Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (9 page)

I take a step back, forgetting the precipice.
Shit
. I glance over my shoulder. Less than one foot away!

When I turn back, Dark Eye’s hands are up in a ‘stop’ gesture. I must look pretty desperate, because he takes a step back, tilting his head to the side, trying to seem less threatening. It’s not working.

Without taking his eyes off me, he barks an order that does not translate. In response, most of the Thell’eon back out of the room, leaving him, Green Eyes, and two soldiers.

Uh, only slightly less intimidating thanks.

I glance quickly over my shoulder again. Maybe I can jump? I am light. With a strong enough leap—

“You’ll never make it,” says Dark Eyes. “You will not be harmed. I promise you,” he adds, without wavering his eye contact, as though he can enthrall me or something. But it’s an empty comment, like he read it in a manual entitled
Communicating With Frightened Humans.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” I ask snidely.

The only sign of surprise at my tone he offers is one slightly raised eyebrow.

A sense of reckless abandon comes over me as it sinks in I have no other options and nothing to lose since clearly they don’t plan to kill me . . . for a while. Before he can respond, in one record-setting fast move, I throw the gun at him, jump to my right, grab the decoder (when I see it is within reach), and take the one extra step I have before pushing myself off the landing.

What are you doing?!

Holy stars!

I was hoping the one-step leap would give me the extra momentum I need to get to the nearest floor, across, two levels down, projecting out past the floor above it by at least five feet. But the instant I’m airborne, I realize I have greatly underestimated the distance, by several feet or more. I have no chance of making it to the nearest level.

You fool
. Regret doesn’t begin to sum up all I have lost in one rash decision. The bottom of my feet tingle, a result of weightlessness and their own recognition they’ll never touch ground again, I suppose.

The instinct to survive is far greater than any rational thought, and I find myself actually attempting to run, in thin air, to the other landing, as if that would work. I’m pretty near frantic when a warm body wallops against me, arms wrap around my waist, pushing us across instead of down, just in time to reach the edge of the second level.

He lands on his feet, with me in his arms. Amazing! But the momentum forces him to release me to break his fall. He doesn’t quite manage this in time, and I’m crushed.

The additional weight is gone just as quickly as it struck, and a strong arm scoops me up and flips me over like a Panju Card.

Dark Eyes.

On all fours above me, scanning me, concerned.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

He’s fucking enormous on top of me, and in addition to some pain from landing hard on my boobs (they are not small) and my face, I experience the excruciating agony of being winded.

Yes, the answer is yes.

I keel forward, fighting the fear that the ability to inhale will never come. His coat’s draped on both sides of me, and I spot something black and handle-like that looks like it might be a weapon in one of his pockets. I instinctively snatch it and am disappointed that it does not appear to be a weapon, or anything useful. I slip it in my pant pocket anyway. He doesn’t notice the theft as I rock back and forth slightly from the agony.

“Are you hurt?” he asks a second time.

Tenderness softens his expression. This is wholly unexpected. I manage to shake my head, but still can’t breathe.

“You would gain breath in a moment. Just rest your stomach.”

I heed his advice as best as I can, while it sinks in that I’ve just run out of chances.

Finally, my chest and stomach unclench, and I rest my head back on the floor, taking in big gulps of air, eyes closed. Is there no worse sensation than having the wind knocked out of you? It must be what you feel like just before you die. I wonder if I’m going to die soon.

The strangest calm comes over me. If Daz is dead, so help me, someone will suffer. I will make sure of it.

This thought renews my spirit somewhat, as three sets of feet land with thuds around us. The others have made the jump effortlessly. Is this how these guys travel between floors? I look up at Dark Eyes, who is watching me. Why’s he lingering over me?

I’m certain now that he must be the ship captain. He has an air of command about him. You can tell he’ll do ‘whatever’ it takes . . . that maybe he’s already done that, or worse. Up close there are nicks and scars on various places on his handsome face. His eyes are magnificent. Being so near, I identify that they are indeed dark brown with shards of black crystal. I can just barely make out the pupils. I think of the vision that I just saw, of me, with him, and wonder whether such an occurrence could or would ever really happen.
Not if I can help it
.

I move to squirm out from under him, when I hear the tiny clang of my chain against the weird organic-metal floor. Hathaway’s device! Before I can pursue that thought any further, Dark Eyes hauls me up with him by my arm. This hurts. He snatches my decoder, and defeat hovers. All that information—gone.

Just as he roughly pushes me toward Green Eyes, who is smugly waiting, I reach for my last chance, my necklace, grab the square unit with my thumb and finger, and fumble desperately for the half moon indent. Green Eyes, who’s watching me closely, is a split second too late reaching for my arm.

A slightly buzzing noise surrounds me, and the two instantly release me, yelling in pain. They are both holding burned hands and angry as hell, staring at me with disbelief. Again. The other Thell’eons are confused.

Yes! It is working!

I’m not cloaked, per se. Just shielded.

I can’t see the shield. I’m not sure if they can see it either. But it appears to give me about a two foot or two and a half foot circumference of protection.
Excellent, Hathaway. Excellent!

I snatch back the decoder from Dark Eyes, causing more pain when he attempts to stop me, and pocket it.

They were surprised before. Try incredulous now.

Before I make another move, Green Eyes launches himself at me with his teeth bared in an angry snarl. I panic, crouching in a defensive position. But the shield not only deflects him, it repels him, and he lands on the floor on his back, curling up in pain.

Well, he should have learned the first time.

Dark Eyes is watching me. I think maybe he’s figured out this device is new to me. Why else would I duck when Green Eyes hurled himself at me?

I get up and run desperately toward the only door I see, knocking down the other two Thell’eons who seem to think they won’t be hurt by the shield. Finally, they get it, and the two, plus Green Eyes and the leader, keep a slight distance beside me as I run.

I try to ignore them, desperate to focus on my decoder and find a way off of this ship. Green Eyes is so close he risks getting burned again. His chest’s already burned from where he was repelled by my shield. But he doesn’t seem to care.

I refuse to look at him.

Too scared.

Dark Eyes is shouting orders, but the universal translator only picks up “Scan it” and “Find a way.”

I run faster.

They easily match my pace.

After a few windy corners, it occurs to me that despite my ability to inflict pain with the shield, I’m subconsciously allowing them to herd me. So I force my way on them as I struggle to read the decoder and follow the directions to the nearest console. After a few more turns, I realize I’m nearing one, because the group is more agitated. I check my decoder . . . almost—

Ah, there!
I run toward to it.

“Fire all!” screams Dark Eyes.

Shocked, I eyeball him, but there’s no mercy in his face. I brace for impact just as reach the console, trying to catch my breath and hoping my shield will protect the console from being destroyed, too. I think I hear Green Eyes yell, “No!” but it’s too late, or the soldiers ignore him.

The weapons’ blaze is so bright I see only white.

But . . . no pain!

The shield seems to be holding.

I could kiss Hathaway.

They let up, and I lean over the console, desperate to make sense of the display.

“Stop her!”

I make the mistake of glancing up. Dark Eyes is hovering as close as possible, just inches from the shield. His high, flat cheekbones have a pinkish hue, his glare’s more menacing than a gun. I know, straight down to my toes, that given the opportunity, he would hurt me, or worse, in order to stop me right now.

Another Thell’eon arrives, with a strange device.

“Disable!” Dark Eyes yells at him, spit spraying from his mouth. The Thell’eon points his device at me and starts reading another in his other hand. Dark Eyes appears hopeful, his eyes flickering from his man, back to me, back to his man.

Uh-oh
.
Can they somehow turn off my shield? Where is it drawing power from anyway?

Ignore them!

Focus, focus, focus. OKAY.
Is there any logic to this
. . .
maze of lights
. . .
based on what my decoder is telling me?
After punching a few options, I realize I need to trace the lines with my quivering fingers. Coordinates pop up on my decoder. King’s velo?!

I can hear Dark Eyes breathing, loudly. He’s mumbling something deranged, I think. I don’t want to know what he’s saying.

Yes!
It must be the velo. It is still in range!

I trace a few lines with great difficulty, confirm that I have entered a transport sequence, according to my decoder, and encrypt it. I step back from the console, without looking at the Thell’eons.

But Dark Eyes steps with me and is now standing right in front of me, real close. What is taking so long for this transporter to work?

I can’t help but raise my head. It’s outrageous how good-looking he is. He’s sizing me up. Angry,
yes
. But, oddly . . . cocky?

Um, excuse me, you just lost, buddy
.

I observe that the Thell’eon are angry, too, but there’s also an undercurrent in their frustration, a kind of excitement that’s very unsettling. Like they’re all pleased about something.

Huh? Oh, who cares
? Now that escape’s certain—the first signs of transporter nausea are mounting—victory swells.

I did it!
Well, I didn’t find the sift, but I got a ton of intel. Maybe, I glance down hopeful at the decoder, there’s even something in here about Daz.

It just wasn’t going to work the way ESE planned, anyway.

I rarely feel this particular kind of elation.

Let’s hope you’re sending yourself to the right vessel.

Just as I sense the nausea peaking (I was worried it might not work with the shield activated but Hath pulls through again!), I stick my tongue out at Dark Eyes. The minute I do it, I close my mouth. Oops. That was a mistake. He jumps at me, hands outstretched to throttle me. I rear back, even though he can’t hurt me. I find myself transported to the charger.

Chapter 10

Funny how a little off-station excursion, even if it’s for less than one hour, can put things into perspective. Until Winters’ Storm, I don’t think I ever really appreciated ESE. Take turbolifts. They sure beat jumping between floors. H2H class. It teaches you really important skills to have when traveling the galaxy. ESE’s strict non-fraternizing rules. They make perfect sense to me now.

My new outlook almost made the four-hour debriefing with every ESE officer who ever lived, or so it seemed, tolerable. Almost. I had to recount, over and over, every moment of my time on the Thell’eon ship.

I suspect Hathaway’s in big trouble. From what I gather, he used me to test his prototype shield, developed for his graduate thesis, without ESE’s permission. I had enough sense to lie about how it came into my possession (I said it was just there in my pod in the morning), but they seemed to know anyway. I did emphasize that it was an incredible weapon, and was singularly responsible for saving my life. Otherwise, I told them everything. Okay, well, except for my déjà vu, and how the Thell’eon leader and Green Eyes, who seemed to be his second-in-command, shouted ‘sift’ at me. Necessary omissions. I can’t imagine trying to explain my ability to ESE’s utterly rationale Command.

Lying in my downcore, too exhausted to actually sleep, the events of the day swim through my head. I get caught in a tide of resentment toward ESE. Tempers flared in the debriefing when no one would tell me what I had downloaded from the Thell’eon ship on my decoder, or even if there was intel about Daz.
Don’t I have a right to know since I stole the damn thing?
Adm. O’Reilly was the first to answer. Apparently I was confusing praise for gratitude, which you don’t get for doing your duty.

Duty?
I should have laughed, but I didn’t. Of course, every hour I’ve been back I’ve kicked myself for not negotiating information about Daz’s whereabouts for doing my so-called duty, that is, if they even know where he is.

I don’t regret for one minute my other necessary omission from ESE debriefing officers—that I stole technology from the Thell’eon leader. Only, after examining the strange stick-shaped device alone here in my pod, I realized that opening it is out of my league. And since Hathaway helped me out once, I figured he might do it again. I sent him a short Missive, thanking him, and asking him to meet me as soon as he’s available for a drink (on me) in Proxy. If he’s even remotely obliging, I’ll show it to him.

Wondering when he’ll get back to me, my wired brain switches streams to the best part of the whole day: the look on King’s face when I materialized on the charger. Pride.

True: given everyone else’s total shock, a more insecure person might suspect no one believed in her ability to survive, never mind return with intel in under an hour. But not me. Nope. In fact, I gobbled up the respect they gave me as I ran through the encounter on the way back.

Anyway, King and Lt. Lazarus both jumped up out of their seats but King reached me first. He got a hold of me and examined me all over for injuries. Satisfied I was unharmed, he grabbed my face and, I think, would have kissed me, but Lt. Lazarus interrupted us to inform everyone the Thell’eons were not pursuing. Strange, but predicted. Finding the sift weapon, if it’s on that planet, holds more interest for them.

An image of Dark Eyes hovering over me, asking me if I’m hurt, pops into my mind. My heart picks up pace again, and I block it out by trying to imagine that kiss King would have given me.

When I wake up, I’m temporarily disoriented.

Wow
. My com-tab says I’ve been out for 15 hours. It’s still early in the morning, but at least I don’t have classes today. ESE found it in their hearts to give me the day off.

I do feel something odd. What is that? A sense of security. Yeah, that’s it! I’ve guaranteed myself another two and a half years at the Academy. Plenty of time for real kissing with King.

“You sleep like you’re dead,” says Jordanna from her downcore.

I’m not letting her ruin my mood.

“I’ve never felt more alive.” I sigh with pleasure.

She rolls over and stares at me with incredulity. Then she frowns.

“Where were you most of yesterday?”

“Can’t divulge.”

Her eyes widen, as if to say ‘Give it up.’

“I can’t. I swear. Top-secret mission.”

She rolls her eyes.

“So do you think he did it?” she asks, after a big yawn.

I roll over onto my side, yawning in turn.

“Who? Did what?”

“You haven’t heard? Where have you been?” she asks, suspicious. Probably worried I was up to no good and will get kicked out of ESE. No chance of that now!

“I told you. Top-secret mission.”

“Fine,” she says, annoyed. “I won’t tell you then.”

Wait for it . . .

“You know Lt. Daria Preston, pretty girl with freckles who—”

“Yeah,” I cut her off, my interest piqued. The girl who maybe altered Daz’s mission report and stood me up in Proxy.

“Dead. Found her cold in her pod.”

“What?” I shoot straight up, vaguely noting extreme muscle soreness from head to toe. And throbbing in my head. Dehydrated, maybe.

“Yeah. They found her mid-day yesterday.”

Shocked still and silent, all I can do is listen while Jordanna gets dressed.

She says Daria’s cause of death is unknown but ESE is questioning people, which likely means that the circumstances are suspicious.

Why would anyone want to hurt her? I keep picturing the brightness in her eyes when I suggested we meet to talk about Daz. My brain can’t process the idea that she is no more.

“Wait, what did you just say?” I have to concentrate to make out the next thing Jordanna reveals.

She repeats a few names of people being questioned, including Todd Meyers! How weird is it that the same guy who hit on me in Proxy might be linked with Daria’s death, which occurred later the same night I was supposed to meet her in Proxy?

Jordanna hits the privy, and I can’t help but wonder what my connection to this is, if any. My déjà vu seems to be the starting point. But is that really something I can rely on?

Green Eyes appears in my mind, shouting,
Sift!

Shuddering, I rub my face.

“Are you all right?”

I glance up at Jordanna, dressed, and wearing genuine concern on her face. “I take it the Tribunal gave you a pass. Right?”

I exhale. “Yes, on both counts.”

Jordanna doesn’t say anything, just nods and leaves. That’s her way of saying
congratulations
.

I roll over and grab my com-tab, deciding that I can’t focus on this latest development. Not really. I need this one-day’s grace granted to me by ESE.

I find, amid class updates, ESE news, and Gossamer Exchange updates, one Missive header that creates mild anxiety, in a good way.

It’s from King. He’s asking me to meet him in a Lightvision
TM.33
pod at fourteen hundred hours. Presumably he’ll join me without anyone knowing. We’ll have to be careful to hide whatever is going on between us in public, but in LV anything’s possible.

Holy stars! A date with King! This is a date, right?

He says to wear hiking boots and my heart sinks. I’m about as outdoorsy as birds are bipedal. Of course, he doesn’t need to know that.

I’ll have to use extra credits to get boots materialized in time.

For the rest of the morning I read a little, trying not to think about Daria, take a super long mist, drink four espressos, and spend half an hour picking out an outfit—ESE pants and a green-blue crossover that shows just a hint of cleavage.

Finally, when I can put it off no longer, I revisit my frustration with King. He should have told me there’s a possibility Daz has been ‘misplaced’ even if he doesn’t believe it. No matter what I tell myself, I just can’t understand his trust in ESE. That’s why I didn’t tell him about the stolen technology when I was safe back on the NP charger. I suppose my lack of trust for ESE doesn’t make me a very good cadet. But the thing is, if King really has so much trust in ESE, why was he willing to risk his career to stop me from going through with Winters’ Storm?

We meet on the Lightvision
TM.33
pad in LV Studio #089. Before the program starts, King tells me we’re scrambling up Mount Richardson, which overlooks the stunning Lake Louise area in the Canadian Rockies. I’m greatly relieved when he explains that we are not really rock climbing, with ropes and all. We’ll be hiking on foot, and sometimes scrambling, as in crawling, up slightly steeped slopes.

Standing over me, he pauses before starting the program. He’s awfully regal today, in his climbing pants and tight, long-sleeved black shirt.

“I must speak with you about your mission yesterday.”

“Oh. Okay.” I’m not surprised. He only heard the condensed version, with necessary omissions, on the brief flight before we were transported back and went into separate debriefings.

“Did anything happen with those Thell’eons that you did not tell me or ESE?”

I plan to say ‘no’, but an odd need to be honest with him stops me.

“Did they . . . compromise you?” he asks.

“No. I swear!”

He doesn’t seem convinced so I continue. “In fact, they didn’t seem all that interested in me in that way.” Well, maybe Green Eyes was, momentarily, but even his ‘interest’ wasn’t menacing per se. I’m blushing, hard.

King’s staring at me intently. “Were they interested in you for another reason?”

Why would he ask me that? His accusing tone, his tense body language, reminds of the morning he asked if there was a reason why I would not join ESE.

Sift!

I can’t read King’s face. For a moment, I just see a handsome stranger, with a shockingly virile jaw line and judgmental eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I turn away, unable to lie to his face anymore. Seconds pass one by one.

“Never mind,” he finally says, “I just, I wanted to be sure. Are you ready?” He’s wearing a tight smile.

He let that go pretty quickly
. I try to shrug off the uncertainty he’s created in me.

The LV program’s set for a warm summer day, virtually nonexistent in reality, and soon, I’m enjoying myself. I’m wowed at every turn, as is King, even though he says that he’s been on this particular scramble before. He anticipates every vista before we reach it, and I’m pleased he’s so keen to share it all with me. I thought my muscles would be too sore, but the exercise actually energizes them.

The programmers really captured every detail, right down to fresh, crisp, mountain air, the scent of pine, and the rustle of the gentle wind. King says that the Rocky Mountains are the most beautiful place on Earth; that it wasn’t until he did this climb 10 years ago in LV and caught his first glimpse of the stunning peaks—as far as the eye could see—that he truly came to appreciate Earth’s majesty. Before then, he says he just grew up in the hustle and bustle of New York Central, dreaming of nothing but getting off Earth with a career in ESE.

He tells me this after we polish off some LV-created pink lemonade, while sitting in a pretty grassy patch on a flat outcrop of the mountain face soaking up some imitation sun. I’d often wondered about his past. How he was brought up. What kind of parents could raise a superhero.

“Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers and sisters? Where are your parents now?”

Uh, awkward silence.

“You could say I have quite a few brothers and sisters. Perhaps Daz never mentioned I was raised in a care center, Cassiel.” He says this plainly, without emotion.

Flustered, mortified, I scramble for the right words.

“King, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”

“The centers are extremely well-managed. I had a very good upbringing.”

After a pause, while I struggle for something else to say, he says, “Daz told me your parents died when you were eight.”

Oh
. Well, I guess I did invite this line of conversation.

“Yes.” I push my loose hair behind my ears. “They both contracted the Karva virus. There wasn’t time to even treat it, really.”

“Do you remember them very well?”

Ah
, leave it to King to cut straight to the chase.

“To be truthful, not really.” This has been the source of much misdirected resentment throughout my teens. “My dad worked off-world a lot as a freelance astrobiologist for private firms. I remember my mom more. She was beautiful, and she wore her hair long.” Funny why I always think of her hair, but it was stunning, thick and honey colored, falling in gentle waves.

“Like you,” he adds, stretching his long, muscular body back on the grass where we are sitting.

I don’t know if he means I’m beautiful or my hair’s also long so I don’t say anything.

My back’s tired (actually my whole body’s ready for a rest) so I follow his lead, and lie back beside him, staring up at the sky.

“Giraffe,” I say, grinning.

He looks sideways at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh come on. You’ve never played the cloud game?”

The way he’s staring at me makes me feel like a child, but who cares? I tell him how it works and, after a rocky start, he really gets rolling, spotting the most ridiculous universe leaders crossed with exo-animals. They don’t match the clouds as much as they are clever combinations to imagine. I haven’t laughed like this in, well, ages.

I flip over onto my side, my head propped on my hand, and admire his profile. His faint freckles are coming out in the sunlight and his eyelashes almost sparkle they’re so light.

He also flips onto his side, propping up his head with his hand. He has a soft smile on his lips. He reaches over with his free arm and effortlessly pulls me closer. My heart beats faster. He’s not smiling anymore. A thrilling sensation rolls through me, followed by a pang of desire. We come together, faces just fitting, barely touching, hovering, basking in the shared warmth. He kisses me like a short musical note, and another, and another, holding each one longer than the last, until I can bear it no more and I taste him.