Lives of Future-Past (The Chronicles of Max Gunnarsson Book 1) by S.K. Benton Page A

believe what he had just seen, he looked at Draagh, who had his again back to him, and said, “Draagh, this can’t be happening. I - we have to do something. Is this why you came here, why you found me?”
     Draagh slowly nodded his head up and down, still looking away. “Max, are you willing to come with me? I need to take you somewhere so that you may learn. There are abilities that you are unaware of that you possess, and the only place I can teach you to use these abilities is somewhere far away. Are you willing, my son?”
     “Of course!” cried Max. “Anything, anything at all. I can’t allow this to happen to my world, my people! This is crazy! Do we have time to do this?”
     Draagh finally regained his composure enough to slide Max a slight grin. “Oh yes, my son. Do you not remember that it will be years before that alien fleet, the Vrol, arrive at Azul? We most certainly have time, but before we go we have one more thing we must do. We must go back to your ship and wait for the military to arrive.”
     “Whaaaaat?!?” exclaimed Max. “We have to wait for the military? But, but… they want to kill me!”
     Draagh chuckled lightly as he thoughtfully stroked his beard and braided mustache. “Leave that to me, my son. Even during the short duration of your pursuer’s trip across space, things have changed. Yes, things have changed quite a lot.”
     With that, Draagh grabbed Max under his arm and lifted him up, then tamped his staff into the ground yet again, causing concussive waves to knock the workstation chairs back, tumbling end over end.
     The two were gone in a flash. (*7*)
 
          As the Revolution entered Earth orbit the airlock alarm sounded, but this one a mere warning that it was being properly initiated. Pilots ran to their Draeders and techs scrambled all over the flight deck, preparing the remaining Draeders for immediate launch. One by one, they lined up and passed through the lock field, the only thing separating them from the cold grip of death in space.
     As the attack craft blasted out of the Revolution, Admiral Bagatelle was observing the entire operation from the bridge, with Lt. Commander Vasquez and Lt. Escalante at his sides, to his right and left, respectively. Turning to his right, he instructed Vasquez to order a spread formation over the western coast of the South American continent, where Johnson’s last activity had been traced on lidar. She immediately sat down at her command console and began giving instructions, coordinating the squadrons into effective sweep and search patterns. Then, turning to his left, he gave Jennie a concerned look.
     “Lieutenant, I know you want to be part of the operation as we have more Draeders than pilots, but I need to you stay here for now. I plan on apprehending Gunnarsson myself, and when I go, I am taking you with me. Understood?”
     Jennie snapped to attention. “Sir! Yes, Sir!”
     Bagatelle couldn’t help but crack a small smile, with Lt. Escalante being so professional at all times. His pride in her really did grow on a daily basis.
     “Ok, Lieutenant - back to your duty cycle. We must stay on schedule.”
     Jennie spun around and headed to the galley, where she would grab a handful of beef and eat voraciously while going to her next duty station, reviewing electrical subsystems that fed into the hook drive. They needed to be absolutely certain that Johnson didn’t somehow sabotage the hook apparatus, effectively stranding them there, light years away from the only home they ever knew.
     Lt. Commander Vasquez turned and looked at her commanding officer, displaying a touch of concern on her face.
     “Sir, she really doesn’t know… does she?”
     Bagatelle kept staring at the massive view screen and the smaller, individual flight readout screens that encircled the primary display.