Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End Page 8

  I was moved, and surprised.

  “What he says,” added Hathaway, smiling warmly at me, obviously feeling the need to shake my hand, too. Only when I placed mine in his, he brought it to his lips and kissed the top gently. And that’s when he slipped me the thin square chip I’m now examining.

  It’s not really a chip but a tiny square box with a few holes in it and a half-moon indentation. I turn on the decoder quickly and wave the chip over it. This is weird. It’s some kind of new ESE technology. A Code Purple (classified) file log registered under Hathaway opens. Impossible! I don’t have this kind of clearance. Quickly I scan the summary. It’s a prototype shield device of some kind. Like a cloaking technology, maybe? Thank you, Hathaway!

  Before I can read more, other than how to turn it on, or think too long on why I could read such a classified file, Lt. Lazarus explains their plan of approach to me. I put away the decoder. As I listen, I undo my necklace, a gold chain Daz gave me, string it through the square shield box from Hathaway, pleased my hands are only mildly shaking, and put the chain back on. I tuck it under my shirt. As I figured, Lt. Lazarus isn’t paying attention to me while he talks.

  Our plan is to appear once, emerge briefly from behind Taxata’s moon, just long enough for the Thell’eon warship to spot us and let their auto-scanner do its thing. Read: translocate me. Then they plan to reverse back behind the moon and make a getaway.

  “And why won’t they pursue you?” I ask, concerned, knowing they must have thought this through.

  “They’ll be . . . occupied,” says Lt. Lazarus.

  Right. The hope being that the distraction of an enemy intruder (*gulp*) will buy King enough time to engage TL (Trans-light) speed and throw them off the sensor trail.

  “No pressure,” I say, not coming off nearly as sarcastic as I would like.

  “Don’t worry,” adds Lt. Lazarus. “We don’t believe they would leave the planet to pursue a single cargo vessel anyway.”

  I nod and stare out the window. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I picture Earth in my mind and feel my stomach squish tight. I have never been this far from home before.

  “You all right?” Lt. Lazarus’s turned around in his seat drinking me in, concerned. The others turn to me, including King. But I’m in no condition to make eye contact with him. I lean back slightly, so my head rests on the headrest, and breathe deeply.

  I can do this. I can do this. I’m saying this in my mind, but my brain’s not registering it. It’s like it’s immersed in a thick mud. I’m sweating profusely, a cold sweat. I struggle to take off my gamma rifle, strapped across me, and my heavy combat vest. Someone’s helping me with the cumbersome task. I don’t feel any better in my thin, short-sleeve shirt.

  I hear in the distance the words, “Just relax. It’s okay. Relax.” A hand on my back gently pushes me forward and I rest my forehead on my knees. Only a little better. The hand stays there—a lifeline. After what seems like an eternity of fighting back the strongest urge to vomit I’ve ever experienced, just make it end, it will end, right?, the black-and-white static that’s blurring my vision finally begins to clear. The falling sensation releases its hold.

  I rest for a short while there, taking long, deep breaths. As my head clears, I notice the silence.

  An anxiety attack? Seriously?

  Finally, sitting back, slowly, fearful the slipping sensation will return, I’m given another jolt. It’s King sitting beside me. It was his hand on my back. I want to cry with relief.

  He reaches back over and snatches my hand. I glance around to see if anyone’s watching. The other officers are staring straight ahead. Lt. Lazarus is flying now. King’s eyes hold a brand new kind of softness.

  “You made this choice, now you must succeed,” he whispers imploringly, glancing around quickly. Everyone can probably hear. He adds, even quieter, “. . . for us.”

  Goosebumps break out up my arms, invigorating me. I’m relieved. Relieved he’s not angry with me anymore. Relieved because he’s right. I just need to get through this. I do have a future. And it will not be on that Thell’eon ship. It will be in ESE . . . with King and with Daz—found and safe. I smile at King. I want to kiss him again so badly I have to physically withhold the urge. Instead, I squeeze his hand.

  After a moment, he releases mine, reluctantly, and stands up, letting go of my gaze at the last moment. I watch him take over the helm. I will never forget the way you say my name, the adoration you draw out of me like a sweet melody, how I would do anything to rise up and be worthy of your noble gaze.

  “Three light years from the target,” says Lt. Lazarus.

  Oh no.

  I lean over to put my vest back on when a wave of nausea strikes. At first I think it’s the anxiety returning, until I realize the charger’s alarm is sounding.

  No!

  Have the Thell’eons spotted me already? Holy fuck. I think I’m being transported! Their auto-scanners must reach farther than we knew!

  Everyone has the same realization at the same time. We’re staring at each other wide-eyed.

  My vest! I’m naked without it and all of its vital contents.

  Lt. Lazarus and King both dive for my rifle (Funny, I didn’t even think of that!), probably hoping to throw it to me in record time, but it’s too late.

  I’m reviewing in my mind what I do have on me—a hand-sized gamma Derringer XO1, my trusty Bowi knife on my thigh, the UPS on my wrist, the decoder in my pant pocket, and one bright yellow chicken heart beating out of control under my standard issue ESE undershirt at the very moment I arrive on the Thell’eon warship.

  Chapter 9

  The explosion of adrenaline blinds, and then reveals all in vivid, clear, horrifying detail. Absolutely everything, the muted sounds, the metallic scent, the dim light, is foreign. Two unarmed Thell’eons are standing on either side of elaborate console, staring at me, dumbfounded. Holy fucking stars are they BIG! A foot or more over most human men. At least 120 pounds each on me. Wearing sleeveless cloaks. Bursting biceps—20 or more inches wide. Shaved heads. Some kind of markings on faces, foreheads, arms, everywhere. Strikingly attractive. No really.

  I was so worried they would be terrifying-looking and unrecognizable, but they resemble humans, and, yet, inhumanly perfect ones.

  These two are clearly confused as they piece together what’s happened, and then, finally, appear thrilled with their find: a human female! I feel sick. I observe this unfold in their expressions as they glance at each other and then back at me, and down to my breasts and lower . . . I react on sheer instinct. I reach for my Derri, bring it up in one swift movement, and fire.

  I’m not a bad shot. The key, King once told me over breakfast in Proxy, is intent. Aim, believe, fire.

  I stun one, who falls with a loud thud. The other reacts, with a look of disbelief I’ll never forget, like an elephant is shooting at him, and tries to take cover behind the tall console. I manage to ray his leg, barely, damaging the console in the process. My hand’s slippery with sweat and shaking, so I clench the Derri with both hands and, moving closer, shoot him twice more, for good measure. He’s definitely out, probably for days.

  Now concentrate.

  But I can’t feel anything!

  Calm down. It’s okay. You’re just in shock.

  I stifle the urge to giggle, clearly my fallback in an emergency, as the situation couldn’t be any less funny.

  Engage the enemy! Find the sift? You just shot the enemy.

  Okay. It’s okay. I mean, you only stunned them.

  So what? You provoked them!

  This is so not the kind of first impression I was supposed to make. This is very bad. I can’t believe how quickly this has gone wrong.

  Safety! I look around frantically. Get somewhere safe. Get
back to the velo. Yes! You can beam yourself back to the charger, assuming it made a getaway.

  So what if you failed? There’s no chance of recovering from this disaster now. Better to survive and try another day.

  Quickly, I race over to the console. As I reach it, a voice in a completely strange language echoes behind me. I freeze, paralyzed with sheer terror, until I realize it’s too distant to be a threat. Listen harder. It’s coming from the stunned Thell’eon bodies. Sounds like an ancient Earth language, Dutch . . .? Perhaps, but harsher.

  The voice must be transmitted through a Thell’eon version of our officer’s com system. If they didn’t know about me, they soon will when they don’t get a response. I search the nearest body for earpiece. Up close, I comprehend instantly that I’m no physical match for these . . . men.

  I take the earpiece off of the Thell’eon, unable not to notice the exquisite white-and-gray pattern trailing from his temple around behind his ear, and loop the strange, malleable braided device around my ear.

  The voice has stopped. I race back to the console. I pull out my decoder, turn it on somehow, since my fingers are clearly not cooperating with my brain, and just as it begins to scan the unit—come on, come on—the console shuts off.

  NOOOO!

  All the strange lettering on the large keypads is gone! I must have shorted it when I fired on the Thell’eons.

  Okay. Okay. No problem. So you can’t use this console to send yourself back.

  The blueprints we recovered showed that there are translocator pads located in several areas on these ships. Find another! Move it!

  My gut clenches at the sudden booming alarm that starts up all around me. Can they trace me inside their ship? Holy Stars!

  Get away from this room! I glance around, frantically. This warship is massive!

  My UPS. Please work. Please work. Near the room’s exit, I pause to check. Dammit, it’s not picking up anything. I hover at the door entrance . . . there aren’t really doors or corridors as far as I can see; just openings that lead to other epic rooms. I so did not read that from the blueprints. There are very few places for cover, too. Shit. Without ceilings in this room, I imagine there are Thell’eons peering down from one of the other levels, pointing their guns at me RIGHT NOW. You’ve got to get out of here!

  I glance around the corner, establish that it’s an empty room with a ceiling and start running, my Derri pointed ahead.

  I hear voices again in the earpiece, this time not sounding like questions so much as remarks. But wait—the words sound familiar. I’m hearing English! I grab my decoder, which is . . . still activated! Maybe it got through its initializing phase, and downloaded a language profile from the Thell’eon database into the translator chip in my brain before the console shut off!

  I make out two deep male voices, maybe three.

  “ . . . two—down.”

  Yes! It’s working, though the translator leaves out words it can’t decipher, and substitutes approximations. Anyway, I know they are referring to the guys I just stunned. Shit! They are already at the transporter pad I just left!

  “Dead?”

  “Still.” He must mean stunned.

  “In pursuit—”

  Oh no, I hope they don’t guess which way I went. I don’t hear sounds of pursuit.

  I run through two similar rooms, which seem more like galleries. Great way to confuse invaders. A ship of mirrors. Another one. Oh, thank the stars! I reach a reasonable-sized room, with what appears to a series of consoles that look similar to the one that I assume transported me.

  While listening for Thell’eons over and above the terrible alarm, I scan one of the console systems and find what I need, a symbol that appears to translate into ‘locator’ on my device. Well, here goes nothing. I touch the symbol on the console and it activates.

  A weird sensation occurs when I make contact with the screen, a dulled electrical shock or mild vibration. Wow. The computer systems must interface with organic matter.

  Vaguely, I register the design of the ship’s masculine, sharp edges, and dark corners, while the ship’s schematic is downloading into my device. It’s slightly warm in here and musty, but not in an unpleasant way. Or maybe that’s the smell of your own fear. There’s something funny about the materials, even the ground I’m walking on, but I can’t put my finger on it and there’s no time to think about it.

  It’s done downloading . . . and it knows exactly where I am. Excellent! I only hope the Thell’eons can’t see where I am so clearly.

  I take a breath to compose myself so I can actually read the ship blueprint. Okay, it looks like I need to pass through two larger rooms straight ahead (but it could be one room with an opening?), take a left, and two rights, to reach what I am guessing is the closest transporter. Hope inflates me—

  I sense his presence a split second before I swing around. A massive Thell’eon is looming in the entrance I just came through, pointing his vicious gun, equipped with a dagger, right at me.

  The look on his face is murder. My stomach takes a dive and I close my eyes.

  But . . . I don’t meet my demise.

  Panicked, I open my eyes to a chiseled, tattooed, size extra-large man sizing me up.

  I exhale, cautiously.

  ESE was right. Being a woman just saved me, for now.

  He’s similar in size and overall appearance as the two Thell’eons I just stunned. Closer, his sleeveless cloak appears to be made of some metallic fabric. Uh, his broad chest and ripped stomach are completely exposed. What gives with these guy’s physiques? He has enviably high cheekbones and a full mouth. I’d already noticed his eyes, big, heavy-lidded and green, brighter than human green eyes would be.

  For a moment he stares at me with those gems, and a sensation like when your hair stands on end spreads in me. I should at least try to appear to be a force to be reckoned with, or maybe now is the time to ‘engage’ him, but all I really want, no, all I really need to do, is to whimper. I manage not to.

  I’m still holding my gun, but it’s not pointed at him. In fact, my hands are out. Apparently my first instinct is to surrender (chicken heart!). Having my freedom taken away from me so swiftly is a new and horrifying experience.

  Just now, his expression softens and he looks ... amused? I guess he has decided I am no threat. Screw him. Without thinking, I raise my gun, pointing it at his chest, my heart thudding in time with the ship’s alarm.

  He stiffens slightly, but knits his eyebrows, as if to say Come now, you can’t be serious.

  I don’t even bother giving him my badass face. I’m pretty sure my face is frozen into one singular expression: fear.

  My arm’s tired holding the Derri (I’m so out of energy right now), so I pocket the decoder and hold it with both hands. He smiles like he’s indulging me.

  “Status?” a deep voice comes over our earpieces, startling me.

  Green Eyes looks at my earpiece, stares at my face intensely, then responds in a deep, slightly raspy, voice. “I’ve got the human . . . female. She’s on—”

  There’s a long pause. I’m guessing ‘female’ got their attention. I’m also guessing he’s warned his leader than I’m on their com system. The rest of his speech was scrambled by the translator.

  “On our way. Hold position,” says the voice.

  Oh no.

  Definitely not.

  I can’t face any more than one of these guys at a time. The thought is unacceptable. I step back impulsively.

  “Don’t move,” barks Green Eyes, loud and clear.

  I stop. I wouldn’t have needed a universal translator to catch his intent.

  Do something! If you let this go any further, you will never get off this ship.

  “Please, let me go,” I say, stumbling over the words.
>
  I realize how pathetic this sounds, but maybe Thell’eons are merciful? His mean expression remains unchanged. He does take the opportunity to size me up physically again. He starts near my hips and lingers very briefly on my breasts, before returning to my face.

  Okay, so he’s probably not going to let me go. A sense of moral outrage mounts.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask pointedly. Yes! They were the ones who translocated me! How dare they! Though, based on their surprised reaction, it’s possible they forgot about their own bloody auto-scanners.

  I ask a second time, more forcefully taking a bold step forward. Either he’s ignoring me or doesn’t understand me, but he doesn’t tense at my attempt to move closer.

  “Why am I here?” I ask with as much sincerity as I can muster. I hold his eyes for a moment, and then glance over his ripped arms, across his broad chest, and down his body, and then lower. Okay. I actually didn’t mean to look there, but my eyes kind of fell on it. I mean, really, they should wear looser pants.

  Maybe I’m in a state of shock. Yes. Losing control of my senses or something. I glance at his eyes, totally embarrassed and, admittedly, slightly awed.

  The effect that my once-over has on him is visceral. It’s like a wall comes down and he’s . . . receptive to my attention. He seems to preen a bit, standing taller if that were possible, though he does not drop his guard.

  I’ve never had a man look at me quite the way he is in this moment, as though he’s main course and I can feel free to dine at my pleasure.

  Um, maybe in a different life.

  “Status,” comes through my earpiece, scaring me almost out of my skin. My stomach takes a dive.

  “Holding,” says Green Eyes.

  Do something! Maybe you can get close enough to disarm him?

  I’ve inched within feet of him. But he’s still pointing his gun at me. It’s like a third eye, menacing and relentless. I try to ignore it but it’s impossible. I might pass out. It’s hard to keep my eyes focused. NO. You can do this.