Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  Cee shifted. “How is our dear Kang?”

  “Like a child at the helm of an army. His impulses are near uncontrollable. I don’t have to tell you his presence has everyone on edge.”

  Then Voltan added a bombshell: “Another point of interest, and a possible explanation as to how things have come to be—another dimension to this mystery—the ancient Kel vessel that came to our system and left? The one Kang believes came after him from Anitra? It was waiting here, at Earth, when we arrived.”

  Cee leaned forward. Voltan answered her reaction. “Yes,” he confirmed. “The same.”

  Could it … “Could it be following him somehow?” That seemed unlikely, yet there it was. “If it is from Anitra,” she guided her thoughts, “then it knows how to get to Earth. That means it has coordinate info on both worlds. Perhaps others.”

  It was clear Voltan had considered this.

  “Where is it now?” Cee felt her pulse quickening. Since the arrival of Kang it was as if they’d thrown the door open on a roomful of amazing possibilities. One thing after the next; the further they went the more they found. It was at once wonderful and … terrifying. So much to be gained, so much more to be risked. How little they knew! So far what they’d found appeared non-threatening. Manageable. But that ancient Kel ship … Not only was there glory in the Kel’s past, there were dangerous secrets as well. Things that should not be revisited. Things that should not, in truth, be given more fuel with which to burn.

  She must be cautious.

  They must all be.

  “The craft is still here,” said Voltan. “It fled upon our arrival. We thought it was jumping away to another star system but it went to the orbit of the local gas giant. Destroyers chased it and lost it in the clouds of that world. They stand by on station. For the moment our sensors cannot acquire its signal.”

  Cee’s mind was racing. “Keep them there,” she said. “Watch for it. Do not let it escape.”

  Voltan seemed to shrug, though his shoulders didn’t move. “As you know it may carry the one called Horus, the one Kang wants so desperately to kill. Kang is determined to find and finish his foe. When he saw the ship waiting he demanded we destroy it—”

  “Do not destroy it,” Cee spoke too loudly. She calmed. “As I say, it might hold clues to Anitra and perhaps even other worlds. Its technology is valuable. Capture it if at all possible.”

  “Yes, my queen.” Voltan sounded less than enthusiastic. “Kang is not happy with me at the moment, if indeed he ever was. I’ve mostly ignored his demands and have instead kept our fleet on task.” He added: “Kang wants Horus with a vengeance. His mind has shifted fully to this.”

  “Inform our dear Kang I support him in the killing of his enemy. We will do what we can. Perhaps that will appease him.” Even as she said it Cee realized appeasing the demon would be no easy feat.

  Voltan consented.

  “So what of the invasion?” Cee reclined. “Based on your assessment, what is the next step?”

  Her Praetor stood straighter. Voltan was a tall, broad Kel, and as he dominated the screen she knew, despite their friction, he was the best man for this particular job.

  “Earth is complex,” he said. “Vastly so. They are coordinated among themselves, but in a very loose way, and only at the most basic level. Where it matters, faced with a global threat of this nature, that very lack of coordination will hurt them. However, due to their complexity we are still evaluating the best course of action. Their systems are dispersed and quite unique. As such that redundancy becomes a strength. There may be no surgical strike option that brings them down neatly. We’re working to lock in everything we can before taking action. As I say, there is no immediate threat.

  “I’ve issued a standard demand for surrender. Global in nature. There has been, as expected, no immediate response. Not from a credible source. It seems there is no shortage of people on this world making an effort to communicate with us. I will next make a direct address to their leaders.

  “I do not expect them to surrender.”

  “And so what is your plan?”

  “Based on how they do respond I may offer alternatives, or I may make examples.” Voltan’s expression changed slightly and he seemed to be reviewing thoughts he hadn’t yet organized. “We know nothing of these Fetok. Only what we can directly observe. But I have a feeling, based on what little we’ve seen so far, that they will not go quietly. To caution you: this invasion may not be completely about force. Force will play a part, no doubt. Probably the greater part. Yet, this very complexity that impedes them may well empower them. We shall see.”

  “They will fold before us,” Cee had confidence in abundance, even if Voltan displayed caution. Overwhelming force was always a solution. “This is the conquest of our first new colony, my Praetor. Relish the moment.” It was exhilarating to be talking to him in real-time, so far away, in another star system, on a march of conquest to add a new world to the Kel rule. The first world outside their own in a long, long time.

  “I am, my queen,” he said, though it didn’t sound as if he was. There was no “relish” in his tone. “This operation will have its challenges, but in the end there is no doubt we will win the day.”

  “Go, then,” she said. “Make your address.”

  “Yes, my queen.” And he signed off.

  Cee turned to her bishop. The technicians still shared the giant room, standing by as the transmission took place, overseeing all aspects. Technologically it had gone perfectly. Cee dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

  When they were gone and she and her bishop were alone she turned further in the throne, put both legs over and stretched languidly across its width.

  “We are on the cusp of greatness,” she informed him.

  “Indeed,” her bishop agreed. “The halcyon days of the Kel are within our reach.”

  Cee smiled. “A glorious dawn.”

  Her bishop’s gaze fell and he grew more serious. When he didn’t speak Cee prodded.

  “What is it?”

  “Unrest continues, my lady. I received reports of an assault. In Gremlaken.”

  “An assault?” Cee tried to remain impassive; tried to maintain her rapturous air of triumph, but her heart had gone cold.

  “Yes, my lady. It would seem the blasphemous cries for the Prophecy have taken hold. As we feared they might. There are those who tire of the Way and demand freedom.”

  “We give them freedom!” Fury swelled and Cee pulled her legs from the arm of the throne, angry that she allowed herself to react so forcefully. Angry at so many things right then. “Even now! Our fleets prepare for the conquest of a new world!”

  “Further war as they see it, my lady. I too was surprised at the news. I believed these stirrings had been squashed, enough examples made. I too believed the promise of Kel territory would appease even the most rebellious disbelief.” He thought on the situation; made to reduce it: “And perhaps it has. It may simply be that, having unlocked that which lay dormant for so long, we’ve merely released what was festering. Perhaps this new bid for conquest may indeed have reduced the ranks of the fanatics. Perhaps it is only to our view it seems the opposite has occurred. To our view this whole movement seems to have exploded, as we have only just now become aware of it. Prior to the arrival of Kang we heard little mention of the Prophecy.

  “As we move forward with our expansion it may well fade to nothing. Perhaps it must simply run its course.”

  “Issue orders,” Cee hated that this ancient devotion had reared its head; hated more that it continued to gain strength—whether the absolute numbers of devotees reduced or not. Perception was everything, and the perception was that the Prophecy’s influence was growing. Or at least the spectacle was. She would tolerate no more of it. “Kill anyone suspected of even sympathizing with this movement. Offer rewards for information leading to the discovery of sympathizers or active supporters. No longer restrict the purge to those who actively engage in blasphemy. Make cl
ear the eternal damnation that awaits any who speak of the Witch, any who call for her teachings, any who call for a return to her ways. The One God will eternally punish any who even think on it. This is the highest heresy!”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “Continue the campaign of eradication. Keep the minds of the Kel on conquest. Turn up the volume on announcements of our success. Turn up the volume on our prospects for the future. Drown out the noise of the clamorous few, even as you find and kill them. Soon we will silence all followers of the Prophecy, no matter how small their number.

  “We shall restore the Kel to empire.”

  **

  The clay hut they approached was small, and looked to be alone in the little clearing down at the end of the trail. As near as Jess could tell, peering through the dark, it sat at the edge of a cliff, a few dozen feet below it a wider expanse with more huts surrounded by what looked to be taller trees. No lights were on in any of the dwellings below. Up there on the ledge a few smaller trees leaned in from the side, and the only light, the light of a fireplace, flickered in the windows of the hut. A fire, yes, but not the campfire she’d first thought when seeing it in the distance.

  Gazing out across the sloping valley beyond, as far as she could see—which was far from that vantage—across the tops of the trees of the surrounding forest, all the way to the distant mountains, the rolling landscape illuminated in shades of blue beneath the reflected light of the completely alien Saturn-like planet that spanned the horizon, like something right off the cover of a sci-fi novel …

  In all that distance there was no other sign of civilization. The fireplace in the clay hut was the only man-made light in sight.

  Behind her the dog-headed guards fanned out as they guided her into the small clearing. She assumed them to be men but was prepared to discover they weren’t. Now that they’d entered the clearing she could see the hut was designed for something man-like, normal sized windows and door, and she expected to find a human or humans inside but, again, worked to make herself ready for anything. They could be two-legged dogs. Monster-faced aliens that had voices like people. Her panic was, by then, racing on unabated. The plateau was far behind and the growing fear that Zac would pop through and find her gone consumed her. The impulse to turn and run, to push past them and flee back up the path, climb the winding steps and burst out onto the open plateau was difficult to resist.

  They pointed her toward the hut with their pikes. The door was merely an opening; a doorway with no actual door. You could simply walk in, and with a glance back to the two armed figures, who stopped several paces back, she got the idea that was what she was supposed to do. Inside the fire crackled, its soothing light bathing the baked-clay walls within, warmth seeping out through the doorway, making it hard to be intimidated. And maybe she wasn’t meant to be. The guards had a militant, somewhat dangerous—if archaic—air about them, but the hut was quite the opposite. And as she stood outside it in the dark, just at the edge of the comfortable orange light, trying to find any sign of occupancy inside, trying to see any chairs or furniture or anything else to give her a clue as to what waited, she felt a wave of calm wash over her.

  Probably just exhaustion. She tried to make herself relax. Tried to find that distance, the decision to be brave that had gotten her through so many similar situations in the past.

  And entered.

  Across the threshold the air warmed further, smelling of burning wood. The simultaneous sensations of smell and heat acted to steady her. It was a one-room hut, no interior walls or other spaces, and as she entered its sole occupant came into sight. And, though she’d been prepared for most any possibility—dog men or squid heads or even Cthulhu himself—she nevertheless felt an instant of shock.

  It was an old man.

  Human, most definitely, looking like an aborigine, standing there waiting, dark skinned, seemingly frail though he had a robust air about him that could not be mistaken. Like Yoda or something, decrepit in appearance, hiding something far deeper. It was an instant impression. All she knew was that she felt his power.

  She focused. He had brilliant green eyes that sparkled in the flickering firelight, exuding that same energy. Patchy gray fuzz made a ragged halo of his scalp, more fuzz on his jaw and, like an aborigine, he wore some sort of loincloth and nothing else. Completing the image was a large, gnarled staff he gripped firmly in both hands, leaning on it.

  his voice snapped in her brain—like a shot cracking through her skull—and for an instant she freaked. All her gathering calm … gone.

  He’s speaking in my mind!

  Same as Lorenzo. Same as when he nailed her with a voice in her head, right before knocking her to the ground with a wall of invisible force. Was the old man about to … She cringed; braced herself—even as she realized he had no intention of knocking her down.

  Welcome, she’d heard it clearly.

  For a difficult moment she reeled, trying to make sense of what just happened. What was happening; snapping violently to that present, as if arriving all at once. The echo of the old man’s voice reverberated in her mind as she continued to stare open-mouthed at him. Heart pounding.

  Wanting all at once to run.

  **

  General Peterson left the workstation where he’d been consulting with a team of experts, evaluating the aliens’ demand for surrender. Everyone was frantic. Information was already all over public channels, faster than seemed possible even in this day and age and, damn it to Hell, panic across the world had begun. Unavoidable, of course, but shit. Couldn’t they at least have a chance to figure some of this out? The President was on his way and even he was in the dark. Now, before their Commander in Chief had a chance to weigh in on matters, before Peterson even had a chance to bring him up to speed in person, the aliens had sent a very clear demand—in English, audio only—for global surrender. Delivered in an artificial voice, repeating, but there was no mistaking the source. If there had been any doubt as to their intentions before it was now gone.

  The aliens were definitely there to invade.

  “General,” one of his aides flagged him from the chaos.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve got—” he was cut off by a shout, followed by a few more shouts around the room as something new began unfolding. Peterson turned his head this way and that, looking across the hundreds of faces in the cavernous situation room for the best place to land his focus … needing no more than a second before his widening eyes locked to the giant main screen on the front wall.

  An image of one of the aliens filled it, dead center.

  Peterson felt his mouth hanging open. The alien was a man. Kind of. Not a bug-eyed monster. Quite the opposite. Pale, perfect complexion. Ageless. Could’ve been forty as easy as four hundred. Sharp, angled features, one eye covered by an eye patch. Like a frickin pirate, the other with a bright yellow pupil. He had pointed ears like an elf. He—it was definitely a “he”— had either ink or tattoos tracing fine patterns around the good eye and along his jaw; shock-white hair pulled into a pony tail that hung from the high part of the back of his head. His shoulders were wide, draped with some sort of white fur wrap. He wore black, alien armor, ribbed and studded with small spikes.

  All these things Peterson saw and failed to fully grasp as the impossible image just hung there, surreal in its stillness, only the tiniest of movements giving away the fact that this was a live image and not a still shot.

  Then it spoke.

  “I am Praetor Voltan,” the alien’s voice was rich and, like the audio message, in English, and Peterson managed to notice no one in the room was moving. Hell, no one was breathing as far as he could tell.

  He swallowed.

  “Of the Kel.” The alien man, Praetor Voltan, continued speaking, his actual voice fading to the background as a computer took over, translating whatever he was saying. His opening address had been in English; he now reverted to whatever was his native tongue—Kel, presumably—letting th
e translation audio overlay his voice with its artificial dub. It took Peterson a moment to clear the fog and process what was happening; what Voltan was saying. Something like the usual “Leaders of the Earth” speech or some such cliché.

  But then, how else would one begin? What other address would an invader give?

  The people of Earth were being prepped for conquest.

  CHAPTER 7: THE WATCHER OF HAMONHEPT

  Galfar the Watcher steadied himself with his staff, studying carefully the young girl who’d been brought before him. He knew someone came through the portal but expected it was, as always, the Interloper. The other. After all, that was the only one who ever came. The only who ever had. As a result he found himself nearly as shocked as the girl he confronted. His Welcome to her had been met with alarm and he suspected she was unfamiliar with the mind speak. This had also been true with the Interloper, when that man first came. Unlike the Interloper, however, the girl’s alarm only seemed to be growing.

  “He needs to know where I am,” she was saying, struggling past the shock and trying to make him aware of an urgency. Galfar didn’t understand her words but the meaning behind them was writ large in her thoughts. In her emotion. She was trying to make him understand someone else was coming. Another, who would look for her. To her mind she must be there when he did.

  he asked, hoping she would, as had the Interloper, eventually, as did any with a mind to hear. Language was not an option and so he didn’t bother speaking aloud. This was the only way, if she could grasp it.

  “Yes,” she said, rocked by his mental intrusion, and he saw she did, in fact, get his meaning.

  he said and, again, her comprehension was quick. The girl understood the Elnab were the guards outside and made the connection.

  Galfar’s hope for her rose.

  “Another is coming,” she shook her head, voice beautiful, words incomprehensible. It was a different language even than the Interloper’s, and, like the Interloper, Galfar did not bother trying to make sense of it. He got her meaning well enough—already he could tell the mind-speak would not be a stretch for her. If they got that far. For now she was far too panicked to expend effort on such a thing. For now she rushed on with her pleas.