Gerry could no longer feel Alarija’s weight as he broke out into the sunlight. He kept running--through the empty halls, across the abandoned terraces, the silent gardens. The ground pitched beneath his feet, and he staggered along the ramp to the landing pad where his shuttle waited. He ran up the ramp, into the shuttle, hit the emergency button that closed the doors behind him.
He felt the cold metal cooling the cuts in his feet as he ran towards the cockpit. He lowered Alarija’s limp form into the navigator’s chair, strapped her in, sat in the pilot’s chair and flicked on all the controls. The shuttle pitched beneath him, began to slide precariously on its side, and then he engaged the engines, held tight to the steering rod as the jets blasted them off the landing pad.
Gerry was thrown back in his chair with the sudden G force, then struggled back into a sitting position as the shuttle gained altitude. He engaged the co-ordinates for the Lucero, and finally disengaged the full blast of the jets, holding the steering rod firm as the shuttle settled into cruising speed.
When they were safe, he looked down at Zalaban. The palace was a tiny flicker of white in the massive blue of the surrounding ocean, a flicker that swayed and toppled and was swallowed by the sea.
* * * *
Sorovski strode into Gerry’s quarters, stopped as he saw Gerry lying back on a mass of pillows. His friend’s face was badly scratched, his hands and torso swathed in bandages to prevent infection from the burns.
“They told me you were awake,” Soro said, forcing himself to be cheerful although he ached for Gerry’s pain.
“Where’s Alarija?” Gerry demanded through stiff lips.
Soro hesitated. “She’s in bad shape, Ger.”
“Is she alive?”
Soro nodded briefly. “But she’s in a coma.” He expelled his breath. “Listen Ger, they’re not sure if she’s going to make it. She’s … not doing well.”
Gerry’s brow darkened. “Take me to her.”
“Gerry, she’s in intensive care.”
“Then put me in the next room,” he said stubbornly. “I want to be with her. I want to see her.”
“Gerry, you can’t--”
“That’s an order, Commander.”
Sorovski sighed. “Very well, Captain. Have it your own way.”
And he went to relay to the message to the Chief Medic.
* * * *
By the second week, Gerry was well enough to walk. The bandages had been replaced by therm-tape strips which encouraged the healing. The skin on his hands was still blistered and raw but his shoulder was puckered by third degree burns.
Not that it mattered to him. All he cared about was that Alarija survive.
He leaned his forehead against the cool plasglas which separated him from the Intensive Care Unit beyond, where Alarija lay. She was pale, her hair lank and lifeless. Tubes were stuck in the veins along her arms and legs. The monitor’s steady beat showed her heartbeat was stable, but the brainwave pulse flickered weakly.
The Chief Medic hadn’t been optimistic. Gerry had brushed his views aside.
“Don’t leave me,” Gerry whispered to her now. “Come back to me.”
But Alarija showed no sign of response.
* * * *
Alarija felt herself floating in a large pool of water. A steady drip-drip echoed in the cavern. It was cool and comfortable here, and she didn’t think she’d ever leave. There was something she’d forgotten, though. Someone … or maybe that had just been a dream?
She heard him whispering in the darkness sometimes. Calling her name. It made her sad. But … but … he was safe. That was all that mattered.
Soon she saw the glimmer of a flame in the distance. It danced and flickered, and then it swelled to a ball of light, which moved this way and that. And then that light swelled, enveloping her. She felt someone standing in the light, a shape flickering in and out.
Who are you? Alarija asked the shape. Make yourself known.
The shape came into the light, first a shadow, then taking the form of a woman. A tall, slender woman, regal and elegant, with bright hair flowing over her shoulders, over the folds of her simple tunic.
Ta’lan? Alarija marvelled.
The woman smiled, serene. She held out her hand. Alarija saw the small blue stone cupped in the palm.
Take it, Ta’lan said.
Alarija took the shining blue gem, stared at its cool glowing light.
What is it?
Ta’lan’s cool hands touched hers and closed Alarija’s fingers around the stone.
Your power.
The light faded and was gone. Alarija felt the warmth of the gem infuse her being.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
A pale light surrounded her. She felt disoriented, lost. She moved her hand, felt the tubes sticking out of them, hurting.
She turned her head, saw a man on the other side of the glass resting his forehead on it. His eyes were closed but his lips moved. Prayed.
She gave a slow smile. “Gerry?”
Gerry looked up, saw her, and his face lit up in joy.
He pressed the palms of his hands on plasglas in greeting. And grinned.
Epilogue
“The Zalaban Elders are fuming,” Sorovski said as he sipped the sweet Rweena wine. “They think you’ve taken it a step too far.”
Gerry grinned. He raised Alarija’s slim hand to his lips and kissed it. “You think so?”
Alarija’s bright eyes danced as she looked from Sorovski to Gerry.
Sorovski frowned. “I think you’re taking this very lightly, Ger. I know they’ve been in touch with the Universal Alliance Committee. With their influence, there’s a real risk you could be court-martialled.”
“I could be,” Gerry said in amusement.
“Gerry!” Alarija laughed. “Just put him out of his misery.”
Gerry’s lips twitched. “I could be if I hadn’t resigned my commission already.”
Sorovski stared at him. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.” He gazed down at Alarija, smiling as she snuggled against his shoulder. “I want to be a free man on my honeymoon.”
“That doesn’t mean that charges still won’t be brought against--”
“Soro, there won’t be any charges. Special Forces Command has assured me the whole matter will be dropped. Marsalir’s murder has not gone unnoticed.”
“Well.” Sorovski settled slightly. “Well, that’s good news.”
Alarija poked Gerry in the ribs. “Tell him the rest.”
Gerry picked up his glass and raised it at Soro. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your new commission, Captain.”
Sorovski’s mouth dropped.
“I think that’s shut him up for once,” Gerry told Alarija, grinning.
Sorovski flushed, looking pleased. “Well. Well. I don’t know what to say, Ger.”
“How about a toast?” Gerry prompted him.
Sorovski nodded, rose briskly to his feet. He looked down the banquet table, tapped his glass to silence the wedding guests. He raised his glass.
“To the happy couple!”
The End
Sirens Call Page 5
