Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1)

by Crawford, McCullough

  Curiosity slips through the iron curtain of focus that had been shielding William’s mind from wandering. They pick up their pace and move towards the end of the hall. To the left, the hallway extends off into the darkness, looking very much like the hall they are currently in. But the branch to the right opens up into a chamber that is relatively well-lit.

  The sounds are coming from within the chamber; William eases Florence to the ground by the corner and peaks around. His eyes find Jackson, who is ducking in and out of the pillars, and William realizes that the cracking of wood on wood that he had heard from the hallway is the sound of the club in Jackson’s hand deflecting blows from the clubs of four attackers. William sees a fifth form lying on the ground, unmoving, with another club lying on the wet concrete beside it. Not checking if the form is alive or dead, William scoops up the club and runs to help Jackson.

  Seeing William’s approach, Jackson kicks one of his assailants in the groin and launches a furious attack on the other three, driving them all back towards William. William approaches the closest assailant from behind, and, putting all of his weight behind the club, delivers a blow to her kidney.

  The unsuspecting form crumples, as if all of her bones have been removed by the blow. The other two assailants, taken aback by the sudden demise of their comrade, pause just long enough to allow Jackson to deliver a crippling thrust to the middle one’s solar plexus. With his only remaining compatriot collapsed on the ground gasping for breath, the final assailant turns and runs for a hallway that is adjacent to where William entered.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here before we have to take any more of them out,” Jackson says as he delivers a spiteful kick to the nearest downed form. “I bet that other idiot is going to go get back up.”

  “I left Florence out in the hall, do you think you could help me carry her?” William asks. “I think she was jumped by these same guys. She’s in pretty bad shape.“

  “Who?” Jackson asks.

  “Florence, you know the tall blonde,” reminds William.

  “Oh, right, her. Yeah sure I can help you out. If they were the ones who jumped her, it makes me all the happier we did this to them,” he says, indicating the broken forms lying around them.

  With one of them propping her up on each side, Florence’s feet barely touch the ground, and they are able to maintain an almost normal walking pace. They take the first few turns at random, hoping to lose any possible pursuit.

  Entering a small round chamber, they pause, trying to catch their breath and to figure out what to do. This is obviously more than a simple treasure hunt; the blood still slowly oozing from Florence’s head is proof enough of that. But somehow, they have to win this “game” if they want to get out of the maze. William can only imagine how bad it will get the longer they are forced to stay in here.

  “Do you guys have any idea where to go?” William asks his teammates. “Something tells me they’re not really watching what’s going on in here, or they should have sent in some help.”

  “Bob right?” asks Florence. “You obviously haven’t spent much time here yet. They don’t care about us. If they are watching, they won’t send help. They’ll probably just laugh and make bets on how long we’re going to last.”

  “Call me William, I don’t like the name they gave me,” he responds, with a crooked grin. “You’ve got a good point though. But how do we get out of here? You’re probably going to need stiches in your scalp.”

  “We win,” says Jackson, who has been quiet up to this point.

  “I like that idea,” a fourth voice adds from above. Perched on the pillar above them is Jill. Her face is smudged with dust and slime, but her teeth shine brightly through the dim light as she grins. “And I know where we can find that annoying cube. Follow me.”

  Resettling Florence on their shoulders, William and Jackson continue down the hall, glancing up to watch Jill spring lithely from pillar to pillar. She leads them along a crooked path, directing them to take the narrowest path available more often than not. After some turns, William can swear that she is going to lead them into a dead end, but before he can voice his thoughts, she springs off out of sight and they find an almost hidden side passage.

  After an exceptionally narrow passage in which they all have to turn sideways to fit between the walls, they find themselves in a large open chamber with a single pillar in the middle. This pillar is not only taller than the normal ones, but it is broader and has the remnants of a rotted rope ladder hanging down one side. But, most importantly for the nearly exhausted group, shining atop it is the ruby red cube that they have been searching for.

  Jill is perched atop the pillar next to where they entered the chamber, her legs dangling over the edge, her elbows propped on her knees, and her chin in her hands.

  “There it is,” she says, gesturing to the cube. “I found it like two hours ago, but there is no way I can get off these stupid pillars other than back at the start. Looks like one of you is going to get the win.”

  “As long as we get out of here, I don’t care,” Florence says as she frees herself from the supporting arms and makes her way gingerly towards the middle of the chamber.

  “I’ll second that,” says Jackson, following her towards the pillar.

  William hangs back, thinking for a second, before a plan pops into his head and he jogs after Jackson and Florence.

  “Guys, hold up a second,” William calls to them. “Jackson, help Florence climb up to the top. She’s lighter than me and almost as tall, so if anybody can climb that ladder, it’ll be her. Jill, stay up there and act as our guide on the way out. That way, we’ll exit the maze together.”

  “You good?” Jackson asks Florence, as he crouches down and offers his hands as a step. On her nod, he hoists her up onto his shoulders so that she can just barely reach the bottom of the degrading ladder. With a little hop and a push by Jackson, she is clinging to the bottom rung of the ladder. It creaks and stretches, sending a fine cloud of rope pieces fluttering down, but it holds, and Florence is able to climb to the top without incident.

  Once up, she grabs the cube off its pedestal and turns back to drop it down to William, who is waiting below. As she turns, she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Across the chamber is another entrance, and through it, another five forms in dark sweat suits are charging towards them.

  “Look out!” is all she can get out before they descend upon William and Jackson with wild blows from their clubs. William and Jackson are able to pull out their own clubs and manage a hasty defense. The battle rages back and forth with neither side gaining any clear advantage and Jill and Florence feeling more and more helpless as they watch William and Jackson, already worn out, begin to tire further.

  William spins away from his assailants and moves around the main pillar, momentarily breaking from the melee. He rounds the corner of the pillar and pauses to see if his attackers are following him, planning to dive into the back of Jackson’s attackers, however, he is distracted from his course when Florence gets his attention. She has something wrapped in her shirt that she drops down to him. Her intent is clear, and William makes a break for the nearest exit to the chamber, calling back behind him: “Jackson, hold them off as long as you can!”

  The ruse works. The attackers, who had just knocked Jackson down and had already boosted one of their members onto the ladder, break away to chase after William, leaving their compatriot stranded. William runs like he has never run before, careening off the walls as he rounds corners, with each stride trying to go just a little faster, but never managing to lose the pursuers. He can hear them curse and pant behind him.

  Back in the main chamber, the attacker left behind on the ladder has managed to climb almost to the top. Peering over the edge, he figures he can at least get the satisfaction of taking this one girl hostage; but the sight of Florence looming over him in her undershirt, smiling with the cube in one hand, makes him freeze. And before he can articulate his intent or call
his teammates back from their wild chase, she raises her knee and drives her foot down as hard as she can.

  She misses his head but manages to connect with his shoulder enough to break the already weakened ladder and send it tumbling to the ground far below. The would-be assailant lands with a sickening crunch and lays still, his leg bent under him at an odd angle.

  With the cube and no further attackers, Florence is stuck atop the pillar with no way down. But they can still end this “game” before anyone else gets hurt, she thinks, seeing Jackson’s still form and her attacker’s limp contortions below her.

  “Jill, catch,” she says, tossing the cube across the opening to where Jill is perched on the pillar, back by the entrance to the clearing. “End this as quickly as you can.”

  Jill snags the cube from the air, gives her the thumbs up, and leaps off into the darkness. Each bound takes her from pillar to pillar and closer to what is hopefully the end of their exercises for the day. Florence is left alone atop the main pillar, as both Jill and the sounds of William’s pursuers fade into the darkness. Only a throb in her head and the two limp forms below her remain to remind her of the violence of the last few minutes.

  Chapter 32

  Western Mountains

  Abandoned Military Base

  Gavitte sits next to General Lampard in a small auditorium, trying to focus on the most boring technical presentation he has ever been forced to sit through. A few weeks have passed since the general first told Gavitte about the strange and mysterious structure that lies within the mountains where they currently reside. After Gavitte’s arrival and the subsequent change in the structure’s behavior, which so inexplicably seemed to correlate with his presence, the scientists had begun pouring over their research, reexamining every angle. Their weeks of work have led to this lecture, in which they are attempting to impart their jargon-fraught knowledge on a small, select audience.

  During his tenure with the Senate, Gavitte spent enough of his career enduring presentations like this, given by public servants who had little desire to give a quality presentation. This one, however, is in a league all its own. It is clear that the presenters are excited about their topic, but its content is so far beyond his comprehension that Gavitte cannot keep himself focused. His mind keeps wandering from the apparent resonant frequencies of the three vertices to the resonant frequency he would like to make with Angelina whenever this Hell-in-lecture format gets done. His only hope is that he’ll be able to find her in the mess of tunnels that forms the base, so they can pick up where their significant looks and “accidental” brushes left off.

  When he hasn’t been tied to a conference table and she hasn’t been leading drills or in the field conducting operations, they’ve managed to sneak a few seconds alone here and there. Each time they’re alone, they both, being unsure of the proper approach given their unusual circumstances, have struggled through each awkward exchange, all of which have been interrupted before either of them could break through the barrier separating them. Angelina has been hesitant around Gavitte. He’s not surprised, it was only a few months ago that she had been plotting his death, and he hopes she can’t fully reconcile how she feels about him and how that feeling has grown every time she sees him even if it is only in passing. Gavitte on the other hand is very clear on how he feels but can’t imagine a woman like Angelina actually being interested in him; simply assuming she’s been feigning to keep him pliable for General Lampard’s schemes.

  Finally, the presentation ends. Gavitte has no clue how long it took, only that he was left in a daze after no more than the first few minutes, and, from that point onward, his daydreams were vivid and more than enough to keep his mind completely off topic. It is for this reason that the exact technical details of the relic that is going to change his life, as well as the understanding of the planet’s history, have managed to slip past him without his notice. As they head to the door, Lampard touches his arm.

  “I assume you’ll be wanting to find her then?” Gavitte can’t help but look embarrassed. “It was quite obvious that you weren’t thinking about the presentation,” the general continues. “I figured she was the only thing on your mind. My bet is that she is hanging out somewhere in the Rec Center, taking out her frustrations, which might just have something to with you.”

  With no more than a sheepish grin, Gavitte slips out into the hall and heads directly towards the heart of the complex. He follows a green stripe painted on the floor, which, he hopes, is the correct color for those looking for the recreation facilities. It was either green for the recreation facilities and blue for the motor pool or the other way around. When he was being lectured by the aide on this particular nuance of living on the base, Angelina had been across the large cavern they’d been standing in leading an exercise drill. The way she moved, bouncing lightly from the ground to her feet and then through the obstacles as she demonstrated the exercise, made it impossible for Gavitte to give the bespectacled aide more than a tiny fraction of his attention. Just thinking about her exercising is enough to get Gavitte’s heart beating and his legs moving faster.

  After passing through a series of halls and making far too many turns, which he could have sworn were the wrong ones, he arrives at the cafeteria. Continuing down the hall, past the large bi-swing doors, he makes one final right turn before arriving at his destination. He pushes through the fairly nondescript door in the otherwise empty hallway and enters into the brightly lit glare of the gym. The air holds the cloying scent of sweat mixed with disinfectant and the perennial dust that always settles in the corners of a weight room. At this hour, the gym is lightly used; two off-duty soldiers are standing over a third, who lies on a bench, pressing weight. The clatter of the bar into its rests is the only sound that Gavitte can hear above the constant whine of the ventilation system, as he heads deeper into the room. It is not until he is halfway up to the basketball court and the indoor running track that he hears a rhythmic thudding coming from below him. He turns and heads back down the stairs, realizing that there is an alcove below that he had not seen before.

  She is taking out her frustrations, as the general predicted. A hanging punching bag is receiving a series of powerful strikes from both her delicate hands and those so very shapely legs, which extend from a pair of rather short shorts, when Gavitte rounds the corner and steps down onto the gymnastic padding that covers the floor.

  Mesmerized, he doesn’t say anything, and, as her back is turned, she does not notice the intrusion and continues. The sweat drips down the back of her neck, tracing a dark line down to the smooth swell of her bottom, which bounces up with the rhythm of each kick and then down again as she plants to strike with her forearm.

  Changing the motion but not the rhythm, she spins on her left leg, bringing her right up and through a kick that leaves the bag swinging. It is halfway through this motion, her braid flying as her head whips around, that she sees him standing by the doorway. Her fighter’s training ensures that she finishes her strike but also sees the look in his eyes. Delivering the blow, she stops and stands with her back turned towards him, breathing heavily, with slightly slumped shoulders. He approaches slowly, not saying anything until he is right behind her, then ignoring his doubts he says softly:

  “Angelina, I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t stop thinking about you. The past few weeks have been sheer torment for me whenever we’ve been apart. I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to think straight. I don’t even really know you… but I want to.”

  Her face, hardened by the workout, slowly softens, leaving behind the fire that was in her eyes. She turns to him, holding him trapped with her eyes for a moment before grabbing his hand. Without taking the time to remove the wraps that cover hers, she leads him off at a run through the corridors. Running through anyone who gets in their way, they careen around corners, sending even General Lampard spinning as they make their way through the warren of tunnels.

  Out of breath but full of more energy tha
n he’s felt in years, Gavitte runs right into Angelina as she suddenly skids to a stop before a small door that is set into the rock wall. He finds his arm wrapped around the perfectly formed abs of a woman who could probably take on an entire squad of soldiers, and win, and who, despite their recent mad dash, is not even breathing hard. Retrieving a key from somewhere in her waistband, she opens the door and pulls Gavitte into the room behind her. Not bothering to turn the lights on, she shuts the door and deposits the key and the waistband from which it came in an unceremonious pile in the corner of the room.

  Chapter 33

  Foothills of the Western Mountains

  A University Campus

  Sara stares out at the campus, thinking about the events of the past week and realizing that she has become almost numb to the dangers that present themselves constantly. After the initial excitement of hiding out in a deserted building wore off, the three fugitives’ daily routine became incredibly monotonous. She chuckles to herself, thinking that perhaps the most dangerous part of their current predicament is simply the chance that boredom might drive them insane.

  Every morning, one of them climbs up to the roof to hide out under the stadium’s scoreboard. From amongst its scaffolding, they can see the entire parking lot to the east of the building, as well as most of the major buildings on campus. Not because of any training or particular forethought, but more so as a means of occupying their time and not feeling completely helpless, they have been recording the movements of the patrols through campus and along the secured fence. This had initially provided some modicum of excitement to distract them, but, as the units are unerringly predictable, their interest has faded quickly.