Blackbird Excerpt

Devon lay bare to the waist, wearing black shorts. His chest rose and fell steadily under the haze of sedation, muscles taut even in rest. Tamaya stepped closer, her breath catching in her throat. She swallowed against the strange lump that returned as her gaze fell upon his eyes—open, but unfocused, staring upward into the glare of the ceiling.

Curiel joined Tamaya next to the table, both women standing in silence.

“Is that normal?” Tamaya asked.

“You mean the golden discoloration around the iris? No. Those are the Nanocells,” Curiel answered flatly.

Tamaya’s stare lingered.

“I’ll be back,” Curiel added, smiling knowingly as she stepped away, leaving Tamaya alone with him.

Something stirred inside her as her eyes roamed over Devon’s features. His lips were full, beneath a neatly trimmed mustache. A small black mole sat just above the cleft of his upper lip, a tiny imperfection barely noticeable through the black hairs in his mustache. But Tamaya noticed. His light brown skin glistened faintly under the clinical lights, stretched tight across a chest and abs cut like stone.

Tamaya closed her eyes for a moment, trying to silence the strange chills gliding over her skin. But when she opened them again, Devon was staring directly at her.

“Hi,” she said softly, her lips thinning into a comforting smile.

Devon blinked slowly. The anesthetic still clung to him, pulling his mind into a dreamlike haze, but he kept his gaze on the beautiful woman standing over him. Her smile was warm, almost unreal in its brightness. The soft glow in her brown eyes pulled a weak smile from his lips.

“I just wanted to stop in and see how you were doing… and to apologize for hitting you back on Earth,” Tamaya said, laughing lightly as she saw his smile spread wider, revealing perfect white teeth.

Devon blinked again, licking his tongue across his lips—an unconscious act that sent another ripple of shivers down Tamaya’s spine.

“I—I—” His voice cracked. He closed his eyes, fighting to gather the words. When they finally came, they were faint, almost a whisper. “I was hoping to see you again… thought I was dreaming.” He paused, his breathing shallow. “Still not sure if I am or not.”

“You’re not,” Tamaya said, her own lips spreading in a smile as she spoke. “I’m real, everything here is real.”

“You tricked me.” Devon said. His eyes narrowed accusingly above his still smiling lips.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I had to do something to get you in that ship.” Tamaya answered, looking up as Curiel reentered the room and quickly walked over to stand next to her.

“Major Valdon is on his way down here… better wrap it up,” Curiel said evenly, her eyes staring down at Devon as she spoke.

Tamaya nodded and regarded Devon once more. “Listen… I have to go now. You get better soon okay?”

“No… wait, where are you going?” Devon stared at her intently, afraid he might never see the angel again.

“Duty calls. I’ll be back, don’t worry.” She replied softly, gently resting her hand on his shoulder.

Devon’s heart rate began to rise as Tamaya turned and headed for the door.

Curiel eyed the small scanner in her hand and noticed the elevated pulse. A wide grin found her lips as she turned to watch Tamaya over her shoulder.

Tamaya paused and turned back before she exited the room. “Thank you, Curiel.” She wondered breifly why Curiel was smiling so hard as she nodded and turned back to her patient, who was struggling to see Tamaya leave. She also wondered why she had told him she’d be back. 

“Where is she going?” Devon whispered weakly; the attempts to rise had drained him of the energy he had left.

Curiel continued to smile as she stared down at him. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back.”

“But why does she have to leave?”

“Commander Roen has a squadron to lead. And a war to fight.” Curiel said.

“A war to fight? What war?”

“Devon, I can bring you up to date on the war and many other things.” Ruthy’s voice sounded in his head.

“Don’t worry yourself. Everything will be explained to you in time, my young friend.” Curiel said soothingly. She laid an assuring pat on Devon’s shoulder and then stepped away.

Devon sighed at her words and at the voice in his head. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. What the fuck kinda shit have I gotten myself into now?

“I have access to the Veyraxian Military Database, which would allow me to access any files or data necessary to bring you up to date on the current status of the war. I can also track and monitor transmissions of the 5th Battle Group’s assault battalions and flight squadrons as they take place.”

Devon held his last intake of oxygen at the statement whispered in his mind. Can you track Commander Roen?

“Of course,” Ruthy answered.

Okay, Ruthy, right?

“Yes.”

Okay, Ruthy, I’ll play along. You’re telling me that I can listen and follow the action as it takes place?

“That is correct.”

Then what are you waiting for? Do it!

“Commander Roen has not yet logged in. Would you like me to bring you up to date on current affairs of the Military?” Ruthy asked.

What the hell… give me the works!

Devon chuckled as he thought the statement. Hell, I don’t have anything else to do. Might as well play along… at least until I wake tha fuck up.

“The works?” Ruthy asked.

Yeah… give it all to me! The entire history of this world and anything else you want to throw in!

“Very well. Commencing download.”

Devon’s smile vanished instantly. His eyes rolled back as his body stiffened like a live wire hit with current. His chest arched upward, heels digging into the table as every muscle locked in violent spasm. Then came the flood.

Images ripped through his consciousness in blinding succession: towering spires of Veyraxis rising from endless oceans, battlefields scarred by Odari drones swarming like locusts, the black silhouette of the Epiphany looming against a burning star. He saw soldiers he did not know falling in flashes of plasma fire, treaties signed and broken, the face of the Patron giving declarations of duty, and the endless spiral of history—wars layered on wars until his mind was a screaming gallery of sights and sounds.

He convulsed harder, teeth grinding, a strangled growl tearing out of his throat. The lights of the medical bay seemed to flash and warp in his eyes.

Curiel came running out of the side chamber, clutching her handheld scanner, staring at the jagged waves scrolling across the small translucent panel.

CMO Dorliger and Major Valdon burst into the room. Dorliger shouldered past Curiel. “What’s wrong?”

“I have no idea!” Curiel said breathlessly. “One second he was placid and calm, then out of nowhere he just went into convulsions!”

“What does the Vita Trac say?” Dorliger barked, grabbing the device from her.

Dorliger’s fingers danced across the screen, cycling through layers of data. He held the device just inches above Devon’s writhing chest. A cone of faint blue light fanned out, sweeping him from head to waist, readouts flaring in rapid succession.

Major Valdon stood back, jaw tight, watching.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the storm passed. Devon collapsed limply against the exam table. His pulse fell back into rhythm, the jagged spikes on the Vita Trac smoothing to steady waves.

“What did you do?” Curiel demanded, eyes still locked on Dorliger.

“Nothing,” Dorliger replied flatly, though his voice carried disbelief. “It stopped on its own. Whatever it was.” He stared down at the Vita Trac as though it might offer an explanation.

“You’ve gotta be shittin me.”

The three officers looked up at once. Devon sat up slowly, his muscles trembling but his eyes sharp, roaming across their faces. He blinked once, deliberately. Then again. His gaze fixed at last on the man in the grey uniform standing just behind the two medical officers.

“Ricak Valdon, Major. Assigned to the Command Ship Mantra as the Tactical Squadron Commander after serving aboard the Genesis Blade of the 1st BG for seven consecutive terms.”

Devon’s gaze then shifted to the CMO. His words came sharp, without hesitation, as though he were reading from a file in front of him.

“Torel Dorliger, Chief Medical Officer of the Garishaou for the past 7 terms.”

Then his eyes moved to Curiel, narrowing slightly.

“Curiel Hengul,” he continued, ignoring their stares of amazement as he focused on her. “Medical Officer aboard the Garishaou for the past 8 terms… informally reprimanded twice for giving a fuck.”

Curiel’s mouth dropped open at the end of Devon’s sentence. Her cheeks flushed, and she turned a sharp, almost panicked glance toward Major Valdon. Those reprimands were not supposed to be on record!

“Look… I don’t fuckin know why or how I know that shit, but I do.” Devon’s voice rose, edged with frustration. The three officers continued to stare, silent, as if weighing the impossibility of what he’d just recited.

Devon’s brow suddenly crinkled, and his eyes squeezed shut as though another wave of information was forcing its way forward. He blinked them back open a second later, the muscles in his jaw tight.

“I know a lotta shit,” he muttered. His eyes fluttered, then he let out a shaky sigh. “I know a whole lotta shit.”

The weight of his words seemed to hang in the sterile brightness of the room. He sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs until his chest swelled, then released it in a long, exhausted exhale as he leaned back against the table.

But the restlessness returned instantly. He sat back up, propping himself on his elbows, his gaze locking on Curiel. His pupils contracted painfully under the white light blazing down from above.

“Yo… could you please cut these fuckin lights down? They’re giving me a headache.”