by Henry Vogel
All around me, knives slashed at safety lines. I raised my own knife to cut my line, only to lose my grip on the rigging. As I dropped to the end of my safety line, I heard the grinding and cracking of wood as the hull smashed into the ground. I saw my men dropping free around me as I struggled to grab the handle of my knife as it danced at the end of the lanyard tying it to my wrist. Just as I caught hold of it, the envelope blew free from the hull and tumbled across the desert.
Flung about like a doll at the end of a string, I struggled to cut my safety line and free myself from the tumbling deathtrap that was the envelope. I bounced off the envelope once and had the entire thing press me into the ground another time. And then I managed to saw through my line. The last thing I saw was the ground rushing beneath me. Then I struck the hard-packed desert floor and everything went black.
CHAPTER SIX
David
Callan nodded, fatigue etched on her lovely face. “I guess six years between life-threatening adventures is the best I can hope for. We start by searching for survivors, I assume?”
As we set out along the path our airship took as it bounced across the desert, I said, “You know, Martin or Rupor would have met my declaration with some kind of affirmation—‘We will make them pay for this’ or whatever. Probably something a lot better since they’re both much better with words than I am. Even Nist would have given me a fierce grin.”
Callan patted me on the shoulder. “When this is over, I’ll step aside graciously if you want to marry one of them. But if you want some kind of affirmation…” Callan kissed me gently. “Don’t die. And to show I’m a fair-minded woman, I promise I’ll do my best to follow my own instructions.”
I took an extra few seconds to extend the kiss. “Now that is what I call an affirmation!”
It was the last sweet and gentle moment we had together that night.
We found Simms first. He lay tangled in a pile of wreckage from our airship, his neck bent at an impossible angle and sightless eyes staring up into the night sky. I closed his eyes as Callan recited a short prayer for the dead. I wanted to cover his body with debris to protect it from scavengers, but we couldn’t afford the time as long as there was a chance of finding survivors.
We found the other two airmen from our ship a few minutes later, both also dead. With the flames from the Vanguard flickering in the distance, we still couldn’t spare the time to protect the bodies. Both times Callan spoke prayers for the dead and then we set off for the distant wreck.
By some miracle, we stumbled across an intact water bottle before we got clear of our airship’s debris. The warm water cleared the dust from our mouths and throats and revived us both a bit. Even so, within thirty minutes we were supporting each other as we trudged across the rough terrain.
My mind tried to wander during the trek and each time I forced it back to consider our situation. Four airships took part in the search. Obviously, the windstorm destroyed our ship and the Vanguard, but what of the Tercel? The search pattern Marlow devised sent that warship well away from the mountains and the weather sphere.
Did the sphere possess sufficient power to extend its windstorm far enough out to get the other ship? If so, it almost certainly crashed, too, leaving the messenger ship as our only hope for eventual rescue. If the Tercel was beyond the storm, it would come steaming to our rescue the moment Captain Jorson figured out what happened to us. And probably get blown out of the sky by another windstorm once it was inside the sphere’s range.
After wrestling with possibilities and plans for half an hour, I finally decided to assume the ship was down and Callan and I were on our own. That’s when Callan pulled me away from my contemplations.
“David, look!” She pointed toward the flaming hulk that had once been the Vanguard.
Backlit by the fire, I saw figures moving around the wreck. Some of the crew had survived! We were much too far away to even try shouting, but some of our exhaustion fell away, our steps lightened, and we picked up the pace.
We watched men dart about the flames and sometimes into the flames. Many times the distant silhouettes emerged from the burning wreck carrying or supporting others. It stirred my heart to watch these brave airmen risk their lives to save their shipmates. Callan and I tried counting figures, hoping to get an idea how many of the original four hundred crewmen had survived, but it was an impossible task. The best we could determine was that many—far too many—members of the crew were dead or trapped inside the burning wreck.
On and on we marched and slowly, ever so slowly, we drew closer to the brightly lit scene of destruction and heroism. Our aching feet carried us, as we ignored our weary legs, to the safety of bright light and greater numbers.
We were but half a mile from the downed airship when everything changed. Pops and cracks sounded in the distance, which we believed came from the burning hull. Then we saw tiny silhouettes falling and not rising again and realized something worse was going on. Suddenly, a mass of figures charged in from the darkness, running in a peculiar short-legged stride I recognized.
“Trogs!” Callan cried, recognizing the new figures as quickly as I had.
I watched one of the trogs stop and raise what looked like a stick to his shoulder. A crack sounded and an airman fifty feet away pitched backward and lay still.
“Dear God,” I whispered, “they’re armed with blaster rifles!”
I tensed, preparing to charge into the fray far ahead of me. Callan’s hand caught my forearm and pulled me back. She wasn’t strong enough to stop me—I could have easily shaken off her hand—but Callan wasn’t trying to stop me physically.
“You won’t reach them in time to do anything, David,” she told me with quiet force. “All you’ll do is make me a widow and leave your children without a father.”
The tension flowed out of my muscles as the wisdom behind her words overcame my natural tendency toward action. I nodded, accepting her counsel even as I looked around us for some form of cover. Half a mile separated us from the slaughter and the bright light from the fire surely destroyed the trogs' night vision but was the band attacking the Vanguard’s crew the only trog force in the area?
Callan spotted a small patch of scrub brush off to our right and we hurried to it. Pushing into the center of the mass of stiff branches and prickly leaves, we discovered the brush grew over a shallow depression. During rare rain storms, water probably pooled here, making it an ideal place for the hardy bushes to grow. For us, the depression let us lie down beneath the lowest branches, providing even better cover than we’d originally hoped for.
By the time we settled in, the distant crack of blaster fire fell silent. Guttural trog shouts floated to us across the desert. Every now and then a human cry or shout reached our ears, as well. Some of the crew still lived, at least. I would have given a lot for one glance at the scene next to the burning hull. It seemed likely the trogs were taking the survivors prisoner—we would hear more men shouting if the trogs were simply executing them—but I couldn’t be sure without at least one look.
My chances of getting a quick glance and dropping back into cover struck me as very good, so I carefully brought my knees up under me. Callan gave me a quizzical look. I replied by pointing up then pantomimed looking around. She considered it for a couple of seconds and nodded once.
Then we both nearly jumped out of our skins when we heard footsteps approaching our position. Silently, I lay flat again then we both went as still as stones. Our hopes of hearing the voices of fellow Mordanians were crushed when a trog spoke from no more than ten feet away. He was right next to our hiding place.
Another trog replied to the first one and the two conversed for something like three years. My implant said it was only half a minute, but it sure felt thousands of times longer than that. Finally, the first trog gave what had to be an order. The second trog gave a single grunt in reply. Seconds after that, a spear pierced the bushes above us, coming within five or six inches of Callan’s hip.
We both carefully rolled from our sides onto our backs, getting as far from the probing spears as possible. Another spear thrust into the bushes from another direction, stopping seven or eight inches above my head. Five times the spears thrust through the bushes and five times the spears missed us. The closest stopped less than two inches from my leg.
Unaware of the depression that protected us from their spears, the trogs were soon satisfied no one hid in the bushes. The leader growled a quick command and the patrol headed in the direction we’d come from—doubtless to check our wrecked airship for survivors. Of course, they wouldn’t find any. Nor would they have any way of knowing we had been on the airship.
Callan and I waited a full five minutes before we even allowed ourselves to take more than shallow breaths. Then Callan rolled toward me and laid her head on my shoulder. I felt the warm splash of tears as she softly recited the prayer for the dead in its entirety. I just held her close and, equally quietly, joined in the prayer.
When the prayer came to an end, she surprised me with one addition. “Lord, watch over the survivors and keep them close in Your sight until David and I can rescue them.”
I waited a few seconds until I was sure she was done. “Dear, what was that last part of your prayer?”
“I think it was pretty obvious, darling. And are you going to honestly tell me you weren’t planning on rescuing those crewmen?”
“Of course I’m going to rescue those men. It’s the ‘David and I’ part I question.”
“I know you’ve already considered the chances of a rescue party coming for us any time soon, David.” Callan held up a hand and ticked off on her fingers. “The Sky Runner is only a few hours into its two-day flight to the closest Federation consulate and has no idea what’s happened here. We know the Vanguard is wrecked. It’s a safe bet the Tercel is wrecked, too. If it wasn’t, we’d have heard her engines as Captain Jorson came to investigate. No doubt we’d have been subjected to another windstorm, as well. Did I miss anything?”
“Yes, there are heavily armed trogs patrolling the area and guarding the survivors,” I replied.
Callan bestowed a smile on me as if I’d just helped prove her point. “Call it three days until rescuers arrive.” She raised her eyebrows and I nodded in agreement. “We have no water, no food, no supplies except the sword at your side.” Without eyebrow prompting, I nodded again and she continued. “Now comes the hard part, David. What do you think my odds of survival are if I stay out here all alone?”
Instinctively, I opened my mouth to spout something reassuring, paused, and then closed my mouth again. I quickly ran through all of the options in my mind. Placing my hand gently on Callan’s cheek, I said, “I want nothing more than to keep you safe, Callan.”
She kissed me softly. “I know, David, and the best way you can do that is to take me with you. Left alone out here, I’ll probably die of thirst, get caught by trogs, or killed by a tammar or something. If I’m with you, you have an extra pair of eyes to keep watch and another brain to help solve problems.”
I sighed. “It’ll be extremely dangerous—but no worse than leaving you alone in the desert.”
Callan kissed me a second time. “That wasn’t so hard, was it darling?”
My glare had no effect on her, so I gave up and turned to making plans. My wife was right about one thing—having another brain working on the problem helped a lot. Half an hour later, we had our plan. Details were sparse, but I reiterated the plan anyway to make sure we were both on the same page.
“We’re going to take turns sleeping and keeping watch until that trog patrol returns. If it’s still dark, we slip out of this brush and follow them at a distance. If it’s light, we watch the way they go and then try to pick up their trail once they’re out of sight.” Callan nodded and I continued. “We can’t plan much beyond that because we don’t know what the situation will be at the trog village. So we play it by ear after that.”
Then we settled in to wait. I took first watch, letting Callan catch some much needed sleep. We traded off a couple of hours later and traded again two hours after that. Midway through my watch, I heard guttural conversation coming our way and woke Callan.
Dawn was still hours away, so we waited quietly for the trogs to reach us. They passed no more than fifty feet from our hiding place. Five minutes later, Callan and I carefully pushed free of the scrub brush. Keeping low, we set off on the trail of the trogs.
Had Callan and I been well-rested and unconcerned about being spotted, our longer legs would have made it easy to keep pace with the loping trogs. Instead, they drew steadily farther and farther ahead of us as our exhaustion and caution slowed us down. By the time the trogs reached the foot of the mountain before us, they were half a mile ahead.
We dropped behind some bushes in case one of the trogs chose that moment to look behind them. Callan’s head hung down and she gasped for breath. Sweat made tracks in the thin coating of dust on her face. She swiped a hand across her brow and brushed at her cheeks, smearing the dust.
Without looking up, she said, “I’m worn out, David. Go on without me. You can come back when you’ve found the trog village.”
I took a moment to master my own ragged breathing then shook my head. “You’ve already convinced me that staying together is the safest thing to do. I’m not about to ignore the advice of the heir to my kingdom’s throne. That mountain looks like one big pile of loose stones and the trogs are leaving quite a trail behind them.”
Callan lifted her head and straightened her back to peer over the bushes. Slumping back, she asked, “So we’re going to rest for a while?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You take first watch.” Callan toppled my way and settled her head into my lap. Seconds later, her breathing deepened and her face relaxed as she fell asleep.
I took a few minutes to survey the desert around us. Nothing moved except the band of trogs trudging up the mountain ahead of us. I gently rearranged Callan into a more comfortable position and pulled the hair away from her face. Despite being covered in grime—not to mention giving birth to two children and enduring the stress of taking the lead in guiding Aashla toward membership in the Terran Federation—she still took my breath away. She brought sanity and meaning and deep, abiding love into my life. There was nothing I would not do and nothing I would not give to keep her safe.
A voice jerked me from my reverie. “Is Her Highness hurt?”
I looked up to find Ensign Marlow crouched fifteen feet away. His uniform was torn and covered in dirt and blood. Dried blood tracked down his face from a gash on his forehead. The lad looked like death warmed over and yet his first concern was for his princess.
I waved the boy closer. “She’s fine, Ensign, just worn out—as I’m sure you are. Why don’t you lay down over here and get some sleep, too?”
Marlow took a good look around before sitting down beside me. He strove for a neutral expression as he said, “I should take watch and let you sleep, sir.”
“Meaning I’m so tired you were able to sneak up on me, so it would be safer for you to take watch.”
Shock crossed Marlow’s face—probably as much because I’d spoken the thought aloud as that I’d guessed correctly. “I’d never say such a thing, sir!”
“I know, Ensign,” I chuckled, “that’s why I said it. And you’re right, too, though it pains me to admit it. I had to Boost as our airship crashed. I haven’t done that in years and it’s taken a toll on me.”
Marlow’s eyes lit. “Oh, I wish I’d been there to see that!”
“I’m glad you weren’t.” A hurt expression flashed across Marlow’s face before I continued, “It was a violent crash that no one else survived. If you’d been there, you’d probably be dead, too.”
“Oh.” The Ensign thought on that for a few seconds. “Then I thank God you were there to save Her Highness.”
“You and me both,” I replied. “What’s your first name, Ensign?”
“Um, Ch
ris, sir.”
“Christopher Marlow?” I smiled broadly.
“Is there something wrong with my name, sir?” Chris’s tone grew just a tad prickly.
“Not at all, Chris. You just happen to share the same name as an ancient playwright who lived on Terra centuries before mankind found his way into space.”
“Oh.” Chris thought on this for a moment. “Were his plays any good, sir?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never seen one performed, but his name has survived for thousands of years. That should tell you something. Also, when it’s just the three of us please call me David.” At Chris’s shocked expression, I added, “I can make that an order if it will make you feel any better. And my wife will insist you call her Callan.”
That was too much for poor Chris. He sat bolt upright and said, “I couldn’t do that, sir! Er, David. Sir. It wouldn’t be right for a commoner to be so familiar with a member of the royal family!”
“Who told you that?” The sleepy voice came from my lap as Callan cracked a single eye open and looked up at Chris.
“My mother, Your Highness. She always taught me to be respectful to my betters.”
Callan turned her open eye on me. “This one is going to take some work, darling. Remind me to get right on that—after I sleep for another year or two.”
Callan’s eye slid closed again. She was asleep in seconds.
I looked back at the young Ensign. “When did you sleep last, Chris?”
“I was off-shift at the beginning of the search, sir.” At my raised eyebrow, Chris sighed. “David. So I had several hours of sleep before starting my watch an hour or so before that strange windstorm hit.”
I rearranged myself to lie down next to Callan, all the while cradling her head in my arms. “The storm was strange because it was manmade.”
Chris’s eyes widened. “But that’s against all of the treaties!”
My eyelids dragged themselves down over my eyes. “Yes, it most definitely is.”
