The Chosen One

By DL Mains

When worlds collide...Can The Chosen One unite two cultures and bring peace to earth?

The Phoenix rises from its ashes to be reborn. So must the survivors of a malignant attack on the earth. Are they fighting the power hungry leader of an alien empire, or are they fighting fate?

Davros of Manderlay’s prophecy assures him victory over his enemies beside his chosen mate. Can he and his people accept a human?

Co-commander of the rebellion, Jesse Sullivan knows of pressure. But as her heart has known nothing but disappointment and fracture, can she admit to her love for the alien Crown Prince and step into the role of The Chosen One?

Book One of
The Venturian Chronicles:

An epic trilogy of love, war, betrayal and revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DL Mains
• Release date: May 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476205304

DL Mains

Ms. Mains writes amongst the distraction of three teenagers, two dogs and a gregarious husband. After working all day, her writing office consists of the living room sofa and coffee table. A born storyteller, she reaches from dreams to the stars for inspiration. She lives with her family on Long Island.

Book preview

Prologue

Davros, First Son of Manderlay, grimaced as he moved through the boxes of relics from the Old World that were his only company in the cramped room. His robe snagged on a packing crate and he yanked on it, sighing as he heard the unmistakable sound of tearing cloth. His robes might be rumpled and torn, but his regal poise betrayed his well-born heritage despite his distasteful clothing and disregarded companions.

In one of the many storerooms of the freighter, Davros paced before the observatory window. This space carrier wasn’t scheduled for unloading so he was safe from discovery, at least for a while. As he moved, his image reflected on the glass while beyond the pane, the darkness of space stretched like a blue-black blanket dotted with white lights. On the threshold of maturity, his physique displayed signs of virility and considerable strength. He crossed the length of the window and stretched his wings, ruffling the folds of his robe. They were overly large for his yet growing stature and laced with the pale silver coloring of his grandfather. He turned his steel gray gaze, also from the ancestry, on the bright blue world. Both his features and his eye color would identify him instantly if seen, which was why his advisor had sequestered into solitude.

Four seasons his people had wandered the known universes, looking for a home. Four seasons of searching until the greedy and the power hungry had intervened with sedition and cruelty. Sadness, foreboding, and hatred filled him as they often did since the traitorous murdered his father. His lips turned downward and the thickened down of his silver brow furrowed.

Gar!

The name of the betrayer echoed in his mind and he clenched his fists, digging his long, dark nails into his velvety palms.

Soon, he vowed. When his journey to adulthood was complete and The Chosen One stood at his side, he would emerge from the shadows and take back what had been stolen from him through death and treachery. And he would right all wrongs – past and pending.

His gaze fell from the imminent onslaught. This was an unknown sector and an under developed world. Great guilt engulfed him. He wouldn’t be involved in the senseless destruction, but as the rightful ruler of his people, it was his responsibility – his duty to rectify it.

Chapter 1

Five Years Later

Earth was once a thriving land, rich in resources and in populace. Children played outdoors, in the sun, not in the confines of secluded, dark shelters. Men and women struggled to get ahead and to thrive, not to survive. They fought to live well, not to--well--live.

Eve Meyer

Historical journals, September, 05, PI (Post Invasion)

The road sat, silent in anticipation. No stores lined the two-lane street. Only trees and brush grew wild and untended after years of neglect. Not even a twig rustled beneath waiting feet. Slowly, the rumbling of engines broke the quiet, increasing in volume until the sound of a broken branch wouldn't matter.

Now! Commander Jesse Sullivan conveyed the message with an expressive nod. The roadside trees and overgrown shrubbery concealed their assault team from the approaching caravan. Across the narrow street, Co commander Peter Drake, agreed with a return nod. He waved his hand, giving the signal, and a tree fell onto the pavement. The oncoming line of trucks braked erratically, swerving to avoid the old oak.

Damn, her people had judged that well! Jesse drew her revolver and jumped out from behind her bush, firing with the rest of her squad.

Surprised and outnumbered, the alien army had little chance for victory, or even survival. Within breathless minutes, silence returned to the suburban street.

Peter emerged from his hidden position, checking the status of his semi-automatic. Jesse inspected her own weapon, and realized she probably spent more rounds than necessary. Her aim was better than most, but wasting ammunition was unnecessary, especially since their team was so efficient.

People swept by her as post-strike operations went into effect. The officers cleared the area and salvaged the supplies, weapons, and material from the caravan. Ultimately, they made the scene disappear.

Jesse strolled the length of the disappearing convoy, surveying the victory, and met her co-commander in the rear, which was their practice. They studied their acquisitions, comparing the spoils to a clip boarded inventory of past successes, searching for all possible similarities in location and material.

This particular location ran along the same route as the last one: eastbound toward an area the aliens had cleared out years ago. The initial attack had devastated Long Island, New York, reducing its roads and buildings to ruins. Fortunately, the amount of destruction provided their group ample places to hide and more than enough opportunities to attack as the aliens tried to rebuild.

Peter was frowning at her and Jesse scowled. Peter Drake knew her better than anyone alive and it irritated the hell out of her. She put off his comments and turned to General Reins.

Nick! Get a body count.

Yes, Ma’am. He saluted and moved to carry out her order.

Jesse continued to jot notes on her clipboard but felt Peter’s light blue gaze boring into her. She dropped her hands and looked up into his handsome face. What?

You know, Jesse, you don’t have to prove yourself anymore, he reminded her. These people would dive in front of a bullet for you.

That might be true, but Jesse didn’t need to hear it. Your point?

You were the first one out of cover. You could’ve been killed.

Jesse grunted and returned her attention to her clipboard. You can’t lead from behind.

Peter fell into step beside her as they walked up the street where the caravan continued to dissolve around them. I’m sure that’s some poignant historical quote, but—

Look, Jesse interrupted. I don’t ask anyone to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.

Everyone knows that, damn it. His voice rose.

Jesse grabbed his arm and dragged him to the side of the road. With a sigh, she tossed her waist length braid over her shoulder. Her long golden hair was one of the few feminine things she maintained. All right, I’m sorry. She kept her voice low. I can’t help it. It’s like second nature to me now.

Peter ran a hand through his short, sandy blond hair, and then crossed his arms over his broad chest. His frown turned into a scowl and she knew he didn’t believe her. There was a special bond between them. Even before the small group of survivors decided that Peter and Jesse would lead them four years ago, Jesse had recognized it. Peter had seen through her from the beginning. Jesse resented it but couldn’t complain because she respected him above all the others.

Don’t pull the ‘Ice Commander’ routine with me. The risks you take sometimes are suicidal. Do you know what we would lose if—?

Okay, okay, she interrupted him before he got going. I’m sorry. I got carried away. Sue me.

Just tell me you’ll be more careful. After Jesse gave the nod he wanted, he indicated her clipboard. So, what have we got?

Jesse studied him again. It would be so easy to fall for him. He was handsome, tall, brilliant, and so easygoing; yet there was something missing. Then, there was Ami to consider.

Reminded of Peter’s wife, Jesse looked toward the overpass to see if she could make out her friend’s form. As the best shot in the group, Ami always took a position in some lofty perch where she could view the battlefield through the powerful scope of her rifle and eliminate any threat she detected.

Blocking the late day sun from her eyes, Jesse spotted Ami’s wave and returned it, signaling her to join them. As she turned back to Peter, a figure darted out from the back of one of the remaining trucks. The alein brushed by her, almost knocking her down in its haste to escape up the road.

Peter raised his rifle and took aim at the departing back, but Jesse touched his arm, forestalling his shot. Let him go, Peter, she said. Let him go and tell his friends all about their loss.

Peter continued to peer down the barrel and the fleeing alien for a moment, and then lowered the gun. Tell your leaders they can’t destroy us, he shouted. The alien stumbled and looked back. From the ashes of our own civilization, we’ve risen to reform our nation. We’ll fight forever, if necessary. We’ll make your lives a living hell.

The light breeze ruffled the dark locks on the alien’s head and the feathers on his tightly folded wings. The humanoid started running again, but Peter continued, his voice rising to be heard, You can’t kill The Phoenix.

They both stared after the form for a moment, and then Jesse turned back to Peter with a grin. The Phoenix, Commander?

Peter shrugged. Haven’t you heard the legend of The Phoenix?

Of course, but--

I thought it was an appropriate analogy.

An example of oral brilliance. Jesse grinned. But what’s he supposed to make of it?

The Phoenix. He smiled back. I like it.

Jesse tried but couldn’t suppress a laugh. You realize you just gave us a name.

Peter gestured toward their recent accruals, his eyes gleaming with pride. Don’t you think it’s time we started getting credit for our achievements?

Certainly. Jesse agreed and strode toward the vehicles that would take them back to base, Peter beside her. She grew serious and lifted the list in her hand. In this case, our credits include more weapons and more construction material.

Same as the last one. Peter frowned.

She nodded. They’re planning to build something out here.

Mm, but what? And where?

"Those are the questions. Peter. She stopped him. We need to start taking prisoners. We have to find out what’s going on. How extensive the problem is."

What they’re planning to build and who’s responsible. Peter pulled open the door of the SUV and smiled. It's time.

Again, Jesse nodded.

~

The Council also agreed they need answers when they all sat in the conference room hours later. Post-strike debriefing lasted into the early hours of the morning, while they deliberated the new developments.

The entire group sat around the conference table, the fluorescent over-head lighting casting a subdued glow off the paneled walls and the maps and intelligence hung thereon. Peter sat at one end of the long Formica table, doors to adjacent rooms behind him. Jesse sat at the table’s other end. Behind her, the refreshment center stretched, loaded with food and beverages.

Peter Drake looked at all the faces around him with a satisfying feeling that things were about to escalate.

We’ve got to expand our area of protection, General Nick Reins insisted. Our numbers are growing; slowly, but surely. And, I’ll bet there are more survivors out there, scared to death to move, to breathe.

Nick’s right, Mark Stein declared. We need to find them. Give them a safe haven. This place is relatively safe.

We’re hidden here, Nick Reins corrected him. Nick, the oldest on the Council, was always the most vocal. If they find us, they could wipe us out with one air sweep. That’s why we’ve got to protect our area; form an impenetrable Perimeter.

That takes time and material, Peter pointed out.

We’re not going anywhere, Nick replied. Chris can design it. He designed our traps and the alarm system, as well as the surveillance system. If he can work up a defense—

I can draft a schematic, Christian Peters told them. But where do we get the material? We’d need guns. Not just weapons, Nick, but big anti-aircraft equipment. And, when do we construct it? Their aircraft shoots anything that moves, and they scout twenty-four hours a day.

I know it’ll take time, the general conceded, but we’ve got to do it. The sooner the better. How long do you think it’ll take before our little raids get annoying enough to get some higher-up’s attention? How long before they find this little base? Or worse, catch us and kill us all during one of our ambushes? We've got to expand our forces and fight back on a larger scale. This little stuff is fine for a rag-tag resistance, but we’re organized now and growing.

Peter sat back and caught Jesse’s gaze. Her expression said, You did it! He nodded in agreement, knowing all he had to do was get the Council fired up in the right direction.

I agree, Meagan Quinn put in, backing the general’s impassioned plea. We have a medical facility, and an armory with growing stores. Our food supply is adequate for now and so far we’ve managed to replenish it.

It’s taken years to get this far, Ami argued.

Aren’t you tired of hiding in fear? Meagan asked her.

Ami snorted. I’m not tired of living.

What kind of life is it, though? Doctor Murphy spoke up.

I thought that was the whole point of our family here, to survive, Ami reasoned. She sent Peter a pleading glance.

Peter gave his wife an indulgent smile. They shared a secret the others didn’t know about yet.

Jesse rose from her chair and struck the table with a clenched fist. That is the point! Don’t those other survivors deserve to live, too?

Ami flinched and averted her eyes, and Peter reached over to squeeze her hand.

Bob, head of security for the group, stared at Jesse, his dark eyes wide. Are you suggesting we take responsibility for every life remaining on this planet?

If necessary, Jesse replied.

Bob clicked his tongue. That’s impossible.

Maybe. Jesse gripped the edge of the table. But can we sleep? Live with ourselves, if humans die when we could have prevented it?

But how? Ami argued. How can we help everyone?

We’ve got to try, Meagan insisted. Look what we’ve done so far. Look at the talent around this table. Why else would we have been brought together?

Getting theological, Lieutenant? Peter said, somewhat surprised at her remark.

Bite your tongue, Commander. Meagan gave Peter a big smile and a flirtatious wink.

Ami stiffened in her chair and Peter frowned. Despite Peter’s assurances, Ami still felt threatened by that particular woman. Meagan Quinn was a stunning redhead in her thirties with dark green eyes, flawless skin, and classical features. But to Peter, Ami was just as beautiful in her own way. He never tired of watching her long dark hair flying in the wind or her strong, athletic body moving with easy grace. Ami believed in strength – in the body and in the mind – which was why she always bitched about his drinking.

I’m telling you, now is the time. Nick went at it again.

Peter could see Nick wanted agreement – tonight.

We can’t postpone this or ‘discuss it again later.’ It’s too late for that now, Nick said. And I would rather die than leave things the way they are.

Nick! Linda Reins gasped.

The general’s graying, bearded expression softened as he looked at his own wife of fifteen years. This is our country, Linda. It was taken from us almost six years ago—

Five years, three months, four days, Eve Meyer interjected.

The notes lay on the table before her, but Peter knew Eve didn’t have to look up any dates. Her sad look confirmed she had no trouble remembering the beautiful spring day when death rained down from the skies, the day her husband was slaughtered.

By a race of people we never knew existed, Nick continued. And I’ll be damned if I’ll sit around and let them keep it. Nick stood up in the silence that followed. We’ve managed to keep them far enough away from our base here to avoid discovery, but only because our alarms and surveillance tell us when they’re coming.

Ladies and gentlemen. Peter rose to interrupt. There was no sense letting Nick go on at length about a subject already agreed upon. He scanned the somber faces of the people around the table. The Council, delegated to command and make decisions for their group of survivors, stared back. Peter met Jesse’s sapphire gaze across the table. If we build this Perimeter, he reasoned, chance of discovery would be less detrimental.

Jesse nodded. We would need to secure the same defenses around our power supply. The system would be useless if they killed the plant.

We’re lucky they haven’t found it already, Mark pointed out.

Peter turned to Eve, their record keeper, an ex-mystery writer whose expertise with explosives and knowledge of languages made her invaluable. Have you been able to decipher anything from their communications?

I’ve been able to distinguish several words as proper names and pin-pointed several locations, but that’s about all, Eve admitted.

Peter grinned. That’s all we need – one location.

You have an idea? Nick Reins looked back and forth between Peter and Jesse.

Yes, Peter said and explained to the others, We believe that it’s time for our little family to take the initiative for all those people who deserve to live, too.

Meaning?

Peter looked at his wife and she swallowed.

Meaning, my dear, that we strive not only to survive, but to fight back. We construct this fortress to protect our growing numbers, and then we attack at the source.

But who? Where is the source? Jesse asked.

Discovering that, Commander Sullivan, will be our first priority. Peter grinned at Jesse’s suspicious look.

You have a target in mind? At his nod, she speculated, The courthouse? That had been their first major raid and was an auspicious one since it had turned out to be an alien base for holding human captives. Many of their existing forces were liberated from that base.

Bigger, Peter stressed. Worthy of our new status.

Jesse tilted her head. It hardly seemed fair to the male gender that one woman could be so brilliant and appealing at the same time. To glance at her, even at five foot seven inches, she appeared delicate, frail, and younger than she probably was. One of these days, Peter was going to have to ask her how old she was. Jesse affected men in several ways. Those who weren’t intimidated by her glacial sapphire stare, amazed by her cool courage, or overwhelmed by her blunt candor; fell in love with her. Just as he had; it wasn’t the same as what he felt for his Ami, but it was there.

Are we all agreed? Jesse asked, scanning the eight other faces of the Council. One or two nods were hesitant, but one by one, they all agreed.

Good, Peter proclaimed.

Jesse’s gaze returned to Peter and she smiled. It was a mischievous smile, mysterious and rare, and it never failed to remove the air from Peter’s lungs.

She raised her brows and lifted her glass. The Phoenix?

Peter grinned and picked up his own glass. Eight more glasses raised in unison. After the toast, Peter sat and leaned forward in his seat to address the Council. One of our scouts located a warehouse in Queens that could possibly contain vital materials for our needs. . . .

Chapter 2

The Sovereign glared at the pile of rubble that had once been one of his commander’s outposts, dust still settling around his feet and the air thick with the choking smells of burnt timber and plastic. It hadn't been a large post, but it was on the Island and close enough to keep track of those nuisances that kept raiding his transports. What is this Foe-nix? he demanded.

The Phoenix, Sam re-pronounced it, my lord, is a legendary bird.

A legend, Sam? Gar growled. I am plagued by a legend? I believe the late Commander Luver would disagree.

It’s symbolic, the large human assured him. The Phoenix was a bird, the only one of its kind. Legend told it lived for about a thousand years before it burst into flames. A new Phoenix was born of the ashes, renewing itself.

Interesting, and this mark? Gar indicated the symbol accompanying the word among the wreckage. Both were painted in brilliant red on a stone slab, a remnant of the razed building.

That’s the symbol for infinity.

Commander Riker, who had stood by in silent amazement, echoed the word, Infinity?

Ha. Gar chuckled, his light brown eyes now sparkling with amusement. So these pests liken themselves to an immortal bird, eh? He spun toward a surviving officer of the destroyed base. Just how long have these raids been going on, Tarek?

Several years, my lord, Tarek admitted.

Too long! Gar fumed. These parasites have stolen enough of my arms and material. Mikerae, he hailed one of his more trusted commanders. Reconstruct a base in this sector and clean it out. This island is perfect for my spaceport and I don’t need these problems. Rid me of these pestilent creatures. I want no more word of this Phoenix.

Commander Mikerae saluted and backed away. Lord Sovereign Gar of the line of Kamarkes turned, his long robes billowing, and he strode away.

Sam followed him. About my wife, my lord. It’s been six months—

I’m not in a charitable mood, Sam, Gar snapped.

Sam bowed his head and got in the car behind the steering wheel.

Gar stopped at the door of the transport. Are you coming, Riker? he called to his commander, who hadn’t moved.

The commander’s head jerked up and he nodded. Riker of Tiern had been too distracted to speak. He had been filled with wonder first, and then with realization, and finally, with fear and hatred. He had known that mark all his life. His enemy had finally been revealed: The Phoenix.

Riker hurried to catch up to his Sovereign. After all, Gar wasn’t a patient man. Let me have this sector, my lord, he asked, joining Gar in the spacious limousine.

Ah, Riker, you are indeed a valuable commander. Your sector has given the least resistance, but I doubt this problem is worthy of your talents.

I have my doubts, Lord Gar. Look at the extent of the damage. Consider how fast they attacked without being detected.

It’s probably due to their meager numbers.

Perhaps, Riker conceded, but what if they have greater numbers than we thought?

That would suggest intelligence. Gar met Riker’s gaze with skepticism.

Perhaps we have underestimated that possibility—

Commander, Gar grumbled, his patience waning. I have every confidence that Mikerae will dispense with whatever situation exists here.

As you say, my lord, Riker conceded. He could wait.

Yes, Riker, Gar reclined into the cushioned softness of the plush seats, as I say.

Chapter 3

The door to the storeroom opened and closed and a heavily robed figure moved into the center of the room. Davros rose, the book he had been reading abandoned. What news?

The robed Venturian approached him, stopping several feet before the younger man. He crossed his right arm over his chest, his fist clenched over his heart, and inclined his head in homage. Steffan was spared.

Davros let out his breath and paced toward the observatory window. What of Kenyan? he asked, peering out onto the nearby planet.

He is still missing, Mergan of the line of Medi replied.

I suppose that’s better news than the alternative. Davros ran a hand over the silver tresses that slicked back over his head. Steffan is unharmed?

Yes, my lord. Gar would be a fool to kill him. His skills are far too valuable.

Davros nodded. He is a great surgeon.

The greatest, according to him.

Davros’s lips curved to a grin for the first time in months. I have yet to hear anyone challenge his claim.

Not to the baron’s face, anyway.

Davros laughed, relaxed in the presence of his old friend. Indeed, Mergan. Steffan takes great pride in his work, and in his devotions.

Mergan’s age-worn features reflected his concern. Yes. He is watched very closely and is heavily guarded.

No doubt, my cousin finds that amusing?

As always, Steffan is coping. The Holyman shed his over-robe, revealing a large satchel. You shall see for yourself, my lord.

I will? Davros eyed the bag with curiosity.

It is time, My Prince. Mergan's expression turned somber. You must assimilate. It’s been four seasons and this ship is the last cargo ship orbiting. It is scheduled for unloading. I had hoped you would have quickened by now.

I, too—

But, it’s to your advantage that you haven’t.

Surely, I’ll be recognized.

Perhaps not, since you haven’t reached your final stage. Mergan pulled a small vial out of his pouch. And, I have been working on additional protection.

But—

Your presence must be felt, Davros, or the people will lose hope. He unloaded the contents of his pouch onto a stack of crates, and passed the prince a robe. You’ll have to trust me, my lord.

Davros took the garb he was given. You have been spiritual advisor and counselor to my family for generations, Reverend. Your powers are great, but I have serious reservations about assimilation. Wouldn’t it be safer to plan in a secluded area?

With whom, My Prince? You need an army. You must reassemble the faithful and determine who are the traitors. The only way to do that is from within. Gar is spreading rumors that you are dead. You must show those who remain true to the throne that you are not.

Davros nodded.

"And you must learn all you can about these humans and gain their trust. Already groups are launching attacks on Gar’s forces. This is their world. You cannot hope to win a civil war on foreign soil without aborigine support. They’re not as unintelligent as Gar thinks. You must convince the survivors that he is the enemy, not you."

A difficult task, Davros mused, thinking it would be impossible.

Have you read the books I brought you?

Yes. It’s a relatively uncomplicated language.

Good. Mergan approached the young prince, the vial in his hand. This will not hurt, he assured him. He placed several drops of the liquid into Davros’s eyes. You must do this at least every ten Earth days or the color will fade.

Blinking several times to absorb the fluid, Davros peered around and frowned. My vision is blurred.

Mergan nodded and produced a pair of large, wire-framed glasses from his bag. Another part of the disguise. He placed them on Davros’s face.

Degrading, Davros muttered.

There is no dishonor in them, Mergan said, his tone indignant. I, myself, wear vision aids.

You’re quite a bit older than I, my friend.

Mergan scowled. It’s a small price to pay for your life, my lord.

There’s no need for sarcasm, Reverend. It was merely idle complaining. Davros peered through the lenses, testing them. Where am I assigned?

You’re a scientist, Mergan informed him. You’ll be stationed at a research facility near Gar’s main headquarters. It’s located on an island the natives call Manhattan.

Will I have a new name?

No, Davros is a common name for your generation.

Davros nodded. It was common to honor a new Crown Prince by naming a son after him.

As part of the disguise, you have a new heritage. The line is Cerasius, from Websis County, Mergan continued. You attended Future Websis Academy and have no living relatives.

As he finished dressing, Davros absorbed his new identity. He would be virtually alone, not yet fully matured, in a strange land. Dread filled him.

Mergan squeezed his shoulders and Davros found comfort in the gesture. When the time is right, you will know, My Prince. Then you must summon Steffan and me to your side.

Davros shrugged into the cloak supplied by the wise old prophet. The young prince stretched his wings through the wide opening.

That must be stopped, Davros. Mergan frowned. It could jeopardize your position. Shall I clip them?

Clip my wings? Just thinking of his wings being bound together made Davros shudder. No! I will control it.

Very well, Mergan conceded. I know it will be difficult for you, My Prince, but you will triumph, I assure you. Your destiny lies on the Earth.

As you say. Davros took a deep breath. I am ready.

Chapter 4

The Phoenix is really feeling the significance of today’s date. The historical implication of independence has instilled a new zeal into the hearts and minds of each and every member of our family.

I pray that heroism born of patriotism does not claim too many of their lives before we accomplish our goal.

Eve Meyer

Historical Journal, July 4, 06 PI

I think that’s close enough, Commander.

Jesse smirked and picked up her walkie-talkie. The Phoenix hadn't determined if the Earth's communication satellites had been destroyed or disabled, but cell phones were useless and Internet was assuredly down. And while their hand-held devices were the best the old electronic store had to offer – it had taken Jesse months to scavenge up a decent supply – the range was still limited.

I think the cover’s better behind the silver Caddy across the street, she said in response to Peter’s criticism.

His voice came back. Okay, but keep down. I’d hate to see that pretty face skewered by an unidentified projectile.

Jesse smiled and shook her head. Even Nick, whose vulgar banter was legendary, had few rejoinders to Commander Drake’s wisecracks today. She didn’t even try to come up with a reply.

She reorganized her equipment behind the sturdy protection of the old Cadillac. The detonator, which would cause the initial deterrent for the approaching caravan; her rifle; binoculars; and, of course, her communicator rounded out the collection. Once her gear was set, Jesse settled herself to wait for the transport, the current target for ambush.

The aliens used the southern most road along the Island for most of their cargo transportation. They tried to anyway, Jesse couldn’t help thinking. The Phoenix intervened more often than not nowadays.

Sitting behind the protection of the Cadillac reminded Jesse of her very first sighting of the aliens. She and Joey Sawyer, a boy of ten who had elected himself to the position of gopher and courier for the Council, were returning from scavenging supplies when they had heard approaching engines. They took cover in the nearby brush as two truckloads of Hawkmen, as Joey liked to call them, filed passed them.

Their bodies were humanoid, larger than humans and broader across the back to accommodate the large wings that folded against their backs. The wings didn’t appear large enough to sustain their weight in flight and, in fact, didn’t even seem to move. Pat Murphy, their resident doctor, and Medical Councilman, had suggested flight capability had probably devolved from the species.

These soldiers wore leather armor, not unlike the uniforms worn by soldiers of the Roman Empire during that era. Snow-white down covered their arms and legs. The down wasn’t feathery but more of a short fuzzy baby hair with random traces of wear and age among the faces.

Their facial features also appeared human, except for their large eyes. Jesse thought that they appeared more like fuzzy men – albeit, large men – with wings.

The only color adorning them were hues that saturated parts of their white wings and the coarse, hair-like matter covering their heads. Like human hair, it varied among them in all shades of black, brown, gray, red and yellow. The aliens wore it slicked back over their heads and down to the collars of their uniforms.

Jesse recalled her fascination and curiosity. How did they speak? What did they eat? Why were they here? Did they feel, love, hurt, cry?

Why don’t you shoot? Joey had asked as the trucks continued their journey.

We’re too close to base, she had told him. If we attacked, they would search this area in a second. She hadn't added that she was so absorbed in wonder and marvel; she had forgotten the aliens were bloodthirsty enemies.

Soon after, they had found Ryan, alone with his dead mother in a run down house. Apparently, she had committed suicide some days after Ryan’s birth. It unsettled Jesse that a woman would take her own life and let her baby starve to death. Fortunately, the Council had intervened and had saved Ryan, who was now a healthy one-year-old.

The Council had adopted Ryan, the name she and Peter had chosen, despite the fact that he was an alien. They had thought they might be able to learn something about the aliens by observing one grow. With the exception of one scary and painful growth spurt, Ryan proved to be of little guidance. Raised and loved by the Council, he was turning out as human as the rest of them. His contribution so far being the mark, the sideways 8, The Phoenix left on all their ventures. Peter had decided it would be amusing to use the birthmark on the back of Ryan’s neck to taunt the aliens.

No one knew what the future would hold for Ryan, but for now, he was a part of The Phoenix. Jesse kept the letter left by his mother. No one could read it yet, but there might be a time in the future when they could learn the truth behind Ryan’s heritage.

A sound from her hand-held communicator jolted her from the reverie. The voice was Ami’s, stationed on the train station platform above them.

Incoming ships, Ami announced in warning. At least three, searchlights blaring. Threatening situation.

Retreat! Commander Drake ordered. All squads retreat. Repeat, this is not an ordinary transport. He added, You too, Jesse.

Jesse watched the caravan. It was nearly upon her, the control for the explosive was in her hand. She sighed and looked to the sky. The aliens were using air scouts, which meant their quarry was important. If this wasn’t a scheduled transport, but a search party, then The Phoenix was more interested in what was being sought than the spoils of an ambush.

Backing away, she retreated into the woods for cover and headed for the agreed rendezvous point. She had trotted about a hundred feet when she found the plane.

Jesse stared at the crash site for a quick second; then, realizing it would be spotted easily from the air, jumped onto the wing of the Navy jet, and climbed up. The man in the cockpit was bleeding from the temple but he was alive. Jesse unlocked his harness and pulled him out. As he was a good six feet of dead weight, it was a difficult task trying to lower him from the aircraft. Ultimately, she failed and they both tumbled to the ground in a heap.

Jesse landed on her back, the barrel of a handgun in her face and the man straddled across her hips, pressing her shoulder firmly to the ground. From this vulnerable position, she got her first look at Officer Campbell, as his uniform denoted. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, maybe even forty, but Jesse surmised his ragged, unshaven face could have aged his appearance. In his shabby condition, she couldn’t call him attractive although the bone structure of his face was hard and rugged. His wavy, dark brown hair, long neglected, hung well past his collar and straggly strands hung over his eyes. They were a strange color: a very light brown, flecked with yellow. Tiger-eyes, Jesse deemed them, and the predaceous inspection she received suggested that the man had a similar nature.

When his study was complete, his expression softened and he drew a roguish grin. Hell-oh, gorgeous.

Jesse’s composure returned and glaring, she pushed the hand with the gun away from her nose. You may remove yourself now, Mr. Campbell.

That’s Lieutenant Campbell. He ignored Jesse’s superior tone as he continued to eye her. Douglas Campbell, US Navy.

He didn’t look as if he were in a hurry to get off her, so Jesse helped him with a forceful shove. The Phoenix is the only army with power around here.

That’s why I’m here, sweetheart, he explained.

Jesse heard the sounds of approaching aircraft and she looked up to search the sky. They had to get moving. She jumped to her feet. Explain later, Lieutenant. Right now, we have to get back to base.

Doug Campbell retrieved a dufflebag from the cockpit of his Stealth and followed as she retreated further into the woods. The rendezvous point was deserted when they arrived, but with all the air traffic around, Jesse couldn’t blame Peter for moving on. We’ll have to go on foot, she said and headed up the road.

Lieutenant Campbell followed. So what’s your name, or is Goddess enough?

Jesse spun around. Look, Mack, she snapped. I’ve had just about enough of your degrading comments and indecent leers. My name is Jesse Sullivan and I happen to be First Commander of the Council of The Phoenix. Try to feign some respect for my station.

Commander? He didn’t look convinced.

That’s right, Lieutenant, and around here, I outrank you.

I beg your pardon, he said but he appeared more amused than contrite.

I’m sure that you do.

Doug Campbell chuckled to himself as they hiked eastward along a main road. He marveled at the remarkable clearance of the highway. No cars littered the road and the shoulder brush was trimmed down, unlike other areas where the grass and bushes grew out of control.

He cast a glance back to his plane and touched the cut on his forehead. Definitely not one of his best landings, but his fuel had run out and he had been afraid of detection. He had set down as gently as he could, hoping they could salvage his plane.