Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

Doors, rooms—none of these things mattered. They could never seal him away. All these Kel might hope to do would be to kill him. Perhaps they could devise the technology to do so. Kang certainly wouldn’t put it past them, based on everything he’d seen so far. For now, though, he was an impossible problem, something they had no way to contend with and, in order to maintain the advantage, he needed to keep it that way. Keep them on their heels; off balance in such a way that they never quite got control. At each step of the process he must determine where to give ground, where not. Enough so that they, in turn, eased their desire to be rid of him. It would be difficult, he could see. But perhaps, and this was his true desire, in doing so he might work out a co-existence. Such that they wanted to follow him.

  He turned the Icon in his hands, cognizant of its hidden power. This was the first key, the first thing they would want. And he would give it to them—as he, too, wanted what it promised—but only on certain conditions. In a sense it was his first bargaining chip.

  Unexpectedly soon the door opened and a tall Kel warrior stood without. Taller, more broad, more fearsome than any Kang had yet seen. Unconsciously he pulled himself a little straighter, making sure to rise to his full height. This was the Praetor, Voltan, he knew, and he was surprised at first, having expected a withered, politician of a man. He could see at once how Voltan rose to his place as leader: through physical prowess as much as cunning. That was no doubt how things worked in this culture. The weak were left behind; the strong rose to rule.

  His estimation of the Kel grew still more.

  “I am Praetor Voltan,” the tall Kel confirmed, voice rich, overlaid by the tin of the computer as it echoed the English version. Voltan’s hair was shock white, pulled high into the same queue as the rest, skin the same perfect alabaster with inked tracers on his cheek and around one brilliant, yellow eye. Over the other eye he wore a patch; the pelt of some white-furred creature draped his shoulders. The pelt was an unusual contrast to the hard black armor, and had the effect of making Voltan’s already wide shoulders look even wider.

  “I am Kang.” His response was, in turn, through the computer, spoken back in the language of the Kel.

  Voltan entered the room alone, just as he had arrived, and the door hissed smoothly closed behind him.

  He faces me alone, Kang thought. Of course, a hundred escorts could’ve done little to protect him. Probably Voltan realized that. After all, he’d chosen to come in person for a reason. Personal safety was not it.

  More likely it was to make a statement. Kang could see that now. To show courage, flex the might of his presence. As if to say, I do not fear you. Kang sneered, not caring how the expression would be interpreted. He could see that, behind the bravado, lurked the very fear Voltan tried to conceal. Now that the Praetor was there, standing before him, the Kel warlord realized Kang’s power. Kang was everything his men said he was. And more.

  But, in keeping with his prior determination, Kang deferred. Relaxed a bit of his posture and, not knowing how it might be taken, apologized.

  “I am sorry for the deaths of your people,” he said. As the computer translated he could see at once this was not the opening the Praetor expected. No doubt he’d come there with several possibilities in mind, any good negotiator would, but an apology was not one of them.

  He stood for a long time, looking hard on Kang, scrutinizing his every aspect. Kang thought to say more but the Praetor spoke.

  “They claim you have immeasurable strength,” he said. “I’ve seen evidence of your work. How is this possible?”

  Kang listened to the intonations in Voltan’s voice, trying to see how they matched the words put forth by the computer. Did the translator get them right? The computer had a tone of curious awe about it, though Voltan’s own voice sounded simply annoyed.

  Kang thought of an answer; wondered if it might go too far but, at the same time, determined to keep them guessing.

  “Perhaps I am a god,” he said.

  Voltan considered that. Made no remark against it.

  “Are you, then, unique?”

  “There are none like me.”

  “So there are no more on your world?”

  What was he driving at? Already Kang had said so; there was no way to amend that, though he saw no immediate reason to do so. Whatever Voltan was attempting to divine mattered little.

  “On my world I am legend.”

  That seemed sufficient.

  “Where is your world?”

  “I don’t know ‘where’. However,” and Kang held up the Icon. “This can take me there.”

  Voltan’s one good eye locked to it—unable to hide his fascination. He clasped his hands behind his back but the action did little to conceal his greed.

  After a long moment he looked up and held Kang’s gaze. Though the other eye was covered by the patch, it was as if he bored into him with both.

  “It returns to your world?”

  Kang wasn’t entirely certain of that, but determined it was best, in that moment, to display utter confidence.

  “Yes.” He had confidence enough.

  The Praetor seemed to mull things over. At length he inhaled.

  “We must decide what comes next,” he said. “I will contact the Tremarch.

  “Wait here.” And he turned. Kang watched him as the door opened and he left, fur of the decorative white animal pelt dancing lightly in the air where it lay wide across his shoulders. The door shut behind him.

  Kang could sense a bit of acceptance in his inquisitor. The Praetor knew what he was capable of, yet left him in the room as if expecting Kang would simply wait there with civility, as would anyone in the midst of serious negotiations.

  Kang grinned.

  Determined that things would continue to go his way.

  CHAPTER 15: THE TREMARCH

  Jess looked at herself in the reflective surface of a control panel outside the bridge. Her eyes were red-rimmed, expression drawn. She ran her hands over her face and pushed back her hair, stretching the skin around her mouth, over her cheekbones, trying to freshen her look.

  It didn’t help.

  She’d been standing in the corridor, just around the corner from the entrance to the command bridge, working up the nerve to face the others. After a long session of sad, then angry, then sad again introspection, alone in the infirmary agonizing over her indecision, she’d come to no conclusion. More than ever she felt the desire to just put all this behind; mark it as a possibility that was forever lost; a feeling that went smack up against the undeniable yet inexplicable impulse, an almost deep-seated conviction, that now was the time to seize this opportunity and do something.

  It was a terrible contrast of emotions.

  She took a deep breath.

  Sadly that inexplicable conviction brought with it no clarity. There were too many things she needed to process and the confusion was obviously getting worse, not better, and so, finally, she decided to simply rise and come here. She knew only that she needed more time. Satori was in a mood to go, and if Jess didn’t stop her—if she didn’t come up with a viable alternative—Satori would make them leave and all would be lost. Only, they couldn’t leave. Not until she knew what to do. Until then she couldn’t allow anyone to move. Until the rest of her life had been figured out and she knew exactly what she wanted and exactly what she was going to do no one was going anywhere, and as the sheer hopelessness of that hit her she nearly collapsed.

  She watched the pained expression pass across her face in the reflection of the control panel and made herself stand straighter. Tall and firm. Blew a strand of hair from her eyes. And for an instant, beneath the odd glare of the alien lighting, her eyes flickered gold.

  The color was gone as quick as it came.

  She tried to recreate it. Turned her head just so until …

  There. Her pupils came alive in shining yellow.

  Whoa. She scrutinized them.

  Wild.

  Like cat’s eyes. It was an optical i
llusion, of course, but the sight of herself in the shiny surface, face set with entirely alien eyes, sent a chill down her spine.

  What’s happening to me?

  Of a sudden it made her feel powerful, not freaked like she would’ve expected, and as she stood holding the reflection so the color remained she rode that strange sensation, letting it grow, visualizing herself as some sort of …

  Warrior.

  Am I? The thought struck her. After everything, after everything she’d done, after everything she’d been through, would it be wrong to think of herself that way? Had she not been a warrior all along?

  She slumped to her usual posture and the reflection of her eyes snapped to their normal color.

  Brown.

  Just a girl.

  With a deep, deliberate breath she mustered a fresh surge of determination, turned from the panel and strode the final steps to the bridge. At the door she paused.

  Opened it and walked in.

  Willet and Bianca were the first to turn. Satori and Nani were side-by-side at one of the consoles—engrossed with the study of All Things Earth. Satori turned to see her standing in the doorway. Everyone just kind of stared, any discussions they’d been having falling silent. The bridge became uncomfortably quiet, in fact. Jess could feel the tension in the air; could almost hear the echoes of their conversations of seconds before. About her. About the situation.

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected it.

  She fixed Satori’s gaze. Slowly Satori stood, getting the unspoken signal. With a glance to the others she went and, when she got close, Jess stepped from the bridge, Satori followed her out and the door shut behind, leaving them alone in the hall.

  Jess took a few steps back and stopped. Satori stopped and stood close—a little too close, and for an instant Jess felt intimidated. Satori knew why she was there. Knew she was there to convince her. It was almost as if Satori were already setting her will against her. Already had.

  Of course she has.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been a pain,” Jess tried to mend fences. Satori was silent. They were almost eye to eye, Satori only a bit taller. In fact the two of them were nearly the same size physically, but in that moment Satori seemed bigger. The battle-hardened commander, firm gaze merciless in a stare-down. A contest of wills Jess felt suddenly ill-equipped to win.

  She tried to conjure the brief sensation from the reflection, that feeling of power as she looked into her golden eyes. Reminded herself of all the things she’d already done.

  “I’m just worried,” she said.

  “I know what you’re worried about,” Satori cut her short. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

  “You said I had to make a decision.”

  “For yourself. Not for the rest of us. You’ve presumed too much already, done too much already. Dragged too many along in your wake. Now it’s time to make up your mind. You and Bianca need to decide what to do. I already know what we have to do.” Then: “Your friend wants to go home, by the way.”

  For a painful moment Jess imagined all the things they had been talking about. All the decisions they’d probably already made without her. Making plans as she sat in the infirmary alone, pouting over her troubles.

  “She can’t go home any more than I can.”

  “That’s up to her. I don’t care what you guys decide to do. There’s a real war going on back on Anitra, with real consequences for a whole lot of people.” Satori put her hands on her hips. “This can’t be about you.”

  Jess snapped.

  “It’s not about me!” Then: “You think I want this?!”

  Satori pulled back, but not much.

  Jess felt her eyes go wide and couldn’t stop it. “You think I asked for this?” She held out her arms, indicating the starship and everything around them. “I didn’t ask for this responsibility!”

  Where was this coming from?!

  Satori’s jaw hung open. “Responsibility?” she gaped. “What the hell are you talking about? This is my responsibility. I’m the one that let this happen. And I’m going to fix it.”

  Jess inhaled. Shocked but suddenly seething.

  “I’ve changed one world without even meaning to!” Frustration gained steam. “How was that my destiny?!”

  “Destiny? What—”

  “Yes!” Jess plowed on. “Now here I am, back on Earth, where, oh, by the way, I’ve managed to make myself a fugitive here too! I’ve screwed myself, Satori! I’m so screwed!” Anger was pouring off her without warning in hot waves. The words almost didn’t matter. She could’ve been shouting Blah! Blah! Blah! It was raw emotion, erupting like a volcano from some source she hadn’t seen coming, and out of nowhere she was blasting Satori with it full force; every anguished regret, every pent-up remorse. “Now I can never go back! Earth, Anitra! I can’t go anywhere! All I’ve done is make a mess of my life! Everywhere I’ve been! I’m only sixteen and I can’t go anywhere! Decide?! Ha!”

  Satori’s mouth worked, temporarily mute, but it didn’t take long to regain her composure and blast back: “So figure it out! All I know is this is bigger than you!”

  Jess felt completely out of control. “Exactly!” The rollercoaster of emotions running through her was unbearable. Something ugly had been dragged to the surface and she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream; she wanted to run off the ship and leap into space. “Don’t you get it?! This is bigger than me! It’s bigger than all of us!” She wondered if the others could hear through the heavy bridge door. “Bigger than you, bigger than me. More complicated. More problems. I can’t just decide for myself! Don’t you get it?! Not like you want. Not like you mean and not anymore. And that sucks! I want to decide what’s best for me! For Jessica!” She smacked her chest. “But I can’t!” Her eyes darted back and forth, drilling into Satori. “So what now? Kang is gone! Maybe you’re right and hooray if he is! But it isn’t over! You think that’s the end?! Ha! It isn’t! It’s like it never ends!” Satori’s mouth was still working as Jess plowed on: “I just want out! But I can’t get out! I want to walk away but I can’t! I’m in so deep! There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. I do have to decide. But I have to decide for an entire world, Satori. We have to decide. Get it? Two worlds. It isn’t just about me. You’re missing, somehow completely missing what that really means. This is huge. We’re nothing. This is nothing. Too much is at stake right now and I’m not just deciding for me. You’re not deciding. I can’t just pick up and go home and neither can you.

  “I have no idea what to do.”

  Satori was amazed. “You’ve lost it.”

  Jess glared at her, Satori’s red hair bright in the lights of the alien hall, framing her piercing blue eyes.

  “Even if I wanted to go home,” Jess tried to be calm, “I can’t. You think that doesn’t kill me? I’m right here, looking at my house. It’s right there!” she pointed through the floor. “Do you know what that feels like?”

  “So go back to Anitra. Like I said I don’t—”

  “You don’t get it! Whether I go back to Anitra or not it’s over!”

  “What is your problem?! What do you mean over?!” Satori’s hands, her face—her whole body was animated. “You need to get a grip!”

  Jess was done with this conversation. “I do,” she said. “I just ... I do. That’s exactly what I need to do. Get a grip. Right now we’re not hurting anything. Right now we’re not in any danger. As soon as we leave ... anything is possible. Right now we’re safe. Right now nothing is changing.” She took a deep breath. “I need to think. I need time to think. That’s all I’m trying to tell you.”

  It was all too much. Most people got second chances in life, even third and fourth chances. Her life was officially over. There was no way she could ever have a second chance. Not now. The defenses she’d managed to erect against that horrible feeling, telling herself this or that thing to chase away the sinking fears—the lies she’d managed to make herself believe—crumbled. There was no way back. No clear path
forward. Grief gripped her.

  But Satori had no soothing words.

  “You’re better than this,” she said, almost with disdain. “At least I thought you were.”

  Jess stared at her through blearing eyes. Hating her refusal to understand.

  But against that continuing, utter lack of sympathy … found a rock. In freefall, abrupt and unexpected; an unyielding place, at the bottom of the well, that solid foundation that had redirected imminent collapse before. Inner calm; a fortress from which Jess the warrior gathered her charge.

  Her core.

  “We need to stay,” she said, simply, her ordinarily soft voice coming out clear and strong in the confines of the alien hall. Eyes clearing. This was not yelling. This was confidence. “That’s all I know right now. We need to stay and we’re not leaving. Not yet.” Her face was probably flushed, eyes holding the remnants of tears that had just been forming, but she was strong. All at once, and she felt that calm certainty rising. It was a simple statement, we’re not leaving, but it held force. She was done arguing. She may have had no idea what exactly to do but she knew she needed time. Leaving was not happening.

  Not yet.

  Indecision fell away.

  Satori looked at her matter-of-factly. Crossed her arms.

  “You figure out how you want to be involved,” she said, “but we are leaving. We’re taking this back.”

  “We’re not.”

  Satori waited for her to say more, but she was done. And in that hollow moment, as if stumbling upon a gaping pit of power, such simple, attackable words hanging empty in the air, assailable, “we’re not”, how weak, how lacking in force, so easy to brush away, to knock aside and replace with a much firmer decision—which Satori thought she already had—in that sickening instant where Satori knew Jess was through and that, in fact, much to her shocked realization, Jessica’s will had been imposed, Satori took a small step back. Blinked. Confused that, somehow, some way, the discussion was over.

  Undeniably so.

  As before the words meant little—meant nothing. It was the intention. Jess pierced Satori’s gaze with it, vision beyond seeing, feeling the sheer power of her own decision flow from her as if a tangible force, radiating from within, wondering if her eyes were glowing in that moment, recalling the sight of their golden authority; almost felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at buckling Satori’s will so handily, her own resolve dominant beyond reckoning. But she pushed those feelings aside. Left things unemotional. A mere decision that was and would be.