Firestorm (9 page)

Six

The computer panel flashed in a dizzying array of colors. Monitors sounded alarms. A terminal exploded, filling the cockpit with the scent of smoke and melting wires. Teague swore a most unmonastic oath under his breath.

Something had gone awry in the atmospheric deceleration. Whether it was the loose protective shield or some equipment malfunction, perhaps overstressed by the unexpected turbulence of Incendra's atmosphere, Teague didn't know. It mattered little. Repairs could be made and a computer diagnostic run later—if they survived.

His thoughts turned fleetingly to Raina. What would she find in the hold where the rear starboard panel was? He didn't want her there—the danger was indeed great— but there was no other choice. He couldn't leave the helm. There was nothing more he could do but attempt to break their downward trajectory and achieve a stable gliding pattern in the upper atmosphere. It was too late to continue with their original plan. Too late, and pointless, at any rate.

Teague only prayed that Raina could make the repairs quickly. If there truly was a radiation leak into the hold, the less exposure she suffered, the better. He only hoped the shields had held well enough to prevent any kind of leak.

The severe downward angle of the ship's nose failed to respond to the flight computer. They plummeted toward the ground, the heat sensors clanging in alarm. Desperately, Teague programmed an override command. The secondary guidance system took over. Grasping the yoke, the monk hauled back with all his strength.

For the longest, most sickening span of seconds, nothing happened. The spy ship continued on its fatal course, the overloaded forward thrusters screaming in protest. Then, miraculously, the bedlam seemed to change in tone, lessen in volume and intensity. Just as miraculously, the ship's steep angle of descent began to level out.

The monk maintained his death grip on the yoke, unwilling to believe what his flight computer was telling him. "Angle of descent eighty degrees nose low seventy-five . . . sixty . . . forty-five . . . thirty . . . fifteen ...

"Zero."

With a groan, Teague pushed the yoke forward to maintain a level course before they headed back upward. The craft steadied, straightened. He shut down the forward thrusters, checked the control panel for signs of any significant damage. Blessedly, there was little. The navigation system appeared to have suffered the most destruction.

Thanks to the damaged navigation system, though, the autopilot was now nonfunctional. Teague programmed an override control lock to maintain steady flight, released his safety harness, and stood. His knees wobbled as relief made him momentarily lightheaded.

They'd barely survived, that Teague well knew, but they had survived. Or at least, he had. He'd yet to see how Raina had fared.

He quickly headed through the cockpit hatch and down the corridor. The hold's floor panel had slammed shut, probably during all the turbulence. It was probably for the best. If there'd been a radiation leak, it had remained contained in the hold.

Teague halted at the computerized wall panel and programmed a demagnetization command. The lights flashed ran through the sequence, then extinguished.

"Demagnetization sequence completed" the computer informed him.

Teague moved to the hold's floor panel, knelt, and lifted the small door until it locked in place. Steep metal stairs led down to the subfloor and the ship's hull. "Raina?" he called down into the hold. "Are you all right?"

There was no answer. Filled with rising dread Teague climbed down the stairs. The small hold looked as it had before lift-off, sectioned off into neat, shelved compartments stocked with shielded receptacles designed to carry the Incendarian crystal back to Bellator. Strapped firmly onto their shelves, they'd suffered no damage from the rough ride down.

"Raina?"

Teague headed toward the rear starboard section, its back wall blocked from view by the ceiling-high shelved compartments. As he made his way around the compartment fronting the starboard wall, a low groan emanated from directly behind him. He wheeled and found the Sodalitas crumpled in a corner behind yet another shelved compartment.

His heart pounding, he raced over and knelt before her. "Raina? Femina? What happened?"

Her dark auburn lashes fluttered open. "The panel. . . it was loose. I managed ... to seal it shut. . . but it took a long while." She attempted to lever herself to one elbow and failed. "Ah, curse it all," she whispered. "I'm so weak."

Teague reached out and brushed aside a long, curling lock that had worked free of her braid. "The electromagnetic radiation?"

Raina grimaced then nodded. "That, and exposure to some high levels of heat, I'm afraid. Guess it'll soon be a mission of two once more."

"Don't count on that just yet. You're too stubborn to give up easily. Besides, are you really willing to admit I was right in ordering you not to come down here?"

"Hardly, Tremayne. You know better than that." With a superhuman effort, Raina offered her hand. "Help me get out of here, will you?"

He scooted close, pulled her gently to a sitting position, and lifted her over his shoulder. Backing out of the narrow space, Teague hefted Raina more securely in place, then stood. The climb up the stairs with the additional weight of his human burden was a challenge, but he made it and soon had her lying on the narrow bunk in the sleeping chamber. He slid a pillow beneath her head and covered her with a blanket.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." Teague's glance skimmed over her. She was pale, her skin clammy, and she could barely keep her eyes open. It was vital that he get the necessary injections from the med kit into her, a med kit they'd been as thoroughly instructed in the use of as they had the piloting of the spy ship and collection of the crystal.

Teague ran from the sleeping chamber and down the hall to the galley where the kit was kept. He all but ripped it off the wall and raced out of the room, back down the corridor, and into the sleeping chamber. His hands trembled as he laid the box on the small table and opened it.

What had Cyra said? First give the anti-radiation drug to decrease the effective amount of rads from a new radiation exposure and prevent further damage. Then the torpine, to put the patient into a healing trance for the next twenty-four hours. Between the two, one hoped to be able to minimize the damage. Later, after meds to treat specific side effects like nausea and vomiting, and healing ointments for any skin damage, there was an ample supply of narcotics for pain.

He looked back at Raina. She lay there unmoving, apparently having drifted into unconsciousness. It was for the best, Teague told himself. She'd been through enough trauma without having now to endure his fumbling efforts to heal her . . . if he could heal her. There was no telling how much radiation exposure she'd received. He would never know. She would either live or die, and the final answers would lie in that.

He gave her the injections. Then, after removing Raina's boots and loosening her clothing, Teague covered her with several more blankets to keep her warm. He lingered there a moment more, gazing down at her.

At the sight of Raina lying there so pale and quiet, his stomach clenched and his throat went dry. She had risked her life to save him and Rand and the mission, a mission she'd very reluctantly embarked upon—with an alien and a man she despised. Yet she had done it, nonetheless.

A grudging admiration for Raina's courage filled Teague. Not only was she beautiful and infinitely desirable, but now, on top of everything else, he found he respected her. Whatever had happened to her at the hands of others, Raina still lived by the most honorable of precepts.

The admission of his esteem for her, however, didn't ease any of Teague's rising torment. If anything, it only intensified it. And now, to make matters even worse, he would have to care for her, to touch her.

Choking back an agonized groan, Teague turned and exited the sleeping chamber. Raina would be safe enough for now, and he had more pressing matters to attend to. Matters like landing the ship as soon as possible, before something else malfunctioned.

"How is the femina?" Rand immediately asked when Teague reentered the cockpit.

The monk halted and glanced down at the Volan's pack. "She suffered radiation and heat exposure while repairing the rear starboard panel."

"I was afraid of that. If I can be of assistance . . ." Rand paused, then gave a self-disparaging laugh. "Rather ludicrous of me, isn't it, offering my assistance? Without a body, I'm not much use to anyone."

Compassion for the Volan's frustration filled Teague. He took his own body so much for granted. What must it be like not to have one, to be totally helpless and dependent on others even just to survive? "No, you're not much use without a body," the monk replied honestly. "At least, not in any physical sense. But your store of knowledge is indeed valuable and, with Raina ill, I'll require all the assistance and advice I can get."

"Whatever I can do to help, I will do gladly."

Teague smiled. "I know that, Rand and it's deeply appreciated." He walked over to his seat, sat, and strapped himself back in. A quick check of the control panel revealed nothing further had happened to the ship in his absence. The navigation system was indeed non-functional, Teague discovered as he attempted to reconfirm the landing coordinates, but aside from that, all seemed in order. He'd just have to manually pilot the ship down to the ground.

"We may not be landing in exactly the location we'd originally planned" he called back to Rand. "A minor detail, though, in the total scheme of things."

"And what scheme of things were you alluding to?" Rand shouted back.

"Survival, Volan," Teague replied a grim smile twisting his lips. He disengaged the control lock, manually fired the rear thrusters, then shoved the yoke forward. "The only thing that truly matters in the end wouldn't you say?"

***

An evening breeze swept across the hot sands, cooling the desert. The sun dipped below the distant, rock-strewn land and wind-carved misshapen cliffs, exploding at last in an inferno of fiery crimsons, deep ochres, and golds. Save for the occasional howl of some wild desert canus, it was silent. The soft silence of the wilderness, the land of the nomads and desert tribes. The Ar Rimal.

Teague watched as the sun's dying glory peaked then faded his heart and mind beset with a confusing jumble of emotions. He was safely on Incendra, the Volan ship landed. Raina, still in the throes of the healing stupor, slept on, no worse save for a slight reddish flush to her skin that had appeared a few hours ago.

Even with the aid of the anti-radiation drug, it was now evident that she'd experienced at least some of the milder symptoms of the sickness. If only she didn't worsen. But he didn't know, wouldn't know, for at least several more days.

***

In the meantime, though they had arrived in the Ar Rimal desert, Teague had no idea of their exact coordinates. Tonight he'd try and reorient himself by the stars. The onboard computer could plot their exact location once Teague had made a few measurements and calculations. The navigation system, however, would need major repair work.

Indeed, there was quite a bit of work to be accomplished in the next few days. Besides Raina's nursing, the ship needed to be hidden and the necessary repairs completed. Once they set out for the caves, they needed a fully functional ship for their eventual return. A quick escape off planet might be essential.

He turned from the scene of sand and sky and headed back to the Volan ship. It would be cold soon. The lack of cloud cover that was the curse of the desert on hot, sunny days also prevented the retention of heat at night. Though they must conserve fuel for takeoff when they departed Incendra, Teague calculated they could spare a small amount each night to heat one room on the ship. And that room would be the sleeping chamber.

There was adequate space for Rand and his pack under the bunk. Teague could make a simple pallet on the floor beside the bed. Sharing the same room with Raina served many purposes—fuel conservation, as well as his being available to her in the night. Not that he liked the idea, necessity though it might be. No, he didn't like it at all.

But she was helpless and ill, and he owed her whatever aid he could offer. His monkish qualms about sleeping so close to a female were of little concern now. His monkish qualms, it was beginning to seem, would hold little weight for the entire mission.

Teague sealed the front hatch, made one last check of the cockpit, then headed down the corridor to the sleeping chamber. Raina lay on the bunk just as he'd left her an hour ago, quiet, unmoving. He checked her and found her skin hot, her breathing a bit labored, but otherwise, her condition was unchanged. She'd awaken near midday on the morrow, when the effects of the torpine had worn off.

He lowered the light source to a soothing dimness, then laid out several blankets and a pillow on the floor. Though disinclined to sleep just yet, Teague settled down on his makeshift pallet nonetheless. As he rolled over onto his back and bunched the pillow beneath his head, Rand's voice rose out of the darkness.

"How was it outside?" the Volan asked. "Could you see the sun and sky and land? What did they look like?"

The wistfulness in the alien's voice plucked at Teague. "Yes, I saw it all," he replied softly. "The sun was just setting, and it was glorious. I'd forgotten how unique the sunsets are over the Ar Rimal. There's just something about that clear, dry air that seems to intensify everything, especially the colors. And the scents and sounds." Teague exhaled a contented breath. "They carry for such distances in the desert."

"I used to love seeing the day end," Rand murmured. "There was such a sense of completion to it all, and the setting sun just seemed the crowning glory to one's accomplishments."

"There is much in life to be appreciated and savored, isn't there?" Teague asked thoughtfully. "You make me reexamine a lot of things. Things I've taken for granted until they began to seem inconsequential. I wonder . . ."

"Wonder what?" Rand prodded, when Teague paused.

"I wonder ... if I haven't been missing a lot of the simpler, more elemental aspects of life. Aspects that are far more essential to our hearts and minds and souls than some of the complex truths we are always striving to attain."

"I've wondered that myself. Wondered that perhaps I shouldn't just be content with my predestined fate — however limited it may finally be."

Teague cocked his head to glance in the Volan's direction. "Perhaps. But your dilemma, and its solution, will of necessity be much harder than mine. Mine is simply that I'm not certain I know how to begin anew. Or if I even have sufficient courage to change."

"Life is an endless series of rebirths and renewals, I think. It's also a myriad of little deaths. But isn't the true victory found ultimately within ourselves, and how we face each triumph and defeat?"

"You're waxing eloquent tonight, Volan."

"Am I?" Rand chuckled. "Perhaps you just bring it out in me."

A heavy drowsiness crept up on Teague. His lids lowered. Sleep wouldn't be as elusive as he'd first imagined, he thought. He turned on his side and shoved his pillow more comfortably beneath him. "Perhaps I do indeed," he said. "But I think as well that you give as much as you take, Volan."

"I thank you for that." There was a long pause, then Rand's mellifluous voice once again pierced the heavy silence of the night. "Sleep well, Teague Tremayne."

"Sleep well . . . Rand."