Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (48 page)

Raphael grunted and
nodded, though he wasn't happy about his agreement.  Zulu Sector was neutral
territory, belonging to neither empire and largely unexplored.  Either
superpower's ships were free to travel the area at will. 

"Why so
many?" Raphael asked.  "There's a lot of real estate between the
outer edge of the Sata'an Empire and Zulu Sector.  Unless we've caught every
single ship they've smuggled into here, they must be building one Hades of a
base."

He glanced up at
Ensign Zzz'ler.  “
Sss’kkk skr,rr igginn’zzi
,” Raphael said in Mantoid, a
simple “thank you, dismissed.” 

Zzz'ler gave him a
crisp salute and exited the room. 

He scrolled through
the smart pad, pinching the bridge of his nose as he read through report after
report that didn't make any sense. 
Holy grail … holy grail … what in Hades
was the holy grail? 
Too many of the ships were short-haul vessels, meant
to be operated from a larger base of operations.  There were no homeworlds out
here to smuggle
to
! 

He flipped through
more reports, noting on an electronic tracking system each sighting and how
long it had taken the ship to move from point to point, searching for places
ships had lingered or dropped off the map.  Pattern.  He was searching for a
pattern.

'Shay'tan's found
the godsdamned Holy Grail…'
Mikhail
had radioed.  Whatever Shay'tan was hiding
out here must be huge. 

He glanced up at the
pictures of his son and sighed.   Jophiel had included a picture of herself
holding their baby.  She was out of uniform, her long golden hair tumbling over
her clothing to accentuate the rise of her breasts instead of her habitual
bun.  It looked as though she looked out of the picture straight at him, a
small, wistful smile playing upon those luscious pink lips he
still
dreamed
of kissing.  It was very … personal. 

Unfortunately, since
that day, she hadn't called.  All messages were now relayed via official
military channels.  He rubbed the tight spot in his chest where it
still
ached
every time he thought about her … and the son he'd yet to meet.  Mikhail had
been right. 

“Mikhail … where are
you?”

He looked over at the
wall full of pictures from his Academy days, the ache of losing his best friend
joining the pain of losing the woman he loved.  In every picture Raphael wore a
huge smile, while Mikhail stood stiffly at his side.  Raphael had made it his
personal mission to get his too-serious friend to crack a smile, but the best
he could usually accomplish was to pry a smirk out of his reticent friend
before Mikhail would school his expression back into the unreadable one seven
years under the Cherubim had instilled. 

One picture, however,
was from the day they'd beaten the socks off of a rival team in the iron man
3-day competition.  Arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders in an easy
camaraderie, Raphael had a goofy expression while the too-serious Mikhail
beamed a smile that would have lit up six solar systems.  Raphael looked
inebriated, but he still displayed that photo.  It was the only time anyone had
ever captured his best friend smile.

The sooner he could
figure out what in Hades was going on out here and find his friend, the sooner
he could go meet his son.  Maybe then, Jophiel would speak to him …

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

And when
the woman saw

That the
tree [was] good for food,

And that
it [was] pleasant to the eyes,

And a tree
to be desired to make [one] wise,

She took
of the fruit thereof, and did eat,

And gave
also unto her husband with her;

And he did
eat.

Genesis
3:6

June – 3,390 BC

Earth:  Village of Assur

Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

Mikhail

“Yalda brought over
your share of the loot,” Needa said as he came in for breakfast.  Although
Needa could cook, she didn't enjoy it.  Meals in Ninsianna’s parents household
tended to be simple, functional, and tasteless.  Better than remolecularized
food cubes, but not by much.

“I have never had
these … what do you call them?” Mikhail asked.

“Olives,” Needa said. 
“Olll ivvvvsss.”

“Olives,” he committed
the strange new word to memory.    He reached into the bowl and pulled one of
the small, black fruits out of what appeared to be oil.

“They are better with
flat bread.”  Needa pointed to a basket of soft, still-warm bread that could
have only come from Yalda.  Needa’s bread always came out crispy and as hard as
a rock.

Popping the decadent
little fruit into his mouth, Mikhail moaned in pleasure as salty juices burst
onto his tongue.  A dribble of oil ran down his chin as he fished out the pit. 
Reaching for the flat bread, he sniffed the heavenly scent of the still-warm
bread before tearing off a piece to dab the olive oil and pop it into his
mouth.  Turning to Needa, he gave her his most satisfied grin.

“You have learned our
language remarkably fast.”  Needa used a rag to fish the covered crock where
she simmered hard-boiled eggs at the edge of the oven for breakfast and pulled
them out to cool.

“I had a good tutor.”

“I speak some Halifian
and Anatolian,” Needa said.  “It took me months to learn the few phrases I
know, and I had to repeat them over and over again to memorize them. “

Mikhail turned this
piece of information over in his mind and compared it to what little he knew
about himself. 

“I think where I come
from we are expected to learn many languages.”

“You also heal
remarkably fast.”  Needa finished up with her cooking and moved behind him to
do her daily check of how his wing was healing.  “It has only been four months
since you almost died, and yet you barely have a scar.”

“This looks like a
scar to me,” he pointed to the hideous scar under his shirt that reminded him
he shouldn't be alive.  The rod which had impaled him had shattered part of his
ribcage, leaving nothing but bone fragments.  The hole sank inward towards his
heart and lung.

“You flew yesterday.” 
Needa cuffed him off the side of the head.

“Hey!  What was that
for?”

“Save some olives for
the rest of us, you big oaf,” Needa said.  “You're eating us out of house and
home!”

“Soorrriiiii,” he
mumbled through a mouthful of flat bread that he'd just dipped into the
delicious oil and stuffed into his mouth, unapologetic.

“Let me check the
wing.”  Needa placed her strong hands on the tendon that had been taking its
sweet time healing. 

Mikhail obediently
stretched out his left wing.  Needa felt where the bones had knitted back
together then down where the tendon had torn with her practiced hands.   

 “Does it still hurt?”

“It does today,” he
admitted. 

“That’s because you
weren’t supposed to take your first flight with my daughter in tow!”  Needa
cuffed him on the side of the head a second time.  “You overdid it.  You're
supposed to start slow.”

“She asked for it!” 
He snitched another olive when Needa wasn't looking and popped it into his
mouth.  “I only gave what I got.”

Needa finished her
examination and grunted permission to tuck his wing back into a more comfortable
position.  Sitting down opposite him and grabbing an olive and a piece of flat
bread, she regarded him with an unreadable expression while she chewed, chasing
down the tasty treat with a draught of water.  Finally she spoke what was on
her mind.

“Ninsianna is fond of
you.”

Mikhail inwardly
cringed.  He knew where
this
conversation was going.  He'd promised
Immanu he would keep his hands off of their daughter.  Yesterday, in the heat
of the moment, he'd allowed himself to do what was in his heart.  To very
publicly
do what was in his heart.

“That won't happen
again.”  He schooled his expression into the blank, serious expression he used
to mask his feelings.

“That wasn't what I
asked,” Needa looked directly into his eyes.

Mikhail let her words
sank in.  “What
are
you asking?”

“Are
you
fond
of
her
?”

Mikhail puzzled over
where this conversation was going before he answered.

“Very.”

“So what are you going
to do about it?”  Needa searched his face for answers.

“Nothing.  I gave
Immanu my word.”  He withdrew into his mask to hide the emotions swirling like
a cyclone just beneath the surface.

“Mikhail,” Needa's
expression softened, “we didn't know you then.  We just don't want Ninsianna to
get hurt.”

Mikhail tried to grasp
just what Needa was saying and failed.  He had the impression this conversation
was alien territory.  He went with what he knew. 

“I gave Immanu my
word.  I will
keep
my word.”  He wished to withdraw from this
conversation and the dangerous feelings it aroused.  He might have pulled it off,
too, if not for his expression of misery.

“Ask him…” Needa said.

“I don't understand.”
This entire conversation didn't make sense.

“Ask Immanu for
permission to court his daughter,” Needa said.  “It's our custom to ask.”

“But … he … said….” 
Mikhail was perplexed.

“His feelings about
you have changed.”  Needa took his hand in hers and squeezed it.  “Ask.  We
just want to see Ninsianna be happy.”

“I can’t!" his
voice anguished.  “I can't remember who I am!  What if I'm not free to be with
her?  What if I already
have
a mate?  What if a ship arrives to rescue
me and they order me to return to duty?  I'm a soldier…”

“What does your heart
tell you?” Needa asked.  “Do you long for someone you can't name?”

“No.”

“When you look up at
the stars, even though you can't remember, does it feel as though there is a
hole in your heart because you miss somebody who is not here?”

“No.  I only long for
Ninsianna.”

“If you had to report
to duty, when you were through, would you come back for her?”

“Good lord, yes!  I
would battle Shay’tan himself to come home to her!”

“Then sweet gods boy,
go after that girl before you drive the rest of us insane!” Needa exclaimed.

“What?”

“The only two people
in this village who don't know you two were made for each other are you and
Ninsianna!”

“Are you giving me …
permission?” Here he'd thought he'd betrayed their trust by not keeping his
emotions under control, and now Ninsianna’s mother was now telling him to go
for it?  And who the heck was this Shay’tan he'd just mentioned off the cuff …
the memory gone as soon as it was mentioned?

“Speak to Immanu,” she
got up from the table.  “Ask permission.  It's our way.”

“Wha-  What am I
asking for?”  He was not certain how far he dared go with this.

“What is in your
heart?”  Needa came around behind him and placed her hand upon his shoulder.

“I … I want Ninsianna
to stay with me … always,” he replied without reservation.

“Will you ever abandon
her?”

“Not unless I'm
dead!.”

“Then ask Immanu for
her hand.”  Needa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone.

Mikhail sat staring at
the bowl of olives, unmoving.  Just when he thought he understood human
behavior, Needa had thrown him a curve ball.  He would speak to Immanu at the
first suitable moment.  Grabbing one last olive, he popped it into his mouth
and savored the tasty, salty fruit.  Rare and delicious.  Just like Ninsianna.