Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  Horus looked as if he might actually break free.

  The old witch was bigger than Kitana but weaker, and the young girl appeared ready to take any abuse the hag chose to dish out.

  Abruptly an aide swept into the room. “My Lady,” he called, breathless, drawing everyone’s attention from the sad scene. Oinana turned to him, chest heaving with anger and the physical effort.

  The man approached, taking stock of the situation he’d barged in on but clearly on too important a mission to be distracted.

  “The Icon has been found,” he reported. Oinana’s eyes widened at his words, awareness shifting instantly from the depths of desperate anger that had only just consumed her. The aide stopped. In the next instant Oinana put the current scene fully behind, rising quickly to the news.

  “Don’t touch it!” she came alive. “Muster all patrols to its location!” She fairly ran to Ashikagi, robes sweeping out behind her. “Guard it until a delegation arrives!”

  Ashikagi came alert, mentally trying to stay one step ahead.

  “With me, Shogun,” she hurried across the room, summoning her cadre of priest warriors. Ashikagi followed in turn.

  Mind racing.

  CHAPTER 22: PARTY TIME

  Timidly Jessica followed Darvon into the noisy bar. It was a true bar, not a club or even a restaurant, everyone just kind of standing around, drinking and talking loudly. A pub. Music played but it was merely part of the background; lower than the din of voices, no one dancing. It had a mellow beat, Jess noted, and the bar itself was not unlike those she’d seen in countless movies. As with everything else in the city it was devoid of the marks of capitalism. No neon beer signs. No posters for sporting events. No nutty memorabilia; no kayaks, hockey sticks or other crazy decorations nailed to the walls. Just a watering hole, full of people in drab black clothing. Like an old Eastern Bloc pub, she imagined, from the distant Cold War.

  As they entered she looked around, feeling like a beacon though the jumpsuit and boots she wore looked like everyone else’s. In fact, considering herself objectively, she totally fit in. Still, the police must surely have put out an APB.

  Discretely she whispered in Darvon’s ear. “Someone will recognize us.” Her senses were shifting to this new threat. So many people in there that might spot them …

  It struck her that people were there at all, enjoying a night out when war raged just miles from the city gates. This part of the city hadn’t been evacuated but it seemed there should at least be a curfew. People should be inside, waiting nervously by the radio or TV for news. Not partying in the local pub.

  Fearfully she reached for Darvon’s arm. He smiled and walked her over to the bar.

  “Sake,” he said to the bartender, then turned to wait.

  “You guys have sake?” she kept her voice low, though she hardly needed to among the cacophony of conversations.

  Darvon nodded. “The Emperor’s gift.”

  She watched as the bartender brought two small china cups and a small bottle. Darvon paid him something as Jess eyed the cups. Was she to drink too? It appeared so. How much more growing up would she do before this ordeal was over? Already she was in a fight for her life. She’d found her way out of alien woods, in the dark, in the rain, alone. She was driving, had just been in a high-speed chase, run from the police, was helping a revolution … Now, it appeared, she was about to drink openly in a bar.

  All this in one day.

  Darvon filled both small cups. He set the bottle down and lifted his, waiting. Hesitantly she lifted the one he’d poured for her. He raised a salute, smiled and brought it to his lips, tilted his head and drank it down in one swallow. She followed.

  Grimacing instantly. Wow! It burned! It was nasty, and … it felt like fire in her belly. She could feel the liquid; like, actually feel its shape fanning through her in a wave of heat.

  “The Emperor’s gift?” she croaked.

  Darvon had hardly any reaction. She, on the other hand, stood there unable to stop wincing, smacking her lips until it went away. He wasted no time pouring another. She watched his face as he did. Jovial cheeks, easy smile, balding head and sparkling eyes; thinking to herself he probably did a lot of drinking. Thinking, in that same instant, this was probably one of the friendliest men she’d ever met.

  He noticed her staring. “You remind me of my oldest daughter,” he said, handing her another small cup. “She’s about the same age as you, I imagine.”

  “Oh yeah?” Jess finally managed to stop squinting. “Do you bring her out drinking too?”

  He totally missed the sarcasm. “Sometimes.”

  What an interesting world.

  Bracing herself, she shot the next one down—grimacing even harder the second time. Yikes! Drinking wasn’t pleasant.

  But, though the action of drinking may not have been pleasant, it was giving her a pleasant feeling. And that was after only two. Was this how people became alcoholics?

  “I can’t believe the way you drove that thing!” Darvon enthused suddenly. “You were amazing!” And already he was pouring a third.

  “Shhh!” she hushed him, looking around nervously. Then: “Should we really be drinking?” Their ordeal was far from over. Getting drunk didn’t seem smart.

  To that he just smiled and handed her the next round. “Liquid courage,” he raised the little cup. Reluctant, Jess decided to follow his lead. She raised hers and together they knocked back another. She bit back a gasp.

  “See?” he grinned. “It’s working already.”

  And she had to admit it was. That warm feeling in her belly was turning rapidly into a warm feeling in her head.

  As he poured another he continued to ogle her in amazement.

  “Where did you learn to drive like that?” He could scarcely believe what she’d done. Neither could she. He handed her the cup and, bracing herself yet again, she chugged it down. Wow! She set the cup aside, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and steadied herself against the bar.

  “I don’t know,” she said, voice hoarse—noting with some relief that he wasn’t refilling the cups. For the moment he seemed content, elbows on the bar, letting the alcohol do its work. She relaxed a little too, the buzz sensation growing by the second.

  “I drove some in a parking lot with my dad,” she said. “Just practicing parking and stuff. My sister let me drive a few times. Illegally, of course.”

  Her driving tonight had been remarkable, no doubt.

  She looked around the bar, letting those thoughts go for the moment.

  She’d never been drunk. Once or twice she’d sipped a beer, to be social with other kids that were doing it. To not be laughed at, mostly. Always she felt guilty afterward. Never had she gotten more than a buzz. Now this sake was really starting to take hold and she did, indeed, feel less vulnerable than when they walked in.

  Liquid courage.

  Darvon turned back to the bottle, pouring round number five. Before common sense could advise otherwise she accepted the cup and drank it down. Deciding as the burning shot assaulted her that this must definitely be the last.

  She moved further from the bottle and made herself a little more space at the bar, leaning back and trying to relax.

  Across the way she spotted a group of three guys. Just as she did they looked away, all of them, as if they’d been watching her. Part of her realized that, under other circumstances, she’d probably introvert, become embarrassed or self-conscious to be looked at by a table full of guys, but right then she didn’t care. The boys were cute. They reminded her of college guys. They dressed like everyone else, which was to say drab, and for that she couldn’t blame them—they were part of an evil regime, after all—but though that was true she had to believe they were probably normal people at heart. Looking at them talking and laughing made her think so. Everyone in there couldn’t be an evil-minded Dominion fanatic. People were people, wherever you went, and bad governments didn’t mean the man in the street was also bad. Darvon, stand
ing next to her, was a prime example.

  He started to pour another and she held up a hand. Wishing she’d stopped sooner. Content, he poured himself one and drank it down. For her the effects of the rice wine kept growing and she began to worry, wondering if five of the small shots was too much. Was she going to pass out? Darvon’s tolerance was far greater than her own. She looked him over. Though not much taller than her he had to be at least twice her weight. Plus he was older and had probably been drinking a long time. As the comfortable feeling continued to seize her in its grip, getting stronger, she leaned back against the bar and tried to focus.

  What now? The question pressed on her even as the alcohol exerted its influence, giving distance to her thoughts. Steal another car? Head for the two towers?

  “Been here before?” The voice startled her. She jerked—too much, even under the circumstances—feeling an immediate flush of embarrassment as she looked sharply into the eyes of the boy standing there. One of the college guys from the table. The medium-height one, about a head taller than her, slim and fit, brown hair, warm smile and friendly eyes. He didn’t seem to take notice of her reaction as he leaned against the bar beside her, drink in hand, clumsily trying to appear at ease.

  “No,” she said, temples pulsing. Then: “Have you?”

  He smiled wryly. “Too often. Helps me put the day behind.” He tried to laugh, then added somewhat nervously: “I work at the Ministry. Fun stuff.” She could tell, obviously, that the Ministry must not be fun at all. Further, it seemed like she should know that. That he was so obviously nervous in her presence was flattering, but all she really wanted was for him to go away. She could see his buddies watching intently from across the room.

  She glanced at Darvon, who followed the conversation with interest. “I’m with him,” she said awkwardly, completely out of context to the current, short conversation. Darvon didn’t seem to care much if she wanted to talk to a cute boy.

  “Great,” the boy said, preparing for an introduction. “This your dad?”

  “Boyfriend,” she replied, and as the words tumbled from her mouth—no thought behind them—she stopped cold.

  What?! The statement replayed in her mind, cheeks flushing, face suddenly burning hot.

  Boyfriend?!

  But it was too late to take it back.

  Idiot!

  “Oh,” the guy’s expression straightened—at once dejected and … confused. The moment suddenly became terribly uncomfortable. The alcohol, her embarrassment—she could feel sweat beading on her brow.

  “Well,” he said, “sorry for the interruption. I was just looking for someone to talk to.” He indicated his friends with a glance back at the table, trying to salvage a bit of his good humor. “Those guys were starting to bore me.”

  Jess forced a smile, wishing this whole scene were going down differently. Perhaps under other circumstances she’d enjoy having a conversation with a boy like this. Here and now, however, all that was shot.

  He excused himself and headed back to his “boring” friends. When he was gone she turned to Darvon, head now unbearably tight with the rice wine.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled an apology.

  “I think he saw I was married,” Darvon reached and touched a silver chain around his neck. Jess swallowed. She’d noticed the chain before but didn’t pay it much attention. Was that what you wore on this world if you were married?

  Great. Of course he was married. He had kids, didn’t he?

  Now she felt even worse. In this spontaneous little ruse, where she could’ve made believe anything, could’ve been anyone, she’d unwittingly painted herself as a home-wrecking hussy. A little Lolita. What is your problem? Suddenly she was self-conscious to be looked at by the table full of guys.

  “It’s okay,” Darvon noticed her discomfort and spoke to allay it: “I don’t mind. After all, how many guys like me get to date an angel?” He grinned.

  And she wondered, for a moment, if she should have another drink. Or two. Utter oblivion was looking pretty good right then.

  But Darvon pressed on. “We should continue,” he said. It took her a second to realize he wasn’t talking about the whole married man / boyfriend thing. He was referring to the real task at hand: their mission. And it struck her; he was looking to her for ideas, and that, too, took a moment to sink in. She was the leader here, the one he was expecting to solve things. And, whether from the alcohol, the humiliation of her little faux pas or any number of other possibilities, she decided to confide in him. She’d been planning to divulge her intentions anyway, before the cops threw everything off track.

  She looked him right in the eyes, very serious. “We’ve got to rescue Zac,” she announced. “I mean Horus,” she slurred. The sake was definitely messing with her. “It’s the only way.”

  “Horus?” Darvon was drunk too, she could see it, though not nearly as drunk as her. Concern fell immediately across his happy expression.

  She nodded; too much, too forcefully. “He can help us.”

  “But … he’s Kazerai.”

  “I don’t know what or who he was before,” she leaned closer, using her hands to make the point—recognizing the signs of inebriation yet unable to rein them in, “but he’s changed. He’s not the bad guy. I can tell you that. For sure.” Then: “He can help me get back. He can help us find the Icon. I need him. I owe it to him to rescue him.

  “He saved my life.”

  Darvon considered this. Considered her determination. More than anything, he considered her. Jess was nearly without question in his eyes; already she’d proven that. A power beyond him, in his estimation, and she’d proven that too. She could see he wanted to believe her. Wanted to help.

  “Are you with me?” she gave him the option, though she was certain of his answer.

  “Yes,” he said and she, nevertheless, sighed in relief. A bigger sigh than she might’ve made ordinarily, but in her drunken state she seemed to be exaggerating everything; gestures, body motions, speech and expressions. Under the influence of the sake it was like she was becoming Jessica Two-Point-Oh.

  Ugh. Jessica Oh-Point-Oh was more like it. Everything had become so distant. Dull. Like she was going backward; losing ground, not gaining it.

  “I don’t know how you intend to do it,” he said, “but I’m with you.”

  And as he said this the sudden thought of his family, of his kids, came flooding to her addled mind—as if she’d totally forgotten that element—and wrecked her drunken eagerness. Was this right? Was it actually even right to ask? To keep dragging him further into this mess? He’d volunteered but should she just send him home? Go on alone? If he went now he could slip back to his family life without incident. No one yet knew he was involved. Surely the police didn’t have a positive ID.

  Go home! At least one of them could be normal again.

  “Actually, Darvon,” she slurred, fascinated by these changing mannerisms, “you shouldn’t come. You’ve got a family. If I knew that before I wouldn’t have let you come in the first place. You go home.” She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  But he just looked perplexed. “I can’t,” he said. “Not now.”

  “Why? We escaped the police. You’re in the clear.”

  “My family knows what I’m involved in.” He leaned closer, confiding in her. “We’re in this to change history. I’m closer now than I’ve ever been.

  “We’ve always known my life could be forfeit.”

  She looked at him, at this friendly family man, sadness rising like she’d never felt before. For a moment she struggled with the urge to weep.

  “We never wanted it,” he went on and she really wanted to bawl. “We never wanted me to make a sacrifice. But we’ve always been ready. You need me. I’m with you.

  “We’ll finish this,” he assured her. “Together.”

  She sniffed; collected herself. “Thank you.” She patted him, “Thank you.” Deciding to accept his choice.

  He shook his hea
d. “I just don’t know why a Kazerai matters.”

  “He matters,” she said, slurring again. “He matters.”

  Darvon nodded, willing to accept her guarantee.

  “We should go then,” he suggested.

  He left a tip on the bar, took her arm and they headed out. She steadied herself against him, no doubt making a good show of it for the boys at the table. From their point of view the drunken, underage sweetie was taking her sugar daddy home for a little fun.

  The truth they would never guess. That she was from another world, there with a member of an underground resistance, plotting to infiltrate the tallest buildings in this very city, rescue one of their superhuman Kazerai and steal the Holy Icon from the very government they worked for.

  Yeah, she smirked to herself.

  They’d never figure that one out.

  Drink up, she thought. In the morning your job at the Ministry will be the least of your concerns.

  * *

  “Well, well, well,” Captain Willet mumbled to himself from his hidden position. A delegation of clerics was emerging from the South Gate of the Imperial Compound, directly ahead. He crouched deeper into the shadows, bringing up a pair of field glasses.

  One of his men reported in, from a position atop a roof about a mile away, corroborating what he was seeing; aerial and ground-level views combined to generate full imagery and information on the procession.

  Willet whistled softly. A veritable army was leaving the compound, moving methodically, heading south. Armored vehicles at the front and sides, bracketing ranks of lumbering tanks and Astake powered armor, inside several cadres of regular infantry and, finally, the clerics and priest warriors themselves. Feeds showed even the Shogun was among them, right there at the center.

  This had to be it.

  “Got something,” one of his other men reported, farther away, on patrol in the evacuated areas of the city.

  Willet checked his readings.