Shadows of Golstar (46 page)

She looked to where he pointed and nodded. He knelt to
begin repacking their provisions as she began walking toward the area he had
indicated. He was just fastening the last closure on the pack when he heard her
scream.

● ● ●

By mutual agreement, Linden had taken sole command of
the combined crews as they began the final cleanup of the remaining pieces of
the
Light Saber
. He had been elated at first, knowing he would receive
the lion’s share of the praise for the success of the mission. Since then, he
had begun to regret his new position of leadership, knowing now that success
had not been achieved after all. If they failed this time, the lion’s share for
the failure would be his instead. He simply could not allow another failure.

Linden stared down at his clenched fists. They must
succeed, but his patience was reaching its limit. Every moment they failed to
find any indication of the dark-bringer allowed the man extra time to find deep
cover. On top of everything else, without proper scanning equipment, they were
forced to rely on visual observations. Time crawled as the shuttle traveled in
a crosshatch pattern, hoping to get some sort of indication as to where the
foreign ship might have landed.

“I am receiving a strange signal,” the pilot called
over to Linden.

Startled, Linden looked up towards the pilot. “What?
What kind of signal?”

“I can only tell you what it is not. It is definitely
not in a standard format.” He tapped a panel inset with a small glowing
display. Symbols rapidly scrolled across its surface. “The data packets are not
synchronizing with our equipment. I cannot decipher it. I can only determine
the general area from which the signal originates.”

Linden felt a surge of excitement. “Is it a
Confederated Planet’s signal?”

The pilot shook his head. “I do not know. I have no
training in that area. I cannot even tell if it is telemetry or some form of
communication.”

Linden rasped, “Well, is there anything that you
can
you tell me?”

The pilot reached forward and slapped at a control. He
paused, looking at a small panel with graphic plot flickering across another
display. “Only what I have already told you. I detected it because we are passing
within the vicinity of its source. The com equipment on this shuttle is pretty
rudimentary. Frankly, I am surprised we picked up anything.”

It has to be him, Linden thought. It must be some sort
of device the dark-bringer used to communicate with his ship. This was it!
Fortune turned in Linden’s favor. The enemy may have finally made a fortuitous
mistake. “Land as close to the source of the signal as you possibly can,” he
directed the pilot. “How long before we arrive at the site?”

The pilot shrugged, “It appears to be coming from a
thickly wooded area to the south of our current position. I will be forced to
circle, using a spiral approach in order to home in on the approximate location
of the source. It only will take a few minutes, perhaps a little longer. You
understand the area from where the signal originates may not have sufficient
space to land this shuttle. Other than it appears to be heavily forested, I
cannot tell you the exact nature of terrain because the landing-assist scanner
is not calibrated for that type of data. Like most of the instruments on this
deathtrap, it is only marginally functional.” He paused as the ship shuddered
for a moment. Then he said, “And we are still too far away a visual
confirmation.”

Linden replied, harshly, “When I desire negative
comments, I will issue them myself. Perform your duty and leave the side
comments to me.”

The pilot nodded angrily and said nothing further.

Everything since the mutiny seemed to fight him. “Just
get us down as close as you can to the signal’s source and do it quickly.”
Linden turned in his seat and began giving terse orders to his men.

● ● ●

Owens leapt to his feet, drawing his gun. As he ran
toward the clump thick of vegetation, his mind raced. Was it was the mutineers?
In spite of all their precautions, had they somehow tracked them down? Could he
have miscalculated their lead that badly or had Sharné been mistaken? Would it
turn out that the mutineers did possess a tracking capability? Immediately,
another thought struck him that was even more unpleasant than the last.

Could it be one of the Guardians? Had their presence
somehow reactivated one? He imagined it gliding forward, bristling with weapons
extended from now-opened gun ports. He felt the side-arm tightly gripped in his
hand. He had left the mini-rail rifle back with their backpacks, not that he
thought the weapon would have any effect on a Guardian’s thick armored skin. He
felt another rush of adrenalin as his mind imagined the worst. His boots
pounded the uneven ground as he increased his gait to a full run and quickly
spanned the distance, reaching the edge of the vegetation.

He dropped to the ground and began to crawl forward as
rapidly as he could, into the heavy foliage. He tried to be quiet, but he was
forced to bull his way through the thick brush. Leaves and twigs crackled with
his passage. He abandoned any hope of a stealthy approach and rose quickly,
bursting from the dense bushes.

He immediately spotted Sharné. She was standing with
her back against a large tree in a small clearing. Ringed about ten meters in
front of her, were five animals. Finding his earlier fears unfounded, he felt a
momentary sense of relief. Instead of mutineers or metal monsters, what he saw
were the bear-like creatures that Sharné had described to him before. His
relief vanished when saw them turning at the noise he had made on his approach.
They were now couched down, snarling loudly at the intruder who had momentarily
drawn their attention away from their intended quarry.

He noted they were indeed the size of dogs, but very
large
dogs. They looked to be well over a hundred pounds each and they did look a
little like teddy bears, but their sharp, tooth-filled muzzles with canines at
almost two inches long, spoiled the cuddly effect. An errant thought struck
him. He could imagine a headline scrolling across the major news media outlets
now, ‘Man killed by saber tooth teddy bears, news at eleven.’ With the sound of
low menacing growls, that image disappeared as quickly as it came.

Their growls increased in volume and he saw that the
animals were readying for an attack. He raised and fired his weapon at the
animal in the center, hoping it was the alpha leader and ran towards the pack,
leaping forward and yelling, hoping to startle the group of animals. His aim
was true. The creature yelped once and fell forward hitting the ground heavily.
Owens landed three meters in front of the downed animal. He hoped to catch them
totally by surprise. But the others in the pack, though startled, were quick to
recover and sprang for the large human-animal that had disrupted their kill.

Owens managed to shoot another one before abruptly
feinting to the side to avoid a swiping paw. He could hear the loud keening of
the wounded animal; he missed a kill shot. Worse still, his move had not been
planned and he almost collided into another of the animals that had moved
towards him. Before he could react, another set of swiping, sharp claws caught
the fabric of his pants leg. With a ripping sound, the tough cloth tore away in
ribbons but not before throwing him off from his intended trajectory.

He hit the ground off-balance and tumbled to the soft
floor of the forest. Without pause, he managed to convert the tumble into a
controlled roll which carried him away another three meters. He then tried to
recover, but he overcompensated and began to fall back in the opposite
direction. He fell to the ground again but this time he managed to regain his
feet quickly. At the same time, knowing that he had wasted precious time, he
began to raise his weapon.

But before he could bring his gun up, a furry ball of
hard muscle, teeth and flashing claws struck him high, in the chest. In
reaction, he awkwardly somersaulted backwards and threw the small attacker off,
but not before its claws raked across his chest. The shallow, bleeding tracks
burned across his skin. But his instinctive response in throwing the animal
away from him worked better than expected. The bear, suddenly propelled by
Loder-powered muscles, flew through the air in an arc and struck a nearby tree.
The predator’s back broke against the solid tree trunk with a loud crack; it
fell lifeless, in a boneless heap at its base.

Owens struggled again to his feet and quickly turned
at a hissing sound coming from behind him. Ready for another bruising attack,
he was surprised to see two piles of fur lying on the forest floor close by his
feet.  The animal he had wounded was quickly limping away from its fallen
comrades. It rapidly disappeared into the forest. He looked up and saw Sharné
shakily lowering her weapon. The hissing sound he had heard was from her
weapon’s discharge. Quick thinking, he thought. She hadn’t forgotten about her
gun.

She dropped the dispersal gun and ran to him. She
buried her head into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He
could feel her fast-beating heart. She was quietly sobbing. He said nothing,
content just to hold her and wait for her to regain her composure.

A couple of minutes went by before she finally
quieted. She looked at him, her eyes red from crying, her cheeks wet from
tears. She was still holding on to him tightly. “I did not see them at first. I
must have disturbed them from their sleep. They swarmed out of that,” she
pointed at a huge tree stump with a large opening between exposed roots. “At
first I was too surprised to be frightened. Then, as they approached me as a
pack, I could clearly see their teeth and what they intended. Then I panicked.
I think I screamed, I am sorry, but I was afraid.”

“It’s okay, so was I,” he assured her.

“I was literally frozen, I could not move. They had
appeared so suddenly… with those terrible teeth and claws, I… did not know what
to do. I did not mean to scream.”

“I might have screamed a little myself. With those
cute faces and long fangs, they remind me of something out of a nightmare,
almost as bad as clowns. But it’s all over now.”

She hadn’t heard his feeble attempt at humor. She
said, “I am ashamed.”

“You don’t have any reason to be,” he countered. “You
did alright. Actually, a lot more than alright, you saved my life.”  

She didn’t seem to have heard him. “And then you
appeared, jumping into the middle of them. You could have been killed trying to
rescue me.’

He found himself stroking her hair. “But I wasn’t; I’m
still alive, again all thanks to you.”

She shuddered, “Even so, I was almost too late. I felt
paralyzed. It was only when I saw them coming at you from behind did I finally
think to react.”

“Enough,” he said gently. “You came through when it
counted.” Her face was close to his and he was acutely aware of her warm body
pressed against his.

“But what if I had been a little slower?”

Her nearness was making it difficult for him to
concentrate. “Will you please stop berating yourself? The only thing that
counts is that you shot the teddies before they got me. All I have to show for
whole episode is a little scratch.”

She suddenly jerked back, disengaging herself from his
embrace, “You are hurt? Let me see.”

He mentally kicked himself. “Sharné, it’s only a
scratch. One of the teddies managed to drag a paw across my chest. My suit took
the brunt of the damage.”

Sharné looked at four slits running diagonally across
the chest area of his survival suit. Blood stained the area around the torn
fabric. She frowned at him and insisted that she be allowed to treat the
wounds. She ordered him to sit down and unfasten the top of the suit. He opened
the suit and gingerly pulled off the top of the under garment to reveal four
shallow cuts about five inches in length on the left side of his chest. The
wounds, as Owens indicated, were superficial; there had been some bleeding, but
it had quickly subsided.

“See,” he said, tossing the undergarment on the
ground. “It’s only a couple of scratches. You should see the other guy.” He pointed
toward the dead animal lying at the base of a large tree.

“You were fortunate; it could have been much worse.”
She frowned looking at his chest, “Now be quiet while I treat the wounds. We do
not want them to become infected, sit down.” He sat on a fallen tree trunk and
she removed the first-aid kit from one of her suit’s pockets. She sat down next
to him, instructed him to turn towards her and began to cleanse the wounds on
his exposed chest, dabbing lightly with an antiseptic pad. She then carefully sprayed
an antibiotic on each cut.

“Ouch,” Owens jokingly yelped at the mild stinging.
“That’s worse than the injury..."

She made a face at him, and then finished up by
spraying a membrane bandage over the wounds. “That should take care of any
further irritation caused by the suit rubbing against your chest,” she said.

She looked at the bloody top of the undergarment lying
on the ground, and then eyed the damage to Owens’ survival suit critically. He
held up a hand. “The undershirt is ruined. I’ll have to do without it. But the
suit is another matter; it comes with a repair kit. I’ll use the fabric sealer
to repair the rips. It’ll be almost as good as new.”