From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  “You want me to quit now, don’t you?” he asked, preempting her thought. The wetness forming around her eyes and the stiff smile pursing her thin lips were his answer.

  His job had nearly cost him his life, and it was plain that fact was hitting his future wife extremely hard. He had never faced certain death before. True, he’d encountered the occasional gun-toting thug, but he had never once felt any imminent danger. Then again, he hadn’t felt any differently at Donna’s condo than at any other crime scene. There was never anything else he wanted to do with his life than police work. It was all he knew and the idea of giving it up normally would have terrified him. But to his surprise, the thought of leaving the force was not entirely unappealing.

  Loura seemed to be reading his mind when she sat up and met his stare. “It will be okay,” she said, soothingly. “I promise. We can find something else for you to do. Maybe we could use you at the station or you could go work as security guard somewhere. Hey, maybe Kratin would hire you at Carsus. He seems to think pretty highly of you.”

  As a reporter, Loura was unequaled in ferreting out the truth, no matter what the cost, but as a comforting lover, she sometimes failed in her sincerity. Being optimistic wasn’t in her nature. Her enthusiasm was refreshing, but guard duty wasn’t his thing. Private security firms had approached him before and he’d turned them down without any thought. So, when Strinnger saw her efforts to be positive he understood she really meant it.

  She continued her hope-filled sales pitch. “You’ve always talked about how much you’ve wanted to write a crime novel. Maybe now is your chance.” She paused. “You’ll have at least three weeks while you recover to get started. It could be good. I know you love police work, but I just don’t want to lose you.” The emotion was plain in her soft eyes as she spoke. But it soon cooled as she finished the thought. “I can’t … I won’t go through this again.” The earnest plea was probably meant as a statement but the slight edge gave it the appearance of an ultimatum.

  “You want me to choose,” he said soberly, “you, or the job.”

  She went silent, and then cast her eyes down, refusing to look at him. Had they really come to this point? Did he really have to prove his love by sacrificing the only life he’d ever known for a future with her? The effects of the anesthesia still clouded his judgment making even responding to her questions difficult, but deep down he knew what the answer had to be. He stared at her for a moment, pondering.

  Honestly, he would miss the work if he quit, but it was the people, both those he worked with and the public they served, that he would miss more than anything, especially Ferdinand Drake. They had been friends forever. The intimacy of their friendship was beyond anything he could ever explain to Loura, or anyone else. On more than one occasion they’d risked their lives for one another, forging a bond that only a handful of people in the world ever knew. They understood one another. They had the same dreams, passions and, until Loura, the same taste in women. The latter was probably their only source of potential friction but apart from that, Drake was an extension of himself that Strinnger depended on. Leaving the police force for a writer’s desk meant he would rarely, if ever, see his friend again.

  The patient smiled thoughtfully. She raised her face to square with his, a look of pleading desperation on her lovely, pale cheeks. He met her gaze and placed his hand on her face. She nestled into it like a child into its mother’s arms, tears bathing his bandages. Her rich, hazel irises held him transfixed and he sought his answer from within the depths of her pupils. When it came, he felt no remorse, only peace. He loved her and that would never change. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “I’ll quit.”

  Through the large observation window in the hallway outside, Julia Kratin watched the recuperating detective disappear beneath the embrace of the dark-haired woman at his side. Her chest weighed heavy as she watched the woman sob into his hospital gown, visibly unable to control her emotions. Her face was turned away from Julia but she knew the detective’s reporter fiancé, Loura Lake, from their brief meeting the day of the explosion.

  The two women had met in the emergency room. Loura had arrived frantic to see him, screaming at nurses and doctors, looking for anyone who could tell her where he was. Julia was sitting in one of the exam rooms waiting to have the large cuts on her arm and forehead stitched up, a fact her agent had been hysterical over when he’d heard the news. She heard Loura’s impatient demands and decided to brave her tirade and shed light on what happened.

  Julia had been the first to find Strinnger. Scouring the debris for her friend, she stepped over scorched tiles and wooden beams, all while calling out for Donna. When she finally came upon a pair of legs protruding from under a pile of twisted metal and shards of wood she feared the worst. She leapt at the figure, adrenaline pulsing intensely as she sifted through the condo’s carnage until at last, she uncovered the victim. But to her surprise, it was not Donna she’d found but the detective, Daeman Strinnger.

  The wounds on his face and side were like nothing she’d ever seen outside of a grisly horror film. He was badly burned with exposed, charred ribs and muscle tissue exposed to the open air. But the image that haunted her was the grotesque deformation that was once his youthful, handsome face. The horrifying scene still haunted her. Since then she was not able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, too afraid of what she would see if she closed her eyes. Quaking like the San Andreas, Julia had placed her trembling hand to Strinnger’s lacerated throat and found a pulse, very weak, but present nonetheless. She fumbled for her phone and called the paramedics who were already on their way.

  A heavy knot formed in her stomach as she watched the couple embrace in the hospital room. It seemed to tighten with each tearful breath the reporter released into the chest of her wounded companion. Julia had never seen a couple so in love. She choked back her own tears and stepped away from the window.

  The emotion of the moment was overwhelming and Julia suddenly became aware of her own exhaustion. Her knees buckled, nearly toppling her onto the speckled tile floor in the hallway. The stress of the last few days suddenly seemed to catch up with her and she managed to guide herself back to the worn, green polyester chairs in the small waiting area. She lowered her head, cupping it in her hands as the image of his bandaged arm now caressing the soft brown hair of his future wife replayed in her mind. If only I had told him about Donna earlier, she thought. Maybe they could have gotten to her sooner and avoided all of this. I could have saved his life! Her life!

  Her self-loathing was interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Ms. Kratin, isn’t it?”

  Julia quickly roused from her stupor and looked up at a broad, olive-skinned man, with a wide, toothy grin. He was wearing a casual police uniform with a narrow utility belt cinched at his waist. His round face was warm and friendly, yet his eyes reflected a sincere concern for her.

  She wiped her eyes and rose to her feet. At first, she did not recognize the officer, thinking he was there to conduct another interview with her about what she had seen at the condominium complex, but the name tag over his shirt pocket sparked her memory. “Hello, Sgt. Drake,” she greeted him, trying her best to return his smile.

  “That’s right, ma’am,” he answered politely. “Is everything all right?”

  Her already reddened face flushed with embarrassment. She knew her eyes must have looked like ripened tomatoes. Not exactly the condition a supermodel was supposed to convey.

  “As much as I can be,” she said, feigning her normal, bubbly personality. Her hand reached up to her forehead and lightly pressed the bandage covering sixteen stitches. “And you?”

  His smile was very reassuring. “I’m fine. May I sit with you for a moment?”

  She gestured to the chair next to hers and slid over to give him more room. He smiled once more then gently sat down. It was obvious that he wanted to talk but was finding it difficult to find the right way to start.

  “Ms.
Kratin, I know this is a bad time, but I need to ask you a few questions about your friend Donna.”

  An interrogation? Here? Puzzled, she asked, “What more do you need to know? I already gave a statement to the police at the scene and at the station.”

  “I know, I know,” he acknowledged. “But there is still something we haven’t been able to figure out. First of all, her name; you told us that her name was Donna Nelsonn. Do you know when she changed it to Roncin? We couldn’t find any record of that.

  Julia thought a moment. “It was about five years ago, when her brother was caught bombing some place in China. She was afraid people would see her name and think she was a terrorist too. I don’t think she had it legally changed but just assumed it.”

  Drake nodded. “That explains why we couldn’t find her. One more question; she was terrified to leave that house. I mean really frightened and we can only assume it’s because she knew about the bomb. Can you think of anyone she might have known that could’ve done something like this? Anyone she was afraid of or had received threats from?”

  Did Donna have any enemies? The girl was one of the sweetest people Julia had ever met. She couldn’t possibly fathom anyone wanting to hurt her. In fact, the thought of Donna’s body being tortured and starved while trapped in her own home was more than Julia could bear. She shook her head, fighting back the tears that wanted to break out. “No,” she finally said. “No, I don’t know anyone. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years. I didn’t even know she was working at the club still. I’m sorry …”

  The tears forced their way free and she dabbed at her eyes. The Donna she had known did not deserve to die in such a horrible, violent way. Sitting there talking with a policeman about who may have killed her only added to the pain.

  “If had just been a better friend I could have stopped all this. We had talked about working together on some projects we dreamed up but we never followed through. If she would’ve told me she was in trouble, I might have been able to help her. This is all my fault!” she sobbed. “I should have told Detective Strinnger I knew her when he came to Seattle. I should have stopped him from going into that house! And now he’s a half-metal monster and my friend is dead!”

  Her hands again buried her face, the sobs coming without any attempt to stop them while her body shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

  Drake dropped to his knees in front of her. Gingerly, he removed her hands from her face and looked at her, his large, dark eyes sharing her pain. “Hey, hey, hey,” he consoled. “Listen, you had no idea what would happen. None of us did. From what our forensics team tells me, it didn’t matter who or when we showed up. The autopsy found transmitters embedded in her wrists. She must have known they would activate the bomb when she got close to it because it looked like she was trying to cut them out. The bomb went off as soon as she crossed the trigger receiver. You had no control over what happened. And as for Detective Strinnger, he knew the risks when he took this job. He was willing to take them, so don’t feel sorry for him. In fact, from what I hear, he has you to thank for the new hardware keeping him alive.”

  Julia deflected his praise. “I just knew that some doctors at Carsus were experimenting with limb regrowth and replacement. All I did was make a call to my father.”

  “But if you hadn’t done it,” Drake interrupted, “he might not be here now. He and I owe you a big debt.”

  Amid her sniffling, Julia sat up straighter, continually wiping away her tears. The simple facts of the case, along with the tender sympathy of the sergeant, helped calm her emotions. For such a broad man, he wasn’t very big. In fact, she laughed, he was probably as wide as he was tall. Regardless, she was relieved he had taken the time to speak to her and was happy for the fact that his friend was now on the mend.

  Finally releasing her feelings, even to this complete stranger, eased her burden. The tight knot in her chest dissipated. “Thank you,” she said, gratefully.

  His wide smile returned, lifting her spirits. “You’re welcome. Now, do you need me to call someone to pick you up or are you okay to drive home?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. You go and see your friend. He just woke up.”

  Drake’s eyes brightened. He got to his feet and excused himself, then burst into the detective’s room with a grin as wide as crocodile’s.

  Alone once more, Julia rose from the hard chair and made her way toward the elevators. She had to see Donna one last time. No matter what condition she was in, Julia needed to say goodbye to her friend. The doors separated for her with a soft ping and she stepped inside the empty lift.

  “Destination?” a pleasant male voice queried from the console to her left.

  She inhaled sharply, forcibly concealing the emotion in her voice, which was silly since this machine could care less at what she was feeling. “Morgue.”

  The ground beneath her shivered slightly and the car descended smoothly toward the basement of the hospital. She pressed against the back of the car. At that moment, she felt more alone than at any time in her life.

  CHAPTER 10

  PAST

  “This is Echo, Tango, niner-niner-one requesting clearance for landing, over,”

  An unexpected silence greeted the pilot. That’s odd, she thought, pressing the transmitter nodule on her console to see if it was working properly.

  “Apollo Tower, this is ConSystems prisoner transport, Echo, Tango, niner-niner-one, requesting permission to dock, over.”

  Still more silence. She knew the prisoner secured in the hold was expected. Warden Strón himself had signed the transport order only hours before. It made no sense for them to ignore her and leave her listlessly hovering in open space. The transport ship’s outer hull was blackened to obscure it from marauders and possible rescue attempts, but she knew that the prison could read her encrypted transponder signal. She knew this for a fact because a pair of white, bulb-shaped interceptor drones was perched menacingly on either side of her transport ship. Would they really deny her entry? Her finger neared the transmitter once more when, a nervous, high-pitched voice finally sounded from the speakers.

  “Roger that, Echo, Tango, niner-niner-one. You are cleared for entry at north access hatch one-A.”

  The pilot smiled at the familiar jittery voice. “It’s about time, Reg! Hope I didn’t wake you.” She imagined the sickly hypochondriac sitting there at his transit communications station as stiff as the day-old doughnuts he ate.

  “Hi, Evie,” he said, his voice quivering. “No. I was awake. Haven’t slept in the twenty-four hours since I heard you were bringing the biggest gangster Earth’s ever seen to my front door.”

  Evaline Banalsky-Nelsonn, known to most people as Eve, laughed, “Well, they don’t send people here for traffic tickets, Reg!”

  “Yeah, I know,” he conceded, although the tone in his voice was still not entirely happy at the situation. “That still doesn’t make it any better. Go ahead and park it at Gate J.”

  Eve had always liked Reggie Bruol. He was as uptight as a petrified redwood but he was the most brilliant engineer she had ever met. How he had ever found himself jockeying the welcome desk at the prison was a complete mystery to her. He hated being locked away up there with all of the world’s most dangerous criminals, and each of them knew it. Law enforcement was not in his background so he’d never been trained to deal with criminals or how to mask his fear when interacting with them. Most of the time, he tried his best to steer clear of the lower levels of the prison, doing all in his power to avoid contact with anyone wearing an orange jumpsuit.

  “You got it. Hermes out,” Eve concluded, still smiling at the thought of Reggie hiding under his desk as she landed, which wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened.

  The ET991, designated Hermes, was the latest model in the ConSystems fleet. Shaped like a black, pregnant almond, its ionized propulsion propelled it swiftly and stealthily through space. Its swift speed and EMP shielding helped defend the crew and its
prisoners from would-be-rescuers and pirates lurking in the void to liberate or confiscate its cargo. Before its commission, voyages from Earth to the prison had taken a little more than two days. The first Hermes run made the trip in slightly more than three hours. It was the sensation of the aeronautics and space community. Eve, like every other pilot alive, wanted it. From the moment she sat behind the controls, the power and elegance of the ship seduced her. It was beauty incarnate and for a time Eve thought there would never be anything so wonderful as to make her surrender the pilot’s seat. This was her first time behind the wheel for a mission. Not even the constant nagging of the co-pilot would diminish the experience, nor stop her from opening up the accelerator pushing the craft beyond its recommended limits. From the launch site in Nevada to lunar orbit, she finished the trip in roughly two and a half hours and the engines, unlike her crew, showed no sign of stress.

  Her fingers danced with featherlike deftness across the control panel, positioning the medium-sized prisoner transport over the mile-wide circle embedded in the rocky surface below. A bold 1A painted on the frigid steel hatch separated at its center and retracted inward like a great beast opening its maw to swallow the ship whole. Her long, bare fingers touched the pad lightly and slid smoothly over the colored control prompts before her. The oblong ship responded almost presciently and eased through the gaping portal into the cavernous tunnel that descended nearly a half a mile down. Intuitively, the ion engines disengaged and were replaced by the backup fusion propulsion engines. The Hermes emerged into a vast hangar, larger than any Eve had ever known.