Wings of Steele- The Series, page 199
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
Alité smiled widely, extending her hand even as she approached, “Welcome to the house of Steele, cousin. I am Alité.”
Cheriska took the hand offered her and dropped to a knee, her head bowed, the Breedlove's Dragon venturing off her shoulder and down her arm to sniff the Queen's hand. She caught him with her free hand, preventing him from going too far. “My apologies...” she offered. “Cheriska Skye.”
Alité pulled up on the woman's hand, grabbing her by the elbow and helping her to her feet, “You are family; family doesn't kneel here.” She pulled the surprised woman close for a hug, the miniature dragon unsure of where to retreat. When they parted, he ended up standing on Alité's shoulder.
“I am so sorry,” said Cheriska reaching out for him. He ducked under Alité's long hair and emerged on her other shoulder, seeming to enjoy the sensation. Cheriska ran her hand through her short-cut hair, “I think he likes your long hair...”
Alité giggled, “He's adorable. What's his name?”
“I haven't given him one yet...”
Alité put her arm out, resting her hand on Cheriska's shoulder, “Go home to mama, little man,” she encouraged. With a quick rub on her cheek he obeyed, running across the bridge to Cheriska. “He's precious. You must come up with a name for him...”
“If you have any suggestions, I would welcome them...” Alité turned to lead them to the salon, “I apologize for not being properly dressed, your Majesty...”
“Alité,” she corrected her cousin. “Just Alité. And I see nothing wrong with the way you are dressed. You are clothed for travel and function; I often dress the same way.”
■ ■ ■
Since the other dinner visitors had departed during the Prime Minister's absence, all that remained for an evening nightcap were; Alité, Cheriska, the Prime Minister and his wife, Willamena. Having bathed and tucked young Colton Steele into bed with his Volken companion, Lady Phyllis joined them, setting a platter of cookies on the low table in the center of the group.
“You must try these,” urged Alité, “Lady Phyllis makes the most amazing Pattahoolia cookies...”
The conversation lasted several hours, drifting from Cheriska to the Prime Minister to Alité and back around again. Every little bit seemed to fill more of the voids for everyone; the missing history, the tragedies, the survival, the recovery, the return home... Cheriska learned the relationship between Alité and the Prime Minister stemmed from her childhood and his position as the royal family physician, where he garnered the nickname, Boney, that she still used today. And that he seemed to be an endless wealth of historical information, about both, Veloria and the royal family. He had actually known her father, Alfano Toberus and it pained her deeply to know how much damage he had done and what kind of chaos he had created. At least in her own life, when he was gone, he was forgotten; she remembered him by only the tiniest of margins. She could only recall bits and pieces of her early life - her childhood didn't really exist in her memory until her aunt, Rafaella, rescued her from the orphanage on Darius.
But for Cheriska, the real tragedy was the magnitude of misery and destruction, her father, had affected the royal family and the people of Veloria. That fact constantly stuck painfully in her throat. “By the Gods, I am so, so, sorry for what he did. I cannot imagine what it must have been...”
Boney reached across and patted her hand, “No, no, no, Cheri my dear,” he interrupted, “you cannot take the burden of evil perpetrated by another, upon yourself. As an innocent child you had no control of your life, much less anyone else's. If it has come to be, as it has, we must trust, that to some extent, it is part of a larger plan contrived by someone with an understanding of things well beyond our own comprehension.”
“And,” added Alité, “since Alfano abandoned a staggering amount of finances; fifty-million-credits by your account, we can only assume that he is no longer among the living; a man of his nature would never have done that willingly. We can only hope his demise was deservedly horrifying and painful.” She scrutinized a cookie between her fingers, “May the demons of hellion thoroughly torture his soul for eternity...”
■ ■ ■
Despite the late hour and Alité's offer for them to stay, Boney and Willamena had excused themselves to return home for the night, leaving Cheriska and the Queen alone after Lady Phyllis retired for the evening. After a night of discussing history, conversation turned to lighter subjects including the present and the future. Sitting together on a sofa, propped on pillows and snuggling with lap warmers, they chatted like sisters, the Breedlove's Dragon curled in a slumbering ball between them.
“I can't imagine the pressure you must be under, after all you've been through, to literally have the weight of an entire planet resting on your shoulders...”
Alité stared down at the sleeping dragon for a moment before looking back up, “I couldn't do it without Boney, and some other very dedicated people...” She paused for a moment, “And as my husband Jack says; One step at a time. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and soon you find yourself standing at your destination.”
Cheriska looked surprised, “Oh. I didn't know you were married.”
Alité looked momentarily pensive, “Several years now. My, it has gone by so fast...” She smiled weakly, “We don't get to see him much.”
“Well why not?”
Alité shrugged, “His duties take him away from home...”
“That's just sad,” commented Cheriska, stroking the sleeping dragon. “What does he do?”
Alité chewed her lip, “I'm not sure I should be telling you...”
“Who am I going to tell?” shrugged Cheriska with a cherubic smile.
Alité rolled it over in her mind for a moment, it wasn't exactly a secret, after all. “Other than being the King of Veloria, he is a high-ranking officer in the UFW Navy.”
Cheriska's eyes widened, “Really? That sounds very time consuming. I'm surprised you ever get to see him at all!” She took a moment to process that information. “How... I mean you're the Queen, you're royal family... how did he become King? I'm not sure I understand...”
“I coronated him before he left. There were concerns that if something happened to me, that Veloria would be left without a leader. Jack is my husband and a natural born leader. I thought it was a wise choice.”
Cheriska nodded thoughtfully, “I understand.” The Breedlove's Dragon had rolled on his back, his wings open and relaxed as she rubbed his belly. “But he was never a part of any royal family then?”
Alité waved it off, “That never mattered to me. He is a good man. His bravery, integrity and honor are what make him the man he is.” She leaned toward the coffee table, activating a small holo-pedestal sitting on it, a picture winking into existence of Jack standing under the nose of a Cyclone fighter in his leather flight jacket, taken on the flight deck of the Freedom. “And he's not too bad to look at...” she smiled proudly.
The recognition was instant. Cheriska's mouth dropped open.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Alité turned away, never seeing her reaction, “We're here in the salon, Colton...”
“Mommy! Mommy!” he cried, running through the rotunda where the hallways met, prompting her to rise to her feet, the Katana that never left her side clutched in her hand by the Saya. He raced through the doorway, the Volken puppy on his heels.
“Colton, what's the matter?” She caught him with her free hand as he crashed into her and grabbed her around the waist, the puppy sliding to a stop and catching sight of the Breedlove's Dragon at the same time. The Dragon was faster than the puppy, launching himself off the sofa and taking flight before the animal's curiosity spurned him into action. He hovered high enough that he was out of reach as Jax eyed him intently.
“Mommy! Daddy's home! Daddy's home! He's in my room...!”
It took a second for Alité to process that claim, “Colton, daddy's not coming home yet, were you dreaming? Were you asleep?”
He let go of her waist and pulled on her hand, “No, mommy, no; daddy is here. He's in my room! He scared me at first,” he admitted. “Come see,” he dragged on her, “I'll show you...”
The Dragon had settled high atop a fireplace mantle, well out of reach of the Volken puppy, clicking in aggravation. After a final glare, Jax decided to break away and follow his boy, galloping after him as they headed to his room.
A security team waited patiently outside Colton's room, the lights on, the doors open, “The room is clear, your Majesty,” announced the man closest to her.
Alité stood in the doorway, “Colton, I don't see anything, do you?” she asked softly.
“Oh no!” He exclaimed, “The lights hurt his eyes!” He pointed to a corner of the room next to a chair, “He's there, don't you see him?” he said, reaching for the lighting controls.
“Sweetie, I don't see anyth...” As the lights dimmed, a tall figure appeared exactly where Colton had indicated, and she swept her son clear before the Katana come out of its sheath with a zwing. The long dark hooded cloak obscured the figure's face but she felt a familiarity, waving the security team, who had instantly appeared on either side of her, back. “Voorlak?” she whispered. The face turned up toward her and for a brief instant she caught a flash of green in the left eye from the lights in the corridor behind her.
■ ■ ■
Helmet dangling loosely from one hand, Lisa Steele plodded down the corridor of the Revenge to her quarters, exhausted from a day in the cockpit of the Reaper with too few breaks. Mmmm, a hot shower and a meal... The meal secondary to the hot shower to release the aches from hours of being in the same position in a confined space. Screw it, maybe a power bar and a drink from the mini fridge would suffice, she could always eat breakfast in the morning... Unless maybe it was morning. Well then she'd have dinner. Whatever.
The door to her quarters slid open and her German Short-Haired Pointer, Gus dropped off the sofa to greet her, his stubby little tail successfully wagging the entire back half of his body along with it. “Hey Gusstifer,” she smiled, reaching out to rub his wiggling frame with her free hand, tossing her helmet on the bed, “man, mommy's pooped.”
She straightened up, and began the task of removing her flight gear. Chest rig, sidearm, e-Pad holding her flight and mission notes from her thigh strap... Stripped to her waist, save her 2ndSkyn under garment, she sat on the ottoman at the foot of her bed to get to her boots when her earbud chirped, “Lieutenant Steele, are you still plugged in...?”
She stopped mid-task dropping her head to her chest, ugh. She touched the earbud activating the mic, “Steele here.”
“Lieutenant, the Admiral is requesting your presence for a briefing on the Conquest.”
She recognized Brian Carter's voice, “Now?”
“Now, Lieutenant.”
“Permission to speak freely, Skipper?”
“Granted.”
“Whiskey, Tango Foxtrot - I've been in the cockpit for nearly eleven hours...”
“I'm aware of that Lisa,” he admitted.
“I just got my bag off... I could really use a shower and a bite.”
There was an uncomfortable pause before she got a response, “I think we can buy you a few minutes, Lieutenant. But step it up. Service dress in twenty minutes on the deck. We'll taxi you over.”
“Thank you, sir. Any idea what's going on?”
“Apparently above my pay grade, LT.”
“Hm, I'll fill you in when I get back.” Her earpiece blipped as she canceled the mic and tore at her boots.
■ ■ ■
Lisa wiped a clearing in the fogged mirror, combing her wet hair back, gathering it into a ponytail. “Not my best look, but it'll have to do,” she lamented. She could live without the kind of makeup other women used but her hair was a different matter. Oh, well. Mostly dry with her towel draped over her shoulders she padded naked, out into her open quarters, her standard officers uniform laying neatly across the bed.
She caught the visitor comfortably sitting on the sofa next to Gus and she snap-turned for a better look, her modesty spinning her away to sling the towel around her for cover, “Jack! You’re back!” she grinned widely. “You ass, how about some warning!” Snugging the towel, her heart hammering with surprise, a rush of warmth and affection washed over her body like a hug. She wheeled back to greet him, arms wide, and Gus wagged at her from the couch, his butt wiggling a happy dance. Alone. There was no place else to go in the suite, no place to hide, but that did not stop her from stepping to the center of the room and doing a 360° pirouette to scan around her. Her eyes narrowed and she clenched her jaw, “ Jack, if this is some sort of a joke,” she growled, stepping to the sofa and sweeping her hand through the empty air, “it's not funny...” She stood, hands on hips and did another 360° circle, “What the hell, am I losing my mind?” She patted the dog on the head, “Mommy's overtired, Gusstifer.”
■ ■ ■
Though Lisa had been in the cockpit for nearly eleven hours, she had been operational for nearly sixteen hours. Escorting shuttles and equipment ships from orbit to the surface and around the planet - escorting ships of dignitaries, evacuees or medical personnel, acting as an initial liaison when applicable... and this had been going on for weeks. Off-duty hours were short, breaks were few and far between, and the natives weren't always friendly.
When Bobby Fortuno and his partner Nick Osmanski were dropped back off in Chicago, Lisa had a feeling they were going to be thankful for the special body armor and pulse rifles they were provided by the UFW Marines. In a spectacular moment of monumental government stupidity and total loss of common sense exhibited by city officials and upper brass at the police department, the massive delivery of highly-advanced, self-sufficient communications equipment, alien body armor and death ray rifles, as one reporter called them, was rejected upon delivery to O'Hare Airport.
The well-attended meeting, held in an expansive hangar, stacked with shipping-container sized crates of equipment, was to be returned to the UFW because of ignorance, or pride, or because somebody's brother-in-law didn't make some side money on the deal. Or something. Yeah, because Chicago.
In her temporary role as a liaison for the delivery, her complete loss of patience in the meeting prompted a rather drastic, but effective tactic; she shot the Mayor.
Taking Omanski's pulse rifle from him, she turned and shot the Mayor, a Police Lieutenant wearing a ballistic vest and then Osmanski himself. The only one left standing and conscious was Osmanski, of course. She considered shooting the reporter with the big mouth, but by then, there were so many people on their feet and in the way, it wasn't possible.
Not her finest moment. But it was convincing. Especially when the Mayor and Lieutenant could walk away a little while afterward with no ill-effects. Yeah, that was Lisa Steele; making friends, winning hearts, changing minds, and influencing people.
It had been weeks of that and she was dog-tired. She wondered if all the other pilots were as worn out as she was. Lisa checked her fingernails as the shuttle settled to the deck of the Conquest.
“You're good to go, Lieutenant,” came a call from the cockpit.
■ ■ ■
Fleet Admiral Warn Higdenberger waved Lisa to a seat on the opposite side of his desk, the CAG, Captain Paul Smiley, standing off to one side. “Am I in trouble or something?” she asked suspiciously, her eyes flicking between the two men, looking for some sign or indication of what the meeting meant.
“You're not in trouble,” replied Pappy, dryly, his hands clasped behind him, standing at an uneasy, at-ease.
Taking her seat, Lisa's ears felt hot, her cheeks warm, her stomach somersaulting, “What's going on?” Warn Higdenberger shifted uncomfortably in his seat, leaning back before leaning forward again, resting his hands on the edge of his desk. His face was dour, solemn, and his prolonged silence wasn't helping Lisa's nervous need to bounce her knee, which she was fighting to prevent.
“Admiral Jack's Steele's shi...” he shifted to a softer posture, “your brother's ship, the Perseus, is missing. The Perseus ported at Amanpoor, on G'Naroth Sarat, in the Bengaloo System as part of their mission.” Higdenberger slid an e-Pad across the desk containing mission notes, “It relaunched from Amanpor in pursuit of a target it was tracking. We believe, but it was never confirmed, it may have left Admiral Stee... ahem, your brother, behind on G'Naroth Sarat, along with three other crew members. The Perseus was last pinged in Edenlight, entering the gate to Madrassas before she disappeared. There has been no contact with the Perseus, your brother, or any other members of the crew since...”
Lisa was listening and examining the mission notes on the report at the same time, “This was five weeks ago!” she interrupted angrily. “Why are you just telling me now?”
“We had to wait to see if they were possibly following Dark Protocol...”
“Five weeks,” she growled, sliding the e-Pad back with an angry flick of her wrist. “There's no excuse for that.” Rather than bounce her knee, she stood, turning away to pace, “And what are we doing now? Let's go look for them!”
“Please, sit dow...”
“I can't sit down,” she snapped, “my brother and his crew are out there somewhere and you haven't done a damn thing in five weeks!”
“Lieutenant Steele,” insisted the Admiral, “please understand that Dark Protocol has a considerable amount of leeway - and there may be functional reasons they haven't made contact; not because they're unable, but because it may jeopardize the operational security of their mission.”
