by C. Gockel
In the dark mental mindscape, a huge metal door suddenly appeared, so large it would have stretched up to the bridge if it had been real. Before James could ask for an explanation, the door swung open with a clang, and Noa’s and his avatars were bathed in white light.
James gasped in wonder. Noa dropped her eyes, and then looked at him and shrugged. “That’s me … sometimes when you send emotions over the hard link I hallucinate. This one slipped.”
She wasn’t doing anything to hide it. He supposed a several-story door with white light pouring through was hard to disguise.
He looked back to her, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to send you that.” It had been rude. And too much.
Her eyes stayed locked on his. “It’s really alright.”
He still felt ill at ease. Raising an eyebrow, he tried to make a joke of it. “Another odd coincidence?”
She didn’t say anything, but he thought he saw the corners of her lips curl up just slightly. A feeling slipped across the link, and it tugged him toward her before he’d even deciphered it. When they were standing so close there was no distance between them, his mind caught up with what his body already knew. She wanted him, too. He felt the familiar tug of longing swirled with something else. He felt like if this were it, if the ship were to disintegrate, if they never reached the Kannakah Cloud, he’d accomplished something, something enormous, and this moment meant as much as life itself. The door in Noa’s hallucination disappeared and there was only her and him and blinding white light. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek—in real life and to her avatar. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted slightly. And if he was an alien, he had some very human desires. His forehead fell onto hers. If he was alien … “I’d never hurt you, Noa. You must know that.”
Her hand caught his. “I know.” She let her assurance slip across the link and it filled him with relief. He sent the feeling back and the floor beneath them vanished in the mindscape.
For a moment they stood, the shared desire flaring across the hard link between them, and the white light of Noa’s hallucination turning to orange. Her more fragile body pressed against his, and electrons streamed between them. The hallucination, everything—it felt right. They were two nuclei about to fuse in the heart of a star, and he had never felt more human.
19
Kenji stood, head bowed, finger on his lips, listening to the static that was the transmission from Time Gate 8. In the midst of the static the words, “archangel” and “heretic” rang like bells. The rest was incomprehensible. “New code,” he said when the recording stopped. “It will take a while to decipher it, but with the clues provided by context and—”
“Why did they say ‘archangel’ and ‘heretic?’” shouted Counselor Zar. He sat at the left of a long dark table in the bunker conference room at Central Authority.
Kenji lifted his head, and had a moment of claustrophobia. The ceiling was low, the room was cave-like, despite the Luddeccean Green paint on the concrete-block walls. At the other end of the table, behind the premier, was the emblem of the dove. It smelled like dust, and the dryness of the air prickled his nostrils, pumped as it was through filters for disease and chemical agents that seemed to extract every bit of moisture from it. The room was packed with twenty military advisors, counselors, and the premier. All his friends, all his allies in this war for the soul of humanity.
… but it was too much. Too many people, too many faces, he couldn’t keep track of all the shifts of bodies, flickering frowns, and narrowing eyes around him. He looked back down at the long conference table. Its highly polished black surface reflected only himself. “That is impossible to say definitively at this time.”
Zar spoke. “They’ve cracked our code for their … their … thing … ” Kenji dared glance up at Zar; his face was unusually red. Kenji squinted. Was he angry? Embarrassed? Frightened? “And they’re throwing it back in our faces.”
“We don’t know that,” Kenji protested, staring back down at the table. Hadn’t they heard what he’d just said?
“Maybe they have a sense of humor,” said Counselor Karpel.
“Why would you think that?” Kenji raised his head to the Counselor, genuinely curious. It seemed far-fetched that the intelligence would bother with something so trivial as a joke.
Ignoring Kenji, drumming his fingers on the table, Karpel said, “We should have never given it such an obvious code name.”
And that Kenji agreed with wholeheartedly. But it had been important to some people that the code reflect the apocalyptic nature of their enemy.
The hall erupted in a buzz of conversation before Karpel replied. Kenji tried to focus, but all the different words, and the inflections they were spoken with … they were dizzying. He put his hands to his ears in frustration.
“Quiet!” said a voice from the end of the table. Kenji looked up to see the Premier Leetier standing there. Leetier was slightly shorter than Kenji, and broader, his hair straighter—he was older, but had less gray hair. He possessed an ability that Kenji found nearly magical—the ability to silence a room. And sure enough … the room was now quiet, except for the distant hum of an air vent, and farther off, a drip. “Mr. Sato, we have something else I’d like you to analyze.”
“Yes …” Kenji stammered. “Please.” No arguments, no emotions, just analysis. He nodded, glad and relieved. There were footsteps and several sheets of glossy paper, each as long as one arm laid before him on the table. Kenji lifted the still damp pho-toe-graphs. A buzz rose in the room, but with something before him to concentrate on, he could ignore it.
The pho-toes were an ancient technology, but what Kenji had to work with. They might have been able to form a three-dimensional representation of the battle with images captured from the satellites that had once ringed Luddeccea, but the Guard had destroyed the satellites. He scowled. Gate 8 and all the major time gates needed to be shut down, but the satellites weren’t part of the intelligence. Their destruction had been a waste. He shivered, and suddenly felt heavy.
He shook his head and tried to dampen the coil of dread loosening deep within him, and to ignore the chill that was spreading to his limbs. He focused on the pho-toes; they showed two-dimensional images of the Ark mid-battle. There was one taken just before the torpedo had grazed the hull. He stared at it, estimating the damage the ship had received, and then closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, “Thank you, great Jehovah.” Kenji didn’t really believe in God, at least not the way most Luddecceans believed in Him; but he found praying focused him, kept him centered.
He lifted his head, and found all eyes at the great conference table on him. “They’ve sustained damage to a timefield band midway down the hull,” he said. “They won’t be going very far.”
A breath of relief escaped his chest and he looked back down at the pho-toe. They could still save Noa. He put a hand through his hair. He had tried to warn her … He felt his stomach churn, like he needed to vomit.
“We may not be able to save your sister, Kenji.” The words came from the opposite end of the conference table. Kenji’s head jerked up. The premier was the only other person in the room who was standing.
Kenji’s jaw sagged. “But … she’s a victim. You saw him, he looked like her dead husband. Of course she would be drawn to him.” His hands began to shake. He’d never given much credence to the Luddeccean view of women being creatures too ruled by their emotions for the hard tasks of leadership and governance, but seeing Noa fall so easily into the clutches of one of them, so easily enthralled …
“The lives of millions of Luddecceans are at stake,” the Premier said. “The virus they carry on the Ark could spread to the other colonies in the system.”
Rolling back on his feet, Kenji swallowed hard.
“Forget about them,” said a gruffer voice. Kenji turned to the Admiral of the Luddeccean Guard. Sitting next to the premier, he was leaning forward in his seat, eyes on Kenji. Was he angry? Suspicious? Kenji couldn’t tell.
“We’ve see
n the power of Gate 8, and we know the devil isn’t above using it.”
Kenji tilted his head. Did the admiral believe the station was possessed by the devil? It was hard for him to tell who in the Premier’s council were devout, who were opportunists, and who were people like himself—people who didn’t believe the letter of the prophecies, but believed in the spirit. The spirit was what mattered, wasn’t it?
“As long as it’s up there,” the Admiral continued, “none of us are safe on Luddeccea. We are all hostage to its whims.”
The table erupted in debate. Kenji heard someone say, “Hunt down the Ark, destroy the pet monstrosity aboard, and show that devil in the sky we aren’t above using our force.”
At those words, the pho-toe slipped from Kenji’s fingers. He nearly fell over, but caught himself on the table. His breathing came so fast and so hard that the debate in the room faded into a distant hum. He’d almost thought he’d lost Noa just a few hours ago, and now they were talking about destroying the Ark and his sister. He had to save her from the monster she was with and the Guard. His fingers curled, and his body trembled. He had to save her … she would have saved him.
“Hostage!” He barked out the word with such force his body straightened.
The room went silent.
“Kenji?” said the Premier.
Kenji put his hands at his side and tried to meet the Premier’s eye. He hated eye contact. It was a struggle with some animal part of his mind that wanted to look anywhere else. His eyes watered with the effort and he blinked.
Someone started to talk, but the Premier held up a hand again and once more the room went silent.
Fingers jerking uncontrollably at his sides, Kenji tried to keep his voice level. “The intelligence, it values its … avatar … ”
“Archangel,” someone hissed.
“Devil,” someone else whispered.
“Djinn,” said someone else.
Licking his lips, Kenji said, “We can use it as leverage. To prevent Gate 8 from destroying our planet.”
“We can take it apart,” said someone else.
Kenji released a breath. “And we could save Noa.”
Someone inhaled sharply. Kenji swallowed. He heard someone whisper, “He couldn’t stop her before.”
Someone else whispered, “He was right about the plot to steal the Ark … ”
Kenji bowed his head. His fingers twisted with his heavy robe.
“Of course we will try to spare her.” Premier Leetier’s voice cut through the whispers. Kenji’s eyes drifted closed, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet the man’s eyes again. But he nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”
The Premier’s voice rose in volume. “Kenji Sato’s unique mind is of essential use to us. He is proof that together, humans can prevail against any demons of spirit or technology. If his sister is valuable to him, she is valuable to us.”
Kenji opened his eyes. Blinking, he tried to meet the Premier’s gaze, but still couldn’t manage it. His gaze settled on the man’s lips instead. They were curled up sharply on one side … a smile was friendship … a smile meant honesty, as did meeting someone’s eyes, which the Premier was trying to do, though Kenji was failing miserably to do the same.
“Thank you … Sir … thank you!” Kenji stuttered.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Sato,” the Premier said. “We’ll apprehend that devil and take care of your sister.”
The admiral added his voice. “Yes, we’ll take care of them both.”
Unaccountably, Kenji shivered.
Thank you for reading Archangel Down.
The second book in the Archangel Project, Noa’s Ark, is available at all vendors. Sign up for C. Gockel’s newsletter for new releases and great deals, or follow the author on Facebook.
Overload Flux
Central Galactic Concordance Book 1
By Carol Van Natta
Two loners fighting to stay alive discover they must now save the galaxy.
The only vaccine for a deadly galaxy-wide pandemic is missing … and the only ones who may be able to find it are a powerful talent on the verge of a meltdown, and a security specialist hiding her extraordinary skills in a menial job.
"Overload Flux is a brilliant, suspenseful tale that will keep readers captivated from beginning to end." ~ S.E. Smith, New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author of The Alliance series.
Brilliant investigator Luka Foxe must act fast if he's going to save the civilized planets of the Central Galactic Concordance. For as a pandemic sweeps across the galaxy, someone is stealing the vaccine. To make matters worse, Luka's hidden mental talents are out of control, leaving him barely able to function in the midst of violence and a rising body count. The convoluted trail leads to a corrupt pharma industry and the possibility of an illegal, planet-sized laboratory. In the face of increasing threats, he must rely on an enigmatic, lethal woman who has secrets of her own.
Mairwen Morganthur hides extraordinary skills under the guise of a dull night-shift guard. The last thing she wants is to provide personal security for a nova-hot investigator, or to be plunged into a murky case involving sabotage, treachery, and the military covert operations division that would love to discover she's still alive. Worse, she knows that two more deaths won't bother their enemies one bit. Their only hope for survival is to share their darkest secrets. With everything in their universe at stake, can they learn to trust one another?
* * *
Don't miss this thrill-ride through a futuristic galaxy—get your copy of Overload Flux today!
1 * Planet: Rekoria * GDAT 3237.026 *
THEIR FOOTSTEPS ECHOED in an empty corridor of Rekoria’s planetary spaceport. Mairwen Morganthur caught herself touching the outside of her coat pocket that held the wirekey, and ruthlessly controlled herself to keep her uneasiness at bay. Though neither man she accompanied down the tall, wide corridor had said so, she had the feeling they didn’t want to be discovered doing whatever it was they were about to do.
Motion-sensor lighting triggered as they approached each segment. At ninety-four minutes before midnight, the noisy passenger area of the spaceport had been as busy as ever, but the commercial shipping section where they now walked was deserted. Trending galactic headlines and bright vids flashed silently on the continuous overhead displays along the corridors, creating constantly changing lights and shadows. It could have been worse; in the passenger section, the animated displays took up entire walls.
She walked two paces behind the two men, like any average, incurious security guard, and kept her expression blank. Her company uniform and long topcoat passed as conservative corporate wear at a casual glance. As long as no one noticed her heavy boots, she wasn’t likely to draw unwanted attention to their group.
Personal security detail wasn’t her usual assignment. While she did usually work nights, it was mostly as a solo guard or security systems monitor at large industrial complexes in marginal sections of town. This was supposed to be her night off.
She hoped the only reason she’d been chosen for tonight’s activities was because she was a name on a La Plata Security Division “night-shift available” list of dozens, and not because she’d stood out in some way. She’d been careful to stay unremarkable. This was the first time in months she’d allowed herself to open her extraordinary senses even a little, noting and cataloging the distant sounds of automation and the stale scents of people. She shouldn’t be doing it now, but the increasing tension of the two men she was accompanying was contagious.
The older man, Velasco, about her height, was entertained by the flashy wall displays in a variety of languages, and softly repeated the words that caught his attention. He again switched the padded strap of the large forensic kit he was carrying to his other shoulder. Lukasz Foxe, taller than Velasco by a dozen centimeters, stood straighter and carried two bags slung over his right shoulder, a smaller hardcase and a larger curved bag, and had a winter greatcoat over his left arm. He was leaner and clearly in be
tter shape than Velasco. So far, Foxe hadn’t said much.
When she’d received her orders from dispatch to check out a company vehicle, pick up the wirekey and a forensic kit for Foxe from the office, then pick up Velasco from a restaurant and take him to the spaceport, she had assumed she would then remain with the company vehicle while Velasco did… whatever it was he was here to do. Instead, for reasons unknown to her, Velasco had told her to come with him to collect Foxe from the gate of an incoming interstellar ship. The need for her presence certainly wasn’t for her company or conversation, because once they’d entered the brightly lit spaceport, Velasco had all but ignored her. She was relieved. From what she remembered from meeting him once at a company event, he had nothing worth saying.
She’d never met Foxe before tonight. Dispatch’s orders had included his company photo, which didn’t do him justice. Even though he was obviously tired, he was handsome, with light brown skin and wide, angular cheekbones, and wore his casual business clothes with more style than Velasco’s ultra-trendy but unflattering suit.
She was already familiar with Lukasz Foxe’s name. She’d memorized most of the Investigation Division’s investigator names and titles so she’d know whom to avoid. She didn’t want the possible attention that came from being in the orbit of a blue-hot company star. She didn’t know what a High Court-certified forensic reconstruction specialist did, but she had the feeling she was about to find out.
She hadn’t quite figured out what Velasco’s role was. From something he’d said in the first burst of jabbering he’d subjected her to as she drove him to the spaceport, he was with the Security Division of La Plata, but assigned to Investigation. She’d mostly tuned him out for the rest of the trip, choosing instead to focus on traffic, which wasn’t well automated, day or night. Etonver city drivers were allowed to disable vehicle autopilots, and mostly did, making for bad ground traffic, twenty-five hours a day.