Blood of Denebria (Star Sojourner Book 4) (17 page)

“As good as any place, Joe.” I sat down, closed my eyes and lowered my head to my hands. This would be a scattergun probe, unfocused and scanning for one particular image. I pictured my mind like a radar screen, sweeping the area for the target I sought.

“Come on,” I heard Joe say. “Let's give him some space. Joe, Reika, and Bat moved away from me and stood quiet and still somewhere in the darkness.

I relaxed my mind and began a slow sweep. Some of the BEMs were still awake. Some slept. Some dreamed. I skirted all but the dreaming minds and projected the smell of pine to sneak past the watchdog thalamus of an older male Deneb to conjure with his dream. Nightmare, really. His mind was replaying the Deneb's horrible death. His dream was shot with hollow screams and a BEM with flames for eyes. I sneaked in from a back door, so to speak, disguised as a BEM who held the dying Deneb down to the ground. I looked the sleeper in the eye of his mind.
You
, I projected,
bring me our Star Positioning System.
I got an image of sleeping BEMs.
No! The Star Positioning System, you miscreant. Now!

Again, the sleeping BEMs, surrounded by dark material. A tent. It loomed like a shroud over the prone figures.

What the hell?

The sleeper tried to pull out of the dream. I held him there and felt his fear.
The Star Positioning –
What was that? A swarm of bees. The hive mind! This close? The bees buzzed around a rectangular screen mounted on a control panel. The SPS!

The sleeper started and awoke with a gasp.

The bees gathered and attacked.

Uh oh.
I threw up shields as they tried to invade my thoughts and locate my position. “Joe!” I yelled. I heard running footsteps. I thought it was Joe and Reika and Bat. But it was Chancey's voice. “There's a garrison of BEMs,” he called, breathing hard. “Their lookout spotted us. Let's get the hell out of here!”

I got to my feet and we ran toward the outskirts of the village, where Huff waited with the horses. The bees followed. The BEMs were tracking us with their combined mind projections.

I tried again to shake them loose, this time with a crashing wave that breached my shields. Still they clung to the flower.

“Joe!” I shouted as we ran past the warehouse and paused in the dark alley. “The SPS is at the BEM garrison. It's inside a tent.”

He was breathing hard. “The garrison here in the village?”

I nodded. “Yeah!”

“Good work.”

“Joe. They're following me. I can't shake them.”

He drew in a breath. “All right. We just have to make it to the horses.”

“No.” I shook my head. “They have ground craft.” I backed a few steps.

“Jules!” he reached out a hand.

I stared at him for a moment, then turned and ran.

“Jules!” he called.

“Where the fuck is he going?” Chancey asked.

“He's trying to give us our chance,” I heard Joe answer as I rounded the corner of the warehouse and ran toward an open field with a cluster of dark houses on the far side.

The bees followed, throwing themselves against my raised shields like bullets, climbing the ramparts and spiraling down to the flower I held at my essence. I projected fire from the petals as I climbed a fence and ran toward the buildings.
A farm.
Horses neighed in the field. I heard their hoof beats as they fled from me.

I ventured a look back. An air vehicle cruised, with lights sweeping the ground.

Oh no.

I reached the far fence, climbed it and threw myself over the top as the beam nailed me in light. I stayed on the ground, in deep weeds, and aimed my stingler at the left wing motor. A blue beam snapped out from the craft's underside and burned the ground near my feet. I fired. My beam sliced through the wing tip. The craft wobbled but maintained its height.

“Give up, Jules,” a speaker blared. “We will not harm you. We mean to take you alive.”

When Hell grows ice!
I sent, got up and ran toward the buildings.

The bees tracked me. I pictured a red coil spinning within the heart of the flower. I grew it as I ran, and forced it to explode within my shields. Heat reverberated through the confines. I felt the bees retreat, lifting in confusion and fleeing before the onslaught of fire.

Take that back to the monster, you crotefuckers!

I ran between a farm house and a barn. The barn was my destination. I could not involve Deneb families in my flight. But I headed away from the barn, hoping to circle back when I lost the BEM craft.

A security light flickered on from the roof of the house and followed me.

Dammit!

I raced past its beam, but the craft had already circled back. I saw its blunt nose rise above trees as it followed me.

This wasn't going to work!

I dropped to one knee, aimed my stingler at the craft's right motor and fired. The wing exploded. The craft nose-dived into the ground and plowed a trench.

Eat that, you bastards.

I got up and ran.

Until a searing pain exploded in my left side. I screamed and fell. I've known pain in my life, but nothing like the agony of that beam driving through me like a hot poker rammed in and held there. I got to my knees and crawled behind a trough, choking back screams that rose in my throat. I came close then, to holding my weapon to my own head and pulling the trigger. I watched three BEMs jump down from the crippled craft, silhouetted by the burning wing. I groaned as I waited. Their oversized eyes could probably see as well in darkness as in light. I scooped up a rock and threw it into tall weeds to their left.

“What was that?” one said.

“I think I hit him,” another commented.

As they slithered toward the rock, I raised myself, leaned against the trough, aimed and swept them with a continuous beam.

I had the satisfaction of hearing their screams mingle as they thrashed on the ground. I swept them again and there was silence.

I threw myself into the trough to try to cool the blazing rod of pain, but it did nothing to quench the fire inside the wound.

The lights of three more craft rose above trees.

I held my side and moaned as I limped to the barn, shivering. The door was latched. I leaned against the wall, unlatched it with a trembling hand and stumbled inside. Pain blazed and I screamed as I dragged the door shut. Horses from four stalls nickered as I staggered past them to bales of hay piled against the far wall, and slid to my knees behind them.

“Oh, God!” I laid down my stingler and tried to unzip my inner jacket pocket where I kept my pain and healing pills, but my hands shook and were getting numb. I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them as the barn blurred.

Outside, a noise.

With my stingler braced on a bale of hay, I aimed at the dark door. Was that a light peering in? I blinked and focused. No. One of the moons was framed in a high, open window.

I wiped sweat and water from my face as the door swung open. A figure stood behind a light that played across the stalls and stopped when it hit me. If this were a BEM, we would probably die together.

“Oh. Don't fire!” a young female Deneb voice called. “Are you the Terran they're after?”

“Shut the door behind you!” I ordered.

She did, and came forward. “Don't fire, cousin. My family…we're on
your
side.” She looked back. “We have no love for the devils.”

Strength flowed out of me. The room darkened. The stingler slipped from my numb fingers. “I won't hurt you,” I gasped and felt myself slide to the floor. I thought she had turned off her light, but the moon faded to a wafer.

“Oh, you're hurt!” she said, as though from a distance as she lifted my ripped sweater. I took her offered hand and clung to it as though it were a lifeline.

The pain subsided and my hand slipped out of hers. I gazed at the vanishing moon until it went out.

“I'll go get Dad!” I heard her cry. The rest was silence.

The muffled throb of deep, distant motors. Was I on a ship?

“Jules! Stay awake,” someone told me.

I rolled my head. “I am awake,” I mumbled. Pain blazed again in my side. I kept my eyes closed and moaned.

“Here. Drink this.”

My head was lifted. “What is it?”

“It's your pain-healing pill crushed into pumpkin juice.”

“Pumpkin juice?”

“Just drink it.”

The pain intensified like feral teeth chewing my side as sensation returned. “Give it to me,” I gasped, and drank the thick, spicy juice.

“Now stay awake.”

“I
am
awake.”

“You kept falling asleep and muttering.”

I pressed my arm lightly over a wound and grimaced. Gauze pads were taped to my side where the beam entered and exited. “I wish I were still asleep.”

“The medicine will take effect soon now.”

I opened my eyes and stared at a ceiling of dirt with roots hanging from it. The walls were also dirt, carved out of the ground for this small room. Lanterns threw shadowed light. “Where the hell are we?”

“Underground.”

“I would've never guessed.” I rolled my head to look at a young Denebrian male who sat beside my cot dressed in the traditional green coveralls. His skin had a hint of olive under the brown tint. A pale-skinned Deneb woman stood stiffly behind him.

The pain began to subside and I became more curious. “Why are we underground?”

He sat back. “For one thing, we're an underground movement. DABs.”

I rubbed my eyes. “DABs?”

“That's what I said.

“OK, but what's DABs?”

“Denebrians Against BEMs. Couldn't you figure that out?”

“I'm still working on DUH.”

“Oh, Defenders United for Homeworld. That's a different branch. How's the pain?”

“Getting better as we speak. Thanks for the drink.”

“Are you hungry? You've been out for quite a while.”

I thought about it. “I guess so.”

“We've got pumpkin bread.”

“Pumpkin? Oh. The merchant ship? Decades ago. Right? Brought you pumpkin seeds too.”

He gestured toward the half-filled cup. “You should drink a lot of liquids.”

“I'd kill for a cup of coffee.”

“You don't have to kill. I'll get it.” He stood up.

“Coffee?” I said. “The merchant ship.”

“The same.”

“Not too much sweetener!”

“Cream?” he asked.

“Cream?”

“Why do you keep repeating what I say?”

“I think he's still delirious,” the woman said tightly.

I thought of Mother's milk-crème of Tarhanth. I'd had it once in coffee on planet Fartherland. I found out later it came from the anal glands of a spider who nursed her offspring with it. “Where do you get cream from?”

He furrowed his thick brows. “Is this an academic question?”

The woman tightened her lips. “He's still delirious.”

“Where do you
think
you get cream from?” the man asked me.

“Oh, the merchant ship. You bought fertilized cow eggs. You'd be surprised where you can get cream from.”

“How about some pumpkin bread?”

“Pumpkin bread?”

“He turned to the woman. “There he goes again.”

The pain had diminished to a dull ache. “Pumpkins are only good for Halloween.”

“Halloween?” the man asked.

The woman shook her head disdainfully. “Definitely delirious.”

The young man rubbed the bony plates of his head. “Jules. This is not a restaurant.”

“Thank God,” I said. “How do you know my name?”

“The BEMs have a reward out for you. We have other food.”

“Dead or alive?” I asked.

“The food? We are not meat eaters.”

“The reward, tag.”

“Oh. Alive.”

“That'll never happen.” I looked around. “Where's my stingler?”

“We're holding it for you.”

“I want it back!”

“As soon as you're on your feet.”

“There were six of us,” I said, remembering.

“The others got away.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because, had they been captured or killed, they would have been dragged through the streets. I can assure you of that. Now, how about…” He smiled. “A nice plate of cornbread. We tap deciduous trees in the springtime and collect a sweet sap that we make into – “

“No! Hold the syrup. I'll take the bread.”

He turned to the woman and spread his hands. “Hold the syrup?”

She shook her head.

The man walked away muttering, and disappeared down a hall.

The woman remained standing. Silent.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Ferngren.”

I smiled. “Nice name.”

She remained silent.

I heard voices from the dark hall. A Deneb boy child peeked around the corner of the hall and stared at me. I waved at him and smiled. He waved, smiled back, then turned and ran.

“Uh, what's the tag's name?” I asked Ferngren.

“Weed.”

“Weed?”

“Isn't that what I just said?”

I nodded and laid back. My friends were probably worried sick about me, but I didn't dare use my comlink.
Especially Huff,
I thought. Well, Joe too. And Reika. And Bat too. Chancey? Yeah. Maybe only Wolfie wasn't too concerned.
Mister Cool.

The motors sounded as though they were overhead. Maybe pumping fresh air into the warren.

Weed returned with a dish and a mug of coffee on a tray.

I grimaced as I sat up. “Thanks.” The coffee was hot and strong. I cupped my hands around the mug and closed my eyes as I sipped the steaming brew.” Next to the cornbread was a small bowl of a dark, sweet-smelling liquid. “What's that?” I asked.

Weed sat down. “I took the privilege of adding some maple syrup. You might want to dip the cornbread into it.”

“I don't think so.”

The cornbread was fresh and rich, but I would've preferred mock sausage, eggs, and English muffins.

Weed watched me eat. “Our intelligence tells us that the BEM home office is considering an invasion of Earth, after they secure Denebria. That will never happen, of course.”

“Earth?” I said.

“
That's
what I just said.”

Ferngren shook her head.

“They'll be blown out of the sky with their primitive weaponry,” I told Weed, “before they ever make planetfall!” Pieces of cornbread flew out of my mouth.

“That's why they want you alive.”

“Why?”

“So they can pick apart your mind and learn about Earth's technology.”

I put down the remaining bread. “I will
never
be taken alive, cousin. Now give me back my stingler.”

“Sure.” He got up, stretched behind the cot, unhooked the holster and stingler from a protruding root in the wall and laid it across my legs. “Is that better?”

I sipped coffee. “Much,” I said, though I felt foolish.

Weed looked thoughtful. “Jules, the man they murdered in the street. He said something before he died.

“That BEMs use Denebs as food? It's
true.
”

Weed glanced back at Ferngren. She clutched the back of his chair to steady herself.

“How can that be?” Weed asked. “They are vegetarians!”

“There is a monster among them, cousin, the queen producer of all the eggs. They call her Bountiful the Profuse.”

Weed covered his eyes with his long fingers. “I've heard this before.” He glanced back at Ferngren.

“This fiend needs a constant supply of fresh meat,” I said, “to produce thousands of eggs. That's all she
does.
She eats. And she produces eggs.”

“And the…the slaves that are sold to the BEMs by traitors among us?” Weed asked.

I put a hand to my throat, remembering the killing field and the slaughterhouse.

“You have
seen
it,” he whispered.

I nodded.

“At their headquarters in the desert?”

“That's where they do it. It's a slaughterhouse. I'm sorry.”

“Great God above.” Weed turned in his chair and held Ferngren's hand. Her skin had mottled. Tears leaked from her eyes. Her hands trembled. She turned suddenly and fled, with a hand outstretched to steady herself as she stumbled into a hallway.”

“Her son was taken,” Weed said.

“Oh, Great Mind. I'm sorry.”

He stood up. “Not as sorry as the BEMs will be. I have been in communication with General Roothe of Korschaff. Neither of us will sleep until every last BEM lies rotting in the desert sun!”

“Wait a minute!” I lifted myself higher on the cot. “We freed a bunch of Denebrian people from the killing field. They ran into the desert.”

“Did you
find
them?”

“Our mission is here in the village, Weed. If we're successful, it will save thousands, maybe millions of your people.” I looked around. “Where's this hideout located? Are we still in the village?”

He took out a comlink, got up, and paced the floor as he jabbed a button. I wondered if it were my link. “Put me through to the general. Quickly,” he said into it. He paused as he waited. “Those motors you hear are generators. We're under the BEM garrison.”

“
Under
it?” I asked. Oh my God. We were too close. The BEMs could pick up my thoughts.

He furrowed his bushy brows. “Yes.
Under
it! Why do you keep repeating my words? General!” he said into the unit. “It's Lieutenant R. C. Weed.”

I stopped listening as Weed told the general about the BEM escapees. Any stray thoughts. Any unintentional probe of a mind by me, could alert the BEMs and they would come crashing in on our location.

* * *

“They've been waiting to talk to you,” Weed said.

My knees were still shaky as he helped me walk through a dirt tunnel to a large, bare room, lit by a circle of lanterns, where about twenty Denebrian men and women sat at a long, crude, wooden table and watched me approach. I had spent the last two days practicing the fine art of quelling strong thoughts as they arose, shields up, my tel power tucked under the petals of the flower that was my essence, and carefully projecting toward the garrison.

The aroma of brewing coffee mixed with the natural spice smell of the Denebs, probably a result of their diet. I wondered how I smelled to them. By now, much like cornbread and pumpkin, I imagined. The muffled throb of BEM generators was more distinct here. Weed had told me that DABs tapped into the power lines and used them to pump in fresh air and water. They even stole a small camping stove from the BEMs. A blackened coffee pot perked on its jet.

As I walked to the table, the people rose and touched their right hands to their chests. I recognized General Roothe among them.

“General,” I said and nodded. “What's protocol for me, Weed?”

“Just touch your chest. They pay you homage.”

“For freeing the Denebrian slaves?”

He nodded and led me to the empty chair next to the general. “Now any one of them would lay down his life for you.”

I touched my chest and sat down heavily. “There were six others involved in that raid,” I told Weed.

The Denebs took their chairs. Three children ran around the table in a game of tag. An older woman came into the room and hurriedly led them out through a tunnel. I watched a young male pour a mug of coffee. He stirred in sweetener and cream, and smiled, stretching his round mouth, as he brought it to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

He touched his chest, turned and left the room.

I sipped the hot, tasty brew.

“That child is Stam, the son of Ferngren,” Weed told me. “We found him wandering in the desert with others after you freed the slaves, trying to make their way back to the village.”

“That's great, Weed. I was afraid the BEMs had rounded them all up.”

“Not all,” he said with a catch in his throat.

“How do you feel, Jules?” General Roothe asked me tightly.

“Stronger,” I said. “Thanks. But not up to par. Not yet.”

He glanced around me at Weed. “Par?”

Weed raised a hand. “I've given up, General. I no longer ask.”

“Never mind.” Roothe clasped his hands on the table.

The others waited silently.

“General?” I said. “My team. Did they all make it out of the village?”

“Yes. All. We met them by a cliff after we rounded up the escapees and were bringing them here.”

I let out a long breath.

Considering that I had escaped the general's confinement, and the team had stolen seven of his best horses and scattered the rest across the desert, and destroyed his own plan to free the Deneb slaves, he might not feel grateful that we freed his people in the killing field and on the slave caravan, with the resultant loss of life.

“General, Bountiful was already – “ I began.

“We might have saved
all
of them!” He slammed a fist on the table. “Had you waited for us to approach the BEM HQ as a merchant caravan…”

I lowered my head. “I don't think so, General.”

“And what leads you to that conclusion?”

I bit my lip, there in the tense silence. “Bountiful the Profuse was already…she was feeding when my team got to the BEM HQ.” I glanced quickly around the table. Most of the Denebs turned to stare at each other and mumble in their native tongue. I heard them draw in breaths. A young woman jumped out of her chair and fled through a tunnel with her hand over her mouth.

The general lowered his head to his hand and I saw his shoulders shake.

“We saved as many as we could,” I said quietly. “We also freed the slaves in the Denebrian caravan headed to the BEM compound.”

He nodded, his head still in his hand.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “We did our best.”

The general wiped his eyes. “Did you locate the Star Positioning System?”

“We did. But it wasn't at their HQ. It's – “

“Then where in perdition's flames is it?”

“It's here, sir.” I glanced up. “In the garrison.”

The general stood up and threw his chair aside. His people stood and waited. “Then we will dismantle their stronghold. I will not sleep until every last one of them spouts his black blood into the sand and lies with his bones bleaching in the sun!' He slammed the table.

I heard a child cry from down the hall.