Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) (5 page)

Foothills of the Western Mountains

A University Campus

The mountains framing the University soar into the sky, shredding any clouds unlucky enough to attempt to cross over into the hills beyond. As Jon pushes open the door, the clouds are just beginning to turn pink along their undersides, almost as if their blood is spilling as they are gutted, but he cannot see the panorama yet as he is still caged by the building that he has spent the last several weeks of his life cooped up in. The courtyard he steps out into is ringed on all four sides by sheer cliffs of unfinished concrete, the shortest of which rises over two stories above him. Knowing there is nothing more exciting to look at than the ground, Jon hunkers down and pulls his coat collar up to protect his neck against the crisp autumn breeze that swirls across the gravel-filled courtyard.

Walking briskly, he hurries across the open area towards a set of covered stairs that lead up to ground level and the rest of campus. When he reaches the first step, he stumbles slightly as a gust of wind howls down the dark stairwell, bringing with it an assortment of flyers torn loose from the walls and light posts around campus and the smell of an impending rain storm. Ducking his head lower, he charges up the stairs, challenging the weather to do its worst. Today he doesn’t even feel the cold bite of the wind. Today he gets some time off. Behind him in a nondescript room, behind a double-locked door, lies a stack of graded midterms and a rough draft of a journal article for his advisor to review when she returns to campus the following morning. Tonight, however, Jon has nothing except the prospect of a few beers with which to fill his night, and somewhere across campus in the depths of some greasy bar sits Ryan, already a few beers in and most certainly making eyes at every pretty girl in the place, but waiting for Jon to find him before he really starts the night. His friend has been bugging him since the semester started to join him for some sort of adventure or another, but the opportunities that had sounded so exciting to Jon’s innocent ears the year before have piled up and buried him.

Once he is out of the wind tunnel formed by the stairs, the breeze subsides to a light caress, and Jon allows himself to relax a little as he contemplates the long walk before him. No amount of joy from this brief interlude of freedom can help him shake the feeling that everyone he passes has it better than he does. This feeling only grows as he heads through campus and away from the ugly monolith he calls home. Each building that he passes seems to be beautifully sculpted to not only complement those around it but also to embrace the open spaces between; each one is named for some prestigious alumnus who wanted to have his or her name be forever synonymous with the topic taught within.

Jon is halfway through this gauntlet of architectural hubris when the collective clocks in each building signal the end of class. The previously deserted paths now find themselves inundated by a throng of younger students, all chattering away about the test they just sat through or the papers they just turned in.

Trying to distance himself from their worry and speculation, he slows down and edges towards the left side of the path as it widens to pass a fountain. Unfortunately, the throng of students begins to splinter into smaller groups as the conversations shift toward their evening plans and how best to forget the last hour and a half of their lives. Resigning himself to his loss of solitude, Jon lets his mind wander and contemplates his own plans for the night. Maybe he’ll let Ryan talk him into staying out till the bars close, or maybe he’ll even find someone to go home with other than a grouchy cab driver. It’s unlikely that he’ll really forget about his responsibilities that thoroughly, but it is certainly pleasant to dream about the possibility.

Cutting through an alley between two buildings that are covered in ivy and glistening in the light of the setting sun, Jon reaches the edge of campus, and the wind that had once only brought him swirling trash now brings him the mouthwatering smell of fried foods from a selection of ethnicities. Walking to the corner, he joins a crowd talking loudly and excitedly as they wait impatiently before descending on the sources of all those wonderful smells. The cars whiz by, equally oblivious to the crowd on the corner as the crowd is of them, until a computer somewhere nearby decides that it is time for the lights to change and for salivating mouths and parched throats to find relief. The lights cycle, and Jon finds himself swept across the street and off the confines of the campus for the first time in far too long.

Making his way past the overpriced restaurants and bars that command the locations closest to the campus and the free-flowing cash of students too far in debt to care if their dinner is twice the price it should be, Jon continues past stores selling all the things students “need” before coming to another intersection. Here the road continues up into a residential area dominated by small apartments and large rent bills, but Jon is not destined for the house parties contained within them. His destination lies off to the right, down a small side street behind the glowing façade of a twenty-four hour night club. Jon pushes past the line waiting to get by the bouncer and heads down the street, past the dumpsters, to the discreet wooden sign above the ancient and abused door of his destination.

Stepping through the door, Jon is greeted by the warm smell of freshly made pretzels and sour beer. The smell is all he can perceive at first as his eyes adjust, because even though the setting sun has left the street outside draped in shadows, the interior of this establishment has seen no more light than that cast by a trio of neon signs above the bar since its opening. It is a comforting place, where conversations can he held in private and good beer can be purchased at reasonable prices.

‘’Over here,” Jon can hear Ryan’s voice, and after a few seconds, he can even begin to make him out. He is seated in an alcove by one of the blacked-out windows set high in the walls. There is an empty pitcher of beer in front of him and two glasses, one with a film of beer foam and the other as clean as any glass gets in this place.

Jon makes his way through the crowded mass of tables, weaving though the room and eventually making it to the booth. As he arrives, a waitress appears with another pitcher of beer. She sets the vessel down, spilling some foam onto the lovingly polished yet worn table. Wiping it up, she inquires if there is anything else they might need. Finding that they are satisfied, she tucks the towel back in her apron pocket with a wink and makes her way back to the bar.

As Jon slides into the booth, Ryan fills the second glass with deliciously sweet and cold brew. While Jon struggles out of his jacket, Ryan’s boisterous presence commandeers the direction of the conversation.

“So, you finally escaped that dungeon,” Ryan starts in. “It’s been what, like almost month since I’ve even seen you outside of it? And that was at the grocery store, so it totally doesn’t count. When was the last time you even thought of doing something social or something for yourself?”

“Let’s see, when did I start grad school, six months ago?” Jon replies. “Then the last time I thought about doing something fun was about five months ago. About the time my advisor realized I existed and decided it’d be a good time start piling work onto me.”

“Dude, you need a life. And a girl. Well maybe just a girl… At least something to get you out of the hole they stuff you in and call your office.”

Jon shakes his head, smiling, and provides a halfhearted defense of his position.

“There is a conference down in the city in a couple of days; my advisor and I are going to it to see what’s happening. I think I’ll be able to finagle a free lunch out of her…”

Ryan laughs and makes a rude gesture with his hand.

“As if that even counts. But whatever, you’re out here tonight, which means we’re going to have a damn good time until we run out of night to burn. Right?”

Before Jon can answer, both men are distracted by a commotion by the bar; a few of the patrons stand up abruptly, yelling at the screen mounted in front of them. Without noticing that their chairs are overturned, the beer drinker closest to the corner where Jon and Ryan are leans over the bar to say something to the waitress while gesturing to the screen above her head. His companion turns to the room and calls for silence. Such an unusual broach of the discreet protocol in this establishment ensures that everyone pays attention.

The waitress skips back the news program that had been playing until the segment that had so upset the men at the bar is at its beginning, and she turns up the volume so that everyone can hear and leans against the bar to watch.

“Breaking news tonight from the Capital,” the generically good-looking newscaster begins. “Former Senator Gavitte suffered a mental breakdown yesterday during a speech before the Senate and is now suspected of high treason. He is currently a fugitive. Any who see him are requested to call the national crime reporting line immediately.” During the announcement, a portion of the screen is dedicated to footage of the senator in question undergoing what appears to be a full psychotic break down and being dragged from the Senate chamber.

The crowd in the bar, initially perturbed by the interruption, has gone deathly quiet. Jon has just long enough to begin to wonder what all the fuss is about before the whole establishment erupts in angry conversation. Turning back to Ryan, he sees the same anger reflected in his face.

“What’s going on?” Jon asks. “Did I miss something important that everyone else knows about?”

“There is this video that’s been going viral around the whole school,” Ryan replies. “We’d all thought it was some sort of hoax, but it’s not. They’re actually trying to cover it up… Here, let me show you.”

Ryan pulls a small screen from his pocket and flips it around so that Jon can see. There, within the palm of his friend’s hand, he sees the same video that was running behind the news cast, however this version has not been carefully edited and contains the complete audio of the speech. Jon leans over the table so that he can hear over the noise in the bar.

At the beginning of the recording, the senator is simply standing at the podium with a chart projected behind him. He looks at his notes, as if gathering his thoughts, before launching into a long explanation of the data behind him. As Jon watches, something seems to change in the senator’s demeanor. He shifts, standing a little straighter, a little squarer to the camera, and his face seems to radiate an internal energy. Then the real speech starts. The speech is passionate, it is flowing, it pulls the listener in and demands a response, but most importantly, it looks to be entirely impromptu. The senator does not look at his notes; in fact, it looks as if they are completely forgotten, the pages remaining un-shuffled once he starts talking. His passion builds until—seemingly right before he can deliver his final point—he is interrupted by another senator. The interruption is so rude, so cold, and so at odds with the direction of the speech that it doesn’t even seem to register with the senator at the podium. He pauses to allow the interjection to work its way through his mind before continuing speaking.

“I will not stand down, you will!” the senator blazes once again, the fire of his rhetoric cooled as much as a fire subjected to a dousing of refrigerated gasoline. “I will not let these people be led blindly towards their own destruction with your assurances of safety. Your dynasties will end…”

The recording freezes and glitches through a few more frames before jumping forward to a wide angle shot of the chamber with all the senators calmly shuffling papers away into their bags while one lone former member of their ranks is dragged out a set of wide double doors. The screen goes dark as the video ends.

“That did not look like a mental breakdown to me,” says Jon, looking up at Ryan. “I think he’s crazy to say something like that in front of the government, but a mental breakdown?”

“That’s what I think too, and judging by the way everyone else is acting...” Ryan indicates the rest of the patrons who have now precipitated into smaller groups but are talking no less animatedly. “What really pisses me off is that they’re trying to brainwash us into believing their story. Don’t they realize we can get the real footage ourselves? We’re not beholden to some stupid ‘state-sanctioned’ media outlet.”

“They’re not really even officially state-sanctioned. If they were, maybe they’d get more funding so they could afford to edit their video clips a bit better,” Jon laughs indicating the screen where choppy footage of a police manhunt is being shown.

Both sipping from their beers, the two men slide deeper into the booth and dive into the conversation before them. Forgotten are the pretty girls, flashing lights, and wild crowds of the other bars. They have the problems of the world before them, and with a few more pitchers of beer, they should be able to come up with all the solutions.

The conversations throughout the bar, and many like them throughout the country, are varied, each one taking on the character of those participating. Yet one theme runs through them all: The government, which has been slowly edging closer and closer to line, might have finally stepped over it. There is only so much arbitrary action a people can take before they might actually do something about it. If only they had some sort of lightning rod to concentrate on.

Rolling Plains

On a Train

Gavitte wakes to the sun rising behind the train, casting long shadows in the direction of the train’s travel. Realizing that he never actually checked the destination on his ticket, he pulls it from amongst his other travel documents. It would seem he is headed to a small ski town in the mountains, one of the last places where the terrain is still too rough and the weather too harsh to allow the suburban sprawl to tame it. This is a land of mountains that tower over crashing rivers, trapped in gorges, lined with trees hanging off cliff faces. The trees and animals that take shelter amongst the crags and rocks are, like the mountains themselves, uncaring and wild.

Unable to see to the fore of the train, he is only able to look out upon the rolling plains covered in twisting roads, cul-de-sacs, and low sprawling homes as far as the eye can see. The developments swarm to the very edge of the wilderness and stretch endlessly into the distance and the rising sun. With no clue of how far they had traveled during the night, nor how much farther they have to go, he is forced to ask the conductor when he comes through on his rounds to check tickets.

”Excuse me, how long until we reach the mountains?”

“We won’t be in them until tomorrow morning,” he replies. “If you’re hungry, the dining car is three forward of this one.”

“Thank you, I might head down there a bit later.”

With time to spare, Gavitte reaches for the folio containing his “research”. Skimming through the first few pages, he learns that it is a paper on the evolution of politics, leading him to believe that part of his cover is to teach what he used to do. The paper doesn’t get interesting until part way through a paragraph on the third page when, without any warning, the tone changes from the dry academic voice and becomes the rich murmur of Angelina. Instantly, her musky scent and the feel of her lips come roaring back into his mind, nearly distracting him from continuing past the first sentence as the temptation to day dream is so strong.

“David, when you are reading this, you’ll be on the train heading into the mountains. Undoubtedly you are wondering what is going on. I can’t tell you everything I want to now as this could end up in the wrong hands far too easily. For now, you need to know that you’re important to us, to me, and we’ll do what we can to get you to safety. The most important thing to remember is that you are a professor of political studies on your way to the Annual Convention for Political Educators. This is a big deal, and all of your colleagues will be there. If anyone asks you why you aren’t driving, it’s because your car broke down, and they couldn’t fix it in time, so you were forced to take the train. Try to keep to yourself, we didn’t have as much time as we really needed to build you a solid cover, but as long no one asks too many questions it should see you through.

“The conference is at a fairly small ski resort. The hotel will be sending someone down to pick you up at the station; that will be us. Just remember, you don’t know us, so try not let on that you recognize us. I put a novel in here as well to help you pass the time. I hope you like it.”

Gavitte greedily rushes through the rest of the paper in hopes that she might have written more, but the rest is more on the miracle of democracy and how it rose from tyranny to bring liberty and enlightenment to the world; more of the traditional rhetoric, but none of what he really needs to hear. Digging through the rest of the papers and toiletries, Gavitte finds a tattered paperback. Written almost a hundred years before, the only reason the book is still intact is the fact that nobody goes to the library anymore—books take too much time, especially when you can watch the dramatized version in an hour while doing other things necessary for your busy life. The pages of this book have yellowed with age, and as he runs his thumb along the edge, the soft, velvety texture created by the numerous tiny tears fills him with a sense of calmness and joy. He strokes the book again as automatically as he’d caress a cat’s head, feeling the energy of the alternate reality trapped within.

He opens the book, and something catches his eye—a note scrawled in pencil: “This is strangely close to my story; maybe it’ll help you understand some things.” It is signed with an old-fashioned capital A. This can only mean one thing, and he dives into the book as if it is a cool oasis in the middle of a desert. The book takes him into its embrace, and the rolling suburbia passes from his mind.

The story goes something like this: A girl is born in the mountains. The daughter of two loving parents, she grows up with wide open meadows and horses that the family raises for circuses and zoos. All is well until the summer of her tenth year when, one day, her parents go into town never to return again. The girl is out in the meadow with the horses when the soldiers show up and put torches to her home, burning it the ground. On seeing this, she runs to the hills with the horses.

She rides day and night until near exhaustion, and when the horses stop to drink in a pool, she falls off and, unable to continue, lies in the grass by an alpine stream. It isn’t until dusk that a party of armed ruffians discovers her. They turn out to be outlaws, yet honorable thieves. She grows to womanhood in their series of mountain caves, learning the secrets of the outlaw and thief. When she is fully educated in their ways, she is sent on a mission to the castle. She is to kill a prominent member of the king’s council. As she integrates herself into the royal court in order to get close enough to kill the council member, she ends up falling in love with him, despite her original hatred for everything he stood for. Before she came to the court it was clear that the king’s council was entirely corrupt, each lord lining his own pockets at the expense of the people, but as she spent time within the castle the truth became clear. Certainly some of the lords were vicious and greedy, but the one for whom she’d been sent was neither, he was honest and kind if only lost in the dance of court politics.

In the end, she confesses her feelings and her intentions for coming to court to the councilman. Fortunately, he has fallen for her as well, and they are able to arrange an escape back to the mountain hideaway. The book ends before the lovers’ fates are decided in clear ploy by the author to encourage sales of the second book in the series. The king, scorned by their desertion, declares them outlaws and places a bounty on their heads. The reader is left with the impression that the two lovers, drawing strength from each other, will embark on a campaign to right the wrongs that afflict the kingdom and bring justice to the people.

The decidedly old-fashioned prose and fine print hardly slow Gavitte down. While the details of the story can’t possibly be true, as dragons, bandits, tyrannical monarchs, and true love are all certainly things belonging to the world of fantasy, the tale has a remarkable ring of truth and seems to resonate a little too strongly with Gavitte’s inner self. He understands the conflict the councilman must have felt working for a king he despised yet knowing he had no other option if he wanted to help the people of the realm. He is only beginning to understand the confusion, joy, and hope the character must have felt when his would-be assassin confessed to him; for a brief moment, Gavitte wonders if Angelina was sent to the capital to kill him, before quickly banishing the thought. Such poetic themes belong only in fiction, there must be a more ordinary explanation.

When he finishes the book, the sun is rising again, but Gavitte is not tired. There are more questions bouncing in his head now. How can this book describe her life? It was written a hundred years before and is clearly a work of fiction. Is it really reflective of her life, and does that mean he could possibly be the councilman? Most importantly though: Who is this woman, and why does she make him feel this way?

These questions still occupy his mind as he steps out onto the platform and into the crisp mountain air. He is so preoccupied, in fact, that he has no problem acting as if he has no clue who the people picking him up in the open-topped off-road vehicle are. As he climbs up and over the side to sit in the back, she vaults gracefully into the seat next to him. Her sudden proximity shocks him out of his reprieve. He turns to her as if to ask her any of the questions that had previously been on his mind, however, due to the cramped space in the back of the vehicle, as he turns his head his lips almost brush hers, sending a shiver down his spine. Her face softens for an instant before the stone snaps back into place and she turns forward once more saying softly:

“Not here, not now. We must get back to the base.” And much louder to the driver, who Gavitte recognizes as one of the men who rescued him, “George get us out of here.”

*

The vehicle ascends out of the small ski town. The road is gravel with many switchbacks and blind corners, but George pushes the car to its limit, seemingly ignorant to the possibility of a collision. The tail drifts out on corners, forcing Gavitte and Angelina to hold on with all their energy, lest they be thrown back down the mountain. After more turns than Gavitte can count, they come to another, like any of the ones before it. But this time, instead of turning, George drives straight off the edge and onto a dirt track mostly hidden by brush and the dense branches of the tightly packed pines.

In fear and surprise, Gavitte grasps onto whatever he can. Once the ride settles down to be merely breakneck, he realizes that what he had grabbed onto is warm, covered in cloth, and has the density of flexed muscle. He looks down and realizes that his hand is holding firmly to the lower portion of Angelina’s perfectly formed thigh. As he begins to jerk his hand away in embarrassment, hers snaps down from where it had rested on the seat in front and lands on top of his.

He can feel her leg relax but finds his hand pinned. Still unsure what her intentions are, Gavitte turns towards her, but she is facing forward, and her hair, having escaped from her hat, shields her face from his view. She grasps his hand solidly, yet not crushingly, and turns to him and smiles, making some things clearer and others that much more difficult to understand.

Promptly they arrive at an abandoned mine. The only sign of life is a gun barrel poking out between the boards on the windows of the office. The vehicle pulls around to a large tunnel opening and, without slowing, plunges down into the cool dampness of the mine.

After about ten seconds of driving blindly, George switches on the headlights, illuminating the rough rock walls, complete with a myriad of dark side passages that are briefly lit as they rush past. Deep in the mine, they turn left, and for the first time, George lifts his foot off the gas, allowing the engine to idle as the car coasts into a huge cavern full other vehicles. Some are civilian cars, but most are army surplus vehicles renovated and upgraded to better than new.

It is in this chamber that they dismount, and the contact between Angelina and Gavitte is broken for the first time since its inception. George busies himself with some maintenance checks, while the other passenger who rode in the front next him grabs Gavitte’s bag and heads to the far side of the cavern. Angelina touches Gavitte on the shoulder and indicates that they should follow before heading for an opening in the far wall from which a cold, artificial light spills into the cavern.