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

by David G. McDaniel

“Kazerai aren’t kept around long.” And all at once he realized he was talking as if this were an ongoing process. Which it wasn’t. He was the last Kazerai. There would be no more after him. “New ones were made,” he said, switching tense—feeling a twinge of loss as he did, though he wasn’t sure why he cared. “Old ones were retired, never more than a few at a time. All part of Dominion lore. They alone possessed the method to kill us, so when it was time to be “retired” that’s what they did.”

  “And you guys let them?”

  “They made us believe we would ascend to Heaven as part of the process. Most went willingly.”

  She drank more; took a few bites.

  Then spoke quietly: “I’m glad that’s all part of the past.”

  Her role in the demise of that system could hardly be understated. Before her arrival the Dominion was on its way to domination of the entire world. By the time she left their entire mythology had been undone. Dramatically, with authority, burned away in nuclear fire.

  But her observation about his beard was not lost on him. The subtle changes to his own physiology were beginning to trouble him. Beard. Hair. Other things. There was no doubt he was outside the known parameters of Kazerai existence. In addition there was the fight with Kang, the multiple transfers with the Icons, the coma, the exposure to the cold vacuum of space, direct stellar radiation—all things a Kazerai had never had to endure. In short he was far down the road of his existence, farther than he was probably ever intended to go, at a place that had never been mapped. Never experienced. And so he had his own questions. About beards and hair and other things.

  Could he be near the end? The hypothetical but never-before-realized burning out of the Kazerai flame?

  He looked into the flickering candles, watching the little fingers of fire shrink and expand in the gentle movements of air.

  All things were temporal.

  But he was here, now, with the girl he loved, the girl he would cross time for—and in some ways had—and he would not give these things thought. Death waited everyone. Neither of them were immune. And though there were many things they should be doing right then, many wiser things, if he made himself relax he could, indeed, enjoy a meal and her company. He could enjoy this moment. Just as she wanted. And so he resolved to do so. To relax, to immerse himself in her creation, to be there for her, enjoy it with her. Confident she would find her way back to reason soon enough and they would be on their way.

  Even as he decided this, however, she announced suddenly:

  “Let’s just stay.”

  He blinked. Realized that, while he’d been lost in his own thoughts she had as well. Sitting there pondering.

  Coming to an impossible conclusion.

  Her words reverberated in his head.

  “We’re just two people,” she tried to explain. “What do we matter? They don’t need us. We tell Satori to take the ship back. They can take Bianca home. It’s what they all want anyway. Let Anitra have their starship back. Kang is gone. We don’t have to worry about that anymore.” She looked at him, eyes suddenly glistening in the glow of the tiny flames.

  Desperate.

  “The Bok won’t get past the Project,” she said. “There’s nothing more we can do to stop that war. When I don’t return they’ll forget about me.”

  Zac didn’t know where to begin. “Jess, they saw you in the club. The Project and the Bok. Lorenzo knows you’re here. Drake knows you’re back.”

  She shook her head. “Let’s stop all this running.”

  “Jessica …”

  “We were meant to be together!” All at once she was angry. Sad. “Somehow, some incredible way, we’ve found each other. You know it. I know it. Why keep running? Why ruin it? Why keep after this? Why? Let’s find our peace and live together. Zac! Let’s do it. No more risking our lives. We’ve done enough. Now is our time.

  “Let’s find our Happily Ever After.”

  She looked at him pleadingly. He felt his head shaking back and forth, just a little, and made himself stop. He needed to tread lightly. She took a long drink and finished the glass of wine, shaking, on the verge of tears, looking to him with those big, beautiful, gold-flecked eyes, needing him more than she ever had, more than she’d probably ever needed anyone, and he had no idea what to do.

  She reached for the bottle. On top of everything else the wine was no doubt adding its own impairment, skewing her already exhausted, clouded, emotional judgment.

  She poured a fresh glass, hands continuing to shake, then put down the bottle. She held up the glass but didn’t drink.

  “It’s okay,” she told him.

  “Jess, I—”

  “It’s fine. I know I’m talking a little crazy right now.” But even as she said this she had to look away. So badly did she want it to be untrue.

  She composed herself. Sat straighter and put her glass on the table. “If we do stay … I’ll do the dishes.” She tried to chuckle but it just ended up making her voice hitch. He remembered their earlier conversation, aboard the ship, laughing at who would do the dishes if they settled down and made a life. A little home somewhere, Jessica and Zac, she in the kitchen doing the dishes, he out mowing the yard. He almost quipped, I’ll mow the yard, but couldn’t. Not in that moment.

  The sadness in her expression was too thick.

  “We can’t stay here,” he said, as gently as he could. “This house belongs to people who want us dead.”

  “Not here,” she waved a hand, dismissing the idea with red-rimmed eyes as if it were clearly a silly one. “Obviously not here. We’ll find somewhere. Somewhere else. Make a life. We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde.” She lifted her glass, tears welling as she laughed into it and took another drink. A pained laugh. He could see she was starting to lose it. Not that she particularly had things together up to that point, but right then she was headed for a breakdown.

  “Look,” he leaned closer. “I’m sure Bonnie and Clyde were a great couple.” The anguished look on her face made him think maybe they weren’t. He went on: “But we can’t stay. A lot is depending on us.”

  But even as those words left his mouth a certain bitterness took hold of her expression, killing the impending tears.

  Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say.

  “I’m tired of being depended on,” she said brusquely. The transformation was instantaneous. “I want my life back.” Of a sudden she had that hard look in her eyes. The gold flecks flickered, more brilliant than ever, and Zac felt himself pull back. He knew how strong she could be; knew how strong she was. He wasn’t fooled by the image before him, that of a seemingly fragile girl, holding a glass of wine with trembling hands. If he made a mis-step he might lose her. And if he did …

  Consciously he regrouped. Told himself they’d come too far, done too much already for her to quit now. This was temporary. He had to believe that.

  She took another drink. “I’m tired of living my life dictated by the emergency of the moment. One thing after the next after the next. Don’t you see?”

  Then she softened her position. Temporary anger replaced by an earnest desire.

  “You know me,” she said. “Just like you I’ve dreamed of stars and planets, other worlds and, honestly, what does it matter? Compared to all that, we’re nothing. Even on this one world we’re nothing. A comfortable home, a good meal, being surrounded by the people you love—those are the important things. I gave all that up, yes, but I can have it again. We can have it right here. On Earth. Right now. You’re the one I love, Zac. As long as we have each other that’s all we need. Don’t you see?” She swallowed. Spoke more gently: “I want to know you. You, Zac. I want to know all about you. I have so many questions! After all this, after everything we’ve been through, we know so little about each other. We’ve been through so much more than anyone. Even people who are together their whole lives never go through as much as we have. But as deep, as well as I know you I still don’t know you. I know so little about who you are. Wha
t you were like when you were younger, your favorite things. I want to know all that. I want to know everything, Zac.

  “I want to know you.”

  “I want to know you too,” he leaned toward her again and took her hand. “So much. Everything, all things.”

  “Then let’s stay,” her voice fell to a choked whisper.

  He wasn’t sure whether to keep talking or just be quiet. Not take this up right now; not in her current state. But he found himself trying to reason. “Everything has to be defended,” he said. “That’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. If we stop, now, none of this will last. Too much is in motion. If we do what you’re saying, if we drop out of the equation … Things will not remain the same. Any peace we have won’t last. We’ll just get drawn back in. We can’t simply run away.”

  Rather than rail against him, however, she was silent.

  He forged on. “The decision was yours,” he said. “Every step of the way. We’re here, now, in the middle of this because of decisions you made. I, for one, think you’ve made the right decisions.

  “We’ve come too far not to continue. Whether we like it or not we hold far too much responsibility. Just like you said on the ship. We’re responsible now. We can’t hide.”

  “It’s not hiding,” she insisted. It was almost a pout.

  He searched her face, wondering if she was shutting him out. “We’re far more important than either of us dreamed we would be,” he went on. “Too much is in play. If we don’t finish what we’ve started …” He could only shake his head, uncertain of everything. And as he felt himself pushing for a continuance of their surge into danger, trying to make her see that they must, like it or not, go forward, fear swept unexpectedly over him.

  What if she was right?

  What if she was right, just as she’d been right at every other turn? Was it really running away? Or was she onto something?

  So far he’d been supremely confident in his ability to protect her. But on this little adventure there’d been too many close calls. Like the Superman and Lois Lane story she told him once before, he feared the ease with which she could be lost. Strong as she was, as indomitable as was her will, she was fragile. At least in form, and she could die so easily if he failed to protect her. By urging they go forward, by insisting they forge further into what would no doubt be ever more deadly situations, he was, by his own hand, putting her at risk.

  Should he just go on without her?

  “Anitra can take care of its own problems,” she continued to rationalize away their involvement. “My world is a mess. There’s nothing more we can do.” She looked deep into his eyes. “You’re safe.” And again it struck him, as if he’d somehow forgotten; though he’d done his part for her, for others, she had also saved him. “That’s all I ever wanted,” she implored. “To save you, after you saved us. I mean, what are we even trying to solve? Why keep doing this?”

  Her gaze fell. Weary, exhausted. She was so tired. And not just physically.

  “I mean,” she sighed, “it’s just too much. Any silly ideas I had about changing the world … too much.”

  Should he just drop it? Was he pushing for something in which he didn’t really believe? Was he just being automatic, encouraging conflict when maybe, truly, things at that point were best left alone? Multiple worlds, huge, complicated systems, governments, millions, billions of people, secret societies holding God knew what enigmas, a race of ancient aliens that could be a future threat …

  What could they possibly hope to do against all that?

  Were they right to keep after it?

  Should they just run away? Hide for the rest of their lives?

  But there was more at work here. More to Jessica, more to him.

  More to them, though he could hardly fathom the depth of his convictions when it came to that.

  He knew only that there was.

  He relaxed his posture. “From the time I first saw you, I knew you had a destiny. Don’t ask me how. I know this isn’t the end. This is not all you have left to do.” He squeezed her hand. “Sometimes,” he said, “the next step is hard. Sometimes it seems impossible. So many people give up when faced with great challenge. They know what they have to do but they stop. They don’t take the step. Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t easy. Things get uncomfortable, things get hard, people decide to quit and then they’re done. Their journey ends. They live the rest of their lives wondering what might’ve happened.

  “No one truly fails, Jessica. They just quit. You know that’s true. Here, now, the decision is yours. I want you to know I’ll do whatever you say. I love you. I’m here for you.” He put his other hand on hers and held it with both. “If you want to go somewhere and do dishes and have me mow the yard, I’ll do it.” That got the smile he was after; a fleeting turn at the corners of her mouth. It gave him hope.

  “I just don’t think you should quit.”

  She looked down, no longer able to hold his gaze.

  At length she said: “I don’t know what I think anymore.” The room flickered in deeper shadows. Outside night had fallen. The shifting light of the candles only seemed to enhance the confusion on her face.

  She pushed back her chair.

  “I’m tired,” she announced. “I’m going to get some sleep. I can’t think about this right now.”

  At that she stood, a little of the old Jess in her expression, an endearing gaze, resolute; the strong poise he knew and loved, and it renewed his faith.

  She came around and stood beside him. Ran a hand through his hair. He turned in his chair to look up at her and she kissed him. For a moment she lingered, fingers twirling against his scalp, thoughts far away. He sighed to himself. She was all that truly mattered. And she was right. With her he could do anything, live any life, be anywhere. As long as they were together. Standing there beside him in the candlelight she was an angel, and he never wanted to leave her. Never.

  She kissed him again and went upstairs.

  After she was gone he listened as the floors creaked overhead and she got into bed.

  Then, when he could hear she was settled and breathing gently, fast asleep, he let himself relax. Enjoying the peaceful quiet of the house.

  He finished the wonderful, delicious meal.

  It was the best he’d ever had.

  CHAPTER 39: THE BOK

  Hansel was not happy. As the major domo for the Bok castle/HQ there in Spain his regular duties were rather light, and he’d grown used to fat compensation checks from his mysterious employers, the Esehta Bok, in conjunction with a mostly ceremonial militia presence. He headed their local commandoes, maintaining and training that force, ensuring it was well-equipped and ready for use, but rarely was he called upon in that area of the world. The Bok employed many for such purpose, some on retainer, some outright mercenaries hired as needed, but at the various Bok strongholds there was always a force. It was a conceit of theirs, Hansel believed, to be ready at all times for small wars or minor conflicts. He knew little of the Bok’s real purpose, but what he did know was that they really only used their small armies to conduct raids now and again, globally, on the quest for yet more arcane knowledge or artifacts to add to their treasures. Rarely did they fight in defense of their own holdings. Not surprising, really, as no one knew where they were. The Americans knew of their existence, or so he’d heard, but had no knowledge of their whereabouts. Perhaps a few others knew of them. Mostly, as far as Hansel knew, the Bok were the greatest secret society of all time. No one had any idea where to find them.

  That had apparently changed.

  Lorenzo was still storming about the castle, had been since his return, scorching up through the castle courtyard in his fairly dinged and dirty Lambo, flustered and yelling as soon as he leapt out. Hansel had so far not been consulted, but he could see that moment was upon him and was not looking forward to it after everything he’d overheard. From the sound of it Lorenzo and several of his young cronies, many of whom Hansel knew, had c
onfronted some kind of powerhouse of an individual at the farmhouse, one of the Bok safehouses not far from the castle. Prior to that they’d scattered from a nightclub near Madrid and, damningly, one of them had been captured. By the Americans, it was believed. The rest got away, but when they converged on the farmhouse they were attacked and, presumably, killed by what they were now calling the super warrior. None save Lorenzo had returned or been heard of since. As if proof of their demise all their phones were still pinging at that location. Unmoving. Just a great big pile of them, all in one spot.

  Dead or captured, thought Hansel.

  And so Lorenzo was furious. And a little scared, Hansel could see, which gave him a small measure of grim satisfaction. He never liked Lorenzo, not from the beginning, when the young Bok took charge; a self-important asshole who brought more of the young Bok upstarts under his wing, instilling in them the same arrogance. Lorenzo rapidly became an anomaly, less like the rest, more like a new breed, uncovering hidden secrets the previous Bok had no knowledge of or had simply decided to leave buried. Hansel knew not where Lorenzo found what he did, but the new Bok leader shared only with his younger cronies, raising them up, teaching them things Hansel had never seen nor would even have thought possible. Moving things with their minds, battling with projected force and other parlor tricks that were not really tricks at all. Hansel watched them, out on the grounds, in the training rooms of the castle, practicing with these new abilities, walking around pompous and full of themselves. He’d come to fear them, in fact, after what he’d seen, and that fear eventually turned to resentment and finally hate. He’d never been particular fond of the older generation either, the ones who originally hired him, but these new elite were insufferable.

  Of course he had no real options. This was the sort of “job” you didn’t just leave. Not with his position. He would be rich for life, wealthy enough for any man’s desires, but true freedom would never be his.

  “Hansel!” Lorenzo’s voice called from the other room, echoing from the rough stone walls of the castle. It was the summons he’d been expecting. With a shiver of dread he went.