DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2)

by Ben Patterson

  Beside the bay’s large open door sat the shuttle. From its open hatch, smoke billowed into DarkStar.

  From the smoke, Carl dragged the pilot into DarkStar and Stan dropped to perform CPR on the unconscious man.

  “Reliant,” Carl said, “jettison the shuttle and vent this smoke.”

  “Negative, Ensign. I detect two more life signs.”

  DarkStar jolted and rumbled as the pirates began to fire on her.

  Carl took a deep breath and hurried back into the thick black smoke.

  Even though his mind was divided between the pirate threat, Lilia on the bridge, Carl in the burning shuttle, and the pilot beneath his hands, Stan kept his compressions to a steady pace.

  Suddenly the man gasped in air on his own, then collapsed into a coughing fit. As soon as he could breathe again, the man reached out toward the shuttle. “My wife. My baby . . .”

  The ship jerked hard again. A sudden piercing scream from the shuttle sent a cold jolt straight through Stan.

  As he stood, the ship bucked, knocking him to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled, and then shot toward the shuttle’s hatchway.

  Carl dragged a woman, still clutching her baby, from the ship. His right arm and shoulder, seared and blistered, hung limp at his side, but he didn’t let go of the woman with his good arm until he had her well clear of the smoke and flames.

  Stan eased her to the floor.

  Then Carl collapsed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Carl forced open heavy eyelids and blinked to clear his blurred vision.

  To his left sat a machine, which beeped and flickered, and from which some clear fluid flowed through tubes taped to his wrist. His right shoulder and arm, heavily bandaged, ached and were beginning to burn.

  Reading magazines, Lilia and Stan, sat nearby to his right. Carl felt an errant irresponsible bubble of laughter rise, but it stayed captive in his throat. He mentally shook his head at the incongruity. Lilia read Shipbuilder’s Yearly, as Stan thumbed through Modern Bride. Behind them, through a window into the hallway, he could see nurses at their duty stations.

  Lilia looked up, jumped to her feet, and took his hand. “Hey. Hi, you.” Her hands were warm and as soft as silk. Her smile, though happy, held more than a touch of concern.

  “What happened? Where am I?” Carl asked, his voice a faint raspy whisper.

  Stan stepped next to Lilia. “You’re going to be all right, Carl. You’re in a hospital on Delta Omicron 4.”

  Despite his body’s discomfort and the growing pain in his shoulder, Carl became aware of a serious detail that had escaped him earlier. He noticed how well Lilia and Cap seemed to fit as a couple, and wondered if either could see they belonged together.

  Wanting to take Stan’s hand, he tried to reach, but a stabbing anguish shot through his arm. He screamed as pain pushed everything else aside to demand immediate attention.

  “Nurse!” he heard someone shout as he writhed in agony. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the torture melted away, pushed back like a receding tide.

  A nurse now stood near the machine. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thunburry. This old med-tech machine glitches now and again. I’ll get maintenance up here right away.” She hurried out.

  Carl took a deep, shaky breath and tried to relax. Now the concern in both of his friends’ eyes wasn’t hidden in the least.

  “Come on now. You said I was okay, so knock off the grim faces already.”

  Stan gently held Carl’s bandaged hand. “I just hate to see you hurt, buddy.”

  Carl forced a smile. “So? Did they make it?”

  “They? Oh, the Protmeyers.” Lilia said. “Yep. Just a little smoke inhalation. All three will be up and about in no time. You’re quite the hero, running into a burning shuttle like that.”

  Carl tucked his uninjured hand behind his neck and studied the ceiling. “Three thousand twenty one. Good.”

  “What?” Lilia looked at Stan for some kind of explanation, but he only shook his head and shrugged.

  “Three thousand . . . what’s that about, Carl?” Lilia said.

  Carl looked away toward the window. “It’s nothing. I keep having these disconnected thoughts drop into my head. Must be the pain medication talking.”

  “Three thousand twenty one,” Stan said, “and three makes three thousand twenty four. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

  “Does it?” Although a blue, cloudless sky gave him nothing to see, Carl didn’t take his eyes from the window.

  “What?” Lilia’s question said she didn’t like being left out of the loop. Stan had guessed Carl’s slip of the tongue, and Carl hoped he’d be smart and just drop it.

  Stan patted Carl’s leg in understanding, turned, and left the room without saying more.

  “Tell me, Carl, what’s the significance of that number.”

  He turned to consider her face, a mix of frustration and worry, but he ignored her question. “So, what do the doctors say about my arm? How long will I be here?

  The subject seemed to hit her hard. As her eyes suddenly filled with tears, she blinked hard to keep them from falling. Lilia swallowed and tried to speak, but the words appeared to catch in her throat. Looking everywhere but at Carl, she fidgeted and fussed as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands, smoothing the bedspread and fluffing his pillow a little.

  “Will you stop?” Carl grabbed her wrist with his good hand and met her eyes. It was obvious she was holding back bad news.

  “What did the doctors say, Lilia? Tell me.”

  Not wanting to answer, she shook her head and tried to pull away, but Carl held her.

  “Tell me!”

  Her chin quivered and her eyes released a stream of tears.

  “Let her go, Carl.” Stan spoke quietly from the doorway. “I’ll tell you everything; just let Lilia go.”

  He released a long breath. Now that Stan was willing to say, Carl no longer wanted to hear. He knew what was coming. No one had to hit him in the head with a brick, and that’s exactly what he felt was now flying straight at him. “Never mind.”

  “Two days ago, you saved three people, Carl. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  “I lost the use of my arm, didn’t I? Well, there’s justice for you.”

  “Carl, you saved three—”

  “Yeah! You just said that. Only a lousy little three thousand twenty one left to go.” Disgust distorted Carl’s face as he snapped his head back toward the window.

  “What?” Lilia said. “What’s with that number you keep repeating? What does it have to do with anything?”

  From behind, Stan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “The people on board the Princess numbered—”

  “Three thousand twenty four.” Lilia interrupted. “Oh, I see. Is that what that rescue was all about, Carl? You’re trying to set right the wrong you committed? You think with a bum arm you can’t save more lives?”

  Carl turned to glare at her. “Yeah, well . . . how else do you set right a wrong, Lilia?”

  “Oh.” Stan took his seat and jostled the stack of magazines with a tense hand. “So you’re bothered more by the inability to make amends than by the loss of your arm, huh?”

  Her cheeks wet with tears, Lilia stepped forward and slapped Carl’s face hard. “You idiot!”

  Stunned, Carl looked up at intense eyes. “Ouch, woman. That hurt.”

  She leaned over his bed until she was just inches from his nose. “So, you either have to rescue people or get yourself killed to pay for your crimes, is that it? Well, let me make something crystal clear to you. I told you, it doesn’t work that way. Even if you manage to save a million people it wouldn’t set things right. Only forgiveness will do that, so listen up. You stop trying to get yourself killed starting now, Mister, or so help me I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

  Carl smiled mischievously. “Kill me?”

  Now at a complete loss for words, Lilia hesitated.

  With a slight tilt of his chin, Carl pecked t
he tip of her nose with a kiss. “If you cared more, I’d be in real trouble.”

  She leaned further and hugged him tightly.

  With his good arm, Carl returned her embrace the best he could. Never before had he felt like this toward anyone.

  “We love you, Carl. I love you. Don’t you ever try to leave us again, you foolish man.” Lilia pulled back and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  She’s amazing, thought Carl. There was no wondering why Stan had fallen for her as he had. Carl felt himself drawn to her as well. Avoiding her eyes, he looked away.

  A sister, think of her as a sister, he told himself, frantic to rein in his galloping emotions. There’s got to be a way to see her as a sister.

  He glanced at Stan and recognized the look in the man’s expression. Uh oh, Stan knew. Stan saw it in his eyes and knew.

  Carl looked away. “You two can go on without me. I think it would be best if you did.”

  Stan half moaned, half growled before speaking. “Not going to happen, Carl. There’s more to this than you think. When we leave here, we leave together, Lilia, me, and you, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

  Lilia sniffled and half pointed to Stan. “What he said, Mister.”

  Carl let his face relax into a natural, easy smile while he crammed his renegade emotions into a mental box and locked the lid on tight. He didn’t understand how all this was going to unfold in a positive manner. But one thing was becoming clear. He did belong with these two people—for now, anyway—resigning to the truth forging itself into his brain. When he was with them, he was home.

  “So, then,” he said, changing the subject to lighten the mood, “what did that nurse call me? Tudberry?”

  “Thunburry,” Stan said as he glanced at the door. “We haven’t crossed the border, so let’s not—”

  “Say no more, Stan. I get it.”

  Lilia stepped from the room and went to the nurse’s station to get tissues. Through the glass, Carl watched her dry her tears and blow her nose.

  “Falling for the girl, I see,” Stan said reopening the subject Carl wanted closed.

  Carl let his gaze drop from the window to Stan’s watchful eyes. “What? No, no, . . . I see her more as a sister—”

  Stan scoffed. “Yeah, right. Look, I see the way you watch her. You’re falling in love with her, and you can’t help it, can you?”

  “Swift, come on.” Carl turned away as if to look outside, but the image in his mind of Lilia’s warm smile drowned out reason’s voice. “It’s plain you two are an item. I’m not going to—”

  “Lilia and I? No, man. You got it wrong. She and I merely co-captain Reliant, nothing more.”

  Carl coughed to clear his throat, then laughed. “Co-captains, huh? Man, you are so blind.”

  “What are you saying, that we’re both in love with the same girl?

  “Yeah. Maybe I should just stay here after all.” Carl turned to the window. At present facing Stan was impossible. “Swift, how do you intend on making amends?”

  For the longest moment, the machines’ beeping was all that broke the silence.

  “I’ve been thinking about returning to Atheron,” Stan said at long last.

  “What?” Carl glanced back at Stan who now had his chin down on his chest as he stared at the floor. “Why would you go back there?”

  “Oh . . . to turn myself over to the . . . those people.”

  “Those people?”

  “Trogs . . . to stand trial for what I’ve done.”

  Carl shook his head in disbelief. “We really do make a strange pair, don’t we?”

  “Look, Carl. I see no way past this, so I want you to take care of Lilia.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lilia’s voice snapped Carl’s attention back to the doorway. She stepped into the room, grabbed Stan by the collar, and yanked him to his feet with her own strength. Because he was taller than she, he was hunched over as she forced him to meet her eye to eye.

  “You’ve tried to assign me to someone’s care before. I’ll have you know, Mr. Archer, I am not some painting to admire for a while and then just give away.” Her grip, as she snugged his collar ends together, turned her knuckles white. “I said this before, too, and it’s time you heard me! I am a person, Mister, an independent person with my own feelings, my own desires, and my own destiny. Don’t you dare think you have the right to pass me around like some pretty flower.”

  She shoved him back into his chair and stormed out of the room.

  Stunned, both men looked at each other in wide-eyed disbelief.

  “She’s all yours,” Stan said in a panic. “I won’t come betw—”

  “No, no,” Carl said. “I’ll not stand in your way, my friend. Lovely woman, that. And she’s all yours.”

  Just then two Enforcers entered the room.

  Stan stood to his feet to confront them.

  “Out of the way, Mister,” said the ranking officer. “We need to question this man.”

  Stan, standing between them and Carl, didn’t budge. “Leave him be. I’ll answer your questions.”

  The officer raised his M-1-AH Mouser and pressed it into Stan’s throat.

  Stan didn’t give way, but instead, spoke with a calm, unshaken voice. “Pull the trigger or lower the gun, but I’ll not move, friend.”

  “What are you doing?” came a new voice from the door. In stepped the man Carl had rescued.

  “Sorry, sir,” the Enforcer said, pointing his gun at Carl. “This man is using a fictitious name. I suspect he’s a Trog.”

  Now there’s irony for you, thought Carl.

  “Nonsense. Now get out of here,” said the newcomer.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Protmeyer, but I have standing orders from the Consul himself.”

  Stan placed a hand on the Enforcer’s shoulder and stepped forward. Off balance, the man had to move toward where Stan wanted him to go, out of the door. “I can explain, officer, but only in private.” Stan pressed the soldier toward the hallway, but the man resisted.

  “Please,” Stan coaxed.

  In order to preserve his dignity, the officer, with a slight tilt of the head, consented, and stepped into the hallway, but away from the nurses’ station and the people there.

  Stan leaned forward to speak quietly into the enforcer’s ear. “That’s Headley Farnsworth the third. If his dad were to find out he risked his own life to rescue a commoner . . .”

  “Mr. Protmeyer isn’t a commoner, pal,” said the officer. “He’s Proctor Protmeyer’s brother.”

  The officer’s face, smug and full of conceit, reflected who Stan used to be. For years, without thought, Stan had acted just like this idiot. Without warning an intense anger filled Stan, and in that instant, he wanted nothing more than to slap the man’s fool attitude clean off his face and shake some sense into him. Stan’s training came to his rescue and he managed to stay calm, keeping his feelings out of his face.

  “The Proctor?” Stan glanced back at the room as if to keep his words secret. “Worse yet, Captain. If daddy hears about his son—even about his being aboard an old freighter like mine—there’ll be fall out like you’ve never seen.”

  “So? What’s that to me? I’ve got to let the chips fall where—”

  “They may?” Stan interrupted. “I don’t think you want that. The Confederation tends to shoot the messenger. Everybody involved will be caught up in this, even if that person were an innocent, dutiful soldier just doing his job. No loose ends. You hear me? Best to let things settle until a certain person is well away from the situation, don’t you think?”

  Suspicious, the Enforcer shook his head. “I’ve got to run him in. I have my orders.”

  “Come on, man. It’s enough that the kid has to explain his scarred arm to his daddy, the Consul’s First Council, but to have it come out that the boy is gallivanting around the universe in my old tub, it would kill the old man.” Stan pointed to Carl’s room. “As far as anyone knows, that young man is Carlos Thunburry
, okay? Better for everybody, don’t you think?”

  The Enforcer looked toward Carl’s room. “Frappin rich people sculking about like kids playing hooky.” He shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, sure. Just keep him out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, man, don’t you know it!”

  Both men returned to the room just as Protmeyer was leaving. The Enforcer collected his partner, glanced at Carl, and then headed out.

  “Do you know who that was?” Carl said. “The man I rescued?

  “If I were to guess,” Stan said, “I’d say the brother of Delta Omicron Four’s chancellor, perhaps. But I could be wrong.”

  Carl laughed. “The guy wanted to hire me as his own personal bodyguard.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You going to take his offer?”

  Carl dropped his gaze, his face sobered.

  “Well, no, chief,” Carl said.

  “What? Why not?”

  “After I explained my arm to him, he couldn’t retract his offer fast enough. He almost ran to get out of here.”

  From deep concern, Stan’s face changed. “Well, good,” he said with a satisfied smile.

  Carl shot an angry look at Stan, and then looked out the window to ignore Stan altogether.

  “Had you accepted his offer, Carl, had he hired you away, Lilia and I would have had to risk our lives to convince you to reconsider. You belong with us, Carl.”

  Carl turned to look at Stan with a calloused eye. “What ‘us’ are you talking about? I thought your aim was to get yourself hanged. Weren’t you going to Atheron to face trial?” He turned back to the window.

  Stan studied Carl’s pained expression and slowly began to realize that the Immortal Architect might have the mortal Stan make amends in other ways.

  Nothing in him wanted to abandon his young friend—he wouldn’t—but what more could he say or do to help matters?

  Maybe Carl was right, and his way of making amends was the precise way to get the job done. Between the two of them they’d have to save six-thousand forty-eight souls. If he dedicated the next hundred years to the task, he’d have to save sixty-five souls a year. If he could just figure out where to start, that just might be doable.