Starlight Gleaming Ch. 16

Once I hit it with the light, though, he suddenly dropped back to the ground. Hissing at me, he sprayed the tree, kicked up some dirt, looked back up the tree as he hissed again, before stalking off. Obviously disappointed I wasn't something delectable. I was okay with that.

Scimitar cats were mostly plains hunters, and didn't have retractable claws. Sabertooths were bigger and bulkier, but also lower to the ground with shorter legs. Again, not tree climbers. Still, I checked my watch. Just after zero-one hundred hours. I glance up out of habit. No stars. Dark night, which I was grateful for. A while later, it began to rain and the wind picked up, icy cold coming hundreds of rads south, straight off the glacier.

The rest of the night was one of fitful dozing and moving my legs, while trying to keep myself warm.

* * * * *

Around dawn, the rain eased off and the birds began chattering.

Cold, stiff, and tired, I carefully untied myself, stored the rope, and climbed down. I cut off some branches with leaves and stuck them here and there into my pack so as to break up my silhouette. I munched down two protein bars and half a bottle of water. Maybe it was primate spite, but I did my business right where the cougar had pissed the night before.

Secure, I headed south toward the forest road to the park. When I reached the road, something told me to stay close but not actually on it. Heeding the instinct, I followed the paved road east, toward where I'd left the ChoCac. It was rougher going, and I was tired, but I dogged along.

By mid-morning, the rain resumed, a lot harder this time. Just as cold as the night before.

I'm positive it was just luck. But in the trees up ahead, I saw someone in rain gear like myself suddenly pass a tree, crawling into a small thicket. He was armed with a rifle and scope as I was. I froze, then slowly, carefully edged closer to the road. Sure enough, along the road were the signs for the park.

So much for the ride home.

The vehicle was in Ket Beelo's name, which meant using the ID and charge card were now dangerous. If I used them, they'd likely locate me.

Turning around, I kept low and moved away, letting the rain cover my movement. I was cold and my feet inside my boots were wet, but as long as I kept moving, I'd do okay.

I had to give Chatolklan's men credit. They were making a good effort to kill me.

A couple of hours later, I paused for another meal break. Digging into my pack, I retrieved some dry socks and put them on. My boots were soaked through, but what I did was important. Feet that are too long in wet boots or shoes can become a hazard. The skin becomes saturated with moisture, and may split or even peel off the foot, leading to blood loss and infection, a condition commonly referred to as having "pounder feet," pejoratively named after the Ground Service soldiers who first endured the phenomenon.

Using matches, I then melted the picture portion of the ID card. After using my knife to scrape off the magnetic strip on the card, I dug a small hole and buried both the Ket Beelo ID and the charge card. My real ID and card were still in my right boot. I'd use it I needed to, but I didn't want easy access to it, or to others who might find and search me. I would rather not have people know that Ranji Kandikan was anywhere near where Field Commander Herroto Chatolklan was killed if I could help it.

I brushed off the mud and pine needles, kicked the detritus around a bit, and continued walking.

During the day, I passed by a couple of farmsteads. I avoided them. I didn't know how much influence Chatolklan's people had with the locals. I was hungry, tired, and wet, but it was just too dangerous to risk. I had food and water yet, and could move my feet, so I kept them moving.

It kept raining. The trees kept most of the wind and rain off me.

Toward the evening, I could see structures in the distance. I'd finally reached Bisbee's Crossing, the town I had come through four days earlier.

I paused, pondering my options. Looked at my LRS-12. Pulled the magazine, ejected round one in the chamber and loaded it back into the magazing. Two rounds remaining. Obviously a military weapon, marking me as mercenary, hired gun, or Warrior Caste - none of which I wanted anyone to associate with me until I put some more distance between this place and myself.

I'd been real lucky so far. And I owed part of it to my experience with rotary craft. As a pilot, I'd known where some of the weak spots on the Kites were, so I'd known where to aim my shots. Mix in some luck from one of the gods of chaos, making at least one of the shots count. Without that, the Kites would have chewed me up and spat me out.

I broke down the rifle and stuffed it down into my pack. Pulled out the Caiman 35, and after checking the safety, stuffed it into my belt. Then I resumed walking.

As I got closer to town, I skirted the buildings, taking the side streets. Only the main street appeared to have street lights, the buildings to either side of the main road remained hidden in darkness. Keeping to the edges of buildings, I made my way through. I was tempted to climb a fire escape and find a corner on the roof in order to grab some sleep. But I'd lived near a small town while growing up. Neighbors in small towns tend to look out for each other. If they hear a strange noise, they might investigate, even on a windy, rainy night.

I was worn and wet, but I needed to keep going, and hoof it to the main highway, another fifteen rads before me. Once there, I hoped to hitch a ride south.

Maybe my luck would continue to hold out.

* * * * *

I checked my watch when I finally reached the main highway. Oh-four-hundred hours.

No traffic.

Still raining.

I'd been up for more than twenty-four hours. My feet were wet again and I was bone-tired.

Look to the good, I reminded myself. I was alive. I would make it home. I would!

I crossed the north-bound lane and turned south, slogging along the highway's edge.

About an hour later, two Armadillos passed on by.

The Armadillo is a civilian transport version of the armored Tortoise, designed for long-distance hauling of food and goods. A lot of them often pulled along one and sometimes two trailers. Their enormous arrays of batteries gave them about eight hours travel before needing recharging. Half that if they hauled two trailers, or if the load was especially heavy. The tops of the trailers had solar collectors, and fed some juice back into the system, but the weight and speed guaranteed a net loss of energy. A four hour wait at a recharging station, and then back on the road.

The third trucker hauling a double slowed down and pulled over in front of me. Once I ran up, the driver rolled down the window and leaned out. "Need a lift?"

"Gods, yes!" Grinning back at him, I hustled around to the passenger side. Taking off my poncho, I hauled myself up the steps and climbed in.

"Name's Emilo." He looked to be middle-aged, with a bit of a gut. Still, he had a friendly smile.

"Styen," I told him, leaning over to shake his hand. I hoped the real Styen would forgive me. "Thanks for stopping!"

"Not at all," Emilo responded. "The Great Spirit says to offer kindness where we can. I'm going as far as Raydam, Styen. How far are you going?" He checked his side mirrors, then accelerated and resumed driving.

"Raydam is perfect. When we get there, I'll buy breakfast for both of us."

His comment about the Great Spirit resonated with me. My mother and father had talked about divinity, kindness, love, and the universe in broad terms in several family discussions when I was growing up. Not the Great Spirit specifically, mind you, but we had discussed faith and religion. While not overly religious myself, I did think there was something out there. Anyone who has attended a mass with fifty thousand people chanting will agree there is power there. I didn't agree with blood sacrifices, but there was too much out there that strict materialism and physicalism couldn't explain using science alone.

Of course, thinking of my mother, I flashed on when I'd last seen her, bloody and dying in my father's arms. My father had later assured me she was going to be fine, and that I'd saved her life. Despite my father's words, the images of my memory nagged. I needed to see her myself.

"You don't need to buy me food," Emilo protested. "This is a gift, freely given. Besides, there are no good music stations for the next two hours. I was sort of hoping to have someone to talk to. It makes this early morning route go faster."

I smiled. "Freely accepted. I'm not much of a talker right now. Lost my vehicle a while back, and I've walked all night to reach the highway so as to get home. Still, I'd like to have a hot meal, and company would be nice."

I rubbed my face because it itched. I was pretty scruffy with five-days growth of beard. And I hoped I didn't stink too bad, though I was sure I stank of rain, mud, sweat, and fear. I was going on three days in this same set of clothing. And my pack was filled with clothing even worse smelling.

"Do I detect a southern continent accent there?" he asked, as we began moving again.

"Guilty as charged. Tohingo. It's where I'm headed."

Emilo whistled. "That's a far stretch of the legs, Styen."

We settled into talking. Soon, though, Emilo did most of the talking and I just listened.

I tried my best to keep awake. I did manage it for about an hour. But the heat of the cabin and the whine of a dozen tires on the asphalt, and the white lines on the road all seduced me to sleep. All I knew I was incredibly sad, and after a time, I awoke gasping, crying out. Vague images of Stryker, Belton, and Charunt hurting my girls Sisi and Mina, their screaming, and I was tied up, unable to stop the the bastards. It was silly because I knew both Stryker and Belton were dead. And if I had my way, Charunt would join them in the fiery wastes of the Second Hell. But dreams often do the unexpected and the impossible.

Sitting up, I wiped my eyes and looked around. We were on a major highway within the outskirts of a large city. Signs quickly told me we had reached Raydam.

Emilo glanced at me. "You alright there, Styen?"

"Yeah. Dreamt about my girls. I haven't seen them in far too long. Months. When I get home, I intend to make up for it with a lot of magic hugs. I'm sorry about falling asleep on you." I wiped my eyes again.

"Magic hugs?"

"You have a family. You know what I mean. The hugs your kids give you when you say goodbye. I told my girls their hugs are magic, and if they gave me their hugs, I would always come back to them. They believe it. Now I do, too. The ache to feel another of their magic hugs draws me home."

He glanced at me and grinned. "Magic hugs. I've never heard it put quite like that. My wife will enjoy that thought."

"I feel badly, Emilo. You picked my up for companionship, and I've been an abysmal travel companion." I saw that while we were still on the main highway, there was a lot more traffic, and the land to both sides of the highway grew denser with buildings, roads, and people.

"It's okay," Emilo replied. "It looked like you needed it. We should reach my destination in about thirty minutes. Maybe longer if traffic continues like this. If you still want to do the breakfast, there's a diner across the street from the warehouse where I'm dropping this load."

"Deal," I readily agreed. "Remember. My treat."

He just smiled good-naturedly.

It actually took an hour as we'd hit the city's morning rush hour.

We eventually made it to the warehouse without incident, and Emilo expertly parked his trailer, quickly and efficiently unhooking the trailer from his Armadillo, before parking us in a space near the loading bay. We got out, quickly hooked up the four massive charging cables, and then he took his manifest to the dock supervisor. I hovered nearby, waiting.

The rain had stopped somewhere along the way. I put my coat back on, slipping the pistol into the backpack. I focused on remaining calm, planning my next steps while Emilo chatted easily with the supervisor and filled out forms.

Soon he was done and we walked across the street to the diner. Shady Grove Truck Stop. There were several warehouses up and down the road, and at the truck stop itself were parked more than a dozen Armadillos, each of them charging batteries while the drivers ate and relaxed inside.

Despite his protests, I paid for both of our meals. Hot cakes with honey and jam. Slices of ham and hashed potatoes. Fresh, hot cahault. The chocolate coffee drink was decently brewed, which was a pleasant surprise. Emilo recommended gooseberry pie and ice cream for dessert. I'd never had either gooseberries or ice cream before. It was flavored with vanilla, a Nahuatl spice. A nice combination, if a bit sweet. I could easily see my girls enjoying the taste.

We talked as we ate, and I learned more about Emilo's family on the far northern frontier, and his long-haul trips ferrying supplies back and forth across Chuman State. He didn't say anything about my own reticence to speak further, contenting himself with a chance to brag about his wife and children and their accomplishments.

I missed Janetta and the other women in my life, loved them immensely. Don't mistake that. But the handful of times having my daughters on my lap as I read to them? Being their father? Golden moments - that played a huge part of surviving Sparantzlo.

Emilo, I thought, wasn't just husband and father, he was his wife's lover and his children's dad. Emilo reminded me of my father. And I was hungry for more of those experiences in my own life. Not just soldier and lover, but dad, too, and sharing that life with the women.

At the end of the meal, clutching his jacket just before rising, he said quietly, "Thank you for the meal, your lordship. Have a safe journey home."

"Your welcome, Emilo, I-" Then I looked at him, narrowing my gaze.

Keeping his eyes partway downcast, he quietly offered, "I thought as much. It's nothing you said, I assure you. I was in the military for five years. Got out after I learned to drive big trucks and started my family. You have that aura of command about you. Why you are traveling incognito - well, I'm sure is none of my business. You seem a bit lost, but you also seem a decent man, so I hope you make it safely back to your home, wherever that may be."

I raised my eyebrows. "Lost? How so?"

"You're young. But your eyes and how you move tell me you've been hurt bad and recently, and that you're still finding your feet. And I'm not talking about your slight limp. It's deeper. In your heart. My own father was like that when my mother passed on. Stayed that way until he followed her a year later. In any event, your company was pleasant, and the notion of magic hugs was well worth stopping for you. Thank you for that and for the meal."

Nodding, I stood and offered him my hand again. Surprised, he smiled as we shook hands.

"Is Styen your real name?"

I shook my head. "And for that, I apologize sincerely for the deception. But it belongs to someone very important to me. If you are open to it, I will contact you later, with my real name. I enjoyed hearing about your family. They sound delightful. I'd like to learn more, if I may. And once I'm away from here, I can be open about who I am."

"If you wish, I would be honored. Emilo and Falandi Bitawel in Hoopa Valley, up near Lake Miwaka. Bitawel means Fast Bear. May the Great Spirit keep you safe and see you home."

I clapped him on the back, and he left.

I hoped he wouldn't be too upset to find I'd slipped a couple hundred credits into his pocket. I'd picked up that bit at Sparantzlo, too. To him, it would be a huge amount. To me, it was well deserved. Emilo had stopped out of the kindness of his heart, and brought me safely to the city of Raydam.

Collecting my backpack, I paid the bill with a generous tip, then went into the gift store and bought a phone with prepaid minutes. On a lark, I bought a mug imprinted with the truck stop's name on the side.

Then I spotted on a shelf those portable, four-legged back massagers I'd first seen in Capisco, and I burst out laughing. Delighted, I saw there were the original colors, but also some in two- and three-toned color schemes. Janetta and her crew had lost theirs due to the vandalism of our home on Seashell Lane. These weren't made in the Seven Nations, though, but in the Tonwe States, an island continent far across the Western Ocean. Chuckling with imagined reactions from the women, I bought ten. I had no doubt I could find others deserving of some mechanically-derived joy.

I also bought a children's board game, two slinky-toys, and two tablet modules with children's music. All that meant I had to buy another pack to carry all my new goods in. At the stand, they had men's hair dye, "to enhance your attraction by taking out the grey." I bought a package of the black dye.

The cashier gave me an odd grin as she tallied the charges while I loaded up the new backpack. I had seriously dented their supply. After I paid, she showed me a list of local taxi companies. Using the new phone, I called the third one on the list.

When the taxi arrived, I had him suggest a motel, which I had him drive me to.

After paying him, I waited until he left, then scanned up and down the street. I spotted a second-hand store. I was near exhaustion, but I also needed fresh clothing. The spares in my backpack were damaged and bloody, and while the ones I wore were nearly dry, they were also quite ripe and had small tears and rips everywhere.

As I walked to it, I spied a public clinic, and headed there instead. My injuries from the rockets needed tending. They weren't bad, but they were worse than the day before. I remembered my experience with the gunshot to my leg. I had used painkillers to ignore something I should have attended in good time, and was doing the same again. I didn't want a repeat experience of the naval hospital. Draining the infection itself had been really painful.

After the wounds were tended to, I desperately wanted a shower, a bed, and a full day's sleep, but I also needed to retrieve my duffle bag from the airport locker. My duffle bag had, among other things, clean clothing.

Entering the clinic, I signed the waiting list, paid the visit fee of ten credits, and waited. Four hours later I was finally seen. I explained that I'd taken a fall, and needed my back and rear of my legs examined, as I was sure I had taken large splinters. At the nurse's instruction, I undressed. She removed splinters and chunks of wood from several sites. Two, though, required another nurse to help with removal and stitches. Seems I had also taken a couple of small metal fragments from the rockets, and one required a bit of digging. The nurses were curious about what happened, asking questions which I refused to respond to, and once I showed them I had the extra credits, they quit asking. A shot of antibiotics, liberal use of astringents and cleaning of the wounds, stitching where it was needed. When they were done, they slapped on fresh Nu-Skin patches over the battlefield of my back and backside. Three times I was offered local anesthetic, which I refused. I remembered Tikleet's warning. No anesthesia, or I'd risk the bomb attached to my heart going off. I actually hurt worse afterward, but now that the wounds were cleaned, I would heal properly. They offered a box of some light pain meds, which I took, and had them add a small packet of stim-tabs to my bill.

From there, I walked for a while. Finding a mass transit station, I paid the day fare, and the driver gave me directions on how to get to the airport. I decided if anyone tracked me to the cab-driver, I didn't want to be anywhere near the motel he dropped me at.