DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2)

by Ben Patterson

  Well, he thought, I have time.

  Stan froze.

  A hidden genetic memory just popped to the surface. He suddenly knew that if he didn’t get himself killed in the meantime, both he and Lilia would live six to nine hundred years because of what DarkStar had done.

  Pushing that astonishing notion aside for later consideration, Stan refocused on Carl. As it was, Stan felt that the more he said to Carl, the more he made matters worse.

  What a mess, Stan thought. All of this is beyond me. I need to talk to someone smarter. Maybe DarkStar can help me sort this out.

  Wait a minute. Lilia told him to let the Immortal Architect prove Himself. Fine. Since I need the advice and guidance of someone smarter than me . . .

  Feeling as if he were climbing way out on a very thin limb, Stan took a deep breath, his lips parted, but nothing came out. Praying suddenly seemed incredibly stupid.

  He glanced around.

  Fine.

  “Okay Immortal Architect, if You’re there, and You’ve got this all figured out, then how about cluing me in?”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next day Stan, with Lilia at his side, entered Carl’s hospital room with a glidechair.

  Carl glanced at the couple, at the hovering chair, and then turned once again to the window ignoring them.

  “Come on, Carl,” Stan said. “Let’s get out of this morgue.”

  Carl sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “You two go on without me.”

  Humming cheerfully, Lilia came around the bed and shut off the machine.

  “Hey, I need that!”

  “Not anymore,” she said brightly as she yanked the I.V. from his arm. She quickly placed a small bandage over the needle’s insertion point. “Okay, he’s ready. Let’s do it.”

  Stan grabbed Carl by his good arm and pulled him abruptly from the bed and over his shoulders. “Let’s go, pal. Reliant’s waiting.”

  Stan spun, kicked the hover-chair to one side, carefully ducked Carl under the doorframe, and headed toward the stairwell as a frantic nurse called for security. An alarm horn squalled in unison with pulsing lights. Ignoring them, Stan and Lilia took the stairs to the roof.

  DarkStar, disguised as Reliant, waited at the building’s edge. Lilia hurried ahead, running up the ship’s ramp and out of sight in record time. Slowed down by Carl’s weight, Stan had only carried the young man halfway across the roof to the ship when behind them the door burst open again. Stan turned to see two security guards rush out with guns drawn.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Stan called out. “Sorry, no time to chat, but tell the nurses for us that their services were greatly appreciated.”

  “Put that man down or I’ll shoot,” said one guard.

  Stan smiled. “So shoot, already! What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

  The guard raised his gun to take careful aim.

  Stan casually turned back to DarkStar, to the awaiting ramp, and started toward it.

  The guard fired, but the bullets glanced harmlessly off DarkStar’s enveloping shields.

  Stan stepped aboard, turned back to the guards, and waved good-bye with his free hand.

  DarkStar retracted the ramp, closed the door, and headed for space.

  “Let me down,” Carl huffed.

  “You going to behave?” Stan said.

  “My shoulder! I need my . . .”

  Lilia stepped in front of Carl, who hung draped over Stan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and shook a bottle of pills.

  “What’s that?”

  “You going to behave?” She rattled the bottle again.

  Carl went limp and mumbled, “I’ll be good, Lilia. Can I please have something for the pain?”

  “You want to try walking to your room,” Stan said, “or shall I carry you all the way?”

  “No, Cap. I can walk. Just put me down.”

  Before Stan could set Carl on his feet, Carl tried to snatch the pill bottle from Lilia.

  She jerked it away. “Nope! Just one at a time, pal. These things are addictive, so I’ll watch your dosage, if you don’t mind.”

  Carl scowled. “I’ll mind my own dosage, thank you very much. I’m all grown up now, . . . Mom.”

  “You ain’t so big I can’t take you over my knee, son. You mind yourself, and I’ll mind the pills. Got it?”

  She was only twenty-one, just a year older than Carl, but Stan felt as though her take on the situation was right. The squabbling brat still draped across his shoulders needed looking after, not free reign.

  “Come on, kid,” Stan said. “Play nice.”

  “Are you going to let me down?”

  Stan shrugged and set him gingerly on the deck.

  “I’ll take that pill now,” Carl said.

  Lilia popped the cap from the bottle, jostled one pill into the cap, and dumped it from the lid into his eager hand. Carl moved swiftly down the hall to the galley and water.

  Staring after the boy as he hurried away, Stan sighed and glanced toward Lilia, a worried look in his eyes. “I hate seeing him like this.”

  “I know. He seems more eager for the drug than the pain would warrant.”

  “It is more than just the pain. You’re a captivating lady.”

  “Well, if he begins to think of me as Mom, that will give him a legitimate label to slap on his emotions, at least for a while. He needs some stability in his relationships, and I don’t think the Immortal Architect would have put Carl with us if He didn’t have a plan that would remove the confusion. Things will work out.”

  She moved next to him and tucked a hand under Stan’s arm, then rested her head on his shoulder in a semi-embrace. Stan didn’t know how to handle her closeness any more than Carl had. He searched for a safe topic.

  “I’ve seen firsthand what the Confederate’s medical system can do, or rather, what it doesn’t do.” He patted her hand. “Had Carl stayed in that hospital much longer . . .”

  “He’s certainly better off with us,” Lilia agreed.

  “If we can get him to Providence, its medical system may be better, or at least they might be willing to give reconstructive surgery a shot. DS, keep a constant watch on Carl’s vitals will you, and let Lilia know if and when he truly needs his meds, okay?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Lilia stretched up to kiss Stan’s cheek. “You really are a great guy. You know that?”

  Stan considered the sincerity of her smile. How he wanted to believe her, but his own jumbled feelings, left him bewildered. It was probably best to not answer the invitation in her smile until he had sorted out his own mind.

  He had no desire to leave the comfort of her arms, but he knew in time he’d have to completely surrender everything to those he’d wronged. That was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and perhaps his losing her all in itself was the very thing her “Immortal Architect” considered payment for his deeds. Perhaps—perhaps not—but payment had to be made regardless.

  “Tell you what, Lilia. You pilot us out of this system while I prepare lunch. I don’t think you’ve seen as much of the bridge as you would’ve liked.”

  Dissatisfaction morphed her smile into a scowl.

  Suddenly self-conscious, he spun on his heel without another word, and stiffly headed away. cursing his stupid response and wished Lilia didn’t have the ability to jostle him like this. He released a long anxious breath, irritated with himself. As he neared the exit he stopped to look back.

  Lilia stood motionless, just watching him walk away. The hurt in her eyes tugged at his heart, and stopped him cold.

  Internally, Stan shook himself. Was this just some strange infatuation he had with what he had been denied, forbidden fruit, a Trog?

  Trog . . . He nearly choked on the word that left a dry bitter taste in his mouth.

  Did Lilia portray a realistic picture of what a believer was? Was she what followers were truly like? Or was he blinded by something else, his own unguarded feelings perhaps?r />
  Before he met her, back when he was a clear thinking man, the platitude “out from under a rock Troglodyte,” made perfect sense when applied to a finger pointing religious zealot. But it certainly didn’t fit when referring to her.

  She took a step toward him, and in response, as if on autopilot, his body turned and stepped toward her as though it knew better than he.

  Everything important to him was embodied in her. In that instant he no longer cared about his own ego, his ever-present desire to appear manly and in control, nor about returning to Atheron, to the followers there, to satisfy his sense of justice. Right then, the only thing in his field of concentration was what awaited him on the other side of the cargo bay.

  And when they finally came together, to hold each other, to share each other’s affection and concerns, his heart pounded in his chest, but unlike any other time in his life, it seemed to hit like a hammer beating imperfections out of red-hot iron. Stan realized something new had been forged here; something that stood at odds with his own view of himself, and his sense of right and wrong. In opposition to his plans, it was clear now that here, in her arms, was where he belonged.

  Stan relaxed tense muscles and let his cheek rest in Lilia’s soft, sweet smelling hair; and now, with Lilia in his arms, he finally saw things differently. There was only one true way to square his attachment to her with his sense of justice. The deeper truth at work here seemed such an easy thing to lay a finger to that he wondered how he missed it earlier. He didn’t know when, but sometime in the middle of this mess, amid the battles, the rescues, the quiet times at the table, a bond had formed between them; a bond that should continue if he was ever to set his life to rights.

  A return to Atheron would cost him more than he was willing to pay. It would cost him her. And if he let that happen—knowing what it was like to be loved by her, to be touched by her, to hear her voice, to share her troubles and joy . . . and then to lose it all—dying would seem like no punishment at all in comparison.

  Stan ground his teeth at the very thought.

  The clean scent of her hair, the softness of it against his cheek without warning drew him back to where he was, and he felt himself relax in her embrace.

  Tomorrow’s worries faded, and for once, no longer pulled in two opposite directions, he consciously enjoyed the moment.

  “I love you.”

  The proclamation fell from his lips all on its own, and in saying it, Stan felt detached as though someone else had said those three tiny but very important words. If someone else had brought those words to the surface on his behalf, then good—he was grateful . . .

  . . . When it came to her, he was a hopeless addict.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stan opened his eyes to a brightening room. DarkStar’s way of waking him was to bring the lights up slowly to mimic sunrise. The air was fresh and crisp like an outing in the woods. It was always peaceful and pleasant, but this morning seemed even better.

  He sat up and stretched, feeling as though for the first time in his life it was good to be alive. No bad dreams, no anxiety as to what the day might bring; just an expectation of good things to come. He showered, dressed, and headed upstairs to the bridge, which was now well lit and ready for him. Except for a few instruments’ faint hum, the room was quiet.

  Amused by DarkStar’s ability to set the perfect mood, he chuckled. Even the turned pilot’s chair was inviting. He took it and half checked the scanner before noticing the faint blip, which brought him upright. “Well, what do we have here? A lifepod dead ahead? Reliant, do you see this?”

  “Aye. One life sign but readings are faint.”

  Stan zeroed the scanner to check his location. We’re in the middle of Starry Decisis, he thought. Nowhere near traffic lanes. What’s a lifepod doing way out here?

  “Reliant, bring us up beside the escape pod and draw it into the cargo bay, please. And take the bridge.”

  He stood and turned. “Cargo bay.” The wall portal appeared and Stan stepped through. The bay door was already open, with the lifepod moving into position beside the ship. DarkStar tractored it in and set the pod on the floor with remarkable care. The pod’s cold skin began to coat with frost.

  “DS, pop the hatch.”

  With a sucking hiss, the pod’s icy hatch pushed out from the pod and slid to one side. Stan reached in to the bearded man slumped in his seat. A strong pulse. Good.

  “DS, wake Lilia and send her to the infirmary, please. You needn’t wake Carl.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He carefully pulled the unconscious stranger from the pod and, cradling him like a baby, carried him to the Med-room where Lilia waited. “He needs oxygen. He ran out just before we recovered him. Let’s hope we got him in time.”

  When the pod survivor finally revived, Stan asked him his name.

  “John,” he mumbled, “John Bauer,” then he fell unconscious once again.

  “Can you make some leeway with the man, DarkStar?” Stan said. “Got any trick?

  She had one that John could neither prevent, nor frustrate. Resting a hand on his forehead, DarkStar’s avatar read his mind by analyzing what she understood about human gray matter.

  He opened his eyes briefly, only to see DarkStar gently brushing errant hair from his eyes.

  “You’re safe, John,” she said tenderly.

  Although DarkStar didn’t probe too deeply, when next John came to, Stan had the answers he needed. “So, you’re a shepherd?”

  John studied the man who was casually dressed, but didn’t answer.

  “I’m Stan Archer, the captain of this craft.”

  “Oh, you . . . So this is where I meet my end, huh, butcher?”

  Stan focused on the older man’s eyes. “Wow, Shepherd. News travels fast . . . and faster still when it’s wrong.”

  “Wrong? You going to tell me that you didn’t destroy the Princess? Your picture was all over the cortex, Archer.”

  Lilia stepped next to Stan and smiled. “Relax, Shepherd Bauer. You’re among friends. How did you wind up way out here?”

  John glanced at her but stayed focused on Stan. “I needn’t answer your questions. You have my file, I presume. Why drag this out?”

  Stan patted John’s leg reassuringly through the blanket. “I neither have your file, Shepherd Bauer, nor do I have any agenda beyond making a new friend. We found you adrift way out here and were wondering how that came to be.”

  John rolled his eyes and turned away.

  Then DarkStar stepped into his view and took his hand. “You needn’t fear us, Shepherd. You’re not a prisoner. You’ll have free reign of the ship as long as you’re aboard her, and you’ll soon come to know we mean you no harm.”

  Stan noted that of all the people in the room, John seemed transfixed by the ship’s avatar. But even so, he refused to speak further.

  “Well,” Lilia said. “When you’re feeling up to it, call for DarkStar. Dinner is in a couple hours, and we’d love to have you.”

  Interlacing her arm with Stan’s, Lilia coaxed him out of the room and down the corridor, passing Carl as they went.

  “So,” Carl said, “Reliant, says we have a guest. How is he?”

  “Suspicious,” Stan said without slowing.

  “You of him, or he of us,” Carl called after him.

  “Yes,” Stan answered without turning.

  When dinnertime rolled around, Stan and Lilia found themselves sitting alone.

  “DarkStar,” Stan said, “any word about our guest?”

  “He’ll be along shortly, sir. Both he and Carl bring news.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Lilia patted Stan’s hand. “Patience, big boy. Enjoy the company you have.”

  Stan leaned on the table, fist to his cheek as he studied Lilia. “Well, how about that Slip-band drive, huh? Its transduction technology is something, isn’t it? Boggles the mind,” he teased.

  Lilia rolled her eyes and glanced at the chronometer. “Where could t
hey be?”

  Stan chuckled. “Patience, girl. Enjoy the company you have.”

  Just then Carl came in followed by John, each taking a seat across from Stan and Lilia.

  “Carl,” Lilia said excitedly. “Your arm.”

  Carl raised the completely healed limb. “What? Is there something wrong?” Then he laughed and draped it over John’s shoulders. “This guy, you’ve got to love him. He prayed for my arm and the pain melted away, just like that. And that’s not the only thing the Immortal Architect healed. I’ve never felt more alive,”

  “Best news ever!” she said jumping to her feet to look more closely.

  “A miracle. I can’t believe it,” Stan said, as he followed her. “Is this even possible?”

  “Apparently,” Lilia said smugly, “there is an Immortal Architect after all. I think you can finally put away any doubts you may still have, flyboy.”

  This is incredible, thought Stan. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I’d . . . “Hmm.” He pinched Carl.

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “Sorry. Just had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

  “I think you were supposed to pinch your own arm,” Carl scolded, rubbing where he’d just been assaulted. Carl gave Stan a stern look. “You’d think my wide-open eyes were a dead giveaway.”

  “I just had to test the reality, Carl. This seems so incredible.”

  Everyone sat, and, after prayer, dinner began.

  “Carl caught me up on your stories, Stan. There’s something I would like to discuss with all of you,” John began. “I think I have something that might interest you. Have you ever heard of the Paladin project?”

  Carl beamed. “You’ve got to hear this. It’s a great system where those qualified are trained and financed by Providence to work inside the Confederacy to change things from within.”

  Lilia raised a hand. “Wait a minute, please. Before we get into this discussion, I’d like to ask Shepherd Bauer something.”

  “Yes, Miss Slone?”

  “You see, sir, my name is the something I’d like to change. You can do wedding ceremonies, can’t you?”

  In surprise, Stan jumped to his feet. “Now wait just one moment.”