Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  “We must cool her down,” he said.

  She’d begun mumbling, lashes flicking gently. Galfar had never seen such a fever come on so quickly.

  Perhaps that too was a sign.

  “Wet the rags,” he said and picked up a few. Together he and his son dunked them in the bucket, wringing and applying them to the girl’s hot skin.

  This they did for some time, tending to her as the day wore on, wetting and drying, cooling, keeping the raging heat under as much control as possible as she tensed and writhed, moaned and mumbled—suffering in her own, fevered world. After a time Galfar determined she’d stabilized, at least for the moment, and so they dried her one last time and covered her with a light linen sheet.

  “Come,” he took up his staff and motioned for Haz, exhausted with the steady movements of the last hours. Haz followed and they went outside into the sunshine. The heavily armored Elnab guards stood in the shade of one of the trees, waiting as instructed.

  “Thank you,” Galfar called to them. “You may go eat.”

  They turned and headed off, down to the small village, clanking out of sight. Galfar leaned on his staff and watched them go.

  “So you really think she’s important?” Haz asked.

  “Any who come through are important.”

  “But you believe she’s different.”

  “I do.”

  Galfar could tell Haz’s own opinion had changed. Somewhat. After being in her presence he was starting to get his own sense of … something. Inklings of the same feelings.

  Perhaps he saw something too.

  “She is a herald,” said Galfar. “Of that I am certain.” Then: “Though I do not yet know of what.”

  CHAPTER 11: THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

  “As of yet there’s no gauge of their capabilities,” General Peterson continued his assessment for the President, “so we have no idea where or how to position anyone. We can’t “deploy” anything against them. They’re in space for Christ’s sake.”

  The President regarded him, expression stiff. Peterson wished he had better council to give. The aliens were here for conquest, plain and simple, and until they made a move there was, frustratingly, little to do. At least they’d announced their intentions. There was no doubt of what was in store. At least they didn’t just hang up there saying nothing, looking mysterious and unfathomable. At least they were more or less something with which Peterson and his team could make sense; humanoid aliens that understood English. Yeah. At least. And so, though no shots had been fired, Earth was gearing for war.

  A war they could likely never win.

  Peterson shook his head. “If they use missiles, and they work more or less like ours we could, in theory, intercept them. But that’s assuming a lot. If they overload us or jam us or otherwise take down our command and control—all things we have to assume they can do—we’ll have no answer for that. I mean, they’re sitting up there with all our satellites. They could just shoot them all down. They could do anything they want.” It was a losing proposition however you looked at it. “Maybe they use kinetic rounds that are too fast to intercept. Or maybe they project destruction directly, like a phaser or a laser or a disruptor or … I mean, name your sci-fi technology, Star Trek, Star Wars—whatever. We just don’t know.” He tried to muster a bit of cavalier confidence and couldn’t. “This is a shitty situation top to bottom. Our best case scenario is that they decide to come down and engage us on the ground. Face to face. At least then we’ve got something to shoot at.” That they were even considering such things made it hard not to feel the utter hopelessness of the situation. But it wasn’t in human nature to concede without a fight. It just wasn’t. “I believe we still lose that confrontation, but it’s the only one where we can actually fight back.” Peterson couldn’t stop shaking his head. He noticed he was doing it, tried to make himself stop and couldn’t. As soon as he took his mind from it there it went again. Shaking back and forth.

  The President was just as lost. Peterson imagined how ridiculous they must both look. The two most powerful men in the room, probably the world, and there they were, looking at each other like a couple of idiots. The entire world was buzzing, such a wild influx of communications it had so far been difficult to coordinate anything with any of the other recognized world powers. As yet there was no consensus; not that it would’ve mattered. The Americans were forging on.

  “Eventually they’ll have to come down,” the President noted. Peterson knew the Commander in Chief well; the two had been roommates all the way back at West Point, and the President was not a man to give in. Neither was Peterson. This was merely a most extraordinary problem, beyond any they’d ever faced, and therefore one that would require a very extraordinary solution.

  “They will,” Peterson agreed. “Eventually they will.”

  “Shit,” the President closed his eyes. “Our first contact … our first frickin contact! … with another race. Our fist contact with a starfaring race, and they come to conquer.

  “Goddammit.”

  Those gathered waited. The Commander in Chief pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, to himself: “Aliens are here, and they’re here to invade.”

  The sounds of the busy situation room continued in the background, voices shouting information, keyboards tapping, bodies hustling. Screens flickered everywhere, the large forward monitors dominating everything.

  “Why couldn’t we get visited by nice aliens? Why did the first ones at our door have to be the bad guys?” The President’s continued disbelief with this particular point seemed to reduce the tension in the immediate area, if only a little. Peterson managed a weak smile.

  “I’ve called in a specialist,” he said. “Head of one of our black ops groups. He’s up to speed on anything we know collectively as a country when it comes to this sort of shit. ETs, fancy phenomena, weird technology, etcetera.

  “He may be able to shed some light.”

  The President looked at him.

  Then turned his attention to the gathered group.

  “Advantages,” he said, working to come to conclusions, “positive aspects to this. One: these are not a bunch of bug-eyed monsters, sitting up there not communicating or unable to communicate or otherwise using some technology so far beyond us we can’t even begin to comprehend it. There are a thousand scenarios like this we’ve dreamed up in books and movies. This, what we’re faced with, is the easiest to understand.

  “They’re humanoid. They speak English. For crying out loud they speak English! We can communicate. Yes they come from another star but so far the ships they’re flying—as far as we can tell—would not be that difficult to understand. These aliens are not five or ten orders of magnitude beyond us. They’re not god-like. They’re not going to come in here and squash us like bugs. Squash us maybe, if it comes to that, but in this matchup we’re talking something like,” he waved a hand, searching for comparisons, “humans versus monkeys, or whatever. Not humans versus ants. We’re not ants, we’re monkeys, and we can fight back. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.” The President was on a roll. One of the aides snickered at the idea of being a bunch of monkeys and the President agreed: “Yeah, I know. It’s the best analogy I can think of. I don’t know about you but I feel like a monkey right now. We’re all a bunch of monkeys.” Those around him concurred. The President continued. “This is not impossible. More than that it’s too early to even say what’s possible and what isn’t. Hell, most of what we’re talking about is pure conjecture anyway. We need more,” he said. “Listen. We can speak to them. There must be a way to reason our way through this.”

  “What about the rest of the world? At this early stage we haven’t been able to—”

  “No.” The President walked around in a tight circle. “We can’t wait until everyone gets their heads out of their asses. We’ve got no time for conference calls or meetings or consultations. Someone’s got to make a command decision.” His gaze passed over each of them. Obvi
ously they, the men right there in that room, were it. They were the ones who would stand up and make a plea for the Earth.

  Peterson looked to his aides. They in turn looked to each other. The senior aide said: “Tell me what you want to do.”

  The President told him:

  “Get me on the phone with this Voltan.”

  **

  By now panic had spread through the city. It was as if Cairo were already a city under siege, though the aliens had not yet made a move. Hansel sped through a sharp corner in the Range Rover and stabbed the brakes as a group of people charged heedless across the street in front of him. It looked like a family, three generations at least; kids, an old man and a woman, shepherded along by what was likely the father—holding up a hand too late, as if reaching to stop the SUV in its tracks. Hansel snapped the wheel to the right, hooked behind the family, popped over the curb and back down to the street beyond, continuing on. Not that running over a few people mattered much at this point.

  He couldn’t imagine where the family was going anyway.

  People were everywhere as he wove a hasty path toward the Bok’s private airstrip, bodies fleeing in all directions, looking for a way out when there was absolutely nowhere to go. Even they, Hansel and Lorenzo, had no real escape. The entire world was under threat. Where could they run?

  But Lorenzo was not fleeing. He had it in mind to go to Istanbul.

  “Is the Council even there?” Hansel asked as he swept through another corner, concentrating on the obstacles that kept popping up randomly before him. Other cars were out and about too, trying to get places, making things that much more interesting.

  “They will be there,” Lorenzo said with absolute confidence. He sat in the passenger seat, barely noticing the chaos of the drive. His mind was on other things. Plotting outcomes Hansel could only imagine.

  They reached an open plaza and Hansel sped up, curving once to avoid a running boy but otherwise making it across without incident. He bump-bumped over another curb and into the confines of a narrow street, accelerating past barred windows and white-washed walls, racing up its length.

  Nearing the airstrip.

  **

  Kang stood with Voltan on the bridge of the dreadnought. Together they surveyed the blue/white world before them on the giant forward screen; Voltan plotting strategy for its conquest, Kang fuming over the escape of Horus. Anitra, victory over his enemies … these things were further from him now than they’d ever been. He tried to find ways to see value in what he did have. A new world, the fabled Earth. That would soon be his. They would capture the alien craft in due time; he made himself believe it. The Kel saw value in it. Their queen wanted it. Further, they knew it would likely hold clues to reach Anitra. World Two in their march of conquest. Kang tried to console himself with these bits of knowledge. Soon they would control two worlds, the beginnings of Empire, and so there was, in truth, little to be concerned with at that point. They were still very much in control.

  But that was the root of it. They, the Kel, were in control, and they were being commanded by Voltan. Not Kang. From the outset he’d expected to endure a little give and take during this operation. After all, Voltan knew the tactics of the Kel and would be the one to guide them in the operations involved with conquering a world. However it had so far been all take and no give. Voltan consulted Kang on no decisions. Kang had not figured a way to wrest control back where it belonged.

  With him.

  He should be making the larger decisions, Voltan executing.

  “Lord Voltan,” one of the technicians called. Kang listened via translator as the Praetor turned and the technician spoke:

  “We have a request for direct contact among the chatter,” the tech said, and Voltan nodded for him to continue. “It’s from the leader of the country known as the United States of America. This country qualifies as a global decision maker.”

  “Authenticated?”

  The Kel nodded. “Authenticated.”

  America was one of the most powerful nations on the planet. If not the most influential.

  “We have confirmation, Lord. It is in fact the President of that nation requesting audience.”

  Voltan paused.

  Then decided: “Take it here.”

  He turned to the wide viewscreen. It was an unexpected decision, to take the call right there before the entire bridge crew, and for an instant Kang wondered what would be the reaction of the human leader when the screen came alive and he, the yellow, horned monster, was standing right there beside Voltan. Quickly he realized he didn’t care. It was too late anyway. The screen flipped and there was the image of the Earth leader, the President of America. He too had others in the background, not a formal setting or a carefully prepared address—here was a man smack in the middle of coming to grips with the fact that his entire world was about to be overrun—and when the image switched he seemed shocked at the unexpected transfer to direct contact. Perhaps he’d been expecting more of a debate, or even a delay in his request. From the ensuing changes in his expression Kang saw clearly the President intended a plea, or maybe even …

  Maybe they were going to surrender after all?

  In any event Kang realized this was a chance to exert his presence. Here was the perfect opportunity. And so, on impulse, he stepped forward, closer to the screen, past Voltan, such that he became the foreground figure, proud before them in all his demonic glory. He noted the human leader’s reaction. Shock was chief among the expressions racing across the faces of all of them on that end of the connection as they took note of him, though perhaps not as much as Kang might’ve expected. After all, they were already dealing with aliens. How much more alarming should they find a yellow-skinned demon?

  Then, in that moment before anyone spoke, as each adjusted to the other’s presence and, more to the point, the random and direct intrusion of Kang’s, he had the idea to go further. To take the address himself. Voltan had been running over his own desires. It was time for a little reciprocation. Voltan, quite unintentionally, had given him the opening by choosing to take the call there, on the massive bridge before everyone, and so Kang decided to act.

  “Have you agreed to our terms of surrender?” he asked the humans, graveled voice strong and deep—and in English. Let the Kel translate for once. These people spoke English and so did he.

  It was perfect.

  With deliberate effort the man on the screen composed himself.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am Kang.” He glanced at Voltan, who was doing an amazing job of remaining stoic in the face of this new twist, containing his outrage beautifully at what Kang was doing. Kang grinned at him. Voltan played along because it was the only thing he could do.

  Good, thought Kang.

  But decided not to go too far.

  “Co-commander of the Kel forces,” he announced. “With Voltan.”

  A long pause developed. The open channel, all faces on both sides watching—everything conspiring to make the pause that much more awkward.

  The human swallowed.

  “I am the President of the United States,” he said. “First let me say I do not speak for the entire world. I think, however, under the circumstances I am a fair ambassador for humanity. Someone needed to move this along and I’ve chosen to be that someone.”

  “Speak then,” said Kang. “Do you surrender?” He was certain Voltan would be more diplomatic. He was also certain that, as with the rest of it, he didn’t care.

  “Look,” the man lapsed into a forced, conversational posture and Kang realized it was to be a plea. “We’ve got a complex, resource rich world. You don’t want to ruin that with a fight.”

  “Then don’t fight,” Kang said before the man could continue that thought. “Surrender and all will be preserved.”

  Now the man squared his shoulders. His tone changed. “You want absolute surrender but that’s not going to happen. If we keep heading down this path neither of us is going to ge
t what we want. Things are about to change. We accept that. We’ve been going on for a long time with only ourselves to worry about. It’s been a long time since we’ve been invaded. But it has happened. Throughout our history. Invasions. Conquests. Changes. We’re not unused to the concept.

  “As new as this feels for us right now it’s not new for Mankind. And if there’s one thing our history shows, time and again, is that we fight back.” The Kel translation of the President’s voice droned from the bridge speakers; Kang watched for the reactions of the alien warriors as the Earth leader went on: “Even when the odds are against us. We’ve never gone quietly and we won’t now.

  “So I’m telling you. Make this easier on all of us. Talk to us. Negotiate. Surrender is not an option. You can take that off the table. If, however, concessions can be made that avoid all-out war, we’re willing to discuss.”

  Kang was about to speak—was about to laugh, in truth—when he noticed Voltan had closed the gap to stand directly beside him, a little taller and damningly more stately in bearing.

  “We will do so in person,” Voltan interrupted their little dialog. “A craft will be sent. It is to be allowed to arrive unchallenged. You will board and be brought before me.

  “We will finish this conversation here.”

  Another pause developed.

  Voltan filled the gap. “I guarantee your safety,” he said. “When done we will return you, no matter the outcome.”

  This time, before the President could articulate a response, Voltan pointed subtly to his technician and the signal was ended. The screen reset to the view of Earth and the Kel battle fleet arrayed against it.

  Voltan stared hard at Kang.

  **

  Deep in the clouds of Jupiter the Reaver hung motionless, thick bands of gas swirling outside the overarching, domed viewscreen, wrapping the bridge in shades of gloom. Lightning flashed. Thunder made it through the ship’s dampening systems and Bianca shifted where she sat. They were shielded from the Kel by the gas giant’s atmosphere, avoiding detection by the Kel destroyers, which still waited in orbit, watching for them. Nani had been experimenting with ranges, how high she could rise without triggering their response, but the fact that the Reaver was able to remain there undetected did little to bring comfort. They were stuck. The Earth was under siege. Bianca’s life, if it hadn’t been already, was, officially, over.