Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  Jeff’s heart stuttered again as he waited for his doom to be spoken. That was the sense he got when being addressed by this stately and occasionally severe man.

  “Some members of the department have encouraged me to discharge you. The moral outrage they voiced, however, reflected their lack of professional competence and personal ambitions. Others, including myself, espoused a more balanced, thoughtful approach. In short, Mr. Friedrick, no disciplinary action is planned at the departmental level. You must understand, however, that this matter may yet be taken from my hands. Until I hear from the chancellor’s office, this matter will remain open. I expected better judgment from you, Mr. Friedrick. Your decision to walk home smacks of idiocy.”

  Unconsciously holding his breath, Jeff let it out in a quiet sigh. Professor Hildebrand rose from his chair, giving evidence that his visit was at an end. At the elevator, Professor Hildebrand turned to Jeff with a genuine smile and held out his hand.

  “I like your work, Mr. Friedrick. Please be more careful in exposing yourself to criticism.”

  A brief handshake and he was gone.

  “What a class act,” Jeff observed in a respectful tone of voice. “That is one impressive man.”

  “That’s not all of it, boyo. On the way up Hildebrand mentioned that as a student he fenced for his university. Then he actually smiled. Lord! It made me shiver to look at him!”

  “Because he smiled? It’s a strange occurrence, I’ll grant you, but it seemed nice to me.”

  “You should have seen it,” Carl replied with a vigorous shake of his head. “I felt like hanging cloves of garlic around my neck. Anyway, he smiled and said he had to, and I quote, ‘admire the efficiency with which Mr. Friedrick dispatched his assailants.’”

  “Well, I will be twice damned.”

  “I think he’s pissed, though, so if I were you I would be just the teeniest bit careful. He also mentioned that the final word ought to come down in about a week.”

  Jeff started getting organized. He assumed he would be discharged as planned. It wasn’t long before Dr. Winston confirmed that assumption.

  Chapter Three

  Good-bye

  It seemed to Jeff that life resumed as if his brush with death had never happened. Publicity was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by juicier and more current gobbets of news.

  For several days his students were determined to draw him out during classroom discussions, but Jeff refused to take the bait. While most students attended by way of the Classroom Holographic Network, those who were present in the flesh made things hot for a number of days. It was one of the reasons they attended. However, it was an advanced class and finals were just around the corner. Personal concern for academic survival soon diverted questions toward picking his brain in search of test questions.

  Gang violence had been increasing around town, some said because of milder weather. Those with a more sanguine view of society reserved their opinion and prepared for worse to come. Unemployment rates nationwide averaged 30%, but the Dow Jones was expected to break twenty thousand any day. Food banks in major cities were empty and death by starvation, if not commonplace, accepted. In Washington, a coalition of congressmen on the radical right introduced a bill that would re-institute indenture law.

  Roaming a private beltway party they had crashed, reporters overheard a group of elderly senators far to the left discussing the need for insuring continuity in government by making some positions hereditary. When asked to confirm their conversation, the senators expressed shock that anyone would suspect them of saying such a thing.

  Although Jeff read the press releases, he felt detached from outside events. Since the gang attack his interests had withdrawn inward. While he couldn’t put his finger on it, something had changed

  Life on campus seemed hazy, and his sleep dominated by alien dreams that were crystal clear. The overall effect, Jeff thought more than once, was to make him feel more at home in his dreams than in reality. Two weeks after discharge, Jeff was called into Professor Hildebrand’s office.

  The door to Jeff’s apartment was standing open. That was not only unusual and dangerous, but also frightening. Panic-stricken by what he might find, Carl hurried inside. Jeff was sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the floor. Dark spots stained the carpet at his feet. As Carl watched, a large tear gathered on Jeff’s chin and dropped away to join those on the floor.

  Feeling crushed with sympathy, Carl set about making a pot of coffee with more noise than was necessary. When he offered a hot cup to Jeff, it was ignored.

  “Come on, buddy. Please. Professor Hildebrand called and told me what happened. He’s devastated.”

  Jeff walked over to the window and stared out. “They didn’t give him any choice. It’s all over, Carl. I’m finished in anthropology.”

  “Because you showed poor judgment and decided to walk home?”

  There was no expression on Jeff’s face when he glanced at Carl. “That was just the excuse. One of the regents has a niece that needs a job. Turns out she’s an anthropologist.”

  “Those bastards!”

  “It doesn’t matter. I think I’ve known all along that my days in the department were numbered. Who do I know? It was sheer luck that I got the job in the first place. Tell me, what do you think my chances are of being lucky again?” Jeff looked down at the floor. “Why is this happening to me, Carl? What have I done?”

  With passing weeks Jeff began to accept what had happened. He had been fired. The days never seemed to end and his mood continued to spiral downward. Before going crazy from worry, Jeff decided to get away from the city. He had not been able to find a job in anthropology, maybe never would, but he could hike into the mountains.

  After talking it over with Carl, Jeff decided to go for it and unearthed his collection of topographical maps. Backpacking equipment was scattered around the apartment when Carl walked in carrying a duffel bag.

  “Glad to see you decided to get off your butt, Jeff. About time.” Setting the bag down, he leafed through a stack of maps.

  “No shit. Have to do something. Can’t even leave the apartment without feeling like a trespasser. About the only place I feel comfortable is down at the marina. Sure wish it wasn’t too early for the racing season.”

  “From what you’ve said about it, sailing might be just the thing you need. Maybe you can get a berth for one of the long distance races when you get back from your hike, say from here to Hawaii. A total change of environment might do the trick. You’ve been crewing for what? Three or four years now?”

  “About four years, and it’s a good idea. What you said about needing a change of environment really rings a bell. A week or two in the mountains will be no more than a good start. There doesn’t seem to be any point to life anymore except to survive from one day to the next. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so lonely.”

  “They really hung you out to dry, buddy. Wish there was something I could do to help.” Carl unfolded a map. “So, where do you think?”

  “Ordinarily one mountain would be as good as another,” Jeff replied, looking up from the small camp stove he was inspecting, “but this early in the season I think I’ll stay low in case a storm moves in. I’m going to head for Black Pine Lake and see if I can work my way over Sawtooth Ridge into the wilderness area.”

  Carl let out a surprised whistle. “That’s low? Little ambitious, isn’t it? The Sawtooth area is rugged, even in high summer. Shoot, it’s a three-day hike from the lake just to get there. Something goes wrong and you’re dog meat. How about something closer and lower down?”

  Bent over the stove fiddling with the pressure pump, Jeff gave no evidence he had heard a word. Carl watched him for a period and was reminded of someone in a trance.

  “Where you at, man? Space city, it seems to me. You going to be okay for this hike?”

  “I’ll be fine once I get into the woods.” Jeff put the stove aside. “I checked with forest service HQ earlier today. They repo
rted an unusually small snowpack.” He kneeled by his sleeping bag and unrolled it. “Funny how the Sawtooths popped into my mind while I was looking at the maps. I really want to go there.”

  The tone of Jeff’s voice and memories of their earlier conversation in the diner sent a prickling sensation along Carl’s spine. This was not the Jeff he was familiar with.

  “Where do you really want to go?”

  Jeff looked up with a confused expression on his face. “To the Sawtooths. Why? What did I say?”

  “It isn’t what you said, it’s how you said it. Jeff, I am truly worried about you wandering around in the woods.”

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid. The Sawtooths just feel right.”

  “Like walking home?”

  It was a shrewd comment, and meant to be. Jeff winced and studied the deep concern on Carl’s face.

  “I won’t take that kind of chance again. If it looks bad, I won’t attempt the ridge.” Jeff noted Carl was opening the duffel bag. “Goodies?”

  “Sort of. I figured you would decide on some harebrained plan, so I brought a few things from my gear that might come in handy.” While speaking, Carl laid pieces of equipment on the table.

  “Whoa. Crampons and an ice ax. Snowshoes? I don’t think things will get that tense!”

  “I don’t think so either, but this time of year, as you pointed out I might add, a few precautions are justified.”

  “You’re right, and thanks.”

  Carl placed the items with other equipment Jeff was assembling. Sitting on top of the pile was a revolver and two boxes of ammunition. Carl picked the weapon up to examine it.

  “I’ve seen that little .38 special you keep by your bed, but I’ve never been introduced to this baby. For as old as it seems to be, it’s in great condition. .357 magnum?”

  “Yeah. Colt Trooper. Bought it at a private estate sale I lucked into. The stainless steel tooling was so good I couldn’t pass it up. I figure it dates from the late sixties or early seventies.”

  “Pretty heavy, isn’t it?” Carl observed, hefting the pistol several times. “The .38 and a few extra rounds ought to do the job.”

  “It isn’t the dirtbags I’m worried about. Bears are coming out of hibernation about now. Introducing grizzlies may have been a good idea, but they’re taking the place over. If I have to tangle with one of those mothers, that .38 would be worthless.”

  “Okay, you need the Colt. Now answer me this: why two boxes of ammunition? Those babies weigh a ton. How many bears do you expect to meet?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Carl handed him the boxes.

  “Where were they?”

  “On top of the pile next to the Colt, Jeff.”

  “I have no idea how they got there. You’re right—I don’t need more than ten or twelve extra rounds.”

  Carl watched in silent amazement as Jeff walked over to the stack of camping gear and set both boxes down on top.

  “Jeff, what are you…” Carl stopped and decided to let it go. The ammunition was not a critical issue.

  Continuing to sort equipment as if nothing had happened, Jeff looked at Carl with a hopeful expression.

  “Going to join me for a few days later on?”

  “I’ll try. Let’s set a meeting time and place. How about west of Hoodo Pass four days before the end of your trip? If I don’t show, you’ll know I couldn’t cut free of my project.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll make a smoke above the treeline so you’ll have a marker.”

  Carl left and Jeff spent the rest of the evening packing. Ready for bed, he happened to glance at the backpack. Perched on top was his saber. Muttering to himself, he padded over to the sword.

  “I know I didn’t put it there. If I didn’t, then who did?” The sword’s position clearly indicated careful placement. “Maybe Carl was fooling with it.”

  Jeff knew Carl had not touched the sword. He reached down to pick it up. The instant his hand brushed the scabbard, Jeff knew that if he did not take the sword it would mean his life.

  It might have been ten or fifteen minutes. Jeff would never be sure how long he stood there. Every resource was focused on that decision, about that sword, concerning his life. He had never experienced any feeling that even came close to the awful sense of conviction that prevented him from touching the sword.

  Slowly pulling his hand back, Jeff continued to stare at the saber which silently, patiently sat there. An instrument of death, it seemed at that moment to symbolize life itself. Jeff collected himself with a shudder and slipped under the covers.

  “I will take that sword and the weight be damned, even if I have to leave something else behind.”

  Sunshine flooded the apartment when he awoke. Sitting up with a start, Jeff looked at the bedside alarm clock and saw it was already ten o’clock. He looked over at the camping gear.

  Perched on top of the pile, the sword was illuminated by a shaft of sunlight. Morning traffic outside posed a sharp contrast to a quiet watchfulness that permeated the apartment.

  “Okay, okay, I said I’m taking you!”

  Throwing on clothes, he hurried out to the ancient Dodge pickup that served as transportation and coaxed it to life. He didn’t want to take time to eat, so Jeff grabbed some cheese and apples on his way out the door with the backpack. The Dodge promptly died when he let out the clutch.

  “Oh no you don’t, you old bastard,” Jeff chortled. He had learned its every dirty trick years ago and teased it back to life. “And away we go!”

  They were well north on I-5 and settled in for the haul before the Dodge was convinced that everything was going to be all right. Lulled by the sonorous thunder of the truck’s exhaust system, Jeff slipped on sunglasses and bit into the apple. With each mile that passed, Jeff felt tension and resentment fade.

  "Damn, it’s good to be out of Seattle. What a relief!”

  They rolled through the Methow Valley over packed snow with the transmission in four-high. The roads were nearly empty, the sun was bright—it was a perfect day to drive on and on. Later, they were well up Gold Creek on a gravel road when Jeff snapped on the headlights.

  “Must be two feet of snow,” he worried out loud. “C’mon, baby, get me there one more time.”

  The headlights picked out the campground entrance near the tail end of dusk. “Thank God!” Jeff broke into a grin.

  Slapping the gearshift lever into second, he locked up the drive train and tramped down on the accelerator. Engine screaming its thrilling song, exhaust pipes bellowing, the Dodge bucked around the off-season barrier, four wheels spraying rooster tails of snow and dirt.

  “Yee-ha! Sock it to ‘em, you old bastard!”

  The truck had a fight on its hands, but the engine held on to the fat part of the power curve. When the Dodge made it back onto the road in a flying leap, Jeff was laughing so hard he had to ease his foot onto the brake and stop.

  “Son of a bitch! This is the way to live!” He patted the dashboard in appreciation, and intoned, “Long may your rusty fenders wave, old truck.”

  Letting the clutch out, Jeff idled the Dodge to an inconspicuous nook he was fond of. Belly still full from the late lunch, he made himself comfortable in the cab. Up with the sun, he scrambled a few eggs for breakfast, made a final check of his gear then looked balefully at the sword.

  “Well, you wanted to come along so damn bad, how in hell do I carry you?”

  As expected, he received no answer. After trying several arrangements he tied it to the back of the pack frame. Heaving the pack on top of a handy boulder, Jeff slipped into the harness. When he stood up and felt the weight, he groaned.

  “I am going to die before this day is out. That pack must weigh eighty pounds.” He staggered into motion. “To hell with it. Either it’ll kill or cure me.”

  Several days later, about the time Jeff thought he might not die after all, the trail he had been following began to wind a tortuous way up the eastern flank of Sawtooth Ridge.
The incline rapidly increased, and he was forced to use Carl’s ice ax to pull himself up the steeper parts. Shortly, it started to snow. That was a worrisome development.

  Jeff sat down on a handy stump to take stock. Slipping out of the backpack, he unfolded a topographical map that included Hoodo Pass. Wind gusts kept flipping it around, shaking off the snow.

  “Decision time, boyo,” he mumbled while measuring distance and elevation. “Ouch, that’s higher than I thought. Looks like something over 5,000 feet. Pass ought to be lower, though, and I’m already pretty high. Maybe I can ease over that sucker tomorrow.” A vision of Carl’s concerned face briefly flickered, and was gone.

  Late the next day he was nearly at the end of his strength with several hundred yards to go before he made the pass. The wind was full in his face and blowing hard. Leaning forward, he staggered through the pass in snow up to his calves. Badly in need of a breather, he sought refuge behind a ledge that gave some protection from the wind. Leaning back against the ledge, Jeff looked out across the Sawtooth Wilderness and, some miles farther to the west, the Cascade Mountains.

  The overcast had solidified into a slate-gray shroud that skimmed higher peaks. Visible as a white veil, a snow flurry was coming his way. Stretching north and south as far as he could see, rugged mountains dominated the western sky and emanated a sullen power.

  Gray, black and white, alive and immortal, jagged peaks brooded coldly in their early spring sleep but missed nothing. Daylight was fading fast, lending such a sinister appearance to one blown-out caldera that Jeff drew back.

  “Holy shit! What have I done to you?”

  As if in reply, the wind moaned a funereal dirge around the ledge. The effect was so strong that Jeff considered canceling the hike. A sudden clatter made him start. Released by spring thaw, a large rock bounded by only feet away. Shivering from the sense of threat, Jeff could not help feeling intimidated.