Heavens crest, p.22
Heaven's Crest, page 22
part #2 of Dragon's Dream Series
Sitting Bear carried a black case that housed an expensive holo-camera, one of the more expensive pieces of equipment found in the humble town. Together, they stepped off the school bus and faced Giovanna and Gideon.
“We...won’t be long,” Cora said, hanging her head.
“Take all the time you need,” Gideon replied.
Giovanna seconded the notion, saying, “We’ll be right here for you when it’s over.”
Cora nodded and walked the rest of the way to the hidden cabin in the woods. Every step, she reminded herself it was what her father wanted, that he was her hero one last time. She meant the thought to give her courage or comfort, but it only twisted the knife in her heart. Sitting Bear passed through all the biometrics to open the door, and soon they were walking down the hidden basement where Still River rested.
The final door opened to the chamber. Cora’s heart skipped a beat, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her to death before she crossed the threshold. The intermittent beep of the monitors surrounding his bedside destroyed the silence of the solemn moment, making it too modern and clinical. The room smelled of chemicals and recycled air. It reminded her why her father wanted to be free of this place. No one should be forced to go on living through that.
Sitting Bear set up a tripod and mounted the boxy holo-camera near the door, with a clear view of the bed. Cora blinked, calling the cold magic to her eyes. The artificial light of the room dimmed, color washed away, and thousands of strands materialized. Each pulsing with beautiful light, they came from all around her, most of them leading to Still River. She smiled bitterly, imagining she could see all the lives he touched. The strand connecting the two of them was even brighter than the one she had to Vincent, wherever that damn raven was hiding.
She held off the moment as long as she could before gazing at his spirit, resting where his body lie, like an afterimage. The both of them slept, his spirit dreaming of the future. Tears fell from her obsidian eyes. She knelt down and kissed his forehead, discarding her Spirit Sight.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Cora stood up and took a deep breath to compose herself. She turned around and walked to the foot of the bed, facing the camera.
“Are we ready?”
“Yes,” Sitting Bear said with a solemn bow of his head. “The power buttons are on the right side of the two machines on the right. You press it once, then again to confirm. I’ll begin recording when you say the word.”
“Go ahead,” Cora said, gnashing her teeth.
A red LED lit on the camera’s face, near the lens. She stared straight into it.
“My name is Cora Blake,” she said. Turning to the side, she motioned her hand towards the bed. “This is my father, Still River. He was shot in the head in 2068. Since that time, he has been kept alive on the machines you see around me. There is no brain activity shown on any medical scans. Yet, as of late, he has reached out to me magically. It is my father’s final wish that he be allowed to rest, so that he may not be used against his people as a weapon for the UNS, or a pawn for the dragon Lucius.”
She stepped closer to the front of the bed, closer to the machines that gave him life. The respirator hissed. The heart monitor beeped every few seconds. Her jaw clenched as she wondered if she had the nerve.
“By now, I’ve talked long enough for whatever facial recognition software you might be using to have determined that I’m telling the truth of my father’s identity. I will now terminate the life support systems.”
Sitting Bear looked away. Cora turned, her heart in her mouth. The rack beside her housed two, thin devices, and a large cube on the bottom. Locating the power switch, she pressed it once. A display appeared its screen.
Terminate Respiration?
She pressed the power button again, and heard the machine power down. The hiss of the respirator ceased. While she still had the strength in her, she pressed the same button on the second device, then again without reading anything it said.
It was only seconds before the abnormal rise and fall of Still River’s lungs stopped. The heart monitor behind her beeped erratically, then became a long, drawn tone. Cora called back her Spirit Sight once more, to watch him depart her forever.
The strands that traced to his body pulsed with light, faster and more intense with every passing second. The light grew blinding, her father’s spirit radiating so much white energy that she had to shield her eyes and end the magical vision.
A loud pop behind Cora startled her. The metal box behind her vibrated, turning violent. She stepped back from the devices. Sparks flew out from the machine’s vents. The screen on the heart monitor shattered. Every electronic device in the room, even the holo-camera, shook and smoked, cracked and popped. The cacophony of noise made Cora put her hands over her ears. It reached a crescendo, and a bolt of electricity exploded between all of them. Cora reeled back, slamming into a wall. Sitting Bear hit the ground.
The shaking ended. Quiet filled the room. The medical equipment and the holo-camera sizzled and smoked. Cora ran to the camera, examining it for the memory port in a panic. She located it on the side and pulled out the tiny black storage unit, as thick as her nail and about as large. She shoved it into her jeans pocket, turned and left the room without looking back.
Cora dropped to her knees in the small hallway and screamed until her voice cracked and gave way to sobs. Sitting Bear crawled on all fours out of the room and wrapped his arms around her, joining her mourning. They held each other and wept until Cora had nothing left. When she could finally speak, her voice was hoarse and nasal.
“What happens to him? I mean, what...”
Sitting Bear shook his head. He would not make her speak the words. “We’ll get to the house. I’ll make some calls. We’ll bury him properly, on his mountain, beside Living Wind, Pops, and every other Sioux that gave their lives to end this.”
Cora nodded back and winced. The pain in her head from crying was a headache worse than she’d ever felt. The hall was tiny, and the walls closed in on her. She scrambled to her feet, panic and claustrophobia attacking her.
“I need air,” she said.
She ran to the ladder back upstairs, never to look back. Terrifying though it may have been, the vision of her father’s spirit, filled with so much power in the moment of his passing, that is how she wanted to remember him. For a second, he was an angel so bright that she saw the light of Heaven.
Peace Talks
Sitting Bear’s dining room had never been so full. Cora kept her elbow on the table, propping her head up as she finished her sixth glass of Jack. Sitting Bear busied himself in the kitchen, getting coffee and offering snacks to her people. Giovanna sat beside her, rubbing her arm. She hadn’t said a word, nor did she make Cora say anything, either. That’s what made her such a great friend - she knew when to shut up.
Gideon sat opposite her, where Sitting Bear would normally be, typing away on his rig sprawled across the table. Johnny rested on the couch behind her, trying to remain in the conversation despite not being able to join them. Cora looked around the room, confused. Someone was missing.
“Where’s Derk?” she asked.
“He wanted to visit the town,” Johnny replied. “He went to find the nearest bar to meet the locals.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he did.”
“Before I forget,” Sitting Bear said, running back to his bedroom. He returned with an old canvas backpack and her katana. “We found the spot where they took you. I got as much of your stuff as I could find.”
Cora raised an eyebrow. She didn’t have much in the way of objects that meant anything to her, but the few that did weren’t on her when she woke in Lucius’ cabin. Sitting Bear dug through the pack and pulled out her bomber jacket. Cora gasped and reached for it. He handed it off to her and went back in. He set down an Apex Predator, her Arcadia, and her prized antique portable music player. Its white case streaked with blood - perhaps Living Wind, some random NSA agent, or her own. She picked it up and stroked the display with her thumb. The front screen lit up. She scoffed and shook her head.
“Damn thing still works.”
“They sure as hell don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” Johnny said from the living room.
“You and Pops would have gotten along great, Johnny,” she said, smiling to herself.
“You’ll have to tell me about him, then,” Johnny replied.
“I will,” she said. Turning her attention to Sitting Bear, she raised a brow. “What happened to the other member of the council that stayed with us? One With Mountain?”
Sitting Bear set down the pack and shook his head. “He’s our representative. He won’t leave until the fight is over. I think I saw him this morning on the west end, moving debris with his earth magic.”
Gideon’s typing was frantic, breaking Cora’s concentration. Eyes laser-focused, he was deep in thought.
“What are you working on over there?” she asked.
Gideon looked up from his work and froze. “Me? Oh, something big is going on in UnderNet. There’s a lot of buzz, bits and pieces of information being exchanged about something that happened in London. There’s no media coverage on it all. I think I’m going to need to jack in and see what’s going on.”
Cora pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “My bedroom is back there on the left. It’s a lot more comfortable than slumping over in a chair while your brain is off in La-La-Land.”
The front door opened. Cora turned, spooked by the sound. In the doorway, Tan’darian stared back at her.
“It’s time,” he said, bowing his head.
“Yes, it is,” Cora replied. She stood up, set her music player on the table, put her jacket on, and took a final sip from the open bottle on the table.
“Go get ‘em, patatina,” Giovanna said, clicking her tongue.
Cora followed Tan’darian out the front door to the driveway, headed for his motorcycle. The elf raised a hand to stop her and shook his head.
“We’ll take the Jeep,” he said.
Cora shifted her head and saw a blue 2060’s model Jeep parked behind her uncle’s pickup. She got in the passenger seat as Tan’darian looked over the driver’s HUD as if he were trying to figure it out.
“Sorry,” he said with a nervous smile. “One of your kin was gracious enough to let me use this. I thought it better suited for the off-road travel than a speed bike.”
“Caw,” Vincent said from a nearby tree. He worried about her.
“We’ll be fine,” she raised her voice to him. “Stay here and keep an eye out for me.”
The ride through the eastern edge of town amid the afternoon sun sobered her too much. A mile past Dottie’s Diner, they drove by houses riddled with bullet holes, broken windows, or burned down to the foundation. Cars and trucks matched the state of the owner’s homes. Shell casings lined both shoulders of the road. Entire sections of undeveloped forest had bald spots where downed trees and bombed-out NSA pickup trucks scorched the earth.
They drove down the valley, past the southeastern entrance to town. Ahead, dozens of temporary tents and shelters formed a little camp town surrounded by tanks, a pair of helicopters, and drone launchers. Once an open hunting space for those that lived off the land, it was now trampled and trodden, scarred and stained with oil. She couldn’t think of a more appropriate metaphor for the UNS march of progress.
Two Army soldiers waited for them a half-mile before the camp, holding up a hand to halt them, rifles at the ready in the other. Tan’darian stopped and waited for them to flank either side of the Jeep.
“Diplomatic credentials, please,” the soldier beside Tan’darian demanded.
Tan’darian handed over a paper passport, a novelty in the age of wrist-chip implants containing every detail about one’s life. By proportion, the elves were almost as magically inclined as the Native people, with similar aversions to technology and implants.
The soldier looked over the information, made a call on his Arcadia, and pointed ahead.
“You will be stopped and escorted to General Sinclair’s tent when you arrive,” the soldier said. “Park your vehicle and turn off the engine.”
“Understood,” Tan’darian replied, driving ahead.
With the reception being so security conscious, the military either thought a great deal of her power or doubted the sincerity of the meeting. She was patted down, scanned, everything short of a cavity search performed. After several minutes of that business, they were finally escorted to a tent at the center of the camp.
The tan tent was big enough to be a studio apartment, though inside it was little more than olive floor mats and a few electric lights hanging from the ceiling. A conference table rested at the center, with three men seated there. She recognized the rotund General Sinclair from GNN, with his close buzz-cut hiding how white his hair was. She didn’t recognize the dark-haired man beside him in a business suit, but his weasel face was enough to hate him on sight. The young, fresh-faced man in camouflage fatigues typing away at a holographic keyboard was their computer specialist, that much she could put together. He was too thin and baby-faced for infantry, that was for sure. The trio stood up to greet them as they approached.
“General,” Tan’darian said, bowing his head.
Sinclair responded with a curt nod, but his attention changed to Cora right away.
“This is Cora Blake, she-”
“I know who she is,” Sinclair cut off Tan’darian. Eyes fixed to Cora, he did little to hide his contempt. “Let’s get to this, shall we?”
“Gladly,” Cora replied, pulling out a chair at the table for herself.
Once everyone sat down, Cora pulled out the storage chip from the holo-camera and set it on the table in front of her.
“I think we’re all adults here, so I’m going to be frank,” she said. She pointed at the man in the suit. “First, who the hell are you?”
The weasel bowed his head. “Acting Director Tim Neville, NSA. We spoke last week.”
Cora sat back in the chair and shook her head. Everything made sense now, and she hated it. She shrugged it off and placed a finger on the small storage card, sliding it across the table.
“I’m here to ask you to leave,” she said. “What you came for isn’t here anymore, and you were never going to find it, anyway.”
The General didn’t react, his expression stone. He motioned to the card. “What’s this?”
Cora folded her hands together. “This is a holovid of Still River, my father. I believe you have him classified as a top-level magical threat, and he’s most likely the real reason you were here. He died about two hours ago.”
The NSA director and the General exchanged a brief glance. Sinclair decided to speak first.
“Would you care to explain-”
“Watch the damn video,” Cora interjected, her tone acid.
General Sinclair placed his chubby sausage fingers on the card and shifted it along the table to the fresh-faced computer tech. He put the card in his rig. With a few gestures, he projected his holographic screen out wide across the center of the table.
“My name is Cora Blake. This is my father, Still River. He was shot in the head in 2068...”
Cora turned her head away. She was there, she didn’t need to see it again. She waited until she heard the loud electrical pops and bursts that cut the video short. The computer specialist retracted the screen, typing and gesturing at the screen with haste. General Sinclair and Director Neville stared at him with expectant eyes. The young man read a few charts that appeared on his screen, turned to the them and nodded.
“I heard about your exploits in Berlin,” the General said, his lip curled. “I heard you were ruthless.”
Cora smiled from one corner of her mouth and scoffed. If he wanted to see her ruthless, he could keep talking like that. She reminded herself of the stakes, her people, and an end to the conflict.
“I’m going to make this easy for you,” she said. Pointing to Tan’darian, she explained, “Japan’s emissary on the Native Council will get credit for brokering peace in the UN. You’ll withdraw immediately, remove your satellites in breach of the Chicago Accord, and keep your asses on your side of the Demilitarized Zone.”
“In exchange for what?” the General laughed, sitting back in his chair. “You’ll have to face charges of treason, and I’ve got a good idea you’re working with Gideon Parker, who would also need to face charges for acting against the terms of his pardon.”
Cora crossed her arms. “I’m a retired NSA agent, which makes me a regular UNS citizen. I have dual citizenship in the Native Free Lands, which allows me to come and go as I please. Now, if you’re going to charge me with treason, then I’m assuming that means the UNS is at war with the Native Free Lands. Is that how you want to play this, General Sinclair?”
“You shot federal agents!” he shouted, his voice booming in the room.
“They were trying to kill me in an illegal attack against my home,” Cora shot back. She turned her head to Acting Director Neville. “He promised you my father, didn’t he?”
Neville cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t really put all of these events together until I saw you sitting here,” Cora said, her bitter smile hiding the rage screaming inside her. “After I destroyed Project Phoenix in Berlin, you said Director Thompson died. That was a message from Lucius. Since you’re going to be Thompson’s replacement, the one in Lucius’ backyard, I’m guessing he threw you a bone. My father, in exchange for the UNS keeping their nose out of his affairs.”
“That’s a lot of conjecture, Miss Blake,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Cora laughed. “I know him better than you do. We’re not going to sit here and debate what extras and concessions you can hope to get here. Lucius didn’t back your play in the UN, did he? Hell, he’s the one who killed your agents and abducted me from the back of one of your vans!”
