Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  Making it that much easier to charge.

  “AAAARGH!” he bellowed thunderously and leapt against them, hitting the front line in one leap, scattering bodies to both sides. The front cannons went silent as the warriors behind them kept up a furious rate of fire with rifles, stinging him with bright blue beams that flashed the walls like brilliant arc-lights.

  In seconds he’d dispatched them all, a maelstrom of solid thunks and flying body parts …

  And the hall was silent once more.

  That group had been waiting, he noted, not in ambush but in defense. They were the most heavily armed so far, and their stances had been different; unmoving, looking to protect.

  Could he finally have reached the heart? The nerve center of this massive beast? He gazed steadily at the door beyond, reading the meaningless markings on it, feeling the residual sting of the high-power beams radiating from his skin. The markings on this door were larger, more prominent than any yet seen.

  He stepped to it and punched through. Just above the lockbars, where he had all the others. Punched in his other hand, took hold and … pulled. Harder. Pulling it back, feeling the titanic groan of metal as much as hearing it, the strain pounding in his ears as he let loose a groan of his own, followed by a mighty bellow as the door came clear of the hinges.

  He flung it thundering into the carnage behind him.

  And there, before him …

  Was the bridge.

  Yes!

  Of the rooms he’d come across so far this was the obvious control center. Long and wide with a low ceiling, lit by the green lights of numerous control stations, manned by more of the aliens. These wore no helmets and looked less like soldiers, more like technicians. At the far end was a screen that covered the entire wall, side to side, floor to ceiling, displaying the stars without. And there, in the middle of the room, the only one standing, was one with a bearing that could only make him their leader. This one’s hair was shock white, though the rest of him was as the others; pale, perfect skin, sharp angular features, brilliant yellow eyes and dark, precise markings tracing patterns around one socket.

  Kang checked the hall behind, confirming no additional troops approached. No sounds came to him, no sign of movement. Just the bodies piled there, lifeless, pinned beneath the crushing weight of the door he’d just discarded. Ahead was the only threat, and from the look of it the men assembled on the bridge were even less equipped than the others to offer resistance.

  Which meant the ship was his.

  Their leader began issuing orders, terse, in the sharp notes of their language, and as others of them hurried to comply Kang began suddenly to fear they might arm some sort of self-destruct. After all, it was clear they’d lost. It was over. He’d won, killing many in the bargain. Surely they must expect him to kill more. To kill them all.

  Somehow, after all this, he had to turn things around. He had to make them understand he would stop the killing.

  If only they didn’t do anything first.

  “No!” he said, taking several steps into the large room. They wouldn’t understand him, of course, but they were human enough. Perhaps the mannerisms, the intent—these things must surely be clear. “No,” he waved his hands side to side; tried to make them understand he meant them to stop whatever it was they were doing. To rethink his presence and see, perhaps, that he was done with the massacre. “No,” he kept repeating, walking slowly among them, methodically, waving his hands back and forth in what he hoped would be perceived as a calming gesture. They knew what he’d already done, had just seen him peel through an armored door, behind him the butchery of his arrival. Though he could do so easily, he wasn’t killing anyone else. It should be clear he wanted their attention. He was as alien to them as they were to him, and there wasn’t much reason for them to hold, he had to admit, but, to his great satisfaction, they did. Curious, it seemed, and the sight of their expressions struck him.

  “Wait,” he threw in another word, stood straighter and lowered his hands. His voice was deep, grizzled, scarred from his transformation, and until then he’d relished it. Now he wished for something a bit more … diplomatic. Their voices, at least the ones he’d heard so far, were smooth, and rich.

  No matter.

  “I wish no more harm,” he rasped, deciding that, though the words would not be understood, perhaps some of what he meant might yet be communicated. It was all he had.

  “I,” and he indicated himself, “want this.” He turned in a circle with his arms out, trying to suggest the ship around him. It was hard not to laugh aloud. Should he just kill them and be done with it? Slaughter them all before they could set their plans in action? What then? How long would it take to figure out this technology?

  Forever.

  He cast his gaze across every surface, bewildered by the myriad of lights and feeds of information. All in an alien language. There was no way he would work it himself. Even were it in his language, there was just no way. He’d never been a scientist, an engineer. Hardly. Warrior, leader; these were his strengths.

  He needed these remaining aliens.

  Like children in command of a world-breaking machine, they were no match for him. Yet he needed them.

  The first thing, he decided, was to successfully get them to do something. It didn’t matter what. Get them to let him sit in a chair, press a button—whatever. From there he could build his control.

  He had an idea.

  As non-threateningly as he could he walked across the length of the bridge, away from them, to the giant screen at the front. This was a transmitted view, he gathered, not a window, though it was as clear as one. He’d not seen any windows from the outside. On the screen the edge of the purple planet was just off to one side, the rest of the view filled with stars. He scanned the breadth of it, top to bottom, finding nothing even with his superb vision.

  “Where is it?” he turned back to them. The whole of the bridge sat staring at him from their stations, their ribbed black armor, pale complexions, hair pulled tight into queues; pointy ears and faces he could scarcely tell apart. Like they’d all been cast from the same mold. Only the commander stood, mute; wondering, Kang could see, just what the beast was thinking. It almost seemed to him they were shocked he could speak at all.

  “Where is it?” he repeated. This was what he would have them do. This would be the first test of his control.

  They would recover the Icon.

  “The device.” He described it with his hands, tracing its outline in the air before him. “The device.” After a few attempts it looked as if some might actually get what he was talking about.

  The commander did.

  “The device,” Kang said again, and pointed out into the depths of space. He traced its outline again, then pointed. He did this twice more before the commander issued an order to one of his crew. The man did something at his console and the rest looked up, past Kang; Kang turned back to the screen and …

  There it was. The Icon. Floating against the stars, tumbling slowly, metallic surface glinting with each gentle turn. They must’ve magnified the screen to bring it into view. Which meant they’d already spotted it, as Kang suspected they would’ve, along with he and Horus.

  Horus.

  A dark cloud passed across his expression, he could feel it, but he got control of his anger and pressed on. Horus wasn’t going anywhere. There would be time enough for him.

  First he would secure the way back.

  “Go to it,” he gestured. Then refined his gesture, pointing at the floor of the bridge, as if to take hold of the ship, then move it through an arc forward, toward the Icon on the screen. He did this several times, dragging it out toward the Icon.

  “Fly the ship,” he said. “To it.” Pointing. Dragging.

  No one budged.

  He was sure they must be getting the concept.

  “Fly,” he said and walked to the nearest console. The man seated there just looked at him and, for a brief instant, Kang admired his
courage. Admired all their courage, now that he thought on it. Humans, even the bravest, faced with something as shocking as him, in such close quarters, after all he’d done, would’ve been cowering in terror against the walls. Screaming, looking for a place to hide. Not these. This was a warrior race. To a man they seemed prepared to die, if necessary. In a way he hoped he might learn more of them, and expected he would, eventually, if he ever got through these initial phases.

  For now he wanted them to fly.

  “Fly,” he touched the console. As he touched it he turned to face the screen, mimicking controlling the ship, steering it this way and that—making it move forward, toward the Icon.

  Behind him the commander issued another order. A pair of crewmen seated side by side turned to their consoles and began making adjustments. Imperceptibly Kang felt the craft move. Just barely. The same technology that gave a sense of gravity against the floor must also nullify other changes in direction. However, to his greatly attuned sense of equilibrium, he could tell they had begun moving forward at a brisk clip.

  The power of the vessel was remarkable.

  On screen the Icon image was adjusted and brought into perspective and Kang could see they were, in fact, moving toward it.

  He had successfully issued a set of instructions and the aliens had complied and, now, he was about to achieve his first objective.

  Now he did let loose a short laugh. Kept it to a quiet chuckle and reined it in before it rose to the full mania he was feeling. As with other communication basics, he had a suspicion laughter would be readily understood by these aliens, and the cackle of a maniac would be universal.

  Best not to let things slide.

  He was making too much progress.

  * *

  “I think I’m going to faint,” Nani actually stumbled and caught her footing as they made their way up the passage. She braced herself with one hand, then continued, leading the small group with faltering but deliberate steps toward a ladder at the far end. Her at the front, Bianca staying close, ready to steady her if needed, followed by Satori, Willet and Jess. That was all that boarded the Reaver. Their little band of felons. Halfway up Nani paused to find a control and activate lighting and the alien corridor came alive under mild illumination, tinged with violet, showing details that had, until then, been cast mostly in stark relief from the light of the lab streaming in through the open entry. She set another control and … the thick outer door closed. A heavy thunk and it notched into its recess, sealing out the lab.

  Sealing them inside.

  Jess began to panic.

  All at once; like a complete inversion of the determination that got her this far. Impossibly everything was falling into place, everything was going as planned and … suddenly it was too much. Satori had agreed to do this. They got past the guards and the few measures left to stop them. Nani ended up being with the Reaver, just like they needed. Bianca, too, was there. Incredible. Then, Jess was able to convince Nani to do what she wanted. Now they were going aboard, so far no one was stopping them and, as it turned out, Nani could fly the ship. Alone. She could fly the starship, just Nani and their little group, they could take it out, it could go instantly to where Zac went, even to Earth if needed … they could go do everything Jess wanted, all of it, everything she’d imagined doing and they could do it now and they were here and they could do it right now—right now—they could go rescue Zac, go check the Earth for Kang and …

  All Jess wanted to do was run.

  In that very instant the only thing in the world she wanted was to just get the hell out of there.

  She reached a steadying hand to the wall. So many things could’ve—should’ve—failed. But they didn’t. And the impossible was working, this was happening, and it was everything she’d hoped for and the heavy door closed like being locked in a coffin and all she felt in that instant was a scream welling and the overwhelming urge to call it off; to tell Nani to fire the door open so she could flee it all and run away.

  Jess found herself holding tighter to the cold, unforgiving metal of the alien bulkhead. Making sure she didn’t sag to the floor.

  This was all my idea. Nani, Bianca, Willet, Satori … they all went with her, because of her, ready to embark on a journey the likes of which no human—on Earth or Anitra—had undertaken in, well, in ever, as far as any of them knew. It was epic.

  The walls kept crushing in.

  Desperately she fought to rise above it, to make herself process the mundane things around her; the basic things; the normal, usual things; how she was standing, where everyone was, what they were doing right at that moment. She noted she and Satori still held the machine pistols. Why, she had no idea. Because there was nowhere to put them. Because they’d forgotten they were even in their hands. They’d kept them trained on the two guards and the gape-mouthed technicians as they walked backwards up the ramp moments ago. No one showed any sign of trying to stop them. Maybe the Venatres still thought her a hero. Maybe they were just too stunned to act. She hadn’t thought to ask or demand or bring anyone else, any other technician, unsure of her ability to continue to sway Nani, to influence the others—unwilling to bring more variables into the equation.

  Nani, apparently, was all they needed.

  Steady breaths.

  Slowly she got a grip.

  “Here,” Nani instructed, voice shaking as she motioned everyone forward to a spot near her. When they’d gathered close she set another control and a second door shut, this one internal, between them and the outer door, creating a sort of airlock against the ship’s hull. As that happened, both doors solid and fluid in their actions—remarkably quiet at a thousand years of age—cool air began circulating in the otherwise stale hall. Jess took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “They breathed air like ours,” Nani informed them. “We didn’t have to calibrate anything.” Essentially useless information but they were, each of them, thoroughly unnerved in that moment, and talking was better than silence. Jess appreciated it. Only Willet seemed to retain some small semblance of curiosity, looking about at the alien technology with a mixture of admiration and awe. The surfaces were smooth, glossy-black, lit with violet, geometrically interesting trace lights like something out of Tron. Part of Jessica admired the craft, but only a small part. Most of her remained panic-stricken.

  “This way,” Nani went for the ladder.

  Then Satori said the words that half broke the spell:

  “Are we really doing this?”

  Willet shrugged, eyes roving all over. “I’m just following orders.”

  Nani went up the ladder. Bianca followed as Nani climbed higher, the rest following one after the other. At the top they made their way down another passage.

  “The problem,” Satori kept talking as they went, “will be if this thing doesn’t work. We flip the switch and nothing happens? Not good.”

  Up ahead Jess thought she heard Nani let go another whimper. Bianca touched her comfortingly on the back.

  Nani reached another bulkhead door and it slid open and she was stepping through. Then Bianca. Then Satori. Then Jess, pausing across the threshold, a lump rising in her throat.

  “Whoa,” Willet said from behind, voice nearly a whisper.

  It was the bridge.

  Probably about as big as a really big living room, it had a high, domed ceiling, ringed on the floor with half-a-dozen shiny-black workstations, complete with violet-lit controls—hundreds of readings and small screens, on and ready to go. At the center were three more rugged chairs, on pedestals, one higher than the others.

  The real gasp-inducer, however, was the external view. The domed ceiling was essentially a video display, starting just above the control consoles at about waist level, all the way around, three-sixty and curving up—wrapping the full upper half of the bridge like some kind of IMAX superdome. It was on and showing the cavern without. Whether Nani turned it on when she entered or it was on all the time, it was an incredible projection of the outside.
There were overlays of information in the alien Kel glyphs, floating here and there ghost-like, other metrics showing steady mechanical heartbeats from whatever things they monitored, but otherwise the effect was like standing on the top of the starship, looking out.

  “Can they see us?” Bianca asked, already at one of the edges and looking “down”. A few techs were visible on the floor at the front of the ship.

  “No,” said Nani.

  “It looks so real,” Bianca said under her breath, touching the crystal clear image.

  Nani went to one of the workstations and sat, tapping various controls as if having practiced these actions time and again. But of course she would have. This was her life. Jess could see she was, despite her nerves, completely ready for this moment. Nani’s hands were shaking, yes, but they moved with confidence.

  Then a troubling thought. There were so many. But this was crucial.

  “Wait,” she said. Why didn’t she think of this? “This will blow the mountain apart when we take off. Won’t everyone be killed? It’s way too massive.” What kind of energy would it take to even lift this thing off the ground? The force alone …

  There was no was she was going to blast out of there in a rain of fire, burning everyone to ash.

  But Nani never would’ve been swayed if that was the case. The answer was as expected. “No,” the scientist girl kept bringing up controls. There was no danger of that. Good. “Field manipulation,” she went on. And, for the briefest of instants, as she successfully brought to life the thing to which she’d devoted so much of her ambition, a flicker of enthusiasm. “If it works properly we should glide out of here like we’re floating on air.”

  Bianca stood at the front, looking out on the cavern and the lab. “How?” she asked. “How do we get out?” There was no visible starship-sized exit.