The Gallant (Star Legend Book 3)

by J. J. Green

  Temporary measure! It had been a blatant lie. Why pay a qualified engineer for a repair or invest in new machinery when you could pay a kid a pittance?

  Yet, reflecting on the incident as the shuttle flew to the Bres, he understood what had affected him most hadn’t been the bare-faced lying of the manager or her pathetic cost-cutting excuses, or even the danger created by her stupidity and neglect, it had been how the boy reminded him of his own...

  His lips thinned to a line and he looked out the window, not seeing anything of the starscape or the distant corkscrew of the Bres. The old, old wound never seemed to heal, no matter how many years passed or how much he thought or didn’t think about what had happened and the family he’d lost.

  Hale and Camilla were talking, and gradually their conversation infiltrated his thoughts. Camilla was relating a story about a cousin who had become a net celebrity by promoting healing with colored water.

  “He dyes the water different hues depending on the ailment, saying the colors give off vibrations and he has to achieve exactly the right set of vibrations for the treatment to work. The patients are supposed to immerse themselves naked for hours at a time. Of course, if it doesn’t work, it’s because the patient lacks faith in the process and their negative vibrations are affecting it.”

  “Of course,” said Hale. “Do you know how much money he’s making?”

  “No, but it’s a lot.”

  “Looks like we have another Dwyr Orr on our hands.”

  “I certainly hope not.” Camilla turned to Lorcan. “You might receive an application from him any day now. He’s got the creds for a ticket to a new world. I’m sure of it.”

  “He’ll need it to get away from all his disappointed clients,” Hale said, “when they finally come after him.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they won’t,” Camilla replied. “You know what people are like. They’ll just keep sending him money, hoping it’ll work one day. Or they’ll find another quack to follow.”

  “Did you say anything to him?” asked Hale.

  “No. What’s the point? He seems to believe in it himself. Either that, or he’s a good faker.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” said Lorcan. “Let me know his name and I’ll be sure to screen him out. The last thing we’ll need in the colony is a snake oil salesman.”

  “If you think you’ll be able to screen them all out,” Hale said, “you’re going to be disappointed. Believing in nonsense is part of human nature.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he replied.

  She seemed to have softened toward him a little bit since their time at the mine. Maybe she’d come to accept he wasn’t quite the monster she’d thought.

  “I only wish you would agree to come along,” he told her. They’d been through a lot, and some days he couldn’t bear the sight of her, but that hadn’t dulled his perception that she would be a huge asset on a new world. “The offer remains open, you know.”

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “You can’t blame me for trying.” He gave her a half smile.

  “How do you feel about your other scientists, Lorcan?” asked Camilla. “Are we welcome to accompany you on the Project too?”

  Camilla had a cheeky look in her eye. He couldn’t tell if she was joking. After Hale’s blank refusal, it hadn’t occurred to him to propose that Camilla and Anders joined the colony expedition.

  “Naturally,” he replied. “You would be very welcome. Free of charge.”

  “Now there’s an offer I might find hard to refuse!”

  “Landing in five minutes,” said the pilot over the comm.

  A tiny spark of warm hope flared in Lorcan’s heart. Camilla Lebedev aboard the Bres as she set out on her great voyage? It would be a pleasure he hadn’t anticipated. He enjoyed her company immensely. She was extremely intelligent, witty, cultured, and affable. She had none of Hale’s sharp corners, and, like Hale, her input would be invaluable.

  He’d found the visit to the Kamboto mine deeply depressing and unsettling, but things were looking up. The Project was back on track and more poised for success than ever now that top scientists were ironing out some of the wrinkles.

  Lorcan straightened up and fastened his seat belt.

  THE FIRST THING HE saw as he disembarked in the Bres’s bay was Anders, waiting at the entrance. He’d remained behind, continuing to work while the others had their excursion on the surface. Lorcan was mildly alarmed when he saw him.

  Had something gone wrong? Had the man discovered a fatal flaw in the Project?

  But then he noticed that Anders wasn’t looking at him. He was peering at a spot behind him—the shuttle hatch. When Camilla and Hale stepped out, his expression brightened and he began to walk toward them.

  “Good trip?” he asked Lorcan.

  Before he could reply, Anders raised his arms and stepped past him.

  “Darling,” he said. “I missed you.”

  He was embracing Camilla.

  Lorcan felt his mouth drop open.

  Noticing his surprise, Iolani took his arm and led him away. “They’re married,” she said softly. “Didn’t you know?”

  “No.” He had the uncomfortable sensation of something slipping away from him. He frowned. “But they have separate cabins.”

  “Yes, Anders snores like an elephant, and they have completely different working habits. Back on Earth, they lived next door to each other.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry if that was a shock.”

  “No, no,” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “Their private lives are their own business. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all. It doesn’t change anything.”

  “Good. Because I need to talk to you about something else. I could tell the visit to the Kamboto mine disturbed you, and we couldn’t talk on the shuttle with Camilla around...”

  He suppressed a groan. What was Hale going to harp on about now? He’d fixed the problem at the mine. If this was more rubbish about asteroid mining...

  “You really need to help the Britannic Alliance.”

  “What?! Why on Earth, or in space, would I help them?” For most of the duration of the Project, the Alliance had been hampering his efforts. And the one time he’d helped them out of dire situation, he hadn’t received any recompense or gratitude.

  “If you do manage to leave the Solar System in the next few years,” said Hale, “imagine what you’ll be leaving behind. If the EAC get control, it’ll throw the whole place back into the Dark Ages.”

  “One, what makes you so sure the BA needs my help? The latest on the vidnews is they’ve taken back the Caribbean. And, two, why should I care about the state of the world I’m leaving behind? People are free to choose to follow a cult, and they’re free to live with the consequences of their decisions.”

  “Lorcan, you know as well as I do the Alliance is spread too thin. Other powers are either too weak, too mired in petty wars, or too apathetic to mount an adequate defense to the Dwyr if she gets her act together. I admit she does seem distracted lately, but that could change anytime. As to your second point, do you really want to see our home planet reduced to a pre-Enlightenment, anti-intellectual wasteland? And if that doesn’t sway you, think of this: what if the Project fails? What if the ships’ engines don’t work as well as you expect, or humans can’t survive cryosuspension, or you can’t find anywhere suitable for colonization, and you have to come home? With Dwyr Orr running everything, think about what kind of Earth you’ll find on your return.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Taylan only waited a short while for Marc to meet her south of Bryn Celli Ddu. He was grinning as he trotted toward her, his pockets bulging with incendiary devices. She remained conflicted about involving him in her scheme to prevent his brothers from sabotaging the ceremony, but she didn’t feel she had a lot of choice about it.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  “It’s easy to be fast when you know exactly where they are.” He gave her th
e devices he’d collected and she put them in her pack, deactivating each one as she did so.

  “Let’s find the others,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

  The sky had brightened even as she’d waited for him, and the number of early arrivals was increasing. The people running the refreshment and entertainment areas would be among them as they would be setting up for the long day ahead.

  “Meilyr planted one over there,” said Marc. “In the admissions tent.”

  A small booth stood next to a gap in the rope barrier surrounding the ancient mound. It seemed that a select few Crusaders would be allowed inside the mound itself to witness the sun’s beams striking the inner stone. They would probably show something to an attendant in the booth before passing inside. Meilyr’s choice would create a devastating effect if the device went off and would probably kill whoever stood inside the small tent at the time. The incendiaries spat a highly flammable, clinging oil when they were triggered.

  Someone was approaching the tent.

  “You grab it,” said Marc. “I’ll distract them.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous,” Taylan protested.

  But he was already on his way, adopting a trajectory that would cross the Crusader’s path.

  She fast-walked to the small booth, her head down, trying to not look conspicuous. As she reached it, from the corners of her eyes, she saw Marc ‘accidentally’ collide with the man. She slipped in the back.

  Her gaze quickly roved every surface. The place was almost bare. Just a table, a couple of chairs, some open-topped, empty boxes... She scanned the ceiling in case Meilyr had taken a leaf from Medwyn’s book, but the frame was empty.

  From outside came the strains of a conversation.

  Marc, talking to the Crusader!

  Her stomach twisted into knots. He was taking a huge risk. If his fake accent slipped, the man would realize he wasn’t one of them. Marc had always been cocky about his ability to mimic Crusader talk, making fun of them to entertain the Resistance fighters. Too cocky.

  She turned, about to step outside and attract his attention, to extract him from the dangerous conversation, when her boot hit something solid. Beneath one of the chairs was a metal, cylindrical container. Maybe somewhere to put trash. She opened the lid, but it was empty. She lifted it and tipped it upside down. The black incendiary clung to the underside.

  She tore it off, threw down the container, and darted out.

  Marc and the Crusader were still talking.

  Jumping up, she waved her arms. Marc saw her and ended his conversation with a nod and a smile.

  “What on Earth are you doing?” Taylan hissed when he reached her.

  “It’s fine. He didn’t suspect a thing. And if I hadn’t delayed him, he would have discovered you searching the tent for sure. Did you find it?”

  “Yes, I did, but don’t do that again, okay? I might want to prevent the people here from being hurt, but you mean more to me than them. If you find you have to take that level of risk again, I want you to bail. I can look after myself.”

  “Meilyr put another one in that guards’ hut,” he said.

  Gritting her teeth at his failure to acknowledge what she’d said, she replied, “He did? That was some feat.” Guards could be seen moving about inside the little wooden building. “Was it empty at the time?”

  “I’m not sure. He might have hidden it in the grass on the outside.”

  “We’ll leave that one. The guards can look after themselves.” Anyone carrying a weapon was fair game as far as she was concerned.

  “All right. Madog put a couple in that big marquee. The one that looks like it’s set up for shows.”

  She could see the one he meant. An open-fronted structure, it was covered by cloth bearing odd symbols and designs. “Okay, let’s see if we can find them.”

  They did. Madog had hidden the incendiaries in amongst a pile of acting equipment. They were easily visible in the costumes and props, but he must have predicted no one would be using them until later in the day. Certainly, the miscellaneous items would create quite a conflagration.

  The noises of the gathering crowd were growing louder. They hadn’t collected even half the devices yet. They were running out of time.

  “We have to go faster,” said Marc. “It won’t be long before my brothers are here with the remote detonator. They’ve probably already woken up and noticed we’re missing.”

  He was right. The damage to his relationship with his brothers was done by now, and Taylan’s heart ached with regret. The last thing she’d wanted to do was drive a wedge between them.

  “We’ll have to accept we won’t get them all,” she said. “We’ll get as many as we can, then leave before sunup.” That was the moment Meilyr would set off the incendiaries.

  It was a clear morning, and the patch of sky where the sun would rise was glowing faintly golden.

  “Where do we go next?” she asked.

  “Uh...” he peered around the site “yeah, this way.”

  She followed him.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, they gathered another six devices. But the crowd was growing so thick it was becoming a crush and Taylan felt extremely vulnerable. They had attracted some curious glances, and she couldn’t speak with a Crusader accent like Marc could.

  “Okay,” she said, thrusting an incendiary into her pack as they stood at the back of a pavilion, “we’re done. Let’s go.”

  “No, we have time to get a couple more,” said Marc. “It’s at least ten minutes until sunrise.”

  “It’s less than that, and even if we did have ten minutes, it’s still too risky. We need to get out of here before the incendiaries we didn’t get go off. When that happens, the Crusaders will be looking for someone to blame, and we stand out too much.”

  “Just one more, then. I remembered there’s one really close by. It’ll only take—”

  “No!”

  But after a second’s hesitation, he left her, striding away through the crowd.

  “Marc!” she called, then immediately cringed as people looked in her direction.

  “Marc,” she whispered.

  Dammit.

  She took off after him.

  Beyond the edge of the crowd, in the green fields that led to the hedgerows, walked three tall, dark-haired men. They would have been noticeable if anyone had been taking any notice. But the Crusaders were fixated on what was about to happen. Throngs of people were making their way closer to Bryn Celli Ddu, hastening to be near the sacred site as the midsummer sun breasted the horizon.

  Where was Marc?

  She’d taken her eyes off him for a moment and now she couldn’t see him. There were too many people about.

  He was cutting it too fine. Meilyr and the others were on their way. They had to have guessed she and Marc had been removing the incendiaries. Would they try to set them off regardless, knowing the risks?

  Where are you, you stupid kid?

  She rushed forward.

  A woman bumped into her. “Watch out! Be more careful.” The woman pulled her shawl tighter and hurried on her way.

  The murmuring of the crowd was growing louder. Crusaders surged around the mound like waves on a stormy night. All heads faced one direction: east.

  Taylan didn’t hear the incendiaries go off. What she heard first was a scream.

  Then there was a shout, louder than the chattering hum of the masses of people.

  “FIRE!”

  But someone else was screaming, shrieking in agony.

  Taylan flew toward the noise, knocking aside everyone in her way.

  A figure stumbled from a pavilion, engulfed in flames. She threw herself on him, wrapping him in her arms, rolling over and over on the wet grass. But the fire wouldn’t go out. It clung to her, searing her. She smelled her hair burning.

  She was vaguely aware of people surrounding them, gawping in horror, and, farther off, cries of alarm and horror.

  Why didn’t someone do so
mething? Were they just going to let them burn?

  Something heavy landed on her, something wide and soft that covered her and Marc entirely, turning the world dark. Hands pressed down. The blanket was smothering her. She couldn’t breathe. But the flames had been extinguished.

  She was still holding Marc. Squirming in her arms, he moaned in pain.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Hans had been watching the harbor for several days, watching and waiting. Leaving Jamaica had proven harder than he’d thought it would be. Much to his surprise, he’d seen posters bearing his face appear around Kingston, stating that anyone knowing his whereabouts was to report to the country’s interim government, the Resistance leaders.

  Luckily, the only image they had of him was from his days as Head of SIS. His appearance had altered considerably since then.

  What had surprised him was the vindictiveness of Charles, Devon, and the rest of them in seeking him out after he’d disappeared. It was as if they were looking for someone to blame for the state of things. No one was to blame. It was just that circumstances weren’t right for what they wanted to achieve.

  They’d aimed too high, been too unrealistic. They had to walk before they could run, but they wouldn’t have listened if he’d tried to tell them.

  He hugged his cloth bag to his chest as he squatted in the bushes that fringed the quay. He needed to take his next step very carefully. If he got it wrong, he would be given up to the Resistance or his throat would be cut and he would be dumped in the sea. The wealth he was holding was more than the fishermen could expect to earn over several lifetimes. He needed someone willing to take him off the island for a generous fee, but not so corrupt as to kill him for whatever else he might be carrying.

  The harbor side was busy as the ships’ captains and crews arrived and prepared the boats for that night’s fishing. Vessels of all kinds bobbed in the water, from massive, automated, commercial shrimpers to small, independent boats that probably fished whatever they could find in the rapidly depleting seas.

  Of all the people who frequented the place, Hans had focused on an older woman who fished alone. She seemed to mostly catch lobsters and crabs, going out daily to haul the pots and refresh the bait. She was friendly with all the folk she met but she kept to herself. Her age and gender made her less likely to murder him, he hoped, while she looked poor enough to be tempted to help a wanted man for a reward.