Dark Space Universe (Book 3): The Last Stand

by Jasper T. Scott

  Abaddon was locking them in with him.

  Theola started screaming, terrified by the sounds of battle and death going on around her. Tyra backed away, shrinking from the carnage and shaking her head. She had the presence of mind to cover Theola’s eyes just before Abaddon cut a screaming man in half. Somehow, that failed to immediately silence the man’s screams. Another prisoner, a woman, was beheaded.

  Half a dozen men wrestled with an Elemental, struggling to restrain his arms—then the alien burst into the air, taking three of them with him to the top of the cavernous hangar. Hovering there, he shook them loose like dead leaves from a tree. They tumbled as they fell, their cries lost in the rising tumult, but the sickening thuds of their impacts reverberated through the deck, impossible to miss.

  A strangled noise escaped Tyra’s lips, only audible by the internal vibrations it caused inside of her. They were all going to be slaughtered.

  “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop it! Everyone STOP!”

  But no one did. People were dying everywhere she looked, the severed pieces of them falling in heaps. Tyra’s legs weakened and she fell to the deck. She buried her face in Theola’s hair and hugged her to her chest, whispering repetitive reassurances—all of them lies. But Theola believed them and she subsided, her faith in Tyra’s ability to keep her safe blinding her to the danger all around.

  Eventually the sounds of battle and death grew quiet, and Tyra felt a shiver go coursing down her spine. Someone was watching her. She was almost too afraid to look up, but forced herself to do so anyway—

  Only to see Abaddon looming over her. He was dripping with blood, his white teeth smeared with it, and his glowing blue eyes wild with madness. In the background behind him, Tyra glimpsed his two Elementals picking their way through the fallen heaps of prisoners, looking for survivors. Of more than six hundred people, not even one remained standing.

  Abaddon followed her gaze over his shoulder and turned back to her with a smile. “I’ve saved the best for last. He reached out with one bloodied hand. “Theola... come here, darling,” he said in a dulcet tone.

  Tyra’s entire body went cold and she shook with rage. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you!”

  “A bold threat under the circumstances,” he said, and flourished his shimmering sword by way of explanation.

  “You’re a coward. I’m unarmed.”

  Abaddon grinned, and tossed his sword aside. The shimmering shield around it vanished as soon as it left his hand, and it clattered to the deck, now just a dormant hunk of translucent alloy. He spread his arms wide. “Go on. I’ll even let you strike first.”

  Tyra’s heart thundered in her chest. She slowly turned and set Theola on the deck behind her. Theola immediately renewed her screams and made a pouty face at Tyra. She raised her chubby arms, demanding to be held again. Tyra felt a sharp stab of dismay, but pushed it aside. She couldn’t indulge Theola now.

  She climbed to her feet and ran around behind Abaddon, trying to put some distance between them and her baby. Abaddon pivoted on the spot as she ran around him, never letting her out of his sight.

  Tyra stopped and studied his stance, trying to decide how best to injure him. Part of her knew that this would only draw things out, but the Mother in her refused to give up.

  She decided on an angle of attack and then let loose a feral scream and ran toward the devil standing before her. She leapt up at the last second, using her momentum and weight to deliver a kick to one of his knees. To her surprise, Abaddon’s grin vanished in a pained grimace, and he stumbled back a step. Tyra landed hard on her side, but she quickly scrambled to her feet and backpedaled away from her opponent.

  Abaddon took a moment to compose himself, and then began limping toward her. “My turn,” he said in a strained voice.

  Tyra continued backing away, out-pacing the limping alien easily. But after just a few seconds his limp mysteriously vanished, and he rushed toward her in a sudden blur. She caught a glimpse of Abaddon’s outstretched arm and felt something solid collide with her chest. She flew backward and landed on her coccyges with a sharp stab of pain.

  Tyra sat there on the deck, stunned, her chest aching from the blow. She struggled desperately to suck in a breath, but failed. Had her lungs collapsed from the force of that blow? She reached up to check that her chest wasn’t a sunken hollow of broken bones—

  To her relief, she found that it was still curving out rather than in, but she still couldn’t breathe. The edges of her vision darkened steadily, and her thoughts grew fuzzy, as if her head were stuffed with cotton. A ringing began in Tyra’s ears, and she barely heard what Abaddon said next.

  “The pain’s invigorating, isn’t it?” He strolled into view and kicked her in the chest, knocking her flat. His boot hovered up, poised to stomp on her face. “Goodbye,” he said.

  Tyra finally managed to suck in a breath. Her vision and head cleared at once, and she rolled out from under Abaddon with renewed strength. She scrambled to her feet, but he kicked her in the backside, and she went sprawling to the deck once more.

  Abaddon’s laughter boomed in her ears as she stumbled to her feet and turned to face him, panting with fury.

  “This is all just a game to you!” she screamed at him. “You rail against Etherus, but you’re no better than him. You’re nothing like him. He’s a better ruler than you could ever be!” Tyra spat on the deck and a gob of bloody spittle landed at her feet, giving her pause: that blow to her chest might have caused more damage than she thought.

  Abaddon’s glowing blue eyes glittered coldly, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. “If he’s such a good ruler, then where is he now?” Abaddon gestured to the mounds of dead prisoners scattered around the hangar. “Where is he now, when you need him the most?”

  Tyra’s lips parted for a reply, but her mouth hung open, unable to answer him.

  “He’s hiding in his Holy City, that’s where! And when he had the chance to surrender and save all of you, he did nothing. He left you to die, just as your own husband left you to die!”

  “Lucien would never sacrifice trillions of lives to save just three, no matter how much he loved them.”

  “Love!” Abaddon scoffed. “You think your husband loves you? You think Etherus loves you? They abandoned you! It’s time for you to wake up, Tyra. Love is the greatest lie of them all. No one really loves anyone. They love what others can do for them, nothing more. In the end we’re all motivated by self-interest, even Etherus.”

  “You’re wrong,” a new voice declared, and a familiar, dazzling radiance appeared beside Tyra. She turned to see Etherus standing there, and she bounced to her feet and quickly backed away, wincing and shielding her eyes from the glare.

  Abaddon’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped open in a grin. “So! You’ve decided to deign us with your presence! Behold—the cost of your refusal to surrender,” he declared, and gestured to the hundreds of dead crew in the hangar.

  Tyra took the opportunity while Abaddon was distracted to circle back around to where she’d left Theola. She found her daughter wandering in aimless circles, dribbling snot and drool on the deck, and looking dazed. She scooped Theola up and hugged her close. Theola’s thumb went straight to her mouth. She tucked her head under Tyra’s chin and let out a shuddering sigh.

  Behind her, Abaddon was still arguing with Etherus.

  “There is no freedom!” Abaddon roared. “Freedom is a lie! Am I free? Is anyone free? None of us could ever do otherwise than that which we do; we’re all just slaves to determinism, cause and effect—even you! You know this, and yet you presume to judge us for what we do?”

  Tyra frowned, wondering at this new turn of the discussion.

  “You’re right, you are a slave,” Etherus replied calmly. “Because you have no soul—but these people that you killed do have souls. They are free. Their lives are precious and meaningful. You and your kind, however, are just vile and hateful things created by the original Abaddon.”

  The c
lone gave an animal roar and thrust out a hand to his fallen sword. Somehow, the blade skittered off the deck and slapped into his waiting palm. It shimmered to life, and Abaddon rushed Etherus, his sword raised for a decapitating blow.

  But Etherus vanished into thin air before Abaddon could reach him. The Faro king spun around, searching for his quarry, his eyes wild and furious. When he failed to locate Etherus, his gaze fell on Trya and promptly narrowed. “You!” he said, and thrust out his sword, pointing it at her as if it were an extension of his index finger. “We’re going to see just how much your god loves you, after all—do you hear me, Etherus?” Abaddon demanded, his gaze searching the farthest corners of the hangar. He threw his arms wide in invitation and spun in a slow circle, taking in the entire hangar. “If you don’t come back here and face me, I’ll kill her and her baby, and you’ll be to blame for their deaths!”

  But Etherus didn’t return. Abaddon’s eyes swept back to Tyra, his lips twisted in a chilling smile. “Never was much of a talker, was he?”

  Every nerve in Tyra’s body came alive with a sparking thrill of adrenaline. This was it. She turned and ran with Theola, but Abaddon’s hurried footfalls chased after them, growing nearer and louder with every passing second. She imagined him impaling her from behind, his sword flashing straight through her and Theola at the same time, and a terrified scream burst from her lips. She ran faster still, but Abaddon was unnaturally fast. He raced by her in a blur.

  And then suddenly he was standing right in front of her, his blade thrust out like a spear, waiting to impale her with her own momentum.

  Chapter 34

  Aboard the Separatist Fleet

  “It is time,” Abaddon said.

  Lucien nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the holoscreen before him, watching the tail end of the battle. The separatist fleet had the Forge surrounded. They had just forty-one of their massive sphere ships left, but now the Faros’ fleet was gone, and the Forge lay utterly exposed to their attacks.

  Lucien felt a hand land on his shoulder. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” Addy whispered.

  He turned to her with a wan smile and shook his head. “But it is.” By now his family would be dead.

  Garek and Brak stood to one side, watching the battle, their faces grim.

  Lucien nodded to Abaddon. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The separatist leader rose from the bridge’s solitary control station and started toward them. Addy watched his approach with a derisive sneer.

  “You’re a coward.”

  Abaddon glanced at her, his glowing blue gaze sharp. “I was clear about the cost of my help.” With that, he nodded to Lucien and raised a glowing palm. “Come.”

  Lucien stepped forward. He wasn’t afraid. He was relieved. Death would be a blissful release from the torment he’d endured over the past five days. In all that time he’d barely eaten and hardly slept, haunted by the knowledge that his family was dead and he could have saved them.

  Abaddon’s glowing palm wrapped around Lucien’s face, and he stared into the dazzling light, waiting for his consciousness to seep away as Abaddon’s mind invaded his.

  Long seconds passed, but nothing happened.

  Lucien raged anxiously against the delay. He was about to ask what was wrong when he heard Addy suck in a hurried breath.

  Brak hissed in warning, and Garek muttered:

  “The frek...”

  Abaddon’s hand fell away from Lucien’s face, but the blinding light didn’t diminish—it intensified and swelled to fill the entire bridge.

  “Congratulations, Lucien, you passed the test.”

  Lucien gaped at the luminous being standing before him. His eyes ached from staring into the light, but he ignored that sensation, too shocked to care if he went blind. “Etherus?” he asked. “It was you all of this time?!”

  “Yes.”

  Confusion turned to fury and Lucien felt his blood begin to boil. “You have a lot of explaining to do!”

  Etherus inclined his head to that. “I know.”

  “What test?” Addy asked. “That’s what all of this was? Making him sacrifice his family and think that he was giving up his own life, all for... some stupid test?”

  Before Etherus could answer, the holoscreen began flickering and flashing beside them, drawing their attention to it. Hundreds—no, thousands—of ships were jumping in around the Forge. All of them were massive vessels, dwarfing even the giant sphere ships that the separatist fleet employed, and all of them had the trademark mirror-smooth hulls of Etherian ships.

  “They came...” Lucien trailed off, confused by this turn of events. The Etherians had arrived too late to the fight.

  “Why bother coming after we’ve already won?” Garek asked, his thoughts mirroring Lucien’s.

  Glowing white missiles streaked out from the Etherian fleet in shimmering sheets and began colliding with the luminous gold cube that was the Forge. Massive explosions raced over its flat sides, consuming it in fire.

  “The separatist fleet cannot lower the Forge’s shields,” Etherus explained. “And yes, their timing could have been better, but it is the best I could do considering they had to travel for almost nine years to get here from the other side of the universe.”

  “The other... those are antimatter ships?” Addy asked.

  “Yes,” Etherus replied.

  “How are they not spontaneously exploding?”

  “They’re all fitted with repulsor shields that repel matter from their hulls,” Etherus explained. “As are the missiles they’re firing.”

  “Antimatter missiles,” Lucien realized.

  “Yes.”

  “No wonder they’re doing so much damage,” Addy said.

  “They’ve been traveling for nine years?” Garek murmured. He turned from the holoscreen to face Etherus. “They must have left Etheria before Astralis even crossed the Red Line, but we hadn’t even met the Faros yet! How did you know to send them? You’d have to be able to predict the future to do that, and if you can predict the future, then...”

  “Then it’s determined, and no one really has a free will,” Addy said, finishing that thought for him.

  Before Etherus could reply, an all-consuming flash of light turned the holoscreen white as a sheet. As it faded, the luminous golden cube of the Forge was gone, obliterated by the hail of antimatter missiles the Etherians had fired.

  “It is done,” Etherus said.

  * * *

  Captive Aboard the Faro Flagship

  Tyra dived for the deck to evade Abaddon’s blade, but he followed her down, and Tyra cringed as she fell, her arms forming a rigid cage around Theola to protect her. She waited for the searing heat she imagined would accompany death by Abaddon’s sword...

  But nothing happened. Tyra struggled to her feet and ran, her boots pounding the deck resoundingly as she went. After a few seconds, she realized no footfalls were chasing after her, and she turned to see Abaddon lying collapsed on his side, his formerly glowing blue eyes now dark and staring.

  Tyra’s heart pounded relentlessly in her chest. Was this a trick? She searched the hangar for the two Elementals who’d accompanied Abaddon, and a moment later she located one of them lying atop a pile of bodies, not moving.

  It took a moment for Tyra’s brain to catch up: Lucien, the Forge... they’d won!

  Tyra turned in a dizzy circle, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Now what? Would the Faros surrender? They’d cut the head off the snake, but did that mean they’d actually won? What about all of the Faros’ trillions of warships?

  And where was Brak? Or Atara? Atara! I have to find her.

  Tyra’s gaze snapped to the hangar doors. They were open a crack, jammed with the bodies of dead prisoners. She picked her way toward those doors to see if she could force them open and escape.

  Theola was screaming in her arms, overwrought and miserable, but Tyra barely noticed. She stumbled on in a daze, trying not to step on the dead. When she reached th
e doors, she had no choice. She was forced to step on them to peer through into the corridor beyond.

  There she saw Brak, lying in a colorless pool of his own blood, his head no longer attached to his body. Tyra grimaced and looked away.

  That was the last straw. She glared up at the ceiling and gave Etherus an unintelligible blast of pent-up rage. She didn’t know if he was listening, or how he even could, but if he really was a god then she was sure that he could have and should have prevented this slaughter.

  “Etherus!” she roared. “Show yourself!”

  Chapter 35

  Aboard the Separatist Fleet

  “Is my family dead?” Lucien demanded, his eyes aching as he stared into the blinding light emanating from Etherus.

  “No,” Etherus replied, and the light radiating from him dimmed to a more comfortable level. “I managed to distract Abaddon long enough to save them.”

  With that, a tremendous weight lifted from Lucien’s shoulders and the air around him seemed to clear. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he whispered as he exhaled.

  “What about all the other people who died?” Garek asked. “You lost almost half of the separatist fleet, and I’m sure we didn’t fare any better back at the Red Line. By my count that’s trillions of people dead.”

  “The Separatists are all soulless copies of Faro minds,” Etherus replied. “They were dead to begin with.”

  “Assuming I agree with that—which I don’t, by the way,” Garek said, “Humans all supposedly have souls, so what about our dead? You didn’t save any of them.”

  “But I did. I copied the data from New Earth’s resurrection centers to The Holy City before the fighting even began. It will take time for you to resurrect everyone who died, but you’ll have that time now that the Faros are no longer a threat.”

  “They’re not?” Lucien asked. “They all just stopped fighting?”