DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2)

by Ben Patterson

  He tapped the picture again. “What will people say in five . . . ten years down the road when your youth becomes too obvious to hide? How will you respond then?”

  Wearing a salient smile, Stan shoved the picture back into John’s hand. “You know . . . I wonder what Ericca is up to? Seems high time I checked on my little girl.” Stan called for the door. It opened, and saying no more, he headed out to Ericca’s room.

  John called out, but his words came too late. Stan was gone. The door closed leaving nothing behind but a smooth, bare wall. John stared at it for a brief moment before giving Lilia his attention. “Why the secrecy?”

  “John,” Lilia said, her tone elevated. “I wanted to talk to you about Jake Barrett. I know he’s only fifteen, but I’d like to recommend him to the Paladin Academy. Do you think his parents would—”

  “What are you two hiding, Lilia?”

  “Hiding?” Lilia knit her brow as if John’s suspicions were a non-issue. “John, can I speak to you about Jacob for a moment?”

  “I’ll speak to his folks, Lilia. Okay? But why are you two being so . . . so . . . evasive? Sometimes trying to get an answer from either of you is exasperating!” He threw up his hands and turned away.

  He heard Lilia turn her chair behind him. “I suppose you want the whole story then? Very well, if you insist. DarkStar, to the bridge, please.”

  Appearing from nowhere the ship’s avatar moved to Lilia’s side, looking almost as human as anyone, but somehow less so . . . or more so . . . depending on one’s tastes. With her fair features, perfect skin, and golden hair, the holographic humanoid was beyond beautiful.

  “Yes, Captain Archer?” DarkStar’s voice was soft, feminine, and almost musical.

  John shook himself. Despite his best efforts to appear unimpressed, the avatar always stole his breath away.

  Without taking her eyes off John, Lilia spoke to DarkStar. “Shepherd John would like to know our story. Could you take a moment to catch him up?”

  “As you wish, Captain Archer. What time frame do you want me to project?”

  “Start with our escape from Atheron and end where we find Shepherd Bauer adrift.”

  “Aye, Captain.” DarkStar turned to face John. “Ready?” She reached to touch his forehead but John held her hand at bay.

  “Is this going to hurt?” he said.

  “Shepherd, you should be careful for what you ask.” DarkStar smiled and pushed past his hand to touch his brow.

  At once the tavern flashed through John’s mind, instantly seeing Lilia through Stan’s eyes and him through hers as their emotions regarding each other clashed in a tumultuous mix of hate, rage, adulation and . . . secret desire.

  Images, sensations, fragrances, emotions, and thoughts—disjointed and mixed—covering months overpowered him.

  John Bauer reared away from DarkStar’s hand, staggered back, and stumbled into a chair.

  Cocking her head, DarkStar regarded him with concern as she lowered her hand.

  “The images may confuse you, Shepherd Bauer, until your mind sorts through them, but I think you’ll adjust.”

  He shook his head. “Easy for you to say! My head’s a scrambled mess. What was that?”

  “You have the memories of Captains Stan and Lilia, as well as mine from the time starting at the Tavern, to your rescue from the life pod. I also gave you a portion of Carlton Ogier’s memories so that you would fully understand the Archers’ circumstances.”

  DarkStar turned toward Lilia. “Will that be all, ma’am?”

  Lilia nodded but said nothing.

  DarkStar vanished.

  Awkward with the baby, Lilia struggled to get up from the Captain’s chair.

  “John, I trust you’ll keep our secrets?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, once I understand them, sure. How long did this process take? How long was I out?”

  “Only a moment. DarkStar had just touched you.”

  John shook himself. “I’ve got days . . . no, weeks of memories of you three . . . and a headache to match.”

  “Us four, John,” Lilia clarified. “You forget DarkStar.”

  John feigned a smile. “I hardly consider DarkStar a person.”

  Lilia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Wasn’t DarkStar the first person you responded to after we rescued you? Thought you saw an angel, you said.”

  “Yeah, well . . . I was deprived of oxygen. Makes a man see things that aren’t really there.”

  “Come on now. Ever since you discovered she was our ship’s projected personality you’ve treated her poorly.”

  “I just hate being fooled, Lilia.” John remembered the first time he saw DarkStar’s angelic face. Her eyes, a profound sapphire blue, although filled with concern, had an unnatural shimmer in them. She had gently brushed away errant hair from his forehead, and said, “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “When I discovered she wasn’t heaven sent, it kind of took the wind from my sails, you know? I thought at seeing her, the Immortal Architect would soon follow. Oh, well.”

  “So DarkStar, her avatar anyway, makes you long for your eternal reward?”

  “I beg your pardon?” John said. “Oh, no, no.” he said as he caught her meaning. “I’m not thinking about leaving yet. I just felt cheated by your machine, is all.”

  “Oh, stop. You’re fooling no one, John. From the start, we knew you didn’t know what to make of her. You’re a good man, but you can’t expect to hide your unease by treating our companion with so little respect. You just need to come to grips with what you feel about her. And for goodness sake, treat her like the good person she is.”

  “I meant no offence—”

  Lilia chuckled. “Yes, you did.”

  “Yes, I did.” John diverted his eyes. “I guess I was just pushing back against my confusion. In the back of my head I probably still see her as an angel, and so, to fight that . . .”

  “She’s not an angel, John. When you finally admit that the holographic representation of our ship touched some deep pocket in your emotions, your attitude will change. You need to lighten up.”

  “Was I that transparent?”

  Lilia’s smile said she believed so.

  “I’m sorry for my uncalled-for rudeness, DarkStar. I apologize. Will you forgive me?”

  The avatar appeared, considered John briefly, and then stepped forward to hug him.

  Still awkward and unsure of himself, John held her ineptly and then pulled back, glancing about in an effort to hide his renewed unease.

  The avatar smiled. “Your apology is accepted, Shepherd Bauer. And now that that is out of the way, sir, perhaps you can focus your thoughts on Captain Stan?” And with that, she once again vanished.

  John shut his eyes and gave a deep sigh. “These memories . . . I see now what Stan has been through. Always in the back of his mind, the Princess stands as a wall Stan can’t see a way past. To him, it symbolizes his entire past. He desperately needs to get beyond it and put it behind him once and for all.”

  He rubbed his brow. The painful throb of the massive information download was nonstop.

  “John, what you see in your mind’s eye, and the emotions you feel, belong to the Stan of five years ago. The anguish you sense is even worse for him today. I sleep with the man, and I can tell you there are nights when he awakens in sweat and tears. I feel so helpless.”

  John met her gaze with understanding. DarkStar’s memory download was starting to arrange itself in a coherent manner. The pain Stan bore was only now starting to make sense.

  “For both of you; Coalfire’s gene modification has brought you back to a pre-Noah state of being, hasn’t it?”

  “Coalfire? Man, I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

  “I wonder if Coalfire knew what he was putting you two through. This one hundred twenty year cap the Immortal Architect has placed on man’s lifespan no longer applies to you, does it?”

  “No, John. It doesn’t.” Lilia’s answer was
matter-of-fact. There was simply no other way to put it. “But to clarify, they weren’t Coalfire’s doing. Check your newfound memories. This was God, plain and simple.”

  “Yes. Back to what I was saying. So, not only does Stan’s guilt grow, but knowing he has an extended lifespan makes it even worse for him, doesn’t it?”

  Although Lilia held her posture straight and noble, and despite her self-confident smile, a single tear trailing down her cheek betrayed her distress. Stan’s pain was her pain, and its intensity was no longer hidden from John. The two sat in silence for a long moment.

  “John,” Wanting to get this right, Lilia hesitated to collect her thoughts. “. . . on the day we first found your life-pod adrift and brought you aboard, we left you in the infirmary to recover. You rewarded Carl’s soon to follow visit with a prayer of healing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could that happen again?” Lilia turned away and paced two steps to choose her words carefully and then turned back to him. “Now that you understand Stan’s anguish, can you pray for him as you did for Carl?”

  John stood, came to her, and gathered her hands in his. “I wish it were that simple, Lilia. I really do. But the root of Stan’s torment is his unbelief in the One. Undying Love has forgiven him, but until he receives it and believes it’s true, he’ll carry his anguish always.”

  John now knew that from the beginning of the genetic transfer Lilia understood and felt Stan’s remorse, but she also grasped what Stan had failed to realize about himself; that the Immortal had forgiven him.

  John understood the depth to which she was drawn to Stan. A nurturer by nature, coupled with what Lilia had learned of Stan, to see his heart healed was what she longed for. He was her man, her husband, her lover, . . . and she believed there was nothing she could do.

  Dear Immortal Architect, John prayed, there has to be something I . . . no . . . something You . . . can do.

  John looked up and the bare wall caught his eye just as the door appeared. In stepped the DarkStar avatar and three-year-old Ericca, the Archer’s first child.

  Ericca, wearing a white frilly dress, was adorable. Her dark reddish-brown hair formed ringlets as it flowed about her shoulders.

  At seeing Shepherd Bauer, the little girl pulled free of DarkStar’s hand to run and jump into his arms.

  “Uncle John!” Ericca kissed his cheek, “You know what? DarkStar is teaching me times tables.”

  “At age three? My, you are a smart little girl, aren’t you?”

  Ericca gave him a severe look. “Uncle John, I am a big girl now.” She twisted to point at her mother’s round belly. “That guy is little.”

  John chuckled. “I stand corrected. You are, indeed, big, aren’t you? I’ll not soon make that mistake again.”

  “Promise?”

  John nodded, kissed her cheek, and then set her down before turning to DarkStar’s avatar. “I see, DarkStar, that you’re dressing in a more contemporary fashion and less like an angel these days.”

  With an accepting smile, she politely dipped her head once. “That was Captain Lilia’s idea, sir.”

  Lilia shrugged. “What can I say? I never got used to an angel on board, DarkStar, but you’ve been a real friend.”

  “I can only imagine,” John said.

  Standing on a chair, little Ericca peered out a window. The Dalvus Nebula, as close as it was, filled the entire view on that side of the ship. Sitting at the heart of Confederate Territory, it cradled Parandi, the capital planet; Atheron; Chagwa; and a number of less important planets; and acting as a great barrier to the Providence Union.

  Atheron’s sun, though now at a great distance, was still the brightest star in the sky. What if they went back to Atheron? What if they sought out the followers in Seychelles as Stan believed was necessary? What then?

  John drew a breath and, in exasperation, released it slowly. There was no point to Stan’s going back. What would it prove anyway?

  “Look what the Immortal Architect made, Uncle John,” Ericca said. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  Unencumbered by life’s worries, she saw things as simple and uncomplicated. If only her dad could.

  Just then, the wall opened again and Stan stepped in. Kissing his wife, he gave her a hug. In the next instant Stan was at his daughter’s side to share the moment. “Whatcha lookin’ at, honey?”

  Ericca started to hum, and then quietly broke into a little song. “The Immortal Architect loves me this I know . . . for that tells me so.”

  John saw that Ericca was pointing at the huge Dalvus Nebula . . . but whatever she saw eluded him. He glanced at Stan, only to find anger filling his face. Stan shot an annoyed look at John, turned abruptly, and left the bridge again.

  Lilia followed him, but only with her eyes.

  It was tough, but John turned back to the nebula rather than chase the man down. And then he saw it as well. “Oh, man, how could I have missed that?” He drew an arm over Ericca’s shoulder and wondered how Stan had interpreted this; such a powerful image.

  “DarkStar, all stop, please,” Lilia said. She had seen the vision in the nebula when she stepped next to John.

  A myriad of colors, shadows, and light, painted a picture of a hand reaching out toward them. Chagwa, blocking its own sun, was in shadow and, looking like a dark hole, seemed to pierce the hand’s palm.

  John realized that Stan’s answer wasn’t complex at all. All Stan needed was the Immortal Architect’s love. His sacrifice enveloped everything it touched with pure righteousness.

  The hand, palm up and pierced, could be seen only here, at this specific angle.

  John recognized the star sitting atop the print of the extended forefinger. He knew Stan did as well.

  It was Atheron.

  But he couldn’t figure why this image would upset Stan.

  John understood Stan had never received the absolution he so desperately longed for, nor accepted the Lord’s love he so greatly needed. It was well within Stan’s reach; all he had to do was accept the forgiveness as meant for him.

  Sighing, John refocused on the rest of his flock. “I have to show this to our passengers,” he said turning on his heel. “Cargo bay.”

  The smooth, bare wall irised open and John stepped through the circular portal. As it closed behind him, he went to the cargo bay’s side door to open it so everyone could see out toward Dalvus.

  The awestruck refugees gave a sudden, corporate gasp followed by total silence.

  The picture painted in the nebula, although an illusion, seemed to say, “The price was paid, come.”

  But why would this view upset Stan? John dropped his eyes to ask the Immortal Architect for the answer, and then looked up to see the hand afresh, but he received no response.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Stan paced the ship several times, but found no release from his anger.

  As he cut through the cargo bay, he heard the oohs and ahhs of the passengers speaking in hushed reverent whispers of the Immortal Architect’s grace regarding the scene before them. All he saw was an accusatory pointing finger demanding justice.

  An hour had passed since he was last on the bridge, but he had no desire to go there. Instead he took his anger with him all the way to his daughter’s room, but he buried it before peeking in.

  She was back from the bridge, and he found her focused on a figurine of some sort. Her long, curly, dark-red hair contrasting with the white chiffon dress her mother had just finished, made her look like a porcelain doll as she sat at the base of her chest of drawers.

  “Whatcha got there?”

  Ericca looked up and stared at him with eyes that said, oh, oh, I’ve been caught. “I just wanted to look at this, Daddy. Now it’s broke.”

  Stan stepped into the room. Ericca held up the statuette that had once topped his wedding cake. Lilia treasured the china piece for a reason. Carl Ogier had removed the original ornaments—separate figures of a bride and groom—and had replaced them with this one; a sin
gle ornament of a groom embracing his bride. Connected only from the waist up, the kiss, sweet and innocent, implied a perfect union.

  He took a seat on her bed as she got to her feet and handed two pieces to him. The groom had been snapped in half at the waist.

  “Honey, you weren’t supposed to take this without asking. It’s not a toy. It belongs to Mom. You have to give it back.”

  “I know, Daddy. I’m sorry I broke it. I can’t give it back to Mommy like this.”

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Daddy, I want you to fix it please.”

  Stan pressed the groom’s lower half to the upper to study the damage. Although it was a clean break, Stan never had any luck with this sort of thing.

  He remembered one of his mother’s figurines suffering a similar fate after an illicit in-the-house, ill-thrown baseball got away from him. With glue everywhere, and the damage growing worse with his every attempt to fix it, the ornament ended up looking like a poorly constructed 3D jigsaw puzzle. Hiding it and himself in his room in the hopes Mom’s favorite Hummel wouldn’t be missed was probably not the best choice a ten-year-old could have made. The resulting spanking wouldn’t have been as severe had he fessed up to begin with, as his buddy Dennis Dugan had suggested.

  “I don’t think I can fix this, sweet cheeks. Glue and I always seem at odds with each other. You just need to take this back to Mommy and explain.” He tried to hand the pieces back to her but, met with such grief-stricken eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Daddy, you can fix it. You have too.”

  His little girl had Mom’s eyes. Dark brown and compelling, they had a way of obligating him to impossible tasks in spite of himself.

  “Okay, honey, but give me time. I want to do it right, okay?”

  Her gaze held just a hint of suspicion as she brought her face just inches from his. “You fix it, Daddy. Not DarkStar, okay?”

  “I was thinking DarkStar might do a better job.”

  “No, Daddy. Your hands only please. Your hands have more love in them.”

  Stan chuckled. “They do?”

  Unexpectedly, Ericca’ eyes filled with tears and she lurched into his embrace. “You’re my daddy. You’ve got more love in your hands than anybody. You have to fix it, you just have to.”