Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)
Page 22
“I’m at five-alpha, nine-delta,” the man reported. “All of them are grouping here. Bunch of Astake; Itake. It’s like a reunion. They’ve definitely found something.”
Indeed they have, thought Willet, watching the formidable parade. As full of pomp as it was military might. He turned his attention back to the instruments.
“About a hundred more coming your way,” he confirmed.
He flipped a switch and began a feed to Commander Satori, along with their leaders back at HQ.
“Track their progress,” he gave the general order to his men, then began creeping closer, following the procession as it went.
The Dominion had found it.
* *
Lindin watched the various video feeds coming in from Satori’s recon unit. His advisers surrounded the screens with him.
He pointed to a group of warrior priests at the center of the image, confirming everyone’s suspicions. “There.”
Between them they directed a large, ornate vessel; a self-propelled crate, golden, inlaid with intricate carvings.
“The carrier for the Holy Relic.” He straightened.
“They have it.”
CHAPTER 23: WORLDS COLLIDE
The sounds of battle miles outside the city weighed heavy on the air, a distant bass pulse that seemed to go on without end. There were drops in volume, moments of apparent silence, but in all the clash just kept going, on and on and on. Jess tried to shut it out as she and Darvon drew closer to the Imperial Compound, heading through parts of the city devoid of activity, the marks of the conflict more and more frequent as they approached. Fires reflected in the sky, shots from heavy guns, explosions and massive impacts adding brilliant flashes to the hellish light. She found it hard to believe such incessant shelling was even possible.
Progress through the deserted streets was slow, partly as they chose their cover before making each move, mostly because the sake was, at least for her, making life a living hell. Liquid courage it might’ve been, at first, but now it was liquid lead. Her head throbbed, her stomach churned, the alcohol buzzed in her skull and the pain jabbed at her temples, nausea threatening at every turn, a tasty hurl just moments away.
She was miserable.
Darvon, on the other hand, seemed mostly fine. He acted no different than before. He wasn’t suffering, at least. It didn’t seem right that he’d subjected her to this. She had a good mind to take off running, force him to keep up so he could at least experience some of her misery. It wasn’t fair.
But running wasn’t smart. And so, thick-headed and wanting nothing more than to crawl into one of the dark alleys and curl up in a ball, she pressed on, stumbling along behind Darvon as he led them nearer their objective.
“Not far,” he said from up front, taking them down yet another dark avenue, then a cross-alley up to another street. He checked around the corner. Nothing in sight so he moved, sticking to the shadows.
“How will we get in?” he wondered, still doing her bidding but filled with doubt. He was leading them straight for the heart of the Dominion, to the inner compound and, if she had her way, would help her break in and rescue Zac.
“I don’t know.” She bit back another surge from her guts, not wanting to let the sake win. Thoughts for how to get into the inner, walled compound—or the tower holding Zac for that matter—so far failed to burden her. She looked up, into the sky, the towering spires rising above all other buildings. Not far now. Since her arrival she’d been running from one impossible challenge to the next. Escape from the city, escape from the woods, escape to the city. Now, with Darvon, escape from the police and on the move to the Imperial Compound, where their objective was held behind presumably massive defenses. Silly, really, to keep fostering this illusion. But at that point she couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t, in truth, think of anything else.
So on they went.
“Whoa,” Darvon froze, wavered, then ducked clumsily behind a staircase. Jess ducked with him, noticing a column of soldiers had appeared up the street. A bunch of them, crossing two blocks ahead, down one of the main thoroughfares; dozens of armored men, followed presently by the heavy footfalls of powered armor—the black and gold samurai machines like those Zac fought when they first arrived. Those in turn were followed by tanks more massive than any she’d seen on Earth, so wide they barely fit two-abreast on the multi-lane road. She perceived the thrum of the pavement beneath her as the weight of the armor lumbered along a good hundred yards away. Engines rumbled, hydraulics whined in discordant motion, boots struck the road. The sounds of battle outside the walls had until then concealed their approach, but with the procession in sight the volume of its passage overrode all else.
“It’s an Imperial March,” said Darvon, awed.
Then a voice behind them.
“Don’t move.”
Jess jumped and whirled, coming face to face with ...
A soldier. With a rifle. Standing a few paces behind, gun trained on them. Darvon bit back a scream and Jess wondered, in that same instant, that his reaction was more girly than her own.
But his manliness recovered, too much and all at once, and he ran foolishly at the guy—who obviously far outmatched him. Rather than shoot, however, the guy simply stepped to the side and chopped Darvon in the neck, sending him skidding to the sidewalk. Darvon went down like a stone and lay sprawled on the pavement. The soldier returned his attention to her. She stared at the rifle, eyes wide, heart racing, blood gone to ice. Adrenaline was shooting through her and, for the moment, had dispatched the painful traces of alcohol. The soldier wore urban camo and was dark-skinned, a black man, and that very nearly surprised her as much as anything else. Of all the people she had seen on this world, none had been black. This was the first.
But those thoughts were fleeting. The man’s origins, his allegiance ... all she knew was she stared down the barrel of a gun. An assault rifle; smooth bore as far as the light shone in, dark death beyond that. She cringed in anticipation of being shot, squinting reflexively, wondering if she should at least be trying something. Anything but stand there and take a bullet. Only, why was he staring at her like that?
“You’re the girl from the video,” he said, blatant curiosity in his voice. And of all the things he could’ve said, that was the last thing she would’ve expected.
The girl from the video?
Another soldier came around the corner behind him, a white guy but otherwise outfitted the same, glanced casually at the felled Darvon, did a mental shrug as if to say, “Ah, yes. Of course. A fat guy laying in the street,” then went over to the other side of the alley as if all were business as usual.
Both soldiers wore stylized urban camo, dark gray patterns on what looked to be black, fabric armor, boots, gloves, skull caps, face paint; all sorts of devices and other weapons snugged into belts around waist and chest.
The one facing her lowered his gun and came closer.
“I’m Captain Willet,” he said, apparently not intending to shoot her after all. She relaxed a little. He had straight posture, a classic military bearing, strong set to his jaw, easy voice and piercing eyes. Up close he looked like a guy from a Marine commercial; clean-cut, square-jawed, young, intense and handsome.
The Few, the Proud.
She decided to give him her name. “Jessica.”
He looked at her. Now that he seemed to be putting things together he was starting to look confused.
“We thought you fled the city.”
Her scrambled, alcohol-fogged brain struggled to make sense of these new developments.
“Who?” she fumbled. “Who thought I fled? You guys? Are you the guard from the city?” She tried to recall particulars of the city guard at the gate through which she and Zac fled. Were these more of those guys? “Dominion?” Something about them made her think they weren’t.
He shook his head. “Venatres. Special Recon. Been in the city since shortly after you arrived. We found the destroyed Astake.”
; Destroyed Astake? Bits of possibilities formed at the edge of her awareness, making her think back to the samurai robots Zac pummeled when they first arrived.
“Video records from those units showed you and one of the Kazerai. Horus,” Willet confirmed her conclusion.
Ah. The girl from the video. The samurai—Astake—must’ve filmed her and Zac.
“We thought you made it out of the city,” he said. “Horus was captured. We weren’t sure what happened to you.”
She watched as he kept checking furtively up the street, observing the distant procession. She noticed a concealed earpiece, which probably fed him information as he stood there, in tune with many things at once; his conversation with her, reports coming in, the huge mass of forces up the street.
She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the Imperial Compound, where she and Darvon had been headed. “I got away,” she said. “I followed them here.”
Now Willet looked at her more closely. Seemed to be thinking: How did she get away when they captured a Kazerai?
“I was on my way to rescue him,” she explained.
Now she had his full attention.
“You were …”
But Darvon was stirring, trying to rise. Willet nudged him with his boot.
“Come on,” he encouraged as Darvon slowly got his bearings. “Get up.” Darvon struggled to all fours, groaning, looked at Willet, rubbed his head and got all the way to his feet, then staggered over to stand near Jessica.
Willet addressed them both. “All right. Who’s going to tell me what’s going on?”
“She’s from Heaven,” Darvon rubbed his neck vigorously. Then, obviously feeling a little silly yet full of conviction added: “She’s an angel.”
Willet stared at him.
“We’re here to find the Icon,” Darvon continued his account. “She’s taking it home.”
Willet, for whatever reason, took no issue with this. Instead he looked up the street, over their heads at the armored procession. “Well, you’re too late.”
At that Jess whirled, suddenly alarmed, craning to see the mass of armored troops moving up the street. Could it—
“That little party is returning to the Imperial Compound,” Willet informed them. “They just found it. The Dominion has the Icon.” Then, voice heavy with sarcasm: “Back to square one.”
Jess looked away, trying with difficulty to convince herself that, maybe, this was a good thing. That, at least, now she knew where to find it. Now, at least, the Icon would be in the same place as Zac. The Dominion had both. Find Zac, find the Icon. One mission instead of two. Much better.
Much better.
She nearly cried, but the improbability of that fanciful thinking failed to weigh on her as she knew it should.
Darvon spoke directly to her, ignoring Willet. “What do we do?” he asked.
Willet looked at them both, kind of like they’d lost their minds. “Do?” he said. “You’re not going to ‘do’ anything.”
Before either could protest some sort of communicator hooked to his chest beeped and he thumbed it.
A female voice on the other end spoke: “We’ve been watching the feeds.”
“There’s something else,” Willet glanced at Jessica. “We’ve found the girl.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Near the procession,” Willet explained. “Somehow she got back into the city. I’ve talked to her and it’s definitely her.”
The voice digested this.
Decided: “Prep for regroup,” it ordered. “Withdraw your men. Give me coordinates and I’ll meet for extraction.”
To the side Jess listened to this, disappointment on the rise. Fear of losing the Icon to the Dominion was already being displaced by the frustration of this new, looming impediment. It was starting to sound as if she was going to be dragged off against her will. Though Willet seemed nice—and was apparently one of the good guys—she didn’t want to go. “Extracting” with him would mean leaving everything behind. An end to her objective, her mission and God knew when she’d have another shot at Zac or the Icon.
Willet acknowledged the order and closed the channel.
Jess got his attention. “Just leave us here,” she said.
“Not an option.” It was quick, it was curt; a simple statement of fact. Willet took a moment to study more of the procession in the distance as his partner behind him continued a vigilant scan of the rest of the area.
And Jessica’s heart sank. The game was over. For real this time. And as the realization washed over her she very nearly collapsed. She’d been running on adrenaline so long, the knowledge that everything was suddenly at an end threatened to take the legs right out from under her. These guys, the good guys, had her. And they weren’t going to let her continue.
Should she just take off running? Now, before they could stop her? Jump out into that huge, deadly procession, wrest the Icon from whoever held it, activate it and take her chances? Willet probably wouldn’t shoot her.
All or nothing …
He turned his attention to Darvon.
“What’s your deal?” he asked. “Why are you with her?” Darvon was blank at first, but Jess could see his unwillingness to give up as he rose in her defense. Again it touched her and, again, it was pointless.
“We’re on a mission,” he said. “You’re making a big mistake.”
“I think you’re a Dominion agent,” Willet ignored his assertions.
Pride surfaced. “I’m a member of the Conclave,” Darvon pulled himself tall. “She came to us for help.”
“The Conclave?”
“I’m sure you haven’t heard of it.”
“I’ve heard of it. I can’t believe they’d be part of this.” But then Willet seemed to consider everything that had happened so far. “Still, I don’t have any way to confirm your story, so for now you’re suspect.”
He looked at Jessica.
“You too,” he said. “For all I know you’re mixed up with the Dominion. You did aid a Kazerai, after all.”
She stared at him, not liking this new turn of the conversation. Not liking it at all.
Then Willet relaxed his gaze. “Though I think it’s more likely you’re not. Still, I have to be obsessively cautious.” He smiled, unexpectedly, teeth white, friendly. “It’s in my job description.” And with that simple action he was human again.
His partner got his attention. “Looters,” he warned, suddenly on high alert, looking back up the alley at something he’d just seen. Willet turned to him.
“Damn,” the guy cursed. “They saw us.”
Willet raised his gun to follow. “I’ll be back,” he looked at the two of them. “Running is pointless. You’ll just create more problems for yourself.”
Jess studied him, wondering why he was about to leave them. Whatever the significance of the looters, it was clear Willet had to go. But he took a moment to speak directly to her.
“We may be able to help,” he said, an unexpected gesture and it softened her resistance. Maybe she could find a way around this and still get what she was after.
She looked at Darvon, who was thoroughly committed to whatever she chose.
“We’ll be here,” she said, wondering if she should really make that promise but it was too late.
Willet nodded and was gone, around the corner out of sight, following his partner. She listened to the diminishing sound of their bootfalls behind the steady rumble of slow, mechanized armor down the street.
Soon the last ones had passed and those sounds, too, faded, leaving an ominous quiet in their wake. She turned to peek over the staircase, seeing the last column of Dominion soldiers march by.
All at once the streets were empty.
Eerily so.
For a long moment she gazed at the stark barrenness, an alien place, so far from home, fighting back despair.
She took a deep breath. “Looks like we don’t have many options,” she turned back to Darvon …
He jumped and she suppressed a scream as she went down, catching glimpse of two more before this one smothered her to the ground. She heard Darvon’s yells as the others attacked.
And she was, quite suddenly, in a fight for her life. The shock of it overwhelmed her. The man was unbearably heavy, body much bigger than her own, hands fighting for her throat. She thrashed instinctively against his efforts, primal, like a wild animal, freaked and suddenly alive with motion. Her arms and legs whipped, body too squirmy for him—the only thing that saved her in those first few instants. But it couldn’t last. He was definitely going to win. He was so much stronger, so much bigger …
Memories. Touching at the edges of her frenzied panic. Jiu Jitsu, not practiced in years; later, Mixed Martial Arts. From her youth, this situation one she’d practiced on the mats time and again. Those were controlled settings, though. This was chaos; crazy, emotional insanity—hardly like those staged scenarios—yet, the man knew nothing of fighting. Through the fear and the pain she could tell that much. He was simply trying to crush her with his superior mass.
Training flitted across her embattled mind, body positions, muscle movements. Locks. She recognized an opening, grabbed one of his arms, concentrated and followed through to execute an arm bar. To her great satisfaction she locked it on the first try. Yes! And it all came flooding back. The man withdrew, unable to jerk away, attention now fully on this compromising position and the pain it threatened to inflict.
But rage consumed her. Rage at this man who’d hurt her, who came from nowhere, bent on who knew what horrible thing. In class the opponent would “tap” at this point and the conflict would be over. Not here. With grim bloodlust she pulled hard at the lock, harder than she ever had in her life, sinking her legs into it, her whole body, pulling with seething exertion against his greater strength while he thrashed, Jess finding herself afraid he might actually get free in his panic …
He screamed, joints popping in the entirely wrong direction. He jerked in howling pain and she released him, the damage done and seeing red.