“We’re trying,” said Eldron. “I’m sending intercepts.”
Everyone watched as the rogue landing craft turned from its leisurely ascent and raced at full burn toward landfall. Other craft came in from random angles, intercept fighters traveling at ultra-sonic speed—why they’d not already been close, escorting the craft, was something for which Cee could scarcely lay blame as she herself had been right there watching all along, debating what to do with all the rest.
Never expecting their overrides would fail.
Now the fighters were ripping the air, but the closest were too far afield and the landing craft had not far to go and, as they all watched helplessly, it made its remote destination, shaved off the tremendous speed rapidly at the last second and … slammed headlong into a densely wooded mountain valley.
The signal went inert.
“Impact,” Eldron checked readings. “Inertial systems may have protected the occupants. It was a controlled reverse but it was still a hard impact. Checking.” He scanned an influx of information, getting nothing. “The superhuman should be fine,” he was shaking his head. “Unknown on the other.”
“Put me down!” Kang regained his insistence, all his forcibly contained intensity revived.
Cee looked to Eldron on the screen.
“We’re getting no feedback,” the Kel warlord summarized. “Controls are destroyed, all update signals from the craft have ceased.”
Seconds ticked. The fighters closed.
Kang was suddenly in Cee’s ear.
“He is mine!” he hissed, hot breath making her skin crawl. “Put me down there!”
“My queen,” Eldron’s voice entered her racing thoughts. “Intercept craft will be on scene in three minutes.” Cee looked to Voltan, who continued to look smug in the face of all this. He cared little for what was happening. None of this was terribly important as far as he was concerned. Certainly not a strategic threat.
Like watching a circus.
“Destroy it,” she ordered. “Blast the insertion craft. Destroy it. That whole area. Now.” This time she would not be ignored.
But Kang was the one she needed to worry over. She threw a hand in his direction, warning him to be still even as he bristled. On screen Eldron addressed Cee:
“As you wish, my queen.”
The others in the room eyed the exits, knowing there was no refuge if the unstoppable Kang, so close to the edge, became full-on Savage Brute. His elevated breathing rasped harshly in the confined space, echoing from the metal walls, but Cee held her position, clinging to her authority, hand remaining up, eyes locked to Eldron on the screen.
“Full dial on the spinal mount,” Eldron ordered, speaking to his crew off camera. “Moving into position.”
“Fire!” Cee commanded. “You know how fast he is!” Fools!
Eldron nodded. “Fire.”
“Centering,” came the measured response.
“Fire now,” Eldron commanded and an instant later the pulse of the warship’s main gun hummed deeply on audio in the background. Cee turned to the screen-in-screen of the valley below, watching as the sun-bright beam from Eldron’s warship stabbed from high orbit through the sky, into the ground, ejecting miles of countryside in one shot, sending a giant fireball curling into the air. It was as if the mountain had been punched with a nuclear fist. Quickly the fiery cloud overtook the image, filling the screen, then, after several seconds, it began curling back at the center to reveal the impact. The titanic, full-power shot from the warship had obliterated that section of valley, with authority, wiping away the mountainside and leaving a dark scar in its wake. As the ejected debris cleared and the cloud drifted and faded the charred rip in the Earth became more visible, a mighty crevice centered by a plunging hole. Various feeds showed angles of the destruction; nothing but ruined wasteland.
“Did he get away?” Her first question. Had Eldron been fast enough? The superhuman was confoundingly quick. They knew this.
“My queen, I doubt—”
“Did he get away?!”
Eldron was checking information influxes, shaking his head. “The residuals of the shot are overwhelming our signal sensitivity. Will be for several more minutes. Interceptors are beginning a sweep.”
Damn! Cee cast about the room; the self-satisfied Voltan, the seething Kang—he’d likely just lost his chance at vengeance—the still-nervous fleet commanders, wishing they were anywhere but in the presence of this spectacle.
The whole thing was botched.
“Scour the valley,” Cee snapped. “Find him if he lives.” And she whirled from the room, done with this. Done chasing single humans, no matter how powerful.
She went to seek true power.
**
The catacombs were dank and foreboding. Hansel brushed aside another cobweb—how the webs kept coming back when he’d already passed through that section of hall twice, he didn’t know—and shook it off his hand as he passed into the small chamber beyond, fronting on a shiny steel door. The door was a complete anachronism, set into the stone walls, deep shadows from torches casting the cracks and imperfections of the room in stark relief—even as their orange light shone brightly from its polished metal surface. Beside the door was a high-tech access panel, bio scanner and all. He laid his palm against it, paused for that brief second as it identified him and the lock clicked. The door slid back.
Electricity fed the place. The rest of the ancient labyrinth crawling beneath the underused temple was as lacking in technology now as it had been for the thousand or so years since it was built. The old temple was situated overhead at ground level, on a parcel of land on the outskirts of the city, owned by the Bok. A claim they’d maintained all this time, through every government that came and went, every decree and public statute, every war, every change of State and each and every new challenge.
Despite that continuity of ownership they had not been down there in those catacombs in a great long time.
Throughout their long existence the Bok had been a mostly nomadic group, moving as needed, morphing to each new political climate, finding refuge and continuing their existence in the shadows, maintaining few places of long-term occupation. The castle in Spain was one. This here, this underground dungeon turned archive, upgraded and advanced through the ages with the latest technology, the latest security, was another.
Possibly their most vital.
Hansel passed through the hardened steel tunnel and out into the archive room beyond. It wasn’t huge, not more than a thousand square feet, but within its walls was all the arcane knowledge the Bok possessed, their tomes and tablets and various trinkets. Things that were with them at the time of their formation; things deemed worthy or important by the priestess, meant to be part of their ascension on this world, to help with the formation of a refuge for the still greater secrets they meant to understand, those things the priestess intended to use to free man from future oppression. That was the Prophecy, anyway. The reality was that their priestess died, the Bok were cut off, they foundered, time advanced, decades passed then centuries, and now these potentially great, scarcely understood bits of information stood unused and gathering dust in this shiny metal vault. Now, after all that, they were finally about to be put to use. The vault had become, at this bitter end, Lorenzo’s offering to the Kel queen. His personal trade for the right to lead humanity. After all this time the original purpose of the tomes would be realized, albeit in a corrupted sort of culmination. They would facilitate the ruling of this world as intended, but with an entirely different flavor. They would enslave mankind, not free it.
“Did you get it?” he asked as Hansel entered. Only a few of the key Bok players were on hand. Hansel had been brought along, as usual, for simple convenience.
He continued across the small room and handed Lorenzo the bags. Lorenzo opened one and smiled.
“Excellent.”
Hansel watched as he took out two bottles of wine, set them on a small table, then reached in the ot
her for a variety of cheeses. He held up a Gouda, sniffed it and closed his eyes. Apparently the flavor met his expectations.
Hansel had been sent on a snack run. They’d been waiting on the Kel queen longer than expected and the Bok elitists had grown peckish. They arrived at the catacombs expecting Cee Ranok, this meeting arranged with the utmost secrecy, but so far she hadn’t shown. Hansel wasn’t surprised. In fact, now that the Kel queen knew exactly where to find the Bok’s most valuable items, Hansel wondered that she didn’t just have them all killed. Maybe she would.
For now they waited. There was no regular communication at the moment so they had no direct info as to when or if she would show. Sources told them the Kel command structure was dealing with an issue, something quite unexpected, and so they assumed that was the cause of her delay.
“Come,” Lorenzo said to the group, indicating the wine and cheese and inviting them to eat and drink. Hansel passed out glasses. Lorenzo walked to each, pouring wine. “She is playing both sides,” he told them, meaning the Kel queen, “and that is what will preserve us. Already we know too much. She needs us. She requires our cooperation. Our dear queen is very interested in keeping this unknown to her people.” He pointed around the room. “We are her darkest secret.”
Hansel wondered if that would truly preserve them.
Lorenzo put down the bottle, pulled off a strip of cheese and took a bite. “We will give her her ambition. But in doing that, and at each step we must, with great foresight, ensure where each step falls. Both ours and hers. We must guide events toward our ambition.” Then: “It is a dangerous game we play.”
At least he admitted it.
Hansel felt increasingly a spectator. He had a front row seat to the playing out of this epic drama, little more.
Lorenzo took a sip of wine. “If we continue as we are, more than just this world will be ours.”
**
General Peterson pinched the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes, squinted his lids and rubbed. When he opened them the overlay projection blurred, then settled into sharper focus. He sighed.
Reports were coming out of the cells in Europe. Specifically that Drake and his gifted group of programmers were meeting with small success. They’d just reported having a hand in the Kel kerfluffle in the Boise area, leading directly to the ditch of a Kel insertion craft in the hills of Montana. Comm channels were tight and infrequent, but the network was evolving. The human resistance was gaining form and, with it, a few tentative plans. This little bit of action had proven at least that some of their forensic yields on the Kel technology were valid. That the things they thought they could do … it looked like they could actually do. Drake and his team just successfully sent traffic on the Kel channels, spoofed and concealed, managing, in turn, to create some chaos.
The upshot of which was two-fold. Not only did it prove up what they’d been developing, giving them a base from which to develop yet more advanced possibilities, but in using what they’d learned they also secured an asset. Possibly.
Somehow the superhuman was back on the scene. Drake had identified him in the fracas while monitoring the Kel traffic in and around Boise and managed, incredibly, to make contact—confirming him as a potential ally in the process—and successfully diverted the craft he was on. That little tactic ended in a crash, followed by an annihilating strike from on high that was truly a display of power to behold—a shot from the Kel in orbit that hit with the force of a tactical nuke—but Peterson had hope. If the superhuman survived, his instructions were to make a call. At sunset. That time was, locally, for the zone of the crash, fast approaching. If the guy did survive, and they heard from him, and they could safely and covertly extract him to their side …
What a boon that would be.
CHAPTER 10: IN THE PRESENCE OF AN ANGEL
Zac sat at the booth in the little diner waiting on Willet. His mind drifted as he stared out the large picture window into the night, at the sidewalk running alongside the diner, fronting on a quiet street lit by periodic lamps; closely packed one- and two-floor store fronts closed for the night. The name of the diner was painted on the glass, faded lettering backward from the inside. Apparently the place belonged to someone named Flo.
“More coffee?”
He looked up. Their sweet-faced waitress in the apron and skirt was standing at the table with a fresh pot.
“Please,” Zac smiled and slid the cup closer. She filled it, gave him a little smile of her own and was off to her next task. He took the warm cup in hand and turned back to the window.
She’d been flirting. She was older, probably in her late twenties, maybe thirty Earth years. Kind of cute. She clearly found him so. She’d been eyeing Willet too, now that Zac thought about it. Willet had gone to the restroom but their waitress had been giving the Anitran soldier just as many lingering smiles. Apparently she thought them both attractive.
Zac looked at his reflection in the glass. The clean new shirt they’d gotten him, replacing the burned and shredded remnants of the last.
He’d struggled his whole life to be something more. Joining the Astake at a young age put him in a whole new league, all emphasis on strength, ability; a warrior, one of the elite, and once combat consumed his life it felt he was finally on his way. Making the rank of Kazerai brought with it a whole new set of responsibilities, among them the assignment of a wife, and he’d been wed to the much coveted Kitana. It was a perfect match, she was a sweet girl, they loved each other, and he should’ve been happy. Elite Dominion soldier, Hand of God, princess for a wife …
Even then he’d longed for something else.
His desires had no form at the time, of course. He knew nothing of Jessica, Earth or any of this. Only that he longed to leave Anitra, to be among the stars, an impossible dream, in pursuit of he knew not what.
Now he understood. After Jess laid everything bare … now he knew. He had been longing for her, even then, though he knew nothing of her. He and Jess were bound. They shared a history like no other. Impossible though it seemed, he’d begun to feel the truth of her words, impinging harder each hour since those revelations in her room. Deep in his soul. Together, long before, they fought, and they lived, and they loved, and though he had only her words to tell him these things he was, nevertheless, experiencing new thoughts of his own. Ideas that what she said was real, as real as could be, as true, and the contemplation of it continued to bang around his head like a hammer. The idea of their past union, the wake-up call, less a revelation than a reminder, and he wondered how long it would take to come fully to grips with what that meant. To accept it as Jess had. Now she was off and running—alive, he made himself believe it—back on Anitra, he was back in a fight of his own and he just wished they could grab all their lost time and grab the whole universe and stop the madness and hold everything still and just be with each other, sort out who they were, who they had been, who they were right now and who they were going to be.
Visions of their future both haunted and thrilled him. Anything was possible. Terrible tragedy might wait. Incredible bliss.
Both.
In the reflection of the glass he saw Willet on his way back to the table. Zac turned and took a sip of coffee. Willet looked positively domestic in the Earth shirt and jeans, though the clothes were now quite dirty and tattered. Only Zac had needed the shirt, and so that’s the only risk they took. His friend came over and sat across from him. They were in a booth in a corner of the diner, having been there since they made the call at sunset, waiting to go to the next point at the designated time. Luckily Willet had American cash money in his pockets, stuff from Jessica’s dad.
“I think she likes you,” Willet glanced over his shoulder at their waitress. The waitress was, in turn, looking furtively in their direction. There weren’t many other people in the diner at this hour. Willet picked up his fork and ate a few more bites of what were now cold, syrup-soaked scraps of pancake. Zac had eaten three “stacks”; Willet was finishing his
first. Zac wanted more but made himself be normal. No need to draw more attention. The pancakes were so good! Especially the syrup, and he knew the waitress was at least partly smitten with his enormous appetite. She seemed fascinated by him.
As Willet chewed Zac looked back out the window into the night.
They’d barely made it. By the time the Kel fired the massive shot from space Zac had already gotten them out of the downed Kel craft and carried the unconscious Willet far afield—anticipating that exact sort of response from the fleet overhead. He was glad he’d acted without delay. The blast was fearsome. A brilliant flash that illuminated the land like a new sun, followed by a skull-shattering crush as the sound of it hammered the air—then the thunderous blow of the impact itself. A fireball that swept the woods, blowing Zac into a tumble as he continued flight, leaping higher and farther than ever in his haste to get Willet clear, not knowing the state of his friend’s injuries or even how aggressive he could be in his effort to get him away—worried he might do more harm with too much effort to run than if the heat and overpressure hit, scorching lungs and baking brains—but the details of those thoughts failed to take hold in the fury of the attack and Zac simply fled as fast as he could. Only one thing to do and only one thing that had any hope of saving them:
Run.
And so he did. Fast and far, holding Willet tight, protecting neck and limbs, heading more or less north as instructed, keeping low in the wake of it all yet putting incredible distance on the scene of the crime, and soon enough they came into view of a town. Zac found his way to a quiet, concealed spot, out of the woods, in among the populace, and waited until Willet came around.
Fortunately it didn’t take long. Willet was tough, a soldier, with years of combat and bad situations under his belt. His recovery went far better than expected. And so by sunrise they were up and working out the kinks and looking for a phone, ready to make the call later that day. In that time of adjustment, of getting things back on track, Zac recognized Willet’s feeling of utter dependency. Of knowing how dead he would’ve been without him, how far Zac carried him, over and through wooded terrain, and despite the fact that Zac was a thousand times stronger and built for just such things and, therefore, there was no reason for any shame, he could see Willet felt weak.
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