Starship Relic (Lost Colony Uprising Book 1)

by Darcy Troy Paulin

  "And box hit you. And you say 'ooof,' but water go in mouth and no sound come out. Is unpleasant." Eh-what-do-you-do? said his one-armed shrug. "But box not kill you. That is what I am saying. Unpleasant. Not kill you."

  Max considered his options. The large tree would afford him some cover if he ran for it, but if he intended to get away he would quickly run out of good trees to place between himself and the killer. He'd set up the scent trap near the site of the dead lancer to avoid having to carry the chunks of lancer too far, and un-coincidentally, it was wide open around them for fifty yards or so.

  "But not only this playing with wild-animals. Before this. I find you in city. Why you still there?"

  "You were dead."

  "With the sea monster? Bah. No. Sea monster not kill me. Always you think I am dead, and never I am dead," the killer said.

  “Yep,” Max said.

  “Okay, you lie down on ground, hands on head, fingers in hair.” The killer pointed to the place on the ground where he wanted Max to lie. “I tie you up.”

  “Why tie me up if you’re just going to kill me anyway?”

  “Too far to carry you. Or… your head. You start to smell long before I get back.” With his hand the killer wafted away the imaginary smell assaulting his nostrils.

  Max did his best not to react, but some part of what he felt, disgust, must have bled through.

  “No, no,” the killer said, waving his hand. “This is good for you. We walk back, and some time, I make mistake. You kill me and escape, or monster bite me in half and you escape. Then you find your woman and live happily ever after.”

  Max looked around again, looking for any other option.

  “Now, lie down,” the killer said, less amiably. “I don’t want to shoot you. But I will. Shoot you. If you not lie down.”

  Max lay down.

  The killer tied Max’s hands behind his back. “Where is your woman? She is not here,” he said once the ropes were good and tight.

  Max considered lying, but the idea that Snow was lurking in the forest would only keep the killer on high alert. You-are-a-terrible-liar, Snow would say. If she were here. I hope you have fewer ropes on your wrists than I do Snow. Wherever you are.

  “I thought she was eaten by lancer maybe. But I don’t think you would be playing with this wildlife if she has been killed this way. Also, I find only a little blood, nothing else.”

  “The Tawnee took her.”

  “The Tawnee?” The killer looked around the forest as though he might find Tawnee soldiers behind one tree or another. “How? I saw no tracks.” He rolled Max over, so he was face up, then dragged him across the forest floor. A small root, hiding in the leaves, dug into and scraped along the length of Max’s back on the short journey to a tree nearby. Max failed to fully conceal the pain he felt. The killer didn’t seem to notice and leaned Max against the tree.

  “Did they fly in and carry her away?” He flapped his hands like little wings to paint the picture for Max.

  “Yes. They flew in. Grabbed her. Flew away.”

  The killer considered this. He shook his head, unsatisfied. “Well, she is not here. So I don’t have to kill her. Good news for everybody,” he said, and he did seem oddly pleased about it.

  He went through Max’s bag without comment. When finished, he picked his own backpack up and opened it. He pulled a couple of small items out, placed them in his pockets then closed the bag.

  “Up, up,” he said to Max and helped him get to his feet, pulling him by his shoulders. He placed his own bag around Max’s shoulders, slipped the axe through a pair of cargo straps, and tied a loop of string around the shoulder straps to keep the bag in place. “You will carry my bag. I will carry yours.”

  He placed Max’s bag over his own shoulders and grabbed his rifle from where he had left it, leaning against a fallen log.

  “We go this way,” he said, gesturing with his rifle, back in the direction they’d come.

  Max had known this was coming. There was little chance the killer would choose to push through the forest to Tawnee. But hearing it was disheartening. And though, as before, he tried to conceal his thoughts and feelings from the killer, he failed.

  “No, we will not be walking to Tawnee. Is much farther than you think. I don’t know how far. But is for sure, many days away. We would both be eaten long before we arrive in Tawnee,” the killer said. “Go, go.”

  Chapter 42

  Staffing the front desk of the Coordinator Mortran Dailund’s offices, was more of a low-level internship than a survey. And it spanned two years, which was quite a bit longer than the typical survey. But it kept one’s hands from getting too dirty and it had other privileges. One such privilege was making his way up the sidewalk that lead to Jillian’s desk. Draven wasn’t coming specially to visit Jillian of course, but he did have to check in with her before he could be allowed up to see the coordinator, and so visit her he would.

  Jillian re-straightened the pencil and paper on her desk and slipped her copy of Tawnee Today into the top drawer. She straightened her teal vest as Draven reached for the door handle, and at the last moment she adopted a thoughtful look, as if pondering one of the universe’s great unanswered questions. The look came easily to her. Not because she did a lot of pondering on the big questions, she did not, but she did have a great deal of practice adopting the look one has while pondering such things. A thoughtful look. It was an essential skill in her position.

  Draven flung the door open and breezed into the building as though he owned the place. It was a magnificent entrance, viewed by Jillian through the reflection of her shiny stone desk. His brown hair and blue jacket flowed behind him in the self-made wind of his forceful entrance. He came to an abrupt stop inside the doorway, both hair and jacket reversed their flow, snapping forward. He looked towards Jillian.

  But she couldn’t look up. Not yet. She had observed that a proper thoughtful look was not easily interrupted. The thoughts inherent to deep thinking were stubborn things. They stuck in the mind, reluctant to give up attention to real world stimuli. Whether that stimuli be in the form of shapely hips, and perky breasts or, as in the current situation, a tall, handsome, well-dressed man with enough pride and confidence to be her future husband.

  “I hate to interrupt such a pretty woman, obviously lost in thought—” he said.

  Nailed it.

  “but I do have an appointment with the coordinator.”

  Jillian looked up suddenly, as if woken from distraction. “Oh, I do apologize, Captain Draven,” she said. “I was as you say, lost in thought. Give me a moment and I shall inquire if the coordinator is ready to see you.”

  She got up from her desk, straightened her slacks and took the open flight of stairs to the floor above, then walked down the hall to the coordinator’s office. She hadn’t yet reached the doors when the coordinator’s voice called out from within to say he was ready to see Draven.

  Jillian spun on her heel and with a roll of her eyes headed back down to the captain and her desk. She had precious little to do in this office, the least Mortran could do was let her finish the few tasks that had been assigned to her.

  Draven met her halfway up the stairs. “Careful with the deep thoughts love, you’ll give yourself think wrinkles.”

  You mean worry wrinkles, she thought, but did not say.

  “This way, Captain,” she said and gave him her most professional smile.

  He pushed past her and she followed rather than led him to the coordinator’s office. She forgave him for interrupting yet another of her few tasks and took advantage of the open opportunity to observe his backside in motion. A firm butt to match his firm personality. By the time she reached the door, Draven’s backside had entered the coordinator’s office and the oval portal closed.

  She took up position to the side of the door and pulled out a pair of ear covers. She was not supposed to listen to the meetings that went on inside the office. She placed the ear covers over her head but no
t over her ears, though the covers were close enough that she could slide them into place with a light tap.

  “Draven,” came the voice of the coordinator, his tone was curt and unfairly dismissive, as it often was. He should give Captain Draven a more respectful greeting. Her eyes rolled again, but this time she finished the expression with a shake of her head.

  “Coordinator.” Draven’s response was crisp, professional. Appropriately respectful.

  “I have some questions, relating to your previous mission…”

  His voice trailed off, but she just knew he was still communicating. He was using a type of body language, talking with his eyes again. She hated when he did that. It was difficult enough to read while in the same room, while looking right at his face, but she found it to be truly impossible from another room.

  “Jillian! Could you come in here please!”

  Jillian stayed where she was. He didn’t really want her in the room. He was testing to see if she could hear him. It would be rude of her, embarrassing for him, if she revealed the truth that, yes she could indeed understand all of the things they were saying. With their mouths.

  Mortran must have been satisfied that no one would overhear them, as he began to debrief Captain Draven in detail.

  Some of it she already knew from previous conversations between Mortran and other people.

  Draven had been given a mission, by the man who replaced Mortran in his old position when Mortran himself had moved up to full coordinator. A mission of retrieval, someone of importance who was lost in the forest. They hadn’t said they were lost of course, Jillian put that bit together herself, no one would go in the forest intentionally. The mission was a perfect success, obviously.

  “The girl is quite remarkable really,” said Draven.

  What? Girl? What girl? Girl?… What?

  “Strange-looking, yes, but intriguing,” said Draven

  The silence that followed suggested to Jillian that Mortran’s eyes were speaking again. She didn’t know why he bothered, no one could understand whatever point he was making with those looks. Well some people did. Actually, quite a lot of people. They often looked as though they had been reprimanded. But it was lost on Jillian. She just hoped he would start speaking with his mouth again so she could hear about this girl.

  Mortran broke the silence, “No sign of the boy then?”

  Boy? Ah, yes a boy. Probably a man-child and likely her man-child. No. Her man, who is a child. A man and woman who are lovers. Poor Draven, he must be so disappointed.

  “No. He left her alone in the forest. Some sort of coward I suppose,” said Draven, incorrectly. He was probably off gathering some… mmm… something. Something with which to care for his lover—

  “And you are headed back now to find the boy?

  “I am. A waste of time if you ask me,” said Draven, “But I will do it. I found the girl and I will find the boy.”

  “Good. We don’t want him to go on living in the forest.”

  “I will bring him back.”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you did not.”

  “Should I return him to… New York?”

  “No.”

  Draven paused before answering. Jillian hoped he was not speaking with his eyes. “I understand,” he said.

  But Jillian did not. Where would they take the man? Did she miss something? Was it in the eye talking? She was so distracted, trying to decipher what Mortran had meant, she missed the end of the conversation. The door opened and Draven stepped halfway from the office.

  “No crew I think,” Mortran said.

  Draven turned to look back. “No crew. Of course.”

  Jillian took that moment to slip the ear covers over her ears and the thoughtful look over her face.

  Chapter 43

  Max slept like a dead man. He’d laid down exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally from the events of the day before, as well as the forced march since this morning when he’d been captured. Sleep was his one advantage. Security was now the killer’s sole responsibility, given that Max’s hands were bound in rope and then tied expertly to a tree. There was no chance of escape. Not now. So why not rest easy and let the killer suffer through the sleepless rest period? Being murdered by the denizens of the forest would be no worse than a shot through his chest with a stone bullet.

  Well it might be a bit worse; he could be dragged through the forest for a while, and then eaten while still half alive. But the result would be the same. A dead Max, resulting in a complete failure to help Snow. So, he rested.

  He awoke to the soreness of his bonds. The ropes had done a quick job wearing through the tender skin of his wrists. His arms were tied behind his back where he could not see, and they felt sticky from what he assumed was his blood. Barf.

  He found the killer sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees, in the center of a very small group of trees, which were the only kind available now that they were back in rockland. He wasn’t leaning against anything, but held himself upright with willpower, magic, or perhaps muscle alone.

  He stirred. “Ah. You are awake. Good. You sleep well?” He didn’t look as tired as Max had hoped. In fact, he didn’t appear to be tired at all.

  “I slept fine,” Max said, annoyed.

  “Excellent. You must be sharp! Find monsters, and then both of us live,” he said, then gave a shrug, “longer.”

  Max struggled to his feet as the killer retrieved the pair of digesters. The killer sliced off a good long chunk and held it up high enough that Max could get his mouth under it, which he did, and swallowed the offered breakfast down whole.

  “Yum, yum,” said the killer encouragingly. He sliced off another chunk from the second box and similarly swallowed it down in one go.

  They each also had a swig of water from one of the two rubbery plastic bladders. The water was clean and cool and Max gulped as much as he could. It was frustrating to have all your food and water in the control of another, luckily though, the killer had so far seemed keen to keep Max healthy.

  The killer dabbed the edge of Max’s mouth with the top of his shirt, and the same with water that dribbled down his chin.

  Max steadied himself as the killer placed the backpack on him, tying it at the front as before.

  “Is time to go,” the killer said. “Oh, and I think our friend is still with us. Not close enough to be seen, he make juuust enough noise that I know he is there. So be wary. Maybe today he bite instead of just follow.” He gave another shrug. “Now go.”

  Max went. Leading the way through rockland, acting as bait, though he wouldn’t be too worried until they reached the forest. He did his best to follow the path they had used on the way in, though it seemed unlikely he would be able to find it once they came to the end of rockland.

  Early on he’d had some hope that the ‘friend’ was the yigrit he’d tagged in the morning. But he was sure now that it was not. If the scent tag had stayed in place, working its magic, and making Max the creature’s pride master, it wouldn’t be skittering around in the periphery. It would simply walk up to him and… hang out, like it was no big deal.

  There were plenty of creatures out there making noise though. Maybe there was something following them, or, maybe the infallible killer was suffering from forest paranoia. He’d confessed to growing up as a downtown city boy during one of his long monologues. After that, Max lost just a little bit of respect for the man. Which was helpful, he needed some hope to cling to and he would take any little bit of morale boosting superiority he could get.

  They walked for hours, stopping on schedule, every hour for water and every four hours for food. Towards the canal. Away from Snow. Towards Max’s death via execution, at the edge of the forest. Away from his probable death via spears, claws, stomach acid, or other, deep inside the forest. His experience in the forest thus far was starting to pay dividends. Or perhaps it was the freedom he felt knowing he was not long for this world. Either way, he was seeing things he hadn’t seen
before. Movement in the distance, that in the past he perceived as a general blur or perhaps not at all, he now perceived with a useful resolution. He didn’t see it any better, he simply understood better what he was seeing, what he might see. Enough to fill in the gaps.

  The slow movement of boulders in the distance told him some of the big chunky tank crabs were browsing in the distance, to the right of his intended path. Where the ground to the left seemed to crawl? A swarm of the small pinchy, grabby crabs that were both barkers and biters. The ones Snow and he had discovered on the way in. And in and out of the brush, both in the distance and close at hand, stubby bodied tuskers dashed, quick as a wink. The yigrit too were present in greater numbers than Max had realized the first time through. When they moved, they moved very quickly, when they were still they were very still. There were in fact a great many of them, though they kept their distance.

  An hour or so after their first food stop Max saw it. The friend that had been following them. He didn’t like to be wrong about things. But every once in a while it was good news. From around a corner ahead of him the head of a yigrit appeared. Max saw it, and it saw Max. And attached to the creature’s head was a piece of gray tape. Attached to the tape was a small clipping of sock. Then the beast was gone.

  Chapter 44

  “Is this what make you happy? This little stone?” said the hunter, “is not very sharp. Take you long time to cut ropes with this.”

  He’d found the stone deep in the target’s back pocket. So deep the hunter doubted the target could even have retrieved it, not with his hands tied as they were. Perhaps, for this target, it was the little things that mattered. Small rock, small morale boost. The hunter threw the rock off their path, into the woods.

  The hunter’s suspicions had been aroused by the change in the target’s step. A lightness had appeared there sometime around the previous water break. The target must have picked up the rock. And? Always he is confusing me.

  They continued their trek towards the safety of the canal. But the hunter couldn’t get his mind off the riddle of the rock. He couldn’t think of a single way in which the rock would help the target escape. It was too small to bash his head in, even if the target’s arms were free. And it would take a lot of work to wear away the ropes with it. Much too long to go un-noticed. Except at night, True Night.