DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) (7 page)

William Robert Taft awoke once again in the dank little
room. By a dim ceiling luminary he saw dingy walls, a floor seldom mopped, and
an iron door blocking his only exit. And the odor . . . well . . .
a well-worn, never-washed tube sock lost and forgotten in the bottom of Bubba
McGirk’s gym locker would have smelled as good as a cheeseburger if compared to
what now assaulted him. He thought he’d get used to it at some point. No such
luck.

He sat up and, after a moment of
trying to settle the spasms in his gut, got to his feet. His bed was a
sheetless mattress tucked in the corner. One of the pirate ships must have
retrieved his lifepod from the battle scene. Soon he’d be sold into slavery.
His head dropped, and that’s when he noticed a shock-collar had rubbed his neck
raw. By feel, he could tell it was a T-1 Bradshaw, a rather old model used by
dog owners to control their pets.

Good. At least that’s a plus.
Training he thought he’d never use would finally come in
handy. Shortly, the collar was rendered useless.

From outside the room came a
metallic clank and what sounded like a jangle of keys. “Back away from the
door,” came a shout from beyond it.

Taft stepped back. A screech of
metal on metal and the door slid into its wall pocket.

An old man hesitated in the entry.
Dressed oddly in clean, bright colors, his garb was a mismatched array of dark
leather calf-high boots, a white shirt decorated with frilly lace, a red denim
vest, and a black, heavy, high-collared coat trimmed in gold. Had the man a
sword dangling on his hip, the pirate costume would have been complete. With
tray in hand, he stepped in. “Back away now,” he chortled in a friendly voice.
“I got yer grub, and if’n you want it you’ll back yersef up some.”

Billy stepped back and knelt to
retake the mattress. “Where am I, old man?”

“Old man?” the codger cackled, “I
ain’t old by no account. Tain’t more’n fifty-five says I, so you jus’ mind
yersef or I’ll set ya straight on that account right quick.”

When the pirate stooped to set the
tray on the floor in front of the young Enforcer, Billy sprang up, caught the
pirate by the collar and slammed him against the wall. “Where am I, old man?
How do I get off this ship?”

With one hand, the pirate took
hold of Billy’s heavy leather dog collar, nearly strangling him with his fat
knuckles pressed hard against Billy’s Adam’s apple. The pirate slowly lifted
him from the floor.

Thoroughly amused, the pirate
cackled again as Billy’s feet dangled midair.

“Son, I’m in charge of this here
brig. You behave and take holt o’ what I’m sayin,’ and you’ll save yersef a
boatload o’ grief. You get me?”

Billy coughed and tried to speak,
but the best he could manage was a faint, raspy whisper. “Yes, sir. I get you
clear enough.”

“That’s it? That’s the bes’ you
got in a ‘pology?”

Billy was certain his whole head
was turning blue. The room was growing dark.

“Sorry . . .” he said
weakly.

The pirate let him down and shoved
him back onto the bare mattress.

Billy coughed, and looked up at
the old pirate in disbelief, wondering where so much strength hid in such a
feeble frame.

“What are your plans for me?” he
managed to croak.

The pirate cocked his head.
“Captain says they’s a farmer in Providence territory lookin’ for good stock.
Pay top dollar for the likes of you—young, learnable—not so strong as he wants,
but that’ll change.” He chortled again. “Yes indeedy, that will change onest ya
start toten hay, that’s for sure. Build you up strong, quick, toten hay will.”

“Farmer?” Billy frowned. “Not if I
can help it!” He pulled himself up on an elbow. “Look. I got money saved back
on Parandi. Tell your Captain I’ll buy myself from him at twice what that
farmer will pay. Just drop me off anywhere this side of the border, and I’ll
wire the money into any account you want, and say no more.”

The pirate snorted. “You talk
funny, boy. Wut kind of accent is that anyways?”

“Just tell your Captain, will
you?”

“Eat cha grub ‘fore I forces it
down yer fool throat,” the pirate snarled before stepping back out into the
hallway. The door closed behind him. The pirate stepped up to Lilia. His
holographic camouflage disappeared.

With arms casually folded, Lilia
leaned against the wall.

Stan glanced back at the closed
door. “
DarkStar
, thanks for the added strength. Your energy beams made
me seem stronger than even I could’ve imagined.”

“You’re welcome, sir. I was glad
to be of assistance.”

“So, now what?” Lilia said,
turning to head for the galley.

Stan followed at a casual
distance. “We drop him somewhere this side of the border. He’ll go back and
report that everyone was killed by pirates.”

“You think he bought it, huh?”

“What? You don’t think I’m a
convincing buccaneer?”

“Your costume seems pretty silly
to me, Stan. Do pirates really wear stuff like that?”

“Flamboyant, garish?”

She turned to face him and shook
her head in dismay. “Outlandishly over-the-top?”

“I’d like to think of myself as
ostentatious, woman. You betcha pirates dress like this, yes they do. Most
pirates want folks to remember them as daring. And there’s a certain
intimidating air surrounding loud—”

“Clothing?”

“I was going to say . . .
people.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Lilia
entered the galley and requested eggs, bacon, and toast for each of them. Then
she turned to Stan. “Do you think gruel is all we should serve our guests?”

Stan went to the fluid dispenser
to order coffee for Lilia and himself. “Only Billy Taft. The boy seems to have
his heart set on returning to the Confederacy.”

“And Carlton?”

Stan took a seat at the breakfast
counter. “Nah, he seems pretty docile. When I told him he’d be working a farm,
the kid almost lit up. I believe he’s glad to be shed of the Confederacy and
life as an Enforcer. Kid seems to have his heart set on a fresh start.”

“You think downing the cruise
liner took the fight out of him?” Lilia slid a hot breakfast plate to Stan.

“Carlton is a good kid, but
there’s still a chance he’s just playing us, waiting for a good time to strike.
DarkStar
, any opinion on Carl?”

“I’ve been monitoring his vital
signs, Captain, and I believe he’s genuine.”

“We can trust him, huh?” Lilia
said. “Enough to give him access to you,
DarkStar
?”

“Capt. Slone, you and Capt. Archer
can decide that for yourselves, but I would give it much consideration before
going that far.”

Stan and Lilia finished their
breakfast in silence, each debating the prospect within themselves. Stan stood,
gathered the plates, and took them to the sink.

Lilia’s bemused expression cradled
disbelief. “Going to do them by hand?”

As Stan ran water over them, he
gave her a quick look. “Helps me think. I’m not sure what to do with Carl just
yet. We should take him on to Providence, but whether we fake his escape or
just let him go, I haven’t decided.”

“We could add him to our crew.”

Stan didn’t like the idea of
adding Carl to their troubles, but held his tongue. Carl would only complicate
the tenuous state of affairs already on board. A plan was formulating in Stan’s
mind that involved neither Carl nor Lilia, a plan that would impact everyone
but would have consequences deadly only to himself.

He turned off the water, dripped
in
DarkStar’s
homemade dish-soap, and slowly ran the scrub brush over a
plate.

“Stan?” Lilia said. “We could add
Carl to our crew.”

“I heard you . . .”
He looked up but hesitated. “. . . but I don’t know what to tell
you, Lilia. Things are happening so fast I haven’t had time to screw my head on
straight. Can I think about it?”

After getting “
the animals
” fed, and breakfast dealt
with, Stan spent a few hours tackling navigation and other issues before
heading to the cargo bay. The soreness, though not totally gone, had been
reduced to tolerable levels. Before a jog around the bay, he took time to flex
and stretch raw nerves and tender muscles, stooping to start with those his
legs, then moved on to those in his back, neck, and arms.

Lilia entered the bay wearing a tank top, runner’s shorts,
track shoes, and a satisfied expression. Suspiciously, her disposition had
changed since breakfast.

She carried something—a bundle of . . .

“Before we change
DarkStar’s
outward appearance, Stan,”
she said. “I’d like to change yours. That flight suit has got to go.” She
handed him the bundle, track shoes wrapped in a man’s jogging shirt and shorts.

“Thank you, Lilia. This is great. I’ll be right back.”

“No, no. You can change right here.”

“What?”

“
DarkStar?
” A bench appeared behind her. As if to
watch Stan change, Lilia took a seat. “Well, don’t be shy, go ahead.”

Dumbfounded, he looked at the outfit, and then back at her.
“I really don’t think—”

“No, really. Go ahead.”

He looked at her in dismay, then said, “Fine. Enjoy.”
Tossing the shoes and shirt to the bench beside Lilia, he stripped from his
suit and pulled the shorts over his briefs.

Wearing a coy smile, Lilia didn’t turn away.

When he grabbed the shirt from the bench, he realized something
was up. Lilia didn’t seem to see him. He glanced back only to see a holographic
him standing there wearing a stupid grin.

“Oh, cute,” he said as he tugged the shirt over his head.
“Real peachy, girlfriend.”

As he took a seat next to Lilia to pull on his socks and
shoes, the holographic him disappeared.

Lilia turned to him. “Nervous were you?”

“Decided to let me twist, huh? No, no. I get it. You and
DarkStar
were just having fun.”

“Not really.
DarkStar
veiled you in invisibility, and
created a
Shadow you
to entertain me while you changed. What was funny
was the goofy expressions the Holo-you made behind your back.
DarkStar
did her best to make me laugh, but I held it together. I did a good job, don’t
you think?”

“Yeah . . . wonderful.” Stan jumped to his feet
and started around the bay’s perimeter.

In another moment Lilia passed him, giggling like a
schoolgirl as she went.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t catch up to her,
eventually having to stop to catch his breath. Lilia ran three more circuits
before stopping by his side—not breathing hard at all.

“Are you trying to make a point, Miss?”

“I jogged every day before work, flyboy. Hit the showers,
and I’ll make lunch.”

Stan showered and found new clothes laid out on his bed.

After lunch, Lilia nodded toward the living area. “Care to
relax while we discuss
DarkStar’s
new look?”

They were surprised to find there, suspended in the middle
of the room, a ten-foot holographic replica of
DarkStar
. It was, just as
Lilia had said, pitch black, but at both its bow and stern was the name,
Reliant
.

Lilia settled into a well-cushioned chair. Seeing the
hologram and the immeasurable possibilities to play seemed to give her energy.

Stan felt his every muscle relax as he nestled into the
other cushy, leather-like sofa.

“All right,
DarkStar,
” Lilia said, “I’m ready. Let’s
see you in a checkerboard motif.”

Instantly, the black ship sported black and red squares from
nose to tail.

Lilia’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Impressive,”
she breathed, and then she got down to serious playtime. “How about a Currilian
racing sloop.”

The red and black squares vanished to be replaced with an
overall forest green, stripes of red and gold intersected at right angles at
the ship’s prow. Garish was the only word for that pattern. For the next half
hour Lilia changed
DarkStar’s
appearance with what Stan thought was
every variation of color, pattern, and style possible. Making no comment, he
let her work, knowing instinctively that this was more than play. It was necessary
training.

Without effort his thoughts drifted away from the task to
the woman herself. Although her focus was intense, her delicate features
captivated his attention. The gleam in her eyes that spelled a playful
mischievous nature hid well her ornery streak. Oh, yeah, he’d already
experienced that! But still, she was a mystery nonetheless.

The way she looked at designing this ship’s cover was almost
childlike in its purity, yet deep inside those dark eyes sat a compelling
wisdom comfortably enthroned in good cheer. As she played, she seemed young but
also very mature. Perhaps there was more to her than Stan had first suspected,
perhaps not; . . . maybe it was only a full belly and the attention
of a pretty girl getting the better of him.

When Lilia glanced his way, Stan suddenly realized he’d been
staring. Snapped back to reality, he turned quickly to the hologram, but not
fast enough. Mesmerized by her smile, he was slow to keep his fascination
secret. He grimaced, and from the corner of his eye saw her cock her head to
study
him
—but, instead, she spoke to the ship.

“Okay, time to get serious. Let’s see how you look dark
gray.” Instantly the holographic ship changed color. “Now give us a yellow band
from bow to stern,” Lilia added, and instantly the yellow band appeared.

“Underscore that with a thinner bright red band,” Stan said,
and it, too, appeared.

“Looking good, Stan. But still . . .”

He nodded. “It looks a little too sharp, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh huh. You’re pretty perceptive.”

His attention was drawn more toward her than to the ship. To
hold his interest at bay, Stan gulped loudly . . .
too
blasted
loud, he thought.

“
DarkStar
,” he said to draw attention away from his
embarrassment, “age this model, say . . . fifteen years, maybe.”

The ship’s finish dulled a bit, but not enough to suit
either person.

“Uh uh,” Lilia said, “Not enough. I want
Reliant
to
look as though it were ill kept and poorly piloted. You know,
DarkStar
?
Like you’ve had paint scraped off here and there, from moorings and the like.”

“Perhaps like this?”
DarkStar
said. The hologram
changed, and the ship now looked well weathered. Its name,
Reliant
,
could scarcely be made out.

Lilia beamed. “Now we’re getting somewhere, but we haven’t
arrived yet. What are those engines, Stan . . . that scorch areas of
the hull?”

“Ion converters? The exhaust ports do leave a pretty nasty
black buildup. They’re an antiquated propulsion system, though.”

“Yes, that’s what I want.”

“You’re good at this, Lilia. That would be the right look
for this ship.” He got to his feet and pointed to the areas on both sides
behind amidships, just above the
Slip-Band drive
. “
DarkStar
,
create an Ion engine bulge here, and here, and put believable exhaust ports
behind each. And then scorch the ship from the ports on back, like exhaust has
built up over the last 15 years.”

Lilia walked around the hologram of
Reliant
. From
every angle, it looked like an old freighter that had seen better days. It
neither looked like a threat, nor a prize, nor would it draw attention to itself
as it crossed the Providence border.

“I think it’s good,” Lilia finally said.

Stan searched the hologram for any indicator that would
alert the border patrol. He had made that run all too often and could spot a
smuggler from a good distance. This ship looked like nothing of the sort. “Yes,
it does look innocent enough.”

“And
Reliant
fits as a name.”

“I believe you’re right.
Reliant
sounds good to me.”

“It’s decided then?”

Content, Stan shrugged and nodded in approval.

“
DarkStar
,” Lilia said. “We’ll name this persona
Reliant.
”

“In this guise, Capt. Slone, I will respond to
Reliant
as so ordered.”

“And when you’re out of costume, you will respond to ‘
DS
’
for expedience’ sake as well,” Stan added.

“Yes, Capt. Archer. As so ordered.”

“One more thing,
DarkStar
. When you’re in this
disguise, you’ll address Lilia and I as Captain and Mrs. Star. That will be our
guise.”

“Excuse me?” said a rather perturbed Lilia. “That will be
Captain and
Mr.
Star, if you please.”

“Perhaps,” said
DarkStar
. “I should call each of you
Captain Star.”

Lilia glared at Stan daring him to argue the point.

“Very good,
DarkStar
. When you wear this disguise,
we’ll be Captains Star.” As if to seal their agreement, Lilia reached out to
shake Stan’s hand and, though the contact was brief and innocent, all his
troubles seemed to evaporate at her touch.

Man,
he thought,
do we make a good team or what?
His thoughts stuttered to a stop.
What am I thinking? She and I? Yeah,
right. Like that could ever happen. We might make good partners for the ship
. . .
for the time being
. . .
but how long can that last?

When they reached their destination things would change,
probably forever. That seemed the fate cut out for them anyway. As long as
Atheron . . . as long as the
Emperor’s Princess
stood between
them, Stan would never get the girl . . . not that he wanted this
particular girl anyway. She’s opinionated, has no understanding of authority,
and never shuts up. To top all that, she talks with someone she can’t even see.
How nutty is that?

But then again, she had a really sweet smile . . .
when she wasn’t frowning at him.

Enough Stan, he said to himself, put it away and get back to
business. He turned from the hologram to her. “Okay, if we’re ready, let’s get
on to Providence then.”

Lilia nodded, then turned to him. “Race you to the bridge.”

“Sure.”

“Winner captains from here on out.” Before he could move, Lilia
bolted out the door.

“Uh, huh.” Stan smirked. Disadvantaged, he called for a
holograph duplicate of himself.

One day, he promised himself, he’d play fair.

The holographic him, now sitting in the captain’s chair,
swiveled toward the stairs just as Lilia trundled onto the landing.

Stopping at the door, she raised her hands to her hips, and
scowled. “What the . . .?”

The real Stan had followed quietly. Sidestepping around her,
he was first to step onto the bridge proper.

“You cheated,” she said after lifting her jaw from the
floor.

He replaced the holo-him in the command chair, and raised an
eyebrow as if her accusation was silly. “Haven’t you heard? ‘Disadvantage
brings to light the more clever captain.’ It looks like you’ll have to settle
for the office of first mate. I understand there’s an opening.”

She scowled even more. “I demand a rematch, Mister.”