Her Sky Cowboy Part 24

"Big. Powerful. The controls-indeed, the entire construction-is far more advanced than the Flying Cloud. The clipper ship Papa altered three years back," she clarified. "Simon confiscated her for his quest. I wonder how he's faring. The Flying Cloud, like Bess, was p.r.o.ne to malfunctions."

"Simon's an engineer, right? He'll manage."

"He did mention upgrades. I just wish...Do you perchance have a Teletype and printer aboard?"

"You want to contact Simon?"

"The Flying Cloud lacks any sort of telecommunication device. Or at least it did before Simon seized it. No, I wish to contact Mother. I want to make sure she is faring well and to ask whether she has heard from either Simon or Jules. I just...I need some sort of rea.s.surance regarding my family."

He understood more than she knew. Lack of contact with his sister was a constant source of frustration. "The Maverick's equipped with ship-to-sh.o.r.e and ship-to-ship, but I'm not keen on transmitting signals. Could alert anyone listening to our presence."

"Like Captain Dunkirk?"

"Maybe. I definitely sense trouble's coming, just not sure from what direction."

Amelia relaxed against him. "We'll handle it."

Christ, yes, he'd made up his mind on that one thing, at least. We. The two of them. Together. Wrapping his hands over hers, he nuzzled her ear. "Yes, we will."

"Forgive the intrusion." StarMan stepped in and offered two steaming mugs. "Thought you might like some hot cider." He jerked his head as if to prod them out of the c.o.c.kpit. "My watch."

Tuck wasn't sure whether his navigator was nervous about Amelia piloting the Maverick or if he simply wanted to afford them time alone. He had to admit the route was tricky, but so far she'd exhibited sound judgment.

Amelia relinquished the wheel with a gracious smile and accepted a mug. "How thoughtful. Thank you, StarMan."

The man nodded, and Tuck knew she'd just won points with his navigator.

"Perfect timing." She looked up at Tuck. "May we talk?"

"Let's go below, where it's warmer."

"I prefer to stay topside, if you don't mind. The scenery is spectacular."

Hand settled at the small of her back, Tuck escorted Amelia toward the stern, where the wind was less fierce. He helped her perch on a barrel, then moved in beside her. Together they sipped cider and looked out at the vast and varied landscape. She was right-the view was spectacular: sparkling white slopes, rugged gorges and icy glaciers, lush green valleys and sky blue lakes. He'd been focused on navigating this boat through the craggy pa.s.ses and watching for spontaneous storm clouds. Appreciating the scenery hadn't entered his mind. He'd taken the Alps for granted, just like the English Channel. A man who'd traveled extensively and experienced numerous adventures, Tuck was usually impressed by very little.

He was most definitely impressed with Amelia.

"About last night," she said, breaking their companionable silence.

"You already apologized and you already thanked me. Both were unnecessary."

"I disagree, but will not argue the point." She sipped cider, then fidgeted, looking uncomfortable as a camel in the Klondike. "I want you to know that...I'm slowly coming to terms. Which is a goodly distance from refusing to believe Papa's really gone, but also a long way from being all right with it."

"I understand."

"Because you're someone who tragically lost both of his parents, I believe you do." She held his gaze, though her cheeks burned red. "I just wanted to thank you again for being so...kind."

Tuck ached to pull her into his arms, to kiss her deeply and soundly, making her flush and tremble head to toe, but he'd vowed to respect her need to sever their intimate relationship. Restraint was d.a.m.ned hard, especially when he saw mutual desire sparking in those pretty blue eyes. Typically a man of his word, he hoped to h.e.l.l she broke before he did.

"I do not recall ever losing control like that. Both mortifying and...oddly freeing. I wish I could do something to repay your kindness."

"You did, honey. You slept restfully through the night. Gave me peace of mind."

"Yes, well..." She cleared her throat. "I'm about to aggravate that well-being."

"Thanks for the warning." He drained his cider, set the mug aside, then leaned back against the gunwale, arms crossed. "Shoot."

"I spoke with Doc this morning. I think...no, I'm quite certain he's angry with me."

"Let me guess. You mentioned you saw him at the skytown, mingling with Freaks." Even though he'd warned her against it. Somehow he wasn't surprised.

"I went a bit further than that. I acted on a suspicion and verified that Doc is indeed a Freak himself."

Tuck raised a brow. She'd not only figured out Doc's secret; she'd called him on it. He couldn't decide whether he was impressed or concerned.

"I know you know," she said in a soft voice. "I know you're the only one aboard who does. Except for me. Although Doc thinks that most everyone suspects."

"Except Axel."

"Mr. O'Donnell and his absurd phobias aside, I strongly believe that the rest of the crew would accept Doc for who he is."

"They would. Do you?"

She pushed her goggles to her forehead and regarded him with a perplexed expression. "But of course."

"You're not scared of him?"

"Just because he's not wholly of this time? No."

"Have you seen his eyes?"

"I admit they are a bit disconcerting, but hardly something that would send me running in fear or repulsion. As I said to Doc, there is no shame in being different."

He appreciated her stand, but sensed her opinion was hindered by her youth and sheltered upbringing. "Not quite as simple as that, darlin'."

"So Doc said. Indeed, he became quite agitated when I pointed out that it is difficult to change the views of the prejudiced by remaining silent, or in his case, hidden."

He thought about the brewing rebellion amongst Freaks and the overall social unrest. Thought about the original preaching of the Peace Rebels-"Make love, not war"-and how their utopian mind-set had eventually backfired and sparked the Peace War. He thought about sharing his personal political views, but decided to focus this particular discussion on Doc.

"Don't get me wrong, Amelia. I wish Doc would come clean with the crew. If for no other reason than to relieve him of keeping up pretenses, at least while in our company. We've been together a long time. We all have baggage. Every man on this crew has been persecuted in some way because of his race or beliefs. Even Axel, believe it or not. I won't go into detail, because each man's story is his own. But I will give you some insight into Doc's plight, because he's a rare breed, and like most people where Freaks are concerned, I think you're operating under misconceptions or lack of knowledge."

"Because I'd never seen or met a Freak until this week?"

"Because they are an anomaly."

"Yet you are an expert on their race?"

"Far from it. But I have been around longer than you and know more than you. I've been Doc's confidant for five years, and I've had a fair amount of interaction with random Freaks due to my past and present professions. You probably know the basics, but hear me out."

She blew out a breath. "I apologize for my sarcasm. Of course you would be more knowledgeable, given your background. Please do enlighten me."

"Humoring me, Miss Darcy?"

"Not my style, Mr. Gentry." Her lush mouth twitched. "Well, perhaps sometimes. But not just now."

He smiled, then turned his face to the mountains. It was that or kiss her senseless. The frigid temperature did nothing to cool his burning pa.s.sion. "Right. The facts." He started with what most everyone on the planet knew, whether from reading or gossip. "Freaks are the offspring of twentieth-century Mods and nineteenth-century Vics. They're products of two dimensions, the oldest of their altered race only thirty years old. The one common physical abnormality is their multicolored eyes and the kaleidoscope effect when you look into them. Some say this was a direct result of time travel, what one saw while jumping dimensions."

"Streaks of colors whirling and rushing past as you hurtle through a tunnel or wormhole. Like being propelled into a ma.s.sive kaleidoscope, the Peace Rebels said."

Tuck resisted the urge to veer off on the subject of time travel-or, more specifically, the Time Voyager's connection to the da Vinci ornithopter. Another discussion for another time. "The most compelling shared trait of Freaks is that they're all born with a supernatural gift. A lesser-known fact: that gift evolves with age. No one, including their own kind, has a firm grip on what they're fully capable of. At twenty-one Doc can cure wounds at an accelerated rate. At forty, will he be able to cure deadly plagues? Will his gift diminish at some point or become unmanageable? Unpredictable? No Freak healer has gone before him, so no one knows."

"Hence he lives on pins and needles daily," Amelia said. "What of the Freaks who read immediate thoughts? What if their skill progresses to a point where they can read one's future intent?"

"You see the moral dilemma."

"Indeed."

"And those are just two of several reported 'gifts.' Talents vary, and many have yet to hone and master their skills. Freaks are a minority, yet their gifts make them powerful and potentially dangerous. Hence most people fear them. Freaks are shunned or they're exploited. Between their bizarre eyes, otherworldly skills, and progressive natures, they are not welcome among polite society. Many are denied the opportunity to excel in the professional field of their choice, and all are denied citizenship. British law also prohibits marriage between Freaks and Vics."

Amelia frowned. "I was unaware."

"Most people are. On top of all this, Doc has personal issues that make him extra cautious. His parents were persecuted and, though it was never proven, killed for bringing two Freaks into this world."

"Two?"

Tuck nodded. "Doc has a younger brother, Jasper. After their parents were killed he went on a bit of a rampage. He's been in hiding for years. Given his altered race, Jasper's punishment, if he is discovered by radical Old Worlders, would be more extreme than his crimes merit. Doc's riddled with guilt," Tuck went on, "thinking he could have somehow prevented Jasper from going rogue. I know Doc wants to save Jasper, but thing is, that boy don't want to be saved."

Amelia palmed her forehead. "I had no idea Doc's life was so complicated. No wonder he took offense to my views."

"He'll get over it. Doc's a gentle soul. Easygoing. Usually." Of late he'd been jumpy as a bit-up bull in fly time.

"I can't imagine living under that kind of pressure. Between being estranged from his brother and being d.a.m.ned because of his race..." Empathy burned through her blood.

Tucker cut her a warning glance. "Don't pity him, darlin'. He won't like it."

"Of course not. That would be like expressing sympathy regarding Jules's limp."

"Your brother has a b.u.m leg?"

"War injury." She sat up straighter, pride shining in her eyes. "He's a decorated hero. Not that I know details, and not that he'll talk about it. But it's rumored he acted most courageously in a very important matter to the Crown. Unfortunately, his legs were mangled in the process. His recovery was quite astonishing, though hard-won. Now, to Mother's horror, he lives in London, indulging in decadent vices and writing science fiction books."

Sounded to him like Jules Darcy had demons, but instead he focused on the man's present profession. "A visionary." Like all of the Darcys.

She furrowed her brow. "I wonder whether Doc could heal Jules's leg. Although I suppose it would be intrusive to ask, considering he wants to keep his gift a secret."

Tuck suspected Amelia loved and admired her brothers deeply. That she'd refrain from tapping Doc's special skill in deference to his desire for anonymity spoke volumes of her character.

"At any rate, I am not sure Jules would succ.u.mb to Doc's touch. Not because he is a Freak, but because he is a physician. He swears he's been poked and prodded enough for two lifetimes."

"Something tells me I'd like your brothers."

"You would. Did I mention they are twins? Different, yet alike. Innovative. Reckless. Confident. Much like you. Unfortunately, it would be unwise for you to meet them. If they knew about...us...I fear they would kill you. Or march you to the altar at gunpoint. Which is, of course, something we both wish to avoid."

He didn't comment, and she scrambled to safer ground. "Regarding Doc Blue, I will honor his secret. Although..."

"What?"

"It seems sinful to withhold the gift of accelerated healing from the world. He could ease so much suffering."

"Something he wrestles with every day, trust me. But there's also the risk of being coerced or manipulated into using that gift for ill means. Living in the shadows has advantages. Doc uses his gift at his own will and discretion."

"And with good intent. Unlike the Stormerator."

Tuck angled his head. "What do you know about the Stormerator?"

"Only what I overheard Mr. O'Donnell and Mr. Chang discussing. Captain Dunkirk's secret weapon. A Freak who generates tornadoes, blizzards, and lightning storms, enabling the air pirate to dis...o...b..bulate, disable, and escape his quarry. At first I thought they were sharing a tall tale, but then I thought about the night you rescued me. The Stormerator generated the rainstorm that extinguished the airship's fires, correct?"

"That would be my guess."

"A most curious gift. Surely one that would be better used by providing rain for farmers suffering a drought."

"Spoken like a true utopian."

She gave a righteous sniff. "What, pray tell, is wrong with yearning for a world where all live harmoniously?"

"Nothin', darlin'." He cut her a glance br.i.m.m.i.n.g with cynicism born of life experience. "But it is unrealistic."

Incensed, she scrambled off the barrel. "How can you be so jaded? Oh, wait. That's right. You, sir, are a Flatliner." Fists clenched, she paced back and forth. "The only future you are concerned with is your own. Only...only that isn't true." She studied the toes of her boots while wearing a path on his deck. "Doc mentioned that you took in misfits. You mentioned that everyone on the crew was persecuted at some point. So...you must have taken them in. Given them a job, purpose. Provided them with sanctuary as well as camaraderie." She stopped in her tracks. "You are not a Flatliner."

"No, I'm not."

"What are you?"

"Why does it matter?"

She stared.

Exasperated, Tuck grasped her forearms. "I'm open-minded, Amelia. I understand the views and concerns of Old Worlders and New Worlders. Of Mods, Vics, and Freaks. Of Indians, Africans, Orientals, and every other ethnicity I've come across. I don't cotton to one religion or one political affiliation. I tailor my actions according to specific circ.u.mstances. Take life as it comes. Accept people as they are. When they disappoint, as they often do, I put it in perspective and adjust."

He tightened his grip and stared hard into those intense blue eyes. "I don't give a good d.a.m.n whether you're an Old or New Worlder. What I care about is intent. Good or bad. Determined or lazy. Generous or stingy. Your utopian mind-set grates, but I respect it. I respect you. Now that I've bared my moderate stance, can you say the same about me?"

She blinked, then pulled away, as if distance would clear her thoughts. "I don't know. I've...I've never met anyone like you, Tucker Gentry."

"Which makes me unique in your eyes." He grinned, hoping to alleviate the tension. "Admit it. I intrigue you."

She pursed her lips. "Arrogant and perplexing."

"Independent and adventurous. Like you. We're good together, Amelia. In more ways than one."