"Yes." Debbi stepped forward.
Fitz shuffled back. Chennault stood her ground, but she dropped her hand to her holstered Dragoon.
It was Hickok who stepped out of the crowd of Rangers. She slipped between Fitz and Chennault and moved across the floor. Her incredulous eyes were wide. Her mouth was squeezed tight into a slit. She stopped a few feet from Debbi and instinctively reached out. Debbi took Hickok's bare hand and slowly pressed it against her cheek. Tears began to wash down the pilot' s face.
"See," Debbi said. "I'm flesh and blood."
Chennault said quietly, "Make a move to bite her and I'll blow your brains out."
"Easy, Chennault," Ross boomed. "That's really Dallas. Take your hand off your gun."
Hickok choked, "How is this possible?"
Debbi shrugged and embraced the pilot. "Things happen."
Doc Dazy shuffled noisily through the stunned Rangers. "Yeah, that's it! Centuries of medical science and things happen. I'll just start wearing feathers and throwing bones." He disappeared down the dingy corridor still muttering.
As he vanished, another voice roared out of the hallway. It was Miller. He pushed past Ringo and Stew at the door. "I got the message, Stew. I was busy. Is Ross here?" Miller shoved through the Rangers, glaring with annoyance at Fitz who stood as unmoving as a tree. "One side, you big goon. Hey, Ross! I got big news. I just heard where a shipment of black guns is located. I think we ought to go get them! Oh hey, Dallas, how's it going? What the f—"
Ross studied the place where Miller pointed on a map.
"There's no mine there," Ross said.
Miller exhaled in annoyance. His breath smelled of alcohol. "I didn't say it was a mine. I said it was a bunch of prospectors."
"You said it was a mine. But go ahead."
Miller threw up his hands. "What the hell do you expect? How can I get anything straight with her here?" He nervously indicated Debbi who stood next to Ross's desk.
Ross snapped, "Just go ahead with your story, Miller. Geezus."
"Okay. So this mine . . . these prospectors out here have some black guns."
"And Sharif told you that?"
Miller nodded vigorously. "Yeah. I picked him up on the radio. But he said he was moving out of communication range. I told you, Ross, he wanted you to come out."
Ross worked his jaw back and forth. "How many black guns?"
"Thirty."
"Sharif told you that too?"
"Sure. Yeah, something like that. Look, the guy said something about some prospectors having black guns. And he wanted you to come alone. You and him are pals, aren't you? I'm just passing on the message. Don't jump up my ass about it." His downturned eyes fixed again on Debbi. He shook his head and ran quivering hands through his oily hair.
Debbi asked, "Miller, are you sure it was Sharif?"
"How the hell should I know? That's what he said. What more can I do?"
She stared curiously at the agitated Ranger and said to Ross, "Could you raise Sharif?"
"No. Weather's knocking everything out of the air." Ross folded the map. "All right, I'll check it out."
Debbi said, "I'll go with you."
"No," Ross said quickly. "I mean, why don't you just stay here and rest up."
She cocked her eyebrow at the veteran Ranger. "Why don't you just seal me up in plastic and I'll keep fresh forever."
Ross sighed with aggravation. "Look, I'm just trying—"
"I know what you're trying. I need to get back in the saddle. Unless you fire me from the service, it's going to happen eventually anyway."
Ross caved in. "Yeah, all right. Get your stuff."
Miller started. "No! He said just you Ross."
Ross stared hard at the man across the desk who was flushed, almost frantic, a state he'd seen the man in far too often. Miller shrunk under his commander's glare. Ross stated, "Next time you're drunk on duty, you're gone. Understand? Now go ready a Prowler for us."
Miller's eyes were angry slits, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm not drunk. And I'm not on duty. I'm just telling you what Sharif said."
Ross had already turned his attention to gathering his mission kit. Miller was beneath his notice now. Miller stood up unsteadily and started for the door.
Debbi called after him, "Miller, anything else you can tell us?"
The withered Ranger turned to look at her. He paused almost sadly. Then he shook his head and went out.
The noise of Mo's was a distant background buzz to the gathered Colonial Rangers. Stew, Ringo, Miller, Fitz, and Chennault huddled at their table in the corner. They clutched drinks and beers, however all but Miller's were untouched. Miller had worked his way half through a bottle by himself.
Stew said, "We can't explain it. But that doesn't change it."
Ringo stared straight ahead.
Chennault said, "She just wasn't dead. Who knows what Quantrill did to her? Some kind of suspended animation. And she came out of it."
Fitz shook his head. "She was dead, Chennault. You know it. It's something else. I mean, we've seen the dead rise."
Stew leaned forward quickly. "Debbi isn't like those zombies we fought. Or like the Legionnaires. She's alive. Really alive."
Fitz held up a calming hand. His voice was surprisingly even. "Okay, Stew. That's not what I meant. I just mean we've seen plenty of strange things that change your ideas about life and death. This is another one." His look changed to one of questioning. "I mean this isn't something bad, right? What would the church say about it?"
Stew raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Well, first of all, I'm not in the church anymore, so I can't speak for it. Second of all, I don't know."
Miller poured another shot and snarled, "Okay, what's the big deal? Some kind of anouk magic or something. She's back. Who cares how it happened."
The other Rangers stared at Miller, surprised by the outburst.
Chennault shook her head in disgust. "What crawled up your butt, Miller?"
"Nothing," the drunk slurred. "I just don't know why we're all here worrying about Dallas. She wasn't dead. She was dead. So what? What does that mean to us? We're all still stuck here in the same crap pile of a planet."
Ringo grabbed the whiskey bottle. Miller's hand snaked out and seized the kid's wrist.
Miller shouted, "What are you doing, Stuckey?"
"Come on, Miller," Ringo replied. "You've had enough."
"Drop the bottle or I'll drop you."
The young Ranger kept his grip on the bottle. Miller pulled with all his strength and jerked Ringo onto the table. The kid held on, but didn't fight back. The other Rangers surged out of their chairs and reached for one or the other.
"Let him go, Miller!" Stew grabbed Ringo's waist.
Miller shouted incomprehensibly as the growing scuffle drew the attention of surrounding drinkers. Fitz grabbed Miller's wrist while Chennault tightened a muscular arm around the drunk's throat. Stew pulled Ringo back, with the bottle, splashing whiskey over the two of them. Chennault dragged Miller away from the table and held him fast despite his thrashing.
"Calm down!" Chennault growled at him. "Stop struggling or you're going to get hurt!"
Stew said, "Easy, Chennault. Just back off him."
The ex-Marine hesitated. And when she did unhook her arm from Miller's neck, he immediately spun and took a wild swing at her. She stepped back easily and avoided the air blow. Red-faced Miller staggered around and faced against Fitz who stood unmoving. Then he turned angrily on Stew and Ringo across the table.
Ringo said, "What are you so pissed off about, Miller?"
"It's not me. You guys can't stand that I'm my own man and you're just a bunch of puppets."
Chennault actually laughed and sat back at the table. "Go sleep it off."
Miller jabbed his finger at her. "I don't have to do what you say! Things are gonna change around here!"
Stew said, "You should get some shut eye."
"Hey, that's the first decision you made in the
last three months," Miller snarled. "Poor Stew, Dallas is back. But now so is Ross." The drunken Ranger leaned forward on the table. "But maybe things'll work out for you after all."
Stew pulled his hat off the back of his chair. "I've got rounds. Miller, please go home."
As the former priest wound his way out of the saloon, Miller snorted with laughter. He looked at the other Rangers with a sodden grin.
Ringo placed the whiskey bottle gently on the table. "Here." The kid grabbed his hat and coat and left.
Miller grabbed up the bottle with a hoot of triumph. He struggled to pull his coat off his chair, but it hung there. He cursed and kicked the chair in frustration. Then he staggered through the crowd and pushed his way outside. Miller paused on the wooden sidewalk and took a deep draught of the whiskey. He wouldn't need his coat to stay warm. He could see Ringo huddled against the cold jogging down the street.
Miller shook his head. They did everything Ross said, but he didn't. The Rangers had to change, just like Lithia said. Ross was a dead end. It took smart guys to know how things would play out on Banshee. Miller felt confident that his cooperation with Hellstromme would put him on easy street in the future. In fact, he'd heard rumors that the Tunnel wasn't really broken; it was just kept tightly controlled by HI. The way he understood it, there were secret shuttles going back and forth to Earth all the time. If he played his cards right, Miller's growing connection to Lithia and Hellstromme would get him on one of those shuttles.
And he'd make sure there was space on the shuttle for any of his pals that wanted to go with him. No matter how they treated him, he'd still stand by them. That's just the kind of guy he was.
Miller took a long drink and toppled off his feet, falling against the wall. Yeah, nobody would ever say Ty Miller didn't stand by his friends.
"For God's sake." The venomous words came from Lithia who stood above him, glaring down with extreme distaste. "Don't you have a job to do?"
Miller smirked up at her. "I did. I gave Ross the bait and he took it."
Lithia replied, "Were you going to inform me?"
"I've been busy, lady. Cut me some slack." He raised the bottle again, but got nothing. He held it upside down and shook it. "Hmm. Empty. How about a drink?"
"After it's done."
Miller looked annoyed. "He's going out tomorrow morning. Oh, and another Ranger will be with him. So tell your robots."
Lithia smiled now. "Don't worry. They'll have enough ammunition for all."
Miller struggled into an upright position. "No. I mean, they don't need to kill the other people . . . person. Just Ross."
The pale woman pulled the collar of her long coat tighter around her throat. The wind swept the hem around her ankles. "I'm afraid there won't be any witnesses left."
Miller blurted, "No. Just Ross. That's what you wanted, right?"
"Keep your voice down, you moron. Any Colonial Ranger we take out now will make it easier for you in the future. Don't get scruples now."
Miller struggled to make her understand through the liquor haze. "But you said—"
"Listen to me. It's done. There's no going back. You are on my team. So play along and everything will be fine." She pulled her hand out of her pocket and tossed a few HI credits on the ground next to the Ranger. "Here. Buy yourself another bottle." She turned and walked off down the plank sidewalk with steps that echoed through the wind. Her automaton bodyguards slipped into place next to her. Two of them backed away from Miller, with their weapons ready, as if he could be a threat.
Miller just lay on the cold ground and watched them disappear into the dark. Then he gathered up the money.
Ringo trailed after Stew. He wanted to talk. He needed to talk. Stew had seen Dallas the most since her return, except for Ross of course, and Ringo couldn't talk to Ross. Stew seemed to have come to terms with the whole thing and Ringo wanted to know how.
Stew seemed to be deep in thought. Ringo didn't crowd him because he could tell the senior Ranger wasn't heading home. He was walking the streets, head down. Ringo followed quietly, trying to forget the cold wind that Stew didn't seem to feel at all.
Finally, Stew turned onto the street that ran along the churchyard of St. Calixtus. He paused at the iron gates which were still blown off their hinges from Debbi's fight with Coltrane's monster all those months ago. He stepped gracefully past the wrought iron wreckage and entered the churchyard.
Ringo paused at the gate and watched his friend move purposefully to the ruined cathedral. Most of the arches were collapsed and the gothic roof was nearly gone. Stew mounted the portico and entered the great doors. Ringo trotted after him.
The young man stepped quietly to the door, stepping lightly to prevent his boots from echoing off the tannis. He felt embarrassed about following Stew now, but he had to continue. He went inside and squeezed between the fallen stones. As he moved along what had been the main aisle, he heard a sound. Ringo froze.
Through the wreckage, he saw Stew. The man had found a small circle of floor amidst the detritus and knelt on both knees. His hands were clasped in front of him and his head was bowed. His light voice echoed sweetly through the tannis as he prayed.
Ringo watched. He forgot sometimes that Stew was a man of myriad pasts. Ringo had never learned to pray, but the sound of Stew relaxed him. His search for his own answers had been fruitless. Stew's way was as good as any other. Ringo sat on a chunk of stone and allowed himself to be lulled into a state of inner peace. The first he'd had in many months.
Chapter 11
Ross peered through the windshield of the Prowler. He couldn't see the terrain in front of him. The vehicle shuddered under the impact of the thunderous winds that kicked up waves of sand. The Prowler rose on one corner and slammed down. Ross cursed and ground the vehicle over the rock outcropping he'd run into. Dust filled the cabin, blown in through the cracks and seams of the rattling ATV. Debbi coughed and studied a map.
"We're on course, right?" Ross asked as he struggled with the wheel.
Debbi flipped the map around. "Sure."
"You don't sound sure. Didn't you get some sort of sixth sense about direction along with everything else?"
"No."
Ross rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Of course not. That would be useful. But you sure can tell where tannis came from."
"Just drive."
"So how're you feeling?" Ross asked for the hundredth time since the trip began. "You okay?"
"I'm fine for heaven's sake," Debbi reiterated. "Doc Dazy said so." She caught Ross looking at her again. He had spent a lot of time looking at her during the four hours they'd been on the road. He sometimes had an expression of confusion, other times a sense of deep relief, and sometimes something else she couldn't identify. "Eyes on the road. You want to drive over a cliff?"
Ross turned grudgingly back to the windshield. "You're navigating. I assume you'll keep us from driving over a cliff."
Debbi grunted noncommittally as she flipped the map over again and ran her finger along the terrain marks that were out of date as of the Worldstorm. She stared out the window, but saw no landmarks in the swirling sandstorm. She sighed and sat back. "Do you think the others will accept me? They seem freaked out."
"They'll get over it." Ross replied simply.
Debbi said, "Well, I'm glad you think so. Ringo looks like he's stuck in an exam he never studied for."
"Kid's had a tough go recently, but he's getting better every day. Hold on." Ross wrestled with the Prowler as it slid down a low rise. He cursed again under his breath, gained control of the big ATV, checked a few dials, then asked, "So, you remember anything about being dead?"
Debbi was amazed at Ross's offhanded approach. Nothing seemed to affect him the way it did others. Apparently he had already come to terms with the practical fact of her death and resurrection. It was typical of him; he may not understand what happened, but he knew he had to just accept it and move on with it. What he clearly had not come to terms with was
Debbi's place in his life, but that was a more complicated issue for him.
She replied, "No, not really. I remember us riding outside Castle Rock. The next thing I know I was in your room."
"Did it hurt?"
"Dying?" The tone of his question made Debbi look at Ross. He was no longer so casual. He stared ahead intensely, shoulders hunched, pretending to make conversation while driving. But he was hanging on her response. She knew he was thinking about his wife's death. "Nah. There was no pain to it."
Ross nodded to himself. "Good." He adjusted a few controls, and then asked, "So did you see heaven or anything?"
"No." Debbi replied flatly, then asked with surprise, "You believe in heaven?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me." Ross sat forward in his seat. "What's that?"
A cluster of three small cabins became visible through the sandstorm. There were no signs of habitation. No vehicles. No lights.
Ross drew the Prowler to a halt. He purposefully pulled his com microphone closer to his mouth. "There're the prospectors' huts Miller talked about. I had my doubts about his story, but there they are by God. I guess we'll find the black guns here too. Nice navigating, Dallas."
"Nothing to it." Debbi tossed the map behind her with a silent prayer of gratitude.
The two Rangers swung out of their seats and slipped into thermal vests, flak jackets, and their normal overcoats. They strapped their gun belts over their coats. Then they slipped goggles over their eyes and wrapped scarves around their noses and mouths. Debbi checked her Dragoon and carried it in her hand. Ross slid his six-shooter into his holster and pulled a Hellrazor from the wall clamp. He checked the loads.
"Ready?" Ross asked with a muffled voice.
Debbi gave him a thumbs up and the veteran Ranger flipped the switch and the Prowler's side door slid open. The wind blasted in and drenched them in a wall of sand. As Debbi watched Ross hop out of the vehicle, a feeling of exciting yet melancholy familiarity suddenly overwhelmed her. She was heading off on a mission with Ross. Something she always took for granted, but she realized with heart-sickening clarity that she might never have experienced this again. Yet here she was. Debbi didn't realize she'd reacted until Ross's sand covered face appeared in the hatchway. The concern in his eyes was visible even through the tinted goggles.
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