Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  “I know.”

  “You could die out there.” Momentary sadness flashed across her otherwise harsh expression. Satori was nothing if not tough, but Willet had learned she was entirely woman beneath that hard exterior. Prone to injecting feelings into any situation, combat or otherwise.

  “I can die here, too,” he said.

  “Don’t be an ass.” She was unamused. “Staging a raid on the Crucible …” She glared at him.

  “Crazy, I know,” he came closer, deciding to break protocol. This was no longer a discussion between commander and junior. “But it can work. You know me. I’m an operator.”

  “An operator with orders! What’s gotten into you? Why are you taking up this cause?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Suddenly her plea became heartfelt. “I can’t let you.” Unconsciously she was shaking her head and Willet knew the argument was all but won. Yet, even as he realized this, the full import of what he was about to do hit him square between the eyes. Why did he want to do this? To help a lost girl get home? To keep a promise? Be a hero? To be known throughout history as the man who ripped the heart from the Dominion? Perhaps a bit of each; heroics plus destiny.

  Or perhaps he was a little crazy.

  “I can’t,” she repeated, softly, trying in vain to resist him even as the last shreds of her defense ripped silently away. And, with no warning, he bent and kissed her. Right there, where anyone could see, in uniform, in the open. But no one saw. No one was there. Just the two of them.

  Satori’s beautiful lashes fluttered.

  Willet lingered. She clung to him and he saw the strength of the emotions washing over her, felt her shudder as, for an instant, her commander’s veneer shattered and fell away. When he pulled back her expression had softened. He felt a subtle grin working its way across his face, despite his best effort to contain it.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  To which he smiled wider. “I know.”

  She straightened; stood taller. As tall as she could, still many long inches shorter than him. Trying, it seemed, to switch back to the mode of commander. Not the silly girl she looked in that moment, gushing over a brassy, hopeless man, whom she might follow to the ends of the world.

  “How do you even intend to do it?” There was no hope in her question, failure a given in her tone.

  “Easy.” He knew that would frustrate her further, but what he had in mind basically was. He’d thought of an idea. One that just might work, in view of everything they knew.

  “Tell me,” her tone remained filled with skepticism.

  “Take a small ‘thopter in low,” he said. “Get close.”

  She nodded. “Mmm hm.”

  “Infiltrate the Crucible in Skull Boys. Use the jump jets, jump the wall, get the Icon … and use it.”

  “Use it?” She was incredulous.

  Willet shrugged. “Horus used it and went to her world, then he came back with her. I should be able to do the same in reverse. I think we now know how this thing works. It connects those two places. So we storm in, too fast for their defenses to stop us, get the Icon and use it. Take her back, then I use it again and come back over Osaka. Raiding the Crucible only has to be a one-way trip. We only have to get in, not out.”

  Once again Satori was shaking her head. At everything. “We may not even be here by then.”

  “It won’t take long. You’ll be here.”

  “The exit point over Osaka is a thousand foot fall.”

  “Jump jets,” he said, simply. Of course he had no certainty on whether or not the Icon would actually work like he described, but so far it had, so why not again? He forced a smile. “It’s a perfect solution. I land back here, inside the city walls, give you a call and you come pick me up.”

  Simple.

  When she remained speechless he added: “We get her home and we steal the Icon from the Dominion.”

  As Satori stood there, continuing to shake her head, Willet worked hard to maintain that cavalier view. This was probably one of the easiest ways to die he’d ever dreamed up.

  “You know I can’t authorize it,” she informed him.

  “I know.”

  “You have to go alone.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t officially know about it. As your commander it can’t be done with my permission. There’s no way—”

  “I’m not looking for my commander’s permission.” And as she grasped his meaning he saw her weaken more.

  He let his expression ease. “I don’t care about the orders of some stupid commander. If that was the only thing stopping me I’d be on my way already. I won’t do this without your permission.”

  He looked deep into her eyes.

  She tried to be firm. “This is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done. Ever.”

  “I know.”

  He was her man. They’d been playing hard-to-get for what felt like forever, but they both knew they were meant to be. Since Willet’s ridiculous advances, improper, against the rules and everything else, Satori had been hooked and he knew it. She knew it. They could play games all they wanted, but the fact was the deal had been sealed long ago. And now he was asking to run off to his doom. Would she allow it?

  “You’ll be reported AWOL.” She kept talking, kept trying to point out all the reasons this was wrong. “I can’t hold things up, I can’t make them wait for you. I can’t shield you from punishment. Lindin will shit. You know how badly he wants whatever she knows.”

  Willet leaned closer. He didn’t want to leave any more than she wanted him to go. Satori was incredible. Strong. Beautiful. The perfect woman, as far as he was concerned. “She can’t tell Lindin anything. She doesn’t know anything. She’s just a girl who got caught up in this somehow. We lose nothing by doing this.”

  “That’s not the point. This is a huge violation of orders.”

  “If I fail,” he smiled, “it won’t matter. If I succeed—which I will—I’ll be a hero and they’ll be too happy to care.”

  She shook her head. “I hate you.”

  “You said that.”

  He gazed into her upturned face, the uniform and all else fading. All he saw was her, at once gorgeous and … sad. Bright red hair framing those piercing blue eyes, growing heavy with the tears she fought valiantly to resist. Satori was Gyo Tai, of the Royal Race, and in fact had, much to her patriotic consternation, once been Dominion. When she was a child her parents were well-placed within the hierarchy of the most powerful government on Anitra, themselves Gyo Tai, Satori destined for royal rank. She would’ve been a princess. But her parents defected when she was little, raising her as a Venatres where she had, ironically, become a vehement enemy of her own legacy.

  In addition, then, to being an amazing girl, Satori epitomized for Willet a certain conviction. The conviction that birthright, race or other measures mattered little. Anyone could do the right thing. Even members of the Dominion, as that Darvon guy back there was no doubt doing. Anyone could be better than their environment. It was a sense of the greatest good that made people what they were. Personal integrity.

  Satori had been born Dominion but that didn’t matter.

  He put a hand to her cheek.

  “And to think you could’ve been a princess.”

  It was enough to turn the moment. Her face broke into a smile; gentle laughter that shook loose the tears building in the corners of her eyes. Willet smiled at the contrast. Beautiful smile, tears trickling down her cheeks. It was the face of acceptance.

  Of hope.

  It was how he would remember her.

  CHAPTER 27: IT BEGINS

  Dawn broke on the horizon as the three figures made their way across the aerodrome. The sun climbed above distant hills, shining dull red through bands of thin clouds, the early morning sky a beautiful, pale blue.

  Jess followed Willet, sticking close, Darvon right behind. Somehow Darvon managed to get himself included, and as Jess glanced at the sweaty e
ffort on his cherubic face, crouching and running clumsily between cover, she wondered how she’d failed to deny him. There was no way he could be anything but a liability on this epic little adventure, and it crushed her to think she might be responsible for his capture or even death and, for his family, the loss of their husband and father.

  His argument—for he had to have an argument, a reason that made sense to the rest of them (though Jess knew he did what he did exclusively for her)—was that when he and Willet returned he could easily sneak off into Osaka and go home. Slip back into his secret life with no one the wiser. It was, according to Darvon’s assertions, the perfect plan. For now Willet hadn’t argued, and Satori was done arguing, with any of it—she’d said her piece and they were all against her anyway—and so Darvon got himself invited.

  There was still, of course, the matter of Zac. Jessica’s hidden intentions where that was concerned burned in her thoughts, and when the time came, when the Icon was there and Zac was too, she was saving him and bringing him with.

  What would happen after that … she had no idea. And just how many bodies this “Icon” could transport … Now there was Darvon, plus add Zac, plus she and Willet and Darvon would each be wearing one of the massive Skull Boy suits of armor so that was really, like, a dozen bodies in mass …

  The details of all this had long since begun to hurt her head.

  Willet hurried across the open field to the next cover. The three of them picked their way among a veritable parking lot of flying machines, helicopters of a sort that looked not unlike giant metal dragonflies. Ornithopters, they were called, and Jess found herself fascinated with their functional aesthetic. Of every machine she’d seen so far on this world, including even the thunderous airships, these were by far the most alien.

  One of these ornithopters would take them, then the Skull Boys were how they were actually going to do this. Suits of powered armor they would wear to raid the Crucible. And, despite the looming danger of what they set off to do, Jess could not wait for the crash course in operating one. It was a strange mix of feelings as they scurried across the field; the anticipation of doing something cool, running right alongside the anticipation of dying.

  I love my life.

  Willet steered them wide around the minimal security posted at the perimeter, there to keep an eye on the hundreds of ‘thopters used to transport the Venatres army to the outskirts of Osaka. Each machine looked essentially the same, rugged, mechanical dragonflies, noses canted down, long tails angled up at the rear, wide wings sweeping out to the sides. They seemed to come in three basic sizes: small, not-so-small, and huge. The huge ones, she imagined, must’ve been used to bring the tanks and other heavy machines. The rest probably brought the soldiers.

  Willet led them toward one of the smaller ones, itself about as big as a large helicopter from Earth. Like a helicopter it had bay doors on each side, open in wait, a cockpit at the front. Willet cautioned them for a minute, waving she and Darvon to cover, then flagged them on to the waiting craft.

  Inside the ‘thopter he had them crouch briefly while he paused to look out the open door, then around the interior. Taking stock of the machinery or steeling his resolve, Jess couldn’t be sure.

  While he began checking things she turned her attention to the craft. In the shadows at the rear of the cargo bay were strapped four suits of the powered armor, the ones they would use. Skull Boys, the Venatres called them. Willet had showed her a few in the compound before they left, letting her get a feel for them up close. Just like the ones she’d caught glimpse of on the battlefield outside the city. Black powered armor, in some ways they reminded her of armor from the Warhammer 40K game (one of her favorite diversions). These four in front of her now, locked securely in the hold, were scarred from battle, filling the space with their bulk, eight or nine feet tall; like giant, over-muscled men, waiting to pounce. Their helmet caps were menacing, molded in the shape of inhuman skulls and sporting fearsome grimaces. She was sure the design was meant to intimidate. Each of them bore the marks of personalization, little images, designs or slogans painted on by their operators—one of the logos catching her quite by surprise. She could swear it was Betty Boop. A big-eyed, black-haired cartoon girl doing a Marilyn Monroe curtsey, right there on the armor’s large, rounded shoulder.

  Hmpf.

  She estimated each of them to weigh a ton, huge cannons strapped to their backs. They were the Venatres equivalent of the samurai Astake machines Zac fought in the city.

  “What is the Crucible?” she asked.

  Willet paused in his inspections. “Essentially a giant forge. Driven by fusion. It’s where they make the Kazerai. All we know is that they choose a soldier they deem worthy, when they need to replace one of the five, then lock him in. When he comes out, he’s a Kazerai.

  “Other than that, we don’t know much about what goes on in there.”

  Jess was keenly interested in the idea of this world’s controlled fusion. That sort of power—fusion you could use—was one of the Holy Grails of Earth physics. These guys were apparently using it everywhere, primarily to heat water and make steam to drive their machines.

  “The compound is fortified,” Willet added. “But in the end it’s just a power plant. An engineering facility.”

  And whether from the tone of his voice or the slump of his shoulders, Jess realized he was stealing his resolve. Once they fired this thing up, once they left, they were committed. Until then they could go back. Right now they could turn around and forget this ever happened. Go any further and they were guilty. They were sitting at the point of no return and Willet seemed to be struggling within himself to take the next step.

  “Why don’t they make more Kazerai?” she asked.

  He welcomed the distraction. “We think the first ones weren’t entirely planned. Kind of like an accident, when they were going for something a little less … extreme. I can tell you they were as shocked as the rest of us when the first Kazerai popped out, able to withstand anything. Kind of freaked them out at first. It takes a mind-blowing amount of energy to make them, and, honestly, I don’t think they want a bunch of those guys running around. No one does. As we’ve already seen, they can be difficult to control.

  “So they made a whole mystique around them, a system and directives. A way to regiment their existence.”

  Jess hoped they’d find Zac. Hoped she could rescue him. She was positive he wasn’t one of them. He must have changed for good.

  “Besides,” Willet continued, “the Dominion is already powerful enough. These Kazerai are more of a vanity than anything. Great for troop morale, great for maintaining the divine legends of the dead emperor they serve. The Dominion puts a holy spin on their birth. They put a holy spin on everything. I mean, look at the Kazerai name: ‘The Hand of God’. Only five active at any one time, replaced only when one “ascends” to Heaven.”

  Jess tried to imagine Zac as a Hand of God. To her he was just a lost soul, a sweet guy that got mixed up in all this and was now, as a result, a freak of nature. She tried not to imagine what his past might’ve been, what things he’d done to earn the right to be made into one of these killing machines.

  She turned to Willet, waiting until she had his full attention.

  “Thanks,” she said, making sure he got her sincerity. “For everything.” She truly didn’t know how to thank him for what he was about to do.

  Tension drained from his expression. Only a little, but it was enough to kick him into action. He rose and went to the cockpit. She and Darvon followed.

  In the cockpit the helicopter parallels continued, four utilitarian jump seats facing banks of instruments and control surfaces to the front and rear. Wide windows gave an excellent field of view. Smaller windows at the sides were open, letting in a cool morning breeze.

  Darvon waited as Jess took the forward-facing seat on the right, across from Willet, then sat in one of the other seats to the rear. Jess noted he’d been nearly silent since they left
the tent, sneaking their way out there, growing increasingly subdued as they moved further and further beyond his element. She wondered if he’d hold together all the way to the end. This was only the beginning of what promised to be the greatest challenge yet. In truth she wondered why she didn’t put her foot down and send him back.

  Even as she wondered at Darvon’s resolve, however, she began to wonder at her own. How long would she hold together. When would the psychological props fall away? When would she collapse, quivering in terror?

  “I might need you,” Willet thumbed a few switches, checking gauges. “I can fly it alone but there might be a few things you can do to help.” He continued bringing up systems. Jess glanced back at Darvon; gave him a reassuring smile.

  “Pressurizing the boiler,” Willet pushed a throttle forward. A fearsome hiss sounded deep in the bowels, as if he’d just dumped gallons of water on hot coals. Probably more or less what happened. The rumble settled to a quiet boil, and as he rolled another set of levers forward Jess heard—felt, really—the gradual whir of a heavy turbine somewhere in the middle of the craft. The airframe shuddered as the harmonics of the engine balanced out, rpm’s rising until it spun with a powerful whine. Soon the ‘thopter thrummed with steady power.

  Willet looked over at her, mostly ignoring Darvon at that point.

  “Ready?” he asked, raising his voice above the din.

  She gave him a thumbs-up—wondered if that gesture meant anything there—then smiled as he gave her one in return. Whether “thumbs-up” existed on this world or not, he got her meaning.

  She was as ready as she’d ever be.

  He dialed up more power and took hold of a control stick, working pedals on the floor with his feet. The turbine engaged and Jess held tight as it dug in with a tremendous twist of torque. Abruptly the giant metal wings outside the cabin swept forward and down, nearly touching the ground.

  Whoa.

  The giant motion across her field of vision startled her; the movement of mass sent a solid thrum through the whole superstructure. Then the wide wings were sweeping back, then forward again; faster. Then back, faster. Faster.