Darvon steadied himself next to Jessica, grimacing and gripping his side. He’d heaved two more times. She tried to ignore the stench. The soldiers seemed oblivious to both his pain and the puke.
“We’re at HQ,” Willet told her. “Back of the lines. We’ll get things sorted out here.”
Jess followed him to the ladder, helping Darvon up as best she could and they were soon exiting the tank.
Topside the fires of battle could be seen on the horizon, much farther away now. A fleet of parked vehicles surrounded the tank. To one side was a complex of tents, a large one nearby that could only be their headquarters. On the ground the red-headed commander was already waiting along with her small crew. The tank pinged and popped as it cooled in the night air.
“Here,” Darvon went ahead, mustering a determined moment of chivalry despite his ruined constitution. Jess let him. He climbed carefully down, slipping once, reached the ground awkwardly, braced himself and held up his hands for her. Of all of them Darvon was probably the only one that couldn’t jump safely from the tank. Jess had been about to, like the others were doing, but was touched by his effort to help. When he was ready she stepped down to the spur wheel and leaned into his waiting arms. He lowered her gently to the ground.
“Thanks,” she smiled. Willet was the last to jump down. He landed beside them and the group headed off to the large tent, led by the girl tank commander with the crazy red hair.
“I’m Satori,” she said as they slogged through the muck.
“Jessica.”
Satori nodded. “We’re deep in the heart of enemy territory, but I’m assuming you know that by now.”
Darvon stayed close, though Jess noted he was quite subdued. Her own insides were churning.
“You’re wanted by them,” Satori continued. “The device you found, the Kazerai you were seen with—these are elements of a plot that, frankly, has been the cause of a lot of heartache. We failed in our primary mission, now we’re dealing with the fallout. Let’s just say things are getting interesting.”
Jess felt a measure of importance at the way Satori addressed her, like she was a player in something big. Back home she was no one. Here, as the mysterious visitor from another world … here she was finding her place to be one of increasing consequence. Here she was integral to the fate of two whole societies. To the Conclave she was an angel. What would she be to these people?
That she could be any bigger than her own small, personal universe was starting to impinge.
It felt strangely liberating.
They entered the tent. Inside was a bustle of activity.
“Sir!” Satori called to a senior-looking official across the way. He turned immediately and headed over, brightening at the sight of them.
As he approached Jess absorbed the sea of humanity in the tent. Forty or more people busily working at screens or pouring over charts. There seemed to be three basic categories among them: other commanders, like Satori, both male and female, dressed in black uniforms with, perhaps the oddest feature, uniformly dyed, bright red hair; then there were what appeared to be the officers of the group, wearing crisp gray and black garb that looked for all the world like Nazi SS uniforms and, finally, several among them—like the man approaching now—who wore simple shades of brown.
Beyond the consistency of the uniforms she was struck by the diversity of the people wearing them. Male and female, black, white and several colors between. Mostly white, but there was a definite mix. More than she’d seen in the Conclave, or on the streets of the city. Willet was the first non-white or non-Asian person she’d seen on that world. Here in the good-guy tent there were many more.
“I’m Lindin,” the man in brown walked up.
“Jessica,” she reached a hand—realizing too late that a handshake might be a uniquely Earth thing.
But the man took it. He was handsome, this Lindin, in an older, George Clooney sort of way. It appeared he was probably in charge.
He released her hand and extended a shake to Darvon. “Lindin.”
Darvon gripped it. “Darvon.”
“You’re with the Conclave?”
Darvon nodded, mustering poise.
Lindin gave him a curt nod in return, impatient to move things along, then turned to Jess, a certain eagerness about him—no different than with the members of the Conclave. His interest, however, seemed much more informed. Jess could tell at once he, like they, saw in her salvation.
“Tell me about Horus,” he said. “Did he say anything? About the Icon? Did he know anything?”
She shook her head. “He lost his memory When I met him he had no recall of who he was or what he was doing.”
“Did you have any prior knowledge of it?”
“The Icon?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She realized her voice sounded a bit rude; like it was dumb of him even to ask. It had a tone of Why the hell would I know anything about it? She didn’t mean it that way. She shook her head. She was tired. “I’d say this whole thing was an accident. An accident that Horus ended up on my world, definitely an accident I ended up here.”
Lindin persisted. “When you split with him in the woods he still didn’t know who he was?”
“He was starting to recall bits and pieces.” As soon as she said this she saw the wrong ideas dawning in Lindin’s eyes. The idea that Zac was probably back to his old ways. The idea that Zac was a threat again.
She didn’t want those ideas to take hold. “He’s changed,” she said. “I keep hearing what he was like before. He’s not like that anymore. He rescued me. He helped me and we fought our way out of the city. If he’d truly gone back to his old ways he would’ve stayed. Taken me prisoner. When they came for him in the woods he was captured. He didn’t return to the Dominion on his own. He fought them.”
Lindin kind of shrugged. “I’m more interested in anything he mentioned about the device,” he said. “I’m going to need to know everything you know about it. Everything you learned.”
“I don’t really—”
He shook his head. “Not now. Let’s get you some rest.” It was clear he wanted to spend quality, focused time on this, to pick her brain. The anticipation of which brought an internal groan.
She just wanted to keep moving.
Lindin turned to Satori. “It’s late,” he said. “Get these two patched up and get them a rack till morning. I don’t want anyone else talking to them until I have a chance to come down.”
Satori nodded.
They left the tent. Jess committed herself to their hands, going silently as she and Darvon were taken from the bustle of HQ and back into the night, away from the noise and on to another tent. There they were given something to eat and left alone while other preparations were made. She and Darvon ate without comment, finishing at about the time armed escorts returned and showed them to a small, curtained section with a few field cots. Not much else was said, both of them exhausted. Jessica’s head throbbed, mighty pulses at her temples, and she wondered if this was what a hangover felt like. Weren’t you supposed to get hangovers after you slept?
Darvon’s pain had also intensified, he claimed, and they were both brought drugs. Pain reducers and other things to speed the healing. Jess had never been a fan of medication, but these she took happily. Anything that promised the recovery of normalcy.
When the escorts left she lay on the cot, on her back, clothes and boots still on, staring up at the darkened ceiling of the tent, mind buzzing, feeling the slowly building high of pleasant disconnection as the meds took hold …
And fell fast asleep.
* *
Willet walked across the common area of the tent, listening to the sounds of snoring. He’d stowed most of his gear, relaxed now in his urban camo and boots, and come to check on the detainees. A short distance away HQ was a madhouse, as it was round-the-clock, but this tent was, mostly, at peace.
He went to the area where the two fugitives slept, amazed at the volume of s
ound coming from their little area. Snoring that could wake the dead. At the curtain he drew it back and went into the dimly lit room.
The pudgy guy, Darvon, was sawing logs. Absolutely grinding them out. Gasps, slobbering jerks of his head and everything. The girl, Jessica, lay beside him on the other cot, completely quiet. Willet was surprised anyone could sleep within a hundred feet of that racket but there she was, out cold. So quiet, in fact, he grew concerned, went over and leaned close to make sure she was breathing.
She was.
Softly. Chest rising and falling gently.
In the dim light, the troubles of the day gone from her face, she radiated a childish vulnerability. Willet knew what she’d been through, knew the incredible challenges she’d overcome just to be laying there. She fought her way through more than the most battle-hardened soldier might’ve endured and come out alive and—at least physically—unbroken. Hard to put that with the image before him. The face of a helpless, harmless, inexperienced girl.
Maybe there was more to her than met the eye. Like Darvon insisted. Looking at her now, sleeping peacefully, serene … Willet could almost imagine she was an angel. A force beyond reckoning in the guise of a child.
Yes, he thought. Maybe she was.
Gently he pulled off her boots, found a blanket and covered her. Then, with one more glance at the loudly snoring Darvon, left for the HQ tent.
Outside he found Satori talking to another field commander. Willet snapped his heels briefly for them both, a cursory salute.
“Sirs,” he addressed.
“I’ll follow up on it,” the other said to Satori, nodded to both of them and went off into the night. Leaving Satori and Willet alone.
“Just wanted to see you before I hit the rack,” he said. Satori smirked.
“You know you’re crazy,” she informed him.
“I know.”
She looked up into his face. Admiring him.
“It’s all I’ve got, ma’am.” He smiled back. Satori couldn’t resist a laugh. Willet knew what she thought of him. Knew she thought he should be a commander like her. And he might be, if he wasn’t so good at what he did. Too bad, he thought. Where the two of them were concerned it would make things a whole lot easier.
Just then a change inside the tent, a sudden commotion, and at nearly the same time distant echoes of power rumbled in, heavy on the air, overlaying the faint sounds of combat. Willet looked toward the city, trying to catch sight of what he knew was making the artificial thunder.
“Come on,” he led Satori to the HQ tent.
Inside teams were checking readings.
“Confirmed,” a tech spoke loudly above the growing din. “The Ark of the Shogunate. His flagship, along with three escorts. Heading north.
“Projected path to fly wide of the conflict.”
The Dominion airships, while tremendously powerful, heavily armed and armored, were essentially targets due to their size and limited agility. Great for transport, great for making an impressive show of military might, they were rarely used in actual combat. Which meant these leaving now must be on a different mission.
“The Shogun is aboard,” another reported. Then: “Confirmed. Along with … the Guardian Council.” He added this last as if he couldn’t believe it.
“Flying low and fast. Picking up speed.”
If that report were true, thought Willet, it meant the entire mind of the Dominion was aboard those ships, right there in the open. In the middle of heated combat. That much was nearly unbelievable. Who would’ve decided to make such a strategically suicidal move? And why? Though in truth it was unlikely they would be accosted. Unlikely the Venatres could stage an attack fast enough to be of any use.
Lindin seemed to have the same thoughts running through his mind.
“Do we know where they’re headed?”
A moment later he had his answer.
“The Crucible.”
CHAPTER 25: THE CRUCIBLE
Morning glowed steel gray across the horizon, herald to the advance of the rising sun. Hours had passed. Ashikagi stared into the cloudless dawn, out the wide forward windows of his flagship, rage simmering as strongly now as it had been when they left the city. He’d been unable to contain it, unable even to rein it in, wrestling with it the entire journey, and now they were nearly arrived. And there it was. Their destination. Ahead, scrolling into view. He could just make out the walls of the mighty facility where the Kazerai were forged, seat of the Dominion’s greatest technological advancements.
The Crucible.
Oinana and the rest of the Council slept in their quarters aft of the bridge, deep in the heart of the ship. Kitana was with them, locked away, Horus held fast in the Raza field. Only Ashikagi and the crew remained awake. The crew out of duty, Ashikagi out of a rejection of such.
The insults of the witch, this time, were more than he could bear. More than he would allow. In the past he’d fumed silently at her antics, just as he was doing now, wondering where exactly the line lay. No more, he thought grimly. Now that line had most definitely been crossed. The only question that remained: how to solve it. Or, rather, at what moment.
Yes. That was the real question.
He’d already decided what must be done.
“Final approach, Lord,” came the report. His pilot adjusted course. To the sides their escorts followed, holding formation. Dunes rolled steadily beneath, at last coming under enough light to see color. Red and brown, stretching far and wide around the Crucible, surrounding it with a vast desert of sand and scrub. And there, growing more visible each second, the Crucible itself. Towering walls wrapping the dedicated compound. Buildings and machinery built to exacting specifications, technically efficient, there in support of a single, lethal purpose: To create the super-powered leaders of their vast legions. The Kazerai.
“Wake the Council,” he instructed.
Preparing himself for what lay ahead.
* *
Jessica woke to Darvon’s snoring. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, fighting a surge of panic as she remembered where she was. She lay back and collected her thoughts.
What time is it?
Was it morning yet?
She checked her watch. Six hours had passed since the last time she looked at it. Right before losing consciousness. No sign of daylight in their little area. No sunshine creeping in through any crack. Maybe it was still dark. If so morning couldn’t be far away.
Methodically she took stock of herself. Although disoriented and fearful all over again she felt, oddly, refreshed. Probably the drugs. Whatever they’d given her last night was working. She felt recharged and ready to go.
A snort from Darvon brought her attention to him. He lay on the cot beside hers, head back, mouth gaping and snoring loudly. Drooling. A glistening little streamer of spit pooled on his pillow. Lovely. Quite an unsavory image. She studied him—perhaps more closely than she had so far—becoming, in a way, kind of embarrassed for him. Darvon had zero sex appeal. Yet, there was something about him that made none of that really matter. Darvon was beyond friendly. He cared. He was sincere. He harbored no secrets. He was nice. That had to count for something. He certainly wasn’t trying to have sex appeal; just being himself. He really believed in her. She was sure he made an excellent husband. A great dad.
He was imperfect, but then most men were. Except in dreams, of course. She realized her thoughts were rambling but let them. Zac was nearly perfect, but he didn’t count somehow. Real men snored, burped and had bad habits. Sometimes they were stinky. They picked their nose and wiped the boogers, same as girls. They did annoying things.
Absently she wondered what it would be like to live with a man. Get ready in the morning alongside a man, shower and put on makeup while he shaved. Do everything together. Living together was way different than dating. Way different. With dating, as with dreams, you experienced only the best parts. When dating men didn’t mess up the bathroom or let their bad habits show. They held their
farts and generally tried to be on their best behavior. Usually. Girls too. It was courting, after all. The idea was to attract someone, not drive them away. But once you had them, once they were yours and you were living together …
People got sick. They had bad days. Weak moments. They threw up, like Darvon did last night. They snored, like Darvon was doing right now. And Jess wondered, was it just something you got used to? Must be. She imagined a future where she was married, prepared to tolerate a man, all his quirks—both less-than-pleasant and endearing. To let him be himself. In return she hoped he’d do the same for her.
He’d have to, because there was no way she was going years holding in her farts.
She heard footsteps in the common area and turned to the curtain. A moment later Satori poked in her head, confirmed she was awake and entered, followed by Willet.
Jess raised herself to her elbows. Her visitors took seats, bringing their gaze more level with her own.
“The Shogun left the city,” Satori told her.
Jess was at once surprised to hear the word “Shogun” and yet not surprised. Of course the Dominion would have a Shogun. Absently she wondered if it was the golden-robed man that came to capture Zac back in the woods.
“Leader of the Dominion military,” Satori went on. “He fled the city along with just about everything that matters to them, including Horus and the Icon.”
An empty feeling began growing in the pit of her stomach. In the back of her mind she’d already been planning how to get back into the city, how to make it to the towers, rescue Zac, retrieve the Icon and go home—with or without anyone’s help.
If this bit of news were true …
“Where did they go?” She tried to remain calm.
Satori couldn’t have cared less. “Does it matter?”
“A place called the Crucible,” Willet offered, more concerned with this than Satori—who, now that Jess noticed, seemed to be wondering why she and her junior officer were there at all. It made Jess feel this little visit must have been prompted by Willet. His expression was strained. That he cared, that he had enough concern for her to come, to let her know, touched her.
Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1) Page 24