DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) (12 page)

Carl forced open heavy eyelids and blinked to clear his
blurred vision.

To his left sat a machine, which beeped and flickered, and
from which some clear fluid flowed through tubes taped to his wrist. His right
shoulder and arm, heavily bandaged, ached and were beginning to burn.

Reading magazines, Lilia and Stan, sat nearby to his right.
Carl felt an errant irresponsible bubble of laughter rise, but it stayed
captive in his throat. He mentally shook his head at the incongruity. Lilia
read
Shipbuilder’s Yearly
, as Stan thumbed through
Modern Bride
.
Behind them, through a window into the hallway, he could see nurses at their
duty stations.

Lilia looked up, jumped to her feet, and took his hand.
“Hey. Hi, you.” Her hands were warm and as soft as silk. Her smile, though
happy, held more than a touch of concern.

“What happened? Where am I?” Carl asked, his voice a faint
raspy whisper.

Stan stepped next to Lilia. “You’re going to be all right,
Carl. You’re in a hospital on Delta Omicron 4.”

Despite his body’s discomfort and the growing pain in his
shoulder, Carl became aware of a serious detail that had escaped him earlier.
He noticed how well Lilia and Cap seemed to fit as a couple, and wondered if
either could see they belonged together.

Wanting to take Stan’s hand, he tried to reach, but a
stabbing anguish shot through his arm. He screamed as pain pushed everything
else aside to demand immediate attention.

“Nurse!” he heard someone shout as he writhed in agony. And
then, just as suddenly as it began, the torture melted away, pushed back like a
receding tide.

A nurse now stood near the machine. “I’m sorry, Mr.
Thunburry. This old med-tech machine glitches now and again. I’ll get
maintenance up here right away.” She hurried out.

Carl took a deep, shaky breath and tried to relax. Now the
concern in both of his friends’ eyes wasn’t hidden in the least.

“Come on now. You said I was okay, so knock off the grim
faces already.”

Stan gently held Carl’s bandaged hand. “I just hate to see
you hurt, buddy.”

Carl forced a smile. “So? Did they make it?”

“They? Oh, the Protmeyers.” Lilia said. “Yep. Just a little
smoke inhalation. All three will be up and about in no time. You’re quite the
hero, running into a burning shuttle like that.”

Carl tucked his uninjured hand behind his neck and studied
the ceiling. “Three thousand twenty one. Good.”

“What?” Lilia looked at Stan for some kind of explanation,
but he only shook his head and shrugged.

“Three thousand . . . what’s that about, Carl?” Lilia
said.

Carl looked away toward the window. “It’s nothing. I keep
having these disconnected thoughts drop into my head. Must be the pain
medication talking.”

“Three thousand twenty one,” Stan said, “and three makes
three thousand twenty four. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

“Does it?” Although a blue, cloudless sky gave him nothing
to see, Carl didn’t take his eyes from the window.

“What?” Lilia’s question said she didn’t like being left out
of the loop. Stan had guessed Carl’s slip of the tongue, and Carl hoped he’d be
smart and just drop it.

Stan patted Carl’s leg in understanding, turned, and left
the room without saying more.

“Tell me, Carl, what’s the significance of that number.”

He turned to consider her face, a mix of frustration and
worry, but he ignored her question. “So, what do the doctors say about my arm?
How long will I be here?

The subject seemed to hit her hard. As her eyes suddenly
filled with tears, she blinked hard to keep them from falling. Lilia swallowed
and tried to speak, but the words appeared to catch in her throat. Looking
everywhere but at Carl, she fidgeted and fussed as if she didn’t know what to
do with her hands, smoothing the bedspread and fluffing his pillow a little.

“Will you stop?” Carl grabbed her wrist with his good hand
and met her eyes. It was obvious she was holding back bad news.

“What did the doctors say, Lilia? Tell me.”

Not wanting to answer, she shook her head and tried to pull
away, but Carl held her.

“Tell me!”

Her chin quivered and her eyes released a stream of tears.

“Let her go, Carl.” Stan spoke quietly from the doorway.
“I’ll tell you everything; just let Lilia go.”

He released a long breath. Now that Stan was willing to say,
Carl no longer wanted to hear. He knew what was coming. No one had to hit him
in the head with a brick, and that’s exactly what he felt was now flying
straight at him. “Never mind.”

“Two days ago, you saved three people, Carl. Don’t lose
sight of that.”

“I lost the use of my arm, didn’t I? Well, there’s justice
for you.”

“Carl, you saved three—”

“Yeah! You just said that. Only a lousy little three
thousand twenty one left to go.” Disgust distorted Carl’s face as he snapped
his head back toward the window.

“What?” Lilia said. “What’s with that number you keep
repeating? What does it have to do with anything?”

From behind, Stan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “The
people on board the
Princess
numbered—”

“Three thousand twenty four.” Lilia interrupted. “Oh, I see.
Is that what that rescue was all about, Carl? You’re trying to set right the
wrong you committed? You think with a bum arm you can’t save more lives?”

Carl turned to glare at her. “Yeah, well . . . how
else do you set right a wrong, Lilia?”

“Oh.” Stan took his seat and jostled the stack of magazines
with a tense hand. “So you’re bothered more by the inability to make amends
than by the loss of your arm, huh?”

Her cheeks wet with tears, Lilia stepped forward and slapped
Carl’s face hard. “You idiot!”

Stunned, Carl looked up at intense eyes. “Ouch, woman. That
hurt.”

She leaned over his bed until she was just inches from his
nose. “So, you either have to rescue people or get yourself killed to pay for
your crimes, is that it? Well, let me make something crystal clear to you. I
told you, it doesn’t work that way. Even if you manage to save a million people
it wouldn’t set things right. Only forgiveness will do that, so listen up. You
stop trying to get yourself killed starting now, Mister, or so help me I’ll . . .
I’ll . . .”

Carl smiled mischievously. “Kill me?”

Now at a complete loss for words, Lilia hesitated.

With a slight tilt of his chin, Carl pecked the tip of her
nose with a kiss. “If you cared more, I’d be in
real
trouble.”

She leaned further and hugged him tightly.

With his good arm, Carl returned her embrace the best he
could. Never before had he felt like this toward anyone.

“We love you, Carl. I love you. Don’t you ever try to leave
us again, you foolish man.” Lilia pulled back and wiped her cheeks with the
back of her hand.

She’s amazing,
thought Carl. There was no wondering
why Stan had fallen for her as he had. Carl felt himself drawn to her as well.
Avoiding her eyes, he looked away.

A sister, think of her as a sister, he told himself, frantic
to rein in his galloping emotions. There’s got to be a way to see her as a
sister.

He glanced at Stan and recognized the look in the man’s
expression. Uh oh, Stan knew. Stan saw it in his eyes and knew.

Carl looked away. “You two can go on without me. I think it
would be best if you did.”

Stan half moaned, half growled before speaking. “Not going
to happen, Carl. There’s more to this than you think. When we leave here, we
leave together, Lilia, me, and
you
, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

Lilia sniffled and half pointed to Stan. “What he said,
Mister.”

Carl let his face relax into a natural, easy smile while he
crammed his renegade emotions into a mental box and locked the lid on tight. He
didn’t understand how all this was going to unfold in a positive manner. But
one thing was becoming clear. He did belong with these two people—
for now,
anyway
—resigning to the truth forging itself into his brain. When he was
with them, he was home.

“So, then,” he said, changing the subject to lighten the
mood, “what did that nurse call me? Tudberry?”

“Thunburry,” Stan said as he glanced at the door. “We
haven’t crossed the border, so let’s not—”

“Say no more, Stan. I get it.”

Lilia stepped from the room and went to the nurse’s station
to get tissues. Through the glass, Carl watched her dry her tears and blow her
nose.

“Falling for the girl, I see,” Stan said reopening the
subject Carl wanted closed.

Carl let his gaze drop from the window to Stan’s watchful
eyes. “What? No, no, . . . I see her more as a sister—”

Stan scoffed. “Yeah, right. Look, I see the way you watch
her. You’re falling in love with her, and you can’t help it, can you?”

“Swift, come on.” Carl turned away as if to look outside,
but the image in his mind of Lilia’s warm smile drowned out reason’s voice.
“It’s plain you two are an item. I’m not going to—”

“Lilia and I? No, man. You got it wrong. She and I merely
co-captain
Reliant
, nothing more.”

Carl coughed to clear his throat, then laughed.
“Co-captains, huh? Man, you are so blind.”

“What are you saying, that we’re both in love with the same
girl?

“Yeah. Maybe I should just stay here after all.” Carl turned
to the window. At present facing Stan was impossible. “Swift, how do
you
intend on making amends?”

For the longest moment, the machines’ beeping was all that
broke the silence.

“I’ve been thinking about returning to Atheron,” Stan said
at long last.

“What?” Carl glanced back at Stan who now had his chin down
on his chest as he stared at the floor. “Why would you go back there?”

“Oh . . . to turn myself over to the . . .
those people.”

“Those people?”

“Trogs . . . to stand trial for what I’ve done.”

Carl shook his head in disbelief. “We really do make a
strange pair, don’t we?”

“Look, Carl. I see no way past this, so I want you to take
care of Lilia.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lilia’s voice snapped Carl’s attention
back to the doorway. She stepped into the room, grabbed Stan by the collar, and
yanked him to his feet with her own strength. Because he was taller than she,
he was hunched over as she forced him to meet her eye to eye.

“You’ve tried to assign me to someone’s care before. I’ll
have you know, Mr. Archer, I am not some painting to admire for a while and
then just give away.” Her grip, as she snugged his collar ends together, turned
her knuckles white. “I said this before, too, and it’s time you heard me! I am
a person, Mister, an independent person with my own feelings, my own desires,
and my own destiny. Don’t you dare think you have the right to pass me around
like some pretty flower.”

She shoved him back into his chair and stormed out of the
room.

Stunned, both men looked at each other in wide-eyed
disbelief.

“She’s all yours,” Stan said in a panic. “I won’t come
betw—”

“No, no,” Carl said. “I’ll not stand in your way, my friend.
Lovely woman, that. And she’s all yours.”

Just then two Enforcers entered the room.

Stan stood to his feet to confront them.

“Out of the way, Mister,” said the ranking officer. “We need
to question this man.”

Stan, standing between them and Carl, didn’t budge. “Leave
him be. I’ll answer your questions.”

The officer raised his M-1-AH Mouser and pressed it into Stan’s
throat.

Stan didn’t give way, but instead, spoke with a calm,
unshaken voice. “Pull the trigger or lower the gun, but I’ll not move, friend.”

“What are you doing?” came a new voice from the door. In
stepped the man Carl had rescued.

“Sorry, sir,” the Enforcer said, pointing his gun at Carl.
“This man is using a fictitious name. I suspect he’s a Trog.”

Now there’s irony for you,
thought Carl.

“Nonsense. Now get out of here,” said the newcomer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Protmeyer, but I have standing orders from
the Consul himself.”

Stan placed a hand on the Enforcer’s shoulder and stepped
forward. Off balance, the man had to move toward where Stan wanted him to go,
out of the door. “I can explain, officer, but only in private.” Stan pressed
the soldier toward the hallway, but the man resisted.

“Please,” Stan coaxed.

In order to preserve his dignity, the officer, with a slight
tilt of the head, consented, and stepped into the hallway, but away from the
nurses’ station and the people there.

Stan leaned forward to speak quietly into the enforcer’s
ear. “That’s Headley Farnsworth the third. If his dad were to find out he
risked his own life to rescue a commoner . . .”

“Mr. Protmeyer isn’t a commoner, pal,” said the officer.
“He’s Proctor Protmeyer’s brother.”

The officer’s face, smug and full of conceit, reflected who Stan
used to be. For years, without thought, Stan had acted just like this idiot.
Without warning an intense anger filled Stan, and in that instant, he wanted
nothing more than to slap the man’s fool attitude clean off his face and shake
some sense into him. Stan’s training came to his rescue and he managed to stay
calm, keeping his feelings out of his face.

“The Proctor?” Stan glanced back at the room as if to keep his
words secret. “Worse yet, Captain. If daddy hears about his son—even about his
being aboard an old freighter like mine—there’ll be fall out like you’ve never
seen.”

“So? What’s that to me? I’ve got to let the chips fall
where—”

“They may?” Stan interrupted. “I don’t think you want that.
The Confederation tends to shoot the messenger. Everybody involved will be
caught up in this, even if that person were an innocent, dutiful soldier just
doing his job. No loose ends. You hear me? Best to let things settle until a
certain person is well away from the situation, don’t you think?”