Chapter 27
ALL OF ZELOS heard the crash; the Raider heard opportunity for salvage at the expense of the Coalition. In the cellar ruin, the Sentinels rushed to follow rapid-fire orders, taking no time to speculate if it had been freighter or combat vessel that had gone down. When the Raider had come out of his quarters, he was already in his armor, helmet and gloves in place, ready to go as they still scrambled to suit up.
When one of the Harkins marveled at the quick string of assignments handed out, his brother said simply, “It’s why he’s the Raider and we follow him.”
He pretended not to hear, although the words bolstered him.
Within minutes, they were on their way, three of the captured air rovers fully loaded. Brander had the one from the cave at the falls with a crew to patrol the likely approach from the Coalition post. Kye, who had just arrived moments ago, he sent to fly another to the ridgeline above, with her long gun; his orders had been to be ready to flip on the autopilot and use the airborne vehicle as a shooting platform if necessary. She had hesitated, looking at him oddly for a moment, and he’d thought she was going to question her assignment. But then she had nodded, rather sharply, and headed out to pick up the rover from the nearby forest hideout.
The Raider himself piloted the one headed for the crash itself, now marked by a rising spiral of smoke that would soon be noticed in town. He slowed once the wreck was in sight. The smell was stronger here, an ugly mix of smoke and freshly turned dirt, softened only slightly by the mist. Immediately any thought of salvaging the ship itself vanished; it was far beyond any repair they could manage with what they had.
It appeared no one could have survived it, but he’d learned early on—and the hard way, gaining the scar that slashed across his rib cage—to never assume.
“Clear in the valley, sir!”
Galeth’s call indicated Brander had fired the flasher to indicate there was no sign of the Coalition incoming yet. The rebels’ ability to see in the mist and knowledge of the terrain had given them the advantage, but not for long. The Raider had no doubts the Coalition would be here soon. Very soon.
“Cover in position,” Galeth’s brother said as he handed over the scope, indicating Kye was in place above. He quashed the inward shiver at that thought of her out in the open, in danger. She would not welcome his worry, and he could not let it distract him. But he could not seem to stop it, either. Every time he had to send her out it ate at him. The best he could do was avoid admitting to himself why.
He eased the rover forward. Used the battered scope to inspect. Class four freighter. Minimal armaments. Crew of three. No sign of any of them. Not a footprint outside the wrecked vessel, or even an open hatch. Yet there was no sign of fire, either. Which could bode well for recovery of cargo, or ill if it was a trap.
“I think they bought it on impact, sir,” Galeth said.
He studied the front of the craft, which had crumpled to barely an arm span’s depth as the freighter had cratered into the rocky slope.
“Agreed,” he said, collapsing the scope. “But we will spread out and approach as if they are alive and waiting to fire.”
The men obeyed, keeping enough distance between each other that a single blast could not take more than one of them out. They approached warily, carefully. They stopped at the Raider’s command. Pryl looked back, and he nodded. The man edged forward alone.
He hated this part. Hated ordering people to do dangerous things that he would gladly do himself, were he free to do so. It had taken him a long time, and a few lectures from Brander, and by letter from the Spirit, to make him admit he couldn’t take every risk himself.
Pryl crept up to the wreckage, his blade as always at the ready. “Three bodies,” he called back. “No sign of anyone else aboard.”
The Raider gave the signal, and his squad advanced on the ruined ship. The men began to go through the cargo bay, which, while damaged, looked as if it would hold long enough for them to get what could be carried. Including, he thought with grim pleasure, the crate of new blasters he could see from here. He wasn’t sure how they’d transport the heavy thing, but he’d think of something.
He went forward toward the control deck, stepping past the bodies Galeth and his brother had pulled out and laid in a neat line. More than they would do for us, the Raider thought as he edged forward as far as he could go.
It seemed pointless—the controls were smashed, even the throttle broken off by the force of the crash. He took a step back, thinking he would join the others in selecting what cargo that was portable that they could best use.
A tiny, blinking light caught the edge of his vision as he turned. He leaned over. Reached out and pushed back a large chunk of metal—planium, he noted with some irony—to reveal the navigation system. He doubted it was functional—it likely hadn’t been even before the crash, or they’d be safely landed on the flats by now—but maybe . . .
He reached out, trying to remember what he’d once read in stolen schematics and plans. He tapped three buttons with no response. Tried a different order. The cracked screen flickered to life, although the menu it displayed had several blank spots. But the one he’d been looking for was there, and he tapped it.
A log popped into view. It showed the arrival and departures of the ship for the last month. He tapped for the next page, hardly daring to hope.
It was there. A schedule for the next month, including the destinations. Ziem was there twice. Once with a cargo labeled as needing refrigeration. Food, he guessed.
And one more. His breath jammed up in his throat.
He spun around.
“Hold!” he ordered sharply.
The men pulling cargo from the bent racks froze. Galeth turned to look at him.
“Return it all.”
As one they all drew back, staring. “What?” Galeth asked.
“Return it all. Exactly as you found it. Including the crew.”
Teal stared. “The bodies?”
“Yes.”
“The blasters?” Galeth said rather faintly.
“Don’t take even one. Of anything. That’s crucial. Move quickly!” He turned to Pryl, who was staring at him equally bewildered. “Go outside. Erase any trace of our presence. And stand by to obliterate our trail back to the rover. Now!”
He knew he was testing the obedience of these men to the limit. But the power of the Raider held, and they began to follow his orders. He spun on his heel and leapt from the ship, pulling the flasher gun from his belt. He fired the red signal for pulling back. Brander would linger, he knew, until they themselves were clear, and if he knew Kye, she would do the same, which made it even more imperative that they on the ground get clear rapidly.
They finished quickly. He left only Pryl, the best woodsman among them, to watch with the scope from a perch in a large mistbreaker tree.
He only breathed freely again when they were back in the shelter of the forest and he saw Kye and Brander’s rovers riding their wake. They got to the ruin, returned the rovers to their hiding places, and at his order assumed the highest alert status.
“What was that about?” Brander asked as soon as they were in his quarters. Kye followed her cousin inside but simply waited, as if she knew he had a reason and she was only waiting to hear it.
“Bigger fish,” he answered shortly.
Brander’s expression changed. “How much bigger?”
“A lot.”
His friend’s mouth tightened, and then he nodded. “All right. I’ll go see if I can settle the troops.”
He almost reached to free himself of the helmet before he caught himself. He turned to look at Kye, still just inside the door Brander had closed behind him. She stood with her arms crossed, her face expressionless. Which in itself was a warning.
“Such is the power of the Raider,” she said, “that his fighters will walk away from invaluable supplies and weapons on his order, without question.”
He wasn’t sure if she was criticizing his decision, or merely making an observation.
“It will be worth it,” he said.
“I don’t doubt that for an instant.”
Something about her voice, some undertone he’d not heard before, and the way she used that name as if speaking about him, not to him, was unsettling. And he sensed she was wound up about something. He doubted it was the just-aborted mission, for Kye was ever cool on a raid.
No, he thought something else was working on her. And when she went on, he was sure of it.
“The Raider is rarely, if ever, wrong.”
“I am,” he said, looking at her quizzically, “right here.”
Before she could respond to that, there was a knock on the door. Almost grateful—and surprised at himself for it—he called out permission to enter. The door opened.
Pryl. The relief at seeing the older man hit him. “No trouble? You’re all right?”
“Of course,” Pryl scoffed. “As if they’d see me unless I wanted them to.”
His mouth quirked upward, and he nodded. “As you’ve proven, time and again. They arrived?”
Pryl nodded. “Less than five minutes after you cleared. Watched for another twenty. No sign at all they knew anyone had already been there. Didn’t even look around outside. Tunnel vision, them skalworms.”
“Good work. Thank you.”
The man turned to go, then looked back. “We’ll eventually find out what made you go peculiar, right?”
“You will.”
The man nodded and closed the door behind him.
“So the Raider lets an old man question him.”
He smothered a sigh. Whatever this was, he was going to have to deal with it. That it was Kye only made it harder. Because only Kye made him regret, made him wish, made him yearn.
“An old man who knows more about these woods than the Raider ever will.” If she could talk about the legend as if he weren’t before her, then so could he. “An old man who has fought with the Raider from the beginning. An old man who was beside Torstan when he defied the Coalition Council and refused to submit. The Raider would let him do a lot more than merely question.”
“You speak as if the Raider were someone else.”
“As did you.”
She studied him intently for a moment. In an odd way, it reminded him of the new recruits upon seeing him for the first time. It took an effort that surprised him to hold her gaze. Usually he took what small pleasure he allowed himself from watching her, the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the way her rare smiles were as bright as a flasher. He always knew he dared not dwell upon it, or he might quail at doing what he had to do, which sometimes—too often—included ordering her into danger. For she would always go.
Such is the power of the Raider. . . .
It was not his power. It was hers. Her courage was endless, her nerve never failed her. And so of them all, save Brander, she was ever in the most peril.
“Shall I tell you what I think happened out there?”
“Can I stop you?” he asked wryly.
“You are the Raider. Your orders are followed.”
At least she was no longer speaking of him as if he weren’t in the room. He didn’t give that order to stop. And she continued, ticking items off on her fingers.
“It was a freighter,” she said, “with a regular schedule. Gareth says you went up front, then started snapping orders at them. You saw something. Something that changed your plan, on the fly. You wanted all evidence we were ever there erased. Which says you wanted the Coalition to think the wreck had been undiscovered before they arrived. And that in turn says that whatever you saw, you didn’t want them to know you saw it. And the only reason I can think of for that is that you thought if they knew, they would react. Change something. Do something . . . or not do something.”
He was thankful for the scars that masked what his expression would likely be without them as she worked her way through the exact process he’d gone through.
“And so,” she continued, “I’m guessing you saw something. Something even more important, of more value to us. And you didn’t want them changing their plans, now that you knew.”
For a long moment he said nothing. He would not admit to what she’d deduced, so if the worst happened, she would have the ability to honestly deny she knew. But finally, softly, he gave her the salute she deserved.
“When I made you third in command, I chose wisely.”
He saw the faintest bit of color hit her cheeks. She rarely showed such emotion, at least not here, so he had that at least, knowing his words had pleased her. And what a sad, tiny bit of recompense that was, for this woman who, were he able to allow it, could be the center of his life.
She didn’t thank him, but only nodded, as if the truth of his words was self-evident. As it was, to anyone who had watched her work or been with her under fire. Then she turned away, and walked over to the canvas spread out over the table against the wall. “I have finished the southwest quadrant. What do you wish next?”
A whole string of wishes piled up behind his lips, none of which had anything to do with maps. He battled the urge, the need, realizing yet again that each time it grew more difficult. And telling himself he had no choice, that there was no way what he was feeling, wanting, could mesh with what he had to do, was getting less effective every time he was alone with her.
He tugged off his gloves with more force than was necessary as he crossed the room toward the table. He shoved them into a pocket as he leaned over the map that was already nothing less than a work of art. Not in her usual sense, that of the amazing portraits and landscapes she had done before, but in preciseness and efficiency for their purposes.
He reached out and tapped an opposite corner of the blank section of the canvas.
“Here. The northwest quadrant.”
She didn’t speak. She was staring at his hand. Too late, he curled back the finger with the small, telltale bandage.
And then she straightened, turned to face him.
“All right,” she said, then added, pointedly, “Drake.”