Satan's Forge (Star Sojourner Book 5) (13 page)

When we were well away from the farm, I reined him in and took out my comlink. He bucked and almost threw me. “Whoa!” I pulled up his head, then patted his neck to soothe him. I flipped open the comlink and turned it on. “This is Jules,” I said.

“Hello.”

"Who am I talking to?

There was a pause.

“It's Jules. Who is this? I don't have any time.”

“Uh, Jules,” a male voice said. “Where are you?”

“Listen to me. Slade might be monitoring the call. Tell Sophia I need a cubair to pick me up. Code Bug Bag Crusty. You got that? Bug Bag Crusty. She'll know where I'll be.”

“Oh, OK. Bug Bag Crusty. Where are you now?”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. The voice had a metallic sound and an Altairian accent. I shut off the comlink. “Crotemungering bastards!” By now they'd have my location. It was possible that someone at our camp had also picked up my message. One thing for sure. I had to put miles between this location and myself. I urged the Appaloosa into a trot toward an uphill clearing. He moved sideways and slid on wet leaves, then caught his footing.

Dammit! This young stud wasn't fully trained. It was my will against his as I yanked his head around with the hackamore and guided him up the hill. From the top, I saw the misty lights of Wydemont Creek in the distance. “C'mon, Horse.” I patted his neck and rode toward town.

It was probably close to midnight as we approached Wydemont. The rain gear was great camouflage as I rode down a side street and to the pier. The town was in full swing, with streams of ground and air cars, and enough casino lights on the main drag to challenge the stars.

But it was dark on the pier, with only a few well-spaced overhead lights. Three fishermen leaned against the rail, covered in raingear, their poles in the water. Tackle boxes lay by their sides.

“Catch anything?” I asked as I rode by.

“Not yet,” one answered without turning. He threw back his pole and sent the line sailing into the water. The Appaloosa whinnied and reared. He came down hard on front legs and bucked. I found myself sitting on the pier.

“You crotefucker!” I jumped up as he bolted. He slammed into a fisherman with his shoulder. The fisherman was knocked down. I saw his green tail lash out from under the rain suit.

“Oh, shit!” The three Altairians were between me and the street. How could they have known? And then, as I ran to the end of the pier, I remembered. Joe had once said that a comlink can be traced even when shut off, once you have its primary location.

I skidded to a stop and ripped off a wooden sign that said End of Pier. The Altairian out front reached me and drew back a fist. I lifted the sign and gritted my teeth as I held it out, stiff-armed. He hit it and howled. “My hand! I broke my hand.”

The next one reached me and I swung the sign and caught him on the side of the head. He gasped and tripped over his feet. I gave him a kick that sent him into the water. The third crote stopped and looked at me, legs braced, unsure what to do. “Here, catch!” I threw the sign to him and he caught it. Then he growled, threw down the sign and leaped at me. I dived off the pier and into cold water. I swam to a piling and pulled myself under the pier.

“Where did the prit go?” one of them called.

“He's under the pier!” another answered.

I pulled myself along by the pilings, out past the pier and into deep, dark water. The pull of the tide was incoming. I sidestroked, low in the water, without splashing, and swam out into the harbor where the current was stronger. I took out my comlink, turned it on and let it go. The green light disappeared as it sank. “Go fetch!” I muttered.

“He's got to be under here someplace,” I heard. “Spread out. We'll let the prit freeze to death under the pier.”

The current dissipated further into the harbor and I swam, shivering, to a sandy beach away from the pier, and crawled out, staying low to the ground.

“Going for a midnight swim?” a voice asked.

I jumped.

A group of four Terran scuba divers stood around a small fire.

I got up and approached, rubbing my arms through the rain jacket. “Mind if I join you?” I asked with my teeth chattering.

“Come ahead,” a male diver said. “Is that some new kind of wet suit?” He grinned.

“Wish it were.” I shrugged out of the soaked raingear and stood near the fire.

A woman, still in her wet suit, handed me a towel and smiled. “Neoprene's warmer, you know.”

“Yeah.” I dried myself off as best I could.

“Catch anything?” a teenaged boy asked and chuckled as he stripped off his suit.

I was still shivering. “Probably pneumonia.”

An older man with a white mustache walked over with a blanket and a cup of hot coffee. “You better warm up before hypothermia sets in.”

“Thanks.” I wrapped myself in the blanket. My hand shook as I took the coffee and drank some. I watched the three Altairians spread out along the pier.

The older diver looked back at them. “Friends of yours?”

“No.” I gestured toward the artificial gills and sonar headgear. “That's some hi-tech equipment you've got,” I said, to change the subject. “I didn't know New Lithnia imported this stuff.”

He glanced at the Altairians. “It doesn't come cheap, but we manage.”

“Looks like they lost something under the pier,” the younger man said.

I shrugged and drank more coffee.

The woman picked up a bug bag full of flapping crusties. “We're going to cook these on the beach. Want to join us?”

I shook my head. “I just ate,” I lied.

She chuckled. “You shouldn't eat before a dive, tag.”

“Why don't you sit in our T-Bear Cub,” the older man said and gestured toward a ground-air craft. “I'll turn on the heat and you can warm up.”

“Sounds great.” I went to the vehicle and slid into the driver's seat. “Nice Cub,” I said as he reached in, started it, and turned on the heater. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let the warm air wash over me.

“I just bought her two weeks ago,” he said. “It's fully insured.” He closed the door and walked back to his group.

Now what did he mean by that?
I thought.

I hated to do it. I really did, but I threw the shift into gear, punched the power button, and tore across the beach and onto the dark side street. I turned the Bear Cub west, toward our camp, and floored it.

When I was past Wydemont, I swung into a dark dirt road, turned off the lights, and lifted the craft. Two sets of lights rose behind me and spread out. Might just be people returning from the casinos.

Then again…

When I checked the rear mirrors, the lights were gone. Had they landed, or were they also running dark?

I banked the craft and headed north, away from our camp, just in case I was the Judas goat leading Slade's men to our camp's location.
It's fully insured,
the white-haired diver had said. Was that an invitation to steal the craft and head home with Slade's men on my tail? Their hi-tech dive gear was expensive. So was this fast, sleek craft. Who was paying the bill? I wondered as I soared over a snow-peaked mountain.

Suddenly the engine whined down and sputtered. “What the hell!” I was losing altitude. Fast! A button flashed.
On Star Engaged
, it read.

“Oh my God!”

The craft plummeted, silently gliding as I tried to guide it between peaks. Somewhere, in a Wydemont Creek police station, an operator had shut down the vehicle and turned it into a glider.

With my eyes glued open and my heart demanding to be set free, I tightened my seat belt, turned on the lights, and rode the thermals down into a black valley.

“Please, Great Mind,” I prayed as I pulled up the nose and slammed into the ground, “no rocks!”

The Cub plowed a furrow deep enough to plant a crop, or to plant me. It flipped and slid to a halt upside down. The seatbelt was jammed. I hung there, looking at the ground overhead and the sky below. The alarm announced
Emergency
. No fucking kidding! The red light blinked. The siren wailed. With my great view of the night sky, I saw the lights of two crafts as they lowered.

I tried desperately to release the seatbelt, but it held fast, protecting the pilot.

From what!
I thought as I smelled wires burning. Christ and Buddha, I had to get out of the Cub. I would even welcome Slade's men, but they would probably let me burn.

I was breathing hard as I tried to hold onto a floor strut to get my weight off the belt and open it. My hand slipped off. If I got out of this alive, I would never leave the house again without my stingler. I could have cut the belt with the swipe of a hot beam. Speaking of which…

Smoke!

And the bitter odor of wires burning.

Spirit!
I screamed in my mind.
Do something. Spirit!

What would you have me do?

Send help. Quick!

It is on its way, Terran. May I go now?

Why are you always in a hurry?

Why are you always in trouble?

I didn't ask for this!

But somehow, Jules Rammis, it always finds you. I have a mountain range to see to, on the southern continent of Halcyon. It's too high as it stands. The land to the east is desert. I have to shave down the peaks.

I looked around. But all I saw was sky.

Then the whine of motors. Had Slade's men landed?

Three upside down land vehicles approached, bouncing across the field without lights.

Who are they?
I sent. But Spirit was gone.

“Whoever you are,” I gasped as flames shot up behind me and lit the console with red light, “drive faster!” My back was warming. “Great Mind!”

My eyes stung from smoke. I coughed with every breath. “Help!” I yelled, and struggled to release the belt as the vehicles screeched to a slippery stop in low vegetation. “Get me out of here.”

“Hang on!” someone yelled as Terrans jumped out of the vehicles and raced to the Cub.

“What do you think I'm doing?” I felt like a bat. A very warm bat.

The pilot's door was pulled open. A shadowy figure reached inside and lifted me. Another released the seat belt and I slid to the roof of the Cub, rolled, and fell out.

“C'mon!” someone shouted. “It could blow.”

I was disoriented as I staggered to a vehicle with a hand on my arm, steadying me. The whine of two aircraft landing grew as they taxied toward us.

“Let's go!” the man told the driver as we threw ourselves into the rear of the vehicle. He needed no persuasion as he hit the power and we were thrown back against the seats. A missile exploded in our path and flung dirt and pebbles into the windshield. The driver swerved right and headed for a line of trees not far ahead. The two other vehicles bounced alongside.

“They should spread out,” I said.

“Oh?” the driver called over his shoulder. “You know all about escaping from Boss Slade's guards?”

Then we were into the trees. A second blast sounded behind us.

I looked back and saw the Cub reduced to spinning pieces of flying metal. Oh, well. The owner was fully insured. Though I'll bet Lithium Love Mine was paying the bill.

Night closed around us in the thick woods. The driver slowed. “We lost them, Mack,” he told the man beside me.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

“We've been tracking you since you showed up at the pier,” Mack said. He was an older man with a speckled black beard, a low brow, and thick black hair. “We were hoping you'd return.”

“Any particular reason?” I asked.

“We've been trying to hook up with your platoon.”

“What makes you think I'm part of a platoon?”

He gave me a cold look. Or maybe it was just the deep shadows of darkness. “Let's not play games, Jules. We're a deep cover operation from Alpha.”

“Oh?” Alpha had no jurisdiction on New Lithnia.

“I know what you're thinking,” he said. “We're not subject to the Worlds Alliance's handbook. We're here to shut down Love Mine once and for all. When we reach our HQ, you can contact Alpha on our SPS and confirm my information. Does that suit you?”

“It helps.” I sat back. “I want to talk to Starfleet Commander Ca Prez.”

The driver, a young, heavyset, bald tag, glanced back.

“She's not available,” Mack said. “She's on a mission. Watch where you're driving, Darryl.”

That was bullshit. An SPS unit, a Stellar Positioning System, could worm through the furthest known star systems and surrounding parsecs.

“When will she be back on Alpha?” I asked.

“No one has that information,” Mack said. “It's a secret mission.”

More bullshit! Starfleet commanders did not take their ships on clandestine missions. I had to act on the assumption that these were Slade's hired Terran guns.

“I'm pretty worn out.” I rubbed my eyes and lowered my head to my hand as we drove deeper into the woods. The headlights bounced off strange, great-boled trees. I had to get in touch with someone from the team. I would not reveal the location of our camp before warning them.

I'd never tried a tel-link at this distance, perhaps fifteen miles, southwest, considering that I had turned north. None of my team were sensitives. Were any of Big Sarge's men? It was a long shot, literally, to send a probe with a message that far.

Still, it was worth a try and the only plan I could devise at the moment.

I imaged a red coil behind my eyes. I lowered my shields and let my essence lift from the protection of the flower Star Speaker had given me as an image to lock onto. I reached down to the core of my being and spun the coil with my life energy.

“He fell asleep,” Mack told Darryl.

I pictured a tornado spinning, sucking up my energy like a warm current and creating a vortex. Wind howled within my mind. Energy coalesced in the center of my being. This was going to cost me, I knew. I spun the tornado faster, a dark monster surging up, moving toward my objective, fifteen miles away. I pictured water rising into a frothing tsunami, racing ahead of the black, spinning funnel. I gave it all the energy I had to give, and it left me drained. I probed for our campsite.