Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  She wasn’t finished.

  DIE! she screamed in her mind, jumped up as he curled into a ball, cradling his arm and … stomped his head. Bent suddenly on his destruction. She was on that plane again. That other plane like in the car chase, where some other Jessica took hold, moving fast, such certainty of action it was as if she were a spectator to her own performance.

  The guy collapsed under her booted heel. She stomped again, whacking his skull against the pavement with a sickening crack. He was probably dead after that. She turned in anticipation of one of the others but they were preoccupied. Both of them, kicking the downed Darvon in the ribs, his round face bloody. Then they noticed, really noticed, and turned slowly to face her. Momentary disbelief froze them. Too bad. She swarmed the closest, faster than he could react, sweeping his legs with a lunge and taking him to the ground. He hit the sidewalk hard, cracking his tailbone, expression saying it all; face set in a grimace, eyes pinched tight in pain—even as she kicked him right in the mouth. Jamming her heel into his teeth with fury, then kicking straight upward into his nose. As if he had time to sit there and grimace. He flailed backward and she nailed him again, even harder. This is a lesson you’ll never get another chance to learn. Another bloody, bone-cracking jab of her heel and she was spinning with a stomp to his head, heel of her boot connecting with his jaw in a satisfying snap, then another vicious kick and he was gone. Not moving. Not even a twitch.

  And she was whirling on the last guy, looking for an opening to pounce. For those brutal ten seconds that guy, foolishly, had simply stood there, stunned.

  Terrified.

  Bring it! her mind raged, arms at her sides and fists flexing. He was not prepared for the fury they’d unleashed.

  Come on!

  But in that same instant, before he could run—which looked like what he was about to do, standing in fear before her—before she could leap at him, she heard a quiet POP! and the man dropped like a sack of rocks.

  She whirled …

  Willet stepped from the alley, gun up, a wisp of smoke drifting from his barrel. He came closer, followed in short order by his partner. Together they surveyed the scene.

  Not believing what they saw.

  * *

  Willet stared at the girl. Jessica. She stood there, the last—only—one standing, in a fighting stance, having been about to attack the guy he just shot. From the looks of it she would’ve won. Strands of hair hung in her face, a fierce look of determination in her eyes. It sent a chill of respect down his spine. He looked at the two thugs on the ground, both of them bleeding and out. One was dead. Slowly Willet studied her. An average teenage girl, or so she seemed. Her two victims on the ground were full-grown men.

  She held her stance, chest heaving. He could tell by the way she stood she probably had injuries. Mostly, though, she looked fine. Now she turned her attention to her tubby friend, curled on the ground with the others, face bloody. Willet’s partner was kneeling beside him.

  “Got some broken ribs,” he said as he checked the man over. “Should be able to walk.” It was a pragmatic assessment for an otherwise emotional scene. His partner nudged the guy. “You’re not having a good day, are you?”

  “Patch him up,” Willet instructed. His partner took out a small med kit and began. Willet made a quick scan of the street. They’d shot the looters. No telling where this little trio of opportunists came from but they were no longer a threat. So far it didn’t look like the team’s cover was blown. No matter. They were pulling out. This recon was a wrap.

  Quickly he sent a message to his other men, ranged within the area, then went to stand near Jessica—sensing she needed a good deal of support in that moment. She looked up at him. He could see her battle lust fading. Could see she was badly shaken. Her stance was relaxing, breathing settling.

  So many people in one pair of eyes. Fighter. Uncanny infiltrator. Interloper from who knew where. Impossible, determined rescuer of a Kazerai; seeker of the Holy Icon.

  Frightened girl.

  He spoke to that one. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

  She trembled, eyes shifting to an almost pleading stare. Her world had been rocked, more so by this physical assault than by anything that had happened so far. It was taking a supreme effort not to break down.

  “I want to go home,” she said, a tremor in her voice, and that simple statement touched him. Deeply. Deeper than it should have, perhaps, but with that quiet plea his heart ached, filled with the urge to do something about it. To help her if he could. She didn’t belong there. Wherever she was from, she didn’t belong in the middle of this war. Didn’t belong in the middle of any of this.

  He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. “Let me get you somewhere safe,” he said. He took another look around, surveying the dark, empty streets.

  Convinced all at once with what he was about to say.

  “I’ll help you.”

  CHAPTER 24: FLIGHT OF THE SHOGUN

  Oinana gathered with Ashikagi and the clerics in the bowels of the Tower of Light, moving to an area cordoned off from the mass of armored units filing in. Around them the procession returned but the witch was in a frenzy, hovering close to the large, ornate carrier managed by a cordon of golden-robed priests. Within it, the treasure they’d so recently retrieved.

  The Holy Icon.

  “Here!” she commanded, directing them with urgency to a walled alcove. Temporary safety for the prized device. Ashikagi watched as she positioned the robed warriors around it, amazed at the degree of her obsession. For all its existence the Icon had never been anywhere but where it was supposed to be, locked away in Vivitak, the same tower that held the body of the Emperor. Never had it been threatened. Not like this. Never had it been stolen. Now it was back, and all the fear Oinana had been so carefully concealing was rushing to the fore. No longer did she need to pretend to be unconcerned. Now she had it, the threat passed, the Icon safe, back in her hands, and at once, it seemed, her hidden terror had exploded into fury. She was actually shaking with it.

  Ashikagi wanted to slap her.

  “The city is compromised!” she blurted to no one in particular, then repeated it directly to him. “The city is compromised!” It was an accusation, an affront, but he contained his own rage.

  “There is no threat, my Lady.” How dare she! The idea that his forces were inadequate …

  “Prepare your flagship!” she ignored him, whirling back and forth, eyeing the military might gathering in the lower levels of the tower. It was an army. Brought together for one tiny device. “Prepare an escort! We leave tonight!”

  “Leave?!” Ashikagi raised his voice against her. Then went further: “Are you mad?!”

  But the noise of machinery in the expansive underground was great, her anger off the scale, and his insult went without notice. She was only aware of the fact that he wasn’t rushing off to do as she bade.

  “We bring the Icon! Bring Horus, Kitana, the Council!”

  “The entire heart of the Dominion?! Think what you’re saying!”

  Still she seemed not to hear. “To the Crucible! We bring it all to the Crucible!”

  “The Venatres are nothing!” Ashikagi fairly shouted. “They haven’t even been able to reach the outer walls! They’re on the run! This is madness! I will not risk—”

  “You will, Shogun!” Now he had her attention. Though her insanity charged on, unabated. “We are to be protected! The city is no longer safe! You will arrange passage at once!”

  He stared at her in absolute fury, of an intensity matching her own. The difference being, of course, that his was driven by reason, hers by insanity. Should he just reach out and throttle her? Right there? Right now, in the midst of the disorganized chaos? How would he justify it? In front of so many.

  With difficulty he summoned what calm he could, inhaled deeply, turned on one heel and left her standing. He dared not give her so much as a response for fear it would lead to an outburst he coul
d not contain. He was too near the edge. Marching fast out of the area—even as she called after him, inaudible with the growing distance—he went to a guarded elevator, boarded and closed the door on that terrible scene. He began to ascend. The elevator led to the Shogunate at the top of the tower, the heart of his fortress, which he was now being ordered to flee.

  On the way up he made a call.

  “Yamoto here,” came the response. The image of his general resolved on Ashikagi’s personal communicator.

  “Lyto,” he steadied his voice. “We have reached the tipping point.”

  Yamoto’s expression straightened, though Ashikagi had been predicting this moment for some time. Surely his general saw it coming.

  “The witch has gone too far,” he said. “She is now fully in question. I must act. Soon.”

  Yamoto nodded.

  “She has ordered us to take flight, Lyto.”

  “Lord?”

  “I and the Council are to flee Osaka. We’re to take the Icon and go to the Crucible.” It was painful even to say it. “I will brief you momentarily.” He watched the lights indicating his ascent.

  “As soon as I make preparations I will relay instructions.

  “You are in charge in my absence.”

  * *

  “Go! Go!” Willet yelled, waving Jess and Darvon to a small breach in the outer wall. They’d been running through abandoned areas of the city, sprinting from cover to cover, finally reaching the point Willet and his recon team made for.

  “Stay down!” he cautioned as he led them through. Jess kept her head down, curving to the right beside Darvon, watching for the other members of the recon team and following their lead, hurrying to keep up. As she made it through and out the other side she was hit by a wave of sound and recoiled.

  Beyond the city walls it was absolute chaos.

  Willet hurried them along. No stopping, out onto the field of battle—away from the safety of the thick, towering wall. Jess fought not to quail in horror, made herself trust Willet and follow his lead. Her overwhelming urge was to turn and flee back inside.

  For outside was madness. Just a few hundred yards away full-blown war was underway. Rocket trails, fireball explosions, shrapnel, smoke and all else, punctuated with tremendous sound. The difference between the fury on this side of the wall and the calm inside the city was stark. Inside the city had been dim, dark and noisy. Out here …

  Out here was pure Hell.

  Then she saw it. Slamming toward them across the uneven terrain, split off from the rest of the fray as if they were its sole target; a massive black tank, roaring right for them.

  “Do you have us?!” Willet yelled. Jess snapped her head and saw he spoke to his communicator, eyes on the tank. The response was apparently what he was expecting. He signaled them to move.

  “This way!” he yelled. Jess followed, Darvon close behind.

  And as she ran she felt the force in the air, as if the battle generated its own wind. Outside the thick, sound-deadening walls of the city the same noises they’d been hearing all along were amplified ten-fold, blowing across them in steady waves. The very air was filled with it, alive, sights and sounds overwhelming.

  But the tank approached. Coming to their rescue. An island refuge in a sea of danger. Willet ran to it, his recon team herding Jess and Darvon along, and at the last second the tank pivoted hard, tracks sliding to a stop in the muck and throwing up a wall of mud that nearly doused them. Its engine settled to a rumbling hiss—another steam-powered vehicle, she somehow noted through her overloaded senses—even as the top hatch on the turret flew open.

  And for an instant she stumbled. The head that popped out was not that of a helmeted soldier. Not another Willet, or even a man. It was a red-headed girl who looked not much older than Jess herself. A girl that looked like she should be out clubbing, not driving a tank. Bright red hair pulled into two ponytails that whipped in the wind at either side of her head, a pair of over-large goggles wrapping her forehead, pulled up from her eyes; a white-faced beauty, head perched atop a black uniform with silver insignia ...

  “Let’s go!” Willet rushed them to the armored tracks. One of his team scaled the rear drive wheel. The deck above the tracks was above the soldiers’ heads, higher than could be reached; Jess followed the first soldier up, grabbing away chunks of muck as she dug for handholds on the giant spur wheel. Driven by the urgency of the moment she made it up nearly as fast as the soldier. Darvon was slower and she watched from the deck as one below and the one above boosted him and took his arm, dragging him aboard. Together they stood atop the tank, waiting as Willet and the other two scaled the track. From that vantage more of the battle could be seen, ranging far across the field.

  Miles it seemed.

  “This way,” a new voice startled her. It was the girl. She’d come down from the turret and was directing them. She must be the commander. Jessica’s snapshot impression was that she was probably in her twenties, a little taller than her but not by much. Asian features defined her white face, projecting an intensity from crystal-blue eyes that spoke of experience well beyond her years.

  “To the second hatch,” she pointed, showing Jess to a set of rungs on that side of the huge turret. The whole tank was giant—not unlike an Earth tank in most of its basic features; tracked drive, turret on top, long cannon barrel, smaller machine gun mounts—though the style and size were overblown. As big as a small house, uniquely shaped and painted in menacing shades of black.

  Quickly she climbed the rungs, checking behind for Darvon. He followed at her heels. The recon guys and the girl commander hurried things along. It was clear they weren’t going to stay safely out of the action for long and needed to get moving. At the top Jess glanced around one more time, trying to take in what she could. Now that she was a dozen or more feet off the ground the battle could be seen clearly, sweeping off into the distance. For a moment vertigo gripped her.

  She found the hatch indicated, next to the one the girl exited and slightly larger. It was open and waiting, a man inside wearing a helmet and communications gear. He beckoned her down.

  Inside the tank quiet prevailed. The thick armored shell blocked most of the terrific sounds, noises filtering down through the open hatch above. As she descended to a small troop area her senses attuned to the new noises and the smells of the tank itself. Oily metal, the heavy thrum of an idling turbine somewhere to the rear, the irregular sounds of electronics and instrumentation—backed by the voices of the tank’s crew, coordinating its function. Lighting in the troop area was a soft, diffuse red.

  “Over there,” the helmeted man helped her to a seat. So far both the girl commander and this man were, despite the intensity of the situation, calm. Jess half expected everyone to be yelling.

  Darvon followed and took the seat beside her, blood drying on his face and looking exhausted. Willet and his recon team came in next, stowing their gear as they sat. Relieved, Jess could tell, to be out of the city and safely aboard the tank. She was too. Kind of. There was too much going on to dwell on her real predicament, but getting on that tank, in truth, just kept taking her further and further from her only way home.

  “Hang on,” came the girl commander’s voice over the intercom. Jess recognized it. She did as instructed, gripping the edges of the curved jump seat—none too soon, nearly falling out as the turbine roared suddenly and the behemoth surged ahead, impossibly fast for something that big. Linear, like the launch of a roller coaster or something. Seconds later it hit cruising speed and planed out.

  And they were underway. She felt them turning, aiming away in a new direction. Not long after that it began to bounce, slamming hard like a speedboat whacking wave crests in the ocean. Hammer, hammer; surge. Hammer, hammer, hammer; surge. Racing across the rutted and uneven terrain. Now and again it dipped further, diving through a crater or shallow depression, everyone’s stomach rising, then crushed them against the other side, roaring up and out, unrelenting, leaping—or so it fel
t—out the top and … BAM! slamming to ground and onward. Grinding in and continuing the surge.

  Each impact felt like it would knock the teeth out of her head. Surely the thing would come apart at the seams.

  In no time at all she was ill, sore and wanting the ride to end. The sake was still very much in her system. Aches she’d managed to forget reminded her of their presence now with a vengeance. Under optimum conditions she’d hate this ride. Drunk, tired and battered, it was, within short minutes, pure misery.

  Darvon puked. It hit the deck in a spatter and she moved her feet to the side, noting some got on her boot. She looked him over. He was alternating clutching his ribs and clutching at the seat, in pain from the mugging, pale and looking ready to die.

  “He’ll be okay,” said one of the recon guys, little compassion in his voice. Willet and his team were also holding on, though they seemed to be more relieved than suffering, happy to be on their way. They were probably used to it.

  Jess reached and laid a hand on Darvon’s back, soothing him as best she could. After snapping her neck a few times like that she left him to fend for himself, pressed herself hard against the seat and closed her eyes.

  Hanging on for dear life.

  * *

  “We’re here,” the commander’s voice at last broke the agonizing period of strained concentration. As her voice penetrated Jessica’s assaulted senses the violent shocks began to recede, the turbine wound down, the thunderous roar came to an end and the tank, mercifully, came to a halt.

  “Didn’t think I’d survive that one,” Willet joked. Jess could see it was somewhat for her benefit. No doubt she looked as bad as she felt.

  “They should put Satori behind a desk,” one of the others agreed, gathering his gear. “She should never be given anything more dangerous than a chair.” The others laughed. A ride in the tank was probably something they never looked forward to.