Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  Willet wanted to fight. “She won’t make it!”

  “We don’t have a choice! They have her. There’s no way we can get her. We’ll come back I—”

  “She won’t make it!” He was furious.

  “We’re going!” Nani was still yelling, voice spiking the audio in the tight corridor. “Hold on!”

  Zac crouched to the deck and pulled the resistive Willet gently with him. Willet wanted to fire open the door and leap out, insane as that would’ve been—and he would have, Zac was convinced, had he not held him fast. Bianca sat, her own expression speaking volumes at the fact that there was no Jessica, pushing against the walls as the Reaver moved away suddenly like a bullet. So abruptly, so hard they slid across the floor in a compression of force that taxed even the inertial systems designed to hold them in place, banging into the door where the three of them bunched into a corner and held. Awkwardly, pressed together like children, tumbled into each other and not moving.

  Willet glared at Zac.

  Forces mounted, Nani outrunning everything; all pursuit, all enemies. Outrunning the horrible spectacle they left behind. Racing away from their failures. No Satori. No Jessica. Zac could feel the desperation.

  Nani was fleeing it all. Putting it all far, far behind.

  Then the rush of the quantum drive washed over them and they were gone.

  It was over.

  CHAPTER 24: THE TREMARCH ENGAGES

  Cee stood at the edge of her throne, noticing only somewhere at the fringes of awareness that she’d risen from the seat, so consumed was she with the movements of the ancient Kel starship. The fighter had been brought down, it was being secured, but the other, larger craft still moved freely, taking out their ships and refusing to yield. Cee watched it on the giant screen. Unexpectedly it went to ground, down in that wooded valley; people got on—she suspected they would learn it was Kang’s enemy, the superhuman—Horus—and as the ancient yet infinitely lethal craft hovered one of their destroyers took advantage, laying in a brutal barrage across its spine but …

  The old ship weathered the attack and rose, having secured its human cargo and …

  Charged away.

  Even now it was fleeing, making rates of acceleration no craft in their fleet could touch. Voltan had been yelled at already; unneeded, perhaps, as before she ever opened her mouth he was directing his admirals to throw everything they had at the suddenly departing craft.

  The ancient starship must be stopped.

  But it wouldn’t be. She could see that now, and as it peeled away from their painfully slow pursuit—a battle fleet in which Cee placed so much pride, so much confidence, being made now to look like slugs in the face of this superior technology—a technology that was, by all rights, hers; the knowledge of their great Kel ancestors—it should be ours!—as it spanked their response she found herself sinking slowly back to the edge of the throne. Sitting in that last instant as the ship …

  Leapt to infinity.

  All was quiet. Her bishop did not speak. Voltan was slow to turn to the screen and face her, no more need to interact with his officers in charge of stopping it.

  The ancient starship was gone.

  “We have the fighter, my queen. Perhaps—”

  She waved him quiet. Voltan’s giant image, shoulders and head, one eye glaring, the other behind the black patch, stared at her from the screen.

  Fury was not appropriate here, and she worked hard to contain it. Things could be salvaged. In a way it was her fault. Perhaps she should’ve ordered more effort into capturing it from the outset.

  Perhaps she should’ve listened to Kang.

  It was possible the fighter would have a record. And that, even beyond the technology of the ancient craft, was what they were really after. If the fighter stored the same information as the larger craft their purpose was served. Where did it come from? At the end of that question would be another world, most likely Kang’s world, Anitra, and yet another world for conquest.

  She thought briefly of the beast. Dead now. The monster she’d begun, in some inexplicable ways, taking a liking to. Not much of one, but she was starting to see potential. Ways he might be used. Now he was gone. Partly it was a comfort. To both know at last he was not indestructible, a mounting fear of hers—that they would, in the end, have no final solution, no way to control him if it came to that—and to now be relieved of the burden of having to try. She would no longer be required to engage the difficult diplomacy of managing him.

  Still, in other ways she’d been looking forward to that very game of wits. How he might be used to their advantage.

  But that was behind them. She looked to Voltan.

  “I am coming.”

  “My queen?”

  “I will bring additional landing craft so that we might overrun this world once and for all, and be done with this ridiculous dance.

  “I will be joining the fleet at Earth.”

  **

  “They’ve not yet targeted the people of Earth,” Lorenzo pointed to a large TV on the wall. “Clever.”

  One of his sycophantic New Breed nodded. Hansel looked around the room. They were gathered in the mansion’s large study, lounging about in overstuffed chairs and on leather couches, watching sporadic broadcasts coming over the world’s fractured networks, drinking or smoking or both. Hansel sat off to the side in the farthest corner, mostly in shadow, peeking out a nearby window at the streets a few floors below. It was a beautiful afternoon in Istanbul. Quiet.

  At last it was quiet.

  “They’ve decimated the world’s forces,” one of them commented, a twenty-something white male, blonde hair pulled back in fancy dreads. He wore sunglasses, inside, and crossed his legs like a woman. Hansel couldn’t help curling his lip in the shadows. The blonde man faked both accent and tone, deliberately dropping his voice an octave and trying to make himself sound both brilliant and powerful. Hansel wanted to kick him in his nuts, if he had any—hard to tell the way he crossed his legs—and knock that voice up a few octaves where it belonged.

  “What do you think of the demon?” one of them asked idly. It was a question for Lorenzo, but the floor was open.

  “A construct of the Kel, no doubt,” another speculated. “I wonder if they have more.”

  One of the girls rose and went to a decanter of brandy across the room. A haze of hashish filled the room. Empty bottles. “I only regret it didn’t get a chance to finish our enemy,” she said as she opened the crystal flask and tipped a few more splashes into her glass. She capped it and turned.

  “Actually,” she said, holding the glass loosely, “I only regret he got away. I will make him pay for what he did to our brothers and sisters.”

  “Shut up, Celia,” Lorenzo waved a hand at her, eyes glued to the TV and the stream of broken news. “He’d kill you as quickly as the rest.”

  The Bok had been stunned by what the dark-haired super-human did to their ilk at the castle in Spain. How he killed them all. Hansel was stunned too, by how the same guy laid waste to his commando team. He had to admit when the broadcasts came in of the battle between that man and the demon he sat at the edge of his seat, watching with all the rest, just as eager for the outcome. Would the demon destroy him?

  But he hadn’t. The beast was killed in the battle and Superman got away.

  Hansel looked around the room.

  Despite the confusion in the world the Bok still had their fingers deep in all parts of it. Through military feeds and other sources they had a relatively complete picture of what happened up in that Spanish valley. Lorenzo wasn’t worried of such things, near as Hansel could tell. Lorenzo counted all this an anomaly, of no consequence—or at least nothing they could do anything about—and so remained focused on the bigger prize.

  “Listen,” he turned to all of them. “Our objective is to get me an audience.” He looked at each in turn.

  “Get me an audience with the Kel. Let me speak to our ancestors and our future is assured.”


  **

  Heath ran fast and low across the grassy field, down through a scorched rut and right up to the smoking hulk of one of the alien tanks. There he took cover, looked back across the distance and waved his team clear. They made their way to him in the same fashion, low and fast, gear quiet in motion, dull surfaces casting no bright reflections in the setting sun. Dark human forms in the tall grass, passing from woods to field to …

  Alien tank.

  Back hard against it Heath looked up its side as the rest of his group rushed to join him. He felt its surface. Metal of some kind, not any different than other metal to the touch, though it was quite likely something very different. More durable to be sure, as evidenced by the lack of any real effect their weapons had on it. During the whole conflict he didn’t think they’d done much damage to any of the Kel. The alien tank had color; mostly black, though patterns of green were painted on as well. Or anodized or something. However it was applied, the tanks were green in addition to black. Heath suspected the color was more something to do with their design or insignias than with any effort at camouflage. The green was too sharp, too much in contrast with living green to make any difference. And it wasn’t as if the Kel had made any effort to hide. They marched everywhere in plain view, drawing fire and returning it, almost always winning the exchange.

  The Earth forces had lost this fight miserably.

  Steve crouched beside him, back to the dead tank, eyes out on the open field where danger lurked.

  Heath turned to him. “Ready to test that brain of yours?”

  This particular tank was one of the ones brought down by the freaky-strong human that had come among them. As yet Heath had no explanation for that, nor had he yet expended any real thought on it. Nor did he intend to. Not for a while. No one else was talking about it either, about the man or the demon that came along after him or about what either of them was quite clearly capable of. Right then all that mattered was that the man had done huge damage to the alien assault, perhaps even more than the Earth forces in that small valley, and as a result Heath and his team had a completely destroyed, completely inert example of alien technology, right here, with not a single, live Kel warrior anywhere close. Sporadic battles yet raged further away, but right there in this section of valley they were about to get their first, up-close look at what these aliens were made of.

  Pete looked up and down the length of the large vehicle. The alien tanks were bigger than an Earth main battle tank though not by much. They were certainly tougher and more powerful. And far more badass, as they simply hovered above the ground rather than relying on tracks or wheels.

  That in itself was awesome.

  Pete looked at Steve. “Think you’ll be able to operate it?” He held his sniper rifle in front of him, stock in the dirt, barrel pointing straight up and leaning on it a little with both hands. “That would be so cool if we could.”

  Heath could tell Steve wasn’t sure if Pete was serious. A huge gouge was ripped down the side of the tank, it was flat against the ground and leaning to the side in the plow of dirt from where it had been brought down hard. The turret was wrenched free, tilting to the side, and smoke billowed from cracks on the deck above.

  This tank was going nowhere.

  Steve tried to be patient. “I think it’s broken, Pete.”

  Pete nodded. Seemed to recognize the reality of it. “Yeah. You’re right.” Then: “Too bad.”

  “Don’t worry,” Heath laid a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “We’re here to see how it works. Steve is going to find whatever we can and we’ll get it back to the smart people to take a look.”

  As Heath said that Steve looked up along the top edge.

  And gave a deep sigh. “We hope.”

  **

  I moved something with my mind.

  Jess continued to reel. Though it happened—it happened!—she still couldn’t believe it. It was incredible, and the reality of the event had her buzzing. As if she was floating right out of her head and might never stop.

  I moved something with my mind!

  Telekinetics, plain and simple. That’s what it was. Just like Lorenzo did, just like the force he used to knock her down in the club. And like the mind-speak she’d been using with Galfar moving things was, in the end, yet another “tele”. A mental projection no different than the other. That was the best way she could describe it. Only, where telepathy seemed more tame, if you could call it that—merely projecting thoughts into someone else’s head—telekinesis was … telekinesis was in your face, right there for anyone to see. Projecting movement to an object without even touching it.

  It was frickin unreal.

  They hadn’t been on the road long when Galfar shifted to the mode of teacher, as Jess fully expected him to at some point—his intention was far too obvious—and it was with a certain degree of eagerness that he began instructing as they rode along at a leisurely pace. This clearly being his main objective besides getting her to the Brotherhood. By then Jess was certain he had, in fact, been the one to show this trick to Lorenzo, and at their very first stop he did, indeed, show her how to do it too. How to move something by pure will. Galfar sent Haz off to occupy himself, put a little pebble on a larger stone and …

  Moved it.

  Not even much concentration. Just a little glance and a flick of the wrist and it tumbled off the side.

  Though it made her take a step back it was not, in itself, a total shock. Jess had seen Lorenzo do it. By then she was fully convinced Lorenzo was the “Other” Galfar spoke of, the one who came through before her, the one who Galfar claimed to have shown this very thing. And she was sure Lorenzo then showed it to the other Bok. That was how the Bok knocked her down and how they knocked Zac down, and it was how they fought on the farm.

  But though she’d seen the Bok do it, though she’d seen it in action and knew it was real—though she’d been on the receiving end of that very power—she was utterly fascinated to see Galfar do it so up-close and so precisely. To see the trick so carefully done, so effortlessly, in a controlled setting, Galfar moving the pebble over and over, back and forth …

  But it wasn’t really a trick, was it. It was a skill. And somehow watching him do it, right in front of her—explaining each action as he did it—made it seem not so impossible and, in turn, made it okay for her to try. Like she might actually expect something to happen.

  For a long time it didn’t. For a long time nothing happened. Each time she tried, each time she listened, following Galfar’s direction as precisely as she could … nothing.

  Then, when it did happen …

  When it did she nearly fell over. So staggered she actually lost her balance and nearly fell.

  That’s when her head started buzzing, and it really hadn’t stopped since.

  Of course to reach that moment she had to try what felt like a thousand times. That whole afternoon. To the point she became convinced it would never work. Galfar knew the trick, somehow he imparted it to Lorenzo, somehow Lorenzo imparted it to others, but she would never get it. Not her. Not Jessica. She just didn’t have it in her. With each failure she tried to give up.

  But Galfar wouldn’t let her. Then, eventually, after many more failures—so many more—she began, to her mild surprise, believing in the other direction. That maybe she could learn to do it. That, in truth, she should learn it. That there was no way this wasn’t going to be hers. That even though she was failing it was her right to do it, to be able, and she was not going to allow herself to be less than the Bok. After all, she kept reminding herself, not only did Lorenzo learn how to do it but, clearly, he showed others. Galfar said no one else came, so he didn’t show anyone. And so if Lorenzo could learn, then teach others, surely Jess could learn from the master himself.

  She was not going to be less able than the Bok.

  And so as the day wore on she regrouped, launching into the training with fresh focus. Determination grew, attempts became such that finally the epiphany came and
she was certain, beyond any further doubt, she would not fail.

  It was around that point it happened. A little wiggle and the pebble turned over and tumbled across the boulder.

  And it blew her right out her mind.

  The mere fact of that success, now that she’d persevered and actually, successfully, willed something to move—no matter how many tries it took—was absolutely, one-hundred-percent incredible. She could not stop rushing with the experience. In the wake of it she desperately wanted to try to move something else but didn’t dare. Not yet, lest she fail and be crushed. Lest it turn out to be unreal after all. For the moment she contented herself merely to revel in the victory. Cautiously believing she might actually have learned something amazing. That what she did was not just a one-time fluke; that she was on the verge of more.

  Galfar allowed it. He let her end with that success and they moved on, continuing their slow ride.

  Funny thing was, though she’d been trying so hard for so long to do it, when at last she did she swung at once back the other way. Started in on all the reasons it couldn’t possibly be. All the reasons it couldn’t be true. To which Galfar said, cryptically, there were only two absolute truths in the universe (she didn’t ask), and that all else was by our design. She should not concern herself with such things, he said, only with what worked. Don’t concern myself with how it could possibly be? What sense did that make? Why wouldn’t she want to know? But he only repeated: The only thing that matters is that it works. What works … that is Truth.

  The echo of those words floated in her mind’s eye. Somewhere deep at the center. Forgotten in the excitement of the moment, she chewed on them now as everything settled.

  What works is Truth. Nothing else matters.

  Her twenty-first century mind reasoned that, if you reworded it, you could say something like, if it works there must be an explanation. Clearly it worked. So there must be an explanation.