The Loranth (Star Sojourner Book 1) (9 page)

She stroked the hair on his chest. He felt a slow desire begin, but this was not the time.

“You never were a good liar.” She sighed. “When I left my family and all my friends in the Abramite community on New Pennsylvania, it was like tearing away part of my own flesh. But I thought, Jack will be my mother and my father, he'll take the place of sisters, brothers, friends. Jack and our children will be all the family I'll ever need.” She smiled. “Of course I didn't know what a prolific bastard you are.”

“That's a heavy burden to carry, Kit.”

“Your shoulders were broad enough.” She took his hand. “Your hands were gentle enough.”

He continued to stare at the ceiling and felt his stomach tighten from the conflict of emotions. Resentment welled and won out. He was damned if he went, damned if he stayed. Honor lay in going, but what was honor to Annie and the kids if he were killed? “I don't know what's right anymore.”

“I do.”

He rolled his head to look at her.

“If you're…if you're killed by some creature out there, I think I could survive,” she said, “for the children.” She leaned her head on his chest. “I'd take the brood to New Pennsylvania. But…”

“If I just don't come back, like Jules?”

He felt her nod against his chest. Her grip on his hand tightened.

* * *

Jack wiped an arm across his sweaty brow and strapped down the last of Stanley's supplies in the storage compartment behind the landslider's back seats. “How long you figure we'll be out there?” he asked Stanley, who sat on a bench in the shade of Stol's Expedition Outfitters' rear entrance.

Stanley shrugged without looking up from the open map spread across his knees. “Who knows?” He sipped iced berrybru.

“We've got enough supplies here for at least three months.” He studied their bulging packs of provisions. “Maybe.”

“I hope your calculations are correct,” Stanley said. “I have an aversion to running out of food.”

“And everything else. Everything but a rifle. You going to throw rocks at that thing if it attacks?”

Stanley lifted his head. “With what I know from guns, my friend, rocks would be more effective.” He shrugged. “Weapons I leave to you.”

Jack cursed as he slid into the driver's seat. His misgivings about this search had deepened when he realized to what extent Stanley was relying on Jack's own skills and experience. As though the scientist's only task would be to locate the entrances.

Jack checked his police issue beam rifle. It was clamped to a rack under his seat. The regulating ring was set on pulse. He checked the safety ring. Locked. It was a good weapon, and he kept a back-up under a rear seat. But he was still only one man.

A damp wind threw sand across Stol's empty lot, bounced it off the landslider's enzylastic sides, skittered over the wide hood and through the four sets of wheels. Each set was hydraulically suspended to lift the vehicle in segments over fallen logs and other obstacles, or rotate it independently to maneuver the slider through a maze of fibrins.

Jack peered westward where deepening violet clouds raced storm waves to the shore. The wind was a salty veil peeled from the ocean's skin. But to their destination in the northeast, the sun still struck the land with a brand of heat. “Coming?” he called to Stanley.

Stanley looked past the vehicle and squinted over his glasses. “Hah! You wouldn't believe who else thinks he's coming.”

Jack followed Stanley's gaze to where Thad Denning trotted toward them with a backpack thrown over the Journalist's shoulder. A rifle hung over his other shoulder. Sand swirled around his bare tanned legs. His shorts were fashionably scalloped at the thighs and his thin shirt clung. The sleeves were rolled to expose biceps.

When Thad saw them watching, he tossed back long sun-bleached hair and narrowed his eyes as he approached.

Jack quietly shook his head.
Trying to look tough,
he thought.

“Good morning, Mister. Cole. My name is Thad Denning.” He extended a limp hand.

Jack took it. “I know.”

“Oh, then you've read my articles in the Leone Herald?”

“No.”

“Well, they're not for everyone.” He brushed hair off his forehead with a finger. “Anyway, I was told by a reliable source that you had organized a search party to find Christine Saynes and the tag who went after her. I'd like to join you.”

“Why?”

“Well, Christine and I are very close.”

“Who was your source?”

“Oh, sergeant, you know better than to ask a journalist for
that
information.”

Jack was unimpressed by clothing, suntan, or pumped-up biceps. Physical strength meant little when the chips were down. He'd learned that from tight spots with police partners. Still, the man carried a rifle and appearances could be deceiving. The bravest man he'd ever known had been a homosexual.
Was Denning?
he wondered. Or was he just playing a part for his own reasons? It couldn't hurt to have help, and there were enough provisions.

“Good enough friends,” Jack said, “to risk your ass falling into the same trap that got her?”

“Well.” Thad leaned on one leg. “We'll be more alert to the danger, don't you think?” He tossed back hair that fluttered around his face.

If nothing else, these two croteasses could act as some kind of backup. “Put your stuff in the supply compartment and get in.”

“Just a minute!” Stanley shouted and limped over. “This is a private party.” He scrutinized Denning and smirked. “Are you certain you're not lost, beachcake? The surfing is
that
way.” He jabbed his middle finger oceanward.

“Is this your
party?
” Thad asked Jack as his gaze roamed Stanley from the toes up. “Then you should be grateful for all the help that's offered.”

'So?' Stanley said. “You know a few good men? And I don't mean the leather bottoms from Daisy Rod Inn!'

Thad made a face, ignored him and slid into the passenger seat.

“At least he carries a rifle,” Jack told Stanley.

“He carries a lot of things for effect.” Stanley got into a rear seat.

“Christcroting!” Jack muttered, using Gail's expression, when he realized that the weapon Thad slid off his shoulder and tucked under his seat was an electrodart tranquilizer gun.

“Well” Stanley said, “We wouldn't really want to hurt any of the cute little animals, now would we?”

“It's obvious,” Thad turned to Stanley, “that for some reason you're transferring your own feelings of inadequacy onto me. And while that's not really my problem, Stanley, I'd really like to help you overcome your hostilities. Suppose we start all over again.” He smiled, and extended a hand. “Call me Thad.”

Stanley ignored the hand and sipped berrybru. “I already know your name. It's beachcake. And listen, I enjoy my hostilities too much to share, so be a nice girl and schlep back to the tanning parlor.”

“Stan,” Jack said. “He's coming.”

“Why?” Stanley pleaded. “Because he carries a dart rifle?' His face reddened.

“It helps the odds,” Jack said, “an' he's not going to steal your prize.”

“This is my project!” Stanley leaned over Jack's backrest and Jack knew the man was on the edge of rage. “The last person I want along is a story-sniffing ink vulture!” His voice cracked. 'You want to sabotage my project, Cole? Drop leaflets from a plane!”

“It's your project,” Jack told him, “but it's my ass if I need help.'

Thad scribbled on a piece of paper. He handed it to Stanley. “My written agreement, Stanley, not to print the story, whatever the story turns out to be, until I have your permission. It's recognized as a legal document on this world and others. You could sue the banner off the Herald's front page if I break this agreement. As witnessed by Mister Cole?” He handed Jack the pen and paper.

“Just Jack.” He read it, signed his name and dated it.

“This is betrayal!” Stanley hissed at Jack.

“If there's something out there that's dangerous to the town,' Thad said, “the people have a right to know about it. Don't you agree, Stanley?'

Stanley scrunched up the map, shoved it into the vehicle's back utility compartment and slammed it shut. “So maybe you were right after all,” he told Jack.

“How's that?” Jack punched the starter. The motor hummed, the power light registered full charge.

“Maybe we can use him for bait!”

Jack shook his head and turned the vehicle northeast, toward Mariah Pass.

* * *

It was late afternoon. And it was raining. A hard rain. The windshield airflow held off water, but misted rain was a white tunnel hedging the vehicle. “We're off the road in more sense than one,” Jack reflected as he threw the slider into all-terrain drive. The sound of the motor lowered to a steady reassuring drone that echoed wind as eight wheels engaged to grind over loose shale and deepening mud.

Stanley sat beside Jack. He squinted through the windshield and checked his maps and his notes.

Thad slept soundly across the rear seats.

Jack had closed the vehicle's metal top and turned on fog lights kilometers back. Now, as the mist closed like a white fist, he activated the onboard comp's radar screen, but kept drive controls on manual. At this rate, the comp informed him, the vehicle's power pack would need suncharging or auxiliary charge in thirty-one hours. It advised stopping and shutting down all systems to wait out the storm, with the option of turning on the low-drain audiovis. Sleeping dims were available upon comp request. Vid cassettes were limited in choice on this off-road utility model, but considering the weather conditions, the sudden wash-outs, the comp recommended viewing Surviving on the Land in Tartarus' Wilderness Zone Three. The Cape Leone weather forecast flashed onscreen at ten minute intervals. “Storm continues to rise to hurricane force,” it announced.

Jack ran a hand through his damp hair, breathed the musty smell of wrapped supplies and the faintly sour odor of his own body where sweat had dried that morning.

Ahead, bleak terrain showed in patches through mist. Trees were beaten down. Exposed roots reached out like frozen hands from graves. The land itself seemed besieged by wind and water. The heavy slider rocked like a boat taking waves broadside and wind was a scream that made it difficult to think. Annie. His mind drifted to warm blue nights. Their conversation, their lovemaking, gentle and easy with years of knowing. What was he doing here, rolling dice in a death game against an unknown opponent? He glanced at Stanley, who stared intently at the radar screen, the map clutched in both hands. Death was acceptable to the ambitious man, he decided, if it meant immortalization in the stelbanks.

A sense of total desolation came to sit on Jack's spirit as he steered toward Christine's unseen dig site. Thad moaned in his sleep. Stanley leaned back, his brow furrowed, and closed his eyes.

Suddenly Jack bolted upright in the seat. He had a vivid image of Annie, his children, locked behind rain-streaked windows. Their breath fogged glass as they called out to him. He strained to see through opaque windows and heard their screams. The walls surrounding them folded, fell inward like wet paper. A red mist rolled. “Annie!” he cried. “I'm turning back, kit.”

“Look out!” Stanley yelled.

Jack swerved the vehicle. It slid, scraped against the tree he hadn't seen.

“Didn't you see that tree?” Stanley demanded.

Jack shook his head. “What the hell was going on?”

“Neither did I, until the last minute,” Stanley admitted.

They glanced at each other.

“If I told you what I saw,” Stanley muttered, “you'd think I was meshugge.”

Thad whimpered in his sleep and flung out an arm.

“This beachcake would sleep through the Resurrection. So what did you mean, turn back?”

“Forget it.”

“Do you wish the slider anchored?” the comp asked in a monotone.

“Negative,” Jack responded.

“Do you wish to switch to auto and allow comp decisions based upon continuous sensor input?'

“Not yet.”

Ahead lay Purgatory Canyon.

“Water sealing complete,” the comp announced. Even in a flood the interior would remain dry.

Stanley leaned toward the screen, matching the radar display with the map. “There!” He pointed to the dig site on the screen, still unseen through the windshield.

Jack nodded and guided the vehicle between boulders. A mud slide slammed rocks into the passenger door.

Stanley yelled.

“It'll hold,” Jack told him and watched a dead scrabbler flop down with the stream of mud until it caught against a tree.

A wave of oppression too keen to be storm-induced assailed Jack's thoughts as he steered toward Christine's site. He glanced at Thad, saw him lift a hand in his sleep as though to brush away flies.

“We should stop and eat something,”

Stanley mumbled. “I think I'm hungry.”

“It's not hunger,” Jack told him. “I feel it too. It's…something else.'

“Still, I wish I had some hot soup. Better yet, a glass of schnapps.”

Jack's sense of impending doom grew as he approached the site. He braked hard and brought the vehicle to a stop. He put a hand to his queasy stomach. His heart pumped fast as some nameless terror prowled his mind. Outside, mist swirled. He shook his head, gaped as the mist began to coalesce into monstrous alien forms. Skull faces laughed and spat wind as they danced around the vehicle.

“You see that?” he asked Stanley.

But Stanley was rigid in his seat, staring ahead. Lost, Jack realized, in some nightmare of his own. “What the hell's happening to us?”

Thad screamed and sat up. “It wasn't my fault! Don't you come any closer. Don't. I'm warning you. The article had nothing to do with her suicide.” He screamed again. “Go back to your grave! Leave me alone!”

'Wake up,” Jack told him. “It's a dream.”

Thad stared at him with terror written on his face.

“It was a dream,” Jack repeated.

“I'm not so sure.” Stanley stared at the dig site.

“It's the goddamn storm and our imaginations,” Jack said. “What the hell else could it be? Stay awake, Denning! We're here.”

Thad looked around. “Here? Where's here?” He made a loose fist and chewed a knuckle. His eyes, peering over it, darted from window to window. “I kept trying to wake up. But I couldn't. It was horrible. Why didn't one of you wake me up?”