DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2)

by Ben Patterson

“Troy was Stan’s second in command. Had Stan veered away or failed to launch that first torpedo, Troy was duty bound to kill him. And Troy would have done it without thinking twice. For Troy, it would have meant his immediate promotion to captain.”

  “Bad guy was he . . . this Troy fella. Even for an Enforcer?”

  Carl half nodded. “To say the least. Unlike Stan, or myself, Troy loved to kill, and he didn’t give one wit about innocence or guilt. He and Stan were like brothers once, but despite that, Troy would have ended Stan in a heartbeat.”

  “So I’m to forgive Stan Archer despite that downing?”

  “You’re a stubborn man, Mr. Slone. Look at that helmet. Stan has tried to backtrack his killing the only way he knows how. Each painted over hash mark represents a life saved since the downing.

  He still thinks in terms of an eye-for-an-eye, and hasn’t gotten hold of His saving Grace. You’re just like him in that regard.”

  Tobin looked away. “A price has to be paid for what he did. Someone has to pay for that ship’s destruction.”

  “Someone already has. The real culprit is behind bars. As far as Stan is concerned, let me remind you of St. Paul on the road to Damascus. He, too, murdered followers; and thought he was doing the Immortal Architect’s work, until he met Him on that dirt road. It took Paul better than eighteen years to get the followers in Jerusalem to see he had changed. Eighteen years is a long time, Mr. Slone. Don’t make the man wait. You, sir, aren’t that important in the vast scheme of things.”

  That pricked, but Tobin couldn’t refute Carl’s reasoning. Who was he to deny Stan what the Immortal Architect had so freely given.

  Tobin still needed to build a bridge back to his daughter. Maybe confronting Stan, no, maybe talking to him . . . He owed his daughter at least that much anyway.

  “Where’s Stan now?”

  “DarkStar?”

  “Captain Archer is in the hall, sir, showing the baby to Ericca.”

  Tobin turned away, took a couple reluctant steps before glancing back at Carl. “Trying to be a man of the Immortal Architect, is he?”

  Carl gestured toward the door. “See for yourself.”

  Tobin looked at the helmet once more before tossing it to Carl.

  Drawing a deep breath as if he were about to take a plunge into icy water, he released it slowly, and then stepped into the hallway. The door hissed closed behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Holding his newborn, wrapped in a soft light blue blanket, Stan knelt before his daughter in the hallway. “Ericca, this is your baby brother, Ryley Stanley Archer. What do you think of him?”

  Ericca gently pulled the blanket away from Baby Ryley’s red face to admire him. “Oh, Daddy. That’s a fine baby boy. But he better know who’s in charge; I was here first.

  Stan chuckled.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “What if something’s wrong with him? Are you still going to keep him?”

  Stan chuckled again. “Oh . . . flaws and all, no matter what, he’s my son, and I’ll always cherish him, just as I will always love you.”

  “No matter what?”

  “No matter what.”

  No matter what? came another voice.

  Startled, Stan turned. No one there. Though this was the first time he’d heard this voice, it came with a sense of recognition.

  No matter what? he heard again, but it wasn’t a voice—not really—and yet it was. It was more of a feeling . . . an unction . . . a direct connection to the speaker, bypassing every sense Stan understood.

  Yes. I will love my son forever. Stan responded in thought alone.

  You are my son, and I love you far more than you love little Ryley.

  A torrent of guilt and horrible images sprang into Stan’s mind. The inferno in the sky, charred remains of people, faces twisted in excruciating agony on the decks of the Emperor’s Princess, flaming chunks of metal falling to the earth; filled Stan’s thoughts. His involuntary gasp accompanied a stab of agony.

  No, my son. As if swept away by a breath, the awful images vanished like smoke. Here is how I wrote the code. Instantly, Stan saw into the Princess before the attack. Three-thousand-twenty-four souls walking her decks; some among them openly preaching the Word of the Grand Programmer. Inexplicably, Stan knew each and every one of the individuals by name, and understood why each was on the ship. One in particular, a boy, preached as if on fire. Passengers were in tears, some on their knees, as the power of the program’s Coder covered the entire ship.

  In the last few hours that remained before the attack, the Immortal One had sent his people, including Proctor McCullough, into the decks to preach the good news and, before meeting their end, most of the men, women, and children accepted the Immortal One’s anointed as Lord and Savior.

  Not everyone was saved, but every person was given the chance.

  Stan knew also that each of those followers had boarded knowing they might never make landfall, but they went anyway.

  Dropping to his knees with his baby boy in his arms, Stan suddenly felt surrounded by pure encompassing acceptance bathing every dark nook of his soul. More than acceptance though; Stan struggled to define it, understand it, this thing far greater than . . . Ah, yes. Love. Pure. Simple in substance, complex in its effect. Without reservation Love touched him, wrapped him, flowed through him, carrying him to a place above and beyond his present perception.

  Stan, before the Immortal Architect, began to see the depth, the breadth, and the height of the God’s love, and he laughed—laughed at his own inability to find its limits. But now he knew, now he could see that it was for this reason that the Immortal Architect gave His only begotten Son, that no man should perish, but have everlasting life, even Stanley Archer.

  Laughing uncontrollably, Stan opened his tear-filled eyes to find he was sprawled on his back.

  Standing above him, with the baby now safely held in his arms, a puzzled Mr. Slone scowled down at him. “What are you doing?”

  But Stan didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Still simultaneously laughing and crying, he carefully climbed to his feet, weak-kneed, and wobbled past Mr. Slone and Ericca to the front lounge. Beyond the window, vivid and striking, he saw the hand of the Immortal Architect as if for the first time. It wasn’t the pointing finger of accusation Stan had seen previously, but an outstretched, inviting hand, pierced at the palm; and, falling to his knees, Stan began to cry even harder.

  He looked back and, through blurred eyes, saw his baby boy safe in his father-in-law’s arms and realized that, in the Immortal Architect’s hands, he, too, was safe. Stan felt restored.

  He steadied himself, clutching the window frame, and saw his reflection in the glass, a stupid, drunken grin spread across his filthy, moist-from-tears face. Ruffled hair was the least of his problems. The suit he’d worn all day was covered with dirt and dust. Disheveled from the foray in the alley, its shoulder had a rip in the seam. His tie hung loose. He had traveled far. And he certainly looked like a drunk.

  Mr. Slone, holding the baby, followed Ericca into the lounge to where Stan stood.

  “Daddy?” Ericca turned his attention. “Are you okay?”

  Stan knelt and drew one arm around his daughter. “Better than okay, hon.”

  “Met the Immortal Architect, did ya?” Mr. Slone said, rocking the baby in his arms.

  “For the first time, Mr. Slone.” Stan drew a deep breath. “Huh! I’d like to say I get it now, but I’d be lying. He’s so much more than I had imagined. I suppose it’ll take quite awhile to sort out.”

  The crease between Mr. Slone’s eyes deepened, and he gave his head a slight shake. “Sounds like my wife. Her reaction was about like yours when we found . . .” Mr. Slone stopped himself.

  Stan smiled. “When you found . . . Dillan?”

  “Who, Daddy?” Ericca said.

  “A man set aside by the Immortal Architect for a special purpose, hon. You’ll meet him one day soon.” />
  Mr. Slone’s eyes became as big as saucers. “How do you know about Dillan?”

  “I saw him.” Stan climbed to his feet, his expression was a mix of excitement and disbelief. “The Immortal Architect showed me the moments before . . . I . . . before I—”

  “Killed all those people?” Mr. Slone’s face was harsh.

  Stan looked down at Ericca. “Honey, you want to see Mommy?”

  She lit up.

  “Go on, then.”

  “Yippee!” Ericca said, as she hurried away.

  Stan gingerly took the baby from Mr. Slone. “Thank you for taking him from me. My mind was . . .”

  “Sure,” snapped Mr. Slone.

  Stan flinched from the man’s harsh tone. “You asked about Dillan. Do you want to know, or shall I—”

  “No. No, continue.” Mr. Slone had a wall of anger raised, and Stan didn’t know if more words would do any good.

  “Dillan was the only survivor of the Princess, Mr. Slone. But, of course, you already knew that.” The baby fussed, and Stan rocked him back to sleep.

  “Yes, I knew. I found his life-pod. The question is, how did you know?”

  “I saw him,” Stan said, dismayed at his own words. “The Immortal Architect showed him to me—this fifteen-year-old kid—preaching up a storm before—”

  “You killed all those people.” Stuck in his anger, Mr. Slone seemed to be looking for every opportunity to take Stan to task.

  “He didn’t kill everyone, Mr. Slone,” Carl said from the doorway. “He let one escape-pod go. So now we know. The lone survivor was Dillan, huh?”

  Mr. Slone turned, his brow tightening as he considered Carl. “What do you know of this?”

  Carl stepped into the room. “I flew Stan’s wing, remember? When faced with shooting down that escaping pod—Dillan’s escape-pod—Stan couldn’t do it. It was just one little pod, . . . one life, . . . but Stan couldn’t pull the trigger. I saw, and I . . .” Carl thought for a moment. “Humph. . . . I thanked the Immortal Architect. All these years, and I had forgotten that I had thanked the Immortal Architect. Wow!” Realizing the significance of that simple act, Carl’s eyes welled up, his chin quivered, and he glanced away to wipe moisture from his cheek.

  With a thin, calculating scowl in his eyes, Mr. Slone looked from Carl to Stan, glanced back toward the hallway, and looked at Stan and the baby again. “You two planned this nonsense. You’re both playacting to get me to believe you’ve come to this supposed immortal one; that you’re good guys. Do I seem that naïve?” Shaking his head, he walked away, and out of the room.

  “He’ll need time,” Carl said, turning back to Stan to coo at the baby.

  “You thanked the Immortal Architect?”

  With a slight nod, Carl half shrugged.

  “So I had a latent Trog at my wing,” Stan said, pleased to have heard this new revelation. “Will the wonders never cease?”

  “Hmm. I guess you did, and . . . I hope they never do.”

  Stan handed the baby to the attentive Carl. “So, what were you doing on Atheron? I can’t believe you showed up when you did,” he said, as the two headed into the hallway.

  “Are you kidding?” Carl said, gently bouncing the baby in his arms. “I thought you knew. Paladins are everywhere on Atheron. The church has gone underground, and—”

  “The church was already underground.”

  “Okay, . . . more deeply underground. There is a pipeline to Hastings, Baldwin, and on to Calyx. I was sent into Seychelles to assess the situation there. Imagine my surprise at finding you in the middle of yet more gunplay.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Five years,” Carl said, as they stopped in front of Lilia’s room. “Why do I continually find you in the middle of shootouts?”

  “I’m just glad you do.”

  “Huh?”

  “Umm, not in ‘shootouts,’ . . . the finding me part. Speaking of which, why is that always the case, Carl—your being there?”

  “Swift, I’ve always got your wing. You know that. But I do need to get back to Atheron. I and a few other Paladins still have a job to do.”

  Stan grinned even more. “Captain Ogier, if you will tell me why you keep popping up, the ship is all yours.”

  Carl’s smile was filled with pride. “It’s like I said, Swifty. I’ve got your wing. Per my request, our assignments always parallel.”

  “Well that explains the last five years.”

  “Does it?” Carl winked, handed the baby back to Stan, and turned to head up to the bridge, bounding three stair rungs at a time.

  Stan passed his hand over the sensor, the door opened, and he stepped in to find Lilia asleep; her father standing at her side.

  Wide-awake and sucking her thumb, Ericca lay nestled in the crook of her mother’s arm.

  “You want to stay with Mommy longer?”

  Ericca beamed. “Can I?”

  Stan gave a slight nod. “Your being here might do her some good, but be quiet and let Mommy rest.”

  Jean, sitting nearby, peaceably embraced by DarkStar’s avatar, was herself napping. The woman hadn’t left her daughter’s side since she’d come aboard, and Stan knew she was exhausted by the whole ordeal.

  DarkStar’s smile said she knew Stan had finally come to grips with grace.

  Of course she knew.

  Nothing got past the ship.

  Lilia’s eyes opened a crack and she weakly reached out to take Stan’s hand. Then she cocked her head to see him more clearly. “Oh, my. That’s a nice look for you.”

  Stan glanced down at his dirty clothes. “Sorry, hon. I haven’t had time to change.”

  She smiled. “I wasn’t referring to your clothes. I was talking about your new heart. It fits you perfectly.”

  Tears suddenly flooded his eyes again. He leaned close to let his cheek caress hers for a long, gentle moment. “I love you, my wife,” he whispered. “I always will.”

  At peace, she smiled and patted the bed next to her.

  Stan laid the baby in the crook of her arm.

  Lilia gently kissed the child’s head and noticed the object in Ericca’s hand; the cake topper. Taking it, she looked at it carefully, and smiled a little more. “You shouldn’t play with this, hon. Let’s let Daddy put it back, okay?” she said, handing the figurine to Stan, then she drifted off to sleep.

  Stan kissed her cheek and pulled back, glancing fleetingly at the topper; then he looked again. It had been completely restored; no crack or seem could be found at all; and without effort, he understood. As a tear trailed down his cheek, he looked up and saw that Mr. Slone was staring at him, but his father-in-law’s expression remained severe.

  He glanced once again at Jean and DarkStar, and then went back out into the hallway. Mr. Slone fallowed.

  “You can take us back now,” Mr. Slone said flatly. “I have to see if Dillan—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Slone, but you can’t go back.”

  His glare stiffened. “And why not? I have business that needs my attention.”

  Just then Carl trundled down the stairs.

  “Look, Mr. Slone,” Stan said. “Right now it’s simply not possible. All of Atheron is on high alert. They’ve busted the church at Cornesh and have your sector completely locked down. We can’t go back there. Not now. Not for a long time to come.”

  Carl stepped up to them.

  Mr. Slone was seething. “Dillan wasn’t with us. I’ve got to find him.”

  “Mr. Slone, I can find him for you. What’s his name, and where will he be?”

  “His name is Dillan Chace. He should be in the—”

  “Chace?” Carl said in surprise. “Twenty-year-old, sandy hair, sparse, thin, mousy little mustache?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  Carl laughed. “I can’t believe that is who you were referring to. Don’t worry about Dillan, Mr. Slone. He’s working the rescue operation in Hastings, and from what I hear; he’s making quite a name for himself.”
r />   “Yeah?”

  “Yes, sir. He and his small squad are driving the Confederate troops nuts, running interference.”

  “Yeah?” Mr. Slone beamed without right pride for Dillan.

  “Oh, and by the way, he’ll be leaving with me once we’re done here.”

  “Yeah? To where?”

  “Sorry. If I told you, I’d have to . . ., you know.”

  “Hmm.” Mr. Slone glanced at Stan before returning his gaze to Carl. “I think I get . . . you two. I get a sense that everything is as it should be . . .” he sighed, “. . . but I still can’t help being mad. There just seems to be something wrong with letting either you off Scott free, but I suppose the Immortal Architect knows what he’s doing.”

  “So,” Stan said, “you accept this then?”

  “Yeah . . . but I don’t necessarily like it. You better treat my daughter right, or so help me . . .”

  Stan passed his hand over the sensor and they all stepped back into Lilia’s infirmary room. Then a new thought popped into his head. “Guys, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a minute. I need to jettison an old helmet.”

  “No, sir, not just yet,” Mr. Slone said. “I want that helmet.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  The old man shrugged. “To remind me that all things were paid for in full . . . a long time ago. Maybe it’ll help me get over the loss of my sister . . . and Dillan’s dad.”

  Stan studied the older man. “Or it could just stir your anger.”

  “I’m mad at you . . . that’s true . . . but the Immortal Architect is telling me to get over it. For the sake of my daughter, and my grandchildren, I think I’ll do as He says.”

  Stan glanced at Carl. “Now I see where Lilia gets her tender heart.”

  Carl’s agreeing nod said Stan was probably right.

  A light tap on the door, preceded its opening to let John Bauer in. “Is she okay,” he whispered.

  Without a word, Carl threw an arm over the Shepherd’s shoulder.

  Stan looked at his still-sleeping bride, the children in her arms, both in-laws, his friends, and even the DarkStar avatar—and thought about all that he’d been through. Coupled with the Immortal Architect, his view about everything had suddenly and drastically changed.