Throne of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 2)

by Jacob Holo

  Quennin wiped at her eyes.

  Veketon cleared his throat as if to apologize. “I think you know the rest. The important parts, at least.”

  The images switched off. Lights brightened the room.

  Quennin couldn’t find the words, overwhelmed by what she had just learned.

  “Did that help?” Veketon asked.

  “It’s a lot to take in at once.”

  “Yes, it is at that.”

  Quennin nodded, trying to absorb these revelations. “But I think it helped. It has put things in perspective.”

  “Oh, how so?”

  Quennin smiled tentatively. “It gives me a sense of where the Eleven are coming from, where you’re going. It helps me understand your actions. I don’t agree with all you’ve done, but I now understand you a little better.”

  “You could help us, you know. Our council has been stagnant for millennia. The same minds facing the same problems over and over again. A fresh perspective from those we’ve wronged could be a great asset.”

  Quennin shook her head. “Why are you putting so much trust in me? I just don’t understand that.”

  “Two reasons mainly. One is the talent that you carry. Vierj’s legacy. It is something we have lacked for twenty thousand years and now, finally, we find it returned to us. As for my other reason…” Veketon wore an oddly whimsical smirk. “I choose to defer that question until later.”

  “But I’m just a pilot, a soldier. I follow my orders and carry them out. I’m not a leader.”

  That was always Seth…

  “No, don’t be like that. I don’t want you to just follow our orders. You’re stronger than that. I want you to fight alongside us, to believe in our work. We want to conquer the Homeland as just repayment for our Exile. Not destroy it. Not burn it down. Only to rule it. That has been our goal ever since our Exile into this universe, and we are fast approaching its realization. Join us. Be at our side when we achieve our dream.”

  Quennin contemplated everything in silence for long seconds, unable to meet Veketon’s eyes. Her mind passed over the atrocities the Eleven had committed and the long violence of the wars they had started, but also on her new life and Veketon’s strange gentleness towards her. She found his small acts of kindness swaying her decision more than she cared to admit.

  And then Quennin realized that, if she were truly to go down this path without regrets, she had unfinished business to attend to.

  Quennin looked up and met Veketon’s gaze. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Chapter 13

  Parting Words

  Seth stood in the Resolute’s command center, joined by Zo and Jared. Across the circle of panoramic wall screens, fleet deployments and movements showed up in vivid color, every shade communicating critical information. The outlook was grim indeed.

  “How can this be happening?” Jared asked. “We just smashed a major reinforcement at the Wise Counsel.”

  A hologram shimmered into reality: an old woman standing proud and tall, clad in the storm-gray of a seraph pilot. Her clothes harkened back hundreds of years, looking strangely out of place next to the modern uniforms that surrounded her. Gold trimmed the edges of her clothes.

  The dead Sovereign of Aktenzek, the Choir’s chosen mouthpiece, turned to Jared. “We have only theories to explain this large infusion of new ships, Pilot Daykin. All along, we have known the Outcasts to harbor immense military resources and the infrastructure to support them. It could be that these ships represent some form of reserve, called up to see the battle through. Some ships show evidence of hasty retrofitting with Aktenai technology.”

  And the Choir rambled on. Seth found it difficult to concentrate on the war. His thoughts kept falling back to Quennin.

  How could this be happening?

  The door to the command center opened. Jack walked in and stopped next to Seth.

  “Did I miss anything?”

  Seth leaned closer and whispered. “Things are going badly. Looks like we’re falling back again. By the way, you look a lot better.”

  “Yeah I feel pretty good for a walking corpse.”

  Seth grimaced. He was growing tired of people referring to the man as a walking corpse. Now even Jack was doing it.

  Seth cleared his throat. “Tesset mentioned that—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what she said. I feel great.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Maybe a little, but I can tough it out.”

  “Hrmph.”

  “I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Seth let the matter slide for now. Tesset’s gift let her see things no one else could, but honestly, no one truly understood the changes Jack was still undergoing.

  The meeting dragged on. News turned grimmer with each exodrone report gathered from the front.

  And then a wall of thought slammed into Seth’s mind.

  This wasn’t like the previous times, the scattered incidents that only served to annoy him. Words poured over his brain like heat from an open blast furnace. They forced their way through, wormed into his head. Phrases sounded off, garbled and overlapping. Seth couldn’t make sense of it, if there even was something to make sense of.

  The incident went on, longer than any of the others, reaching to a crescendo that left his skull throbbing. Words pounded at him, echoing through his mind, unheard by his ears. They didn’t make any sense!

  “Seth? Hey, Seth!” Jack shook him by the shoulder.

  Suddenly, the words stopped.

  Seth opened his eyes. Everyone in the room watched him in silence. Even the Choir hologram eyed him with concern. Seth removed a hand from his forehead, never remembering placing it there. His head ached. Blood throbbed in his ears.

  “Are you okay?” Jack asked. Concern creased his brow.

  “I’ll check in with medical after we’re done here,” Seth said.

  This seemed to satisfy his audience, but not himself.

  What is wrong with me? A pause like that in battle could get me killed.

  His mind still pulsed with mental tension, but Seth remembered something about this encounter he had not experienced before. As the words washed over him, they brought with them a powerful sense of direction. Curious now, Seth closed his eyes and visualized the direction.

  He activated his neural link and recorded his best guess. An arrow blinked in his mind’s eye. He opened the galactic map, attached the arrow to the Resolute’s position, and extruded it the length of the map.

  With surprising precision, the line passed almost exactly through the Gate.

  What does it mean? Seth thought. Why the Gate? Is it somehow the source of these episodes? But how could that be?

  Seth shook his still aching head. Without any other facts or the ability to record these episodes, he had no idea what this meant. He pushed the matter aside and listened to the meeting’s conclusion.

  “Then we should pull the Resolute and as many other carriers back to the Gate,” Zo said. “We know where the Outcasts are going to strike. Their objective has clearly been the Gate all along. We must strengthen our defenses and hold it.”

  “The Choir concurs with your assessment, Renseki Nezrii,” the dead sovereign said.

  “And what if that is not enough?” Seth asked. “What if we lose the Gate?”

  “We are making preparations to deploy Aktenzek to assist with the Gate’s defense,” the dead sovereign said. “The Choir is even now addressing the Earth Nation Security Council on this matter. All that we can do, we are doing.”

  “And if that is still not enough?”

  The dead sovereign did not immediately respond. She appeared distracted for a moment, as if swept up in another conversation. The Choir’s representative was consulting her dead colleagues.

  “Then this war is lost,” she said at last. “If we cannot hold them back, I fear we will lack the strength to retake the Gate. We of the Choir will consult with the Sovereign on this matter, but we may seek a diplomatic end to the hostiliti
es. This path may end in our surrender.”

  The word hung in the air, heavy and full of menace. Surrender. Defeat.

  “Fear not, pilots. It will not come to that,” the dead sovereign said. “I am confident that we shall prevail.”

  Her words sounded hollow. With its business concluded, the hologram disappeared.

  The command center was deathly silent for long seconds until Seth broke it. “Jack?”

  He looked up as if startled. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sending you to Earth.”

  “Earth? But why?”

  “I want you to link up with EN Fleet Command and help them get the Mark II ready for use,” Seth said. “They keep requesting your assistance. Apparently they won’t be able to calibrate the weapon without you.”

  “Yeah, but screw them. You’re going to need me at the Gate.”

  “Seth, he’s right,” Zo said. “We’ll need Pilot Donolon at the Gate, especially if we’re going to be facing thrones in large numbers.”

  “The Mark II has the potential to turn the tide of this war,” Seth said. “That’s where he’s needed more.”

  “If it works,” Jack said. “If I can get a shot off. If I don’t get pulverized by half the Outcast fleet when I try. If it doesn’t just explode and take me out with it. Seth, this might not work at all. The Mark II was always a long shot.”

  “One more seraph won’t make that much of a difference.”

  Jack scoffed at this. “I’m hardly just one more seraph.”

  Seth remembered Tesset’s words. “Please don’t let Jack fight,” she’d said. Her concern had been real and immediate, written clearly on her face. The man needed more time to heal. Despite Jack’s assertions, Seth trusted Tesset’s sense in this matter.

  “I have made my decision.”

  Jack stared at him, looking frustrated and angry. He clearly guessed this wasn’t the only reason. They knew each other too well, but Jack didn’t argue further. Perhaps the pledge came to his mind, or perhaps he knew Seth could not be swayed. Regardless, he left for the exit.

  Jack stopped at the airlock and turned back. “Do you think Quennin will be at the Gate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you face her in battle?”

  “I… I don’t know.” Seth had no other answer.

  “That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

  ***

  Seth left the command center and visited the medical ward. The sterile room was empty and quiet except for the distant hum of machinery. Seth sat down on a medical futon and had the bay examine him.

  Again.

  Just as before, the diagnosis came up exactly the same. Seth possessed exceptional health, as did almost all pilots under the Choir’s carefully customized health regimens. When he asked for a course of action to help with the episodes, the computer spat the following: Reduce stress level.

  Like he had a choice in the matter.

  Seth left the medical ward and headed for the recreation center. He passed through the open airlock and into a wide space filled with round tables, many equipped with holographic games. Several members of Knight Squadron and two technicians were in the middle of lunch. A few medics had a table all to themselves, enjoying a hotly contested game of Za’Chei to pass the time. The cook gave his customary “Hello, Seth!” as the pilot walked in. Today’s food had a strong aroma of tomato and garlic.

  Earth food again, Seth thought. He grimaced, gathered a tray of the string-like slop, and sat down. In the corner. As far away from other people as he could possibly get without leaving the room.

  He poked his food and watched the pile of noodles wiggle off his fork. Really, why would anyone eat this garbage?

  Seth leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling. He stayed that way for some time, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Mind if I join you, sir?” Jared asked, stirring Seth from his reverie.

  Seth sat up in his seat. He passed his gaze over all the empty tables Jared could have chosen.

  “No, I don’t mind,” he said blandly. “Go ahead.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jared set his tray down.

  Seth stabbed a fork into the spongy mass. Not much of the stuff made it to his mouth with most slipping free of his fork along the way. The tray came with a spoon, but what use did a spoon have with all these stringy things?

  “You shouldn’t worry, sir.” Jared used his fork and spoon to roll up a wad of spaghetti. “I’m sure we’ll get a chance to pay that traitor back.”

  Seth set his fork down. No expression made it to his face. “Jared?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shut up.”

  Jared looked like a whipped puppy. “Yes, sir.”

  The two ate in silence. Seth picked up his spoon and tried to mimic Jared’s technique. It didn’t go well.

  Jared stopped eating and leaned forward. “But, sir.”

  “What is it, Jared?”

  “I mean, Quennin is a traitor, right? She killed Jack. Or tried to kill. I’m a little confused on the matter myself. Anyway, isn’t she our enemy now?”

  “Jared, I really do not want to talk about this.”

  “But sir, if you’re that conflicted about it, shouldn’t you sit this one out? The Eleven are almost guaranteed to give her a new seraph now that she can pilot one again. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we need all the help we can get, but hesitation can get you killed out there.”

  “Quennin wouldn’t do that,” Seth said. His voice carried no emotion.

  “Sir, she killed the people we sent to rescue her! If she isn’t our enemy, then what is she?”

  Seth set his utensils down. He calmly picked up the napkin, wiped his mouth clean, set it aside, and stood up. Without another word, Seth departed the rec center, leaving Jared behind.

  Seth meandered through the corridors of the Resolute, finally turning down the pilot concourse. He walked across the richly tiled floor, with its dual emblems of Aktenzek and the Earth Nation, and entered his quarters.

  Seth didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions, and his quarters reflected this. What little filled the large room was arrayed neatly and without waste. However, one object seemed out of place, and he found his eyes drawn to it.

  Seth walked over to the dinner table and picked up the crude seraph centerpiece. Someone had glued the wing clusters in crooked and accidentally swapped the left and right hands so that the thumbs faced down. The purple runes on its black armor were drawn with a shaky hand.

  Quennin had built the seraph when she was eight and had given it to Seth at their first meeting. He set it down with a sigh, his heart heavy and confused.

  The huge wall screen displayed a distant yellow star against the black of space. Several dots moved across the star field: ships, seraphs, archangels, and exodrones maneuvering within the fleet. Little rings of distorted light appeared and vanished as ships folded in and out, making their way to the Gate.

  In the lower right corner, Seth spotted a white dot moving at high speed. Jack’s seraph vanished in a ring of warped light and left the system.

  Seth walked across the room and stopped in front of the wall screen. He opened his neural link and dispatched a live image request. The Resolute linked with a ship near the Gate, which brought its external cameras about and fed the image back to Seth.

  The Gate Maelstrom appeared.

  The Maelstrom was a sea of swirling ice and rock with the Gate and its massive anchors in the storm’s eye. From this distance, the Gate itself was nothing more than a small mote of mercurial silver, outlined by a ring of seven dark machines. The anchors were arrayed around it, radiating outward like the thin legs of a seven-point star, never quite touching the Gate.

  Once released from its containment on Imayirot, the Gate had spiraled out of control, whipping through known space at faster than light speeds. Always, it would approach objects of mass, slowing for a short period of time.

  The Gate ruined whole planets with its passin
g: Rocky ice worlds sheered apart as if by a knife, vast gas giants stretched thin by the Gate’s awesome pull. Fortunately, objects of larger mass, such as gas giants and stars, attracted the Gate more strongly than the rocky planets humans lived on.

  The Aktenai and Grendeni sacrificed hundreds of ships to secure it, and the Choir summoned up ancient designs stored within its archives. Once again the foundries of Aktenzek constructed Gate anchors: massive blade-like edifices that bracketed the Gate with powerful stabilizing forces.

  Now, the Gate appeared calm, subdued by the machines that ringed it. But even still, some of its power leaked through. These new Gate anchors, built twenty thousand years after the originals, lacked something those on Imayirot had. Forces trickled through the gaps between anchors, creating a wild storm around the Gate made of energy and particulate matter.

  The Gate Maelstrom still contained detritus from the original capture operations: torn pieces of derelict ships and the fractured remains of several moons.

  Is this what is causing my episodes? Seth thought.

  Ships continuously folded in near the Maelstrom’s boundary. The fleet was massive, even by the standards of the Alliance. But against the fresh Outcast forces coming at them, it seemed woefully inadequate.

  Seth’s neural link notified him of an incoming message. It carried no indicators marking it as particularly important. He answered it as he saw fit.

  “I wish to be left alone.”

  “Now, Pilot Elexen,” the male voice said, so familiar in pitch and yet so alien in tone that it startled Seth. “Would you really send me away without hearing me out?”

  A packet of code expanded out of the message, grabbed hold of the room’s emitters, and activated them. A hologram shimmered to life behind Seth. He whirled around.

  The pillar of light focused into a man taller than Seth with dark brown hair and piercing gray eyes. His arrogant face was familiar yet youthfully different, and he wore a finely tailored white suit with heraldic patterns on the cuffs, collar, and waist.

  Veketon nodded a curt greeting.

  Seth reached out with his neural link but found it disabled.