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

by David G. McDaniel

  The starship.

  As a result Anitra, the entire world, was in a massive state of flux. Anything, truly, at that point, was possible. And now the near impossible was happening. Venatres senior leaders were in Dominion lands, talking peace. That very day. The first round of discussions had gone amazingly well, almost as if events leading to that moment were enough to entirely shock both sides out of previously held beliefs, enough to knock loose fixed positions such that each of them, Dominion and Venatres alike, were ready to figure out how to coexist.

  To take their world to the next level.

  Lindin inhaled the pleasant scents of the room. Despite the monumental progress he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he would not be held accountable for his role in the loss of that same starship. It would return eventually, of that he was certain. Jessica and company would bring it back; they would not stay away forever. There would be an accounting for all involved when it did. In the meantime the burden was on him. Would Jessica and her band of thieves show up suddenly? More than that, once they did, how would the Venatres get the starship back?

  That was perhaps the bigger question.

  Deliberately he calmed himself, letting the harsh sake do its work.

  All that would come later. For now, talk was of the future.

  For now talk was of a united Anitra.

  CHAPTER 42: ALL SYSTEMS GO

  Jess brushed fluttering strands of hair from her eyes, hooked them behind an ear and squinted into the sun as she and Zac made their way up the winding mountain road. They’d taken one of the Bok Ferraris, a brilliant, lime-green 458 Spider convertible—the first set of keys for which they found a match—and she drove. She glanced at Zac in the passenger seat as she hugged them gently around a tight curve. He filled the small cockpit, looking awkward in the bucket seat with his knees against the dash. Like a basketball player trying to enjoy an exotic toy, one that just wasn’t designed for anyone that big.

  She brushed more strands of hair from her eyes and looked ahead.

  After a few mis-steps she got the car started, got used to the controls—buttons, paddle shifters and all else that made the Ferrari a Ferrari—then got them moving down the long dirt road and wheeling out onto the steep mountain pass. They wore their seatbelts and she drove normally, not racing, taking it easy, trying not to attract attention.

  An impossibility to say the least.

  No matter how low-key they tried to act they were absolutely screaming for attention. The Ferrari was a bright green splash of Hey look at me! their clothes not much better. She wore the old, mothball-smelling farmer’s shirt and oversized overalls; Zac the dress pants from the club and nothing else. There was no time to hunt other options. Zac had buried all the Bok—not that she would’ve put on any of their clothes even if he hadn’t. So there they were, dressed like hobos, Zac shirtless in the cool morning air, Jess sixteen and looking like she just stepped off a 1970s farm, driving a lime-green Ferrari through the Spanish hills. An odd combination by any standard. Frumpy and disheveled, dirty, incomplete, cheap wardrobes in such a high-end machine. But there was no one around to look closely. Hardly anyone was out at that time of day, especially that far in the middle of nowhere. They’d passed only one other car.

  Around the next curve they headed up a steeper grade and she tapped the paddle shifter down a gear.

  She’d never had a car of her own. Never even had a driver’s license. Now here she was, touring the Spanish countryside in a quarter-million-dollar exotic, her handsome, perfect boyfriend at her side. The man of her dreams. A gorgeous, sunny day, the morning filled with promise, fresh, fragrant air blowing across the open top, long strands of hair whipping about in a delicate dance. Living the dream.

  She couldn’t have felt worse.

  She hated everything right then. Her life. Her situation. It was difficult to see any future where she might once again find joy. One free of the endless battles that must be fought. From here on out she would have to win her way to everything. It made her bitter. Crushed at all she’d lost, all she’d given up, each decision leading her there, to that moment, a moment of sheer desolation, any shot at normalcy gone in a most permanent way. These feelings struck her now and again, sure, ever since she began the mad journey that was her current existence, but never had they impinged like they were right then. It was crushing. Absolutely crushing. Waves of sadness, crashed upon by anger, drenched in outright terror, smack in the middle of that glaring, horrible contrast in which she found herself:

  Wind blowing. Wonderful feel in her hair. Sunshine and the engine burbling happily up the slopes. Spring smells, the beauty of the setting all around, fighting to be noticed. Demanding to be appreciated.

  Driving the bitterness so deep.

  She might never know happiness again.

  For an instant she nearly laughed but choked it back. Knowing it would turn to tears.

  Desperately she struggled to offset these feelings with reason. Everyone had to fight for what they had. Of course that was true. You didn’t eat, didn’t have a roof over your head if you didn’t work, if you didn’t somehow contribute and exchange with the society that in turn gave you the means. By and large, though, the culture from which she came, her life until now, was one of freedoms. Luxuries. The “battles” they fought were mild. Not even battles at all, really. To survive you went to work. You cooked dinner. Figured out how to spend your free time.

  All that, for her, was gone.

  Now she had to find her place in the world. Her new place. And she had no idea what that would be, where the search would lead, where it would end. For now all she could do—all she could do—what she had to do—was keep going. Relentless. Going, and going.

  And going.

  What would they find at the castle? More guys with freaky powers? Another Icon? Other Kel devices? And what was the Bok’s interest in her? Beyond the obvious. Whatever it was they wanted to get their hands on her.

  Yes, she thought with grim determination, but I’m going to win that game. And that was really all she had left. Anger. A contest of wills. And so she’d embraced it, was letting it run the day, and so what if better ideas were to be had, more careful strategies. At that point she didn’t care. She had Zac. Zac was a god, he was hers, and she was mad and she was going to unleash his wrath.

  Oh, yes. She was about to go kick some ass.

  She debated turning on the car’s stereo, seeing if this particular Bok, the owner of the lime-green Ferrari, had anything worth listening to. Maybe something fast, something metal. Something to amp her up, take her mind from things, if only for a short while. The beautiful drive was not near distracting enough.

  She didn’t bother.

  She just wasn’t in the mood.

  * *

  Kang gazed into the depths of space, seeing far and wide, counting and recounting the Kel ships within view. There were many. Any one of them, even the smallest cruiser, could devastate Anitra from on high. There would be nothing either the Dominion or the Venatres could do. Even combined, their forces united, those two “global” powers could be so easily picked apart from above.

  But it was not his intention nor his goal to ravage the Anitran infrastructure, leaving little behind, nothing to rule. Armies waited out there in those Kel ships, some of the vessels purposed with that specific task, acting as transport for the troops that would finish the job, that would conquer rather than destroy, and so when the time came the Kel were prepared for that as well. As they were prepared for all things. They were a race, a culture, built for war. What they set out to do was what they were made to do.

  The Kel were solidly in their element.

  He let his eyes rove the bristling, lethal curves of one of the other dreadnoughts. There were three in this armada, two in addition to the one on which he now stood. The forward viewscreen out which he gazed was giant, the activity of the bridge noisy behind him; conversations, footsteps, preparations.

  The dreadnoughts were behemot
hs. Titans of firepower and armor, each carrying their own small fleet of fighters, squads of ground units and Kel special forces. One of those could utterly crush Anitra. The armada that had been tasked for this historic campaign was well beyond anything needed, yet it was merely a subset of their overall might. It struck Kang again just how warlike were the Kel, how much of an army they maintained when they, in fact, had no foe. He could see why Cee had been so eager to take advantage of this opportunity. During his time on Kel, waiting, Kang read their history, noted the unprecedented expansion of their might since restoring themselves and their capabilities following their crushing civil war of a thousand years ago. It was clear they needed something, and soon, on which to act. A place to direct that impulse for the fight. He’d come to believe the nature of the Kel was not entirely driven by culture but was quite possibly genetic. The urge toward combat, to dominate, to rule. All urges Kang could fully admire.

  Earlier the fleet had begun moving slowly away from the homeworld, a grand imperial march into position, a place from which they could safely use the engines that would propel them across the incredible distance to their target. Kel was out of sight behind, no other celestial bodies close enough to be seen, and so it was into a vast field of stars he gazed, a vast field of potential, the vessels slipping further from the world’s gravity well to the spot from which they would launch their assault.

  The invasion would be made easier, of course—if it wasn’t already easy enough—by the fact that he ruled one half of Anitra already. The Dominion was his to command; his first objective would be to announce his return and bring them quickly under his yoke. The fall of the Venatres would come easily after that. Days. Maybe even hours. He chuckled, getting a few nervous glances from nearby Kel on the bridge.

  He would become both Emperor and God.

  How they will lament me.

  “This is a momentous day,” Voltan said in English from behind. The Kel Praetor had walked up a few moments before, standing to look out as was Kang, waiting for the moment. Voltan had taken time to learn a bit of his language, among other things. Voltan’s words were in accented English but clear. Kang wasn’t sure whether to appreciate his efforts or despise them. Voltan switched to one of the translation wands.

  “When we reach position I will give the order,” he said, reiterating what Kang already knew. Voltan was to lead the invasion. In Kang’s mind, however, the chain of command had not been entirely clarified, and he intended to use the most glaring oversights to his advantage. He would lead the invasion, he would call the shots and Voltan would go along. “Once all craft are assembled on the other end we will begin our assessment of your world,” the computer voice said as Voltan’s voice spoke behind it.

  A recap, nothing more. “The Fetok of my world will present no challenge,” said Kang, using the Kel’s own word for humans. The Tolerated. Kang himself might’ve been considered one of them at one time. Human.

  No more.

  Now he was neither human nor Kel. He was a new breed, and with him at their head this army of Kel would bring Anitra to heel. Then move on to the next. He looked at the thousands upon millions of multi-colored points of light salting the black universe before him. Bands of them everywhere, as far as you could imagine, worlds upon worlds, so many that must be just as ripe.

  Anitra would be but the beginning.

  Voltan nodded. “If all is as you say.”

  Kang tried to read any subtext to that statement in Voltan’s expression, in his one eye, that infuriating eye patch making him somehow more warrior, not less. The Kel were incredibly human-like in many ways, but there were subtleties to them Kang knew he’d not yet mastered. Emotions were the same, but did Voltan harbor doubts? Carefully hidden … hopes? Some twisted desire that Kang was wrong and this failed? During briefings leading to this moment Kang, now and again, thought Voltan suspected him of lying. Of not being entirely honest in his descriptions of what waited at the other end. As if, somehow, Kang might have something there, ready to massacre the Kel and take what they could, then find their way back to the Kel homeworld and do the same. It was an absurd idea, for so many reasons, but it seemed as if Voltan suspected something. Like he didn’t trust Kang fully, if at all.

  Not that it mattered. Kang did intend to use the Kel and all their resources, and was sure that intention had so far been quite clear. They knew what was on his mind. And he knew what was on theirs. This marriage would not end with a happy union. But there would be a union. Once all was said and done and the smoke cleared it would either be with him on top, in charge, or him destroyed, removed from the equation and the Kel holding all the power.

  He did not intend to be destroyed, or to be removed.

  He grinned at Voltan. Wide, showing lots of teeth. He could feel their pointed tips against his bared lips.

  “All is as I say.”

  CHAPTER 43: THE CASTLE

  They rounded the last bend, following the scribbled map Jess drew back at the farm showing the way. And there it was. The castle. A classic stone structure, not uncommon for the region, old and weatherworn, partially in ruins at the top of a small rise, built up against the rocks, looking out over a wide, panoramic vista in three directions. Jess slowed as it came into view, feeling suddenly vulnerable. Far too visible in the lime-green sport scar on the narrow road, and all at once she was thinking about everything they could’ve done different. They could’ve gone for Satori, as Zac wanted. Could’ve just left, gone back. Could’ve stopped further up the road and walked in.

  She worked to convince herself—swallowing hard several times, nerves shooting to the fore all over again as she stared at the ominous castle, waiting up on the rise …

  This was the only way.

  There was another hill between them and the grounds, and as they passed behind it the castle slipped from sight, then popped back into view and they were on their way up, last chance to turn around, all alone on the desolate entry road.

  “See anything?” she asked, on high alert, scanning the scrub trees, the wide, grassy grounds, the castle ramparts—everything in her field of vision, all of it clear and sharp in the bright morning sun. Glimmering, fresh and pristine beneath a cloudless blue sky.

  “Not yet.” Zac looked just as intent, eyes darting across the landscape, sweeping the castle.

  “Do we just drive up?” she wondered, realizing they hadn’t really decided how they would make their final approach. Now they were here and they needed to decide how to take the next steps. Probably they should sneak the rest of the way on foot. “Maybe we should—”

  A sharp flash of pain and the world spun, inverted and upside down; a deep grunt as Zac had her in his arms—she had the presence of mind to realize that much—yanking her free, through the air, blue sky and green grass whirling in her field of vision before she could even process the fact that they were soaring and the roar of an explosion was sweeping up from below; heat, a spike of light and the sudden sound of gunfire.

  Heavy gunfire.

  Chun! Chun! Chun! Chun! a large cannon ripped the air where they’d just been, world tumbling as Zac held her to him, rolling and leaping, hitting and flipping again, diving, landing, coming at last to a stop with a solid impact, feet out at a crouch, Jess squeezed tightly in his arms. He set her down and she flopped to the side, retched and tried to get her bearings. Her world spun. Everything was spinning. She rolled to her back and put her hands to the sides, fists grabbing at the grass and holding on. They were in a ditch behind a row of small trees.

  Chun! Chun! Chun! the stunningly loud gunfire found its way closer, echoing powerful across the land—coupled with the Whump! of impacts she could feel through the ground. Those were big rounds. She grabbed harder, pinching her eyes closed and holding herself still. After a few moments of steady fire she peeked and looked sharply to the right, back pressed against the ravine; saw the burning remains of the exploded Ferrari in the distance. Plumes of terrain shot into the air as the gun continued to track
their location, towering geysers of grass and dirt marking each hit.

  The tranquil hillside was suddenly a war zone.

  Chun! Chun! Chun! the chain gun couldn’t zero in. Zac had them safe for the moment. Rounds ripped overhead, orange dash-dots strafing furiously, Chun! Chun! Chun! hitting the berm of the ravine above, passing over and hitting the ground beyond. None able to connect. The intensity was overwhelming. The Bok were filling the hillside with heavy rounds. Lots of them.

  Chun! Chun! Chun! Chun! Chun! Whump! Whump! Whump! The big bullets ripped the air, making her cringe tighter into herself. Unnecessary, it was clear they couldn’t hit her, but she was so scared. That was no rifle, no handheld machine gun. That wasn’t even an ordinary chain gun. That was a military grade emplacement, giant orange tracers and everything. It churned the ground to a maelstrom of choking debris. Like anti-aircraft or something. Anti-armor. Twenty-mil, maybe thirty. Bigger.

  Chun! Chun! Chun! that thing could take out a tank with one shot. She was sure of it.

  “You okay?” Zac. She jerked her head; stared wide-eyed at him. He crouched beside her, as alarmed as she was.

  “Yeah.” Her legs hurt, one badly. Probably hit it on the steering wheel as he yanked her free. She looked down and rubbed her thigh. Otherwise she was whole.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see it in time.” He seemed genuinely angry with himself.

  “Zac, you saved me.”

  The gun stopped suddenly. Zac craned his head, looking all around, scrutinizing the entire countryside.

  Looked back at her.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to take it out.” And he was gone. That fast. No more discussion, no waiting for an answer. She tried to stop him, wanted to make a plan, wasn’t done sorting out this new twist but he was over the berm and leaping into the air before she could move, covering half the distance to the castle in one bound. Without thinking she jumped to her feet, to the edge of the ravine, looking past the trees as the gun spotted him and opened up, a whirling stream of fire spitting from the barrel that peeked over the rampart—she could see it now, nestled in an armored mount atop one of the walls; a modern fixture in an ancient setting, seeking out the flying Zac. She ducked but held position as she realized he was its full focus. She saw no other guns and so watched in morbid fascination as the orange tracer rounds ripped the sky, nearly a solid line, bearing down on the small, difficult target that was Zac, dark hair and bare skin until …