Free DarkStar Running (Living on the Run Book 2) by Ben Patterson

that farfetched idea from where, exactly?”
    “You have two rescued men on board. At great risk to
himself, he recovered two life pods, ma’am. That was the real reason he stayed,
not because of some gruesome interest in battle. He also wanted to bury his
friends; those that didn’t make it.”
    “Oh.” Lilia dropped her eyes. “I haven’t given the man much
of a chance, have I? Some believer I’ve been.”
    “So, you’re not without your faults, either?”
    “Apparently not.”
    “All Captain Archer wants is to discover who you really are.
He may be crude at times, but you can trust him to respect your virtue. How did
you get to your bed, Capt. Slone, when you were unconscious?”
    Lilia speared fingers through her hair to scratch her head.
“He did that?”
    “Despite the tremendous pain he was in, he displayed
remarkable compassion toward you, someone he thinks he should hate.”
    “When I think back, in the short time I’ve known him, he has
done nothing but save me, hasn’t he? He spared my life when he should have
taken it, gotten me off planet at his own expense, and twice put himself
between me and a bullet. Why would he do that? And why does he keep calling me
‘Trog?’”
    There was a moment of silence before DarkStar answered. “Although he himself doesn’t yet know, I’m certain you do.”
    DarkStar had given Stan’s memories to Lilia and hers
to him. Seeing herself as he had, Lilia envisioned his approaching her at the
tavern yesterday morning, and felt the mix of emotions that had flooded his
mind. Yes, she knew just how he had felt, and understood what had raged in his
heart . . . although he did not.
    But given what she now knew to be true . . . what
should she do with that?
    Before long she found herself in the hallway heading to his
room. Once there, she peeked in.
    Exhausted atop the bed, he lay flat on his back fully
clothed, his broad chest rising and falling softly.
    Lilia stepped in to sit on his bed, and took his hand in
hers. “Thank you, soldier,” she whispered, “for rescuing me.” After taking a
moment to study his chiseled face, she rose and stepped from the room.
    “It wasn’t as if I could do less, Lilia,” he answered
softly, then drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Eleven
    William Robert Taft awoke once again in the dank little
room. By a dim ceiling luminary he saw dingy walls, a floor seldom mopped, and
an iron door blocking his only exit. And the odor . . . well . . .
a well-worn, never-washed tube sock lost and forgotten in the bottom of Bubba
McGirk’s gym locker would have smelled as good as a cheeseburger if compared to
what now assaulted him. He thought he’d get used to it at some point. No such
luck.
    He sat up and, after a moment of
trying to settle the spasms in his gut, got to his feet. His bed was a
sheetless mattress tucked in the corner. One of the pirate ships must have
retrieved his lifepod from the battle scene. Soon he’d be sold into slavery.
His head dropped, and that’s when he noticed a shock-collar had rubbed his neck
raw. By feel, he could tell it was a T-1 Bradshaw, a rather old model used by
dog owners to control their pets.
    Good. At least that’s a plus. Training he thought he’d never use would finally come in
handy. Shortly, the collar was rendered useless.
    From outside the room came a
metallic clank and what sounded like a jangle of keys. “Back away from the
door,” came a shout from beyond it.
    Taft stepped back. A screech of
metal on metal and the door slid into its wall pocket.
    An old man hesitated in the entry.
Dressed oddly in clean, bright colors, his garb was a mismatched array of dark
leather calf-high boots, a white shirt decorated with frilly lace, a red denim
vest, and a black, heavy, high-collared coat trimmed in gold. Had the man a
sword dangling on his hip, the pirate costume would have been complete. With
tray in hand, he stepped in. “Back away now,” he chortled in a friendly voice.
“I got yer