Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall

by Charles Ingrid

Thomas dodged the kick, swung around, and met the blow. Their wrists jarred as they met. He leapt back and kicked as well, low this time, going for the dean's kneecap or thigh. He connected. The older man reacted with a grunt and a half-hobble out of the way.

  They mixed punches again. Thomas took one in the gut that reminded him that breathing couldn't be taken for granted. As his stomach clenched and ears rang, he dodged out of the way of the next blow. His fist found the lower back kidney.

  The dean went to one knee in pain. Thomas kicked out, lashing an uppercut. The dean fell back and lay panting. He wasn't getting up easily.

  "Thomas!" It was Dusty's voice. He looked out, saw the woman kneeling in the dirt, her commander protecting her. She had a look on her face that reminded him of Lady.

  He looked back to the dean. The man lay prone, heaving for breath. Thomas spat to the side of him. "I'm taking you back," he said. "To the Seven Counties. Undoubtedly it'll be my pleasure to execute you." He looked up, meeting Drakkar's eyes.

  Thomas turned his back on the dean and went to retrieve his knife from the shuttle.

  Dusty screamed. He turned to see Marshall, the black man who reminded him of Gray Walton, taking the knife throw meant for him. It went through his throat.

  Drakkar moved. He caught the dean and brought him to his knees. He raked his spur across the man's throat in a blur. "This is for the boys and Alma," he said harshly.

  The dean began to choke on the bitter poison. Drakkar dropped him into the dust.

  Thomas went to Dusty and the dying commander. Dusty's hands were soaked with his blood as she tried to stop the severed arteries and windpipe.

  "Help me!" she begged. "You told me you have powers. In the name of God, help me!"

  Thomas looked down. Lady had those powers, not he. He was battered and nearly broken. "I can't—"

  Marshall raised a hand to his wrist and squeezed it with rapidly fading strength. His attempts to breathe gurgled wetly.

  "Ah, hell," Thomas said. He laid his hands over Dusty's, closed his eyes, and tried to use his Intuition. Death is the other side of life, as disappointment is the other side of hope. He carried both those sides inside of him. Gillander had always told him that. He was not a half-man, a shadow man, walking the earth.

  Prove it.

  Was it easier to reach for death than life? He'd always said that dying was easy. It was living that was difficult.

  It was knitting torn arteries. Darning slashed windpipes. Imagining the gush of spilling blood to slow, to clot. Skin to close. Life to get busy defeating death.

  "My God," Dusty said. "Look what you've done."

  He opened his eyes and lifted his hands. The dark man lay alive before him, a ghastly pink scar across his throat.

  "Sloppy work," Thomas said. "Lady'll be upset with me." He wiped the blood on his jeans. He looked up. Drakkar had the nesters pulled back, a contingent of his father's men at his side.

  "Let them go," he said.

  Drakkar cocked his head.

  Wearily, Thomas got to his feet. He felt drained of power. His body ached all over and his left sleeve was sodden with blood. His, this time. "Go back to your camps," he shouted. "The Marked Man sends you home! With water rights!" He moved aside so that the long-shippers could get to their commander and lift him on a stretcher.

  Marshall whispered hoarsely, "Not enough fuel, Dusty."

  She mopped his forehead. "Don't talk."

  "I have to!" The commander pushed her hand away. "We can't go back now . . . and we can't help the Challenger."

  Thomas sat mutely, biting his lip against the pain of having his arm bandaged by the soft-spoken woman he'd met in the corridor. She'd recovered enough of her composure to stitch him up with a needle that stung like fire and was now wrapping him tight enough to cut off circulation. He listened to the redhead talk with her commander. He still liked the sound of her voice.

  "Help her? What's wrong?"

  "She's breaking up. Just like the Gorby. And the Maggie■ "

  The man called Dubois wore a rakish white turban of bandage. He looked up. "When did you find this out?"

  "Early this morning. I couldn't . . . tell you. Sun said for us to find some place for the Challenger to put down. He said . . . they couldn't wait much longer."

  Thomas spoke. "You've had a rough welcome here, but we want you."

  Dusty looked at him in surprise, then smiled. "Enough to fight over us."

  He shrugged. "We're only human."

  She punched Dubois lightly in the shoulder. "Get Sun onscreen."

  "Will do."

  Thomas watched in curiosity as a panel on the cabin wall warmed to a glow and then began to reflect an image. He saw a much larger cabin, apparently empty. Then a man moved painfully into the frame. He blinked. The man was an older image of Jeong, down to his slender, quick fingers.

  "Dusty. I was told you'd been lost."

  "I had a long swim." There was a crackling sound. The image wavered and then strengthened. "Dakin?" she asked, clearly shaken.

  "Tell Marshall, it's too late. We jettisoned Noah's Ark about ten minutes ago. It's in a disintegrating orbit. It should splash down off the Pacific Coast, just south of Point Conception. We thought that appropriate. Heredia will take on a lifeboat or two. The rest of us . . . are going down with the ship."

  Marshall gasped out feebly, "I'm sorry, Commander."

  Dakin's focus changed. He could apparently see the other. "And I, too. Will you be all right?"

  Marshall managed a nod. "I wanted to bring the shuttle back up . . . but we've had an accident here. Most of the fuel was spent."

  The onscreen image wavered again. It went dark and came back very feebly. "Too late anyway." Dakin leaned close. "It was a marvelous experiment while it lasted." The screen went dark.

  Dusty made a funny noise in her throat. Then got out, "Two hundred and fifty years."

  Finger bones rattled in Thomas's inner pockets. He felt them tremble against his chest. "What do you have to do?"

  "Do? We have to launch this shuttle, gain an orbit equivalent to that of the Challenger, dock, and pull our people off. If we had enough fuel to make escape velocity, which we don't, and if we could match the Challenger's orbit, which we can't, and if we could take on enough people to be worth a tinker's dam, which we can't." The sardonic man in the turban punched the dead screen in front of him.

  Thomas turned to Dusty. "How many people?"

  "Twelve hundred, give or take a few." Dubois tried to bring the communications panel to life again and failed.

  Intuition prickled in Thomas' skin. He could feel his power rising in him, like a storm about to sweep the sky.

  There was nothing he couldn't do.

  He grabbed up Dusty's hand. "Can you show me the way?"

  She stared at him as though he'd gone mad. "What are you talking about?"

  "I've got a way to travel, but I've got to know the way." He slipped his other hand inside his jacket pocket and took out the bones. "Trust me."

  The ghost road had always been cold, but the chill as he stepped onto it with Dusty clinging to his hand took him by surprise. She began to shake in earnest.

  "Stay with me," he said. His voice sounded flat and colorless. "I can't travel this road unless I know where it's going. Talk to me. Tell me about your ship." As he moved, he could feel his power shifting. His Earth fell behind him.

  Her jaw chattered. "What if. . . what if we get lost?"

  "Then we'd die. Would that be so bad," he said mildly. "Scattered like stardust across the sky?"

  "Not if I got warm." She started to move.

  "Don't let go of me!"

  She clung to him. "God. I'm not cut out for this. What are you doing?"

  "I'm not sure. A very wise man once told me that I had better learn, though. I should have listened to him." Thomas picked his way across the span carefully. It looked vaguely familiar. The ghost road was full of resonances. He remembered going after Lady and Alma, and the spe
cter which had passed him by. He gave a sudden laugh. That dark and feral figure had been himself . . . perhaps on this very road.

  Dusty squeezed his hand. "You can laugh?"

  "And so can you. But now ..." The void beneath his feet was tenuous. "Open your mind to me, Dusty. Pretend we're lovers. Let me see all the things you want me to see, and the ones you don't. Show me the way back to your life."

  She came into the grasp of his arms then. The road felt stronger. He looked into her face. She gave a quavery laugh. "I'm probably your great-great-grandmother," she said.

  "No," he answered. "There're no redheads in my family."

  Her lips trembled. He knew she wanted to be kissed, so he did.

  Their lips met with a mild shock. He felt it more than she, but she leaned back in his arms afterward, her gray eyes wide.

  Before she could say anything, he put a finger across her lips. She was fire, and he knew where to find her again.

  Dusty hurried after him, her shoes making no sound on the ghost road.

  Sun sat on the observation deck. His cat stretched across his knees, purring, unaware of the disasters tearing the Challenger apart. Suddenly the animal got to his paws and spit, hissing at a panel in the room which appeared to be coalescing into. . . .

  He sprang to his feet. "My God. Dusty!"

  She stood with a man, a man in worn and bloodied

  clothing, his jacket sleeve gashed open, a man with gills flaring at his neckline. The commander brushed a hand over his face. "Dusty, you're dead."

  "Not yet I'm not." She looked to the man. "He knows I'm alive."

  "Maybe not now he doesn't."

  Dakin stood. His knees felt like water.

  "Have you jettisoned Noah's Ark yet?"

  "No, not yet—we're locking it down now—how did you know—"

  "We're early! Sun, get everybody together. You haven't heard from me yet, but the shuttle can't help you. We had a fuel burn. . . listen to me. I know the Challenger is breaking up."

  "How did you get in here?" Sun said shakily. He brushed his thin hair from his forehead and reached down to regather the cat in his arms.

  "What the hell is that?" her companion asked.

  "It's a cat."

  "A what?"

  Dusty slapped her hands together impatiently. "Haven't you ever seen a cat before?"

  "Frankly, no. Tell him what's happening and get everybody together before I lose the road."

  The commander held his cat tightly. "Dusty, what the hell is going on?"

  "It's metaphysics, sir, near as I can tell. It's the only way to get you off-loaded and down to Earth."

  "We're not breaking up yet."

  The man swung about and looked at him. If Dakin thought he was seeing a ghost, he did not think so now. The man radiated blood, sweat and impatience. "Commander," he said, "I'm offering you a way out. It's unorthodox, but it's all we have."

  "What do you intend to do?"

  The man fingered the edge of his mustache. His next words were interrupted by a mechanical voice.

  Dakin answered. "What is it?"

  "Noah's Ark is ready to go, sir."

  "All right. Launch when ready."

  The voice hesitated. "Sir. ..." "What is it?"

  "We've discovered some severe metal fatigue. The Ark is all that's holding the mid-section together.''

  Dakin paused. He looked to Dusty. She shrugged. He said to the unseen voice, "What if we don't launch?"

  Another pause. Then, "We're going to lose her anyway. Sir, this is what must have happened to the Maggie."

  "I understand. Prepare evacuation first, then launch on my command." He looked to Blade. "Who the hell are you?"

  "I'm from the Seven Counties. I'm a Protector. I have certain abilities that you may or may not accept . . . but I think I can get you out of here."

  "How?"

  "By linking hands and walking you out."

  Dakin's knees gave way. The observation couch caught him at the back of them and he sat down on it. His head began to shake. After long moments, the intercom came on again. "Sir, we're standing in the corridors. But where are we going to go? The Mayflower can't take us on."

  The commander looked up, defeated. "Where are we going to go, Dusty?"

  "Home, I think. Just take my hand."

  "No. I've come a long way, but I can't accept what you're talking to me about."

  Dusty knelt by him. "Would I lie to you?"

  He put his hand on her red hair. "You'd stand on your head if you thought you could put one over on me."

  "In a few minutes, after the Ark goes, you're going to get a call from Dubois. You'll see me. You'll see Marshall, who's been injured, and you'll know that the shuttle can't help you. If all that happens, will you believe he can guide us through—forget how he does it, logic won't help you there—will you come with us?"

  Dakin's tired eyes sought Blade's face. "Will it work?"

  "I don't know. I've never tried this before."

  The commander looked down wearily. He pressed the intercom. "Launch the Ark at will."

  "Yes, sir."

  The ship rocked slightly. And then came a long groan. Metal cried and whined. Dakin looked up.

  Moments later the communications panel lit up. Dusty moved out of sight. "It's all yours," she said.

  As if in great pain, he moved to the focus of the panel.

  They linked hands. Like a great chain of life snaking through the Challenger, they caught up backpacks and pets and loved ones and wove themselves together. Dusty and Thomas moved swiftly down the corridors. A few of them refused to go. He said nothing to convince them. There was no time. Dusty took up the last position. She held her hand out to him.

  He took it and stepped onto the road.

  Immediately, he knew he was in trouble. He was being unspun, torn, unraveled from a firmament too frail to take the road. The drag of a thousand lives or more clutching on to him spooled him out.

  And he was lost. The pathways strung out before him, a webwork he'd never seen before. They were infinite. Earth, air, fire, and water—all the elements of the road— and he had lost his way.

  He had one anchor to reach for and that was Lady.

  He opened his mind and called for her.

  A dolphin goddess danced sparkling waters through his memory. Her wise dark eye was Lady's.

  A furred beast rose from the broken ruins, slashing across his thoughts. His dark eye was Lady's.

  A lover entwined her legs with his on a bed, stroking the sheets aside. Her light eye was Lady's.

  A child he had never seen reached for him. Her light eye was Lady's.

  He touched her then. Grounded himself in her presence. She looked up from some needlework. "Thomas?" she asked gently.

  Here.

  Her gaze a reflection of earth and water. An echo of himself and herself. Her mismatched eyes beacons to his lost and errant ways.

  Home.

  "Thomas," she said again. She sat in a rocking chair

  and she gently cupped her barely swollen stomach. He thought of the child reaching for him. She'd never told him. She would not hold him that way.

  He'd been lost and now he was found again. Anchored by her presence, he found the ghost road back. As he stepped forward without hesitation, the ship about them began to crumple, dissipating like vapor, burning like a comet through the skies.

  "Never let go," he said and brought his burden along the road.

  A panicked cry sounded.

  Dusty said, "They'll never make it." She dropped hands with him, but never let go. Instead, she climbed back along a human ladder, hand to arm to hand to arm, touching, grasping all her people. She worked her way back until she found the woman, crying in desperation, and quieted her.

  The ghost road arced about them. They were so many, they were like a ripple in the very fabric of time.

  Thomas passed himself and knew who he was. More importantly, he knew where he was going.

  He neve
r let go.

  "As soon as we recover Noah's Ark, we'll have our work cut out for us."

  Thomas lay back on the lawn below the Warden compound. His head throbbed from a night of celebration and the sun felt a little too bright. Lady had made an honest man out of him. "Do you think," he said to the ex-commander of the Challenger, "you could manage aspirin?"

  Dakin laughed. "I'm sure we can try." He scratched the ears of the lithe orange cat lying in the sun next to him. "Ah," he said. "Ladies approaching."

  Lady looked beautiful. She wore blue and brown, as she always did, and flowers were woven into her light brown hair. With pride he noted the thickening of her waistline. She had her arm linked with Dusty's and had woven flowers into her red hair as well.

  Thomas lifted his head. A prickle of Intuition went down the back of his neck. He groaned. "I would get up, wife, but the world seems kinder down here."

  Lady sat down and took his head in her lap. Her fingers began rubbing his neck and temples gently. "Then I'll come to you," she said.

  Dusty lay down on her stomach, chin in hand.

  "Drakkar is extremely disappointed that he did not have the command of the troops he thought he did.''

  Thomas grunted, then added, "He needs to be taken down a notch or two. The dean inadvertently destroyed most of the Mojavan rebel faction, though. They were just as eager to get control of the shuttle as the nesters were. Denethan always could fall in horseshit and come up smelling like roses."

  "Drakkar's making arrangements to go back. He wants to take Alma with him, but I convinced him to wait a few more months until Denethan solidifies his rule again."

  He asked, "Will she go?"

  He could feel Lady's smile through her hands. "Oh, yes. She'll go."

  The gentle pressure of her fingers on his temples set him drifting in thought. He said suddenly, "Any word on Watty?"

  "Yes. He's doing well. He has something he wants to discuss with you. He says some sort of great beast carried him into Orange County."

  Thomas felt her fingertips detour, trace out the chevron scar on his brow. She murmured softly, "You're not done yet, you know."

  He knew that all too well. He turned his head, saw the commander of the Challenger II watching them. He had a contented look. "When is the Mayflower coming down?"

  The contented look faded. Dakin answered, "They're not sure. They may go back out. Heredia runs a democracy. She told me they're going to take a vote. They're a bigger craft, nearly twenty-five hundred people. They're of a mind to start a colony, as they were intended to do."