by Jacob Holo
“I thought the other Renseki were in there, too.”
“Yeah,” Jared said. “The twins told me they were going to partake in the discussion, or at least observe it, but I haven’t heard from them since it started.”
“Do you think we’ll mount a rescue?”
“Well, this is Seth we’re talking about,” Jared said. “Once he sets his mind on something, I try not to be in the way.”
Tesset took on a contemplative expression. “You think Seth would be this worked up if someone else was captured? Someone like, I don’t know, take me for instance.”
“I suppose,” Jared muttered.
“You suppose?”
Jared shrugged. He turned his command ship around and took off at full speed.
Tesset sighed. “You sure you don’t want to start over again? It’s gets boring if I have to chase you all across the board again.”
“Nope,” Jared said. “I can still win this.”
“Whatever.” She cracked her knuckles and selected a few of her ships.
Jared perked up, suddenly remembering a question. “Tesset?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been wondering.”
“About what?”
“Well, your eyes. Or lack of eyes. Or whatever it is. I was just curious.”
“Want to see what’s under the blindfold?”
“Yeah. How did you guess?”
Tesset shrugged. “I get that question a lot. Besides, you’re radiating curiosity.”
“Well, can I see?”
“There’s a reason I wear the blindfold, you know.”
“Oh, how bad can it be?”
“Suit yourself.” Tesset leaned forward, an elbow on the gaming table, and peeled her blindfold up.
“Ahh!” Jared exclaimed, bolting back in his seat.
“Yeah, that’s the usual reaction.” Tesset pulled her blindfold down and smoothed it out.
Yonu carried a steaming tray into the lounge and joined the two pilots, her long black braid hanging over one shoulder. She placed the tray of green beans, mashed potatoes, and gravy, sat down, and unfurled her napkin with a snap.
“Any news yet?” she asked.
“Not a word,” Jared said.
“Well, I think that…” Yonu stopped to take in the Za’Chei board. “Jared, are you the red player?”
“Yeah,” Jared sighed. “How did you know?”
“Because there are four times as many blue pieces still on the board.” Yonu smoothed out the napkin on her lap. “Anyway, I don’t see why this is such an issue. A pilot has been captured. It is our duty to rescue her.”
Jared shook his head. “It’s not that simple. Any rescue attempt comes with risks. We’d be going up against the Glorious Destiny and at the very least four thrones. We can’t charge into that kind of danger lightly.”
“But the Choir wants to destroy the ship she’s on!” Yonu said. “We can’t do that. What if you were the one captured? Wouldn’t you want us to make every possible effort to save you?”
“No, not really,” Jared said. “Yonu, the war is going bad enough as it is. If I was already captured, I wouldn’t want you to die trying to save me. Besides, given the Eleven’s crimes, Quennin might welcome death over what they’ll do to her.”
“But—
“Yonu, he’s right,” Tesset said softly.
“How can you say that?”
Tesset took a deep breath and continued, “My sight was taken by my mentor, Balezuur of the Eleven. I thought for a long time that he did this with all the best intentions. I was unique, special. But then my father showed me the secret laboratories in Aktenzek. I saw for myself the preserved corpses of Balezuur’s failures, many of them children. They were people just like me. People who could have been pilots but were never given the chance.”
The table fell silent for a long minute. Yonu poked at her food.
“I’m sorry,” Tesset finally said. “Jared, let’s start another game.”
“Sure.” Jared reset the board. Terrain randomized. His large collection of dead ships reactivated and floated up to their starting positions. The two began another game, and this time Jared deployed much more cautiously.
“Why did you move there?” Yonu asked, pointing to the right flank of Jared’s deployment.
“Well…”
“Do you even know the rules, yet?”
“Why yes, I do,” Jared said defensively. “And I moved there because Tesset is trying to trap me here.”
Tesset smiled. “Ah, but there can be traps within traps.”
Halfway through the game, Yonu finished her meal. She was about to leave when the Renseki twins entered the lounge. Kevik and Kiro Torvulus stood tall and lanky in their long Renseki coats. Their sandy blond hair matched Jared’s.
Jared noted that Kiro had recovered well from his injuries. The twin’s color had returned. Only a thin pink line running up the side of his face betrayed the recent influx wound. Even so, both twins carried themselves with a weary air.
Tesset and Yonu stood up and bowed to the honor guard pilots. Jared waved hello from his seat. “Kevik! Kiro! Come over and join us!”
Yonu gave him a sharp look.
“What?” Jared shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t care if they are your half-brothers, Jared. Show some respect.”
Tesset started giggling. She covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle it.
“Pilot Nezrii, that really is not necessary,” Kiro said. “We feel no disrespect.”
“See. Perfectly normal,” Jared said. “Are either of you hungry? I could grab some food for you from the rec center.”
“No, thank you,” Kevik said. “We’re not hungry.” The twin pilots pulled over chairs from the next table and sat down around the Za’Chei game. Only then did Tesset and Yonu return to their seats.
“You guys look terrible,” Jared said.
“Meetings with lots of shouting will do that,” Kiro said.
“It’s unnerving to be around that many powerful, angry people,” Kevik said. “Pilot Elexen has forcefully argued for a rescue, but many oppose his position. Renseki Nezrii, Renseki Daed, Sovereign Daelus, and many elements within the Choir want to eliminate the Glorious Destiny. A strong, focused attack should be able to destroy the ship with acceptable losses.”
“So you don’t think we’ll rescue Quennin?” Jared asked.
“Ah, but you are ignoring one very important factor,” Kiro said.
“The deciding factor, if you will,” Kevik said. “At least that’s the way we see it.”
“It’s Jack, isn’t it,” Tesset said.
“Correct. Pilot Donolon has delivered an ultimatum. He’s planning a rescue regardless of what anyone else decides. He feels his oath to Pilot Elexen and Citizen S’Kev requires nothing less.”
“That sounds like something he’d say,” Tesset said. “He’s never liked the Choir.”
“At least he’s on our side this time,” Yonu said.
“Indeed,” Kiro said. “Now that we think about it, he’s nearly killed most of the people at this table.”
Yonu rubbed her neck. “Yeah…”
“In fact, I believe Pilot Daelus here is the only one he hasn’t actually tried to kill.”
“Eh.” Tesset shrugged. “Give it time. I’m still new.”
“Well, I’ll take crazy and on our side over the alternatives,” Yonu said.
“Quite true, Pilot Nezrii.”
“So you think we’ll rescue Quennin?” Jared asked.
“We should know soon enough.” Kevik eyed the Za’Chei game. “Splendid. A classic Balezuur’s Gambit. Well played. Another seven resolutions should see you to victory.”
Tesset smiled proudly. “I’ll do it in five.”
“What?” Jared said. “You play this game, too?”
“Of course,” Kiro said. “We enjoy the occasional Za’Chei tournament ourselves.”
“You play in tournaments, and you did
n’t tell me?”
“We honestly thought you weren’t up to the challenge. So sorry.”
Jared jaw hung slack. On the board, four of his ships exploded.
“Attention all pilots! Attention all pilots! Assemble in the recreation center for an immediate briefing.”
“Ah. They’ve decided,” Kiro said.
***
“Dom, what’s your status?” Jack linked via secure hypercast.
“Ready, willing, and able,” Dominic linked. “I’ll reach the local security nexus in a few moments. Give me one minute to deal with any warriors and another minute to hack their systems.”
“Understood.”
Jack walked lethargically through the Glorious Destiny’s corridors as if nothing were about to happen. A pair of Fellerossi warriors shoved past him without making eye contact.
“So, about this laboratory the Eleven have Quennin in,” Dominic linked. “Sounds ominous.”
“I know. That has me worried too. You sure that’s what they call it?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, it’s not like I got this information through legitimate means.”
“Right, I know.”
Jack checked his map of the Glorious Destiny one last time. Most Outcasts didn’t have access to the entire layout, but he and Dominic had filled in most of the blanks during their stay. The laboratory was near the center of the ship close to the throne bays.
The Resolute sent out the mission start signal.
“And here we go,” Dominic linked.
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
Jack took a sharp left and broke into a run. A checkered white and black pattern covered the walls ahead as a warning. He charged into the Eleven’s restricted zone while peeling his stealth suit gloves off. He tore at the connection around his neckline and removed the façade layer covering his face. Stealth would not be playing a factor in this rescue.
He still wore his Jallero maintenance jumper, but instead of tools, its many pockets held weapons. Jack retrieved a grenade and pitched it around the corner. It exploded in a blast of heat and oily smoke.
Jack turned the corner and stepped through the airlock’s warped, ragged edges. He busted two more airlocks with his grenades and pressed on.
In the back of his mind, Jack sensed his seraph awakening. Even across light-years, their connection remained absolute. It trembled with anticipation, the deep, stabilizing cold leaving its giant body.
“Security nexus neutralized,” Dominic linked. “I am rerouting response teams away from your position. We’ll see how long it takes them to catch on.”
Jack rounded the next corner to find a pair of Outcasts, each clad in thick segmented armor with a slash of orange-and-black paint. They raised their heavy carbines.
Reflexively, chaotic energies surged through Jack’s body. Time slowed. Reactions quickened. A sword of blue fire ignited in his left hand.
Jack closed the distance fast, cutting across horizontally. His sword struck the man’s stomach and passed effortlessly through, cleaving flesh and armor with equal ease. The warrior fell to the ground in two pieces.
The second Fellerossi warrior fired but didn’t have time to properly aim. The short burst went wide, sparking off metal walls. Jack dashed in close and brought his sword through the warrior’s carbine. He followed that up with a quick punch. Chaotic forces flowed through his veins, giving him all the strength he required. When his fist connected with warrior’s face, it didn’t stop.
The headless warrior staggered backwards before slumping down like a puppet with its strings cut. Jack hurried on.
“A few warriors might still be in your way,” Dominic linked. “Watch it.”
“A little late, Dom.”
Jack hurried into a sterile metal corridor. Dozens of passages branched off to either side, each lined with large transparent vessels. Most were filled to the brim with blood-like fluid. Vague humanoid shapes floated within a few.
Jack raced down the center and came to another series of three airlocks. He wanted to save at least some of his grenades, so he cut his way through. With a sharp kick, the final airlock teetered over and thumped heavily to the ground.
Jack walked through and took in the surreal landscape.
“What the hell is this?”
A bubbling creak flowed between gentle, rolling hills. Colorful birds wheeled overhead beneath a clear sky. A small goat-like animal looked up at him, eyed him with disinterest, and returned to chewing the hillside.
From the layout, Jack had expected this space to be used for some sort of large equipment: perhaps a clean room for throne construction. But this landscape made no sense. What interest did the dead have in physical scenery when they could experience anything inside their virtual crypts?
“Quennin should be at the top of the structure directly ahead,” Dominic linked. “I show several groups of Outcasts converging on your position. Better hurry.”
Jack faced the white marble tower. It dominated the landscape. Yes, if Quennin really was here, she was in that. She had to be.
“Heading in!”
Jack ran across an open field, vaulted over a stream, and rushed up the shallow incline. He entered the tower.
The interior was one overly large room after another, many filled with trophies from the Outcast Nations. Jack found a set of rounding stairs and followed them up to the top. He dashed into a wide room near the tapered peak of the tower.
Jack stopped, dumbfounded. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
The room adhered to the common Aktenai style: a single open space melding the separate elements of living, sleeping, and dining. However, everything oozed opulence. The chairs, tables, and even the futon’s sheets were splashed in heraldic patterns. Eleven light fixtures hung from the ceiling, each a large prismatic crystal, cut whole and two meters wide. A single long, curving window spanned the entire far wall, looking out upon gently rolling hills.
This was no cell.
Worse, it was unoccupied.
Jack stepped into the room. He looked around for… he didn’t know what. Evidence? Explanations?
“You don’t have much time, Jack! Squad of five entering the building now!”
Jack knelt down and picked up a piece of black cloth lying next to the futon. The cloth felt smooth and sheer between his fingers. He noticed a few long strands of hair on the surface. He picked one off and held it before his eye.
The strand was red.
Behind him, Jack heard the determined movement of heavily armed men. He dropped the cloth, stood up and turned around. He summoned his sword out of a tightly clenched fist.
“Dominic, she’s been here, but she’s gone! Find her!”
“Uh, right. I’m on it!”
The sound of movement stopped outside the room’s doorless entrance. Warriors tossed in two grenades. One of them rolled to a stop at Jack’s feet. He growled angrily and kicked it away. Twin staccato cracks rang in his ears, but his barrier shimmered, protecting him from kinetic and thermal shock.
Warriors charged into the room, active stealth fields reducing them to outlines of wavering air.
The first two cleared the entrance, weapons held high, making room for their fellow warriors to follow. They opened fire. Magnetic forces inside their carbines accelerated clusters of needle-like projectiles.
One meter from Jack, their proximity fuses triggered. Clusters broke into quickly expanding cones of needles that could reduce soft targets to mush.
Jack felt the rain of needles sting his barrier and bounce off. He raised his sword and charged across the room.
Three more warriors entered and opened fire. Jack reached his first opponent and slashed through him from shoulder to hip. The Outcast went down, firing madly.
Jack turned. Four torrents of needles assaulted him, the sensation changing from itch to pain. He leaped across the room at the next warrior, sliced off his gun arm, then thrust a fist into his chest. His ha
nd punched through armor, skin, and ribcage like it was all soft butter.
Jack wrapped his fingers around the warrior’s spine and lifted him off the ground.
The Outcast’s stealth field crashed, revealing a warrior in full body armor and helmet. A diagonal band of orange-and-black proclaimed his allegiance to Felleross.
Inside the helmet, Jack saw a hard face framing dark, dispassionate eyes. The warrior reached for his waist belt and pulled free a long combat knife. He activated the knife’s power pack, creating a high-pitched whine that rose to ultrasonic levels.
Jack threw the warrior into one of his brethren and sent both tumbling to the ground.
Fire from the two standing warriors ricocheted off Jack’s barrier. His body ached with each hit. A needle broke through and sliced across his face. Blood trickled down his cheek, glowing hot and blue, fading to red the farther down it dripped.
The two warriors backed away to the far end of the dining table. Jack vaulted onto the table, ran across it, and leaped towards the closest warrior. His sword burned through the top of the warrior’s head and didn’t stop till he pulled it past the man’s groin.
Jack landed, set his stance, and swung up and through the other Outcast. The room fell silent without the roar of gunfire. He turned and faced the two warriors on the ground, one wounded, one not. The healthy Outcast tried to untangle himself and pull his gun free.
Jack decapitated him.
The wounded Outcast backed away into a low crouch against the window sill. No blood flowed from his gaping chest wound. Outcasts clotted rapidly. Still, the man had suffered severe organ trauma. But not the heart or the head.
“Tell me where Quennin is,” Jack said.
The Outcast propped himself against the wall, ultrasonic knife clutched in his only hand. He coughed up blood.
“Tell me!” Jack shouted.
“I will not answer you,” said the Outcast known as Plaerion. Blood trickled from his lips.
And then to Jack’s surprise, the Outcast dropped his knife. He reached for his belt, and Jack had only a moment to realize what was happening. Without breaking eye contact, the Outcast pulled a grenade free from his belt and held it up.