Shadows of Golstar (44 page)

Sharné sat alone in her quarters. She had just put on
the survival suit Owens had provided her. Before leaving her, he told her his
ship had been provisioned by his government and had been pleasantly surprised
when Hec came up with the survival suits from the ship’s inventory. He said the
suits were an unexpected gift; they were not something the
Holmes
normally carried. The suits would keep them warm and dry and might provide the
tiny edge they needed to survive.

When he handed the one-piece garment over to her, she
had found it heavy and was disappointed by its size. She commented to Owens
that it would fit someone twice her mass. He only shook his head and smiled. He
pointed to a narrow metal band at the end of one of the survival suit’s cuffs.
He told her that after she put it on, to press the small button labeled with
the numeral one. She was about to ask for an explanation, but Hec took that
time to announce they were getting close to Selane, and Owens quickly excused
himself and headed for the bridge.  

After he left, she looked at the lumpy suit lying on
the bed. She saw that its elbow and knee areas were reinforced with a material
of a darker color. It looked even bigger spread out on the bed. Sighing she
struggled to put it on, and after managing to seal the front closure, dutifully
pressed the small button with the number one engraved on its surface.

To her surprise, the suit immediately began to change
its shape. It happened so fast she barely had time to emit a small, startled
yelp. The suit’s fabric lengthened and shortened in various places, conforming
itself into the general length and shape of her arms, legs and torso. It was
self-fitting and had only taken a few moments to adjust to her size. She was
grateful she would not be forced to roll up the sleeves and pant legs as she
had with the bulky jumpsuit.  

Although she had expected it to be heavy, now that she
had it on it seemed much lighter than before. She looked down at the deck and
considered the set of trail boots that Owens had thoughtfully provided her. She
wondered if they might also be self-sizing. She had lost her shoes during their
escape from the
Light Saber
and would definitely need something to
protect her feet. She gingerly tried them on and found them to be of the
ordinary variety. The boots were a little large but with a little extra
padding, it appeared that they would be serviceable.  

She sat down in the room’s only chair. She shifted,
trying to find a more comfortable position. The suit was made of a tough,
breathable fabric. It had numerous pockets filled with all sorts of survival
gear, including a med kit, a small water purifier and a number of items that
were completely foreign to her. The somewhat stiff, lumpy garment made it
difficult to be completely comfortable. She finally moved from the chair to the
softer bed. A little more relaxed, she took off the boots and sat on the bed
with her feet curled under her.  

Sitting there, her thoughts wandered back to her last
conversation with Owens. She thought about their discussion again and was
painfully reminded of her loss of composure. She shook her head ruefully. It
was not her nature to react impulsively, yet she had done so with Owens and on
more than one occasion. She could not understand her recent rash behavior. She
was well versed in dealing with grave matters of state. Looking back, neither
Owens’ actions nor his revelations should have triggered such outbursts, but
they had, for some strange and unexpected reason they had.

Her father trusted her and through that trust, he had
given her this enormous responsibility. She was, after all, the Keeper of the
Way. In assuming that role, she worked diligently to be the best. In performing
her official duties, she carefully considered each issue brought before her.
She was not unfamiliar in dealing with people of diverse politics or positions
that tested the Founder's teachings.

Stressful situations and uncomfortable subject matters
were often raised for her evaluation, advice and sometimes recommendations. She
never shirked these duties and took a measure of pride in her demonstrable
successes. Such were the burdens and rewards of her office. Over time, though
relatively young for such an important position, she established her competence
and her authority became unquestioned. She had more than proven herself
capable.

However, now her usual control seemed to slip at unexpected
times, and afterward, she was never quite sure of the cause. Lately, in her
talks with Owens, her normal calm demeanor and thoughtful consideration had
been supplanted by unbidden emotion. She found herself reacting, her anger
flaring then smothering, crowding out any rational thought. She admitted to
herself that while Owens’ words were sometimes unpleasant to hear, they should
never have triggered such a strong reaction within her.  

She had to wonder at what was happening; maybe
something was wrong with her. Her thinking and behavior seemed to deteriorate
along with their situation. She unconsciously clenched her fists as an
unfamiliar feeling of helplessness grew. She had become unfocused and often
found herself wandering from one subject to another. It was difficult for her
to stay on point, unless she was angry. Oddly, it seemed it was her anger that
allowed her to focus her thoughts. She began to feel panic. What
was
happening to her?

A sense of isolation grew within her. She missed the
comfort, the sense of community and renewal of purpose that Service provided.
Service was a means to ground oneself and embrace a feeling of worth and
contentment. The tenets of the Founder provided guidance and clarity. After
Service, her purpose was always clear, her faith reaffirmed. But now she
realized she had not felt that way for some time. Could that be part of the
problem? She
had
attended Service on the
Light Saber
but instead
of feeling comforted, she had come away feeling empty, somehow unfulfilled.
That had never happened to her before.

She thought about the small chapel aboard the
Light
Saber
and recalled her initial disappointment on finding it in deplorable
condition. In the rush to get the ship space-worthy, the chapel had been
overlooked, neglected. It was in total disarray. Seats and fixtures had been
removed sometime in the distant past, possibly when the ship was first removed
from active duty. She assumed it was to make room for the storage containers
that were stacked to the ceiling. Sharné had been forced to commandeer
furniture from other parts of the ship and directed the captain to have the
containers stored elsewhere. 

The chapel’s small light globe was also found to be
inoperative and although the on-board technicians tried their best, they could
not get the tiny reactor working again. The symbol of their faith would remain
dark. In spite of this, she managed to hold daily Services until Owens came
aboard. Now looking back, she realized that the Service held aboard ship had
not afforded her the same comfort and guidance as it had on Berralton.

Another troubling thought then came to her. Could it
be possible she was becoming physically ill? Now of all times, she could not
afford to be sick. They would soon be making planet-fall and she could not be a
burden to Owens. She prayed she was not truly ill. Founder forgive her, it
dawned on her that she had not prayed since the attack. She immediately fell to
her knees and began to pray, in earnest, for forgiveness and guidance. She was
disappointed but not surprised that her prayers went unanswered.

Brant Linden had assumed leadership aboard the
Light
Avenger.
He had been a first unit sub-commander of the Crimson Blade marine
battalion before joining the mutiny. He now stood behind a thick-set woman
sitting at the ship’s master communications console. They were both staring at
the gray, inactive screen prominently centered on the console. The woman, a
fellow mutineer who had been the ship’s engine technician before being assigned
to communications, shrugged her beefy shoulders. In a tired voice she said,
“There is still no response from the Colonel.” They had sent their current
situation to the Colonel some time before, and waited for a reply. Maybe the
Colonel was not in a position to respond, but it was curious.

“I am not especially surprised,” Linden said. “His
last order was quite clear, ‘pursue and terminate.’ And that is exactly what we
are now doing.”

The woman’s face was taut with tension. Her mannish countenance
was further enhanced by the prominent dark circles beneath her troubled eyes.
She turned and looked at him, “That was before we lost so much ground. The
enemy ship has maintained a sizable lead, which was certainly not expected. The
Colonel’s guidance in this situation would be welcome.”

“Admittedly, that Confederated bastard has given us
one surprise after another, but his good luck is nearing its end. I grant you
that it would have been fortuitous if the Colonel had anticipated such an event
and had reinforcements already on the way.” Linden scowled. “But our
long-range scanners are off-line, so we have no way of knowing.”

“I would feel better if we had received some word from
the Colonel,” insisted the woman. “It is not like him to fail to respond. It
has been over ten hours, since we transmitted the message.”

Linden shook his head, “Frankly, I do not know what
additional guidance the Colonel could have provided us in any event. He chose
us all carefully, and we have his absolute trust to complete the mission. We
are on our own.”

“It is a heavy burden to carry,” she said.

“Perhaps,” his voice grew strong. “But it is one we
are destined to carry. The fate of our people is in our hands now. I am
confident we are up to the task; we will complete the assignment that the
Colonel entrusted us. We will kill this agent of darkness before he can reach
Berralton.”

She slowly nodded, “Then we must finish the task soon.
Very likely a fleet is already on its way; a rescue mission from the Grand
Patriarch. They could reach Selane within less than two cycles.”

“More than enough time,” Linden assured her. He hoped
he sounded confident. Their failure to close on the enemy was an increasing
concern. The damned ship would land well before the
Light Avenger
could
even make orbit. He did not relish a pursuit on-planet, but unless something
catastrophic happened to the enemy ship, he was resigned to finish the task
with hand weapons.

“Notify me when the Colonel finally responds,” he
said. He turned and walked to his station. The technician watched his receding
back, snorted quietly and looked once more at the console. Time and again, she
thought Linden had underestimated their target. The minion of darkness
continued to evade their best efforts to extinguish his life. There were
increased mumblings from others that his survival bordered on the supernatural.
What dark power protected this mysterious enemy? She, herself was beginning to
wonder.

The fortresses orbiting Selane did not react to the
Holmes
as it approached Selane without incident. Having slowed sufficiently for the
dangerous maneuver, the ship entered the upper limit of planet’s atmosphere at
a steep angle under a steady, controlled thrust. The resulting ride down to
Selane was noisy. The ship’s inertia dampers performed their job well. Owens
and
Sharné
felt almost nothing of the wild turbulence
taking place outside of the hull, but sound was another matter. The
Holmes
’
energy shields, designed to operate in space, were off-line for atmospheric
entry and would provide no protection against the noise that resulted from the
friction-generated, superheated air buffeting the ship’s hull. The noise
increased in volume as they plowed into Selane’s thickening atmosphere.  

There was a good reason why it was called a hot
emergency landing. The air screamed its protest and the ceramic-coated hull
heated to orange-red as the
Holmes
pierced the upper atmosphere under
throttle. The hull temperature steadily increased and the ship's nose, its
leading edges and the auxiliary pods began to glow white. Owens and Sharné had
to rely on the ship’s thick hull and the AI’s piloting skills to get them down
safely.

The raucous shriek of the air penetrated the triple
hull, and the ship’s frame groaned under the strain it was being asked to bear.
The din in the bridge was deafening. Owens knew that no human pilot could put
the ship through such a maneuver and was thankful that Hec was in control. The
modifications made back on Denbus made this operation additionally tricky. The
stresses had to be balanced and the ship’s angle of approach had to be
maintained with the inhuman precision of an AI, or it would breakup in a
spectacular shower of flaming debris.

Owens looked over at Sharné. Her face was white, and
although restraint fields held her securely in the copilot’s seat, she
maintained a death-grip on the padded arms. He tried to shout encouragement,
but his voice was lost in the noise. After what seemed an eternity, the wind
shriek finally dwindled to a low whistle, and gradually transitioned into a
vibrating rumble as the
Holmes
applied its emergency braking thrusters
to begin decelerating for its landing. The whines of the impeller field
generators began to build, muffling the other noises. Even so, they could feel
the mechanical clangs and thuds telegraphing the landing struts’ successful
deployment. At the last, the hull resounded with a loud thump.  

“We’re down,” Hec exclaimed. “I’m extending the ramp.”

Owens felt the restraint field switch off and went over
to Sharné to offer his help, which she gratefully accepted. After helping her
up from the chair, he said, “Okay, it’s time to go.  Grab your gloves and
hood.” He shook his head and muttered, “Damn, I really wish we had time to let
the hull cool down.” In a louder voice he said, “I’ll get the packs.” He then
quickly removed two backpacks from a nearby locker. He motioned for Sharné to
follow him as he headed for the airlock.

She hesitated only a moment to steady herself. The
sounds of the ship’s hot emergency landing had almost unnerved her. The ringing
in her ears began to abate. She was glad to see Owens had not appeared to
notice her distress. She took her gloves and hood and started after Owens.

By the time they reached the airlock, Hec had already opened
the inner hatch. Owens pulled on his gloves and repeated the instructions he
had given Sharné earlier, “Put your gloves and hood on. The ship’s skin is
going to be really hot. The hood and gloves are made of the same stuff of your
survival suit. They’ll protect you from most of the heat. Without their
protection, you wouldn't make it past the outer hatch. Even with this
protection, we still have to hurry. So, are you ready?”

She finished putting on the gloves and hood. Only her
eyes could be seen behind the small clear visor in the hood. “Yes, I am ready,”
she said, her voice slightly muffled.

He nodded, “Okay, remember. These suits aren’t
equipped with re-breathers. I taped over the hood’s vents, but it’s not
airtight so you don’t want to draw in any of the superheated air around the
ship. You need to take some deep breaths before you start and hold your breath
until you’re well clear of the hull. I’ll be right behind and I’ll tell you
when you can breathe again.”

She lifted the bottom of the hood and had already
started her deep breathing and nodded her assent to Owens.

Hec spoke up, “The outer hatch will remain closed
until the last minute. Go as fast as you can, don’t hesitate. And don’t worry,
I’ll open it in time. I promise.”

“You had better,” Sharné replied. “I would hate to run
into the closed hatch with Owens following so close behind. Please take care,
Hec.” She resumed her deep breathing.

Owens had already said his goodbye and given some
last-minute instructions to Hec before they started their descent. He stayed
focused on Sharné. “We need to get going. Are you ready?”

She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them. She took
a final breath, dropped the hood back down to cover face and nodded.

He shouted, “Go!”

She jumped at his urging and took off. She hurtled
over the shallow threshold of the inner hatch. In two leaping steps, she was
just inches from the outer hatch. It immediately blew outward, thudding against
the hull, a magnetic field locking it in place and preventing it from
rebounding.  

She ran into a solid wall of heat. Holding her breath,
she continued to the ramp. It was steep, and she was forced to slow her pace.
Her strides took her three meters, five meters, but the heat did not seem to
abate. At ten meters, she cleared the ramp. The heat was still unbearable. She
stumbled at the base of the ramp then regained her footing. The heat was
beginning to penetrate her suit; the faceplate was beginning to fog. She
started to move forward again, but she stumbled again on the uneven surface.
She caught herself and continued forward with a tentative, unsteady stride. She
again faltered. She had barely cleared the ramp, still too close to the ship.
She could not tell if the heat radiating from ship had lessened.

She felt something hit her from behind. Instead of
tumbling to the ground, she was lifted off her feet and found that she was
moving. It was Owens. He must be carrying her. She could feel his arms holding
her. They were really flying now, and she could sense the temperature begin to
drop. She had not realized how fast Owens could run in an unrestricted space.
They were now well away from the
Holmes,
and she could feel the heat
dissipate.  

“Breathe,” Owens said loudly.

She pulled off the hood, let out her stale breath and
took in great gulps of fresh cool air. She was soaked in her own perspiration
but unhurt. They had made it. Owens had somehow removed his hood and was
already breathing easy, continuing to run. He didn’t slow down until they were
over three hundred meters from the ship. He finally stopped and put her back on
her feet. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I
couldn’t carry you in the confined space of the airlock. You were almost clear
on your own, but I wanted to make sure.”

“Thank you,” she said, removing her gloves. “I was
having a little difficulty with my footing. I am not used to wearing boots.”

Owens nodded. “Your suit’s inner garment is probably
damp. Open the front of your suit, it will help it dry and cool you off.”

Together, they undid the clasps of their suits and
felt the cool breeze penetrate the open weave on their inner garments, soothing
their warm skin. As they did so, they squinted through the haze of rippling
heat and saw the
Holmes
was already beginning to rise on its impeller
fields. Slowly at first, then faster the
Holmes
rose, climbing rapidly
into the clear sky. Dwindling, in the distance, they could still barely make
out the ship when the bright flare of its reaction drive engines ignited and
the ship itself was no longer visible. The blaze of its exhaust dimmed as the
Holmes
continued to
gain altitude, fighting free of the planet’s gravity.

Owens pulled his eyes away from the rapidly
disappearing ship and looked around. They were standing at the beginning of a large
meadow. The thick, yellow-green grass rippled in the slight breeze. Ground
hugging bushes bearing purplish blossoms dotted the grassy expanse. He looked
back to where the
Holmes
had landed and was gratified that Hec had
chosen an isolated, rocky area off at the meadow’s edge. He could see the waves
of heat still rising from where the ship had rested just a moment ago. Owens
was confident that the rocky surface would act like a heat sink, and the
temperature differential left by the
Holmes
would soon dissipate. He
looked back towards the meadow. Beyond it, off in the distance was the edge of
what looked like a thickly wooded forest. In another direction, he could see
foothills leading to a blue-hazed range of rugged looking mountains.  

Owens refastened the front of his suit and Sharné did
the same. He checked that his hand weapon was still secure in its holster.
Shrugging off the backpacks he had carried on one shoulder, he removed the
two-piece rifle from the largest backpack and assembled it. He put it aside and
stuffed their discarded hoods in the large backpack. He picked it up and put it
on properly, securing the webbed straps, then picked up the other, smaller
backpack, handed it to Sharné  and retrieved the rifle.

“Put your gloves in one of your suit’s pockets, they
might come in handy later. Now we’d better get going.” He gestured toward the
distant forest. “I think our best bet is to head for those woods. The heavy
foliage should provide us with good cover, and if our pursuers really don’t
have the right equipment, they won’t know we’re there unless they visually pick
up our trail.”

Sharné was trying to remember what she knew about the
planet. As a child she had been taught the basics of its geology, geography and
some of its ecosystem, but it had been a long time since the topics had been
covered in her schooling. She distractedly took the pack from Owens and put it
on. She didn’t seem to notice as he cinched up the straps on her pack for her.
What was it about the forest? She could not remember if it was important or
not. Perhaps it would come to her later.

Her expression cleared and she said, “Let us hope they
do not have scanners. In any event, the forest does appear to offer the best
chance for concealment. I am ready.”

 “Good, let’s go. Our friends will be arriving
soon enough. It would be a real pity to have all of this effort go to waste.”
He started walking toward the woods.

Sharné joined him and they walked briskly,
side-by-side, the tall grass brushing the tops of their boots. Owens appreciated
that her long legs enabled a walking stride almost equal to his own. He was now
confident that they would make good time and soon be clear of the meadow. He
could have carried her and halved the time it would take to make it to the
forest, but he wanted to save his strength, in case he needed it later. He
figured they had a significant head-start already.

He looked behind them and was gratified to see their
path through the grassy expanse hadn’t left much of a trail. The grass was
resilient and he could see that in a couple of hours, their path would most
likely disappear. Of course, if their pursuers had portable scanners, the lack
of a visible trail wouldn’t make much of a difference. His eyes returned to the
direction they were headed.

 It wasn’t long before they neared the beginnings
of the forest. Owens saw a number of different species of trees clustered
between towering conifers; the massive trees dwarfed everything around them. He
estimated the closest one’s trunk was over thirty meters in diameter. They
looked way out of proportion with the rest of the foliage, and as he gazed at
the big trees farther in the distance, his curiosity grew. They were positioned
in straight line, almost evenly spaced between each other. His initial thought
was that it looked like some leviathan’s overgrown orchard gone to seed.

They stopped at the edge of the forest. Sharné saw
that Owens was intently staring at the forest; his expression was one of
speculation.  “Those trees…” she said, pointing to the huge conifers,
“…are ancient. They predate the Golstar civilization by thousands of years. I
am told the wood is incredibly strong and cannot be cut using traditional
methods. In fact, to my recollection, not even its bark has been breached by
any tool or machine. Much research was expended on the trees, but nothing came
of it. They remain virtually untouched.”

Owens stared at the nearest tree, “Interesting.”

“Yes, although the giant trees are quite unique, the
rest of the native plant life is more mundane. It closely parallels what is
generally considered as earth-normal. Other tree species on the planet produce
cellulose-based woods and are easily harvested and milled. Some produce quite
beautiful wood.”

He walked to the base of the huge tree with Sharné
trailing close behind him. He reached out to touch the smooth-looking bark and
was surprised at the strange texture of its surface, or more accurately its
lack of texture. It felt slick, almost slippery. And it was unusually cold. It
was more like a product of manufacture than the offspring of a living seed. It
was an intriguing mystery, but one that would have to wait. He turned to Sharné
and said, “Sorry. My curiosity got the better of me. Let’s go.” They resumed walking
and crossed into the gradually thickening foliage. “So,” Owens began, “people
have logged the forest. There are people on this planet after all?”