Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (5 page)

“You!
Drop your weapon!”

Jeff
numbly wiped the saber on his jeans before laying it down.

More
sirens. An aid car pulled up followed by two more, and spectators materialized
out of nowhere. An officer bent to examine Teacher.

“Christ,
will you look at this guy. Gutted like a pig.” A startled grunt. “Jesus. His
right hand is gone. Quick, get me a tourniquet!”

“Cuff
that one by the wall, Pete. Make sure you collect that sword or whatever it
is.”

“Hey,
Sarge,” the patrolmen called out as he pulled Jeff’s arms behind his back,
“this one’s got a big cut on his back. Might want a medic to take a look at it.
Don’t want him to bleed out on us.”

The
last thing Jeff heard was, “Shit! There he goes. Hey, give me a hand with this
guy.”

Jeff
regained consciousness face down on a towel. As his mind continued to come on
line, he picked up on a subdued racket in the background: people talking, the
squawk of police radios, and the jingle of equipment. Turning his head, Jeff
saw what appeared to be a number of white uniforms and smelled disinfectant.

In
a sudden rush, preceding events hit like a hammer blow. Jeff tried to push
himself up only to discover that his arms wouldn’t move. Quick panic caused him
to struggle until he heard someone speak close to his ear.

“Settle
down, buddy, there’s nothing wrong with your arms. They’re tied to the table.
You’re in the Harborview E.R. You’ll be fine.” Jeff relaxed and became aware of
a tugging sensation on his back.

“Looks
like this one is back among the living, Madge.”

“Wish
he would have stayed down,” a tired feminine voice replied. “Nearly ripped the
clips out when he jumped. Good thing he was tied off. I’ll have this one zipped
in a few minutes.”

It
was still black outside when Jeff awakened in response to someone calling his
name. He was lying on a hospital bed. A police officer was leaning over the
bed, which explained the insistent voice. Nearby, a gangly figure slouched in a
chair, mouth open and snoring. An immense wave of relief swept over Jeff.

“Glory
be. It’s Carl!”

“What?”

“Sorry,
officer. What would you like to know?”

A
brief interrogation and the officer left. Awakened by the conversation, Carl
scooted his chair over to the bed. Yawning hugely, he solemnly examined Jeff’s
face. An orderly came into the room with a bowl of soup for Jeff, took pity on
Carl and found him a cup of coffee.

After
a few sips Carl slammed his cup down on the arm of the chair. “Dammit, Jeff,
this has to rank as the most stupid thing you’ve ever done! When are you going
to start using your head?”

Jeff
cringed with shame. “Maybe never.”

Cursing
under his breath, Carl tried to wipe coffee off his clothing. “It’s a damn good
thing I was cruising south. I’d been kicking myself for not talking you out of
walking home, backtracked from the library and saw the collection of gumball
machines.” The napkin he was using to sop up the coffee began to shred. Jeff
handed him a clean one.

“I
think I managed to convince the police that you are who your identification says
you are, and a law-abiding citizen. Until they’ve had a while to chew on it,
though, I understand you’re on a police hold.” Carl held his shirt out to look
at it and shook his head mournfully. “My favorite one, too.”

“I’m
sorry, Carl. I’ll buy you another shirt.”
 

“Screw
it, just tell me what-in-hell happened. When I arrived they were loading you
into an ambulance.”

There
were large gaps in his memory, but Jeff related what he could. “…And that’s all
I remember. Think I must have passed out from blood loss.”

Carl
stared at Jeff in shocked disbelief. “Holy shit!” repeated at regular intervals
was the extent of his speech for some time. “I expected something bad, but
nothing like this. Be right back. I really need coffee.”

When
Carl returned with a large container of coffee and settled back into the chair,
his expression was grim. “I think, my friend, that I had best get busy on some
serious damage control with the police in the morning.”

Still
feeling acutely embarrassed, Jeff whispered, “Yes. Thank you.”

Carl
waved Jeff’s thanks away. “Also, whether we like it or not the university has
to be informed at once. You sure that woman in the park was dead?”

An
image of her face flashed into Jeff’s mind. Every detail was perfect. Not
trusting himself to speak, Jeff nodded.

“Finding
her like that must have been pure hell,” Carl said sympathetically. “Problem
is, publicity on this is going to be fierce and who knows which way those winds
will blow? You stumbled on her after she was dead, but what will the media make
of it?”

“Probably
the worst. Get the most splash they can.”

 
“That’s a good possibility.” After a pause,
Carl asked, “What about the two gang members you wounded? Think they’ll make
it?”

“Things
moved so fast…I didn’t hold anything back, Carl. Into the chest of one and
opened the other’s belly. Maybe—if they got help in time.”

Carl
observed Jeff’s expression closely and read a lot between the lines. Only a few
hours ago he had seen what Jeff could do when he was holding back.

“We’ll
find out about them soon enough. That’s history. Right now I‘m concerned about
the university. I don’t think you want old Hildebrand to learn about this by
seeing it on Death and Destruction News.”

Charles
Hildebrand was Jeff’s boss in the Department of Anthropology. Jeff could well
imagine what he was going to say.

“That
would not be a good thing.”

“Bet
your ass it wouldn’t be,” Carl said, and reached for his coat. “I’d best haul
my carcass home. I’ll give Hildebrand a call first thing in the morning.”

“I’ve
done more stupid things in one night than I care to think about, Carl, and have
abused our friendship. Thank you.”

“I’ve
got a feeling about you, boyo. I think the time will come when the shoe is on
the other foot.” With a parting wave, Carl left the room. Jeff was weak from
blood loss and fell asleep almost at once.

The
graveyard shift made rounds, drifting up and down dimly lit hallways like
ghosts. Satisfied that all was as it should be, they retreated to the nurses’
station and pools of brighter light. Shortly before dawn when heads were
beginning to nod, the stairwell door eased open. A man slipped through and
darted by the nurses’ outpost.

Traffic
noise was picking up when Jeff groaned in his sleep. His right arm suddenly
lashed out as if holding a sword. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and his
features were distorted with fear. A great sigh and Jeff relaxed. Darkness
shifted in the chair next to his bed.

Headlights
from a passing car briefly illuminated the face of a tall man sitting with chin
in hand. When another car passed by a few minutes later, the chair was empty.

Carl
stopped by early the next afternoon. “Talked with Hildebrand. Expected him to
shout a bit, but he hardly raised his voice. Pretty impressive.”

“I
have never heard him raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. That is one serious
man. What did he say?”

“Primarily
he was concerned for your health. I think he plans to talk with the
chancellor’s office and fill in the rest of the department staff. Wouldn’t be
surprised to see him stop by tomorrow.”

Swiping
part of a sandwich left on the bedside stand, Carl tried to eat and talk at the
same time. “Going to the police station to give a statement when I leave here.
I’ll check on your saber while I’m there and see if I can get some idea of what
happens next.” Carl washed the last piece of sandwich down with a big gulp of
water and stood up. “Best run along and get things moving.” He gave Jeff an
appraising look. “How you doing?”

“Feel
a lot stronger. Not so blown away emotionally.” Jeff frowned and shook his
head. “Really had a weird dream last night, though. Never experienced anything
like it before.”

The
odd tone to Jeff’s voice was so intriguing that Carl sat back down. “Like
what?”

“Like,
I don’t know. You’ve seen some of those holographic travelogues, right?”

“Yeah,
so?”

“So
that’s what the dream reminds me of. It was so real! It was as if I were
floating several hundred feet up in the air.”

“Are
you going to tell me what you saw, or do I have to muss you up?”

Jeff
grinned at Carl’s impatience. “Sorry to be so vague, but....” His voice trailed
off. “Holy simoleons,” Jeff breathed, “now I remember. It had to be a summer
evening. The smells. Lord, it was so beautiful!”

“Whoa.
You were aware of smells? That’s not only unusual, it’s almost unheard of.”

“Maybe
so,” Jeff replied with a stubborn set to his mouth, “but smells were definitely
present. I think it must have been an island. Looked like pictures I’ve seen of
England except there were mountains right up against the shore. Maybe more like
Scotland. Carl, thinking about it now, it almost seems like I was being given a
choice.”

“Now,
don’t tell me this dream had a moderator!”

“No,”
Jeff said slowly, “It was like the land itself posed the choice: do you really
want a new life?”

“Some
dream, boyo. Maybe wish fulfillment?”

Spreading
his hands in uncertainty, Jeff replied, “Could be, I guess. God knows I
wouldn’t mind finding a place like that to live. Dream, wish fulfillment or
whatever, it was so beautiful and offered hope. Think I might try to get to
sleep early tonight.”

“Think
I would, too. Well, got to run. See you tomorrow.”

Although
it was a good night for sleep, Jeff was disappointed he couldn’t remember any
dreams Sunday morning. He toyed with breakfast as long as possible before
swinging the communication unit over the bed.

“Let’s
just get it out of the way. I’ve got to know.” He punched a button. “Seattle
Times, Sunday edition, 32325.” The set beeped and gave the ready signal.
“Initiate.”

He
rapidly scrolled through the first section. Front page, three columns, no
picture. Thank God. Jeff scanned the article again.

“Jesus!
You killed both of them!”

Jeff
tried to punch in the code for a hard copy, but his hands were shaking so badly
he kept hitting the wrong keys. Downing what remained of a cold cup of coffee,
he whispered, “Hard copy. Alpha one, beta four.” Too quiet, no response.

“God
dammit! Hard copy! Alpha one, beta four!”

The
console whirred quietly and dutifully spit out the requested parts of the
paper. Jeff tried to read it through from start to finish, but his eyes
wouldn’t pass the paragraph that ghoulishly detailed the coroner’s report.
Sometime later, it could have been minutes or hours, Jeff was startled from
bitter self-recrimination by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find a
woman standing by the bed. She was wearing a long lab coat and intently
examining his face.

“Terrible
way to meet, Mr. Friedrick. I’m Doctor Winston.”

Jeff
tried to figure out why she looked familiar. The doctor glanced down and saw
the hard copy, which had fallen from Jeff’s fingers onto the bed. She pushed
the console out of the way and sat down.

“Want
to talk about it? It doesn’t take a shrink to see what this has cost you.”

Recognition
seeped in. It was the doctor from the emergency room.

“Don’t
know what to think right now.”

“It’ll
take a while.” She gestured at the hard copy. “We’ve seen those two in the E.R.
on more than one occasion. What they would have done to you had you not
defended yourself makes this article seem like nothing. Small consolation, but
it’s a fact.”

She
reviewed his chart on a hand-held computer then listened to heart and lungs.
Removing a slender electronic jack from an inconspicuous module attached behind
her ear, Dr. Winston slipped the auditory pickup into a pocket and covered her
mouth to hide a big yawn.

“You
lost at least two liters of blood, Mr. Friedrick—that’s nothing to take
lightly. You’re going to feel weak for another day or two, but your hematocrit
is coming up surprisingly fast and I’m comfortable with letting you go. We’ll
notify police of the planned discharge. As far as I know the hold has been
removed.”

At
the door, she paused and smiled warmly. “Think about what I said. There’s been
a lot of talk about it in the E.R. No one including myself can see that you had
any alternative except permitting them to kill you.”

Shortly
after she left, Jeff got out of bed and shuffled into the hallway. He was tired
of being in bed and needed to break free from thinking about the men he had
killed. Slipping his mind out of that gear, he engaged anthropologist mode. A
few steps and he had mentally departed the hospital.