DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) (10 page)

Stan scoffed. “Common.” Did Andrews really believe hanging
that
label on Stan would get him
Prize
? It was ironic, though, calling Stan a
Trog.

With
Val Hilliard
closing behind him, more ships came
up from the surface to encircle
Prize
and escort her in; but
Prize
increasingly faded.

Val Hilliard
fired a shot, which passed unhindered
through the vanishing ghost only to clip the lead escort.

Leaving Andrews with nothing but what he had initially come
for—
Gov Chact and the stolen funds
—the invisible
DarkStar
headed
down to Praxis’ surface to implement Stan’s next plan.

The now invisible
DarkStar
settled into a remote
wooded grove on Praxis. Stan switched to
Level B
stealth mode, changing
the ship’s color to match the foliage, then followed Lilia to the ship’s
lounge, where she pulled her Bible from a drawer and, with great tenderness,
ran her fingers across its face before setting it on the coffee table.

“
DarkStar
,” Stan said. “Print a copy of this book for
me, will ya? I’d like to see why that idiot thought I was a Trog.”

“Right away, sir,” the ship answered.

“The nerve of that guy, huh, Stan,” Lilia said
sarcastically.

“Well, yeah. What could I have done to get Andrews to think
I was a—”

“Don’t you dare!” Lilia snapped.

“A follower. I was going to say follower.”

Lilia turned to pour each of them a glass of water. “Maybe
it had something to do with our self sacrifice, our sense of
justice . . .”

“Or our butting in without being asked,” Stan teased.

Lilia giggled.
Taking the seat
next to Stan, she set a glass of water in front of him. “Are we comfy?”

We?
Stan thought. Tiny word ‘
we
.’ Truth be told, from
the start he had pushed to the back of his mind the very possibility of the
word ‘
we
’ as it applied to him and her—
together
. Her saying it
out loud seemed to . . .

“There are things we need to bring
out into the open,” she said, “. . . things we need to discuss.”

“What kind of things,” he said as
his heart skipped a beat. It seemed to do that every time she uttered
that
simple two-letter word. Why did it gallop like a spooked stallion now?
Nuts!

“The Immortal Architect is good, Stan. When people see us do
right by them, whether they understand it or not, whether
you
understand
it or not, they see Him in what we do. We rack up witnesses every time we
involve ourselves in the lives of others.”

Oh, so she’s back to that topic. Stan sighed in resignation.
“You’re right. We should stop butting in while we’re ahead.”

“That’s not what I meant. Whether we like it or not, some
people will see Him in the good things
we
do.
I
think t
hat’s why Andrews called you a Trog. You feel insulted by that
tag, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Stan said in clear
irritation.

“I hate the word, too, but that
never stopped you from calling
me
that.”

“Oh, I see.” He looked squarely
into her dark, almost black eyes and saw the hurt there. “Sorry, Lilia. I’ve
been mean, haven’t I?”

Billy sat up abruptly. A
noisy clank at the
door said old fuzz-buckets was bringing dinner. What
would it be tonight? Perhaps a thick, juicy Porterhouse cooked through and
through with just a touch of pink inside, or maybe Lobster Florentine with a nice
white sauce, or better yet . . .

The door swung open and in stepped the pirate. With a cruel
smirk, he dropped a bowl in front of Billy, splattering some of its contents on
the floor.

. . . Gruel. Yummy.

“Eat up, Cop. Want ya fit for farmin’.”

“I felt the ship shake and jostle a bit. Get yourself into a
scrape, did you?”

“Took on some fresh stock, we did. Twenty head or so.”

“My . . . You’re quite the entrepreneurs, aren’t
you? Everyone get a room to himself?”

“Oh, no, Enforcers is special.” The pirate’s deep blue eyes
were loaded with hate and set to kill. “Most folks got a huge hankerin’ to gut
yer type in the middle of the night, and that greatly cuts down on our profits.
Most folks in the trade jus’ as soon set your types t’drift and call it square,
but Cap turns a profit in spite of the problems y’all makes fer him.”

“You don’t sound like you agree with your Captain.”

“I says, behave yersef and live; don’t and you die. It’s
jus’ that simple.” The pirate tossed a wood bit to the mattress.

Billy picked up the well-chewed stick and wondered how many
mouths had clamped down on it. Had to be chock full of germs. “Do we have to
test this collar every day? I’m so getting tired of this routine.”

“Bite or break yer teeth, boy. Yer choice.”

Billy bit down on the stick, and the pirate touched his wristlet.
Billy bolted back and writhed as if the collar sent pain through his neck until
the pirate released the trigger.

“Behave yersef, boy, and I’ll let ya git some fresh air
later t’day.”

Breathing hard, Billy pulled the bit from his mouth, tossed
it to the pirate without looking, gathered his strength, and then strained to
sit upright.

“Have we landed? Where are we?”

“We’ve made groundfall, but where abouts don’t concern you
none. We’ll be leaving soon enough. Now eat yer meal fer it gets cold.” With that
the pirate turned and closed the door behind him.

Old fuzz-buckets
, thought Billy. Carlton Ogier coined
the name for Captain Archer, and yet it somehow fit this old pirate to a tee as
well. Billy chuckled at the thought of Archer going rogue and becoming a
pirate,
had he lived
. He tried to picture Archer dressed as this old
coot.
Nah
, he thought.
Never happen
.

After visiting Billy, Stan went to the galley where Lilia
was waiting.

She carefully set a plate of what actually looked like real
scrambled eggs on the breakfast bar for him. “So how is our guest?”

“Billy? He’s a ham. Every time I make believe I’m triggering
the dog collar, he pretends it works. His thrashing about like he’s being
shocked is almost comical, but I must say he’s quite the actor. His overacting
might fool a real pirate, but I think it’s a little over the top to froth at
the mouth like he does.”

“So, is everything set?” Lilia said.

Stan glanced at the ceiling. “
DarkStar
?”

“Yes, sir. The holographic slaves will seem real to him, but
are you sure Praxis is the right place to set him free?”

“It’s as good a place as any. Billy’s a credible witness and
will testify of what he’s seen. He thinks Lilia and I are dead, as well as the
others. Ogier included.”

“Now see,” Lilia said, “that concerns me. What if Carl Ogier
makes his way back to the Confederation of Planets? Won’t that short-circuit
Billy Taft’s testimony . . . and our alibi?”

“Honestly, Lilia, I think Carl wants no part of his past
life. And besides, it’s a big ‘verse. What are the chances of those two ever
running into each other again?”

“I hope you’re right.”

He and Lilia ate quietly; he trying to hide his own worry, and
she, intent on working out her own issues, was lost in thought.

As Stan leaned back and glanced out the large portal, a new
thought popped into his head. Killing all those folks on the
Princess
was, all in itself, clearly wrong, and he had known it even before he let that
first torpedo fly, but where did that belief originally come from? Was his own
feelings or intellect trustworthy enough to weigh the value of human life? Was
anyone’s? Did there even exist a reliable gage to trust a man’s life to? He shuddered.

Carl seemed to share his regrets, but Billy . . .
he was a different story altogether. Like Troy, that young pilot seemed to take
delight in killing; even looking forward to future events.

Stan stretched but didn’t take his eyes from the window.

And then there was
DarkStar
. Was she right in calling
for Troy and Jessup’s deaths? Could that same mindset be applied to Billy?
Should it be? In light of the blood on his own hands, why was Stan excluded
from her judgment? None of this made sense.

Beyond the window, and through the stand of trees at a
distance, Stan saw a few deer grazing. At any given moment, at least one had
its head up, alert to its surroundings.

Was it like that with
DarkStar
? Was her head up,
alert to dangers he couldn’t see, protecting him?

But was the ship itself a threat? She,
DarkStar
, had
asked him to kill. Asked? No . . . the ship was quite insistent. That
dark side of
DarkStar
had never been resolved in Stan’s mind, and he
didn’t know what to do with it. One thing was certain; although he wanted to
ask her about it, he was afraid of what he might learn.

After breakfast he and Lilia headed to the cargo bay.
DarkStar
had filled it with holo-graphic crates, boxes, and canisters such as would be
found on a pirate ship. The wide bay door was open and formed a ramp to the
grass-covered ground. Holographic people, “slaves” milling about, “guards”
watching them, looked very real; real enough to fool Billy, at any rate. His
focus would be on his escape, not on the others.

As Stan went down the hallway to fetch Billy,
DarkStar
holographicly dressed him in pirate garb. Rapping once, he shouted, “Step back
from the door.”

Inside, Billy sat upright on the mattress with his back to
the wall.

“Time to stretch yer legs, boy.”

Billy scrambled to his feet, hesitated, and then cautiously
passed the pirate to head out.

Stan followed Billy to the ramp and the younger man stepped
out into the sun with a hand cupped above his eyes until they adjusted to the
day’s light. The others there glanced up at him but otherwise paid him no
attention.

Stan shoved him forward. “Stretch yer legs some, then git
back aboard quick-like when I says. Got that?”

Billy stumbled, caught himself, and then nodded once. “I
hear you.”

With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Billy walked
casually through the crowd, nodding to some, ignoring others, but all the while
working his way toward the tree line.

Stan let Billy get close enough to the trees so that he
would have a reasonable chance to make his escape. “All right, scum,” shouted Stan.
“Back inside.”

Billy bolted, ducked through the trees, and ran as fast as
his sore legs could carry him. Chased by a few ‘guards,’ Billy stumbled, slid,
and rolled into a bush-covered hole—panicked that he was trapped. Then he
realized the luck he’d fallen into. The guards passed right over him. He heard
them calling to one another until their voices faded into the distance.

He stayed put until he saw the ship lift off without him,
then waited in that hole the entire day, just to slink away under the cover of
night.

Stupid moons. Both were full.

DarkStar
arose from the forest
to head for
the sky. From the bridge Stan watched the treetops
descend below the windows and vanish from view. Taking the ship a few hundred
miles west, well clear of Billy Taft, he’d repeat the same ruse with Carlton
Ogier. Not believing Carl enjoyed his enslavement, it was important to Stan to
discover Carl’s real intentions.

The ship landed amid the trees once again, lowered the cargo
bay door/ramp and set the holographic people in place.

Stan led Carl out to give him an opportunity to run, but
unlike William Taft, Carl turned to face his foe, uncoupled the collar, pulled
it from his neck, and tossed it to his captor’s feet.

“Day one I disabled that collar. It hasn’t worked since.”

Surprised, Stan studied Carl. “Seein’ that collar is
useless, ain’t you goina run?”

“You promised passage to Providence. Why would I throw that
away?”

Stan narrowed on Carl’s face. “Life as a slave appeals to
you, does it, boy?”

“Three squares and honest work on a farm appeals to me just
fine. It’s a step up from what I’ve been doin’. It’s a good deal; you get paid
for my passage, and I get a new start.”

Stan glanced at Lilia, and, even through her holographic
disguise saw the puzzled look in her eyes. What was Stan going to do now? What
could he do with that?

“
DarkStar
, kill the slaves.”

Carl stumbled back in surprise. “No! Wait! Give me a chance
to—”

But before he could do more, the slaves that surrounded him
vanished. That is, all but one young woman who stood to one side of the ramp.

Carl spun, looking all around, then turned back to the
Brig’s chief guard.

“
DarkStar
, kill the guards as well,” Stan said. And
they, too, disappeared.

Now thoroughly bewildered, Carl, with mouth agape, stared at
the pirate. “What’s going on? Who
are
you people?”

Stan glanced at Lilia.

She nodded.

“
Reliant
, kill our covers.”

“Are you certain, Captain?”

Stan shot a fleeting look at Lilia once more. “
Reliant
. . . please.”

“Aye, sir.”

Their holographic overlays faded to leave nothing behind but
Stan and Lilia as Carl had known them.

Stunned, the elation written across Carl’s face was
instantly recognizable.

“I can’t believe this. Is it really you, Swift? You’re
alive?”

He rushed forward to clasp his former Captain’s hand. As he
clapped Stan’s shoulder, clear, excited eyes above a broad smile said he was
genuinely grateful Stan and Lilia had survived.

Lilia stepped forward as he turned to her.

“And you . . .” Carl reached out a friendly hand.

Brushing it aside, Lilia embraced the young officer.
“Welcome aboard
Reliant
, Ensign.”

Carl pushed back a little to consider her face. “You’re the
waitress from the Bush and Quail. I never caught your name, miss, but I am so
glad to see you alive.”

“Lilia. And thank you, Ensign, it’s good to see you alive as
well. So, my faith is all right with you?”

“I’d rather be a farmer than to have to enforce such stupid
anti-religion laws, Lilia.”

“You really want to be a farmer, Carl?” Stan said.

Carl shrugged. “I got a choice?”

“Join us.”

Barely able to contain his excitement, Carl hesitated in
surprise. “What? Are you serious?”

“We could use a crewman with your abilities,” Lilia said.
“Whatta ya say? Join us?”

Carl stepped back to look at
Reliant
. “I would rather
fly a million years with you in this old tub than spend another minute as an
Enforcer.”

“Well then,” Lilia said, “you’re hired.”

Carl seemed unable to wipe the smile off his face. “If
freedom
of religion
is part of the deal, Lilia, could you tell me about this faith
of yours?”

“You betcha,” she confirmed, and preceded the men back into
the ship.

Stan wrapped a friendly arm around the younger man as they
followed her. “Glad to have you at my wing, Carl. Let’s keep flyin’.”

A shower, a room of his own, a seat on the bridge, and an
enthusiastic Carl Ogier took his place among his new friends.

Reliant
lifted off and headed out of Praxis’
atmosphere undetected by Andrews or any of his people.

This was a new day. Carl would be taking orders from a
waitress—well, former waitress—and that was fine with him. It was far more
preferable than taking orders from a maniac like Lieutenant Troy Younger.

Somehow, the stars seemed brighter, the expanse of the Milky
Way crisper, and his friends truer.

An orphan, Carl had no ties to the Confederacy that
mattered. Not even his life’s savings sitting in a bank on Parandi was worth
his attention.

With the promise of a great future, this was a new day
indeed. Yes!