The Skypirate

by Justine Davis

  “If not me,” Califa said softly, “trust him.”

  The boy’s gaze flicked to Dax, who stood watching their backs, and the broken door. “Who is he?”

  “Dax?” He glanced back at her call. “He doesn’t trust me. He wants to know why he should trust you.”

  Dax looked at the boy for a moment. “It’s a wise man who is careful with his trust. But we are here to take you out of here,” he promised.

  The boy still looked doubtful. Dax moved then, swirling aside his cloak. When he raised his arm, the flashbow glinted silver in the dim light.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “The flashbow,” he breathed. Dax nodded as he hid the ancient weapon once more. Joy leapt in the boy’s face, and Califa quickly and carefully turned the disrupter on the shackle that bound him.

  “Can you run?” Dax asked. “Honestly, now.”

  “I don’t think so,” the boy admitted. “Not far. I’ve been chained for a long time.”

  Califa heard Dax mutter something that she was just as glad not to have understood. Then he knelt and let the boy clamber onto his back; he was so thin, Califa doubted he would slow Dax much. But the burden would limit his fighting ability, so Califa kept her disrupter armed and ready in her hand, and when Dax nodded toward his waist, reached inside the cloak and took his as well.

  They started back toward the door. Califa breathed a sigh of relief when the shadows appeared deserted. She glanced upward; Larcos was still putting on a show, although it was less extensive now. The boy Dax carried didn’t even notice; he was too busy clinging like a burr to his rescuer’s back, his bony arms wrapped around Dax’s shoulders, his legs around his waist.

  They headed for the byway that would lead them out of the outpost. Califa could see the dark shadows of the hills beyond. They were going to make it. By Eos—or by Dax’s God—they were going to make it. They’d be—

  A sudden flare of light froze Dax in his tracks. The boy cried out, and Dax turned to put himself between the child and the threat. And out of the glare of the powerful huntlight came a voice Califa knew.

  “Hold!” Then, in shocked tones. “Eos, it’s Dax!”

  Beltar. Beltar Estrille, the man Larcos had reminded her of. He must be the Arellian the boy had mentioned, the one in charge. She remembered they had, with typical Coalition perspicaciousness, promoted him to major soon after he had obtained a barely mediocre score in her tactical classes. She also remembered him as a bit gullible.

  Califa stepped forward, into the light. The man’s tone changed to one of bewilderment. “Califa? Califa Claxton? Is that you?”

  “Yes, Beltar. It is.”

  Her fingers tightened around the disrupter. Carrying the boy, Dax was virtually unarmed. And Beltar couldn’t help but see that. Just as he couldn’t help but see that she was armed. What would he do? And how should she play it?

  Before she could decide, she heard a long, low whistle.

  “Eos, Califa, you’ve done it. You’ve captured the most wanted man in all the Coalition systems put together! General Corling will want to put a medal on you personally. You’ve just bought your career back!”

  She could see nothing in the glare of the huntlight. But she could feel Dax’s gaze fastened on her.

  Chapter 22

  “TURN OUT THAT light, will you, Beltar?” Califa asked. “It’s blinding me.”

  The light clicked off obligingly. Dax swallowed tightly, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Califa, although now that the glare had destroyed his night vision temporarily, all he could see was her slender shape.

  “Is she one of them after all?” the boy whispered into Dax’s ear.

  “Sshh,” he hissed. Mainly because he had no answer. Hurcon’s words came back to haunt him now. He didn’t think Califa would turn on him, but then he’d never expected she would be offered her life back in exchange, either. But in the Coalition, apparently handing over their most wanted man would be all it would take for them to admit they were wrong. Or at least to make reparations. It was a prize anyone would be hard-pressed to resist; for the woman whose whole life had been her career, it would be nearly impossible.

  “Thank you,” Califa said, sounding genial. “Now I can see again. Are any of your guards handy to turn him over to?”

  Beltar snorted in disgust. “No. They’re all off watching whatever that sky display is. I thought it might be a diversion; we’ve heard rumors that he”—he jerked a thumb at Dax—“was on a rampage, raiding labor camps.”

  “You always were a smart one, Beltar.” Califa’s tone was overloaded with admiration. The man didn’t seem to notice.

  “Yes, well, I suppose that’s why they promoted me to commander here.”

  “And so young, too, to have a command.”

  The man preened visibly.

  “Hmm,” Califa murmured, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps we should lock them back in the boy’s cell for now. I wouldn’t want them to get loose. It might ruin your reputation.”

  “No, that wouldn’t do,” Beltar agreed hastily.

  Dax could see him now, a lanky, loose-jointed man whose uniform seemed to look ill-fitted. He was smiling at Califa as he walked toward them.

  “We wouldn’t want to tarnish your regained honor, either,” he said. “I can hardly wait to turn in this report. I always admired you, Major. Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Major,” Califa returned almost gaily. “It is good to be back.”

  She sounded so convincing Dax shivered inwardly. Was she truly so angry at him? Would she hand him over and then go back to her life, to further Coalition glory? Would she leave him to his fate and pick up her life where it had left off? Would she someday perhaps be the tactician who would defeat Trios in the end?

  His stomach churned. There was a chance the boy could dart away into the shadows, and stay hidden long enough for him to get to the flashbow. But the bow was not a weapon that could be fired in haste; he would be dead long before he could activate it.

  “Did you search him for weapons?” Beltar asked.

  She didn’t have to, Dax thought grimly. I gave her the only one that would help now.

  “Of course.” She waved his disrupter. “There was only this. Come, let’s get him secured. I don’t like him loose. He’s too unpredictable. But they’ve mangled this lock.” Her gaze flicked to Dax as she said, “We’ll have to weld it shut or something. Do you have a laser torch?”

  Dax felt his heart leap as she pointedly suggested what he’d done to the barracks on Boreas. Was this a signal of some kind, or was he being a fool?

  “No, but this will do it,” Beltar said, reaching to his belt and taking out a high-power laser pistol. “I’ve heard he’s worse than unpredictable, he’s crazy. Why, he’s been raiding bases throughout the system, taking nothing but prisoners. What kind of sense does that make?”

  Beltar started toward Dax, but he was looking at Califa, and Dax knew this was his only chance. He either moved now, or—

  Or he trusted Califa. Trusted her not to have turned on him. Trusted her to have a plan. Trusted her, not only with his own life, but the boy’s. Trusted her loyalty, as he had not done when he had bargained with her to join this mission.

  When Beltar nudged his shoulder with the pistol, he went without a struggle. It was an ugly weapon, carving a victim into screaming pieces before granting him the mercy of death. Dax much preferred a disrupter; a direct hit meant instant unconsciousness.

  The boy was not so acquiescent. He began to squirm, trying to break free. Dax tightened his grip. “Trust me,” he whispered, praying he wasn’t condemning them both to Hades. The boy went still. Such faith, he thought. Such is her faith in you, Califa had said of Rina. I hope to God mine isn’t as misplaced as hers is.

  The boy started to shake as they stepped back into the dank, dark cell th
at had been his world for so long. Dax tried to calm him again, but he wasn’t feeling too confident himself. He saw Califa stop, keeping herself between Beltar and the door until Dax and the boy passed. She looked at him, but his eyes hadn’t completely recovered from the flash of the huntlight, and he couldn’t read her expression. But he knew his was rigid as the door swung shut behind him.

  The clang of the slamming prison door echoed in his ears. It was a sound he’d never forget, for whatever life he had left. He’d been wrong. He’d gambled his life, and an innocent child’s, and he’d lost. She had jumped at the chance to get her life back, all her fine words about hating the system she’d served for so long were—

  “Here,” she said in an absent tone, “give me the pistol.” She held out her hand, not even looking at Beltar, instead studying the damaged lock as if to determine the best way to seal it permanently shut.

  After an instant’s hesitation, Beltar handed her the weapon. Califa took it, and aimed it at the door. She moved the hand holding the disrupter toward the officer, out of her way. Beltar seemed to relax, and turned to smirk at Dax.

  Califa shot him.

  She used the disrupter, not the laser, and Beltar never had the chance to scream. He crumpled to the ground without a sound. Dax felt his knees wobble, and wondered if he was about to follow him down. He let the boy slide to the ground, and braced himself against one of the bars as he let out the breath he’d been holding.

  Califa straightened then, and reached for the door to swing it open.

  The boy looked from her to Dax.

  “She sounded so real” he said, his young voice tiny and scared, “like she was one of them . . . how did you know?”

  Dax drew himself up and put a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Sometimes, you just have to let go and trust.”

  He shifted his gaze to Califa. He could see her now, could see her eyes fastened on him.

  “And I owed her this,” he added quietly, as if to the boy, but never taking his eyes off of Califa. “Because once I couldn’t do it when I should have.”

  “Oh, Dax.”

  He heard the whisper, in a voice he hadn’t heard from her in far too long. He wanted to grab her and kiss her, right here and now; he wanted—

  “Somebody’s coming!”

  Dax whirled at the boy’s cry, as did Califa. They heard the sounds now, distant, running footsteps. But not distant enough. She was closer to the outside perimeter of the ruined bunker, so she ran to look.

  “It’s a patrol,” she reported grimly. “Six of them, on the run this way.”

  “Damnation,” Dax swore, “he must have told somebody where he was going.”

  She glanced at the door, the only escape. “We’ll never get past them, not that way. We’d have to cross open ground right in front of them. They’d pick us off like brollets. And they’ll be here in a minute, maybe two.”

  Dax looked around the cell. The back of the original bunker had been built into the hill itself, and that portion was about all that was left. They’d simply sealed off the front with a wall and the barred door, leaving what was left of the bunker and its roof extending out into the air. It was an effective, escape-proof prison.

  Maybe.

  “How much farther does that hill go?”

  Her brows creased. “You mean through it? To the back? Fifty feet or so. Twenty, maybe thirty feet on the sides.”

  Dax’s gaze snapped back to the front of the ruin. The footsteps were getting closer, and they could hear shouting now. They were almost out of time. He looked at Califa.

  “Can you fly the shuttle?”

  Her brows lowered again. “Yes, but—”

  “Back to the Evening Star?”

  “Of course. Dax, what—”

  “Get back against the back wall, as far as you can. Both of you.”

  His tone brooked no denial and tolerated no questions. Califa urged the boy back into the shadows until they came up against the wall of the bunker. Dax backed up a few steps himself, stopping several feet in front of them. Then he again reached inside his cloak and brought out the flashbow.

  Califa knew what to expect now, but still, and in spite of their dilemma, it fascinated her. He took a bolt from his boot and slipped it into the open groove; Califa heard the faint sound as it hit the metal case. He notched the string, then flipped the lever she’d seen before. That low-pitched hum began. In the dim light of the cell, the glow of the bolt seemed eerie, magical somehow. And despite her logical turn of mind, Califa wasn’t altogether certain it wasn’t.

  Dax took a deep breath, then slowly raised the weapon. He settled it against his shoulder. And then, oddly, he aimed it upward, toward the remaining roof of the old bunker, where it protruded far out beyond the wall and the door. She saw his finger curl around the trigger release on the bottom of the etched silver stock.

  Califa held her breath, hearing the running footsteps closing in.

  He closed his eyes, standing so very still she couldn’t even see him breathing. It seemed to her that even the bow itself began to glow beneath his touch. And then, there in the dark, dank cell, she thought for an instant that the glow expanded, enveloping Dax himself as well as the weapon. Only then did he open his eyes.

  “Turn your head and cover your ears,” she warned the boy, who made an awed sound as he did so.

  The soldiers were here; she could see the figures in the shadows outside the door.

  Dax pulled the trigger.

  The glowing bolt raced down the groove. A split second later a flash of light a hundred times fiercer than the mock-meteors, brighter than a bank of Beltar’s huntlights, filled the ruin. In the same instant the accompanying earsplitting crack of sound made them sway on their feet. The thunder had barely died away before the roof began to crumble.

  Suddenly realizing what he’d done, Califa ran forward to pull the dazed Dax out of the path of the falling debris. They huddled against the back wall until the rumble of sound stopped. She coughed as the dust began to settle. They were trapped, as thoroughly as if the Coalition had done it themselves. And she guessed a couple of the patrol had not escaped being trapped themselves, under the pile of rubble. She looked at Dax, who was still looking a little unfocused. But he had to have had a plan, she knew he did, or he wouldn’t have asked her if she could fly the shuttle. And he wouldn’t have sealed them in here like this, to die as soon as the air ran out.

  Dax shook his head once, then looked at her. She saw him snap out of it, and glance toward the pile of rubble blocking what had once been the only way in or out. When he smiled in grim satisfaction, she knew she’d been right. She just wished she had a clue as to what he was planning.

  When he looked at her again, she knew she was going to find out.

  “Promise me that if you have to, you will take the boy and go. Get to the shuttle and get yourselves and Rina out of here.”

  “Dax—”

  “Please, Califa. We don’t have time to argue. I’ve got to know you’ll do this, if you have to.”

  She hesitated, but as his eyes bore down into her she couldn’t say no. Not after he’d walked meekly into this cell, passing up his one chance for escape, simply because he trusted her.

  “If I have to,” she agreed reluctantly. “But—”

  “Get the boy into the far corner,” he ordered, gesturing toward the corner opposite the wall nearest where they’d come into the outpost. “But you’ll have to come back, Califa. I may need your help.”

  She scurried the boy into the corner, gave him a reassuring hug, then went back to Dax.

  “I may need you to load these,” he said.

  She instinctively held out her hands to take what he was handing her. She nearly jumped when she realized they were the bolts for the flashbow. They felt so odd, cool and smooth,
and much heavier than they appeared. And he’d given her eight of the nine that had been left in his boot. The other was in his hand.

  “Don’t stand too close until after I fire. Then just hand me the next one. If I don’t ask you for it by the time the dust settles, slide it in the groove yourself.”

  She realized then what he planned to do.

  If he has to fire too often, the warrior can die from it.

  “Dax, it will take too many shots to blast our way out of here.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “It’s the only way, snowfox.”

  He lifted the bow again, slid in the bolt, notched the metallic string, and flipped the lever. As the hum began, Califa instinctively backed up.

  She saw the glow leap, enveloping him yet again, and she knew he was about to fire. She turned her head, covering her ears, guessing the sound would be even more ferocious in this closed-in place.

  She was right. It echoed off the walls, deafeningly, and she barely heard the boy’s cry of fright. She wondered how Dax could stand it, but when she looked at him he wore that dazed look, as if he hadn’t heard it at all.

  Then she looked at the wall. Half of it was gone, and a sizable chunk of the hill itself behind it. Nearly three feet of it. If the hill was really thirty feet through, it would take all nine shots they had. If Dax lived that long. She smothered a tiny cry as she went to him.

  It took him longer to come out of it this time, but when he did he merely held his hand out for another bolt. He loaded it, and it all happened again. He swayed this time afterward, but recovered when Califa steadied him. She turned to check the hole.

  He’d gained four—no, it was almost five this time—feet. Apparently the wall had used up a larger portion of the first bolt’s energy.

  After two minutes, he loaded another bolt. The process seemed to take longer this time, but the resulting explosion was no less intense. Again he swayed, letting the bow fall to his side as he closed his eyes. He was breathing heavily now, sweat breaking out on his forehead. But he had gained a good six feet this time; it was truly a tunnel now, and Califa wondered if perhaps the ground was softer as they got farther from the bunker itself.