DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) (13 page)

Suspicious, the Enforcer shook his head. “I’ve got to run
him in. I have my orders.”

“Come on, man. It’s enough that the kid has to explain his
scarred arm to his daddy, the Consul’s First Council, but to have it come out
that the boy is gallivanting around the universe in my old tub, it would kill
the old man.” Stan pointed to Carl’s room. “As far as anyone knows, that young
man is Carlos Thunburry, okay? Better for everybody, don’t you think?”

The Enforcer looked toward Carl’s room. “Frappin rich people
sculking about like kids playing hooky.” He shook his head in disgust. “Yeah,
sure. Just keep him out of trouble.”

“Yeah, man, don’t you know it!”

Both men returned to the room just as Protmeyer was leaving.
The Enforcer collected his partner, glanced at Carl, and then headed out.

“Do you know who that was?” Carl said. “The man I rescued?

“If I were to guess,” Stan said, “I’d say the brother of
Delta Omicron Four’s chancellor, perhaps. But I could be wrong.”

Carl laughed. “The guy wanted to hire me as his own personal
bodyguard.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You going to take his offer?”

Carl dropped his gaze, his face sobered.

“Well, no, chief,” Carl said.

“What? Why not?”

“After I explained my arm to him, he couldn’t retract his
offer fast enough. He almost ran to get out of here.”

From deep concern, Stan’s face changed. “Well, good,” he
said with a satisfied smile.

Carl shot an angry look at Stan, and then looked out the
window to ignore Stan altogether.

“Had you accepted his offer, Carl, had he hired you away, Lilia
and I would have had to risk our lives to convince you to reconsider. You
belong with us, Carl.”

Carl turned to look at Stan with a calloused eye. “What ‘us’
are you talking about? I thought your aim was to get yourself hanged. Weren’t
you going to Atheron to face trial?” He turned back to the window.

Stan studied Carl’s pained expression and slowly began to
realize that the Immortal Architect might have the mortal Stan make amends in
other ways.

Nothing in him wanted to abandon his young friend—
he
wouldn’t
—but what more could he say or do to help matters?

Maybe Carl was right, and his way of making amends was the
precise way to get the job done. Between the two of them they’d have to save
six-thousand forty-eight souls. If he dedicated the next hundred years to the
task, he’d have to save sixty-five souls a year. If he could just figure out
where to start, that just might be
doable.

Well,
he thought,
I have time
.

Stan froze.

A hidden genetic memory just popped to the surface. He
suddenly knew that
if
he didn’t get himself killed in the meantime, both
he and Lilia would live six to nine hundred years because of what
DarkStar
had done.

Pushing that astonishing notion aside for later
consideration, Stan refocused on Carl. As it was, Stan felt that the more he
said to Carl, the more he made matters worse.

What a mess,
Stan thought.
All of this is beyond
me. I need to talk to someone smarter. Maybe DarkStar can help me sort this
out.

Wait a minute. Lilia told him to let the Immortal Architect
prove Himself. Fine. Since I need the advice and guidance of someone smarter
than me . . .

Feeling as if he were climbing way out on a very thin limb, Stan
took a deep breath, his lips parted, but nothing came out. Praying suddenly
seemed incredibly stupid.

He glanced around.

Fine.

“Okay Immortal Architect, if You’re there, and You’ve got
this all figured out, then how about cluing me in?”

The next day Stan, with Lilia at his side, entered Carl’s
hospital room with a glidechair.

Carl glanced at the couple, at the hovering chair, and then
turned once again to the window ignoring them.

“Come on, Carl,” Stan said. “Let’s get out of this morgue.”

Carl sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “You two go
on without me.”

Humming cheerfully, Lilia came around the bed and shut off
the machine.

“Hey, I need that!”

“Not anymore,” she said brightly as she yanked the I.V. from
his arm. She quickly placed a small bandage over the needle’s insertion point.
“Okay, he’s ready. Let’s do it.”

Stan grabbed Carl by his good arm and pulled him abruptly
from the bed and over his shoulders. “Let’s go, pal.
Reliant’s
waiting.”

Stan spun, kicked the hover-chair to one side, carefully
ducked Carl under the doorframe, and headed toward the stairwell as a frantic
nurse called for security. An alarm horn squalled in unison with pulsing
lights. Ignoring them, Stan and Lilia took the stairs to the roof.

DarkStar
, disguised as
Reliant
, waited at the
building’s edge. Lilia hurried ahead, running up the ship’s ramp and out of
sight in record time. Slowed down by Carl’s weight, Stan had only carried the
young man halfway across the roof to the ship when behind them the door burst
open again. Stan turned to see two security guards rush out with guns drawn.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Stan called out. “Sorry, no time to
chat, but tell the nurses for us that their services were greatly appreciated.”

“Put that man down or I’ll shoot,” said one guard.

Stan smiled. “So shoot, already! What are you waiting for,
an engraved invitation?”

The guard raised his gun to take careful aim.

Stan casually turned back to
DarkStar
, to the
awaiting ramp, and started toward it.

The guard fired, but the bullets glanced harmlessly off
DarkStar’s
enveloping shields.

Stan stepped aboard, turned back to the guards, and waved
good-bye with his free hand.

DarkStar
retracted the ramp, closed the door, and
headed for space.

“Let me down,” Carl huffed.

“You going to behave?” Stan said.

“My shoulder! I need my . . .”

Lilia stepped in front of Carl, who hung draped over Stan’s
shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and shook a bottle of pills.

“What’s that?”

“You going to behave?” She rattled the bottle again.

Carl went limp and mumbled, “I’ll be good, Lilia. Can I
please have something for the pain?”

“You want to try walking to your room,” Stan said, “or shall
I carry you all the way?”

“No, Cap. I can walk. Just put me down.”

Before Stan could set Carl on his feet, Carl tried to snatch
the pill bottle from Lilia.

She jerked it away. “Nope! Just one at a time, pal. These
things are addictive, so I’ll watch your dosage, if you don’t mind.”

Carl scowled. “I’ll mind my own dosage, thank you very much.
I’m all grown up now, . . . Mom.”

“You ain’t so big I can’t take you over my knee, son. You
mind yourself, and I’ll mind the pills. Got it?”

She was only twenty-one, just a year older than Carl, but Stan
felt as though her take on the situation was right. The squabbling brat still
draped across his shoulders needed looking after, not free reign.

“Come on, kid,” Stan said. “Play nice.”

“Are you going to let me down?”

Stan shrugged and set him gingerly on the deck.

“I’ll take that pill now,” Carl said.

Lilia popped the cap from the bottle, jostled one pill into
the cap, and dumped it from the lid into his eager hand. Carl moved swiftly
down the hall to the galley and water.

Staring after the boy as he hurried away, Stan sighed and
glanced toward Lilia, a worried look in his eyes. “I hate seeing him like
this.”

“I know. He seems more eager for the drug than the pain
would warrant.”

“It is more than just the pain. You’re a captivating lady.”

“Well, if he begins to think of me as Mom, that will give him
a legitimate label to slap on his emotions, at least for a while. He needs some
stability in his relationships, and I don’t think the Immortal Architect would
have put Carl with us if He didn’t have a plan that would remove the confusion.
Things will work out.”

She moved next to him and tucked a hand under Stan’s arm,
then rested her head on his shoulder in a semi-embrace. Stan didn’t know how to
handle her closeness any more than Carl had. He searched for a safe topic.

“I’ve seen firsthand what the Confederate’s medical system
can do, or rather, what it doesn’t do.” He patted her hand. “Had Carl stayed in
that hospital much longer . . .”

“He’s certainly better off with us,” Lilia agreed.

“If we can get him to Providence,
its
medical system
may be better, or at least they might be willing to give reconstructive surgery
a shot.
DS
, keep a constant watch on Carl’s vitals will you, and let Lilia
know if and when he truly needs his meds, okay?”

“Aye, sir.”

Lilia stretched up to kiss Stan’s cheek. “You really are a
great guy. You know that?”

Stan considered the sincerity of her smile. How he wanted to
believe her, but his own jumbled feelings, left him bewildered. It was probably
best to not answer the invitation in her smile until he had sorted out his own mind.

He had no desire to leave the comfort of her arms, but he
knew in time he’d have to completely surrender everything to those he’d
wronged. That was the right thing to do, the
only
thing to do, and
perhaps his losing her all in itself was the very thing her “Immortal Architect”
considered payment for his deeds. Perhaps—
perhaps not
—but payment had to
be made regardless.

“Tell you what, Lilia. You pilot us out of this system while
I prepare lunch. I don’t think you’ve seen as much of the bridge as you would’ve
liked.”

Dissatisfaction morphed her smile into a scowl.

Suddenly self-conscious, he spun on his heel without another
word, and stiffly headed away. cursing his stupid response and wished Lilia
didn’t have the ability to jostle him like this. He released a long anxious
breath, irritated with himself. As he neared the exit he stopped to look back.

Lilia stood motionless, just watching him walk away. The
hurt in her eyes tugged at his heart, and stopped him cold.

Internally, Stan shook himself. Was this just some strange
infatuation he had with what he had been denied, forbidden fruit, a Trog?

Trog . . . He nearly choked on the word that left
a dry bitter taste in his mouth.

Did Lilia portray a realistic picture of what a believer
was? Was she what followers were truly like? Or was he blinded by something
else, his own unguarded feelings perhaps?

Before he met her, back when he was a clear thinking man,
the platitude “out from under a rock Troglodyte,” made perfect sense when
applied to a finger pointing religious zealot. But it certainly didn’t fit when
referring to her.

She took a step toward him, and in response, as if on
autopilot, his body turned and stepped toward her as though
it
knew
better than he.

Everything important to him was embodied in her. In that
instant he no longer cared about his own ego, his ever-present desire to appear
manly and in control, nor about returning to Atheron, to the followers there,
to satisfy his sense of justice. Right then, the only thing in his field of
concentration was what awaited him on the other side of the cargo bay.

And when they finally came together, to hold each other, to
share each other’s affection and concerns, his heart pounded in his chest, but
unlike any other time in his life, it seemed to hit like a hammer beating
imperfections out of red-hot iron. Stan realized something new had been forged
here; something that stood at odds with his own view of himself, and his sense
of right and wrong. In opposition to his plans, it was clear now that here, in
her arms, was where he belonged.

Stan relaxed tense muscles and let his cheek rest in Lilia’s
soft, sweet smelling hair; and now, with Lilia in his arms, he finally saw
things differently. There was only one true way to square his attachment to her
with his sense of justice. The deeper truth at work here seemed such an easy
thing to lay a finger to that he wondered how he missed it earlier. He didn’t
know when, but sometime in the middle of this mess, amid the battles, the
rescues, the quiet times at the table, a bond had formed between them; a bond
that should continue if he was ever to set his life to rights.

A return to Atheron would cost him more than he was willing
to pay. It would cost him her. And if he let that happen—knowing what it was
like to be loved by her, to be touched by her, to hear her voice, to share her
troubles and joy . . . and then to lose it all—dying would seem like
no punishment at all in comparison.

Stan ground his teeth at the very thought.

The clean scent of her hair, the softness of it against his
cheek without warning drew him back to where he was, and he felt himself relax
in her embrace.

Tomorrow’s worries faded, and for once, no longer pulled in
two opposite directions, he consciously enjoyed the moment.

“I love you.”

The proclamation fell from his lips all on its own, and in
saying it, Stan felt detached as though someone else had said those three tiny
but very important words. If someone else had brought those words to the
surface on his behalf, then good—he was grateful . . .

. . . When it came to her, he was a hopeless
addict.

Stan opened his eyes to a brightening room.
DarkStar’s
way of waking him was to bring the lights up slowly to mimic sunrise. The air
was fresh and crisp like an outing in the woods. It was always peaceful and
pleasant, but this morning seemed even better.

He sat up and stretched, feeling as though for the first
time in his life it was good to be alive. No bad dreams, no anxiety as to what
the day might bring; just an expectation of good things to come. He showered,
dressed, and headed upstairs to the bridge, which was now well lit and ready
for him. Except for a few instruments’ faint hum, the room was quiet.

Amused by
DarkStar’s
ability to set the perfect mood,
he chuckled. Even the turned pilot’s chair was inviting. He took it and half
checked the scanner before noticing the faint blip, which brought him upright.
“Well, what do we have here? A lifepod dead ahead?
Reliant
, do you see
this?”

“Aye. One life sign but readings are faint.”

Stan zeroed the scanner to check his location.
We’re in
the middle of Starry Decisis,
he thought.
Nowhere near traffic lanes. What’s
a lifepod doing way out here?

“
Reliant
, bring us up beside the escape pod and draw
it into the cargo bay, please. And take the bridge.”

He stood and turned. “Cargo bay.” The wall portal appeared
and Stan stepped through. The bay door was already open, with the lifepod
moving into position beside the ship.
DarkStar
tractored it in and set
the pod on the floor with remarkable care. The pod’s cold skin began to coat
with frost.

“
DS
, pop the hatch.”

With a sucking hiss, the pod’s icy hatch pushed out from the
pod and slid to one side. Stan reached in to the bearded man slumped in his
seat. A strong pulse. Good.

“
DS
, wake Lilia and send her to the infirmary,
please. You needn’t wake Carl.”

“Aye, sir.”

He carefully pulled the unconscious stranger from the pod
and, cradling him like a baby, carried him to the Med-room where Lilia waited.
“He needs oxygen. He ran out just before we recovered him. Let’s hope we got
him in time.”

When the pod survivor finally revived, Stan asked him his
name.

“John,” he mumbled, “John Bauer,” then he fell unconscious
once again.

“Can you make some leeway with the man, DarkStar?” Stan
said. “Got any trick?

She had one that John could neither prevent, nor frustrate.
Resting a hand on his forehead,
DarkStar’s
avatar read his mind by analyzing
what she understood about human gray matter.

He opened his eyes briefly, only to see DarkStar gently
brushing errant hair from his eyes.

“You’re safe, John,” she said tenderly.

Although DarkStar didn’t probe too deeply, when next John
came to, Stan had the answers he needed. “So, you’re a shepherd?”

John studied the man who was casually dressed, but didn’t
answer.

“I’m Stan Archer, the captain of this craft.”

“Oh, you . . . So this is where I meet my end,
huh, butcher?”

Stan focused on the older man’s eyes. “Wow, Shepherd. News
travels fast . . . and faster still when it’s wrong.”

“Wrong? You going to tell me that you didn’t destroy the
Princess
?
Your picture was all over the cortex, Archer.”

Lilia stepped next to Stan and smiled. “Relax, Shepherd
Bauer. You’re among friends. How did you wind up way out here?”

John glanced at her but stayed focused on Stan. “I needn’t
answer your questions. You have my file, I presume. Why drag this out?”

Stan patted John’s leg reassuringly through the blanket. “I neither
have your file, Shepherd Bauer, nor do I have any agenda beyond making a new
friend. We found you adrift way out here and were wondering how that came to
be.”

John rolled his eyes and turned away.

Then DarkStar stepped into his view and took his hand. “You
needn’t fear us, Shepherd. You’re not a prisoner. You’ll have free reign of the
ship as long as you’re aboard her, and you’ll soon come to know we mean you no
harm.”

Stan noted that of all the people in the room, John seemed
transfixed by the ship’s avatar. But even so, he refused to speak further.

“Well,” Lilia said. “When you’re feeling up to it, call for DarkStar.
Dinner is in a couple hours, and we’d love to have you.”

Interlacing her arm with Stan’s, Lilia coaxed him out of the
room and down the corridor, passing Carl as they went.

“So,” Carl said, “
Reliant
, says we have a guest. How
is he?”

“Suspicious,” Stan said without slowing.

“You of him, or he of us,” Carl called after him.

“Yes,” Stan answered without turning.

When dinnertime rolled around,
Stan and
Lilia found themselves sitting alone.

“
DarkStar
,” Stan said, “any word about our guest?”

“He’ll be along shortly, sir. Both he and Carl bring news.”

“Oh, really?”

Lilia patted Stan’s hand. “Patience, big boy. Enjoy the
company you have.”

Stan leaned on the table, fist to his cheek as he studied Lilia.
“Well, how about that Slip-band drive, huh? Its transduction technology is
something, isn’t it? Boggles the mind,” he teased.

Lilia rolled her eyes and glanced at the chronometer. “Where
could they be?”

Stan chuckled. “Patience, girl. Enjoy the company you have.”

Just then Carl came in followed by John, each taking a seat
across from Stan and Lilia.

“Carl,” Lilia said excitedly. “Your arm.”

Carl raised the completely healed limb. “What? Is there something
wrong?” Then he laughed and draped it over John’s shoulders. “This guy, you’ve
got to love him. He prayed for my arm and the pain melted away, just like that.
And that’s not the only thing the Immortal Architect healed. I’ve never felt
more alive,”

“Best news ever!” she said jumping to her feet to look more
closely.

“A miracle. I can’t believe it,” Stan said, as he followed
her. “Is this even possible?”

“Apparently,” Lilia said smugly, “there is an Immortal Architect
after all. I think you can finally put away any doubts you may still have,
flyboy.”

This is incredible,
thought Stan.
If I hadn’t seen
it with my own eyes I’d
. . . “Hmm.” He pinched Carl.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Sorry. Just had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“I think you were supposed to pinch your own arm,” Carl
scolded, rubbing where he’d just been assaulted. Carl gave Stan a stern look.
“You’d think my wide-open eyes were a dead giveaway.”

“I just had to test the reality, Carl. This seems so incredible.”

Everyone sat, and, after prayer, dinner began.

“Carl caught me up on your stories, Stan. There’s something
I would like to discuss with all of you,” John began. “I think I have something
that might interest you. Have you ever heard of the Paladin project?”

Carl beamed. “You’ve got to hear this. It’s a great system
where those qualified are trained and financed by Providence to work inside the
Confederacy to change things from within.”

Lilia raised a hand. “Wait a minute, please. Before we get
into this discussion, I’d like to ask Shepherd Bauer something.”

“Yes, Miss Slone?”

“You see, sir, my name is the
something
I’d like to
change. You can do wedding ceremonies, can’t you?”

In surprise, Stan jumped to his feet. “Now wait just one
moment.”

Lilia stood and gathered his hands in hers. “Stan Ryley Archer,
I love you. I have from the start. I want—”

“Stop.” Stan pulled away and stepped back. “There’s too much
blood on my hands, woman. You deserve better.”

“Does your reluctance, Stan, have anything to do with the
Emperor’s
Princess
?” John interrupted, “because there’s something you should know
about the liner. She carried followers, sure, but that isn’t why Dais had it
shot down. It was a political move, pure and simple.”

Both Stan and Lilia turned to give John their full
attention.

“Proctor McCullough was aboard her as well.”

“What?” Stan’s face grew suddenly angry. “That bast—”

“Who?” Carl asked.

“Consul Dais’ political rival,” Stan growled. “Dais had
Wolverine
squad do his dirty work for him. I should have checked the manifest.”

“You wouldn’t have found McCullough on the ship’s manifest, Stan,”
John said. “No one but the aristocracy knew until after the liner had been
downed. Dais acted alone and without Senate sanction. He’s been arrested for
treason.”

“Wow,” Carl said, “this is big news.”

“Bigger yet,” John said, “McCullough was a pro-freedom
Paladin; someone the proletariat has been aching to find. A dove, his political
platform rested on the facts that this building threat of war was completely
contrived by Dais and the Senate hawks, to wrest even more control from the
people. He was already in the arena when he came to be a follower. He and his
political ideas were very appealing to the common voter and that threatened
Dais’ reign as High Consul. McCullough was killed for that, and that alone. No
one knew of his affiliation with us.”

Stan glanced at Lilia before focusing on John and Carl. “No
matter what the political ramifications, I was still used to kill innocent
people. What do you want me to do about that now?”

“Join the underground, Stan. As a Paladin you, Lilia, and
Carl can make a difference.”

Uncertain, Stan shook his head in reluctance.

Suddenly the room changed. He, Lilia, Carl, and John now
stood in the white, never-ending expance where Stan had faced Troy.

“What is this place? John said.

“This,” Stan said, “is the heart of
Reliant
.”

Wide-eyed, John looked around. “Rather big, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never found its end.”

The ship’s avatar stepped up to Stan. “There is nothing to
distract you here, Capt. Archer, but you must understand that indecision and
uncertainty are not your allies.”

“Where do I go from here, Reliant?”

“A look into the
Right
mirror will help you find your
way, sir.”

Stan hesitated. Then, taking Lilia’s hands in his, he drew
her closer. In her eyes he found unwavering acceptance.

“John?”

“Yeah, Stan?”

“Perform weddings, do you?”