by Henry Vogel
By then, Jade was piloting the pinnace in among the wreckage of the Sorrin. I pitched in with the Cochran family to fend the little airship off of jagged timbers jutting out of the broken hull. We anchored the pinnace to the largest piece of hull and carefully winched the envelope down to the deck. The sour expressions on the Sunes’ faces when they discovered they had to debark lightened everyone else’s mood considerably. Will and Jade tossed loose timbers on top of the envelope, further camouflaging our airship.
Thirty minutes after we finished, the sound of an airship’s engine came to us. I carefully looked over the top of the wreck and my heart sank. The strange airship without an envelope was steaming our way.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
David
Captain Cochran grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the stern railing. “Jump!”
All around the deck, crewman dove off the ship. As Cochran and I vaulted into open air I swore the ground was a lot more than twenty feet below us. We hung there for a second that lasted an hour and then plunged toward the ground. Behind us, the Wind Dancer continued its grinding disintegration against the hard-packed ground of the desert.
When I reached the ground, I did just as my trainers at the academy taught me to do. I hit with my knees bent to absorb some of the impact then let my entire body collapse into a momentum-draining roll. Pain lanced through my ankles, knees, and hips before the roll spread the hurt around to all parts of my body. When I finally rolled to a stop, I took quick stock of myself, flexing my legs and arms and twisting my neck. Everything ached but nothing was broken, so I struggled to my feet.
Cochran lay a few feet away, holding his leg and cursing. I knelt next to him and pulled his hands away from his leg. It was obviously broken.
“I’m not dying,” Cochran said through gritted teeth. “Go check on my crew.”
I rose to my feet, sketching a salute. “Aye aye, Captain!”
I’d love to recount how I sprinted to the wreck to look for survivors, but the truth is the best I could manage was a fast hobble. My ankles and knees screamed with every step I took so I ordered my implant to release painkillers into my system. Within seconds, my speed increased to a slow jog. I called out to crewmen as I passed them and found none in desperate need of assistance. Three of the crewmen were dead, but they had grief-stricken friends taking care of their bodies.
The wreck of the Dancer spread out from the impact point for well over one hundred yards, with timber scattered and piled all along its path. A few fires burned but, through some miracle, neither boiler exploded. Both had great holes in them from burst seams and the metal ticked and popped as it cooled. Moans and cries for help rose from half a dozen places and a few of the healthier crewmen were already helping free trapped men and move those too injured to move themselves.
As I surveyed the scene, deciding where I could be the most helpful, I heard a low thrumming from overhead. The anti-grav airship hovered above me. Half a dozen men trained blasters on me as Raoul smiled in triumph.
“Going somewhere, Rice?”
“Yes, Raoul, I’m going to help the crew of the airship you just wrecked.”
“I wouldn’t have wrecked them if they hadn’t taunted me!”
“Yes, you would.” I turned and resumed walking toward the nearest crewmen working to free a man buried under broken timber.
“Stop where you are or I’ll order my men to shoot!”
If Raoul was going to shoot me, he’d have already done it. At least, I hoped that was the case. “Is this how you repay me for rescuing you in the tunnels under Beloren?”
“I could have escaped on my own!”
“Then why didn’t you?” I reached the mound of debris and pulled a long, broken board from the pile. “Face it, Raoul, without Martin and me you’d have been tammar food. Now please shut up so I can get on with my work.”
The men and I worked for about a minute before I felt the prick of a sword in my back. I marveled that Raoul was stupid enough to abandon his superior position and superior firepower.
“Draw your sword and face me, Rice.”
I stepped away from the crewmen and drew my sword. Turning around, I found Raoul in a classic dueling stance. Four of his men—all armed with blaster rifles—stood well back from him, keeping watch on the crew. The rifles looked dusty, but I was too far away to see if the inner workings were dust fouled.
Raoul slashed the air with his blade. “Let’s go, Rice!”
Far be it from me to deny Raoul his duel.
Boost!
Adrenaline poured into my veins, time slowed, and my aches vanished. I flicked my blade at Raoul’s wrist to disarm him, then I could put my sword to Raoul’s throat and force his crew to surrender.
I was already stepping forward to grab Raoul when he parried my blade and sliced at my own wrist. Shocked, I barely pulled my arm back in time to avoid the thrust.
Raoul danced back lightly and he did not move in slow motion.
“Surprise, Rice,” Raoul said. “You and Bane are no longer the only men on Aashla who can Boost!”
My eyes widened in surprise and I felt my concentration waver from the duel as the implications of Raoul’s pronouncement hit me. If the exiled prince had shown the barest hint of patience and waited two seconds, I’d have dropped my guard entirely and been an easy target for the point of his blade. Instead, Raoul launched a furious attack and my mind snapped back to the task at hand.
One after another, I parried Raoul’s attacks. I also fell back from his onslaught, unable to mount any kind of counterattack. Trained in the art of swordsmanship almost from birth, Raoul’s skill easily surpasses mine with a blade. It’s been almost a decade since the one time the two of us crossed blades on the deck of the Pauline. Raoul had driven me back that time, too. But back then I’d been carefully drawing Raoul into a trap.
I deflected another attack, but Raoul’s blade still scored a cut to my upper arm. Raoul grinned and stamped and wove his blade all around before me, leaving me wondering how such a dangerous swordsman could be so utterly unimaginative in everything else he did. A glimmer of hope followed on the heels of that thought. Raoul was quick, strong, and relentless with the sword, but he was also fixated entirely on me. Perhaps I could use that to turn the tables.
I recalled a small pile of debris from the wreck and carefully allowed Raoul to drive me backward to it. A grin split Raoul’s face and grew wider with each retreating step I took toward the debris. No doubt visions of me tripping over the broken timbers played through Raoul’s mind, surely followed by his sword driving through my heart. I fed those fantasies with widened eyes and rapid breathing. Raoul feinted at my shoulder then swept his blade around for a cut to my throat, all designed to force me to step back and trip over the debris. Against any normal man, the plan would have worked even if the opponent knew what was coming.
Because of Boost, I am not a normal man. As Raoul feinted, I launched myself into a backward flip that carried me over the pile of debris and safely to the other side. Expecting some kind of resistance to his attack, Raoul found his lunge unblocked and his forward momentum unchecked. With the choice of taking another step forward or falling on his face, Raoul took a hasty, off-balance step forward—right onto the pile of debris. The broken planks shifted under his weight and Raoul crashed to the ground at my feet.
I planted a foot in the small of Raoul’s back and pressed my sword against his neck. “Yield or die, Raoul.”
A calm, controlled voice speaking in galactic basic, said, “Release him, Mr. Rice, or I shall be forced to order my men to open fire on the crew of your ship.”
Keeping my foot and sword in place, I turned toward the anti-grav airship. A man close to my own height, though probably twice my age, stood on the deck. He wore the everyday clothing of galactic society and an imperturbable expression on his face. It was the look of a man confident in himself and his place in the universe.
“Before making threats, whoever you are, I suggest you
take a look at the inner workings of those rifles.” Raoul stirred under my foot so I put more weight on it. “Dissipating your blaster shots was a benefit of our dust cloud, but that wasn’t its primary objective.”
A frown creased the man’s face as he took a blaster rifle from a member of his crew. The frown deepened as he studied the weapon. “Very clever, Mr. Rice. It appears I’ve underestimated you. It won’t happen again.”
The man turned to the four crewmen on the ground and spoke in a language I didn’t know, though it sounded like one of the southern city-state dialects. The four men abandoned their positions, grabbing ropes dropped to them from the deck of the airship. As the crew hauled them up to the deck, the thrum of the anti-grav increased. Swinging about, the airship rose into the sky and flew back the way we’d come.
“What the hell?”
The words came from my feet. I’d been so distracted by the galactic on the airship, I’d forgotten all about the former prince. I regarded the man at my feet and shook my head.
“You know Raoul, you can’t pick allies worth a damn.”
Raoul lay at my feet, disconsolately staring after the retreating airship. There was a time—long, long ago—when I had felt sympathy for Raoul and his cruel nickname of the Spare Prince. That was before I got to know him and learned what a back-stabbing, small-minded, revenge-driven jerk he was. When faced with a choice between right or wrong, truth or falsehood, courage or cowardice, I’ve never seen Raoul make the noble choice even one time. Inevitably, his poor choices proved disastrous for others. From Rob, Callan’s lifelong guard, to the three dead crewmen from the Wind Dancer, someone else always paid the ultimate price for Raoul’s stupidity.
I leaned all of my weight onto the foot on Raoul’s back and stuck my sword half an inch into his shoulder. “I said yield or die.”
My foot forced the breath out of Raoul. It mixed with a sharp cry of pain from my shoulder stab, resulting in a ridiculous squeak. Dropping his head onto the ground, Raoul tossed his sword away. “I yield.”
I removed my foot from Raoul’s back and waved my blade before his face. “Get up.”
Raoul struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain from muscles overtaxed by Boost. “What are you going to do with me, Rice? You defeated me even when I could Boost, completely humiliating me in the process. What’s left other than death?”
I pointed to the bodies of the Dancer’s three dead crewmen, around which the surviving crew gathered. “Go over there.”
Raoul stared at me for a few seconds, shrugged, and trudged in the direction I pointed. Two crewmen supported Captain Cochran, whose broken leg dangled untreated beneath him. His face screwed up in anguish, Cochran stared down at the bodies. Tears flowed down the Captain’s cheeks and he shook his head from side to side as if refusing to recognize the bodies at his feet could bring them back to life.
Cochran looked down on a man about my own age. “How am I going to face Risha and her little boy and tell them Van is dead? Van’s boy worshiped him.” Cochran’s gaze shifted to a young man of perhaps twenty years. “Poor Min is at home right now, happy as you please planning her wedding to Thom. And now there won’t be a wedding or a life together.” Finally, Cochran’s eyes slid to the smallest body—a boy no more than fourteen. “And Charlie. God in heaven, I told his mother I’d look after him! How can I even look her in the face after this?”
“Do you see what you have done, Raoul?” I asked. “Not only have you killed three good men, you’ve devastated the lives of countless others who knew and loved those men!”
Every member of the crew turned our way when I spoke. Their distraught faces turned angry at the sight of Raoul. Fists bunched at their sides and a low growl ran through them.
His eyes locked on me, Raoul made an elaborate shrug and said, “Men die, Rice.”
The crew’s low growl rose to a roar and they surged at the exiled prince. True to form, Raoul realized his danger too late. He turned to face the onslaught and immediately Boosted.
With proper training and experience, one Boosted man can defeat a mob in hand-to-hand fighting. Raoul had neither training nor experience. He flailed about, landing lots of punches, but he didn’t analyze the mob’s movements. His dodges kept a few blows from landing, but he didn’t lead his opponents into hitting each other rather than him. Without any tactics on Raoul’s part, the crew soon swarmed over him and pinned his arms and legs. A big, strong crewman knelt on top of Raoul and mercilessly beat the prince’s face to a pulp.
Angry as the crew was at Raoul, they weren’t murderers. A minute or so after they swarmed over Raoul, the beating stopped and the crew just walked away. To my surprise, Raoul’s eyes blinked open and he stared at me through bloody, swollen eyes. The idiot must have kept Boosting through the beating.
Shaking my head in disgust, I said, “Drop Boost and let yourself pass out, Raoul.”
Spitting blood from his mouth, Raoul said, “I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It won’t turn off, Rice.”
“The beating must have damaged it. See if you can find a way to shut down the whole implant!”
Raoul shook his head. “I didn’t even turn Boost on. It just started when the crew attacked.”
“You’ll die from Boost Burnout if you can’t turn it off!”
“I think that’s what he wants.”
“The galactic in the airship?”
Raoul nodded. “He doesn’t want me telling you his secrets. So listen carefully, Rice. You won’t have a second chance.”
I ordered my implant to record Raoul’s words. “Go. Speak as fast as you can.”
For the next six minutes, Raoul told me everything he could about the two rogue galactics and their plans. With each passing minute, the prince’s body grew tauter and his face more drawn. By the final minute, his words came in gasps as he struggled against his body to tell me everything I needed to combat the menace and, in Raoul’s mind, take revenge for his death.
In mid-word, Raoul’s body arched and blood gushed from his mouth as his heart finally burst under the stress of Boost. I closed Raoul’s eyes and searched for some sense of sorrow, some depth of feeling for the man’s death. I felt nothing beyond a sense of relief that Raoul would never endanger me or mine again.
I went to Captain Cochran. Assured by the Dancer’s medic that he had tended all of the serious crew injuries, Cochran sat still while the man splinted his Captain’s broken leg. I got to Cochran just in time to help set his leg, helping a second crewman hold the Captain down during the procedure. Cochran sucked breath through gritted teeth when the medic aligned the bones then turned his pale face my way.
“The Spare Prince is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Cochran laid his head back on the ground. “He went quickly. Did he suffer?”
“More than you can possibly imagine. I’ve come close to Boost Burnout once and Raoul’s last few minutes were…unpleasant.”
“God have mercy on my soul, but I am not sorry to hear that.”
“Many others will feel as you do when they hear of Raoul’s death. His brother Rupor, who still remembers Raoul before court intrigue changed him, may be the only man who will truly mourn Raoul’s death.”
“Family is like that—using the good memories to paper over the bad,” Cochran said. “But what did Raoul tell you during his last minutes? Did you learn anything useful we can use against these two galactics?”
“Quite a bit, actually, though there’s no ‘we’ in this.” Cochran tried to rise and I gently pushed him back down. “You have a broken leg and half of your crew is injured. You’ll need the uninjured half to take care of you until rescue arrives. Besides, I can move more quickly by myself.”
“We’re miles from the…base? Lair? Whatever you want to call where these galactics are hiding. It’ll take at least two days to get there on foot.”
“Oh, I’ve got an idea about that. One I’ve even used in the past.”
Cochran’s face screwed up in thought for a couple of seconds. “Ah ha! You’re talking about that sand schooner thing you built to chase after your kidnapped princess when you first crashed on Aashla.”
“I am indeed. Captain Cochran, I know you want to bury your dead, but I’m afraid every minute I’m delayed could cost more lives. May I borrow the healthy members of your crew to help build it?”
“Mister Yarrow!” Cochran’s first mate materialized beside his Captain. “Gather a work crew and do as Mr. Rice instructs.”
The Wind Dancer’s crew worked quickly and efficiently, following my instructions without question. Building the sand schooner within sight of the cloth-draped bodies of three of their fellow crewmen and using supplies salvaged from the wreck of their airship was all the motivation the men needed. Every man working with me volunteered to come with me and watch my back and every man accepted my rejection with a nod of acknowledgement.
We finished the sand schooner late in the afternoon. Several of the less injured crewmen presented me with a sail made from envelope patching cloth and two more gave me a bundle of supplies, including some precious water.
With the whole crew watching, I seated myself on the schooner and ran up the sail. The wind, freshening as the light faded, filled the sail and the sand schooner rolled forward. Cochran offered a salute with the men following suit. I gave a two-fingered salute in return. Then the sail caught the wind and I accelerated away from the crew and wreckage of the Wind Dancer.
The sand schooner rolled along at a steady speed, slowly but surely eating up the miles between me and the rogue galactic base. Piloting the craft took minimal concentration, giving me plenty of time to consider what Raoul had told me. The dying man hadn't understood everything he'd heard, but I understood it all.
Our two rogue galactics, Thor and Freya--pseudonyms, for sure--claimed to be members of Action For Indigenous Peoples, a political gadfly group. AFIP members--'fippers,' to everyone else--believe the Federation has a poor record of protecting primitive species who have the misfortune to have their worlds discovered and colonized by humans. I'm honest enough to admit they have a point, and that AFIP's political wing has helped push through some badly needed legislation to protect primitive sentients.