we were close enough.

He kept the rifle braced. “Who's the tag with you?”

“A friendly Denebrian. Wolfie, how about you lower the beamer?”

He lifted it over our heads and aimed.

“Wolfie!” I cried. “What the hell?”

Then I heard the distant whine of air craft from the west. Uh, oh.” I turned my horse. Three pleasure craft were plowing the sky, their silver hulls catching the first light as they headed east.

Wolfie had sleeved his rifle. He turned his horse and galloped toward the cliffs.

“C'mon, Weed!” I shouted. “The cavalry's on its way.”

We raced after Wolfie and followed him to a large crevice in the base of a cliff. Wolfie stopped at the opening. “Turn your horses loose,” he said. “The ships will probably follow them.”

“Sounds good,” I said as Weed and I dismounted.

With the hill still between us and the approaching ships, I took the halter and the saddle off the stallion.