“L.T., look at the size of that crater. No one could’ve survived that. They’re dead.”
“And even if they did,” Ensign Hedges said, “they’re buried alive and will freeze solid soon enough. Captain’s ship isn’t going to fly again. Let’s go home before we run out of fuel ourselves.”
“Stay put while we go in,” shouted Troy. “Jess, you’re with me. Overloading your guns will superheat the skin of your Dart. We’ll melt our way in and make sure he’s dead.”
“What? Through snow and ice? Are you nuts, L.T.?”
“Watch your tone, Jessup. Melting through snow and ice is an old trick of Stan’s. We’ll follow him in and make certain he’s dead. Now get those guns hot. The rest of you, refuel at the refinery. If Stan manages the impossible, I want you ready. Kill him and that stinking Trog. Am I understood?”
Troy and his wingman dove into the snow crater.
Nose down in total darkness; Stan’s Dart was stuck solid. He hit the lights and saw that his ship was wedged between the wall it had just burst through and some sort of floor. It’s nose had buried itself two feet into the ice. He only got a glimpse, but he saw that his ship was stuck just inside a huge ice cavern.
Stan opened the canopy just as the lights faded completely.
With his ship’s energy gone, the craft was little more than a shell.
Lilia’s teeth began to chatter. He fumbled in the dark for his Survival Kit, and by feel could tell that Joey had worked on his ship. That mechanic had a penchant for being ill organized and lazy. Joey hadn’t restocked Stan’s Kit leaving it with nothing but the one little chemical torch in the way of tools . . . no food, no water.
“Well,” Stan dusted off his hands. “Looks like it’s time to explore.” By touch alone, he and Lilia climbed out and down to the ground. Aggravated by the lack of preparation, he sighed, raised the lone chemical torch and snapped it. Instantly a brilliant white light blinded him. When his eyes adjusted, he found the huge ice cavern already had an occupant.
Chapter Six
Stan Archer stared in wonder.
“Well, would you look at that? A spaceship? Hidden here? By whom and for how long?”
Among the white-ice stalactites sat a pure black, 180-foot long spacecraft. Despite its color, its luminous skin lit the entire cavern. And as if it had waited to welcome them specifically, the hatch opened, and the ramp lowered.
Hugging herself, teeth chattering, Lilia forced a smile. “My, my, Mr. Archer, it seems there’s a God after all, wouldn’t you say?” Shivering, she took a step toward the mysterious craft “I hope it’s warm in there.”
Suddenly the two pursuing Darts burst through the cavern wall with a crash, and slid to a halt a few yards away, scattering a veritable storm of ice and snow.
Stumbling, Stan scrambled to his feet, gripped Lilia’s hand, and the two of them bolted toward the new spacecraft.
Dazed, the two Dart pilots climbed from their little ships, and came after them.
She and Stan made it into the craft where, tossing his helmet aside, he frantically searched for a button, lever, or control panel; something to close the hatch.
In the warm chamber, Lilia removed her helmet, and reflexively yelled, “Raise the ramp!” and as if in obedience, the ramp rose, emanating a mechanical hum.
But before it could close completely, both Enforcers scrambled aboard.
Stan reached for his sidearm. Strangely, his holster was empty. Now, facing his one-time comrades, he saw enemies.
Determined, they squared their shoulders, and each leisurely drew his gun. Troy faced his Captain with nothing but pity in his eyes.
“My, Swift, looks like you found this Trog a pretty big coffin.” With slow, deliberate actions, and smirking as if killing Lilia was going to be the high point of his day, Troy aimed his gun.
Instinctively, Stan stepped between Troy’s weapon and Lilia once again, but this time he scarcely recognized his best friend.
“Out of the way, Swift.”
“I’ve never known you to go so far for needless slaughter, Troy. Why so determined? How did you become so twisted?”
Troy’s demeanor changed to one of disparagement. “Needless, Swift? Haven’t you learned anything from history? Religion is a cancer that weakens the whole of society. It suffocates an individual’s free pursuit of logic, science, and natural law. I don’t need a religious Trog telling me what to eat, who to see, or how to behave. Banning religion has set us free, Swift. I thought you knew that.”
Behind Stan, Lilia piped up. “I’m a citizen of this so-called Confederation of Planets, and I’m not free.”
Stan glared at Troy. “The people we killed—those on the Princess who weren’t Trogs—were they free? Come on, Lt. Younger. Who are the oppressors here, really?”
“I have my orders, Captain Archer. She’s a threat that needs to be neutralized, plain and simple. I’m not going to argue points and positions that should be obvious to you.”
“Troy, up to this point you and I had always agreed. Like you, I thought followers needed to be snuffed out. But with this last mission, cold hard truth slapped some sense into me. As long as the Confederacy is willing to tear the wheat out to get at the weeds, no one is safe; not even you, my friend. Can’t you see that?”
Troy’s scowl grew. “This subversive, with a wink and a nod, has turned the most loyal man I’ve ever met against the Confederacy, and you don’t see her ability to do that as dangerous? Not even to the rest of us?”
“She didn’t do that, Troy. Our last orders did. The Confederation has blurred the lines by lumping the innocent with the guilty. Why’d they do that? To maintain purity? Absurd. By ordering indiscriminate killing, our own regime has taken our freedom from us. The truly dangerous party here is our own government.”
Troy scoffed. “It’s her effect on you, Stan, that’s got me worried.”
“You want to take a life, Troy, then take mine. Just let her live.”
Aiming his gun at Stan’s heart, Troy’s face was a mix of frustration and resolve. “Swift, I have no desire to kill you. None. But from this point on, your own words seal your fate. Because we have history, I forgave your treasonous talk in the ready room. And I held my peace when you spoke at the Princess. Had you walked away then, I would have let you escape. Even now, my friend, if you step aside, I’ll let you go. But you’re going too far in protecting this Trog. If you don’t step aside, you will die with her. Don’t force me to kill my best friend too.”
Stan gritted his teeth and set his jaw. “Those poor people we killed this morning did nothing to us. They hurt none of us: you, the Confederation, or me. So a few might have believed in a deity to help them get through their struggles. Big deal. Most of those passengers were innocent. Did they need to die with the guilty?”
Troy cocked his head to study his onetime friend as if Stan’s views were unique and curiously absurd. “Forget all that. Why do you now protect her . . . this specific heretic?”
Stan glanced back at Lilia, and then looked at Troy with renewed purpose. “Even if it’s just one life, I’m done giving in to evil.”
“Evil?” Troy spat the word as if Stan had finally reached that invisible breaking point, and then nudged his silent partner. “Look at this, Jessup, and remember; Trogs have a detrimental effect on everyone they touch. See what this one’s done to Swift?”
With cold eyes, Troy raised his gun and pulled the trigger.
The world went black.
Chapter Seven
On his back and dazed, Stan propped himself up on an elbow to look around but found he was surrounded by an eternity of white. For a fleeting moment, everything felt warm and peaceful, his fears hung suspended just beyond his reach, and he felt no pain.
Behind him, to his left, and looking as baffled as he felt, Lilia raised herself to a sitting position.
The two Lieutenants, now unconscious, lay a few feet away.
A soft, masculine voice seemed to come from no
where and from everywhere at once. “Do you want to terminate these men, or shall I?”
Startled, Stan hunted for the voice’s source but found nothing. Could this be Lilia’s god? He gulped and spoke without thinking. “Me? Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, Stanley Archer, I am speaking to you.”
“Who are you?” he said.
“Me?” the voice responded.
Stan grimaced and cursed his clumsy mouth. That’s right, speak without thinking and tick off some deity. He braced himself, half expecting to be struck by lightning.
“I am Dr. Coalfire,” came the reply, “creator of this vessel. Do you want to terminate these men, or shall I?”
“Vessel? This vessel? What is this vessel?” Stan tried to focus, but it was difficult through a mind as muddled as his.
“I have waited for a man like you, Stanley Archer, for you and Lilia Slone to arrive. And so you have.” A pistol appeared by his hand. “To my question.”
Stan picked up the gun to examine. It was his Zithion blaster. He knew he’d lost it in the cavern, but now here it was, clean and ready.
The two Lieutenants, in turn, revived and sat up. Panicked, Troy jumped to his feet and searched his belt for his gun, but it was gone.
Stan, on the other hand, had his weapon aimed squarely at Troy’s head. “Well now, this is an interesting turn of events, wouldn’t you say, Troy?”
Troy raised his hands, and, after climbing to his feet, Jessup did the same.
While there was nothing to suggest time or space, Stan looked around in an effort to get his bearings, but kept his gun on his onetime comrades as he got to his feet.
“Do you want me to terminate these men,” asked Coalfire, “or do you wish to?”
Though his words were paced, Stan spoke with a cavalier attitude. “Wow. Seems the good doctor has it in for you two, Troy. Why do you suppose that is?”
“These are evil men. They must be terminated,” Coalfire said, his tone frighteningly matter-of-fact.
Disadvantaged, Troy and Jessup glanced at each other, neither secure in his standing with Stan, given what they had come to do.
“Funny,” Stan said. “Coalfire sounds just like you, Troy. He has determined your guilt without a trial. Think he knows better who should live and who should die?”
“If you let these men live,” persisted Coalfire, “they’ll hunt you for the rest of your life.”
With a calculating eye, Stan considered his men. “Is that right, Troy? You won’t leave well enough alone? You can’t let us go in peace?”
The Lieutenant shifted nervously but said nothing.
As he adjusted his grip on the gun, Stan gave Troy renewed attention, and tried to get through to his onetime friend again. “Given the chance, Troy, would you let us live?”
Troy straightened into a formal military stance. “I have my orders. Standing by her will guarantee your death, Captain. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Mr. Younger. You’re unarmed.” Stan turned his gun to the other. “Jessup? Do you feel the same?”
As if to find stability in this suddenly upside down situation, Jessup shot a nervous glance at Troy.
“Don’t look at him, Jess. You live or die on your own merits. Given the chance, would you let us go our separate ways?”
Unlike Troy, Jessup began to sweat. “If the situation was reversed, Captain, would you?”
Stan considered his Lieutenants. Had this been yesterday, Jess might have been right. But this was a new day, a day full of revelation and surprise.
“It would seem that the only ones who want someone dead are those that lack a heart.”
“But they will—”
“For starters, Coalfire,” Stan interrupted, “I’m not going to argue with you about life and death issues.” Stan turned to Lilia. “How about you? You want someone dead?”
“Well, I—”
“If you let these evil men go,” the voice insisted, “they will hinder your work at every turn. They must die.”
Stan studied his XO. “Make no mistake, Troy. I’m no different than you. I taught you to kill, and the same blood—follower blood—is as much on my hands as it is on yours. This voice, Coalfire’s voice, if we’re to believe that’s who’s behind it, seems to have it in for you, but not for me. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Unlike you,” came the man’s voice, “their government is their god. Their god has declared your life forfeit, and you will not be able to return to the Confederation without great risk.”
“Did you hear that, Troy?” Stan raised his pistol. “By Coalfire’s reckoning, you have a god. That makes you religious, doesn’t it? Should I kill you for that?”
Troy shifted and glanced at Jessup with uncertainty in his expression.
Without looking back, Stan reached out a hand and helped Lilia to her feet. “This very morning I was supposed to take this Trog’s life, Troy, but I couldn’t see how doing so served justice. Now I’m supposed to take yours. What am I to do with that?”
Troy slowly shook his head with obvious disdain. “I would rather have died than to see you like this, Captain . . . weak . . . pathetic.”
Stan’s unreadable eyes riveted Troy and gave him nowhere to retreat.
“Weak?” Stan mocked softly. “I have no fear of you, or her. Does that make me weak, or do you see fear of an unarmed woman as a sign of strength?”
Mouth agape, Troy faced Stan in silence.
Stan handed Lilia his gun, before stepping forward to stand between Troy and Jessup. He draped an arm over each man.
Lilia’s voice was cold as she aimed the gun at the men. “While your changed outlook is interesting to see in an Enforcer, Mr. Archer, it doesn’t seem well-timed.”
“A Trog with a gun,” Stan whispered into Troy’s ear. “Who’s scared now?”
Stan’s helmet suddenly appeared between him and Lilia. At seeing the hash marks, shame and grief instantly flooded his mind. Did the woman know their meaning? Did she have any idea?
Lilia’s tone was frank. “I see the high count, Stan, and those around Troy’s neck, and I know what they mean.” She lowered the gun. “The Immortal One forgives you, and so do I.”
“The Immortal One forgives?” Troy spoke with clear contempt. “Who are you to speak for this so-called deity?”
Lilia looked squarely at Troy, her eyes smiling, her mouth wanting to do the same. “You just acknowledged the existence of the Creator, Lieutenant, and that is a good start. There may be hope for you yet. I believe the Great Architect has spoken. I simply carry the message He has given to all of those who belong to Him. And just so you know, the He has forgiven you two Enforcers as well.”
“This god you speak of,” Stan said. “You may believe this great and powerful immortal one lives and speaks, but don’t ask me to buy into any of this religious nonsense.”
“The one we call the One who cannot die, Captain, is real despite your belief to the contrary.”
“If that’s so,” Stan said, “I should think your god would demand my life to pay for the years I’ve spent killing, and for the buckets of follower blood on my hands.”
“I didn’t ask for your mortal life,” said the voice. “I ask for theirs. Where does your heart lie, with her who forgives you, or with those who insist you die? Choose wisely where your greater loyalty lies. This may be the last chance to get it right.”
Stan frowned, “Do you really want to know the limit to my loyalty? Then check this; if the so-called immortal one requires a life, He can have mine. I was dead anyway.”
“That answer is unacceptable.”
“Then this is finished. If you’re heart-set on killing someone, then you must condemn me, too. I stand with these men.”
“Is that your final decision?”
Stan considered the others knowing his next two words would change everything.
“It is.”
Chapter Eight
Searing pain overwhelmed
Stan’s mind, instantly clouding any sense of his surroundings. Incredible pressure squeezed his entire body while every muscle felt torn, consumed by fire, blast frozen, and melting away, all at the same time. As though gripped by a giant beast, razor-sharp claws grabbed and flung him into nothingness. Tumbling out of control, all went black.
When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself in such tremendous agony he barely noticed the cold, hard floor on which he lay. He spread his arms and legs in search of something to grip or cling to, as the room rolled and swam, but his efforts were in vain.
His stomach ruthlessly clenched, churned, and tossed, refusing to settle.
As he struggled to sit, intense pain shot through his temples, slamming him back to the floor. He knew but one thing, could almost see it, really. Claws slashed and teeth ground, as death stalked him with plans to completely devour him if given the chance.
“NO!” The word burst out of his agony as Stan refused to give in to the torture or the bewildering confusion attacking him. Struggling to sit once again, he paused before pushing himself to his feet. Determined to stand, he swayed, trying to compose himself.
When his eyes adjusted, he saw Lilia lying near him. Though unconscious, she writhed and convulsed in her own internal war.
“I deserve this!” he screamed. “Not her! Not her.”
Tears and sweat streamed freely down his face, as he stood there, defiant.
“For the sake of her love for You, Great One, stop hurting her!”
Then as abruptly as it had begun, the torture stopped. Exhausted and dazed, he collapsed to the floor, fading in and out of consciousness.
When his mind finally settled and began to function somewhat normally, he inhaled, but the simple act of drawing a breath argued with a deep-seated ache in his ribs. Although a struggle, his lungs still worked in any event. Was he still alive? Could he be? Could he have survived or was this a lie, a tease, a cheat imposed by lifelessness itself?
DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) Page 4