The Skypirate

by Justine Davis

  “He’s here. I’ll explain later. Just get ready.”

  “Copy.”

  Rina was as good as her word. The shuttle was alive and ready, the side door open. Den had to help her again as she tried to lift Dax, who was barely conscious now, into the shuttle. Rina ran back to help, pulling as Califa pushed. His slack body sprawled on the floor, and Califa and the boy scrambled in after him. Califa at last relieved the boy of the burden of the bow, giving him an approving nod as he gratefully surrendered it.

  “You’re a true Triotian, Den. ‘Quit’ isn’t in your lexicon.”

  The boy smiled, then looked at Rina curiously. Rina returned the look, but only for an instant before she knelt beside Dax.

  Califa put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I know, Rina, but there’s nothing we can do for him now except get out of here.”

  “But, Dax—”

  “He’s not injured. Not in any way we can help.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’ll explain later. You have to help me fly us out of here.”

  Rina pulled herself together with a visible effort. She ran back to the console of the shuttle. Califa followed. It had been a long time since she’d flown one, but it would come back to her, she thought.

  Twenty minutes later she was grimacing wryly at her own arrogance; she’d never worked so hard in her life. And Dax had made it look so easy, responding with relaxed dexterity to Rina’s warnings of a hillside here or an unexpected drop there. They were skating along barely twenty feet off the deck, following Rina’s memory of the topography, unerring even in the dark.

  When Dax had brought Rina along, she’d wondered why; it wasn’t like him to allow her into any kind of danger. But she’d been safe enough, sitting unnoticed in that cleft of ground. And the entire mission would have been impossible without her.

  “Now,” Rina said at last, when they were far on the other side of the planet. Califa gratefully turned to the relatively simple task of getting the shuttle back to the Evening Star.

  Rina wasted no time in getting to the question uppermost on her mind.

  “What happened to him?”

  “The flashbow,” Califa answered shortly. “Nine shots.”

  Rina gasped. “No one’s ever fired that many!”

  “So I gathered,” Califa said dryly. She nodded her head toward the boy. “You can thank him for Dax’s life. He’s the one who knew to put the bow back in his hand.”

  Rina’s eyes, so like Dax’s, widened. “You mean the legend is true? That if you put the flashbow back . . . ?”

  “I only know what I saw.” And the memory made her shiver.

  Rina paled at Califa’s expression. “He was . . . dead?”

  “And then not. I can’t explain it. The legend seems as good a way as any.”

  She tried to put impossible things—and the legend was only one of them—out of her mind and concentrate on getting them back.

  And Rina ran back to sit with the unconscious Dax.

  “WELCOME BACK, boy. Thought you were going to sleep away the entire trip.”

  Dax blinked, then focused on Roxton’s grinning face.

  “How . . . long?”

  “Three days,” the first mate said. “But from the look of you when they carried you off the shuttle, you needed every minute of it. Thought you’d gone and died on us.”

  Warily, Dax tried to sit up, and was gratified when it was easier than he expected. He felt almost functional again.

  “I hear you had quite an adventure on Darvis.”

  “It’s not one I’d care to repeat,” he said, his tone very dry.

  “But you got it done,” Roxton said, with as much satisfaction as if the whole thing had been his idea. “And we’ll be at Trios this time tomorrow.”

  Dax blinked. “We will?”

  “Sure.” The old man tugged at his beard, laughing, yet studying Dax with an intensity barely disguised by his humor. “We weren’t about to say no when your Arellian started giving orders in that way of hers. She said set course for Trios, so we did.”

  There were three Arellians aboard now, but Dax knew quite well who Roxton was talking about. And he knew exactly what “way” of giving orders he was talking about as well. She virtually terrorized him into making that trip from the cell to the shuttle, that walking, living Hades he could barely remember now. But she’d been right. He’d made it, when he’d never expected to.

  “Now that’s a smile I’ve waited awhile to see,” Roxton said softly. Flushing, Dax looked away from his old friend’s grinning face. “She’s quite a woman,” Roxton said.

  “Yes.”

  “The boy—by the way, he’s a distant relation of Fleuren’s, we discovered—said she tricked the Outpost Commander into thinking she was one of them again, that she’d captured you to regain her Coalition honor and her position.”

  “She did. She had him eating out of her hand.”

  “You must have wondered—”

  “Only for a moment,” Dax said, feeling somehow he owed her this declaration of his trust. “I should have trusted her before, and I didn’t. I had to then.” He sighed. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

  “On the contrary,” Roxton said with a chuckle, “it makes perfect sense. And it explains why she’s been hovering over you like a mother whisperbird. I finally had to force her to rest.”

  “She . . . has?”

  “Right after she ordered us to ‘get this bucket to Trios,’ I think were her words.” The first mate laughed again at Dax’s expression. Then he got to his feet. “So, rest up, eat something, and you’ll be home before you know it.”

  He was at the door before it hit Dax.

  “Home?”

  Roxton turned, the knowledge showing in his gentle smile. “Home,” he confirmed.

  “You . . . know?”

  “Ah, Dax, I’ve always known. You told me, that first night, when you were drunk, about your home, your father, and your friend Dare who would one day have been king.” He shrugged. “But I thought that if you wished to keep it to yourself after that, it was your business.”

  He turned again to go, but Dax stopped him. “Rox?” His old friend turned back again. “I . . .” His throat was suddenly tight, and all he could manage was, “Thanks.”

  Roxton stood there for a long, silent moment. At last he said, almost distantly, “I had a son once, you know.”

  Dax stared; he hadn’t known. In all these years, he hadn’t known.

  “He died,” the first mate went on, “when the Coalition swept over Clarion. I would like to think, had he lived, he would have made me as proud as you have.”

  He left then, closing the door on a stunned and embarrassed Dax.

  “YOU LOOK WORRIED.”

  “I am,” Dax conceded, his expression halfheartedly rueful, wholeheartedly apprehensive.

  He looked at Califa, then glanced around the bridge. The others were intent on their tasks as they neared Trios; approaching a world which was, in essence, at war with the Coalition was not something to be done haphazardly. This was the first time he had been on the bridge since their return from Darvis II, and while he felt steady enough, he knew he didn’t exactly look like the embodiment of good health, and his stamina was still a bit questionable.

  Still, it felt good to be up. It seemed all he’d done was sleep, when he should have been anticipating their arrival at Trios. But then maybe that was for the best; the anticipation he’d felt in the last hour since he’d walked onto the bridge was about to do him in.

  “I didn’t really . . . think this far ahead,” he admitted, in a voice too low for the others to hear.

  “Because,” Califa pointed out with wry astuteness, “you didn’t expect to get this far. You thought you
’d be dead long before now.”

  Dax sighed. “Are you going to start chewing on me again?”

  “Maybe.”

  He wasn’t going to admit that she was right. She already knew that. He truly hadn’t expected that they’d get this far. Or at least, he hadn’t expected he would.

  He wondered if this apparent death wish that he’d finally realized he had—that Califa seemed to have always known about—had something to do with his certainty that were he ever to reach this point, of coming home, that it would be futile. As he’d told her, he’d broken nearly every Triotian law that existed; they weren’t about to welcome him with open arms no matter what he did. They might thank him for the return of five Triotians, six counting Rina, but that would hardly absolve him of five years of crimes that were among the most odious to any Triotian of blood.

  No, in the end he would be left with even less than he’d begun with; even the Evening Star would no longer be his. Although if the crew decided to continue as skypirates, they might let him rejoin them—if he was still alive. In time of war, it was within Dare’s power to order his execution, and he just might do it for a man he must consider a deserter, if not a traitor.

  What would Califa do? he wondered. He’d toyed briefly, as he lay recovering from the strain of the flashbow, with an image of her staying aboard the Evening Star, with him. But that was no life for a woman, even one as strong as Califa, always among men, and rough ones at that. He’d seen that when Rina had taken to her so quickly; he hadn’t realized the girl’s need for another female to talk to.

  Rina. She wasn’t going to like it when she found out she would be staying on Trios. They would welcome her, he was sure. She was a child, and had had no choice about the life she’d led.

  He let out a compressed breath. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it, after all. He had little enough to give her. When he was through here, he would have little enough to give anyone.

  He glanced at Califa, facing at last the true source of his disquiet. He couldn’t begin to describe the feeling that had come over him when Den had said that she had cried when she thought him dead. She’d admitted she would mourn for him, but that this woman, this strong, brave woman who no doubt never let herself cry, would cry for him moved him beyond words. He had faced the fact that, however undeserving he was, she cared for him. And, he had acknowledged at last, after a long time spent cradling the marble snowfox in his hands, that he cared for her. More than he was comfortable admitting.

  But he had nothing to offer anyone, let alone a woman like Califa. She deserved peace, after what she had suffered, not the crazed, risky existence of a skypirate. He would fulfill his promise; he would find a way to free her from the collar, even if he had to bargain for it with his life. And then she would go, to build a life of her own. And she would be much better off.

  He watched her as she glanced at the rank of viewports, where the glowing orb that was Trios was drawing closer.

  “I wonder,” she said slowly, “if Shaylah is still . . . with him.”

  Dax had no answer for that, but he wondered silently if whatever had happened between Dare and his Coalition captain had been a fraction as complicated as things were now between him and Califa.

  “They won’t just let you through, you know,” she said. “Whatever they have that’s holding off the Coalition will work on us, too. What will you tell them?”

  Dax’s mouth quirked. “That’s the part I haven’t thought about yet.”

  She gave him a sideways look. “I suggest you start, then. We’ll be at the edge of their space in a few minutes.”

  Dax felt his stomach knot. Why in Hades had he ever begun this? What demon in his obviously demented mind had made him think it might work?

  “Why don’t you turn on the identifier?” Califa suggested quietly. “And keep a frequency open? At least then they may give us a chance to prove we’re not a Coalition ship before they blast us.”

  She was right. They rarely used the automatically transmitted, repeating code that identified them as the cargo ship Evening Star—skypirates didn’t make a habit of announcing their presence or the name of their ship—but it might give them at least a chance to explain.

  He turned to the console beside the command chair and flicked two buttons. Larcos turned to look back at him, startled, then appeared to think about it. He nodded, and turned back to the scanners before him.

  Dax stopped himself from pacing, but only barely as they flew on. The crew apparently found no oddity in Califa’s presence on the bridge; she had clearly established herself with them. It had been Larcos who had told him most of the men had guessed she had been in some position of command, and no doubt with the Coalition. But they had also learned this far too late for any of them to hold it against her now; she had proved herself to them time and again.

  As she had to him, although he’d been nearly too damned blind to see it. He knew what he’d done in the cell on Darvis II had done much to make it up to her, but—

  “Cargo ship Evening Star! This is the Triotian High Council! State your purpose or reverse your course!”

  Dax felt himself pale, and he suddenly sank down in the command chair, all strength gone from his legs.

  “My God,” he whispered, shaken. “It’s Dare.”

  Chapter 24

  IT WAS ROXTON who finally answered.

  “Triotian High Council, this is first mate Roxton of the Evening Star. We have . . . er, cargo to be delivered.”

  The voice came back, strong, deep, and with an undertone of amusement. Dax felt a shiver ripple up his spine at the sound of the voice he’d thought never to hear again. Roxton shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was standing here talking to a king.

  “And I suppose you’d like us to lower our shields and allow you to land?”

  Dax shook his head sharply. Roxton merely nodded and waved at him calmingly; the first mate, at least, had obviously thought about this in advance. And it was a good thing, Dax thought wryly, since his brain seemed to have stopped working; he’d never expected Dare to be their challenger. But he should have, he realized. Dare had never been one to use his royalty to shirk the more ordinary tasks, and he supposed when your numbers were so limited, even the king had to take his turn at sentry duty.

  “No, sir,” Roxton said respectfully. “We wouldn’t think of it. Request permission to orbit and send down a shuttle.”

  All humor vanished from the voice, leaving nothing but the cool, tough tone of a leader.

  “We neither expect, nor have we ordered any . . . cargo.”

  “He’s learned that caution the hard way,” Roxton muttered. Then, louder, “With all due respect, I think you’ll want this cargo.”

  “We are at war, first mate Roxton. What could be worth the risk of letting down our shields to a stranger?”

  Roxton glanced at Dax. Dax nodded. Roxton took a breath, then answered.

  “Triotians, sir.”

  There was a long, tense moment of silence.

  “Explain.” The order was short, sharp, and rang with command.

  “Several of them, sir.” At another nod from Dax, he added, “Two of them will need medical attention.”

  Another pause. Dax knew Dare would do almost anything for his people, and that the mention that two were injured was, if not quite fair, an effective lever he wasn’t above using. Besides, it was true. Fleuren needed attention for her legs, and the ailing Triotian they’d picked up from Zenox still hadn’t recovered enough to even give them his name.

  “Who is your captain?”

  Dax shook his head again. If Dare learned now who he was, they might never get down to the surface.

  “He’s . . . readying the shuttle now. He wishes to be certain everyone arrives safely.”

  “Commendable,” the voice said dryly, �
�but not the answer to my question.”

  “He will accompany our passengers in the shuttle, sir. You will meet him then.”

  “We have an ancient saying on Trios, about buying a blowpig in a bag. Are you familiar with it?”

  Roxton laughed appreciatively at the words and the drollery in the voice. “I admire a cautious man, sir. I’m one myself. But I assure you, we are not a Coalition trick. All of us aboard the Evening Star are far too familiar with such underhanded dealings.”

  “While you, of course, are the finest of law-abiding citizens.”

  The mockery was still intense. Dax wondered if he was going to have to use the temptation of himself to punish as bait to get Dare to let them land.

  “Now, there are those who might not call us such,” Roxton said, “but the chances are good they would be in Coalition uniform.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that if you’d sailed our seas in an ancient era, there would have been crossbones on your banner?”

  Roxton laughed again, and glanced at Dax. “He’s quite a man, your king.” Then, turning back to the communications console, “Perhaps there is need of such men in this era, sir. And who is to say who are the true pirates?”

  When the voice came again, there was the slightest hint of genuine amusement. “Who, indeed? Send your shuttle. But be aware, the rumors you may have heard are true. The weapons guarding our docking port and the city are fusion cannons.”

  Roxton’s eyes widened. He hit a switch on the panel and looked back at Dax, who glanced at Califa. Looking very solemn, she nodded. “I heard the rumors. It makes sense, for nothing less would hold off the Coalition so effectively. But how . . . ?”

  Dax shrugged. “Dare is good with weapons, as well. Go ahead, Rox.”

  The first mate swallowed, then released the switch he’d pressed. “Er . . . yes, sir.”

  “No weapons aboard the shuttle. Flight crew limited to two.” Dare was giving orders now, quickly, easily, with the air of a man who was accustomed to having them obeyed. “You have one hour. We will await your message that you are at the docking port shield. It will open for two minutes, the time it takes to traverse it. Two minutes only.”