Star Rebellion (33 page)

              “It is just a ten minute drive north to a restaurant called
Gora Nebes
, or in your language, The Mountain of Heaven.”

              I nodded my head and considered this. Even in Russia, religion was able to seep through. In a history lesson during my early years of training, I had learned that Russia once held a Communistic government, which didn’t allow religion to prosper at all, though now that was not the case, especially since a restaurant with such a name was allowed to exist.

              Erik pulled the car into a parking lot in front of a decent sized, brick building. There were gaping arches with colored panes of glass in the windows and vines were growing up the sides of the building, adding a more aged feel to it, though I would guess the actual structure wasn’t more than twenty years old.

              The parking lot was pretty full, which made me feel better about the place. If the food was terrible, then so many people wouldn’t be here. Or there is a large amount of people who like to eat the same terrible food. It could go either way, I suppose.

              Firestar was still looking around curiously, but he had put on his usual ‘don’t give a crap’ face. Only someone who had known him as long as I would be able to see what was happening behind the careless façade.

              I walked closer to him, leaving Erik in the lead. “What’s up?” I murmured, my lips hardly moving.

              “You know when you sometimes get that itch between your shoulder blades, like you can tell something bad is about to happen? Yea, I’m getting that feeling now.” Firestar mimicked my way of speaking. No one would be able to guess what we were saying, not even Erik who was a few steps ahead.

              The driver held open the door for us and I entered cautiously, but not to the point to receive suspicion. Fire and I waited in the small entry way for Erik to take the lead again as I held the door open for him. The Russian man inclined his head slightly as he walked through.

              “Is this feeling about Erik?” I asked as Fire passed by me to go through the door.

              He briefly shook his head no, and my shoulders relaxed a bit more. I trusted Fire’s suspicions; he could see the future after all. Then again, he had been wrong about Vladimir.

              We followed Erik into the main part of the restaurant where the hostess was already standing behind a podium. She had a nice smile framed in a brownish pink lipstick. The lady also had curly light brown hair that was pulled up into a ponytail on top of her head. She greeted us in Russian, and Erik took up the conversation. I think he explained that we only spoke English because she looked over and smiled at us again. I don’t think she saw Fire’s sword.

              We were brought to a table almost in the dead center of the room and the seats were squishy in a good way. The table looked like it was made of solid wood, and I would’ve taken a guess at what type of tree it had come from if I knew what different woods looked like. It was a reddish color and had arching veins of black squiggling through the surface. The interior of the room was dimly lit with what I believe was gothic architecture. The walls had black iron fencing along their length and small chandeliers dotted the ceiling every ten feet or so.

A man who looked like he could be the hostess’s twin came up to ask us if we wanted anything to drink. Erik had no problem translating for us, and the waiter tried to speak some English with Fire and I, but after a few minutes it became apparent that his grammar was bad enough to skewer anything he was trying to say. We all took it good-naturedly.

We ordered food mostly based off of Erik’s suggestion, though from his descriptions, it did sound quite appealing.

I could see the waiter coming back through the kitchen door. Erik also looked up and said, “That looks like our food. I am sure that it will please you well.”

Fire and I nodded our heads in consent and Fire’s stomach growled. I snickered at him and caught myself as I realized that I was losing some of my seriousness. I doubted that anytime on Earth would be a good time to become unaware of my surroundings.

I could see the bowl of
Coulibiac
on the waiter’s serving tray as he walked over to us. The bread was a dark brown-orange from what I could tell and a steady stream of steam wisped up from the freshly baked dough. At first the idea of fish-bread was not that pleasant, but now I was almost looking forward to trying it. Erik had said it was one of his favorite foods.

The waiter was about three-fourths of the way to our table when it sounded like the place exploded. Or like someone gave Waterstar a machine gun and said, “Have at it.” I could see the first shots hit our appetizer and bread crumbs fountain into the air. Looks like we wouldn’t be eating any Russian food for a while still.

The glass shattered and some of the other patrons screamed. There was the dull thudding of bullets hitting the wall that accompanied the breaking glass and sound of gunshots.

Whoever was shooting really needed to learn how to put a silencer on.

Erik had lunged across the table to pull Firestar and me down, but we were already out of the way. We had come to Russia well armed and I already had a handgun in my left hand as I flipped the table over, being glad that the solid wood would probably stop most of the bullets.

Fire sheltered behind the table with me, and a few moments later, Erik joined us.

“Any guesses who is shooting?” I asked the Russian, hoping to get enough information that I could start making plans.

“The Russian terrorists are my only guess. They are the only people who would be able to get access to enough machinery and ammo to pull this off.”

I nodded my head. I had heard of various terrorists’ in training, mostly in preparation in case the NOPCW attempted to follow one of their methods to gain power over Calsh. We had mostly studied the terrorists from the Middle East, those who had a passion against America. The Russian terrorists, however, was like a whole different planet to me.

“What exactly is the point of this faction of terrorists?” I asked, making my voice only barely heard over the gunshots.

Erik shrugged. “The terrorists here has always been against the government, as all terrorists are. For a while in the early two-thousands, they were only in Southern Russia, doing minimal damage. In the recent years, though, they have gained access to major cities, as you can see here. The terrorists didn’t care about what the rest of the world wanted. Now they spend as much time as they can afford trying to take down key members of the government to try and regain more power. In 2030s, the government was able to retake the power that the terrorists had gained with the public by killing the leader of four different groups and raiding their main base on the west side of Siberia. However, they have managed to get some of the younger men in our country over to their side.”

The long speech took the durance of time that the gunshots continued, and by the time Erik had finished, the gunshots had ceased. The screaming that came afterwards made my heart pound even more than when the shots were going off. People were terrified, many were wounded, and none knew what to do.

Erik was going to peer over the table but I grabbed his arm and shook my head. I was guessing that the
Gora Nebes
was not exactly a government business, so the only reason the terrorists should be firing on it was that they knew that we had been in contact with Mister Moscow and they were firing on us specifically.

No one in restaurant seemed to know what was going on, so I was guessing none of the terrorists had been posing as diners in here. I could see blood leaking from some of the patrons, others moaning and screaming over loved ones and their own wounds. I had lost my appetite, to say the least.

The only people who knew we had seen Moscow and had gone here were Mister Moscow, Alexei, Erik, and the advisers. The only way for anyone besides Erik to know we were at the restaurant was by GPS tracking.

My bet was the advisers; they definitely had not been happy with us when we left.

I ran this theory through with Firestar and I knew that Erik was listening, but didn’t care at this point. When I had finished, Firestar said, “I can believe it. But if the terrorists want to shut down the government, why would advisers
of
the government help them?”

“To get us out. As they see it, we are not a necessary part to the government, so losing us wouldn’t be that bad. So they think.” I added the last part with a grimace. Who knew what would happen if we didn’t get Moscow to Rome.

“I also know one of the advisers has a really good chance of being with the terrorists, or at least desperate enough for power to aid them,” Erik added after a few seconds. I nodded my head, I felt pretty good about my theory, not that that helped us much now. It just meant we might have a few more issues after we got out of this place. Who knew what measures they would take to keep Moscow in Russia?

“I wonder what they are waiting for?” I muttered more so to myself than my two companions. People were still shifting around in the dust and the sounds of coughing had replaced the screaming. I couldn’t hear sirens yet, but I could hear the thick, Russian accent as I’m sure people called into their emergency system.

I glanced over at Firestar and saw that his eyes were glazed over. So, he had decided to look into the future. I didn’t think that would have been a wise decision in our current predicament, but it was too late for me to comment. Once he was in the trance, it was hard to get through to him. I mean, we didn't exactly know what would happen if someone woke him while he was in the trance, nor did we want to experiment. There was one time when Waterstar had set off a ton of firecrackers in our room while he was looking into the future, and that didn't wake him.

“Three, two, one,” he whispered, dust poofing up from his hair as he shifted to look at the door we had entered through.

A second later, a stream of men in their thirties wearing black suits with a military packs littering their bodies marched in, carrying guns and shouting in Russian. I heard our names within the Russian accent.

This was about to get fun. Least now we knew for sure who the targets were.

“Erik, get into the kitchen, now. Fire or I will come and get you when we’re done here.”

Erik doubtingly looked over at Firestar who was currently throwing up to the side of the table. Visions sometimes did that to him, but he would be up and shooting in a few moments.

I gave the Russian driver a shove in the direction of the kitchen and that got him going. I was glad that he was smart enough to keep his head down, almost disappearing within the dust.

“Plan?” Firestar asked once he he had stopped puking. His face was haggard, but there wasn't much he could do to help with the side effects at the moment.

“We’ll do it Waterstar style,” I muttered, already readying a backup gun.

“Oh angels,” I heard Fire say, though he was preparing his weapons like me, shifting the sword on his back that he had managed to convince Arctic to let him take. I still don’t know how he was able to get a meeting with Mister Moscow with that thing poking over his shoulder the entire time.

“So no technique at all? Not Levisky’s, or Climontine? I mean, you’re Darkstar. You’re the master of strategy.” Firestar was getting nervous, which wasn’t good. Fighters don't get nervous.

“We’ll go with O’Reilly,” I finally said after a moment of thinking. O’Reilly pretty much meant fighting an Irish bar fight. Anything was constitutional at that point, but it also meant that if one of us fell, the other was out of there asap. Never fight a bar fight alone, someone might steal your drink. Yes, that was a metaphor for life.

Firestar nodded from beside me, his eyes set in a glare. The men in black were looking around, flashlights on top of their guns searching through the rising dust. A minute, maximum, before they found us, and that would be if we were lucky. It’s better to strike first than be found with your head in the sand.

“Go,” I barely said the single syllable before Fire and I were up. One of the men reflexively sent a shot at us, which wasn’t smart. He had no clue who we could be. That was just a poor fighting style. Then again, I don't think they'd lose sleep over killing civilians.

Firestar got him in the head before I could do anything. I could see the guy’s neck spasm as the shot hit. Waterstar would’ve been proud of his aim.

I focused on the men who were looking over at me. It seemed like they had perfectly divided their attention, as if expecting both of us to rise out of the dust as if nothing had happened. The fact that they could guess that scared me, or that their training was well enough to expect the unexpected in its truest sense. Both had the potential to be fatal. One scenario meant that they had major inside information, above the advisers knowledge. That would be bad news for Star Rebellion, indicating that these guys were against more than just Russian government.

I would consider that later.

One of the men finally fired a shot off at me, apparently getting bored with our stand off. We had literally just been standing there, seven guys facing me, none of us moving. I could understand why he got bored and decided to shoot. I would’ve if I was in his place. Then again, I wouldn't have missed.

On the other hand, I also had a suspicion that they weren’t aiming to kill. If his shot had hit me, it would’ve been in the leg, but I had pivoted expertly out of the way. Something as simple as that wouldn’t have been able to hurt me.