Paradise 21 (23 page)

He brushed dust off the glass of another specimen as a new litany of cooing noises erupted on the speakers. This time the sounds were more persistent, more closely spaced, with a heightened tone. A screen flashed on in the egg chamber and Striker turned to face it.

It was another blueprint of the ship, only this time the lighted area centered on the top, near the communications tower. A blue light flashed around the hatch.

Could it be someone trying to get in? The warning coos made Striker’s blood bubble with anxiety and he left the egg room, leaping up the stairs to meet the intruders. As he reached the elevator, the platform rose and he jumped, grabbing a handhold. He pulled himself up as it climbed to the surface. If danger waited above, he’d have only his fists for defense. His metal rod was still in the control room.

The blazing desert sun cracked through as the hatch opened and Striker emerged from the ship and stepped off the platform. Four people stood beneath him in the sand, but his eyes focused on one as dark emotions seized his heart. He’d thought he’d never see her again, but there she was. The pain she’d caused came back, fresh and sharp.

“Tiff. What are you doing here?”

“Striker.” Her voice caught in her throat like a cough. His revulsion at seeing her must have come across because she looked away and breathed deeply before taking a step closer.

“Hold it now.” Drifter caught her arm and raised a laser gun at him. Striker knew then why they’d decided to pay a visit.

“The map.” Striker shot Tiff another nasty stare. “You’ve come back for me because you found the map.”

“That’s right.” Drifter cocked his gun and stared through the site. “You’re going to tell us how to break the code. We’d like to have your ship, too.” The lanky man spit on the ground, and his lips turned into a self-satisfied grin.

Not only had these lowlifes abandoned him here, but now they’d come back to use him and steal his ship, all five years of his hard work. He wished he had an arsenal of laser guns, but blasting them with all that power still wouldn’t ease the sense of injustice and betrayal in his heart. Striker considered how long it would take for the hatch to close before the platform reached the belly of the ship. They’d probably all be able to jump down with him, and he didn’t want them wrecking his only hope to get Aries back.

Striker stared Drifter down as coolly as he’d once stared down Aries’ colonial officer. To his surprise, the oldest member of the group, a scraggly-haired man, held up his own gun, turning on Drifter.

“Put down your gun, Drifter, or I’ll blow a hole in your gut,” the old man said.

“Reckon?” Drifter seemed more angry than worried. “What are you doing?”

“Choosing sides.” The old man looked up at Striker and flashed a black-toothed grin. “Your pop’s hired me for ya, Striker. I’m on your side. I’ve got the map. Brought it to you.”

Drifter moved to fire, but Tiff pointed her gun at his head. “Put the gun down.”

“Tiff?”

“I’ve chosen my side as well, and you’re not on it.” She gestured to the younger boy, and he raised his gun against Drifter as well, although not as boldly as the others. She raised her thin eyebrows. “Mutiny. It’s three against one. Even if you shoot one of us, the others will kill you.”

Drifter swore and put his gun down. “Well, aren’t you the fickle ones.” He shook his head at Tiff. “Miss Opportunist here has just chosen her man.”

Tiff spoke to the boy. “Loot, take away Drifter’s gun and tie up his hands.” When she looked at Striker, there was a glimmer of pleading in her gaze. “We need your help. Our ship is wrecked and we can’t decode the map.”

“Wait a minute now.” Striker felt as though his head had been struck with lightning and all the dust from the past had been stirred up to clog his eyes. Emotions swirled round and he couldn’t separate the good from the bad. If his father had sent the old man they called Reckon, then he had a duty to make sure at least one of the pirates had a way back to the station. The boy looked young and innocent, but the thought of helping Tiff and Drifter after they’d abandoned him made no sense. “You think you can come back and I’ll help you out?”

Tiff looked away as if he’d hurt her and Striker wanted to shout at her until she woke up to the fact she’d hurt him. Not the other way around. She’d always thought about herself, a single-minded, egocentric point of view.

She looked at him with a steely gaze. “We’re asking nice, and we’re the ones with the laser guns, remember?”

As much as his hate ran deep for Tiff, his love for Aries was greater. As he looked down at them, an idea flashed through his mind. Aries was his goal. He needed help to get her back. Striker looked into the easterly wind to where the
New Dawn
had disappeared.

He crossed his arms. “Let’s make a deal. Those colonists have stolen someone from me, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her back. You help me rescue her, and I’ll fly you all out of this hellhole and to Refuge. My word on it.”

“What?” Drifter asked. “Go after the same colonists who murdered all those lizard men and baked their homes? No way. No way are we going up against them. Not for some woman.”

Striker knew they had no choice. He called their bluff. “Then there’s no deal. That’s where I’m headed, and I’m not going to crack that map open and go to Refuge without her. You might as well kill me now and be done with it. Before you do, keep in mind I’m the only one that can fly this alien ship and decode the coordinates. Don’t worry, though, you’ll have a lovely life here on this rock. I should know.”

They stood before his sarcastic wrath, squirming in indecision. Tiff’s face soured as if she’d swallowed poison. The boy’s eyes darted back and forth from Tiff to Reckon, and the old man held his gun as though it were his lifeline. Drifter glowered.

“What do you say, guys?” Tiff’s voice came out weak. She looked as though she struggled to hold herself together. Striker knew her well enough to read through her broken façade. Something about his speech had thrown her. Was she jealous at his plan to go after a woman? Or just afraid of the colonists?

The boy looked up to Striker and gave him a nod. “I say we go. We owe it to him if he’s going to fly us home.”

Reckon nodded as well. “I’ve already chosen my side.”

Tiff cringed like a cornered desert rat.

Drifter tried to weasel his way in. “Don’t do it, Tiff. He’ll kill us all for some woman. Come back to me and we can sail away together on that ship.”

“No.” Tiff shook her head. Her words were tense through gritted teeth. “None of you can fly it and none of you can decode that map.” She looked back to Striker. “I’m with you. Let’s go.”

That was it. No further apology for marooning him here. Then again, Striker hadn’t expected one. Tiff had never been good at apologies.

“Now, Aries, tell me again about this mysterious man on Sahara 354.”

The psychologist raised her pen above a clipboard and studied Aries like she was a specimen in a lab experiment. The doctor, with her puffy hair styled in the old-woman fashion of her parents’ generation, reminded Aries of Mrs. Tanker, one of her classroom teachers who had erased her drawings of plants and animals on her lap screen. Aries exhaled slowly. She’d already explained three different times with three different doctors, and yet this woman persisted, trying to catch any inconsistencies in her memory. “He’s a space pirate. His crew exiled him there five years ago.”

“On Sahara 354?”

“Yes, Doctor Pern.”

The tight-lipped woman scribbled something down and peered through her red-rimmed glasses. “Tell me, how could he have beaten the
New Dawn
halfway across the galaxy? You know as well as I do we left those not fortunate enough to be chosen for the
New Dawn
behind three hundred years ago.”

“He found a wormhole and jumped through space.” Aries knew how crazy she sounded, but talking about Striker was all she had left and the only way she’d find out any information as to his whereabouts.

“I see. None of the search and rescue teams reported finding a human of any kind.”

Aries scrunched up her bed sheet in each fist and her voice rose. “That’s because Astor Barliss deleted it from the records and told his men to keep their mouths shut.”

The doctor put her pen down and leaned forward. “You mean to tell me a highly respected lieutenant lied and covered up evidence in his reports?” Her eyes dared Aries to challenge her.

Aries sat back and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

The doctor shook her head and stood up, jotting something else down on the clipboard. “I’m going to put you on another medication. Let’s start with Clozaril.”

“Will it get rid of my bad dreams?”

Doctor Pern peered over the rim of her glasses in a cold stare. “No, it’s for hallucinations. It’s the most effective antipsychotic available aboard the
New Dawn
and in short supply, mind you. Of course, we’ll have to monitor you for symptoms of agranulocytosis—”

“Please.” Aries stood up from the bed. “I don’t need any more drugs. I need to get out of here. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”

The doctor ignored her and pressed the door panel. As the metal disappeared, she gave Aries one last look filled with pity. “You’re very sick, my dear. The only way for you to secure your release is to prove to us you’re cured of your delusions.”

The woman disappeared with a swirl of white fabric. Aries slumped on her bed, heaving a sigh of frustration. Her emotions toward Striker ran so deeply, they were rooted in her heart. She couldn’t deny them as much as she couldn’t deny his existence to anyone. Even though she remained adamant with the doctors, her hope of seeing him again diminished with every day that passed. A dark, dreary urge to waste away in the cell threatened her resolution. The only thing she held onto was the fact Striker was real. By giving up her freedom, she may have saved him from Barliss’ wrath.

Aries pressed her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes, feeling the rumble of the engines underneath her as the
New Dawn
coursed through space, taking her farther away from the man she loved.

A new certainty dawned on her. If Barliss had killed Striker, he would have used that to break her. He would have shown her the evidence and forced her to face the fact that Striker was gone. But Barliss hadn’t mentioned him.

Maybe Striker was still out there somewhere, still alive.

…

Tiff gazed up at her former lover. He stood on the alien ship like some demigod on his chariot, the wind whipping his dark hair across the strong cheekbones of his suntanned face. When she’d first seen him again, his presence had stopped her breath. She couldn’t believe she’d left such a gorgeous man behind.

Of course, learning about his mission to recover another woman stung like a scorpion’s tail right through the middle of her heart. When he looked at her, all she saw was the hate she had put there.

His voice was hard and gritty. “Listen up. If you’re coming with me, then you have to accept me as your captain. Drifter, Tiff and you, what’s your name?”

“Loot, sir.”

“Okay, Loot, as well. Start digging up as much of the ship as possible. We need to clear the engines and the wings first. Reckon, I’d like to talk to you down in the hatch.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, wispy hair blowing around in the breeze. “Captain, sir.”

Tiff averted her eyes as Reckon passed her with a pleased smirk plastered on his face. Taking out her frustration on the nearest target, she yanked Drifter forward by his shirt collar. “Come on. You heard the man. Let’s get started.”

She cast one last, melancholy look in Striker’s direction. He didn’t seem to notice her. Clasping Reckon on the back, the two of them descended into the ship’s belly and the hatch closed with a final snap. She wanted to be there under Striker’s arm instead of Reckon, but he’d left her in the desert heat, about to haul sand up to her waist.

“I’m not helping anyone get anywhere.” Drifter whipped his head back to fling his long hair out of his eyes, since his hands were still tied behind his back. “Go ahead, Tiff. Go help your new man.”

Tiff reached her breaking point. Using her grip on his shirt, she threw him down in the sand. “Fine. I’m not untying you.”

She took a swig from a bottle of water and waved Loot over. The boy smoothed his hands over the helm of the starship in awe.

“Loot.” Her voice came out weak and she hated herself for being so vulnerable. She hated Striker for loving another woman, and she hated Drifter for convincing her to follow him five years ago. Loot ignored her, entranced by Striker’s new digs. She wondered if she’d lose him, too.

Tiff dug her hands into the sand around the ship. They had no tools, so she used her arms, pushing sand back. As she looked down the length of the hull, the enormity of the job overwhelmed her. A mound of sand covered the bottom half of the ship and she couldn’t tell to what length the hull ran underground.

Tiff decided to focus on one spot above the right wing. Sweat dribbled down the indent in her back. She pushed heaps of sand off the wing. Loot waded through the sand and joined her, shoveling with a piece of metal he’d pulled from his backpack. His presence calmed her. Maybe she hadn’t lost everything, after all.