Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3)
Page 33
Robinson crossed to the girl and took her hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
The mute sister nodded, and her lips parted. Robinson leaned down and listened. Then he nodded and smiled.
“Go then. Your brother awaits you, and I wish you both fair travels. I'm sure whatever forest you end up in next, your voices will be like honey.”
The mute sister smiled, and then Scout chirped.
“Lead the way,” Robinson said.
Scout led them out through the barrier. Saah was gone. Robinson and Friday followed Scout to one of the upper tier bays. Robinson was stunned at what he found. It was a flyer from his homeland. Friday saw how it moved him.
“It must have been my mother’s. We never found it.”
As the countdown continued, they loaded into the flyer. Robinson powered the engines as they strapped in and the anti-gravity came online. The ship bucked once as it thrummed out over the missile and then rose through the open roof and sped away.
The ship landed in the valley, its engines powering down. Robinson opened the door and walked out into the desert plains, turning back toward the City of Glass, which now shimmered openly from afar. A few black snakes of smoke curled around the towers, but they didn’t detract from its beauty. A second later, a blinding light lit the horizon, followed by the echo of a tremendous blast. Robinson turned away for a second but looked back in time to watch the towers fall. So much knowledge. So much power. Gone in an instant.
As the city burned, Friday’s eyes stayed on Crusoe. She wondered if this would be the incident that broke him. Some warriors did once the big battle was over. But when he turned back, she saw the weary smile she’d come to love, and she knew he’d be all right. He held up their waterskins, and Scout led him to a nearby brook. The baby cooed and pursed her lips. Friday knew she was hungry. She sat down in one of the flyer chairs to feed her child, never seeing the bloody hand push the exterior panel to close the door.
After Robinson filled the second water skin, he stood and felt Scout settle onto his shoulder and chirp. He knew Pastor had come to care for the bird, and now he did too. He leaned toward the bird and was surprised when its beak nuzzled his nose.
The gunshot tore into Scout with an explosion of feathers. Robinson spun to find Saah standing in front of the flyer, Lysa’s smoking pistol in his hand. He was a bloody mess. Half his face was blackened. Eyes wild. And yet his lips curled in their familiar cruel smile. The flyer jolted as it rose. That must have been Saah leaping onto the skids.
Friday pounded on the flyer’s glass, but there was nothing to be done. Saah had him, and this time there was nowhere to run.
“Do you believe in fate, Ser Crusoe?” Saah asked.
Robinson was about to answer when he heard a familiar noise in the brush to his left.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
Saah raised the pistol again and Robinson slipped two fingers into his mouth and whistled. It wasn’t identical to the note he’d heard come from Saah’s pipes so often, but it was close enough. As the alpha sprang out of the darkness, Saah saw it and let out a shout. It was too late. The beast tore into its target with a ferocity Robinson had never seen before. Saah’s cries lasted for only a few seconds, only to be swallowed by the night.
When the alpha turned, it seemed surprised that Robinson hadn’t moved. It took two steps toward him and bared her teeth. Robinson shook his head.
“Enough,” he said.
The alpha remained there for a few seconds, eyes locked to the prey it had hunted for so long. A chill wind blew in, carrying with it the smell of smoke and dust. Then something passed between the two, and the alpha turned and bounded off into the night.
Epilogue
From the Ashes
The flyer cruised over the great Atlantica, which rolled with lazy waves and the occasional spray, lighting the dappled water with the cobalt sky above. Friday had never seen anything so large or lovely.
The fuel cell readouts that once doomed Robinson remained constantly full. Whatever Pastor had done to the ship, he’d provided it with an energy source far beyond its previous capabilities. Once Robinson got home, he knew he’d be eager to peel back the curtain for a look underneath. He had other things to concentrate on first.
“Can you fix it?” Friday asked.
Robinson looked at Scout, lying dormant in his lap. The bullet had opened one side of her chest, severing gears and wires, but the CPU appeared intact.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Her workings are so advanced, but I’d like to try. She deserves that much.”
He looked at Friday, finally able to ask the question he’d been holding inside.
“Have you chosen a name?”
Friday looked at their sleeping daughter and nodded.
“Were she to grow in the shadow of the mountains, her actions would choose her name, as I am named, ‘the reed that does not bend to the wind.’”
“That’s appropriate,” Robinson said.
Friday elbowed him.
“But this child will grow up in your land and so she must have a name worthy of it. What is your mother’s name?”
Robinson didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Annabess,” he said at last.
Friday smiled. “Annabess Fenix Crusoe. The healer who rises from the ashes.”
Robinson reached for her hand and squeezed it.
A moment later, a telemetry warning announced land approaching. As Robinson sat up straight in his chair, his daughter opened her eyes. The sun was bright in the sky, and water dappled the window, but she didn’t turn away.
DEAR READER
Thanks for embarking on this journey with me. It’s been a remarkable couple of years and I’ve enjoyed every arduous step of it. I really appreciate those passionate fans who waited patiently (and not so patiently) between books. Your emails, posts, and tweets helped keep me going.
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Acknowledgements
Writing this first trilogy, I had the good fortune to work with some exceptional people, but none more significant than my editor Jessica Holland. Every time I leapt, she leaped, but together we managed to create something special. I am deeply grateful for her friendship and exceptional talent.
And thanks to Ric Morelli for being reader numero uno and keeping the compass due north.
I also appreciate the invaluable insight and support of John L. Monk, Mike “he-who-writes-and-lives-by-a-dozen-names,” Celia Aaron, Donna Rich, Jason and Marina from Polgarus Studio, and the wonderful group of family, friends, and readers that have taken this journey into the forbidden kingdom with me. I’m glad we all made it out unscathed.
Lastly, thanks to my wife and children for allowing me to live the life I’ve always dreamed of. Heaven doesn’t always resemble Iowa.