A Hero's Bargain

by Forrest, Rayne

  Not until they pry it from my dead fingers.

  He rolled through the door as weapons fire zinged past him, head level, and close enough to turn his bowels a little rebellious. He scrabbled on hands and knees into the darkest shadows, then he lurched to his feet and ran full bore toward the crafter bays.

  He’d seen a Galaxy Runner docked when he’d landed yesterday. His own little Star Springer was in the tender loving care of the maintenance bots, its situation grim for any sort of lasting repair. Faithe was just too old and tired to come back this time and he knew it.

  It was a shame because Ryder loved that little ship. She’d been a trusted servant for a decade. Orange slime hit the building in front of him. He darted to the left, between two residential complexes.

  Those motherfuckers were shooting pepper gel at him! If it hit him, it would burn scar him for the rest of his life.

  If he didn’t pay attention, that would be the rest of his short life.

  Ryder pulled off his jacket and slipped out of his vest, tossing it up onto a second floor balcony. It fell back at his feet. He threw it again. This time it caught and hung there. Hopefully, Ugly and his three henchmen would think he’d climbed up the escape ladder, hopped onto the balcony, and gotten inside the building, but he couldn’t wait to find out if that ploy would work.

  He sprinted through the shadows, down a set of steps and around the corner into the crafter bay. Damn, damn, damn! The Galaxy Runner was gone. He really wasn’t into stealing, but he was into living, and a ship that fast would have helped him live longer.

  Faithe sat in her bay. There were no bots working on her. The maintenance tag flashed a green light. The question was then, was she fixed or was she just as fixed as they could get her, considering her age and condition? He didn’t have time to ponder on it for long because he had to steal his own ship and get the fuck out of here before he lost his rapidly vanishing head start.

  Ugly probably had the local constables in his pocket. That gold coin spoke volumes and none of it was reassuring. He punched in the override code on Faithe’s security lock and slipped through the barely opened hatch, rapidly securing it behind himself.

  There was no time to run the proper safety checks. Ryder threw himself into the comfortably worn pilot’s seat and started pushing console buttons. The ship responded, board after board lighting to life. The com beacon started flashing. The crafter bay security squad had noticed. He had to lift off now, before they could throw grappling lines over him. He took a deep breath and eased the throttle open. Faithe groaned and lifted. He stomped on the foot controls and she shot forward, clearing the bays.

  Sound echoed around him. Now the bastards were shooting old-fashioned metal pellets at him. Not good. So not good.

  Those metal pellets might not penetrate the hull, by they could weaken it enough for a breach when he passed through the edge of the atmosphere. He had to risk activating the shields. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be.

  Ryder paused, mesmerized by the sight of his own shaking hands. Oh yeah, right. He was almost away with his life and now, now his nerves were going to remind him to be afraid.

  He’d remember to be afraid after he was clear, after Faithe held together long enough to get into space and hit a fast cruising speed. He’d take time to be afraid after he knew he was going to live more than a few more seconds.

  It was an effort but he forced his shaking hands to program the autopilot. The bridge glowed yellow, then orange, then blue as the ship cleared the atmosphere. He set the navigation console and pushed the auto control. The lights dimmed down, conserving fuel and batteries.

  Ryder laid his palm over an apparently blank panel in the console. It blinked in a series of blue lights as a module rose out of the console. He flipped the switch and willingly committed an act of treason as Faithe disappeared off every type of radar and tracking device known. A wave of dizziness swept over him.

  He didn’t care. It was okay now. He was alive.

  Sort of.

  Thirty minutes later he’d literally puked his guts out and he wasn’t sure if being alive was all it was cracked up to be.

  His legs too shaky and weak to hold him, Ryder made it to his small infirmary by alternately staggering and crawling. Opening the diagnostic lab was an exercise of will, one he failed, as his knees buckled and sent him to the deck. He didn’t need the lab results to know—Ugly had managed to slip something into his drink and poison him. Now he needed to figure out what family of poison was in his system to take the right antidote. Ryder hauled himself back up onto a chair.

  Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he opened the test kit. Jabbing his left index finger, he obtained enough of a blood sample to coat a test strip. It turned purple. Snake venom. They’d slipped him snake venom?

  No fucking way.

  He slithered to the floor, lying there, resting, and just remembering to breathe. Something was definitely in his system. He lifted his hands, turning and examining them. Shite. There was a small nick on the outside of his right palm. Anything could have gotten in through that cut. Maybe Ugly and his cronies were too stupid for poison, after all.

  He’d been crawling along on the ground. Maybe some reptile had nicked him. Maybe it was some bacterium that just mimicked snake venom and he was about to go down for the last time.

  Think, think. He had to think and it was just simply beyond him. He was sinking fast. His fingers fumbled the med kit. How much antidote? No way to know and no time. He couldn’t seem to suck any air into his lungs. Paralysis?

  He filled the cylinder half full and jabbed the needle into his thigh and pressed the plunger. Blessed blackness wrapped her arms around him, cradling him on the cold deck.

  * * * *

  Cold. He was so cold his bones ached. The deck was wet beneath his cheek. A spasm seized him, drawing his fingers into claws of agony. His muscles contracted and pulled tight, eaten by piercing fire. His heart fluttered in his chest, then pounded, each beat more painful than the last. His stomach cramped. Wet heat flooded his crotch, only to turn miserably cold on his balls.

  Yep. He was dead.

  He hoped.

  * * * *

  Collision alarms were going off. His first thought was that Ugly had caught up to him to finish the job. The ship bucked wildly. His legs wouldn’t move. Hell, he couldn’t even feel them. With agonizing slowness, he crawled to the bridge, dragging his unfeeling limbs. Darkness rolled over him again. He fought it back. He was alive.

  A strange red-violet glow infused the corridor. The temperature rose sharply. Shite. He was entering atmosphere. What atmosphere? Where the hell could he be?

  Ryder pulled himself up into a sitting position. His stomach heaved dryly. Thank all the gods there was nothing left in there to come up. His throat was raw with acid burn. He couldn’t reach the console to silence the alarms, nor could he see out the view port.

  The red-violet glow abruptly changed as Faithe flew into a twilight sky. Stars shone on a darkening canopy. It was an impending collision all right. With the ground. Maybe, just maybe the apparent shallow trajectory would save him.

  Save him from what? He couldn’t feel his legs. He’d lie on the ground on this unknown, probably hostile planet, and just die.

  He really hated the idea of death and it was way too close for comfort. He must have really pissed off some god. Well, he wasn’t ready to admit to defeat quite yet.

  Besides, there was no way he was going to die without having a bath first. He was a stinking mess. No man should die in such a state unless he’d been stupid enough to drink himself to it, which he most certainly had not.

  Precious seconds were ticking by, but clarity was rapidly returning. He remembered it all now. Some sort of substance had found its way into his bloodstream. Maybe, just maybe the feeling and mobility would return to his legs. First he had to get into a life pod.

  The proximity alarm sounded. He crawled back across the deck, still dragging his legs. He
couldn’t reach the release on the life pod. Screaming in frustration, Ryder took a deep breath, reached down inside himself for every ounce of strength he could muster, and lunged for the release. The door opened and he crawled inside as Faithe hit the ground.

  She bounced, lifted and skidded along the surface. Smoke filled the bridge. Ryder tried to pull his legs inside the pod. It was vital he get the bloody door closed. It was the only protection he’d have if the ship exploded.

  Faithe landed hard, throwing Ryder against the far wall. The impact slammed the door of the life pod closed. A roar filled his ears. The life pod had ejected. He was tumbling, over and over. His stomach rebelled again. Then he landed—hard. His head hit the deck with a sickening thud. Blood filled his mouth.

  Fucking hell. He’d bitten all the way through his tongue. It would be sore for days if he lived that long.

  Very slowly he realized the pod had come to a stop. He felt around in the dark for the door release. His right foot tingled, sending a shower of red-hot pinpricks up his leg. Gods, this was worse than the numbness.

  Sorry, god, whoever you are. Don’t mean to sound ungrateful.

  The door opened and he pulled himself out into the night. Flames lit the night sky. Faithe was burning. He watched the flames, sighing sorrowfully.

  “Sorry, old girl. You deserved better.” Ryder hazed out on a wave of pain as the muscles in his back spasmed painfully. The cramping finally passed and he forced himself to open his eyes and take stock of his location. It could be worse.

  The life pod rested against a large outcropping of rock. The night sky was clear, and he should be sheltered enough for the night. A campfire would be nice, but he didn’t want to risk drawing undue attention to his location. Not yet.

  If there were sentient life on this planet, they’d be drawn to the wreckage of his ship tonight, and might not look for survivors until daybreak. Maybe by then he’d be able to walk. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The sound of trickling water drifted to him.

  Water. Gods, he was thirsty, but common sense won out. He couldn’t go crawling about in the dark. A few more hours and, if his legs were better, he’d risk trying to find the stream.

  What a fine mess he was in now. No ship. No idea where he was. No food. No legs.

  No soap.

  He fell over and curled into a ball as best he could.

  This had certainly not been one of his better days.

  Chapter 3

  Saba quickly gathered her wits. Tyree was right—and they needed to act fast. The fire could spread rapidly destroying the woods, what meager crops they’d managed to plant, and if unchecked, it could even make its way to the village. The tiny streams that crisscrossed their way through the woods would not stop a large, spreading fire.

  Jennica was running toward her. “Delnor will sit with Hallaf. I will go with you.”

  Saba nodded. They would need every able-bodied person to contain the fire. Delnor was too old and infirm to be of much use in the woods. She handed Jennica a bucket.

  “Hurry. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I can.”

  Saba ran behind her hut and grabbed her rake although she feared it would do little good. The men were ahead of her with shovels and they would bear the brunt of the work and the danger. They would be the ones getting as close to the fire as possible. Those women able to help would simply be throwing water on the flames, water that would evaporate all too quickly.

  And if the errol came, drawn by the activity, they would all be in equal peril.

  She sprinted to catch up with Jennica, her heart crying out in denial of what was happening. They had struggled to survive for so long against the rampages of the errol. Now to think there could be two of the creatures turned her blood to ice in her veins.

  She knew there was always the possibility the fireball was one of the strange space rocks that sometimes fell from the sky. They were rare, but when they did fall, they caused considerable damage.

  There were plenty of stories from the days of old about the space rocks. There was only one story that told about an errol and it was not the same as the creature they dealt with. The errol in the tales of old was a being like them, a man who came from a world far away and traveled among the stars. Her own mother’s mother had claimed to descend from that man.

  Saba pushed speculation about her grandmother’s wild ramblings away. She needed to concentrate on the here and now. The heat of the flames warmed her face as Tyree’s voice drifted on the wind, shouting orders. The men spread out and began to dig a trench, throwing shovelfuls of dirt at the leading edge of the fire. The women passed buckets as rapidly as possible.

  She jumped into the little creek and formed a small dam with rocks from the streambed. It wasn’t much, but it would make scooping out each bucket of water faster and easier. She quickly completed one, then moved upstream about twenty feet and formed another. It only took a moment for the water to spill over the top and continue its journey to the sea.

  She’d heard of the sea. She’d heard of many things. Tyree had journeyed far and had always returned full of stories. Sitting by her fire and telling her tales was part of his wooing of her. While she enjoyed listening to his stories, she did not enjoy the wooing part. Wooing was no longer part of her life, or anything she had time for. Her people’s survival came first.

  Saba picked up her rake and went to see whose task she could make easier.

  * * * *

  “We were lucky, Saba.” Tyree accepted the cup of water she handed him, drinking it down in great gulps. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve then used the damp cloth to wipe his forehead. “The ground here is rocky, the grass and leaves sparse. The fire didn’t have sufficient fuel to gather strength.”

  “The gods do look out for us, Tyree.”

  He made a rude sound. “That is why we are forced to cower in huts behind a strong wall. The gods looking out for us.”

  Saba couldn’t even flinch at his sarcasm. Her private speculation on the purposes of the gods kept her awake through many a long and lonely night.

  “You’re tired. We are all tired. Tomorrow we’ll have to deal with the fears of the people. We’ll have to see if there is a body in the strange craft.”

  “The men will do that, Saba. You do not have to be part of it. No one could have survived such a fall, nor the fire. We’ll see if there is a body left and we’ll bury it. You have enough to do.”

  That was true. The firefighters had sustained an assortment of minor burns, blisters, cuts and bruises, none serious. She had instructed the injured to go home, wash the injuries, dress them with ointment, and come see her in the morning if they needed to. They were very fortunate.

  “Go back to the village, Saba. I’ll stay here with a few men in case the fire rekindles.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry you missed your bath.”

  “I will find time tomorrow.” She accepted the cup as he handed it back to her, dipping it into her bucket and then drinking herself. Her mouth tasted of smoke. She stank, too, smelling of smoke and sweat and charred earth. To be clean would be heavenly.

  “There’s Jennica.” She pointed to a group of departing women. “I’ll walk back with them.”

  Tyree nodded and let her go without saying more, a good indication of just how fatigued he was. She joined the women, walking in silence. No one seemed up to the usual chatter as they walked through the gate into the village, and each woman headed for her own hut. There were a few gentle touches and soft murmurs of parting, but Saba noticed how subdued everyone was. She took Jennica’s hand and pulled her to her hut.

  “Stay with me tonight. One of us will surely wake if Hallaf needs us.”

  “You would send Delnor home alone when there could be another errol?”

  “If there is another, do you think it could have survived that landing?”

  “The first one did.”

  Saba had no reply for that. She was, however, putting her foot down about one thing. She was too tired to to
lerate any argument about it, too.

  “All right. Delnor may stay. She can sleep on the floor so you can have the extra pallet. I intend to sleep in my own bed. Alone.” To her surprise, Jennica didn’t argue.

  It was a moot point anyway. Delnor was already asleep in her bed.

  Saba checked on Hallaf. He was still warm to the touch, but not enough to raise her concern. She rekindled the fire while Jennica fixed them a cold meat and bread platter to share. Then she told Jennica to lift the floorboard and get one precious bottle of wine. They’d earned it.

  Jennica poured one large mug of the fragrant, rosy liquid for them to share, then carefully replaced the bottle in its concealed crate. The wine had been made several years earlier, before the appearance of the errol. They could no longer travel to the hillside where the fruit for the wine grew in abundance.

  Saba suffered a few pangs of remorse over hoarding the few precious bottles left, but she justified her actions by telling herself that she asked for little and gave much. It was only a small indulgence and it harmed no one. She was generous with her doses of wine when people came to her complaining of digestive ailments to prevent too many complaints.

  She accepted the mug, inhaling the rich bouquet before taking the first sip. It filled her senses with memories of warm, sunny, carefree days in happier times. The vision of her mother smiling at her rose before her making her eyes flood with tears. Jennica’s voice reached her from some place far away from her memories.

  “What will we do, Saba? How can we stay here if another has come?”

  Saba stared through the prisms of her tears at the dying embers of the fire. Jennica merely voiced the fear of the village. She could put those fears to rest, at least for one night, even if she didn’t truly believe. She wiped her eyes and straightened her back.

  “Tyree is correct. No one, nothing, could have survived that crash. Now make us up a pallet so we can sleep.”

  Jennica patted her shoulder and rose to gather the blankets.