Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  In fact, with all she’d been through; with her new, determined stare, the dark, military-like clothing, hair pulled back from her freshly-scrubbed face, she actually looked kind of … well, kind of badass. She smiled grimly and headed into the main room.

  At the table she picked up her watch, wiped it off and put it on. Scuffed but still working. Her one remaining connection to home. It made no sense to wear it, really, but she wanted to and so did. She turned her wrist, looking at it, then put her attention on the phone. Lifting the receiver she figured out the buttons and dialed the code. The numbers echoed in her mind—45809—as the line rang on the other end. Just like an Earth phone.

  Too weird. Such uncanny similarities. Like this really was some kind of freaky, parallel Earth.

  Darvon answered and told her they were on their way. Minutes passed as she paced the room, then he and three other men were entering. They closed the door and took seats on one of the couches with a brief “hello”. It was an awkward first greeting. Jess chose a chair across from them and sat, feeling again as if she were on display.

  “This is Grisha,” Darvon made introductions, “Perra and Chom.” Three middle-aged men, intent on whatever omen she signaled. Jess didn’t recognize them from the earlier meeting.

  “Could I get some more tea?” she asked, feeling the need for more caffeine and, at the same time, wanting to divert a little of their scrutiny. Darvon rose. He went to a bar across the room, preparing a cup while the other three men shifted uneasily. The one introduced as Chom spoke.

  “Our people believe you are here to fulfill a prophecy,” he began. “From long ago. The Conclave—we—have been waiting for one to come. An angel, who will set in motion events which herald the beginning of a new era. All lands will be united in the wake of her coming, or so it goes.”

  Jess studied him. Already Chom seemed more rational than the others. More than a true zealot. Despite his rational demeanor, however, it was clear he was still one of them.

  “The Icon,” he continued, “is a Holy Relic, from Heaven, from where you come.

  “That may sound fanciful,” he admitted, “and perhaps it is, but please understand the reality before us. Whether the Icon is indeed holy or not, it represents the strength of the Dominion. As long as they hold it, they, in the minds of the people, hold power.”

  Jess glanced to check Darvon’s progress with the tea.

  “The Venatres tried to steal it,” Chom went on. “We believe their aim was to study it. Outwardly they might claim they want the Icon in order to weaken the position of the Dominion, to prove they can be compromised, that their sanctuaries are not untouchable, but we think the real reason is something more mechanical.” He looked to his fellow conspirators, then back to Jessica.

  Darvon returned with the cup of tea and handed it to her. She took it and thanked him.

  “The Venatres believe the Icon is technology,” said Chom. “Beyond any on this world. If it could be discovered how it works, they believe, they would have an advantage. The Dominion, restrained by their own dogma, do nothing but hide it.”

  Jess smelled the warm tea. Blew on it and took a sip.

  “The point is,” Chom explained, “the Venatres made a bid for it. Horus was to have stolen it and bring it to them.”

  Jess lowered the cup.

  “Wait. Horus was supposed to steal the Icon for the Venatres? I thought he just took it. I thought you said he was a bad guy. Part of the Dominion.”

  “He is. Was. But he was on a mission for the Venatres.”

  This was an interesting twist.

  And somewhat confusing.

  “Is Horus the enemy or not?” She, of course, knew he wasn’t. No matter which side he was technically “on”.

  “He was influenced,” said Chom. “Our information tells us Horus was just a tool. As such he is still a member of the enemy, though working for the cause.

  “His wife was the real conspirator.”

  Jess put the cup all the way down. On the table, lest she drop it.

  Wife?

  Chom went on, completely missing her shock. “She was apparently recruited by the Venatres. They used her to get to Horus, who in turn was able to get to the Icon. He wasn’t, however, able to complete the mission. During his escape he was overwhelmed. No priests got to him but he was attacked by several Dominion squads. At first it was claimed he was vaporized, though none of us believed that was possible.

  “Then you returned with him and it became obvious he must’ve activated the Icon somewhere during his escape. Whether on purpose or not we cannot know.

  “What we do know, now, is that he transitioned and returned, with you.”

  For Jessica Chom’s words had receded into the background.

  Zac is married?! Her head buzzed.

  Zac has a wife?

  He’s too young!

  “His memory was surely wiped,” Chom went on. “They have him in the tower.” The confirmation of that impinged on her rambling thoughts, though only barely. “With your arrival, it appears there may be a way to eliminate the Icon, once and for all.”

  She struggled to rise above the emotions flooding through her. Zac has a wife. She swallowed, mind drifting.

  Only … So?

  What did it really matter?

  Those same, rushing emotions began to harden.

  After all, what chance had there really been? What kind of future could they possibly have together? Could she really hope to take him back to Idaho? Then what? Wait a few years and get married? Raise a family? Fake a passport? Find him a job at the local Best Buy?

  And there was no doubt more to discover about him. Things she might not want to know. Everybody here insisted he was dangerous. Could that really be true? Foolish hope had carried her this far, in the face of amazing obstacles, and she had to maintain it. The threat, the mere threat of its loss, the loss of that hope, conspired all at once to crush her.

  She stared at her tea on the table. Spoke softly: “What did you just say?”

  Chom repeated. “There may be a way to eliminate the Icon.”

  She raised her eyes to the men sitting on the couch across from her. So seemingly different than Darvon. These three, and especially the speaker, Chom, smarter than the group below. These were probably their leaders. Their vision seemed rooted in reality. Darvon alone seemed to embody the innocence of the rest.

  “The Icon has evidently not been found,” said Chom. “We assume it came through with you when you returned. Therefore, it must still be in the city.”

  For a moment memories flashed. She recalled the way Zac held her as they fell; the way they’d been touching when she accidentally activated the device. Zac who, oh by the way, just happened to be married.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “We lost it. In the fall. Zac was on his way here to find it when he was captured. He was going to help me use it to get home.”

  Chom looked to the others. Jess reached for her tea. Lifted it carefully, both hands, trying not to shake. She took a moment to cup its warmth in her palms.

  Slowly she took a drink, letting the caffeine take hold.

  Trying to move on.

  “As I’ve explained,” said Chom, “our prophecy says one will come. An angel, who will return the Holy Relic to its home, thus closing the Way.” So far he’d done all the talking, though Jess could see Grisha and Perra followed closely, agreeing with whatever he said. “Privately, we don’t care as much for the prophetic implications as we do the practical. Having the Icon gone works to our advantage.” He made sure he had her full attention. “You want to use it to get home and we want it gone. If the ‘angel’ were to recover it and return it rightfully to its home in Heaven ...”

  She got his meaning. Chom continued.

  “Here, now, we have a chance. To put an end to the Emperor’s chapter. Or at least start writing the ending.”

  Jess considered them. Sitting there, in their black uniforms, plotting the salvation of their peo
ple. They wanted what she did, ultimately.

  The next obvious question was:

  “So what do we do?”

  Chom, again, spoke for the group. “We had no plan until now. We’re not an open resistance. As is usually the case with us, we were waiting to see what happened.

  “Now you’ve shown up. Your timing is perfect, what you’ve accomplished so far is incredible, and so you can see why many of us regard you as something, well, Divine.”

  She accepted that her arrival could be viewed that way, though she didn’t feel very divine right then.

  She asked them: “Will you help?”

  But their expressions told her they would not. And it was obvious that, as Chom implied, they weren’t freedom fighters. Not the sort that went running through the streets, guns in hand, setting off bombs. These guys—Chom, Grisha, Perra—were thinking men. Plotters at best. The idealists that drove the movement. Getting the Icon back, if it could even be done, was going to take action. Someone would have to get dirty. Jess thought back over the last day, at just how dirty she’d been. How close to death; how close to giving up.

  Though only a newly-minted High Schooler, with a propensity for shyness and fanciful daydreaming, she was it. With their help or without it, her mind was made up. She was on her way even before they found her.

  Guess it doesn’t matter.

  But Chom didn’t withdraw all possibility of assistance. “We’ll do what we can,” he said. “But none of us can take this risk. The Conclave isn’t strong enough. We can give you direction, show you where in the city to go, where the Icon may be. We have word that the Dominion is searching too. However, all you need do is find and activate it and your time here is at an end. Once you get your hands on it, no matter the circumstances, no matter its disposition, you’re free. You return home, and the Icon is gone.”

  Jess thought absently of the fall on the other end, knowing that—even if she found the thing—she couldn’t use it.

  Not without Zac …

  She had to find him. That objective hadn’t changed. Maybe he was married, so what. Maybe he was no longer even a fantasy, but he was still a friend. And she needed him. What was important was that he would help her. He wasn’t the bad guy, no matter what anyone said, and she needed him. And, ironically, he needed her. Right then he was in the hands of the real enemy.

  But now was not the time to bring any of that up.

  “So you see,” said Chom, “it has to be you.”

  Then Darvon, sitting quietly, so patient … raised a hand. Timid, like a kid in class with an answer he wasn’t sure of. The gesture was touching, and behind it Jess could see a rising conviction. Unlike the other three, who were more than happy to let others take the risks, Darvon truly believed in the Divine Precedent of which they only spoke. In his mind Jessica was there for a purpose.

  She was an angel.

  “I’ll go with her,” he said.

  Chom looked at him.

  But Darvon’s decision was firming. He was committed.

  Chom nodded slowly. “You know the risks.”

  Darvon did.

  “If you’re captured we can do nothing to help you. We can’t reveal ourselves. The Conclave must not be compromised.”

  Darvon’s mind was made up.

  Chom turned back to Jessica. And she felt the strange sensation of somehow being stronger, somehow bigger than any of them. These were grown men, organizers of a political resistance meant to reset the government of an entire world and, to them, within that framework, she was a player. Perhaps the player, to whom all looked. It was at once scary and …

  Kind of cool.

  She could save herself, and help them, by following through with her original goal. And they would help her. At least a little. As she thought of this she struggled again to manage her vision of Zac, preserving the sequence of future events she’d already imagined. She had to save him. She couldn’t tell these guys; not here, not now but, secretly, rescuing Zac must be part of any strategy. That had to be done first. Everything afterward could be figured out.

  Tired though she was there was no time to rest. She was quite certain she couldn’t sleep anyway. Not with this hanging over her head. Not till she was home.

  “So,” she looked at each of them, “what’s the plan?”

  And they went through it, realizing, of course, there wasn’t much to plan at all. They, too, tentatively wondered if she should rest, but were more than willing to go with her decision to start now. Each minute that passed the risk of the Icon being found increased, and so the sooner the better was the consensus. They decided Darvon would help her get across the city, into the evacuated areas, right to the neighborhood where she dropped from the sky. From there it was up to the two of them to guess at possible locations where it fell, to scour the deserted streets and buildings for any sign of it—all the while avoiding Dominion detection. The fact that no one was allowed in those sections of the city was just one more thing working against them; there would be no people to hide among. The fact that the Dominion was also looking made the whole thing seem insane. Truly a Mission: Impossible.

  Darvon was openly nervous but ready. Jess drew security from his determination. She insisted they go at once and no one disagreed. Together she and Darvon left the penthouse, she riding the wave of a second wind and another cup of tea, making her way with as much confidence as she could muster, down to the building’s garage.

  “We’ll take the train,” Darvon decided as the elevator descended.

  “We should take a car. More mobility.”

  “There are restrictions.” The doors opened and they stepped into the garage. “We can take the trains to the limits of the evacuated areas, then walk from there.”

  Already he was leading them to a train platform across the underground garage, kind of like a subway station. No one waited at this hour.

  Jess stopped near one of the roadsters. “Why not use this one?” The garage had a dozen of them, black and shiny and near uniform in style.

  Darvon stopped. Fear expanding.

  “Come on,” she said, fascinated by her own ridiculous courage. In a way there was a certain thrill that came with such clarity of purpose. It was all or nothing. Either she got away or it was over. Her life was on Earth. Here she had nothing.

  Never had anything been more black and white.

  All or nothing.

  That would be her new mantra, she decided.

  All or nothing.

  “This is a Divine mission,” she reminded him. “Don’t you think the crime of stealing a car is outweighed by the good of what we’re about to do?”

  Darvon just looked at her. In his eyes she was near perfect. But was she without question? She opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Like the last car she’d stolen there were no locks. Like the last car I stole! The reality of that mixed with all the rest. Already she was a car thief, and was about to be so again. Insane. She searched the dash. It had the same push-button ignition. No key required.

  What an interesting culture.

  She looked up. Darvon stood where he was, frozen in place and struggling within himself. He got himself going and started around the front of the car, staring at her sitting behind the wheel as he went. At the passenger door he paused. Then, reluctantly, opened it, got in and sat stiffly.

  Jess reviewed the controls. “I’m amazed they don’t have locks on these things.”

  “No one would ever take one,” Darvon muttered, afraid. “Stealing one could get you executed.”

  “Well,” she pushed the start button, refusing to sink from her overt high. The engine whirred and caught. “I’m already due for an execution, I’m sure. One more won’t hurt.”

  She punched the “forward” button, pulled from the parking space and drove them out, navigating the garage smoothly. She could see Darvon’s face in the corner of her vision, staring at her, jaw slack.

  Turning briefly she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile
. Happy, for the moment, with her casual disregard for the danger they were in—feeling like an action movie hero or something, cavalier in the face of death.

  All or nothing.

  Wondering how long that feeling would last.

  * *

  Captain Willet received an incoming call and put it through.

  “Willet here.” He checked the small video screen, seeing Commander Satori’s face staring back, bright red hair whipping in a strong wind.

  “Status?” she spoke, teeth white behind full lips, image too beautiful for the scene. Frankly, no matter how many times he made the observation he could never rectify the two images: Satori, equal parts princess and warrior. Her usual, large, enhancer goggles wrapped her forehead, pulled up from her bright blue eyes so she could see him directly.

  Gorgeous.

  “They’ve stepped up patrols in this area,” he reported. “They’re looking hard. We’re not getting much chance to do any looking ourselves. Mostly just staying hidden.” He and his men were deep under cover in the evacuated portions of the city, calling in reconnaissance.

  Satori considered the situation. “Keep an eye out for changes.” Then: “Any suggestions?”

  Willet shook his head. “My guys made a quick check as we moved through. Best we could. Found nothing. Lot of debris down here.”

  “Why don’t you position yourself closer to the Compound, in the event they do find it.”

  “You planning to have us steal it back?” He was joking, of course, but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Realizing Satori was probably thinking exactly that. She had a reputation for attempting the impossible—and often succeeding. Which only emboldened her to try more impossible things.

  “We’ll see,” she said and smiled a little—as if to let him know she was probably kidding. But just probably.

  Willet shared his own guilt in this, as he was usually the one that got the crazy orders then, much to his own dismay, pulled them off. He, too, had a reputation for achieving the impossible, which only made his commander expect that much more.

  Unfortunately they worked quite well together.

  “It’s not like it matters,” she said and laughed. “We’re all going to die here anyway.” Welcome levity in the midst of impossible odds.