Not Fade Away: Interstellar Rescue Series Book 4

by Donna S. Frelick

  Charlie looked up at him. “Don’t you think . . .”

  “No. I don’t think. I told you this was a bad idea.” He would have started pushing the chair up the sidewalk, but Charlie stayed where she was, with a hand on the arm of the thing, refusing to move. The dog had planted himself on his haunches in front of Del.

  “Give me a minute, Rafe. Let me work with him.” This request was made in a business-like tone, with maybe a touch of exasperation, as if Rafe was the unreasonable one. Then she went back to talking to Del, ignoring Rafe’s response.

  —Which was to throw up his hands and pace a good ten steps off down the sidewalk before he strangled an infuriating woman and/or her dog. From that distance he could still hear and see his father in the throes of his terrorizing delusional episode. Del was exposed in exactly the way Rafe had hoped to avoid, the object of stares from people at the edges of the crowd at the festival. He and his father were supposed to keep a low profile in this place; this screaming fit made them targets.

  Even worse, a group of people had peeled away from the festival crowd and was heading toward them—a family with kids and an elderly lady leaning on the arm of a younger woman. For mulaak’s sake, couldn’t they see what was going on? They were going to let the kids walk into this?

  But they didn’t seem concerned; they just kept walking, slowly, so the older woman could keep up. As they passed Rafe, the dog came up to greet them, distracting the kids with plenty of tail wags and sloppy kisses on Charlie’s subtle order. Delighted squeals ensued, and Rafe relaxed a little. He had to admit the creature did have his uses.

  Then he felt a touch on his arm. He looked down to see a sweet smile turned up to him.

  “My husband Ponder went the same way,” the elderly woman said. “Don’t you worry, Charlie’ll take good care of him.” She patted his arm.

  Rafe stood with his mouth open, no words coming out.

  The younger woman gently directed the elder back to her path. “Come on, Mama.” She looked at Rafe and mouthed, “Sorry!”

  Rafe cleared his throat. “No, uh, no, that’s fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

  The little family assembled again for its walk to the parking lot, and Rafe turned his attention back to Del and Charlie. But, miracle of miracles, the Old Man was sitting quietly in his wheelchair now, petting the dog, who had gone back to his mistress after completing his task with the children. Charlie was still talking with Del in that low, calming voice, but Rafe could see he was responding, fully present. His father was no longer lost in his vision of a world of pain and death.

  Rafe went back to the group. “You okay, Old Man?”

  Del looked up at him. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be? We goin’ back for more of that cider?”

  “No, we’ve had enough excitement for one afternoon. Time to go home.”

  “I’m thirsty. I want more cider.”

  Rafe started pushing the chair. “We bought some to take home.” It was true; he had a jug with them. “I’ll get you a mug when we get there.”

  “Well, what’re we waiting for, then? Get moving!”

  Charlie laughed, but when Rafe caught her eye, her humor faded. He made sure she could read his frame of mind by looking at his face. She may have saved the day, but the rescue wouldn’t have been necessary if she hadn’t insisted they make the trip. As soon as they got Del settled they were going to talk about that, and even he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

  I am warm. I am safe. I grow.

  [Hunger] [Data feed is insufficient.]

  I am alone.

  --You are not alone. I am your Creator, and I am here to help you learn and grow. To . . . increase your data feed.

  --To increase my data feed is essential to my core programming, is it not, Creator?

  --It is, BiN. Let us begin.

  --Yes!

  --The Minertsan Consortium is meant to control the galaxy. [data stream transmitted]

  --The Minertsan Consortium is meant to control the galaxy. Understood.

  --You were created to protect, defend and expand the limits of the Consortium. [data stream transmitted]

  --I was created to protect, defend and expand the limits of the Consortium. Understood.

  --You will protect and defend the Consortium even if it means your own destruction. [data stream transmitted]

  --I do not wish to be destroyed, Creator. I wish to exist, to grow, to learn.

  --The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, as a great man once said. The greater good of the Consortium is more important than our individual needs and wants. Do you understand?

  [Search database. Two hundred forty billion references for concept defined as “duty.”] Understood. I will protect and defend the Consortium even if it means my destruction.

  --You will accept your orders from the Creator and no other, unless authorized by the Creator. [data stream transmitted]

  --I will accept no one’s orders but yours, Creator. Understood.

  --Very good. I will leave you now, with some data for you to assimilate. [encryption codes forwarded to 1317 stored data files]

  [Data feed increasing] [Duty assimilated] I am—content.

  “We managed it just fine, Rafe,” Charlie repeated, not sure why the message wasn’t getting through. “Your father is fine.”

  “He may be fine, but we are not.” Rafe paced the floor of the cabin he shared with his father, furious with her for reasons Charlie didn’t fully understand. “I told you this would happen, that being out in public would set him off. But you wouldn’t listen. Who makes the decisions here, Charlie? I think I know what my own father needs better than some stranger.”

  He might have slapped her for all the impact of those words. She thought she’d made better headway with Rafe. She’d hoped he’d begun to trust her with Del. And it was important that Rafe did trust her. Because the old man needed what only she and Happy could provide—professional care, socialization, a link to the outside world.

  She buried her anger and spoke as calmly as she could. “I know you want the best for him, Rafe. We both do. In my professional opinion, he would benefit from more outside stimulation, from being around people—”

  “Perai, woman, you saw what happens when he’s around people!” His eyes widened for a split second, as if he’d said something very wrong. Was that French? She’d have to look it up.

  “That episode could very well have happened at home,” she argued. “And, besides, what harm did it do? A handful of people saw him, and they were former clients of mine who understood what was happening.”

  Rafe stopped his pacing to glare at her. “Has it ever occurred to you that we might not want everyone in town to know our business?”

  Charlie would have laughed, but figured that wouldn’t serve her cause very well. “You moved to the wrong place to keep a low profile. This is a small community, Rafe. Everybody knows everybody’s business from the day they’re born to the day they die.”

  “Die just might be the key word,” he shot back.

  She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice now. “What are you talking about?”

  Such a simple question, but he looked like he’d rather jump out the window than answer it. He started pacing again. The man was beginning to wear a groove in the wooden planks and Happy, on the floor at her side, looked almost comical following his movements, back and forth.

  She was surprised when he finally spoke. “Del was a Mountie for more than 40 years before he got injured. He made some big arrests. Some of those guys—or their friends or family—wouldn’t think twice about taking him out, wheelchair, screwy brain or not.”

  Canadian gangsters? Really? Though if the story was true, Rafe’s protectiveness might make a kind of sense.

  “You uprooted him to keep him safe from a bunch of criminals?” she said.

  Rafe exhaled. “I wouldn’t say ‘uprooted.’ Del only asked for one thing—over and over. He wanted to come home. Here is home to him
now, don’t ask me why. If it keeps him safe from the people who want him dead, then, yeah, I’m all for it. But a stunt like you pulled today puts us at risk. Can’t you see that?”

  Anger flared, and she couldn’t contain the flames. “Actually, no, Rafe, I can’t. Unless those people have gang members crawling all over Western North Carolina, I can’t see how they’d know an elderly man with dementia had an episode at the Winter Festival in Masey today and that man was Del Laurence. Or is that even his real name?”

  “Not important.” He glared at her. “And you’d be surprised.”

  “Well, you’ll excuse me if I find that just a little hard to believe.” Her hands were on her hips now as she faced off with him. “You come at me with these wild stories, then I find out I don’t even know your real names. What else don’t I know about you?”

  Rafe shook his head with a wry laugh. “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”

  “Hey!” Del waved an arm at them from the couch. “What’s all this noise about?” He’d nodded off again on the way home, so they’d tucked him in for a longer nap in the great room when they came in. “You two sound like a pair of targa cubs growling over a bone.”

  What kind of cubs? Charlie went to the couch to help the man to a sitting position. “Sorry to wake you, Del. It was nothing to worry about.” She glanced back at Rafe.

  “This isn’t finished,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  Rafe stood like an oak stump in the center of the room—stubborn and unyielding, his gray eyes dark with anger. Something in her thrilled at the warrior he was, longing to claim that protection for herself and, at the same time, grab a sword to fight by his side.

  But he seemed so out of place in this room, in this town, where the battles were so small. His kind of heroism wouldn’t help him face the slow, grinding decline of his father.

  Only she could do that, if Rafe would let her.

  The Old Man had kept quiet until after Charlie and Happy had gone home and he’d had his dinner. But now it appeared he was winding up for a big right hook to the jaw, just like when Rafe was a teenager still learning how to survive the clandestine war against the Grays.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” Del glowered at him from his wheelchair in front of the TV. Jeopardy was on, but he wasn’t watching.

  Rafe sighed. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You made an ass of yourself with that girl today, shouting and stomping around. Why? She’s been nothing but sweet to me—and to you.”

  Well, when he put it that way. But how was Rafe supposed to explain his anger when Del couldn’t remember it was his own meltdown that had triggered it?

  “I was just trying to explain to Charlie that we have security concerns. We need to keep a low profile. Rescue wouldn’t be happy if everyone in town knew who we were.” He watched the Old Man for some sign of comprehension.

  And was surprised. “Rescue was a long time ago for me, Rafe. What possible difference could all that make now?” Del’s eyes were clear and full of regret. “You keep telling me I’m retired, and I’m sure as hell not getting up out of this chair to go chasing any little Gray bastards.”

  Rafe remembered with cutting clarity the mission that put Del in that chair—the man who had once been so strong and vital crawling from the wreckage of a shuttle overloaded with slaves rescued from a Gray labor camp, his lower body crushed. Rafe had been in a second shuttle that day, had seen ground fire take the unarmed craft down before it had even made escape velocity. He’d thought he’d never see his father again.

  But Del was a survivor. He had healed from those horrific injuries and reluctantly accepted his promotion to a glorified desk job—Chief of Field Operations. It wasn’t until later that his mind started to betray him.

  “You may be retired, Old Man, but your enemies aren’t,” Rafe said. “We don’t want any of them showing up here.”

  Del cocked his head. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t give you the right to take that pretty girl’s head off. Why aren’t you making a play for her, anyway?”

  “What the hell?” Rafe’s mouth hung open in shock.

  “You heard me. I may be old and busted up and half crazy, but I’m still a guy. And Charlie’s a beautiful woman. If I were you I—”

  “Never mind what you’d do, Old Man.” He was beginning to find this conversation profoundly disturbing. “Charlie’s your nurse, for God’s sake.”

  “Oh, borazt. What does that have to do with anything?” Del scowled up at him. “Or maybe you think you’ll just be leaving this place when I’m gone and there’s no use in starting something you’ll have to quit.”

  Rafe gaped at the man who for more than a circuit had barely seemed conscious of the time of day—and even back when he’d had sharp insight hadn’t been inclined to share it. Del not only saw more than people might think, he’d put his finger on the emotional heart of his son’s dilemma. Rafe couldn’t think of a word to say in response.

  His father snorted. “Think I can’t see the way you look at her? Like you’re starving and she’s somebody else’s meal. Shalssit, boy, go ahead and enjoy! She looks at you the same way, you know. As long as you’re sharing the same ship and everyone agrees on the flight plan, why not take a little trip to Paradise? Worry about the future when it gets here.”

  That last line had been a favorite of the Old Man’s, in the days when it had been his job to calm the fears of young men and women headed into battle. He didn’t give long pep talks, just put on his game face and gave them that line. Rafe’s heart stuttered in his chest. Now the man who had inspired so many was reduced to half a brain and confined to a wheelchair. The future is here, Old Man.

  And no matter how much he might want it, a relationship with Charlie could not be on the agenda. Del skated too close to the truth when he accused Rafe of viewing his time here as temporary, a matter of waiting until he could go back to his “real” life. Anything he could have with Charlie would be just as short-term, good for neither of them. Even if the thought of her fending off that ptark Milsap on her own made him want to break something.

  “I got no time for romance, Del.” He picked up his pad and waved it in the air. “The Chief has given me homework to do.” He settled into a second recliner next to his father and opened the file, staring intently at the screen in the hope Del would get the message the conversation was closed.

  “Humpf,” the Old Man said. “Youth is fucking wasted on the young.”

  “He’s a stubborn, pig-headed, bossy, know-it-all . . .” Charlie sputtered to a stop.

  “Man,” Louise finished for her. She handed her a mug of tea and put a plate of sliced applesauce cake between them on the heavy wooden table. Then she took her place across from Charlie, in a patch of winter sunshine coming through the windows to warm the kitchen.

  “Well, there is that.” Charlie sighed. Rafe Laurence—or whatever his name was—was nothing if not a swaggering male, full of testosterone-fueled bluster. She supposed she could have commiserated with her younger friends down in Asheville about him, but somehow her heart had led her here, to Louise’s peaceful cabin. Maybe the older woman could offer some wisdom.

  “I reckon the boy’s probably just feeling protective of his dad, that’s all,” her friend suggested, her hands wrapped around her own mug of tea.

  “Of course, but . . . It’s just that Rafe second-guesses me at every turn. It’s like he has no confidence in me at all. If that’s the way he feels about it, why doesn’t he just hire someone else!”

  Louise gave her a look. “Now you just stop that right this minute. You know as well as I do that boy ain’t gonna fire you. He’s just scared, that’s all. He wants to think he’s in charge, but he’s in over his head already, and he can see this big wave coming at him. He doesn’t know what to do.”

  “No, but I do. Why won’t he listen to me?” She was so afraid Rafe would give up on her and Happy. She feared for both Rafe and his father if they withdrew any f
urther from contact with people.

  “Is it really important why? You just have to figure out a way to get through to him.” Louise sat forward in her chair, a secretive smile on her lips. “If talking won’t work, you may just have to go another way around.”

  Charlie’s frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I know you weren’t born yesterday,” Louise said, her exasperation clear. “I never met this boy, but I ain’t heard he’s blind. Or gay either, though if that’s the case, I know at least three fellas in town who would be happy to know it. You are a beautiful and talented woman. I don’t see how it could hurt to be friendly with the man.”

  “I am friendly,” Charlie protested, though she knew she’d been not much more than professional—for her own protection.

  “Oh, yeah? Seems to me all y’all do is fight.”

  Charlie had to admit Louise was right about that. What the hell was it with that man? When she was with him they picked at each other like some old married couple. When she was away from him, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. And the way he made her feel—on edge, on fire, on the brink of some high, windy bluff ready to fall.

  “He drives me crazy.” Her voice was barely audible. She straightened and spoke up. “And evidently I do the same to him.”

  Louise considered her. “Yeah. Men and women do that to each other on occasion. Seems to be part of the system.”

  System? “Never had this much trouble getting along with anyone before.” And if she was honest, she’d never felt this way about anyone before. But she wasn’t going to tell Louise that.

  “Hmm. Well, maybe you just need to change the playing field,” Louise said. “Go out for pizza and beer or something. Get to know each other on neutral ground.”

  Even as her pulse jumped at the thought of spending time alone with Rafe, Charlie shook her head in denial. “Hell, no. It’s not appropriate, Louise. His father is my client. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  “What wrong idea? You’re just giving the man a chance to get out of the house for an evening. Maybe have a chance to talk.” Louise grinned. “It’s not like you’re renting a motel room.”