“You mother fucker. You want me to go to where?” The problem with Hijax Hacker Format in Navajo code was that the numbers were always changing and if Drew was still up to date, the 116 actually meant 994, and the Owl meant Eagle. And Way stood for Street. He was to go to 994 Eagle Street, Chattanooga, Tennessee, Lookout.
He leaned against the couch’s armrest. “Was that Lookout Mountain?”
It had to be. Or was Anderle telling Drew to lookout for that area? Or to simply look the fuck out, someone is coming for you? Drew semi-knew Anderle and Anderle would send a more distressful code if he was in imminent danger.
“Do not reply” also meant urgent. That was hacker for, “Holy shit, get your ass here immediately. We have a bitch-storm on the way or in progress.”
In any case, Anderle needed him and needed him at that location now. But why?
“I said pack. Now.” His mom stood in front of Drew’s TV. “You wouldn’t listen to me. You’d best listen to him.”
Drew yelped and slapped his palm against his chest. “Jesus, you got to stop doing that, Mom.”
His mom faded away, but not before tutting and raising her eyebrows. She’d said more to him since she’d died than she had in the last 15 years of her life. He eyed his empty luggage bag near his closet. It was never put away. His life as a World News Network reporter meant he was always on the road. The problem was that Drew hadn’t heard from WNN in a while and probably never would again, seeing how many companies were shutting their doors from the downturn in the economy. He didn’t know if Hobbs Howell, his boss, was out of a job either and if so, if Drew would be on the chopping block. Right now, it didn’t matter. Reporting was the last thing on his mind. Anderle, on the other hand, needed him. He had helped Drew leak the GSA story and now it was Drew’s turn to return the favor.
He stood and picked up a pile of laundry off the floor, not knowing really if it was clean or not, and shoved it in his luggage bag. Did it matter? It was a crisis. All he needed to do was get gone.
A car skidded to a halt and yelling pierced the air – profanities. He froze. Worried that his mom would make a reappearance and kick his butt, he hurried around another pile of clothes, waving the smoke out of his way, and opened his curtains a slit.
Two men in hoodies were standing in front of a car, each with a crowbar in hand. A thicker, smaller man was behind the car, also in a hoodie. A woman in the car was shaking her head, screaming at them. A small child was in the back, no doubt scared shitless.
A thug reared back with his crowbar and slammed it against the car light, shattering the plastic casing, the bulb erupting, glass pieces falling to the asphalt. “We need your car, lady.”
Great! Drew rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to, but he had to. He ran to his closet, rummaging for a wooden bat, signed by pro baseball player, Mike Trout. It was his prized possession. Something that would be worth thousands some day – if the United States didn’t fall into oblivion. Yeah, scratch that. It was a piece of nicely-shaped wood now, nothing more.
Bat in hand, he opened his front door, hesitating for a half a step. It had been three days since he put his trash can out for the garbage service, but it sat on the sidewalk, pizza boxes poking out of the lid. His neighbors and their neighbors’ cans had been tipped over by the wind and pecked over by the crows. The entire street was strewn with banana peels, yogurt containers, dog food cans, and Playboy magazines.
Drew hadn’t paid attention as he’d been hunkered down, eating black cookies with white fillings, stoned beyond belief, not realizing changes were taking place in his neighborhood as well. What he was seeing on the news was just that: news. News happened “everywhere else.” It didn’t happen in his back yard, on his street, while he was chowing down and getting high.
A woman’s scream shattered his dreamy survey and sucked him right back to his doorstep.
Fuck.
They were pulling the woman out of her car.
He didn’t want to deal with this. He was happy and content in his own smoke screen.
Why did she unlock the damn door?
“Hey,” said Drew. He tried for a mature, manly voice, although what emerged was distinctly pubescent and unconvincing.
The men turned, chests thrust outward, fingers gripping their crowbars, ready for someone to dare confront them.
“What the fuck you want?” said one of the men, eyes like a tiger about to catch its long-awaited meal.
Drew walked on his yard, catching his black Mazda Protege parked on his driveway out of the corner of his eye, and slowly put down his bat, his other hand up in surrender in a don’t-kill-me type of way. “Don’t hurt them. Let them out and take their car, but please don’t hurt them.”
The man at the rear of the car kicked the bumper. “What you gonna do? Huh?” He thrust his arm toward the woman. “We need her and her kids.”
“For what?” asked Drew, his hazy, weed-induced mind succumbing to curiosity, his heart trying to race, but his Maui Wowie intoxicated blood not allowing it.
The man shrugged, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “For whatever the fuck we want. That’s what.”
The woman kicked at one of her would-be abductors. “Leave my kids alone, asshole.”
She was Puerto Rican, or at least her accent made it seem so, along with her skin tone, black hair, and powerful attitude. She was short, but strong, her will even stronger.
The man tossed her against the car, pinning her with his forearm, lifting the crowbar over his head. She pushed back, raising her arm, ready to catch the crowbar if it came down.
“Kick me again, lady… I dare you.”
Drew put his hand up and took a weary step forward. “Stop! Money. How much do you need? I have some.”
The man eased his weight off the woman and she fell to the street, then crawled to the car’s back door. She yanked the door open and pulled her kid out, clutching him to her chest. He was whimpering, barely crying, his eyes darting from his mom to the men. Her daughter slid out from behind her brother, not making a sound. Her eyes never left the men, but she found her mother’s hand with hers and clutched it tightly.
A thug pointed his crowbar at Drew. “And do what with it? Buy something?” He looked at the other thugs and laughed. “If you have food and supplies. You can have these idiots.” He shoved a thumb at the woman and her kids. “But you’re not getting her car.”
The woman, her infant son on her hip and her daughter firmly in hand, shuffled across the lawn and stood next to Drew. She eyed his bat.
Drew shook his head. If she went for the bat, then all hell would break loose.
She bent down to soothe her son. “It’s okay, honey. You’ll be fine. You’re safe. Mommy won’t let them hurt you.” She ran her fingers through his hair. She was shaking. She wiped his tears, clenching her teeth. Drew could imagine the murderous thoughts she was having.
“Well?” said one of the men. “Shall we come in?” This one was sophisticated, his demeanor of that of a professor.
Drew stepped to the side, motioning them to take whatever they wanted inside his home. But the weed, not the weed. He forgot about the weed.
He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing his mistake. He should have just gone in and got them some supplies and had it done with – maybe that would have worked.
He brought his eyes to the woman. “Are you okay?”
She gave him a look, as if he just asked the dumbest question in the world. “What am I going to do? How am I going to drive where we need to go? My husband said west. We gotta go west.” She frantically wiped her son’s hair, his face, whatever she could get her hands on.
“I can drive you. I’m leaving soon and going west as well.”
She paused, eyes welling up. “Thank you. It’s far. It’s a safe place.”
A safe place already? What the hell happened while I was inside?
The men came out a moment later with a few bags of bread, some cookies, and a bowl full of fruit and vegetables. D
rew had brought a bunch of food home from the funeral. He had no idea it’d be in hot demand. He’d let the world slip away and unravel a little. He needed to buck the fudge up. Mom was right. He needed to do something.
The Professor jangled a set of keys in his hand. “Thank you for your car.”
Drew stiffened, then walked toward the man, his heart skipping a beat. He needed the car, even more than his dank.
The man swung the crowbar at Drew. Drew back peddled. “Alright, alright. Take one car. But leave us the other.”
The man grinned. “Hey, Sal. You think we should give them one of our prized possessions?”
A man, who must be Sal, sat in the woman’s car. “Nope. Not a chance.”
The two cars gunned down the street and out of their lives, leaving Drew and a mother and her two children, eating their dust.
11
M-Quadrant, Solar System ~ Starship Atlantis
Rivkah dropped from the vent and into a small cupboard. She waited for a ten whole minutes before jimmying the latch and easing the door open. The room, which wasn’t large, was dominated by a work table. In the center of the table, there was titanium armored suit.
She felt him, before she saw him. He must have heard her when she was in the ductwork, because he hadn’t made a sound and had managed to sneak up behind her. She spun about to face the asshole before he could get a drop on her.
He licked his lips. “Hi, Rivkah.”
Rivkah pointed the Ion Pulse Rifle, IPR-8, at the man. He was thick, almost a foot and a half taller than her, a scar across his cheek. “Who are you?”
He put his hands up, slowly walking closer. “Put that down, Rivkah.”
“Step any closer and your head turns into a bloody mess. You’ll be dead before you hit the mother fucking ground.” She stepped forward, tightness in her eyes. “Or, keep coming. I don’t care.” She aimed at his head.
He knew she wasn’t joking. This was Rivkah. She didn’t know what a joke was. He stopped. “Well?” He cocked his head toward the titanium suit. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”
She glanced at the suit then back at the man. “SA Nick Cole?”
“You guessed it. You really screwed up my suit, Riv. You owe me an apology”
Screw that. Rivkah Ravenwood apologized to no one. “How did you get on this ship?”
He tapped his temple. “My helmet was un-fazed, so I was able to track Slade on Grenada and convince him to take me along for the ride. Then we came after you and that traitor Jaxx. You see, I’m quite handy.” He dropped his hands and leaned back against the table. “I was like a gift dropped straight from heaven for our Slade pal.” He grinned. “And, sorry about your head.”
She went to touch the back of her head, still slightly throbbing. He did this? No. It was Slade. She saw his face before she blacked out. Or, maybe it wasn’t; just a figment of her imagination. It didn’t matter. “Where is the launch bay?”
“Why? You planning on running again? Flying your ass out of here?”
Rivkah didn’t respond.
Cole laughed. “The same old Rivkah. When you’re not doing so well, you quit and run. Run to your little Jaxx boyfriend?” He mimicked running with his index finger and middle finger. “Is that what your daddy told you to do when he learned you joined the military? To run away if you get in any trouble? He didn’t want your sweet ass to get a scratch, to burn like you did?”
Whooshpa!
Rivkah pulled the trigger, the ion pulse sizzling past his head.
Cole instinctively ducked, though the shot was wide on purpose.
He stood, turning, staring at the singe mark in the thick, metallic wall. “You didn’t like that, did you?” He straightened and turned, giving her sarcastically innocent eyes. “Daddy issues?”
Her heart hardened and she bit her cheek. Blood trickled into her mouth. “Either tell me where the launch bay is or you’re a sizzling pile of human flesh in a matter of milliseconds.”
He leaned back against the table again, slipping a tool in his hand. He shook his head. “Rivkah, you’re so violent. Why? How about –” He threw the tool at her, his reflexes faster than most. She barely saw it coming. It hit her leg and she pulled the trigger, Cole already ducking out of the way and rushing toward her.
She shot again and Cole rolled, sweeping Rivkah’s legs out from under her. She lost grip of her IPR and flipped onto her back. The IPR flew out of her hand, clanged loudly against the floor, slid across the room and hit the wall.
He came down with a crashing fist, aiming at her throat. A kill punch. She caught it and squeezed, then kicked him backward. With her powers, she was able to hang onto his fist like a hook in a fish, even after he jerked back from her foot’s contact to his stomach. She pulled him down as she leaped up, connecting her head against his chin.
He crashed against the table, his titanium suit tumbling against the ground. Metal against metal echoed in the room and Rivkah ran over to the IPR, taking aim but he was gone, hiding.
The table was on its side and that was the only place he could be. She held her rifle out, rounding the table slowly, keeping her distance. She’d just put a few pulses in his chest and be on her way.
“Don’t shoot, Rivkah. Please. I’ll tell you where the Launch Bay is.”
Yes, he was behind the table.
“What deck?” She knew he wouldn’t tell her. He was the type of soldier that would rather die than divulge anything to an enemy, even if the enemy only needed to know where the toilet paper was.
She came around and he was resting his back against the table, blood oozing out of his mouth. He held a few teeth in his hand. “Nice, Rivkah. I respect a woman who can kick some ass.”
She pointed the rifle at him. “Why aren’t you on Star Warden? I’m sure Slade would have let you leave this ship and find your way back up Admiral Gentry’s ass.”
He started to stand, then Rivkah shot an ion pulse at his feet.
He stood anyway, wiping the blood from his lips. “It’s DAWD.” DAWD was a Secret Space Program term for “Dead as a White Dwarf.”
She jerked back, shocked to hear that a Star Carrier, let alone Star Warden, had been blown out of the cosmos.
Cole saw his moment of chance. She let down her guard for a nano-second. Like a flash, he snatched up his titanium suit and bull rushed Rivkah.
Rivkah jumped back, firing several shots, the ion’s electrical output sending shocks through Cole’s hands and down his wrists. He held on, pushing forward, pummeling Rivkah, smashing her between the suit and the wall.
All the emotions trickled from her heart and through her body. She failed again and she was so damn tired of failing, being on the losing end of every stick. She crouched and lunged into the suit. “Enough!”
Cole was thrown back into the table, the titanium suit hitting against the ceiling and then the floor.
Rivkah fixed him in her sight, the IPR against her shoulder, her finger on the trigger. She switched it from stun to kill. “Bye, bye, Cole.” She pulled the trigger and spackled the walls with ground Cole.
12
J-Quadrant, Solar System ~ Callisto
“Please, sit.” Morning Star gestured to a seat next to his pilot’s chair. “We’ll be heading to Flood of Dawn’s Temple Gardens in a moment. Do you have any objections?”
Bogle took a seat, her arms folded across her belly, squeezing her stomach to keep as little of herself exposed to this guy as possible. She didn’t know why squeezing her belly would do the trick and keep her safe but she’d done it most of her life, probably to keep her womb shielded from all the young men who looked at her as a beauty prize, someone to show off in front of their friends, rather than the treasure her mom always told her she was.
She shook her head, keeping her mouth sealed. She didn’t have any objections because she didn’t know what objections she should have. By now, everyone on Star Warden was dead. This guy, demon or not, saved her with his ship, Telu Ignis. She owed him her grat
itude, not her fear. Nonetheless, her fear crept in. And what if she had objections? Then what? Push her out of the garbage shoot and back out into the big, black void?
“I will not harm you.” He dipped his head as if reading her mind, slowly closing his eyes like a purring cat, then opening them to stare directly at Bogle. “I hope you come to understand this fact.” He sat in the pilot’s chair and a holographic display popped up in front of him. He tapped in coordinates and strange letters appeared on the screen. “Hold on.”
His ship veered right and dipped into the Callisto atmosphere. The ship was engulfed in flames, as if a fire-breathing dragon were at its rudder, but in seconds the re-entry fire had died down and the Telu Ignis leveled out. A majestic city immediately came into view. Either the ship was extremely fast or the distance between the ground and Callisto’s atmosphere was short. Looking up, Bogle could see it had nothing to do with distance. The Telu Ignis had speed. They approached the city, skimming over pyramids, domes, and obelisks. Farms dotted the horizon, large and flat, full of corn, sunflowers, and lush ground cover. A hazy energy surrounded the farms, possibly bringing more light and heat to the plants.
Morning Star pointed to a translucent, glass-like dome that covered a crater. Trees, smaller domes, rivers, and a lake were set deep inside. It was a small Earth.
A square door in the glass dome opened, big enough for a Nebula Class Star Cruiser to cross through.
Morning Star pressed holographic buttons and Telu Ignis made a sharp descent, following a small craft slipping through the opening.
“We’ll be meeting the Master soon after we dock at the Temple Gardens,” said Morning Star.
That sounded ominous. Bogle shifted in her seat. “The Master?”
“She is our Empress. At least, that’s how you’d classify her, in your vocabulary. We have no such designation. We call her ‘Master.’ She is wise beyond years, beyond galaxies. She has led us for thousands of years.”
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