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But with Jelena avoiding him, the only thing he could think of was to visit her in a Dreamwalk. There in her subconscious, he’d be free to be himself–to give her a chance to discover the real him. Trying to coordinate alone time with her was harder than keeping his extrovert brother Pete quiet for more than a nanosecond. Whenever he started a conversation with her, she either gave a flat reply or ignored him and walked away. Her stupid lizard paid more attention to him than she did.
And what was up with that crossbow? When the five of them gathered after the evening meal, she’d sit in the corner and stroke one limb of the thing with an unfocused gaze. The tip of the caulking stirrup had a throbbing blue light that blinked when she caressed it with her fingertips. Once in a while, she’d snap her mouth shut and shake her head as if answering a question. Was it possible the damn thing talked to her? If so, where in the hell did she get something like that?
Zamush watched Jelena leave the galley with her crossbow tucked into the harness across her back and her lizard perched on her shoulder.
“She’s too caught up with that tosser Sychar to give you the time of day.” Qhasheik strolled next to him with a toothpick hanging out the side of his black lips.
Zamush’s mouth twitched. “Tosser?”
“Yeah. Sometimes British slang just fits the bill, ya know?” He switched the pick to the other side of his mouth. “We’re going to activate the Jump soon, so you’d better make a move real quick. Once we reach Akurn, you might not get another chance.” The exotic alien patted him on the shoulder and joined his two companions as they left the kitchen.
Man had a point. Time to bring out the big guns.
~Jelena~
Ack! The sun was too bright. Jelena put a hand over her eyes to block out the overhead glare. She had to be on Earth, but not anywhere she’d ever seen a picture of before. She coughed. The air was so pure it stung with every breath. A loud clash and ringing of metal accompanied by a crowd’s roar made her twist around. She stood on a ledge that overlooked a battle. A weird, ancient-history kind of battle. Instead of modern weaponry, like a tank or bombs followed by bullets, it was a melee of men in horse-drawn chariots flinging swords and spears at each other.
All of them were dressed in Egyptian battle gear of a single cloth skirt, along with various arm and wrist bands. Sandals instead of thick boots covered their feet. The vicious bloodshed in the crowd resulted in a combination of hacked limbs and headless torsos. Bodies of those unfortunate enough to be run over by two-wheeled chariots pulled by trampling horses littered the ground.
For the first time in her life, the smell of blood made her nauseous. She put her hand over her nose to cover the stench. Where was she? If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was in ancient Egypt.
An elaborate tent with roaring male voices emanating from it caught her attention. Well, tent didn’t accurately describe the structure standing proud in the relentless sun. The colorful outer covering seemed to be made of red leather and tacked into the shifting sand. The place was gigantic, with room enough to house at least fifty people.
A boisterous argument was well under way inside.
Creeping close, she peeked in.
Sitting on a golden throne was a classic example of an Egyptian pharaoh wearing a double crown of white and red, complete with scepter.
Across from the commanding figure stood a man shaking his fist at the pharaoh. That man wore a tunic that was long in the back and shortened in the front. A horned conical coif adorned his bald head.
Standing next to the pharaoh, with his hand on the back of the throne and a narrow-eyed glare, was a familiar figure. Zamush.
At least she thought it was Zamush.
His pale skin was in direct contrast to the darker skin tones of those around him. He wore a simple Egyptian headdress that covered his ears and, unlike the other men in the room, his face was free of facial hair. Bare chested, his slight smattering of dark hair covered his pecs and tapered toward his groin. The straps of his sturdy brown leather sandals wrapped around his calves and ended at the bottom of his knees. His dual-colored turquoise-gold eyes were rimmed in black kohl, which made the brilliant colors mesmerizing.
“My Pharaoh, the war has been long and unproductive. Shall we provide King Hattusili a comfortable seat as we begin the negotiations?” Zamush’s gravelly tone was low with respect.
“Quite right, Grand Vizier Paser.” The pharaoh regarded the now-silent ruler. Without looking around, he barked an order. “Provide the Hittite king with every comfort.”
“I will not sit with a primitive waste like you.” King Hattusili waved a fist as spittle flew from his fat lips. “You attacked my lands under the cover of night like the sneaky hyena you are. I demand you and your troops leave before I bring out my elite squadron to force you.”
The pharaoh slid a glance at Zamush with a curt nod.
Zamush narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Without a word to the sputtering Hittite king, he left the Egyptian pharaoh’s side and crowded the Hittite king face-to-face.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
In the background, the older man’s guards were subdued by the Egyptians who put hands over their mouths to prevent them from crying out.
Zamush stood in front of the Hittite, their chests mere inches apart. He grabbed his face with his large, pale hands and forced the man to look him in the eye. “King Hattusili, listen to me very carefully.”
The Hittite’s face went slack. His mouth fell open. Unblinking black eyes stared at Zamush.
“You are here by your own free will, ready to negotiate with Pharaoh Ramses. You will remain open-minded as we discuss a treaty. Understand?”
Holy shit! That’s Ramses the Great? She might’ve grown up on a hidden moon base, but her mentors made sure she was well-versed in Earth’s varied history.
