Not Fade Away: Interstellar Rescue Series Book 4 Page 4

  “Didn’t check.” He shrugged. “We have a prescription; no one seemed overly concerned.”

  She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “All right, Doctor Feelgood. Just let me know when your supplies start running low on any of his medications and we’ll set you up with a local pharmacy.”

  “Wait.” A grin broke across his face. “Was that a joke? The ‘Doctor Feelgood’ thing?”

  She shook her head, but a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Seriously? You need to get out more.”

  Yeah, like that’s going to happen. His mood dropped again.

  She watched him. “That’s what I’m here for, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m here to take care of your father so you can get out more. Have a life again.”

  He shifted his gaze to the mountains outside. A life. What exactly would that be like here?

  “How long have you been taking care of him?”

  He looked back at her. “Full time? Not long. Half a ci—uh, six months or so.”

  She made a noncommittal sound, something to make him know she’d heard him, he supposed. “Maybe you’d like to start with a long walk. It’s a beautiful day. Happy and I can take care of things here for a while.”

  He balked. It was too soon. Did she think he was going to leave the Old Man with somebody he’d just met? Even if she did seem more than competent, and her dog was . . . well, he’d reserve judgment on the dog.

  “It’s almost lunchtime,” he said. “I’d better not.”

  Her smile showed she was on to him. “I can take care of lunch. Just tell me what he likes. You could take just a short walk, if you’d be more comfortable. But if you’d rather not, I understand. It’s early yet.”

  Charlie was so reasonable. She seemed so capable. She made him feel like an idiot for thinking anything could go wrong. Charlie had shifted her chair to within reach of her charges. Del was sitting quietly in his chair, the dog having left his position on the floor to lean against his knee. The Old Man had a smile on his face as his hand stroked down the dog’s back. He didn’t seem all there, but he wasn’t completely gone, either. The meds kept him anchored, mostly, but Happy provided something more, a connection to this time and place he hadn’t had since the disease had taken him.

  Maybe it would be okay to go out for a little while, scout the perimeter. Rafe needed to be familiar with the lay of the land, anyway. For security purposes.

  When he nodded at Charlie, she smiled, and stole what was left of his breath.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vaalad Zouk sat at the very edge of the world and watched the hungry green waves roll in over his head. Over and over, in ceaseless repetition, they crashed against the thick walls of clear trans-steel, causing some of the less sophisticated guests in the seaside restaurant to gasp. Conquering your fear of being drowned beneath the surrounding waves while consuming your filet of soroujai took a certain amount of nerve.

  Zouk had been coming to this spot on the craggy shore of the Sea of IzRa for many circuits. It was a favorite rendezvous spot of his, particularly because it made others uncomfortable. The Minertsan operative sitting opposite him today could barely control the fearful green and yellow that tinged his normally neutral silver aura. But then the Grays made terrible negotiators even in the best of circumstances, in Zouk’s opinion. Those tell-tale colors.

  --I thought our work together was finished, my friend. Zouk’s inherited telepathic skills were only slightly better than a human’s, but he had undergone training to make himself understood at the pre-verbal level—and to block any intrusions deeper in his mind from those more skilled than he. In his line of work, being overheard talking could be deadly; much safer to use a directed telepathic exchange. The first two murders were accomplished, and now the admiral is dead. The credits for all three jobs have arrived in my account as promised. What more is to be discussed?

  The little Gray’s aura shifted into the black for a split-second, as if a cloud had passed across his body, then cleared to gray again. We could have wished for the . . . performance . . . to be less public, but the outcome is as we ordered it. We have no problems with the last job. We have a new job for you.

  Zouk glanced at the walls as a gigantic wave shook the place and his companion went vividly green for a full second. Wait. You question my methods and yet you want me to do something else for you? You should make up your minds.

  Ah, there it went. The aura was as dark as a bruise now. The little fellow was angry.

  --If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be using your talents again, Vaalad Zouk. Only the bastard son of a half-breed Thrane would think to attack the Fleet Admiral of the Confederated Systems at an affair to which half the galaxy had been invited.

  Zouk shrugged. The more public the setting, the greater the potential for distraction. And, by the way, my parents were married legally on Terrene.

  The Gray’s ugly shade of yellow-brown showed just how much he thought of Terrene and the legality of Zouk’s parentage, but he wisely refused to take the bait. Does your reaction mean you are unwilling to take on another assignment?

  --Not at all! Zouk paused for effect. It does mean my price has gone up, regardless of who the target is. Let’s see, I asked a mere 50,000 credits for the two unknowns and a million credits to eliminate the Admiral. But I’ll need two million for the next target, even if it’s the lowliest slave boss on Gallodon. He kept his parentage—and what he might have gained or lost from it—secure behind barriers in his mind. One day the little worm might learn the hard way that his personal life was nobody’s fucking business.

  The creature’s aura flamed red and black in outrage. We would not pay two million credits for the death of the whole home planet of the Confederated Systems! We will pay you as we paid you before, and not a credit more. In fact we should be paying you considerably less. The life of a purveyor of quasi-religious offal can hardly be worth a handful of credits!

  Zouk sat up in his seat. The Grays wanted to assassinate Kwai Tone Ze, the leader of the rapidly growing Dhar-Bey movement? Why? And what possible connection could that have to the death of a Fleet Admiral and two nameless spacedock veers? Forget the credits, Zouk was intrigued simply for the puzzle the work presented. He was willing to forgive the slime lizard his insults, too, for the chance to discover what the Minertsans were up to.

  Zouk smiled at his companion. I suspect you may be wrong about the ultimate worth of your target, my friend. But I’ll take the work. Same price as before. I may just need a little more time to set this one up.

  Rafe had started the exploration of his domain by following his long, winding gravel drive down the slope of the hillside. But before he reached the two-lane paved road that led from his drive into the town of Masey, he found a cut-off into the sun-streaked woods, wide enough for a vehicle, but long unused. The path was free of trees and undergrowth and easily walkable, following the shoulder of the slope around the mountain.

  Young trees reached up into the sunlight from either side of the old road, their spindly naked limbs trembling in the breeze. The air was sharp with the smell of earth and old wood and that tang of indescribable freshness on the wind that Rafe had drawn into his lungs from the porch. He had expected the woods to be silent, but they were full of the rustlings and sighs of the trees in the wind, of the rough cawing of black birds overhead and the movements of small creatures he could not identify in the leaves underfoot. The fact that he couldn’t determine what was or wasn’t “normal” in this environment made him jumpy. Things were so much more predictable on a spaceship.

  Rescue had bought the log house that was now his home and “25 acres” of land surrounding it, though God only knew what the hell an acre was. He’d looked up a conversion to common metrics and figured it was approximately ten hectares, though not being a farmer he had only a vague notion of the size of a hectare, either. He figured he’d walk the property and see. Couldn’t be too hard, right? Though it did look a
little steep, now that he was here.

  The path he was on started to rise and grow narrow, the undergrowth and the trees—some of them bearing green spiky leaves, some of them bare—closing in on either side. To his right, the mountainside marched toward the ridge above the cabin; to his left, the woods began to drop off sharply. Behind him, the main drive was no longer visible; through the trees he could look out across the valley to the opposite ridge.

  Soon the path became a track and turned abruptly upward against the slope of the mountain toward the ridge. Rafe stopped to get his bearings, his heart already starting to accelerate a little. He squinted at the ridge above him, unsure of this place and his skill in navigating it. Go up? Or go back?

  Of course, he could cheat and use the comp in his pocket. The little device held a complete sensor scan of the property, in full spectrum light, infrared, schematic or topographic display. But these hills were going to be his home. He needed to become familiar with them the hard way, at dirt level. If that meant he got lost a few times, so be it. The ascent (and descent) would take time, though. Maybe he should check in and see how the Old Man was doing before he tried it.

  He pulled out the comp after all and used the communications function. (Phone. They call it a phone.) “Charlotte? It’s Rafe.”

  “Hi, Rafe. And it’s Charlie, remember? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just calling to check on the Old—uh, Del. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s taking a nap with Happy. Is this his usual naptime?”

  Rafe checked the time on the comp. “Maybe a bit early, but it’s been a busy morning.” The Old Man might sleep for a while, but there was no guarantee he would be coherent when he woke up. Rafe had maybe an hour to get back. “Are you okay there for a while longer?”

  “I freed up most of the day for you all. Take your time.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  “See you then.”

  Rafe was struck again at the calm, the confidence in Charlie’s voice. How had someone like her landed in this remote outpost of civilization? Of course he was glad he was she was here, for reasons that had to do with more than just his father, but she should have a thriving practice, maybe in the nearby city he’d identified on the map—Asheville? At least there would be people there, if not art and entertainment and such. What kept her out here in these lonely mountains?

  And, wait . . . did she say the Old Man was taking a nap with the dog?

  He stuffed the comp back in his jacket and hustled up the mountain path. He was in a hurry to see what was at the top now, to finish this up. This was rugged terrain, unmarked and difficult to traverse. Living in the middle of all this provided its own kind of security. If someone made the effort to come all the way up here to get to them, they had to have some real motivation.

  The trail was lost in a tumble of boulders in the last fifty meters to the top of the ridge. Rafe clambered over the big rocks on all fours, sweating now and breathing hard. He didn’t dare look behind him to the valley below; out on the treeless face of the mountain he encountered a dizzying lack of orientation to gravity. He kept his eyes on the rocks under his hands and feet, searching just ahead for a route to take him further up toward the crest of the ridge. He worked a steady, sinuous path across the boulder field and back until finally the rock gave way to a broad brown meadow dotted with a few trees. He’d made the top.

  He stood at the edge of the meadow and admired the view of the valley and the ridge beyond, the breeze chilling the sweat off his skin. Was this what kept Charlie so far from urban comforts? Was this why his father had fought and screamed and refused to give in until they brought him home?

  “Nice view, ain’t it?”

  Rafe whirled and nearly lost his balance. His pulse pounded at his temples.

  The lanky blond approaching from the woods at the edge of the meadow grinned at him. “Whoa, there! Don’t wanna go pitchin’ down the same way you just come up! After all that work, be a shame to have to do it all over again.”

  The man just kept coming toward him, his gait a slouching shamble that indicated laziness or a permanent disinterest in the world, Rafe couldn’t tell which. Rafe’s instincts went to high alert, and he stepped to meet the man, away from the drop-off into the boulder field.

  “It was quite a climb,” Rafe said. “View’s worth it, though.”

  “My great-great-granddaddy musta thought so. He bought this ridge and a hundred acres of that mountainside you were just humping over.” The man’s blue gaze struck directly at his. “Been in the family ever since.”

  The hair rose on the back of Rafe’s neck. On the one hand, it made more sense that the man would be up here. On the other, he was clearly here to piss on his property to stake a claim.

  “Not all of it, though.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a cabin down the mountain and 25 acres that belongs to someone else.” And he was pretty sure his 25 acres included the ridgetop they were standing on. According to the schematic he’d studied, the land had included a rough rectangle from the ridge to the road. He didn’t think he’d managed to walk off that rectangle in the time he’d had.

  “That someone else being you, I reckon.” The man laughed, an ugly snigger that held no humor. “Well, if you’re up here to survey your vast holdings, your lordship, you coulda saved yourself a lot of sweat. There’s a road comes across the ridge there”—he indicated the direction behind the meadow with a toss of his head—“runs right up from your shiny new cabin.”

  Fuck. Rafe saw the schematic now in his head, the ridge road curving down within a few hundred meters of the cabin, the continuation of his gravel drive through the woods to join it. If he’d turned uphill at the drive to start his walk he would have found it.

  He shrugged. “Easy wasn’t on my agenda today. Needed the exercise.”

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t much for exercise anymore.” Any trace of a smirk was gone from the man’s face now. In fact, his expression had turned dangerous.

  For the first time, Rafe noticed that the man held himself awkwardly, favoring one side as if he’d been injured. He thought back to that slouching walk. Had there been a limp? Possibly. Maybe a hip or a knee gave him pain.

  Rafe needed to know who this character was. “Your family still own land up here?”

  The man lifted his head and his sly grin was back. “Nary an acre. I just like to take a ride up here every once in a while and keep an eye on things. You know, make sure no one’s trespassing or starting fires or anything.”

  “Appreciate your concern, Mister . . . uh,”

  “Milsap. Sonny Milsap.” He held out his hand for a shake.

  Rafe took it and found himself in a competitive deathgrip. He gripped back and held on until the man grinned again and let go.

  Milsap started to head back up the slope, but stopped and turned. “Just you and the old timer up to the cabin, then?”

  Rafe said nothing, a warning chill sliding down his spine. How could this man know about Del?

  But Milsap just shrugged. “It’s a small town. News travels fast. And I saw Charlie McIntyre’s Subaru in your driveway.”

  An emotion he didn’t want to recognize flared hot in Rafe’s chest. “Charlie a friend of yours?” He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Milsap anywhere near his father’s new caregiver.

  So he wasn’t reassured by Milsap’s answer. “Oh, Charlie and I go way back.” Then the man chuckled and broke off their measuring contest. “I’ll see you ’round.” He turned and ambled back up toward the road. Rafe could see the limp now; Milsap favored his left side, and it was the knee, which barely bent as he moved. Still he moved quickly, as if he’d learned to compensate some time ago. He was gone from sight in a few seconds.

  Rafe stood staring after him. It was disturbing enough that the man knew more than he should about Del, but he also had history with Charlie. The openly territorial Milsap tripped every alarm in his head. Rafe hadn�
�t given much thought to the welcome he would receive in this remote community on a planet unfamiliar to him, but he hadn’t expected Milsap’s kind of hostility. Were all the people here like him?

  They fell into their bunks at the end of that first work day, exhausted beyond anything Del had ever experienced. They had spent the day under an unrelenting sun, hacking down the tough, prickly bushes that covered the little bowl, digging up their roots, clearing out the rocks that were small enough to be carried and breaking up the ones that were too large to manage. Every rock they moved uncovered screeching, slithering creatures that attacked them with fangs or teeth or clouds of poisonous vapor. One man died on the spot; two others lay in agony in their bunks now.

  The digging equipment Del had seen in the yard that morning had been used only once, to take out a boulder that was too big to move by hand and too dense for their tools to break up. Machines were delicate and the photopaks to run them difficult to maintain on these backwater planets. Slaves, on the other hand, were cheap and easy to replace. The equation was economically sound, as long as you had plenty of time to complete the project, which the Grays seemed always to have in abundance.

  “Christ Almighty, I hope to never see another day like this one,” Shef whispered from the next bunk. “There is nothing I own that doesn’t hurt.”

  “My hands are the worst,” Del replied. “They’re beat to shit.” He had callouses from his jobs in the mines and the factories, of course, but the rocks had torn into his palms and the pads of his fingers. As soon as they started with the pickaxes and shovels, blisters would add to the misery.

  He stilled as he heard a shuffle of movement in the barracks. Someone was making his way down the narrow aisle between the bunks, keeping close to the floor. The figure stopped here and there to interact with the occupant of a bunk. He kept his voice so low Del could hear nothing. A guard wouldn’t bother to be quiet, or to operate in the dark; it must be a slave. But who was crazy enough to be moving around after lights-out, talking to people who were supposed to be brain-dead? He glanced across at Shef, who asked the same question with raised eyebrows.