Free Messiah by S. Andrew Swann Page B

plain concrete structure that had once served as a garage. It rose about twelve stories above an outflung neighborhood that had mostly burned to the ground. It made her feel exposed, standing on top of a massive block in the middle of several square kilometers of rubble, even with the white flags telling any hostiles that it was a POW camp.
    Kugara wondered, since the PSDC was at the point of openly trying to conquer the planet, if they’d advanced past any niceties like not targeting their own people.
    At least their party wasn’t technically POWs. They weren’t locked behind impromptu steel cages like the two-dozen mercenaries occupying the first two levels. The Wilson militia had boarded them in the upper levels, and were pretty generous with their facilities: cots, hot water, a couple of decent meals, and a change of clothes for everyone except Nickolai, who didn’t need any and would be impossible to fit if he did.
    They were free to roam about, though doing so without an escort was problematic, since beyond a fifty-meter perimeter, the wreckage surrounding them was peppered with land mines and autonomous hunter-killer drones waiting for the wrong person to cross their path.
    So, despite being “guests,” they were as trapped as the prisoners here.
    “At least the civilians are safe,” she whispered. Safe as anyone else on the planet.
    “Kugara?”
    She turned around and saw Nickolai standing on the roof behind her. The dawn light carved bloody highlights on his golden fur, revealing nearly every muscle in his torso.
    “What are you doing up here?” he asked.
    “I came up for the view,” she said. “I feel cramped down there.” She felt a strong sense of deja vú as she asked, “Why are you up here?”
    “Same reason.”
    The memory came, as if it was from an aeon ago, the two of them huddled together in the Eclipse ’s observation port, staring at the stars. “We’re still alone, aren’t we?”
    He walked up next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “No, we aren’t.”
    She sighed and leaned up against him. His fur was warm in the chill morning air. For a few moments she just listened to him breathe.
    They faced east, toward the sunrise, and over the horizon, the Diderot Mountains. “Do you think,” she asked, “that there is something to be found out there?”
    “Some salvation left by the Dolbrians?” He shook his head and emitted a small inhuman snarl. “Reason tells me that this is a hopeless errand.”
    She nodded. They were on the mother of all wild goose chases, whose only redeeming feature was the fact that it wasn’t any more futile than attacking Adam. At least she got to choose how she faced the end, and who she faced it with.
    That sounds like something Nickolai would say, she thought. He was becoming a bad influence on her.
    In his chest, she heard a grumble that sounded like a tentative, “ But. ”
    She looked up at his face, still staring at the eastern horizon. “But what?” she asked.
    “I have lived through much stranger things.”
    Nickolai, am I hearing hope in your voice? Maybe she was a bad influence on him . She looked at his feline profile, and his expression was distant and regal, compounded by the solid black of his eyes, which gave a depth to his expression, as if he stared over the horizon, or through centuries. If his people made statues of their saints, he would be an excellent model.
    His brows creased, and his hand tightened on her shoulder.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    “The PSDC,” he whispered.
    “They’ve been flying sorties since we got here.”
    A minimal shake of his head. “Not a lone attack craft. I see thirty aircraft incoming. Half are troop transports.”
    “Oh, shit.” Those numbers meant an all-out push to the sea. Some other city must have fallen, freeing the resources to go after Wilson. So much for getting the civilians to safety. “I don’t hear the alarms.”
    “Give them a moment. They just cleared the