Star runners, p.31
Star Runners, page 31
He should have taken the curve.
He should have left when he had the chance. Now he was going to die on this rock, a billion miles from nowhere.
Don’t do this, he cursed himself. Get moving.
He glanced at the air gauge. Nineteen hours and fifty-eight minutes. Time to move.
He dragged his feet through ankle-deep powdery sand, over unforgiving hills made of more sharp rocks, and through forests of cylindrical rubber-like trees. Of course, plant life probably meant there was water somewhere. At least, he hoped it did. If there was other life on Flin Six, it was doing a good job of hiding.
He checked his tablet, frustrated at the amount of time it was taking to make it a mark toward Ryker. The flight suit felt heavy, like his boots were filled with concrete. It was like walking in slow motion across this foreign world.
After the second hour, the storm had lessened so he could use his binoculars. He scanned the horizon, thought he saw smoke rising from behind the next ridge. He checked his tablet and, sure enough, Ryker was straight ahead.
When he was a child at Lake Lanier, he thought he could jump off the boat and swim to the sandy beach. His father told him it was farther than it looked, but Austin insisted. After being told to wear a life jacket, he tried to swim for the beach. His father had been right – it took forever to swim to the shore. At one point, he thought the lake had hidden currents fighting against his advance.
Finding Ryker felt just like that. The tablet showed her still about five marks to the north of his current position. He had been told during training a mark was about the same as a kilometer on Earth, but it seemed much farther today.
He looked back and saw no sign of his ship, the reflecting Shroud doing its job. Unless the pirates had a way of detecting a Legion fighter through a reflecting Shroud, his Trident and Nubern should be safe. Of course, Rodon had proved to be resourceful.
He pressed on, ignoring his tender feet and leg muscles. When he had closed to under four marks, each step became a laboring effort. He struggled to breathe and hunched over several times, launching into a series of violent coughs. Even when the windstorm subsided, strong gusts occasionally burst against him.
His vision blurred as one hill looked just like the last, each cluster of boulders resembling the ones he’d just passed.
The third hour came and went.
He realized if it took more than ten hours to reach Ryker, there wouldn’t be enough air for both to make it back to his fighter. Perhaps he should have risked flying in the storm a bit longer. Too late now.
Tired of staring at the ground as he labored to place one foot in front of the other, Austin focused on the horizon. A slight incline began, making the journey tougher. The odd tube trees became denser as he came within one mark of the crash site. With his oxygen tanks reading twelve hours, he reached the crest of the hill and rested under a cluster of trees.
Ahead at the bottom of the hill, a crater split the ground. Pieces of trees were scattered around the hole. Austin grabbed the binoculars as he caught his breath. He surveyed the area around the crater. He saw a track leading away, followed it with his binoculars, and found Ryker’s escape pod. It had rolled down the hill before coming to a stop on another patch of trees in the middle of this gorge.
The fighter couldn’t be far from here.
Thunder rumbled. Austin winced. Another storm.
Shadows zipped across his path. He looked up. Three fighters flying wing-to-wing hovered over the gorge. Searchlights sent out beams through the dusty atmosphere. For a moment, his spirits lifted. The fighters looked to have their wings slanted downward like the Trident, but it was a false hope.
The pirate fighters circled the crash site, weapons bristling under flat wings. The hodgepodge of machinery covering the fighter looked as if someone pieced together a series of different model kits. The pirates had found Ryker, and they no doubt resupplied and refueled for the salvage effort.
But they would only want the ship, not the escape pod and the pilot. Wouldn’t they?
Austin pressed against the closest tree, the binoculars at his visor. He watched the pirates descend, one fighter landing near the pod. Two pirates, dressed in black and maroon strips of rough fabric, exited the landed fighter. They held rifles across their chest, their black helmets adorned with random spikes scanning the area as if anticipating an attack. He touched the pistol at his leg, briefly considered sneaking closer to take them out, but decided against it. Two pirate fighters still hovered over the pod. Attacking would be suicide.
The two pirates on the ground waved at the fighters, and the aircraft left the area. Their engines rumbled long after they had left his sight. The pirates on the ground crawled over the pod like ants. He sighed. Ryker must have left the area.
A memory clicked. The first part of survival training directed the fallen pilot to activate the Whisper beacon when able. He keyed his tablet for the Whisper and listened. Nothing but the crackle of empty space. If Ryker could, she would issue a distress message on the encrypted channel. As of yet, there was nothing but silence.
He turned back to his binoculars. Apparently having determined that their prey had fled, one pirate had started to stripping the pod with a welding torch while the other stood with his weapon facing the forest. The torch sent firelight over the edge of the escape pod. Whatever they were trying to cut and take, he couldn’t tell. Instead, he scanned the ground for more tracks. The fact the pirates remaining in the area meant they either hadn’t seen tracks or they didn’t care.
Austin searched the area with his binoculars. The sandy ground looked disturbed on the side of the escape pod’s final resting place. If Ryker were alive, she would be somewhere on the other side of the pod.
He lowered the binoculars and sighed, the wind striking his back. He stared at the sky. The light was fading. Taking a walk through these strange trees while avoiding the cutthroat pirates didn’t sound like a good idea, but he had no other option. He scanned the sides of the ravine. He might be able to make his way around the perimeter, avoid the pirates and check the far side without being caught.
He had an hour and forty minutes of oxygen left before he would have to head back to his fighter.
He must find her before then.
* * *
It took the better part of an hour hopping from tree to tree, rock to rock, as he walked to the other side of the ravine. His muscles burned. His lungs ignited like fire with every breath he took. The fatigue took over, his eyelids growing heavier by the step.
When he finally made it to his goal, he glanced back at the escape pod. The pirates had dismantled the entire hull and stood over the parts. One used the torch to cut through the back of the pod while the other pulled apart the metal.
Walking over the crest to remain out of view, Austin checked the Whisper beacon again.
Still nothing.
He glanced at his gauge: thirty-six minutes till he had to head back.
Another rumble, this time closer than before, and Austin knew it wasn’t thunder. Rolling into the dirt, he tucked himself against a tree. The pirates had returned.
Two spacecraft, one larger than a fighter and shaped like a square with tentacles, hovered over the escape pod’s crash site. A metal claw descended from the bulky craft and lowered out of sight. When it raised, the black fingers of the claw grasped pieces of the Legion pod.
Austin watched in awe.
A smaller blocky craft circled the square, lights beaming down.
Voices barked orders from the other side of the hill, but the language did not sound familiar. His translator must not be working.
The sound of electronic feedback filled the air. Austin winced at the screeching in his ears, wanting nothing more than to rip off his helmet and scream. The high-pitched wailing continued.
The noise ceased.
“Now that I have your attention, Rock, I hope that you will listen to me.”
Austin recognized Rodon’s voice.
“We know you followed your comrade to this planet. Very brave. In fact, we would like to offer you the chance to join us.” There was a pause. “Scorpion’s fighter and escape pod have been recovered. Normally we would leave the site and let Scorpion die on this lovely world, but you decided to come down here. That gives us the great opportunity to get a fresh, undamaged Legion Trident fighter for nothing.”
Austin clenched his fist. They’d tracked him. That meant fighters waited for him in orbit. If he tried to lift off and escape, they would swat him down like an annoying insect.
“Here is what I will offer you. Turn yourself in now and you will be spared. We will even welcome Scorpion, should he so desire.”
Austin hesitated, his eyes wide. So they didn’t know Scorpion was a woman? Interesting.
“Turn yourself in Rock. In time, once you have proven yourself, you will be welcomed into our organization with open arms. Elude us and you will die on this worthless rock and I’ll find the fighter anyway. Turn yourself in. Much easier and faster.”
Austin sighed and moved through the trees.
* * *
The trees became thicker the farther he walked. The bag with the extra air tank dug into his shoulder. He sat at the base of a particularly thick tree and checked the Whisper. Silent once again. What if Ryker was dead and he was going to die alone on this planet in the middle of nowhere? What would they tell his mother? And why did he go all this way, accomplish what he had, only to end up here, sitting at the base of a stupid tree on a stupid planet, searching for a pilot who might not even be alive? Why did he have to go through this?
Stop it, he cursed at himself. Keep moving.
But the gauge read five minutes. If he didn’t turn back soon, he would run out of air on the return trip.
He looked up into the sky. Rodon’s fighter hovered over him as he repeated the message a dozen times, offering to take in Austin as one of his own. The memory of his last night during the Gauntlet rushed back. The teachers and Nubern were announcing Skylar’s capture, his mother’s fabricated emergency call, and all the other lies. They eventually broke him, and he was captured.
Not this time.
He stood and followed the winding path. Something metal on the ground caught his eye. Brushing the sand away, he uncovered the circular metal cap of a used Legion oxygen container. He exhaled and closed his eyes. Ryker was alive. She came this way, stopping here to open another oxygen supply. She probably brought the container, thinking she had removed all evidence of her stop, and continued.
Austin rushed over the tracks.
His HUD flashed.
Ten hours had passed, leaving him with ten more hours of oxygen to make it back to the fighter and Nubern. He tossed his bag onto the ground. He had failed her, and Ryker would die alone, cold, and hungry.
The bag turned over in the sand, the Tizona sword logo facing the sky.
Wait a minute.
He cocked his head to the right and stared at the bag containing a first aid kit and an extra supply of air. If he could use that air when he ran out, he could search for Ryker for another ten hours before having to head back. But what about his fighter?
Keying his tablet, Austin remotely checked the power on the Trident. The Shroud could keep the fighter hidden for another twenty-four hours.
He didn’t have to head back. He had twenty more hours to search if he drained this current supply and switched to the fresh one when it emptied. Scorpion should have her supply, she would have brought that with her when she left the pod, or at least he hoped.
He slung the bag over his shoulder. He would find her, she just had to hang on a little longer.
23
He lost the trail.
One minute it was in front of him, the twists and twirls evident in the sand, but then it disappeared into the ground. The moment boulders appeared, he struggled to find the trail as it led into the rocky hills away from the forest. Now, after eight hours, he couldn’t see anything at all.
The light continued to fade, but night had not come. The wind thumped at his flight suit as he dragged his boots across the rocks. He collapsed on the flat surface, exhausted.
Rolling on his back, he checked the Whisper again. Nothing. The air in his tank would be used up in four hours, leaving one final receptacle. The fighter had more than enough oxygen on board if they could only get there. If Ryker didn’t have her supply, they would both die on the way back to the fighter.
He gazed into the sky. The pirate fighters searched the forest behind him. Three marks from the escape pod’s landing site, an active group of ships clustered in a circle. He slid onto his stomach, grabbed the binoculars, and scanned the horizon.
The pirate craft emerged from a cloud of dust and pieces of Ryker’s Trident lifted from the surface in a dozen claws just like the one used to transport the escape pod. The group ascended into the sky and disappeared into the heavens. The Tyral Pirates had themselves another Legion Trident. Austin sighed as two fighters lingered over the forest.
They were going to search for him. Hopefully, they didn’t already have Ryker. And hopefully, he was going in the right direction. He didn’t have a very good track record when it came to navigating terrain.
He looked around at the surrounding boulders. He scowled as he sat, bringing his knees to his elbows. He switched on the Whisper beacon and listened to the crackling. If he didn’t return to the fighter, Nubern was going to die, too. His captain remained wounded in the trainer seat; he might be dying now. He knew where Nubern was...he had no idea where Ryker had gone.
And that made the decision easy.
I’m sorry, Ryker. I let you down. I couldn’t find you. I’ve failed you.
He thought of the oxygen tank piece in the sand, remembering his excitement in thinking he would soon find her. And then the rocks came, covering all sense of a trail.
It was over.
With his eyes burning, Austin stood. He keyed in the location of his fighter and allowed the tablet to plot his return journey. He made an adjustment to the course, keeping himself under the cover of the trees for as much of the journey as possible, and took a step toward his Trident.
He paused and turned around, staring at the rocky hills possibly holding Ryker’s remains.
He sighed and trudged down the hill toward the forest.
Think of Nubern; he’s counting on you now.
He walked for another hour. He dragged his feet, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other. Going back was much worse than coming through the forest. He tried to keep his spirits up, but stopped at every tree and leaned against it, struggling to stay awake. Fatigue threatened to overtake his consciousness, the gravity of this cursed planet pressing on him.
Darkness fell in from the corners of his eyes, and he tumbled to the ground.
* * *
He dreamed of home, of his mother. She cooked him breakfast. It was Christmas, and the red tablecloth held all the treasures of that early morning meal. Sausage and egg casserole emerged steaming from the oven, filling the room with its heavenly aroma and rumbling stomachs for miles around. The fluffy, white biscuits were coming apart like clouds, thick gravy lathering the insides. Beyond the dining room twinkled the tree and the mountains of gifts. The classic Christmas music played softly in the background as his father told stories of the days before, when his love for his mother was still fresh and new like the speckle of powdered snow on the grass.
Austin pried his eyes open. The images came to him blurred, faint. As he focused, he saw the scratch going down his visor and the familiar brown sky, the swirling clouds. The cylindrical black trees surrounded him. How much time had passed?
Pain shot through his body.
He yanked the sensor to his visor. Eleven hours before he would run out of air. He still had time to get to his Trident.
He scanned the skies. More ships coming?
He saw nothing, so he risked leaving the cover of the trees. Still nothing. Standing in one place for several minutes, he strained to hear something other than the wind.
The pirates had left. They must have run out of fuel, or perhaps they gave up. They might be going to refuel and come back. Maybe they’d finished their salvage operation and gave up on finding Austin’s fighter. He froze.
If they found his fighter, he would die here.
But what about Ryker? They must have found her.
He whipped out the Whisper beacon and keyed for it, trying to keep his expectations reasonable.
Silence.
He reached to turn it off when the signal boosted, a slightly higher pitch wailing on the gamma wave. He leaned forward. Please answer, Ryker. Answer.
“...attent...sss...chhhhh...”
Startled, Austin jumped at the sudden noise in his ear piece.
“Attention, this is a downed Legion pilot, serial number three-nine-three-oh-two-two-five-one.” It was Ryker, her voice low and weak. “I have been marooned on Flin Six. If you are receiving, I need assistance ASAP.”
Austin stood, searching his mind for the proper protocol on an encrypted channel. He should have paid more attention to the Whisper beacon instruction, but he never thought he’d have to use it. If he responded incorrectly, the message could be intercepted and transmitted. He keyed in his serial number and traced the signal. The image showed brown land as it zoomed across the hills, zeroing in on a nearby location. It was close, back toward the rocks.
I don’t believe it, he thought as he stared at his path. He checked his oxygen. He had enough time to make the journey and return to the ship, barely. But if Ryker was out of air, there would be no way to...
Don’t think, go.
Mustering all of his remaining strength, he turned toward the rocks. His stomach ached, adding to the growing number of complaints throbbing around his body. He hadn’t eaten since Tarton’s Junction. How many days had it been? Two? His mind washed in a brown haze, brown like the clouds of sand surrounding him as another windstorm kicked up.
