The merchant’s son, Abdul, was chief of caravan security. He had responded to their presence by emptying the very back hold and ordering them all inside. He had then welded shut the only door leading to the remainder of the caravan, then sealed them even tighter with restrictions. No radio communication of any sort. No sorties outside the hold, unless the alarm was raised. No trial sorties whatsoever. Guns and Tucker had argued directly with Mahmut that the restrictions left them hamstrung and unable to do their duty. But Mahmut chose not to overrule his son, and they were left isolated and confined.
Upon his arrival, Rick had flown the caravan’s length. It looked like a colossal floating junkyard. Vessels of every size and description were bolted together with thick steel girders. Thruster units jutted from long steel arms at odd intervals. It had seemed to Rick that the merchant had bought whatever had come cheap, then attached it wherever there was room. The result was a massive metal space-bound bug, as ugly as it was huge.
Most of the troopers were seasoned enough to know the universal pattern of soldiering—hours of boredom followed by seconds of sheer terror. They gambled and gossiped and lounged, storing food and sleep in limitless amounts. Rick had little money to begin with, and soon had none. He spent as much time as he could making dry runs on the Blade’s weapons system. By the time they made their second halt at yet another minor system, the weapons fitted to him like a glove.
When not working in the Blade, Rick retreated to a private corner for quiet reflection. It was a hard activity, and one which seemed to do little more than bore holes in his confidence. But still it held him, as though there were actually some purpose behind his forced detachment. Their chamber was extensive, with numerous nooks and crannies that were quickly claimed by other troopers seeking a bit of solitude. He had chosen for himself a perch halfway up the side wall, an aerie from which he could view their metal-bound world.
“Rick?”
The unexpected voice made him jump. Consuela continued up the wall-rungs until her head came into view. “May I join you?”
“Sure.” He pushed his bedding to one side, then slid over to make room for her.
“Thanks.” She sank down beside him, looked out and over the edge, and said, “This is nice.”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
She pointed down to where Tucker was loading his troopers into the transport. “Are you going with them?”
“I can’t,” he replied glumly. “They only let one pod out at each landing. My number didn’t come up.”
She nodded her understanding. When the caravan entered a parking orbit, Tucker and his men landed with the caravan’s own transport and guarded during the off-loading. This much Mahmut had insisted upon, overriding his son’s strident objections that their own men were sufficient. “From what I’ve heard,” Consuela said, “you’re not missing much. Tucker said the last landing was on a place so dinky he’d never even heard of it.”
“What about you?” Rick asked. “Doesn’t it bother you, not being let out of this cage for a week?”
She shook her head and confessed, “I’ve been too worried about Wander.”
“You still can’t raise him?”
“I can’t try.” Frustration creased her forehead. “I’m not a trained pilot. Even if I knew where he was, I couldn’t find it alone. I have no way to track my way down some invisible pathway.”
“What about Dunlevy?”
“There hasn’t been any word from them since we left Solarus. They know our course.”
“Maybe Dunlevy tried and missed you.”
“I doubt it. I haven’t done much besides sit at the console.” She hesitated, then added, “That and pray.”
The softly spoken word shook Rick to the core. It felt as though all the time and all the solitude had been pushing and prodding, preparing him for that moment, so that when it came, he would be open. Able to reach beyond his pride and confess, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About home, and myself. Where I’m going, what I’m supposed to do.”
Her gaze held the calm of one ready to listen for hours. “Do you want to go back?”
“I don’t know.” All the frustration and confusion of the past eight days boiled over. “It’s crazy. I’ve got everything I could possibly ask for here. I love this life and the adventure, but something, I don’t . . .” Rick let his voice trail off.
She waited until she was sure he couldn’t finish for himself, then said softly, “Something is missing.”
It welled up within him like a vast emotional bubble rising to the surface of his thoughts. As though just waiting for a time like this, for him to acknowledge, “All the success and excitement I’ve been having, it’s as though I’ve been painting over something. A hollowness inside. And now, when I’m forced to sit here on my hands, I can’t help but see that it’s still there.” He shrugged helplessly. “So I’ve been wondering if maybe I need to go back. Like maybe I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Maybe what you’re supposed to do is ask for guidance,” Consuela said quietly.
There was something in her voice, a depth of understanding that made him feel ashamed to think of how he had tried to pressure her into a relationship. As though here in this rusty hold, her tender intensity was inviting him to a level of trust and friendship he had never known before. “Ask God, you mean?”
She nodded. “Maybe it’s not the place or the activity that is the problem. But what you’re doing it for.”
Rick felt a harmony with her words, so strong it resounded through his being like the pealing of a great bell. The force shattered his shield of pride, leaving him free to admit, “That makes sense.”
“Hard as it is to bow our heads,” Consuela went on, as though understanding his deepest thoughts, “maybe that’s what is called for here. To accept that without the Lord, we are nothing, just empty vessels going through the motions of life. We need to confess our weaknesses, our sins, our emptiness. And turn our lives over to Him.”
Our weaknesses. Again there was the sense of resounding force, so strong Rick was able to see and understand and say, “I feel like all my life I’ve had to be the strong one. Make the family look good. Do everything just right. Be on top.”
“And all the while,” Consuela offered softly, “hold inside everything that did not fit with the image. Every doubt, every failing, every weakness.”
He nodded, his chest suddenly burning with the freedom of confession. “I didn’t even let myself see those things.”
“But they were still there.” Her own gaze turned inward, able to understand because she had confronted the same truth within herself. “Making every success empty, turning every triumph into a lie.”
They shared a long silence, one filled with a power as comforting as it was real. Finally Consuela said, “Would you like to pray with me?”
Chapter Twelve
As Consuela and Rick descended to the hold’s floor, Guns came bounding toward them. “There you are. Good. Need to speak with you both.”
He started to usher them over to one side, but halted to watch the transport return and ground. When the portal unsealed, Tucker was the first to hop from the transport. His hands gripped two carry-sacks of purchased provisions, and his expression was dour. “A more miserable rock I have never set my feet on, and hope never to again.” He raised one sack and shook it toward Guns. “Do you know what they wanted to charge me for simple bread?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Guns said impatiently. “We—”
“It may not matter to you, matey,” Tucker said, still venting steam. “But I’ll be switched if a flour-dusted thief is going to make off with my hard-earned gold. Not without a fight, he won’t.”
Guns planted hands on wiry hips. “Are you done?”
“Aye, I suppose so.” Tucker tossed his sacks to a waiting trooper. “What’s got you in a lather?”
“While you were off gallivanting, we had ourselves a visitor.”
“One thing for certain
, matey, there was little gallivanting going on by us or anyone else on that gloomy world.”
“Listen up, will you? While Abdul went down with your lot, the father came a-calling.”
“Old Mahmut showed up, did he?” Tucker was vastly unimpressed. “I hope you told him we were going stir crazy in this tiny tin room.”
“I did,” Guns crowed, “and he said our waiting was over.”
Rick and Tucker exclaimed together, “What?”
“Aye, I thought that would get a rise out of you.” Guns grinned wolfishly. “It turns out, Mahmut let his son have his way only because our route up to now was pretty safe. The lightways we’ve been following have been almost totally empty routes, touching down on secondary planets.”
“Secondary is far too kind, if you ask me,” Tucker interjected.
“But it makes sense,” Rick exclaimed, the thought of possible freedom agitating his words. “That would also explain why Consuela’s not spotted a shadowlane, much less any pirate activity.”
“Aye, the lad has a point,” Tucker agreed grudgingly, as though reluctant to let go of his irritation. One of Consuela’s constant responsibilities had been to search the way ahead, extending the tiny training amp to its limit, checking to see if there was any trace of a shadowlane.
“But here our course joins the most heavily traveled route in Vector Nine,” Guns went on, his eyes sparking with excitement. “And there have been four ships gone missing in the last twenty days that he knows of.”
“You don’t say,” Tucker murmured.
“Apparently caravans heading in to purchase these firestones on Yalla are full to the brim with trading goods. Not to mention the fact that a half-dozen routes all converge at this point,” Guns continued. “Only reason this system is inhabited.”
“Which means there are planet-bound eyes and ears just looking for news of rich pickings to pass on to the pirates,” Tucker said.
Guns crossed his arms, his grin fierce. “Now tell me what those very same spies heard your boys grumbling about while they were down on that forsaken planet.”
“Nothing much,” Tucker said, returning the grin. “Just how they’d been hired and then crammed in a hold, left to sit on their hands.”
“Just what I thought. Mahmut may not have realized it, but by keeping us in the dark, and giving our boys a reason to complain, he just might have let us set ourselves up for some action.” Guns turned his gaze toward Rick. “Assemble the outriders. I think this news is too good to keep to ourselves.”
“Right,” Rick said, and bolted.
Tucker asked, “Does this mean you can get out there and train?”
“As much as we like,” Guns replied. “Not to mention station outriders as we see fit.”
“I imagine our little friend Abdul will fair explode,” Tucker predicted, “when he hears his father is lifting the restrictions.”
“Aye, it pains me that I won’t be able to listen in on that discussion,” Guns agreed, and turned to Consuela. “The practice runs are over, lass. We need you to be reaching out as far and wide as you can.”
“I understand,” Consuela affirmed. “Search out the shadowlanes and see if there are any pirates lying in wait.”
“Same as you’ve been doing so far,” Guns confirmed. “Only now, if what Mahmut says is true, this run is for real.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rick bent over her sleeping form, reached out an arm, and hesitated. She looked so fragile, so tired, and yet so beautiful. Her hair was scattered over the pillow, as dark as her long eyelashes, making her skin look porcelain pure. It was strange, how he could look down at her now, and feel his heart twist at the fragile strength, and be content to be her friend. As though all the storm of conflicting emotions was suddenly gone, leaving him free to look and examine himself first, and others afterward, with an honesty he had never known before.
She stirred, rolling over, and he touched her shoulder. “Consuela, it’s time.”
“It can’t be,” she murmured, not opening her eyes. “I just lay down.”
“Four hours ago,” he said.
“Your chrono is off.” She rolled back over. “Bye.”
“Guns says to tell you that by his best estimate, we’ve already passed beyond the farthest point of your last search.” When she did not move, he had to smile. “He also said he was brewing up one of his special cups, just for you.”
“That’s not fair.” She drew the covers up over her head.
He felt for her, knew from the circles under her eyes that she needed a longer, deeper rest. But there was no alternate for her watch. Mahmut had informed Guns that he was doubling his normal rate of acceleration, burning fuel at a prodigious level in order to pass through this hazardous region as swiftly as possible. Rick urged, “We need you.”
Consuela sighed her way back out from under the covers, opened her eyes, and managed a tired smile. “I was having the nicest dream.”
The look in her eye told him all. “About Wander?”
She nodded, suddenly shy. “He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. And smiled. For a moment it was as though he was here with me.” She looked at him. “Does it bother you, that I talk about him like this?”
He searched his heart and answered honestly, “Not anymore.”
She brought the world and his face into clearer focus. “Have you been thinking about what we discussed?”
“And praying,” Rick replied. “It feels nice. More than that. It feels right.”
“I’m glad, Rick. Really, really glad.” She rubbed her face and said, “Pray for me too, will you? Most of the time I feel so weak, and Wander seems so far away.”
“It’s going to turn out fine,” he said, and for once truly believed his own words.
A few moments later she emerged from the ’fresher, accepted the cup from Guns with a smile, and entered the transport. As always whenever she was standing duty, a pair of troopers came to lounge around the portal. The chance of anyone entering from the caravan and spying her operating the portable console were slim. But it was a chance they could not afford to take.
It seemed as though she had scarcely had time to power up before her shrill cry brought all activity within the hold to an absolute halt. Rick raced over, a half step behind Tucker and Guns, in time to see her emerge from the portal. Her hair was disheveled from her having ripped off the headset, her eyes were frantic. “They’re here!”
“How far,” Guns rapped out.
“Here,” she repeated, her voice almost a scream. “Right ahead, not seconds—”
“Blades!” Guns was already running for his pod. “Red alert! Power up!”
“Troopers! By me!” Tucker’s voice roared across the hold. “Grab your suits and to the transport! Flight Lieutenant, power up!”
Rick raced across the hold to his pod and tore his sleeve from shoulder to elbow in his scramble through the plasteel hole. He shouted the order to close the Blade’s entry platform and started running through the power sequence even before he was fully settled in the seat. Even so, when he looked up and through the front screen, Guns was already up and headed for the portal.
“Knight Two here,” Rick said, glad that his voice was crisp despite the thunder of his heart, gladder still to hear two more Blades counting out behind him.
“You heard the lass,” Guns said, leading them though the first translucent energy-plate and then the second and into space, powering forward as soon as they were clear. Rick was tight on his tail. “They’re right around here some—”
“Bandits at three o’clock high!” Rick cried, his voice rising a full octave at the sight of the dull black surface glinting in the starlight.
“Shields to full power!” Guns sped forward, clearing the front edge of the caravan. “Attack on my—”
Then the endless night of space was shattered by flickering stun bolts. Purple lances hit the merchant ship at a half-dozen points, the secondary force burning out in evil-colored ligh
tning. One of the Blade flyers shrieked in Rick’s ears, caught by an aftershock. Rick craned and saw the stone-covered pod go careening off.
“Conform to me,” Guns snapped. “I’ve marked his trajectory. All right, it’s up to us and us alone. I’m going for their power, Blade Three—”
A second voice shrilled, “Transports peeling off, three, no four, I count four headed this way. Attack pods to either side!”
“They’re mine!” Rick headed straight for the unsuspecting invaders.
“Blade Six here, I’m with you.”
“Right.” Guns’ voice held the sharp clarity of a seasoned warrior. “The rest with me, fire together, go for their weapons, count down from five, four, three, two, one, now.”
Three of the enemy pods spotted their fire and peeled off toward them. Rick roared with the adrenaline surge of coming battle and powered up his energy lance.
“Four here, the enemy’s primary vessel was only partially hit. Their defenses seem to be holding.”
Rick’s attention remained fixed upon the nearest attack pod. The instant his energy lance was activated, his Blade’s stony cover exploded outward, shattering in a million bits, leaving the Blade exposed for all to see. The pod tried to veer, but from the sluggish response Rick knew it was radio controlled. Where the flyer should have sat was filled with a larger energy pack and more weaponry. But the pod had chance to use neither, for Rick flew in at full power, raging straight through the attacker and heading for the second.
“Aye, they were alerted, no question, prepare to receive incoming fire.” Guns’ voice was a fiery roar. “Evasion tactics and fire at will!”
A second cannon bolt seared the space nearby, temporarily blinding Rick, the immensity of the power telling him he was drawing fire from the mother ship. Through the dancing sparks in his vision he spotted smaller flickerings of energy bolts; though he could no longer see the pod, he headed straight for the source of the smaller fire and knew he had struck home when a grinding, rending crash filled his small cabin.
“Get that cannon,” Guns roared. “They may go for the caravan!”
The Dream Voyagers Page 32
