by S. E. Smith
“What does it say?” Sula asked.
“’Are you ready yet?’” Destin replied with a slight growl in his voice. It pinged again. “’How about now?’ I’m going to shove this damn thing down his throat.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to remove his ability to communicate with you?” Sula asked.
“Yes, but not near as much fun,” Destin muttered, sliding his hand over Sula’s hip and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m going to have Cutter assign him to latrine duty at the Army National Guard building if he doesn’t stop driving me crazy.”
Sula chuckled. “I think we better go,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.
There was a bang on the outer door. Destin watched Sula quickly gather some clothing and step into the bathroom. Grabbing a pair of jogging pants, he quickly pulled them on before he strode the short distance to the door and opened it. He glared at Trig.
“I got your message,” Destin replied dryly. “All of them.”
Trig looked Destin up and down with a dark, impatient frown. Destin watched Trig shift from one foot to the other and glance over Destin’s shoulder into the cabin behind him before scowling at him again. Destin raised an amused eyebrow at Trig and ignored the alien male’s impatient glare.
“We’re here,” Trig stated.
“I know. You already told me that,” Destin pointed out.
“Why aren’t you ready?” Trig demanded. “I’m ready to get off this ship.”
Destin casually leaned against the door frame. Amusement swept through him when Trig’s expression darkened at his lack of motivation.
“I can kinda tell you are ready to get off the ship. Did your parents ever tell you that you are very annoying?” Destin asked before he shook his head. “The answer to your question is no, we are not ready. We were asleep until a few minutes ago. It should only take us about fifteen minutes if you stop interrupting us.”
Trig’s lips twitched and his eyes glittered with a rueful expression. “You don’t want to ask my parents that question. It would take years to hear about how annoying I can be,” he retorted, glancing over Destin’s shoulder again. “Good morning, Councilor Ikera.”
“Sula,” Sula responded automatically, wrapping a tie around the end of her long braid. “Good morning to you as well, Trig. I understand that we have arrived. I have already submitted my request for delivery of my belongings to my new living quarters.”
“At least one of you is organized,” Trig replied with a satisfied nod before he stepped back and started to turn away. “I’ll meet you in the shuttle bay in ten minutes.”
“Fifteen,” Destin called out behind the Trivator.
“Shuttle leaves in twenty,” Trig retorted, not turning around.
Destin chuckled and straightened. Turning, he closed the door to his living quarters. His gaze swept over Sula. She looked beautiful, exotic, and definitely alien in the dark red, form fitting top, leggings, and silver transparent cover. Her hair was braided to the side and hung down over her shoulder. Thin ribbons of red and silver ran through it.
“You look beautiful,” Destin murmured, stepping toward her.
He raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek before turning his hand to trace the line along her throat. His fingers grazed the long scar on her neck. Bending, he brushed his lips against hers before releasing an annoyed grunt when his communicator chimed.
“I’ll kill him while you go get ready,” she laughed, lifting her hand to brush it across the rough skin of his jaw.
“Sounds good to me,” he grunted out, reluctantly turning away from her. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
“Take your time. I’ll need it to hide the body,” she teased.
“Number Three in the Disposal Unit incinerates really well,” he suggested, turning and retrieving some clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.
His amusement vanished and once again he felt the tightness grow in his chest at the thought that they were finally back on Earth. Reality was a brutal companion and it was tapping him on the shoulder at the moment, reminding him of his responsibilities. He stepped into the shower and quickly washed. Within minutes, he was dressed and stepping out of the bathroom.
Sula was gone. She had probably already headed down to the shuttle bay. It didn’t take him long to gather the few articles of clothing and his other personal belongings. He wouldn’t need anyone to transport them since they all fit into the duffel bag he pulled out from under his bed.
Glancing around one last time, he shouldered the large green bag and stepped out of the room. He nodded to several warriors he passed. He was beginning to disconnect himself from the ship, this strange, alien world. His mind was already focusing on going home.
The trip down to the shuttle bay took a lot less time than he’d anticipated. His gaze narrowed on Trig where he was talking quietly with Jag, the commander of the Star Raider. Jag glanced his way, nodded, and returned his attention to Trig. Both men’s faces held an intense, grim expression.
“What is it?” Destin asked, glancing back and forth between the two men.
“A Waxian starship was intercepted while entering this part of the galaxy,” Jag stated.
“When?” Destin demanded.
“A few hours ago. There was a brief battle before it was destroyed,” Jag replied. “They are no match for our defenses.”
“It only takes one ship to get through to discover an area of weakness,” Destin said, glancing around the shuttle bay. “How many Waxian ships were there?”
“Just one,” Jag replied. “It is not uncommon for them to travel alone and recklessly, but something feels wrong. There was very little resistance.”
“It proves they are a threat, though,” Trig added.
Destin nodded. “Where’s Sula?” he asked, glancing around again.
“She has already boarded the shuttle to go down,” Trig replied, turning to nod at the shuttle behind him. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Destin said, noticing that Jag’s attention was already redirected to another issue. “So, what happened with the Waxians?”
“A Waxian starship appeared near the planet you call Uranus. One of our patrols intercepted the ship when it came out of trans-galaxy acceleration. All our warnings to stand down for boarding were ignored. The Waxians on the ship opened fire on the patrol cruiser,” Trig stated.
“And there were no other ships?” Destin asked.
“No, and that is what worries me,” Trig replied, stepping up onto the platform.”
Destin watched Trig for a moment, his eyes narrowing on the stiff shoulders of the Trivator. Trig had told him about what happened to Dagger. He also knew what Taylor had gone through. There were a lot of things that he still didn’t know, but both events had deeply affected the man.
Sympathy for Trig swept through him. He remembered the feelings of helplessness when Kali had been captured and almost killed. Fortunately, his sister had not been subjected to years of torture the way Dagger had been. It amazed him that the other man was even remotely functional.
It was obvious from the little he had seen of Dagger that the man suffered from some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Destin had seen it over and over among members of his team while fighting against Colbert. Hell, he knew he suffered from PTSD himself. He had quickly learned that each person handled the disorder differently. Only the person going through it knew how to handle the stress and the flashbacks. They needed to do it in their own way and at their own pace – without judgment or criticism.
He climbed the platform, stepping to the side to allow a few warriors carrying additional cargo to pass him before he headed through the narrow corridor toward the front. He paused at the entrance to the next section. Almost a dozen warriors were strapped into the rows of seats lining each side. His gaze narrowed on Sula.
She stood out like a glowing beacon among all the black clad warriors in her vivid dark red bodysuit and silver
cover. Her feet were clad in a pair of red, knee high boots. A smile curved his lips when she absently tucked her feet under the seat when two large males passed by her. She was totally engrossed in whatever she was reading and had not seen him yet.
“Is this seat taken?” Destin asked, grasping the handrail running above the seats and leaning on it.
Sula looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I was saving it for a very special human,” she quipped.
Destin glanced around the cabin before turning his gaze back to her. “Looks like you’ll have to settle for me,” he said, turning and sitting down.
“Any time,” she murmured, leaning toward him.
“You two need to get a room,” Trig muttered when he walked past Sula and sat down on the seat next to her.
“I should have incinerated him like you suggested,” Sula retorted under her breath, sitting back and shooting Trig a cool glance.
“There’s still time… or maybe not,” Destin briefly chuckled before the shuttle began to vibrate. He quickly pulled the straps over his shoulders and connected the ends. He groaned softly and grabbed her hand before closing his eyes. “God, I hate space ships.”
Chapter Twelve
Almost three hours later, Destin gazed out of the window of the transport as it flew over the area now known as New Chicago. His breath caught when he saw all of the work that had been completed during his absence. Pride swelled through him at seeing the new buildings already completed and the ones still under construction.
The wall that had divided the city was completely gone. The scar from the wall was still present, but he was seeing progress spreading from the middle of the mark dividing the city outward, both east and west. The few historic buildings that had not been destroyed in the fighting over the years and were salvageable stood out against the new construction. Cargo transports, assembly drones, and construction bots littered the city.
A soft whistle drew his attention. He looked over at Trig. The other man was staring down at all the destruction.
“I’m taking a guess that this is not the way your city looked before our arrival. Why would you humans destroy your own world?” Trig murmured with a shake of his head.
Destin could see the slight disgust in the other man’s expression. He gazed down at the city, seeing it from Trig’s point-of-view. His jaw tightened when they passed over the remains of the Harrison Hotel Electric Garage. Completed in 1930, the building was one of the tallest left standing in the Chicago area after the first year of fighting. It had been Kali’s favorite place to retreat and it was where she had saved Razor’s life.
At the moment, it was surrounded by construction platforms. There was a lot that the Trivators could do with new technology when it came to rebuilding the city, but reconstruction of the historical buildings was left to the humans. The preservation of as many historical sites as possible were paramount to Destin. He wanted future generations to have some visual examples of their history and heritage to show them what life had been like before Earth received their first contact.
“What is it?” Sula asked, reaching over to grasp his hand.
“It’s good to be home,” Destin murmured, staring down at the city.
“It has changed for the better since I was last here. I now see hope for a better future.” she said.
“So do I,” Destin murmured, his lips curving up at the corners.
Destin felt Sula squeeze his hand. His throat tightened with emotion when the transport made a wide circle over the city. He knew that Trig had requested the pilot to do a tour so he could see all the progress that had been made since he’d been off planet.
He looked across the lake. A large skyscraper that looked like it was straight out of a science fiction movie rose up in front of them. It had been under construction when he left, but it looked like it was complete now. He shook his head in disbelief. Something that should have taken years to build was completed in less than one. The same went for many of the other buildings that were standing like sentinels dotted across the horizon. This one would be the headquarters for New Chicago as well as apartments for him and many of the others who had fought beside him. The other buildings were housing for the residents of the city. It had been one of his first goals: shelter from the biting winds and horrific winters for everyone.
“Prepare for landing,” the pilot instructed.
Destin sat back and looked out the front windshield. The transport swept in a wide arc before aligning with the opening in the center of the building. He released a deep breath when the vehicle they were traveling in passed through easily. The craft rotated while hovering in the opening. It turned in midair before gently setting down on the landing platform. Even as they undid the straps holding them in, Destin could feel the platform moving the transport out of the landing area and back into the protected area of the building.
He bent and grabbed his duffel bag when the door opened. Trig jumped out and turned to help Sula down. Destin walked to the open door and stared out. A grin lit his face when he saw Tim and Mason standing off to the side near a door. He jumped down out of the transport and shouldered his bag.
He strode across the docking area to his two friends where they stood waiting. They both walked forward, grins on their faces. Tim reached him first and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Good to have you back, Destin,” Tim said with a broad grin.
“Ain’t that the damn truth,” Mason added, his face creasing into a crooked smile.
“This place… The city… They both look incredible,” Destin said, waving his hand at the opening behind him. “And this….” He paused, turning in a slow circle as he looked around. “I can’t believe it’s done.”
“Yeah, well, while you were off playing, we’ve been working our asses off,” Mason chuckled. “I tell you what, when those aliens decide they want to build something, they don’t do it half-assed.”
“It’s good to be back and to see what was done while I was away,” Destin admitted.
“How’s Kali? Is she—,” Tim started to say before his smile faded and his lips became taut. “What is she doing here?”
Destin stiffened and turned. Sula and Trig had walked up and were standing behind them. His gaze flickered to Tim and Mason’s faces. Both men’s expressions held a barely suppressed sneer of contempt.
“This is Councilor Jersula Ikera. She is the Usoleum representative who was assigned to act as a liaison between the Alliance Council and the rebuilding of New Chicago. She is also with me,” Destin added in a warning tone. “Sula, I’d like to introduce Tim Daniels, my right-hand man, and Mason Cruz, the best damn builder on the planet.”
“It is a pleasure to meet both of you again,” Sula replied, extending her hand in the Earth greeting.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Tim replied, not taking her outstretched hand. “What do you mean she is with you?”
Destin didn’t miss that Mason hadn’t said a word, nor the fact that Tim had ignored Sula’s outstretched hand. His eyes narrowed at their rudeness and his lips tightened when he saw the flash of uncertainty cross Sula’s face. She lowered her hand back to her side. Taking a step closer to her, he wrapped his arm around her waist in a protective, and obviously possessive, statement.
“As in ‘she is with me’,” Destin repeated with a slight bite to his voice. “Any disrespect toward her is disrespect toward me.”
“Destin…,” Tim muttered, glancing at Sula then back at Destin.
Destin shook his head grimly. “I want to drop my stuff off at my apartment and give Sula time to settle in. Her belongings are being transferred here. When they arrive, have them delivered to my quarters. I’ll meet with the team in one hour to get a briefing on everything that has happened since I left and to discuss any new developments that need to be seen to,” he ordered.
“I’ll show you to your apartment,” Tim muttered, glancing over Destin’s shoulder to Trig. “What about that one?”
“Trig will need
accommodations, as well,” Destin replied.
“I’ll show the alien where he can stay and inform the others about Destin’s return,” Mason muttered with a jerk of his head. “Come on.”
Destin didn’t miss the tight, assessing look in Trig’s gaze at Mason’s attitude. He knew that getting his people to accept the aliens wasn’t going to be easy. He had hoped that working with them side by side for the past year would have made a difference. True, the alien species doing the rebuilding were smaller and less threatening than the Trivators, but still… Tim and Mason both knew and respected Cutter and some of the other Trivators who had worked with them over the past two years since Colbert’s death and the end of the war.
“What floor are we on?” Destin asked, following Tim when he turned toward the lifts set into the wall behind them.
“Nothing but the best for the leader of New Chicago. You get the penthouse,” Tim replied in a cool, distant tone. “Most of it isn’t furnished. There is still some work that needs to be done on the interior. The kitchen, one of the bathrooms, and the rest of the furnishings should be completed within the next couple of weeks. Still, you’ll be able to live in it while the work is being done.”
“I’m sure,” Destin murmured, holding Sula’s hand as the lift rose. “Thanks. What safety precautions have been installed to make sure that the top residents are not cut off in the event of a transport or shuttle accident?” Destin asked.
Tim gazed at him. “Each unit has an external room with an escape pod capable of holding up to ten people. The pod will automatically eject once life forms are detected inside if there is a structural failure. It is capable of flying up to twenty miles before landing, but is programmed to identify and land in the nearest green area. The Trivators are huge on green areas in their designs. The city will be larger than before, but contain half the number of buildings, if you remember,” Tim explained.
“I remembered discussing it in the planning sessions, but wasn’t sure it was a possibility,” Destin replied with a pleased nod. “In the original designs, there were only two such pods per floor.”