Catch a Falling Star (17 page)

Each round was like a
punch that set the big man back a step. Bewildered, he started
to lower his heavy arm, the limb lit up so that he could see
neon purple liquid spilling down from a hole in his elbow. He
stared, puzzled, until he realized it was blood, his blood, its
red color tinted by the powerful lights trained on him. The
rifle fell from his hand. His knees sagged and dropped him to
the dirt, pain shooting straight up to his head.

“Not me,” he coughed,
blood filling his mouth, bubbling when he spat out, “Stupid
bastards.” He was dead when his face hit the rock a second
later.

Six men moved up to
gather around the dead farmer. The oldest, barely out of his
twenties and the appointed Captain, stood from a cursory check
for vital signs. He shook his head while wiping his hands on the
dark blue kerchief he pulled from his pocket. “Damn, boys. It's
just Farley.”

He looked each of his
men in the eye, most of whom were reluctant to maintain more
than a brief contact and then shook his head solemnly.
“Shouldn't have swung that gun at us, though, boys. Was his own
damned fault.”

With a sigh the
Captain wiped at an imaginary spot on the official body armor he
wore. The town's all-volunteer law enforcement brigade were
proud of their newly issued gear, which consisted of military
surplus long since outdated. The chest piece and helmet were
rated to protect against most weaponry below Class 3. The arm
units, slightly newer, had built in comms, which worked most of
the time, and then they had the blasters. More than one of
those, though no one was claiming credit, had found its mark
with fatal results for their old drinking buddy and sometime
boarder at the lockup.

The control panel on
the arm of the police lieutenant and full time bartender at the
town's only cantina, lit up, static crackling noisily. He stuck
his finger into his ear to try to hear whatever was being
broadcast then answered with a crisp “Copy that!” Tilting his
head, he raised his voice, “What?” He tapped his ear then spoke
slowly, irritated now. “I said 'Copy that!' No! I said 'Copy'!
Shit.” Grumbling, he slammed a thumb against the display to
terminate the connection.

With a grimace at the
residual squeal in his ear, he looked up and addressed his
leader. “Sir, the Alliance has ordered that we are to return to
base and go to stand by. They will be taking over field recovery
operations.” He toed Farley's body. “What should we do with
him?”

The Captain who was
also the town's de facto doctor, sighed again. “Dammit, I don't
know.” He raised a hand to scratch his head. Encountering the
helmet, he turned it into an impromptu salute to Farley. “We'll
send out a retrieval team for the body. Somebody'll have to tell
his father and brothers. Damn fool was drunk off his seat again.
Always said Fat Farley was gonna get hisself killed one day.”

Chapter 12

Miguel collapsed over
her, spent for the second time and shaking from muscles burning
with lactic acid. His breath was ragged and heavy where he
buried his mouth between her shoulder and neck, and his back and
chest heaved from exertion. He was exhausted and so was she as
she lay under him, unable to summon up the energy to move and
too warmly contented to want to do so. If this was what all the
talk was about, she thought, maybe the girls at the Honey Pot
had it right. Though, on second thought, their lifestyle might
be too extreme. She did feel like she could stay right where she
was forever, though.

With his cooperation
she eventually wriggled out from under him then snuggled against
his side to retain maximum contact. She was facing him on the
pillow they shared and she gazed at his face, feeling a
tightness around her heart. She concentrated on trying to
memorize every line of his face. She wanted to be able to call
up his beautiful dark eyes that had the uncanny ability to
swallow her up when she looked into them. She loved his smile
and the velvet sound of his voice; craved the feel of his body
and would always cherish learning from him how amazingly
wonderful making love was.

She smiled finally
then pressed herself against him even closer, tucking her head
under his chin. She knew what she wanted in a very selfish way,
but what purpose would that serve? When they came for her, he
would be taken, too. Her wish to be with him wasn't going to
happen no matter what choice she made. She had to face that and
do what she knew would be best. For both of them. That meant he
had to reach a safe place to await those who would rescue him.

“Don't fall asleep.
We need to get up and get moving. I changed my mind on my
hoverbike, though. I'll take you out, wherever you want, and
drop you off. I'm going to be needing it. After you're gone.”

He sounded as sleepy
as she felt when he mumbled, “Still trying to get rid of me,
eh?”

“That's not my
choice, spaceman.” She defended herself with sincerity though it
was lightened by the same teasing tone she'd heard in his
protest. Putting her weight into encouraging him to roll onto
his back, she straddled him then held him down at his shoulders.
She moved her hips suggestively. “Now, get up or I'll give in to
my urge to take advantage of you again.”

Miguel chuckled and
raised his hands in surrender. “I give up. You have won.” His
smile vanished and his eyes flickered, but only the surface of
the irises, like water disturbed. All at once, the pilot's
pupils shrank to pinpricks before opening wide and nearly
consuming the whole of the iris.

When the man was able
to focus on the woman over him, he said plainly, “They are
here.” He sat up with her still in his lap, his arm around her
waist holding her tight before moving her off of him. He looked
as serious as she had ever seen him.

“Dress quickly,
querida
.
We do not have much time.”

Unaware of what the
spooky change to his eyes meant, she wondered how he knew. She
hadn't heard anything so she listened more closely now for
sounds from outside or at the door. Nothing. Rather than be
difficult, however, she did as he said, going to her dresser for
a pair of pants and a shirt for herself. She turned to him as
she slipped the shirt on. “Get dressed and if you need anything
else, get it from my father's closet. You know what might fit
you better than I do.”

She thought very
briefly of teasing him for how quickly he ran through clothes
but she took his warning seriously. She'd thought he was talking
about Farley and the authorities, whether Locals or Alliance,
and was concentrating on them. It was too soon. She wasn't
ready.

Miguel left the room
with the pants and shirt he’d discarded and a nod of his head,
returning before she had sat down to worry about covering her
injured foot. He'd found boots and was lacing them up as he
walked in to get her, his leg rig already in place with his gun
tucked inside.

“We will have to
circle around the crash site,” he was saying, his focus and
attention divided between Lyrianne and the display feeding him
information through the LED lenses implanted over his corneas.
He couldn't yet determine the exact location of the extraction
but the moment a HUB was within range his lenses had activated
and the team would have had access to his coordinates.

“I do not want to
lead them here.” He paused and watched a series of numbers
scroll down the right side of his vision. “Hurry, Lee-ree-anne.
Hurry now.”

She dressed for the
hot weather of summer in a sleeveless dark blue shirt with pants
made from the same lightweight fabric. She sat down on the bed,
trying to decide between a pair of sandals to accommodate the
bandage easily or the more sturdy boots. While she was trying to
make up her mind she was pulling her hastily combed hair back
into a ponytail.

She looked up at him
and, hearing the urgency in his voice, slipped her feet into the
sandals. They took less time so that made up her mind for her.
Only then did she give voice to what had puzzled her about what
he'd said. “What did you mean when you said you don't want to
lead them here? Miguel, Farley will have told them where we are.
Or where I am, anyway. You won't be leading them here.”

Taking her by the
hand, Miguel started for the door, trying to be sympathetic to
her injury but insisting they move quickly. “Farley? Not Farley,
querida
. My extraction team. They have deployed.”

Questions, new
questions entered her mind and she almost pulled back on his
hand to demand the answers. Instead she stepped around him and
slid down the bannister, hopping off at the bottom on her good
foot. She reached the main door and gave him a stubborn look,
all her good intentions to wait with her questions gone. She
decided she wanted an explanation right now. Why was he in so
much of a hurry when it was his own people? It didn't make any
sense to her.

“Why shouldn't your
extraction team come for you here? What difference does it make
if it's here or somewhere else?"

Miguel frowned at
her, his hand on the front door.

“Lee-ree-anne, they
will be spotted as soon as they break into your atmosphere. The
tinmen will come in hot. The longer we take, the more fire we
will bring on my people. My crash site is undoubtedly
compromised. If the tinmen have not found me yet, it is only
because they are watching and waiting. They will be looking for
this very opportunity.”

Her lips formed an
“oh”. “Well, then, hurry up! What are you wasting time for?
Let's go!”

He'd barely gotten
the door open before she was out. She jumped, clearing the porch
steps and sprinted across the yard, her ankle throbbing in
protest. Sliding the barn door open just wide enough to
accommodate the mule, she raced in to hop up into the seat. Once
she'd pressed the starter she finally turned to see if Miguel
had kept up with her.

“Which way?” She
called it out loud enough to be heard over the whine of the
engine then cursed colorfully when it stalled. Slapping the
metal side of the hoverbike, she growled at it. “No you don't,
you stubborn mule, you, we don't have time for your games!” She
gripped the handle with one hand and pressed the button again.
The whine built back up then stalled again. “Son of a –“

She took a deep
breath and her voice this time was seductively sweet as she
gently caressed the bike's starter button. “Okay, baby. I'm
sorry. Start for momma and I'll give you anything you want.” It
did start, with a purr, and she let out a whoop of delight as
she looked behind her to grin at Miguel, adjusting her goggles
and handing him the spare pair. “Hang on and watch your knees
when we clear the doors. Once we're out, point me in the right
direction!”

Miguel grinned
foolishly at the back of her beautiful head. Like the mule, he'd
have done just about anything she asked if she asked like that.

Once again in the
passenger seat, the pilot hung on as the bike lurched forward
and shot them through the opening, Miguel's voice loud beside
her ear. “Make a broad circle to the outside of the field and be
ready to change direction if I say!”

She nodded then
brought the bike up to near top speed, the ground zipping by
under them in a blur. She hunkered down even farther than the
normal position of the seat demanded to give less wind
resistance as they reached the first field then headed for the
trees on the far side, feeling Miguel press himself against her
back as he followed suit. Leaning in to take the bike into a
wide circle, she waited for him to indicate which way was next.

Through the trees,
they could see only differing shades of darkness but Miguel
jabbed a finger in three fast pokes at the air beside Lyrianne's
face. The message was clear. They needed to move fast and they
needed to move further away.

They sped through the
trees, only her experience and reckless skill with the bike
keeping them from numerous disastrous collisions. Though he
hadn't given her a direction, she had one of her own. Once they
were clear of the trees, Lyrianne throttled up to top speed and
the bike shot forward. She was thinking primarily of giving
Miguel a chance at finding cover and was headed for Mad Man's
Slide, a half-collapsed side of a mountain with plenty of huge
rocks for cover. Just beyond them was her last hope to get him
safely away. She had no idea if any of it would be of use
against military weaponry, but it was the best she could think
of. 

A low hum began to
build and Miguel turned his head in its direction. A stream of
data rolled down the side of his vision, unfiltered and picked
up from a non-Fed source. He watched behind them, seeing the
danger in 3D as the first of three hoverbikes shot like a bullet
from the sentinels, hot on their proverbial heels.

“We've got company,
querida
!”
he
shouted, his voice stolen by the wind. The sheen of two more
metal monsters flashed in the early morning light. The chase was
on.

The mule was giving
its best, the high pitched whine of its engine, souped-up by her
older brother, taking away any possibility of hearing anything
else. She sent it encouraging thoughts as they sped toward the
hills, her course erratic enough, she hoped, to mess up attempts
to lock them in on somebody's sights.

Apparently heading
straight for a large tumble of building-sized boulders, Lyrianne
didn't slow down as the rocks began to loom large before them.
At the last possible moment, she directed the bike into a space
of blackness between two of the biggest monsters, immediately
taking a sharp left once they were inside the narrow passage.
She winced as the bike’s backside made scraping contact with the
rocky surface they just avoided colliding with, but she barely
slowed down. She wasn't about to let anything distract her from
remembering just when the next turn would be required, followed
by the ones after that.