Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets) (10 page)

“My father says they’re not acting like any Zandill Death Warriors he’s ever seen. That as soon as they were spotted, they headed for the hill and didn’t return fire.”

Yes, he thought, not what he’d expect either. And they were damned hard to find. Then he caught sight of two of them. They seemed to be heading for the crest carrying something shiny.

Then he couldn’t see anything and about four seconds later the ground shook. Pulling the viewers down he watched as a line of rock and orange dirt rolled down the side of the hill.

They’d used a laser cutter to start a landslide.

Turning to Peenzan, he said urgently, “I need to get down there! And I need a weapon!”

He watched the side of the hill settle while she explained to her father.

“He says it’s too dangerous…”

“Look, those are Death Warriors and I know how to fight them. Tell him I’m going with or without a weapon.”

He watched and felt his heart skip a beat when he caught her expression of concern. He guessed he understood her concern, but had no idea why it would affect him the way it did.

When she appeared to get into an argument with her father that drug on for more than a minute, he said, “Fuck it!” and pulled the reins of his mount hard to the right, kicked its ribs, and hunkered down.

He was amazed at how smooth the ride was, and he’d covered a kilometer of rough hillside before he knew it. He could see a pair of Meline fighters hunkered down behind a stand of yellow trees mid-plain and headed for them.

They seemed more afraid of him than the Zandill as he jumped off his mount, and wild eyed, ran towards them.

He found three in the foliage, and he guessed the only reason they didn’t try to kill him was because he’d come riding in on a Meline mount. Communication was impossible, but through hand language that consisted of sighting across a pointed finger and pulling an imaginary trigger, someone grinned and handed him a flute.

What the fuck?

On close inspection it was less deadly than a flute. It looked like a silver plated stick about the size of a flute. No wonder the Meline have been complaining about Zandill aggressions.

One of the Meline caught his look of disbelief and grabbed the stick, placing it in his right hand and closing his fingers around it like a very skinny flashlight, then with his own silver stick, he pointed and made a noise. He guessed that meant point and shoot, but he sure couldn’t find the trigger.

While they watched the last of the rubble settle and continued to scan the ridgeline, he took time to assess his comrades in arms. He guessed they weighed about a hundred pounds less than he did and were all as short as Peenzan. But, given the fact they wore nothing but a leather loincloth and sandals, he could tell they were well muscled and would be a formidable foe in a hand-to-hand fight. Of course, he couldn’t recall the last time anyone in the galaxy had fought hand to hand.

The viewer got passed back and forth, and they seemed to be excited about something. Shading his eyes he looked up at the ridge and could see nothing.

Someone shoved the viewer into his hands, pointed, and then he saw them and something caught his eye. Every elite troop had hand signals they used on the battlefield, something used to maintain stealth and avoid talking, but what the hell were the Zandill doing using Corporate Marine hand signs? Their attack strategy was obvious, and he grabbed one of the Meline by the shoulder and pointed.

Staying low, he headed to the left following a row of strange blue shrubs. At the foot of the hill, he looked back to make sure he was being followed and headed up. Finding a stand of rocks for shelter, he waved the Meline in and grabbed the viewer. Scanning the ridgeline and down he found them. Three were headed right for them.

Looking down at the grassy meadow they’d come from, he saw a handful of Meline coming out from behind trees and shrubs. Looking back along the side of the ridge he watched the Zandill raise their weapons in one hand, fist their other toward the sky and yell,
“Hilo jayee!”

Grabbing the shoulder of the Meline nearest him he flattened his palm and held it down indicating they should wait.

Then, with a loud crack and a quick whining sound, it started. Two Meline lay dead in the grassy meadow and he had to reach across and grab another of his comrades to keep him from firing.

He watched two of the three Zandill headed their way peel off and head down the hillside. The majority of the Death Warriors had passed them and he finally saw what the silver sticks would do as more Meline appeared, raised their weapons, and shot small blue balls of fire at the Zandill.

He wasn’t surprised when the Zandill didn’t even slow down.

Getting his Meline comrade’s attention, he turned slightly, reached across his shoulder, and pointed between his shoulder blades. Then he pointed at the backs of the Zandill as they practically ran down the hillside.

He grinned like a kid and swatted one of the Meline on the shoulder hard enough to practically send him tumbling when the first Zandill fell. The he felt it. A burn in his left shoulder and turned just in time to catch the scowl on a Zandill Death Warrior’s face as he came over the top of the bolder and fell on him.

The Meline scattered and he became aware of rough scaly fingers tightening around his neck. When the Zandill spoke—in English—his blood ran cold, “You’re a fucking traitor, Hillsborough.”

He couldn’t make his silver stick shoot, but he brought it up and poked at the face of his opponent until the hands around his neck loosened and he heard a guttural cry of pain. It was all he needed.

Pulling away he turned and kicked, following with a balled fist to the Zandill’s face. Not stopping, he stepped into the warrior, hooked his arm around his neck, and stepped past, nestling his knee into the small of the warrior’s back where he pushed.

Scaly maws came up and grabbed at his forearm. In spite of the struggle, he managed to catch the eye of one of the Meline that stood frozen staring and looked out across the grassy meadow, urging the fighter to go after the others.

When a knife was shoved into his thigh he fell, pulling the warrior with him. He could feel his strength draining and knew it was a matter of seconds before he passed out, unleashing his foe on his Meline comrades.

Groping for the knife, he found the hilt and knew it would hurt. Finding the small nub that was a Zandill ear he bit down hard and jerked the knife. Designed with expanding reverse barbs that shot out when pulled backward to do more damage, he nearly passed out from the pain and felt his leg go numb.

Scaly fingers were digging at his eyes and his arm throbbed when Hill garnered his remaining strength, and using his knee, shoved the Death Warrior away.

Just as his opponent found the ground and squatted to turn, his own vision fading into small yellow stars that danced, Hill brought the bloody knife up and shoved it into the soft purple flesh between the Zandill’s shoulder blades and smiled.

* * * *

“Pran!”

She could feel her heart pounding and felt frantic. Pointing at her bed, she yelled at the fighters in Meline, “Put him there! Pran!” Two Meline fighters placed him gently, almost reverently, in the middle of the bed.

“What is it…” Pran stopped and stared at the bloody mess lying on the bed.

“We need a doctor! Someone that knows something about humans! Quick!”

“Bast!” she exclaimed and fell on the bed beside him, stroking the side of his head and crying, “Curse you, my love, why did you do it?”

“The doctor will arrive shortly.”

“Find my mother!”

And Pran was gone again.

She touched his cheek and cringed when his head rolled away, his jaw slack, his eyes not quite closed.

Finding the shallow beat of his heart with her palm she cried softly into his bloody shoulder.

“Let me see, Princess,” came a voice and she felt hands gently pull her away. She stood shaking at the edge of the bed and watched the doctor poke and probe.

“My dear. My love.”

She turned on her mother, and voice low and menacing, said, “I will kill them all.”

“Come, let the doctor do his job. We can only wait and pray to Bast that she would smile down on him.”

She felt her mother tug on her arm, but resisted.

“But what can we do, mother? He’s human! He could actually die!”

“Shhhh.” Her mother tried to calm her. “I need your help. A Mr. Crenshaw is here.”

It was like a slap to her face. Turning on her mother, she demanded, “Where is he?”

One last longing look at her fallen warrior and she followed her mother.

* * * *

Crossing the foyer in long strides, she stepped between her father and Mr. Crenshaw, and eyes burning with anger, slapped the man as hard as she could and demanded, “What do you want?”

She watched him stagger back, eyes angry and neck blushing, and raise his hand to his cheek like a rebuffed child. Her gaze didn’t waiver when a UC Marine lowered his weapon and cocked it.

Four Meline warriors surrounded the Marine and her father spoke quickly. She ignored him and demanded a second time, “What do you want, Mr. Crenshaw?”

She wanted to spit on the man when he smiled and offered, “Why, Princess, we came to help you fight. I have an entire regiment with me.”

She could see it in his eyes. He was lying and she said so plainly. “You lie.”

“Believe me, Princess, as soon as we caught it on the newscasts, we brought a fully equipped regiment to help you fight. I’ve also come to offer…”

“We want nothing from the United Corporation!”

“If you’d just let me explain…”

Spinning on her heel, she addressed her father in Meline, “Throw him out! And make sure he takes his regiment with him!”

“Daughter,” her father scolded, which angered her more. “Is this how a Meline diplomat is to act?”

“But, Father…”

A uniformed man appeared out of breath carrying a small box with a red cross in a white circle and demanded, “Where’s the wounded?”

She turned from her father, regarded Crenshaw, then in a huff said, “Follow me.”

Chapter Four

The only smell was antiseptic and he felt his chest tighten with a feeling of loss. When he opened his eyes, the room was dark and he heard people talking far away.

When he tried to raise his left hand, a pain shot through his shoulder and told him to stop. As things came into focus, he realized he was in a regiment infirmary.

Was I injured in battle? Hallucinogenics?
Trying his right hand, he reached for his leg and found a healing pad stuck to his thigh.
A knife wound? Zandill?

Was there a beautiful princess? Was it all a dream? Wasn’t he meant for someone?

His heart pounded and he felt feverish. He was completely lost and had no idea why. He was torn between jumping from the bed to find his lost dream and crying when he heard a whisper, “I’m here.”

Her smiling face appeared and he was overcome with relief. Touching her cheek he whispered, “It was all true, wasn’t it?”

“Shhhhh.” Her finger crossed his lips and he could smell her. His heart settled and he smiled back.

“Where am I?”

“On the Queen. The moon. At the Corporation mining hospital.”

Then it all came rushing back. The Princess. No, his princess. Her room. The chiming water. The battle.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He tried to push up.

“But you can’t, my love. They say you need at least two more days.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Not more than a day.”

Shoving her away, he sat on the edge of the hospital bed and immediately regretted it when his head started spinning and he wanted to throw up.

“Please, my love, lie back and let them fix you. I thought I’d lost…”

Pushing her hands away, he found an IV drip tube and pulled it out, leaving a small spot of blood on his arm. When his feet hit the cool floor his desire to throw up became reality and he heaved into a waste can. His heart pounded in his head and he could feel her hands on his back, but ignored them.

His world spun when he finally pushed off the bed and he had to grab for her shoulder to steady himself.
Something wasn’t right. No matter how badly he’d been wounded, with today’s medicine, I shouldn’t be feeling like this.

He wasn’t sure how long he could stand up but he knew he had to tell her quickly.

“Hill, darling…”

“Listen.” It came out as a croak but he didn’t give up. “Listen, we have to get back to the planet immediately.”

He swayed and squelched another desire to throw up, and when she didn’t move he demanded angrily, “Now! Get me to the planet now!”

When that didn’t work, he hung his head on her shoulder and pleaded softly, “If all that stuff you said about Bast and love is true, if you and I are really destined to be together, you’ll get me to the planet before they kill me.”

His last thought was slumping into his Meline princess and thrilling at the smell of her hair.

* * * *

“I don’t care what your doctors say, Mr. Crenshaw. It is my desire to take my mate home and I will do so. Now get out of my way.”

She hated herself for what she’d just said. Her own doctor had given up on her warrior, her mate, as dead and it had been the UC medical officer that had known how to bring his heart back to life and save him. A skill they’d never needed on Meline.

She’d never left his side and watched closely as they’d brought his heart back to life, repaired his wounds, and said with a smile, “He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest and time to heal.”

How could he demand this of me?

“But, Princess…”

She looked down at her one true love passed out on a stretcher being carried by two Meline warriors, then looked back at Crenshaw, “Let me say how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, but it is the Meline way. He will return to the palace with me at once.”

When Crenshaw relented, she shoved past him and stepped into the transporter with the Meline warriors following.

“If you insist, Princess. But please.” Crenshaw stepped into the transporter with them, holding up a small glass vial. “Be sure to give him this every six hours. It will keep his wounds from becoming infected.”