The roar continued to build in the sky. The Carinian shuttle must’ve been keeping a steady altitude low enough to scan the forest. They were getting closer. Strange’s footsteps clanked down the back ramp as she hurried out and joined with Davin and Kiki. Her eyes quickly found the strangers studying them from the verdant overgrowth. The bearded man was whispering with a few others who were veiled by the bushes and leaf-laden saplings.
Davin stepped forward. “Can you hide us?”
The locals kept whispering, not even acknowledging that they’d heard him. The sound of the shuttle undulated like it was turning in the sky. Then the roar continued to rise. All the pester-some birds had bounced away, maybe sensing the incoming danger.
“Please!” Davin pleaded. “They’ll be able to see our body heat through the trees. Can you hide us somewhere?”
Davin thought of other options. They could hide in theFossa,and it would probably conceal their body heat, but if the Carinians questioned the locals, these cross-lovers could point them right to their ship. Davin needed them on his side. He looked up at the clearing in the branch canopy overhead, expecting to see the Carinian shuttle any second.
The whispering stopped. The bearded man looked at Davin again.
“Come with us,” he said. “We’ll hide you.”
Davin felt a piece of the massive weight on his shoulders fall away. Just a little, but enough to be grateful for. He pressed his hands together and bowed his head.
“Thank you.”
Then he glanced at Strange and Kiki.
“Strange, close the ramp.” Then he checked Kiki to see if she had her gun. A handgun sat snugly in a holster strapped to her thigh. He gestured to it. “Keep that close.”
She nodded, eyes like cold steel.
Davin reached around to feel the metallic lump in his waistband. Had to be ready for anything on this strange planet.
Chapter Fifty-One
Orion Arm, on the planet Earth . . .
Kastor ran his hands across the old fashioned, pleated paper map of Jerusalem to flatten it over the fold-out table. Siraj stood beside him, leaning over the map to orient himself, his long sleeve shirt and tactical pants now frayed and scuffed from days of fighting. He looked haggard and sleep deprived yet retained the same fire in his eyes as before the campaign began. His long rifle hung from his back, and he held his submachine gun close to the chest. The man was tense around Kastor. Distrusting.
On the other hand, Qasim, standing on the other side of the table, seemed uncomfortable and out of place with the helmet on his head and bulky flak jacket hugging his torso. He fidgeted with his helmet, evidently unsatisfied with the way it sat on his head. He sniffed and glanced up every few seconds at the clusters of other Defenders gathered here in the walled Garden of Gethsemane. The fighters had formed circles for prayer or to listen to one of their religious leaders, some of whom wore the little skullcaps, others turbans, and others crosses around their necks. Some of the Defenders leaned against the stone wall or knelt, using their rifles as a crutch, while others huddled close together under the gnarled olive trees with arms around each other.
“In the Christian tradition,” Qasim said, noticing Kastor’s interest in one of the groups flocked around a man wearing a cross, “this was the place Jesus came to pray on the night before he was crucified.”
Kastor looked at Qasim. The dark-bearded fellow didn’t seem to register the disturbing omen in his words.
“Let’s hope we fare better than he did,” Kastor said, then turned his attention to the map. “Alright, here we are.” He picked up a black marker and put a dot on Gethsemane, then drew a rough box-shape with one corner protruding further than the others around the Old City. “Confed’s dug in around this perimeter, and especially—” He drew a smaller box within the Old City close to Gethsemane. “The Temple Mount, and—” He squiggled another dot near the center of the Old City. “The Old City Security Station. According to Qasim, this is the sole building in the city that controls the Bastion.”
Qasim nodded. “That’s right. If my techs and I can get in there, we should be able to take control of the bombardment defenses in maybe five, ten minutes.”
“Good,” Kastor said. He wrote a “1” beside the dot over the OCSS. “So this is priority number one. If we take the OCSS, we’ll be able to shield most of the city from orbital bombardment.” Kastor glanced up at Siraj and Qasim to make sure they were following, then returned to the map and drew a “2” inside the Temple Mount square. “This is priority two.”
Siraj pointed at the OCSS dot on the map. “I say we direct the bulk of our fighters to the OCSS. Surround it, take it quickly, then move to the Temple Mount.”
Kastor shook his head. “No. If they detect thousands of foot soldiers converging on the OCSS, they’ll strike from orbit, scorch the earth all around the building. We’d lose most of our force before we even got inside the grounds. And, at that point, they’d have plenty of time to destroy their computers, cut off any access to the Bastion.”
Siraj crossed his arms over his submachine gun and let out an aggravated sigh. “What do you suggest, then?”
Kastor drew arrows pointing at the Temple Mount on all sides of it. “Concentrate all our forces on the Temple Mount. Surround them, get as close as possible. The Confed won’t risk an orbital strike anywhere near there.”
Qasim licked his dry lips and nodded nervously. “It’s true. If they even put a scratch on the Dome of the Rock, they’ll have hell to pay.”
“Siraj, you’ll lead the attack on the Temple Mount,” Kastor said. “In the meantime, Qasim and I will lead a small team to the OCSS. We’ll stay out of sight, try to take out the defenses and get inside as fast as we can.” He looked up at Qasim, who seemed to be getting more anxious by the second. “Once we’re inside, your team will need to work quickly. The Confed’s going to panic and start bombarding our outer perimeter. Ground forces will follow. They’ll make a hard push to get to the Old City before we take complete control of it. Siraj, communicate to your troops on the outer perimeter that their linescannotbreak. No matter what comes at them. Theyhave to hold the Terrans at bay.”
Siraj gave a stiff nod and stared off at the orange light of sunrise trickling between buildings. Kastor waited for a reply, for some affirmation. He’d thought through all the possibilities. He’d run through at least a dozen scenarios in his head. This was the best plan, risky though it may be. Siraj wouldn’t come up with a better one. Kastor refrained from saying as much, though. He didn’t need to piss Siraj off any more than he already had.
“I’ll radio the team leaders,” Siraj said. “Let them know the plan.”
He walked away without another word. Kastor exchanged a look with Qasim. The Defender tech shrugged.
“It’s the . . .message you sent to the Carinians,” Qasim said. “He’s not happy with you. I’m not either, but . . . I see why you did it.”
Kastor pushed away from the fold-out table with a sigh. “That makes one of us,” he muttered.
Most of the groups in the olive tree garden had their heads bowed as their leader prayed over them. Divided by religion: Christians with Christians, Jews with Jews, Muslims with Muslims. Kastor crossed his arms and surveyed them. Some men trembled. Some men rocked back and forth with eyes closed. A young woman in a circle of Jews wiped tears off her cheeks. They’d seen the machine gun barrels poking out from sandbag embankments atop the walls of the Temple Mount. They’d seen the glint of sniper scopes in blown-out windows around the edge of the Old City. They’d heard stories of the automatic turrets hidden inside manholes under the street.
And yet, even in the face of death, they did not all share a common bond. They still split into groups of “their” people. Qasim started to walk away, but Kastor stopped him.
“Even if you win,” he said, “even if you claim the entire Levant, achieve all your goals, there won’t be peace here for long.”
Qasim stepped around the table to stand next
to Kastor. “Why do you say that?”
“I brushed up on your history.” Kastor gestured to the praying groups. “They’ve spent thousands of years trying to dominate this land. Jerusalem’s traded hands between Jews and Christians and Muslims a hundred times. Not to mention the Babylonians. The Assyrians. The Persians. The Romans.” He trained his gaze on Qasim. “What do you think will be different this time? A constitution? A piece of paper with signatures on it?”
“We’ll partition the city,” Qasim replied. “Jews will control Jewish sites. Christians will—”
“Yes, that’s been tried before,” Kastor interrupted. “The problem is, no one is ever satisfied with only a piece of it. Not for long, anyway.”
Qasim frowned and stared at Kastor suspiciously. “Why are you here? Why are you helping us if you don’t believe in our cause?”
Kastor looked away and thought about it. Part of him wanted to just tell Qasim the truth, be out with it, come what may. The cloak-and-dagger act ground him down like a stone against a blade. But he knew he couldn’t risk unveiling himself, even to Qasim.
An image of Pollaena flashed in his mind’s eyes. Her keen eyes and reticent smile. The smooth skin at her temples that seemed specially crafted for a queen matriarch’s points. The gleam in her pupils, hinting at the immeasurable depths of thought and emotion behind them. Giving him that look that paralyzed him on the inside. A moment in time flash-frozen in memory.
He missed her so badly.
“Because,” he said. “For this brief time . . . your cause and mine have intersected.”
Qasim sighed, apparently sensing he wouldn’t get anything concrete from Kastor. The gravel crunched under his feet as he pivoted to walk away.
“I’ll go see if my techs are ready,” he said on his way out the gate.
Kastor half-turned to watch him leave. In the midst of all these Earth men and women clustered together, praying desperately, each to their own god, he suddenly felt very alone. A stranger in a strange land that he couldn’t wait to leave.
His eyes fell down to the map of Jerusalem on the table. Morvan had given him seventy-two hours to take the Old City. Kastor would take it in thirty-six.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Carina Arm, on the planet Santa Maria . . .
The Carinian shuttle still rumbled in the air over the forest, a handful of kilometers behind them. Davin hoped they hadn’t found theFossa. It’d be game over for them if they lost their ship.
The natives moved through these woods with practiced familiarity, smoothly navigating pathways between the column-like trees and through gaps in the overgrowth. Davin struggled to keep up. Kiki, alongside him, and Strange, following behind, apparently did, too. Kiki often got caught in thickets and had to claw her way out with pained grunts. Those same fat birds hopped around on branches overhead, squawking as if to laugh every time one of them got held up.
Then, after probably forty minutes of weaving through the forest and tearing through mangled clumps of vines, the trees and bushes thinned, giving way to a pasture of burgundy-red, tubular stalks of waist-high grass, slitted on the end like tulips. The natives left parted wakes in their path as they ran through it. Davin discovered the tubular stalks were hollow and supple as his hands brushed over them. Ahead, a cluster of long-beaked birds, more lean and colorful than the fatasses perched back on the forest branches, fluttered out of the tall grass and flew away.
In the distance, Davin made out a few smoke trails curving into the sky. That’s where they were headed. A few more minutes of tromping through the tall tube-grass and Davin could see buildings. Not the kind he was used to. It looked like a village of old fashioned log cabins. Once they got close enough to get a good look, Davin realized theywere log cabins, some small and humble, others three stories tall and piping smoke from cobblestone chimneys.
They slowed their pace entering the village. Davin gaped at the thickness of the logs stacked upon each other for one of the larger buildings. As they rounded it, more of the natives came into view. Lots more. All dressed in roughly the same outfit with only a few variations here and there. Women laughed together as they slung shirts and pants over a line strung between two buildings. Two old men swayed on porch rocking chairs while puffing pipes. A teenage boy with sweat stains on his shirt and peach fuzz on his lip rode a rickshaw bike hauling a cart full of husked vegetables. Children bickered over some game they were playing in a dirt patch involving marbles and a painted stake.
And yet, as archaic as this place seemed, solar panels lined the buildings’ slanted rooftops, and Edison-style lightbulbs hung from wires inside the buildings. Odd.
It didn’t take long to capture the attention of the locals. One by one, they halted whatever they were doing and silently watched the offworlders as they passed by. Davin smiled and gave a little wave to the women who had been hanging clothes on the line.
“Howdy,” he said, trying to act casual.
They didn’t return the gesture.
Strange jabbed Davin in the ribs with her elbow. She pointed inconspicuously at an opening between buildings. Davin looked, saw nothing at first, then froze a moment when he saw them: a pair of old, rusted space shuttles parked in a field of overgrown grass. The ponderous, spacebus kind no one used anymore.
“Must be what they came here in,” Strange whispered.
“Think they still got any compressed oxygen or coolant?” he whispered back, continuing after Kiki and the locals.
“Maybe,” Strange said. “Only way to know is if I can get in there any look for myself.”
“Where you think they hide the keys?”
Strange glanced around at the onlooking, burlap-clad locals. “That’s if they haven’t already thrown the keys away. You see how old those things looked?”
Davin nodded slightly. “No spring chickens, that’s for sure.”
Their local tour guides had stopped by one of the log buildings ahead, the widest and boxiest yet. The bearded man opened a door and turned to them.
“Come in.”
“Is that where they skin newcomers and toss ‘em in a stew?” Strange asked quietly.
Davin stepped around Kiki to lead the way into the building. If anyone was getting skinned and turned into a tasty morsel, it would be the captain. At least until the locals got hungry again. Then it would be the others as well.
Davin let out a sigh of relief to discover not a slaughterhouse but a church inside. A rather plain-looking church, with hand-crafted wood pews, a short platform, a basic-looking lectern, and, of course, a large cross hanging in the front. A tall man with a shaven head, sunken eyes, and a pleasant smile strode down the center aisle toward Davin. Kiki and Strange came in after him.
“I figured we would have guests soon,” the fellow said in an even, unthreatened voice. “We saw your ship come down. Seemed to be in quite a hurry to make landing.” He was tall and thin as a rail, but roped down his arms with suntanned muscle. Stopping before Davin, he extended an open hand. “Welcome to the Fellowship of Francis. I’m Avis Maybell, chief elder of Francis.”
Davin hesitantly clasped his hand and shook it. “Davin de la Fossa. And my crew mates Sydney Strange and Essy . . . Esia . . .” He couldn’t remember how to pronounce Kiki’s name.
She stepped forward and shook hands with Maybell all the same. “Esiankiki.”
“Esiankiki,” Maybell repeated back smoothly, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re from Africa?”
“Yes,” Kiki replied curtly.
“Lovely,” Maybell replied, then leaned to see the doorway, where a crowd had gathered to watch. “Thank you, Jeremiah. I’m sure you all have much to do.”
The bearded man traded glances with others in the group, then shut the door. They were alone with Avis Maybell, this strangely unruffled bald man. The fellow sat down on one of the pews. It gave off a deep creak even with his slight weight.
“You’ll have to forgive them,” Maybell said. “Many of them have spent most of their lives awa
y from . . . well, ‘civilization’ I guess you’d call it. Please, sit.” He gestured to the pews on the other side of the aisle.
Not knowing how exactly to ask for what he needed, Davin sat. Kiki went and sat in the pew behind him, while Strange sat beside him.
Maybell propped his elbow on the back of the pew. “What brings you to Santa Maria?” It was a casual question, almost conversational.
Davin detected the question within the question. He sat forward. “Listen, we need help. We came from Orion to help . . . a friend of ours. She’s in danger.Vital danger.”
Maybell narrowed his eyes. “What kind of danger?”
“The life-threatening kind,” Davin said.
Maybell smiled. “I gathered as much.” He waited for Davin to fill in the silence but got nothing. “What kind of help do you need? None of my people are engineers or mechanics. I doubt we could help fix your ship.”
Davin exchanged a glance over his shoulder with Strange. He didn’t know how else to ask, so he just asked. “Didn’t look like you were ever planning on using those shuttles you got parked out there again. Am I right?”
Maybell smiled vaguely. “No. I doubt they’d fly again. They were never meant for a return journey.”
“Right,” Davin said. “Then you wouldn’t mind if we took a look inside them? Salvage a few things for our own ship?” He held his breath for an affirmative, for anything. But the chief elder’s face remained blank. “Please? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“I imagine your hurry is motivated by the Carinian Space Force shuttles scouring the forest,” Maybell said.
Davin tried to think of some other story, but nothing came to mind. “Yes. They’re after us because we crossed the border without authorization. But we only did it to help our friend. She could die if we don’t get to her.”
Horns of the Ram (Dominion Book 2) Page 24
