by Nana Malone
“Private Thanatos,” the communications officer called into the comms unit pressed into Azrael's ear. “Have you found the source of the suspicious energy signature?"
"I've found no signs of unauthorized technology, Sir," Azrael said. "Are you sure these are the right coordinates?"
"Whatever we’re reading has been broadcasting from somewhere inside General Hanno's house," the communications officer said. "You know the rules. No unauthorized technology is allowed on that planet. Keep looking until you find what's sending that signal."
"Yes, Sir," Azrael mumbled without enthusiasm. Some idiot must have dropped their communications device and now a human had picked it up and was playing with it.
He crouched lower on the rooftop and tucked his wings against his back to remain inconspicuous. Dawn brightened into daylight, condemning him to spend the day here since the moment he took to the air people would spot his dark, 30-foot wingspan. The last thing they wanted was for humans to realize they were being watched by aliens from outer space, or, as was the more common mythology on this planet, watched over by angels.
The hot Mediterranean sun pounded down upon his ink-dark feathers like Shay'tan's breath. Why couldn't he have been born with white wings which would have reflected the solar photons like most Angelics? He'd drunk the last of his water hours ago and his mouth had taken on that nasty, pasty flavor indicative of dehydration. In the courtyard below, a statue of a bull-man taunted him from the center of a fountain, its ruby-inset eyes glittering like some ancient demon. Why had he been sent to the unicorn planet, fresh out of the academy and still wet behind the ears instead of someone trained to do this kind of job?
Flies buzzed around the mud he’d smeared through his feathers to be less conspicuous; mud he hadn’t realized until after he’d spread it all over his body smelled faintly of goat dung. Worse! His wings had developed a serious infestation of sand fleas!
“Bugger!”
Azrael twitched, trying to shake off the feeling of cooties crawling through his feathers. His skin crawled with the sensation of fleas burrowing into the soft flesh and feeding upon his blood. Oh! How he wished he had some sort of superpower!
‘Die!’
He visualized the bugs vanishing into uncreation. It didn’t help. No matter how much he pictured zapping the fleas, they kept right on biting.
Argh!!! He was conducting sneak-and-peek special operations recon on Carthage's de facto emperor. He was supposed to be still! He was supposed to remain unseen. He was…
Crawling with sand fleas!
He flapped his enormous black-brown wings, attempting to shake off the blood sucking parasites, but nothing helped. Desperate to be rid of the skin-crawling sensation, he moved to the edge of the roof and rubbed them against the coarse stone edge. Ahh…
“I see you,” a little voice chimed, translated through his universal translator.
Azrael froze. He was under strict orders not to interfere in this planet’s culture. The mere sight of an alien species could alter human evolution. All because he, Azrael, a Private fresh out of the Angelic Air Force Academy, had allowed himself to be irked by a tiny insect!
“Are you really an angel?”
The little girl's voice was high and sweet. A face looked up at him from the courtyard below and smiled. She had curly blonde hair, pale skin, high cheekbones and a slender build; the face of a purebred Angelic, only without the wings. Here, in a city where the average inhabitant had dark hair and an olive complexion.
And the most compelling silver eyes he’d ever seen…
“No." Azrael straightened and tucked his wings against his back as though he was a person of importance. “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
Perhaps she’d think she only imagined him? Humans had legends of their species visiting their planet, but had come to view stories of half-human hybrids with the same skepticism his species viewed legends of a human home world. So long as he wasn’t seen by an adult, the child’s story would likely not be believed.
“Why are you up there on the roof?” the little girl asked. “Are you sick? Do you have a broken wing? I could go get a servant to help you.”
“No!” Azrael shooed her with his hand, his mind racing to find a way out of this predicament. “I’m fine. Just … go away."
The little girl hurried over to a ladder consisting of a log with wooden stakes drilled in at regular intervals and scurried up to the rooftop like a little monkey.
“You really are an angel!” She wiggled like an excited puppy. “Can I touch your wings?”
“No.” Azrael hoped she’d go away without raising the alarm. He could simply fly out of here, but the two emperors were diligent about enforcing the terms of an Armistice which he didn't have a high enough security clearance to know more than the fact it existed. He'd be in hot water if they found out he'd had his cover blown by an eight-year-old human child.
“Don’t worry,” the little girl held out her hand. “I won’t hurt you. Would you like something to eat?”
The scent of cooking food wafted up from the kitchen, making Azrael's mouth water. His rations had run out hours ago and he'd been lamenting his parched throat only moments before. At this point his cover was already blown. Would it be so bad if he enlisted her help to make his stay here more comfortable?
“Please,” Azrael croaked. “I’d love some water.”
The little girl listened as he spoke in Galactic Standard, and then his translator rendered a translation in the local Punic language.
“Uisce … water,” the little girl said. “Hey … I know that word!"
“You speak my language?”
“Labrhaionn tu … you speak,” the little girl beamed proudly. “Sorry … that’s all I understood. My tutor said it’s important I learn to speak the language of heaven so I can become a priestess of the gods. Any god but Moloch!”
The child pointed down to the bull-man statue which lurked in every courtyard in this city. Azrael's skin began to crawl. Now he understood why the icon gave him the creeps. Moloch. Another legend.
“You’re studying to be a priestess?” Azrael scrutinized her. “What’s your name?”
“Elissar,” her eyes sparkled with pride. “After my ancestor who founded this city. Papa insists I learn the same things a son would learn even though I am a girl.”
“Why would it matter if you are female?"
“Why …” Elissar scrunched up her nose as though pondering that question. “I don’t know. Just … because.”
“Because why?"
“Because … everyone says so."
“That’s not how we do it on Haven.”
“Then you’ll have to tell me all about it.” Elissar tugged at one of Azrael’s long dark primary feathers. “Can you fly?”
“Stop that!” Azrael tucked his wing over the edge of the roof where she couldn’t reach it. “You’re not supposed to … uh … touch me. I might … um … bite … or something!”
“You look too kind to bite.” Elissar gave him the same patronizing grin his little sister often gave when she was being a pest. “Besides … you’re an angel. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
“How do you know so much about Angelics?"
“My ancestor was queen of Tyre until her brother killed her husband. Tyre was founded by an angel. Lucifer. He’s my ancestor, too.”
“The Eternal Emperor’s adopted son was your ancestor?”
Azrael's mouth dropped. 3,200 years ago, the Emperor’s son had gone missing amongst rumors of a hoax about rediscovery of the human source race. A hoax Azrael now knew was true after being reassigned here. Rumor claimed the son had staged a coup d’état, an allegation the Emperor adamantly denied. The diplomatic flagship which had gone missing had been named ‘Prince of Tyre.’ Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
“Eternal Emperor?” Elissar asked. “You’re silly! My daddy is the ruler of Carthage. He said if anything happens to Himilco, then I
should rule. Like Queen Elissar did when she founded this city.
Azrael looked more closely at the child. Unless Lucifer had been genetically evolved enough to ascend to Archangel status, he would have died out 2,500 years ago along with the other Fallen, long before this city had been built. But her resemblance to a mortal Alliance Angelic was uncanny. In fact, her resemblance to the photographic history of Lucifer was uncanny! Right down to her eerie silver eyes.
Azrael's nostrils flared, an enhanced sense of smell gifted to all half-human hybrids by the Eternal Emperor. She even smelled like an Angelic.
“Elissar!!!” A female called from the courtyard.
“I’m coming, Mama!!!” Elissar called. “Guess what I just found?”
“Shhh!!!” Azrael hissed in a panicked voice, wildly looking around him for a way to escape. “I’m not supposed to be seen! You’ll get me in trouble with … god.”
“What did you find, little one?” the mother asked. “How many times do I have to tell you not to climb up onto the roof?”
Azrael flattened himself against the rooftop. One dark wing remained draped over the edge. He looked, pleadingly, into Elissar's eyes.
“A great big bird, Mama!” Elissar gave him a wink. “Over there. Look!” She pointed in the opposite direction.
Azrael yanked his wing up and pressed it against his back, thankful he’d camouflaged himself with mud as they’d trained him to do at the academy. Silently, he mouthed the words ‘thank you’.
“I don’t see any bird,” the mother said. “Now please. Come down. Papa will be joining us for supper tonight.”
“Papa’s coming?” Elissar rushed to the edge of the roof to the crude ladder, pausing only long enough to give Azrael a fetching smile before skittering down.
“You and your imaginary friends.” The mother shepherded Elissar towards the house. “I didn’t see any bird.”
“Funny,” Elissar glanced over her shoulder before she disappeared into the doorway and gave Azrael a wink. “I could have sworn I saw wings.”
* * * * *
Chapter 2
Did we take them wrongly for a laughing stock?
Or have our eyes missed them?
Qur'an, Ch.38, v.3
Dwarf Planet Ceres - 311 BC
Dual-Empire Base
“I can’t go back there! My cover's been blown!” Azrael tucked his dark wings against his back in shame. “Now they know we're watching them.”
“Did anyone come out to challenge you?” Major Skgrll asked.
Spiderids were enormous, sentient arachnids. At the moment, all eight of Azrael's commanding officer's eyes glowered at him with disapproval.
“No, Sir.” Azrael remembered he was supposed to be standing at attention and stiffened his spine. “I remained hidden until nightfall so I could fly away without being seen.”
“Did you notice anyone peeking up to see if you were there?” Skgrll's palps twitched in annoyance.
“Just Elissar … um … I mean the child, Sir. She … um … brought me out some water before her father got home.”
“She brought you water?”
“I … um … might have mentioned I was thirsty." Azrael tugged at the collar of his uniform which, despite being too large for his slender frame, had suddenly become unbearably tight. “In the … um … interest of distracting her from screaming.”
Snickers erupted from the flight hangar. Under the terms of the Armistice, Ceres station was shared with the Royal Sata'anic Navy. Several lizard-soldiers clustered behind a shuttlecraft, eavesdropping while Skgrll reamed him out, their mottled green skin waxing pink with laughter. Ensign Zarif, a Sata’anic naval officer he’d grown friendly with, gave Azrael a knowing grin. He flicked his transparent inner eyelids, the equivalent of a lizard-person rolling his eyes.
“From what you describe,” the C.O. growled, “the child was curious about you. Did she exhibit any further knowledge of Alliance vocabulary?”
“She … um … might have given me some bread,” Azrael confessed. “She knew it was called ‘aran,’ as well as that fruit the Emperor likes so much. Olives.”
“And did she feed you anything else while you were there?”
Azrael felt as though he'd just stuck his foot into a trap. A foot that practically swam in the too-large Angelic combat boots they’d given him to wear when he’d completed basic training.
“They … um … have this really flavorful meat called chicken,” Azrael shot his commanding officer a sheepish grin. “It was very good.”
“And how did you eat this … meal? Did you eat it alone?”
“Not … exactly.” Color flushed his high, pale cheeks. “She … um … brought company."
“I thought you said she alerted nobody else to your presence!” the C.O. roared. “If you were seen by more than one person, I need to know!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Azrael noticed the others had stopped doing whatever they were doing and begun to throng closer to eavesdrop. Sata’an lizard soldiers. Spiderids. Mantoids. A Centauri officer. And … worse! Three fierce Leonid multi-purpose fighters. Alpha-males. The toughest of the tough.
“Not so much anybody else,” Azrael hemmed with mortification. “More … playmates.”
“Other children?”
“Dolls,” Azrael whispered, hoping the other crewmen didn’t hear.
“You sat on the roof of this girl's house and played with … dolls?!!”
‘Dolls dolls dolls dolls’ echoed through the cavernous launch bay loud enough for the entire galaxy to hear. Laughter erupted as every man on the base heard that he, Azrael, a lowly private sent on a reconnaissance mission to the fabled unicorn-planet, had just spent the afternoon having a picnic on the roof of his quarry’s house playing dolls with an eight-year-old girl.
“Um … yes,” Azrael whispered, gulping to fight the sensation of his heart pounding in his ears. “I was trying to humor her. So she wouldn’t make me fly out of there in broad daylight. I figured with her, my cover was already blown. It was better than letting the entire city know I was there.”
The three Leonid males elbowed each other in the ribs, giving him a toothy grin. One took the afterburner he was repairing and pantomimed cradling a baby-doll while the second one grabbed a small cylinder and, pinky-claw outstretched, pretended to take a sip out of a cup of tea. The third walked as though wearing high heels, giving his hips an exaggerated waggle, and flicked one paw in Azrael’s direction in the universal symbol of a man who enjoys relations with other men.
“That’s how I always … uh … distract my little sister,” Azrael said softly. “It … uh … worked. Didn’t it? She didn’t tell her parents.”
Ensign Zarif doubled over, slapping his haunches as he tried to catch his breath. Major Skgrll made a heroic effort to keep a straight face, but the twitch of his feathery chelicerae betrayed he found Azrael’s explanation wanting. Throughout the launch bay, every crewman in two empires laughed at him.
Azrael wished he could evaporate into a black hole right this instant. Death. By mortification. Why in Hades had the Emperor personally requested he, a nerd straight out of the bowels of the science academy with no prior military training whatsoever, go on this mission?
“Maybe you should … um … send someone more qualified?” Azrael mumbled, staring down at his feet. “I’m just a private. I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”
Major Skgrll paused, two of his eight spiny legs wavering, and then resumed the stiff stance of a commanding officer.
“I already requested that,” the C.O. glowered at him with all eight eyes. “Several times. Including earlier today when you first radioed up from the planet requesting to return to base. For some reason both emperors insist that you, and only you, are qualified to complete this mission! Do you have some secret qualifications hidden beneath the act of a bumbling idiot I should know about?”
“No, Sir.” Azrael stared at his too-large combat boots. In a hybrid army where every supe
r-soldier was larger-than-life, the slender, slow-to-mature Azrael appeared to be little more than a child himself. The C.O. had spat puppies upon learning he'd been ordered from the top of the food chain to send a Private to do reconnaissance on Earth.
“The Eternal Emperor himself just ordered that you are to be sent back to Earth as soon as you delouse the sand fleas out of your wings,” the C.O. bellowed loudly enough for everyone to hear, “and continue your reconnaissance of General Hanno’s household, looking for the source of the unknown energy signature. Do you understand that, Private Thanatos?”
“Yes … Sir.” Azrael gave the C.O. a weak salute.
“And furthermore,” the C.O. shouted. “You are hereby ordered to remain hidden and not to interfere!!!”
“What if … um,” Azrael shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “what if the little girl sees me and she wants me to … um … play dolls again?”
“Then you will do whatever it takes to earn that child’s trust and pump her for as much information as you can get about what in Hades is broadcasting that energy signature! Including … if it keeps her quiet … playing dolls!!!”
The crew burst into laughter. One Leonid soldier pretended to kiss his ‘baby doll.' The other two sat on their haunches and pretended to scratch behind their ears as though they were dogs loaded with fleas.
“Yes … Sir,” Azrael's face turned purple with mortification.
The C.O. rose on four rear legs, gave Azrael a salute of dismissal and marched away, the spiny bones of his legs clacking on the polished stone floor. Azrael edged towards the access hall.
“Hey … Az!” Ensign Zarif trotted to catch up, his green tail bobbing from side-to-side as he ran to counterbalance his weight. “Wait up!”
