“Please, please, please,” Lucy said. “You have to go back and rescue my brother. He’s only nine, and he’s shy. He said you’re Texas Rangers.” She pointed at Thaddeus. “I’ve heard of them. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do?”

  “The night is half over,” Tumlionson said.

  “You have horses,” Lucy said. “I’ll show you the way. Please, help my brother. He doesn’t have anyone else in the world but me. I have to do something.”

  “I’ll go,” Thaddeus said.

  Lucy turned and smiled shyly at him.

  Thaddeus felt his heart begin to pound. He might be in love with Lucy Hibbons. His father had told him to start a family young. John Steele had always felt he’d started a family too late in life.

  “Don’t make that mistake,” his father had said.

  “There aren’t any girls here I want to marry,” Thaddeus had told his father.

  “Then find one you do and court her with all your heart,” his father had said.

  Thaddeus looked at Lucy Hibbons and realized here was a woman he dearly wanted to court and make his wife. If he had to kill a few Comanches to do that, so be it.

  “Are you sure about this?” Noah asked her.

  “She already said she was,” Tumlionson said. “Thaddeus has the right idea. Let’s ride, gentlemen, and save the boy. We can do it if anyone can.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said.

  “She should stay here,” Noah said.

  “No,” Thaddeus said.

  Tumlionson and Noah looked at him.

  “Steele is right,” Tumlionson said. “She has to show us the way. If we’re lucky, the warriors are still sleeping. They raided. Now they can take it easy. Come, men, it’s time to mount up.”

  Thaddeus smiled once more at Lucy. Then he turned and went to his horse. He needed to blanket and saddle the gelding.

  As Thaddeus cinched the saddle, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned, with Lucy Hibbons there behind him.

  “Can I ride with you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You…” She looked down at the ground. “You gave me your coat right away. That was a gentlemanly thing to do. I appreciate that.”

  “Anyone would have done that.”

  “No,” Lucy said, looking up. “You did it. Will you protect me?”

  Thaddeus’s heart swelled with pride. “If I have to face… Yes,” he finished. Rangers didn’t brag. They just got it done. He would try to do the same.

  Soon, the others were ready.

  “Lucy is riding with me,” Thaddeus announced to the others.

  “Good enough,” Tumlionson said. “Let’s go.”

  -16-

  The band rode up the river, with Lucy describing the path she’d chosen. Soon, they threaded through the timbers Lucy had run through. It was cold, with a howling wind, the few stars that were visible shone bright like gems.

  Thaddeus reveled in the feeling of Lucy’s arms wrapped around his waist.

  “How old are you?” Thaddeus asked suddenly.

  “Sixteen. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen,” he said.

  She pressed her forehead against his back. “You seem different from them. Are you a Ranger?”

  “Not yet,” Thaddeus said.

  “Are you going to be?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “West Tennessee,” he said.

  “I thought I heard an accent.”

  Thaddeus rode in silence for a time.

  “Have you ever farmed?” she asked.

  “Grew up on one,” he said.

  “There’s no one at our farm now,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, his heart beating faster.

  “Just saying,” Lucy said.

  Thaddeus wondered what he should say next. A whistle from Tumlionson stopped him from having to worry about it.

  Thaddeus rode faster, up to the others who had gathered at the edge of the forest.

  “Where’s the Comanche camp?” Tumlionson asked.

  Lucy craned her head and told Tumlionson what she knew.

  “We’re going to ride hard,” Tumlionson said. “We have to surprise them before they can kill the boy. That means kill any Comanche you can see. Don’t kill the boy by mistake, though.”

  Thaddeus had the feeling Tumlionson was saying that for his benefit.

  “Come on,” Tumlionson said.

  The men urged their horses into the open as they rode down a long slope.

  Halfway to a cedar brake, Lucy shouted at Tumlionson. He drew back until he rode even with them.

  “Say that again,” Tumlionson told her.

  Lucy did.

  “Got it,” Tumlionson said.

  He rode back to the other Rangers.

  “Can you use a rifle?” Thaddeus asked her.

  “I can,” Lucy said.

  “You keep it for now,” Thaddeus said.

  “What will you use?”

  “I have two pistols, and my father taught me how to fight with a knife.”

  Lucy tightened her hold around his waist.

  Thaddeus felt braver than ever, but he was also starting to feel queasy. He didn’t remember his father telling him this about a fight. He might have to kill a man, even if it was an Indian. Thinking about what the savages had done to Lucy’s father, brother and sister—a fire started in Thaddeus Steele’s heart. It wasn’t rage, but it was something fierce. Maybe he really was his father’s son after all. Thaddeus had heard his father’s war stories a few times, but he never realized what kind of soldier his father had been. That had been due to John Steele keeping quiet about the most brutal aspects of his military career.

  Now, however, Thaddeus Steele discovered that a fierce ember ignited in him. The savageness of it frightened him. He should feel fear riding toward Comanche braves. Instead, a terrible eagerness to meet them knife to knife filled him.

  A dog in the distance began to bark.

  “Damn it, they have a dog?” Tumlionson shouted.

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “I forgot to tell you.”

  “Ride!” Tumlionson shouted, even as his horse broke into a gallop.

  Thaddeus Steele heeled the flanks of his gelding, and it broke into a gallop, chasing after the others.

  The dog howled.

  One of the Rangers fired his long rifle.

  Then Thaddeus was aware that his horse wove past trees and jumped over a log on the ground. He saw Comanches on the ground throwing off their buffalo robes, revealing their buckskin garments.

  A wildness filled Thaddeus. He yipped a war cry and slid off his horse, running. Lucy also yelled. But she leaned forward and grabbed the reins, probably to keep from falling off.

  Thaddeus found himself sprinting across the uneven ground as hard as he could. Comanches were disappearing into the trees. They were getting away.

  A boy cried out.

  In the moonlight, Thaddeus saw a Comanche with a knife rushing the boy. Without a thought, Thaddeus reached into the holsters and drew out the old Napoleon era sidearms. He cocked each, aimed and fired one on the run.

  The Comanche stood over the boy and raised his knife. With the report of the first pistol and maybe the bullet whipping near him, the Indian jerked upright and whirled around.

  Thaddeus shouted a second war cry.

  The Comanche whooped and charged with his knife raised.

  “You red devil!” Thaddeus shouted. He pointed the second pistol at the Comanche and pulled the trigger. The flint struck down. The pan flashed but no bullet fired.

  The knife-wielding Comanche closed.

  Thaddeus hurled the useless old pistol at the Comanche, hitting him in the face. Thaddeus then yanked out his fighting knife. It was huge. He thrust at the Comanche, the blade sliding past ribs to smash into the heart.

  The Comanche shuddered, dragging his knife in a cutting down slice. The tip caught Thaddeus across his left check, drawing a line. Then the Comanche crashed backward onto the ground, dead.

  Everything happened so fast.

  Thaddeus knelt by the Comanche, grabbed the bloody handle and yanked out his knife. He turned around, looking, but there didn’t seem to be any more Comanches.

  “Don’t kill me,” a boy shouted.

  “No,” Thaddeus said, having forgotten the boy. He turned to him. “I’m Lucy’s friend. She’s here with me. We came to free you.”

  The boy stared at Thaddeus. Then he rushed up and crashed against him, hugging Thaddeus with all his strength.

  “There, there,” Thaddeus said, tousling the boy’s matted hair.

  The young fellow began to cry and then hiccup.

  Soon, Lucy dismounted and pried her brother’s arms from around Thaddeus. The boy hugged her, and they consoled each other.

  The Rangers soon gathered, building up a fire.

  The other Comanches had fled into the woods. Their horses were also gone. Some of the buffalo robes were here, though.

  Noah inspected the dead Comanche. Tumlionson noticed and walked over. The two talked quietly.

  “You killed him, Thaddeus,” Tumlionson soon said. “The scalp is yours.”

  Thaddeus blanched. He had no need for a scalp. “You take it. You led us. The scalp is yours.”

  “No,” Tumlionson said. “According to the rules of the chase, the man who brings down the game is entitled to the pelt.”

  Despite everything, Thaddeus understood that these Rangers viewed the Comanches as different from white men. The Indians were vermin that needed killing. They had pelts instead of hair. Thaddeus didn’t think like that, and he didn’t ever want to fall into that, either.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” Thaddeus said.

  Tumlionson stared at him, then at the dead Comanche and then walked to the corpse. With a big old knife, he scalped the dead Comanche and took that to Lucy.

  “This is yours,” Tumlionson said, proffering it. “May it bring you just a little satisfaction for what they did to you and yours.”

  Lucy thanked him gravely and took the scalp. She went to Thaddeus’s gelding and tied it to the saddle.

  As the Rangers gathered their horses and kept an eye out for Comanches, Lucy went to Thaddeus.

  “I want to thank you for saving my brother.”

  “You mean that,” Thaddeus said.

  Lucy stood straighter. “You think I don’t?”

  Thaddeus swallowed hard, not sure why he’d just said that. He didn’t want to be a Texas Ranger anymore, although he admired them greatly. Then he did realize why he’d said that.

  “Lucy Hibbons,” Thaddeus said. “I love you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I do some. You’re brave and smart. I admire that.”

  She might have blushed but it was hard to tell in the moonlight.

  “You don’t have to answer right away,” Thaddeus said. “But I want you to be my wife—if you’ll have me.”

  “You want to marry me?”

  “I’m asking.”

  “Are you?”

  Thaddeus stepped closer, and he went down onto one knee while looking up at her. “Now I am.”

  Lucy stared at him for several seconds. “Would you help me raise my brother?”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “I need to hear it,” Lucy said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes, Thaddeus Steele, I’ll be your wife until death do us part.”

  ***

  Author’s Note: According to T.R. Fehrenback, who wrote Comanches, and in it wrote about the Ranger account that made up much of this tale: “Despite the efforts of men like Smithwick, the western counties (of Texas) suffered continual rape and ruin, and during Houston’s administration at least one hundred white captives were carried off by the Indians.”

  The Colt revolver and growing Texas Ranger cunning were soon going to change everything. But Thaddeus and Lucy weren’t part of that story as they started their lives together on her father’s farm.

  -17-

  33.48 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH

  176 YEARS AGO

  Fifty years had passed since Chief Geneticist Rim-Sin unleashed the infection that expunged ninety-eight percent of Akkad’s crew and passengers. Ningal had remained his wife throughout this time.

  The early years were the hardest for Ningal. Disposing of the bodies had taken far too long, as Rim-Sin had purposely expunged the simpleminded soldiers, the muscle that normally would have done the task.

  A plague from the rotting bodies might have killed the survivors, but Rim-Sin had solved that with new antibiotics and using spacesuits as protection against hazardous materials or deadly microorganisms.

  In one sense, the very size of the task helped the survivors, for it gave everyone grueling work for months on end. This work distracted them from the grim reality that a mad genius now controlled the Akkad, holding the fate of the People in his bloody hands.

  Ningal used sedatives and alcohol to numb her conscience. The guilt still almost proved too much as she sank into gloom. At last, Rim-Sin had conducted an intervention for her, as she’d become a ghost of her former self.

  The intervention helped for a few weeks. Then she went back to her zombie existence of sedatives and alcohol.

  Finally, Rim-Sin placed her in medical confinement, refusing her anything but water and food. Three times, Ningal tried to commit suicide. Three times, nurses thwarted her attempts.

  Sensing the bitterness of her fate, Ningal changed course one day. She didn’t deserve the easy way out. She should suffer for what she’d done. Thus, she needed to live and accept the pain. She decided to live, and she decided to help Rim-Sin as best she could. The reason was that he watched her, and constantly gauged her. Thus, she would lull him. Then, at just the right time, when she felt she’d suffered enough, she would strike and bring him down.

  Ningal kept her plans for vengeance secret, even from herself most of the time. Dreams were the worst, as she would enact her vengeance in them. She feared talking in her sleep and giving her plan away, as she soon slept with Rim-Sin again.

  She was certain he cheated on her, but Ningal didn’t mind. While Rim-Sin was good in bed, it no longer delighted her as it had in the beginning.

  Ningal endured, and she proved gifted in dealing with the young, new and improved soldiers. They now called themselves Valiants, and the name stuck. Ningal didn’t work in the gene labs any longer, but helped the trainers teach the young, brilliant Valiants basic tasks.

  It turned out, however, that Rim-Sin and she had done their jobs too well. The first Valiant batches were geniuses, at least according to the IQ tests.

  Rim-Sin had nearly expunged those early batches out of dread. He didn’t want the Valiants rebelling against him and derailing his plan. Instead of killing them, though, he developed another disease and secretly infected the new and improved Valiants with it. Their disease needed yearly dosages to hold at bay.

  Rim-Sin kept these dosages in a private place, doling out the exact amount each year. He had other fail-safes to keep the Valiants subservient, but he still worried about the possibility of mutiny. Perhaps his own treachery made him fear that others would betray him in turn. It was the principle that a liar expected others to lie to him.

  Rim-Sin constantly monitored the early batch of genius Valiants, and he modified the following batches, lessening certain DNA mixtures so the newer Valiants wouldn’t be as smart as the originals.

  Fifty years into the great experiment, Rim-Sin and the other geneticists still had not allowed any female Valiants to leave the fetus cylinders, always flushing them instead.

  Despite that, the Valiant population expanded. At this point, fifty years later, they totaled 48,732 in all.

  The regular People numbered a paltry 4,281.

  The Valiants ran most parts of the ship, fixed almost everything, doing all the work in fact except for genetic improvement and fetus control. The regular People also did all the Valiant training of the early youths.

  Instead of Elders, the Chief Marshal of the Valiants ran the ship, running the biggest decisions past Rim-Sin. In truth, Rim-Sin ruled the Akkad, but he allowed the fiction that Chief Marshal Enki did.

  Chief Marshal Enki was nearing fifty years of age. He was big even for a Valiant, with herculean shoulders, square, stern features and closely cropped white hair. Like all Valiants, he had a slight bluish tinge to his skin. Enki wore a military uniform with shoulder boards emblazed with three stars on each.

  In public, Enki wore a shredder on his belt and a ceremonial dagger. He wore boots and maintained a strict military bearing. He towered over Rim-Sin, and might have been able to kill him with one punch to the chest, to say nothing about a palm blow to the nose. Not that Rim-Sin was weak for one of the People. It was just that Enki was brawny, lifted hard, and believed in and practiced spartan values. Perhaps just as importantly, Enki believed in a stern code of ethics and honor, with courage being the primary component.

  The great nebula spotted fifty years ago was fast approaching, or the Akkad was fast approaching it. The generational ship continued to accelerate as the three Type Four Annihilator missiles gave chase. The ship yet needed the gathered particles as propellant, as the supply in the storage tanks had grown dangerously low.

  Later in the week, Enki asked for a meeting with Rim-Sin, and the Chief Marshal sounded grim over the communications unit.

  “You will go as my representative,” Rim-Sin later told Ningal.

  They were in their quarters, huge suites of rooms. It was the best-protected area of the ship, with many deadly fail-safes in place to ensure that no one could harm them here, particularly no Valiants.

  “You want me to represent you in speaking to Enki?” Ningal asked.

  She wasn’t as pretty as she used to be, although she was still slender and fit at eighty-one, and her skin smooth. She exercised and ate moderately. She also took the treatments Rim-Sin had designed for the both of them. They sought immortality, and so far, it appeared to be paying off handsomely.

  “Yes,” Rim-Sin said regarding her question. He sat at his desk. This one was much larger than the small desk he used to sit behind fifty years ago.