by M. R. Forbes
“I don’t think we could appear any less aggressive,” Benhil said. “This thing is a piece of shit.”
“That’s the idea,” Helk said.
“You should all know,” Abbey said. “I put Iona in charge of the fleet while we’re gone.”
“What?” Benhil said. “How do you know she won’t bolt the minute we go to FTL?”
“I made her the Gloritant of our army. If she wants to keep the title and earn some serious glory, she needs to stick around.”
“And you think that will be enough?”
“It’ll be enough,” Helk said. “You need to think like an Apostant. All they care about is getting more power. There is only one Gloritant for each Prophetic, and it is a title that can also be held by the Prophet themselves. It’s a tremendous honor.”
“Even if we’re a pitiful excuse for a Prophetic?” Benhil asked.
“We might be the smallest. I don’t think we’re pitiful.”
“We’re not a Prophetic,” Abbey said.
“Then what are we?” Benhil said.
“Hell’s Rejects,” Gant said.
“That’s us,” Benhil replied, sweeping his hands over the group. “I’m talking about us.” He circled his hands wider, indicating the entire fleet.
“Purgatory,” Abbey said. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”
“It makes sense from a certain perspective,” Bastion said. “But it isn’t your best effort.”
“What would you name us?”
“How about Abbey-don?” Benhil said. “You know, a play on Abaddon.”
“Uh, no.”
“Hellhounds?” Erlan suggested.
Abbey shook her head. “Not feeling it.”
Pik’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. “What are we talking about?” he asked.
“A name for the fleet,” Bastion said. “Queenie is calling it Purgatory, but none of us like it.”
“Oh. What about Nephilicide?”
Bastion crinkled his brow. “I think that’s the biggest word you’ve ever used.”
“Too bad it isn’t a word,” Gant said.
“It is too,” Pik said.
“No, it isn’t,” Gant replied.
“Okay,” Abbey said, cutting the argument off. “Let’s not waste time on grammatical correctness right now.”
“There’s always time for grammatical correctness,” Uriel said, laughing.
“I don’t know,” Bastion said. “Oddly enough, I’m drawing a blank on this one.”
“I was hoping you would bail me out,” Abbey said.
“Sorry, Queenie. Purgatory it is I guess, for now at least. Purgatorians? The Purgatorian Empire? That sounds kind of cool.”
“I like it,” Pik said.
“You like everything,” Phlenel said.
“I do not. Hey, where’s Ruby and Void?”
“It figures you would notice they’re missing,” Abbey said. “They’re still on the Morningstar.”
“How come?”
“Insurance, just in case Iona isn’t as trustworthy as I think she is. I’m not taking any chances with this one.”
“Good call, Queenie,” Benhil said.
“Imp, get us underway. The rest of you, finish suiting up. This should be fairly straightforward, which means it’s probably going to turn to shit.”
“Roger, Queenie,” Bastion said. “Hey, at least this time we’ll be ready for the worst.”
“I hope so,” Abbey replied.
For some reason, she wasn’t convinced.
23
The Combine appeared directly in front of them as they moved out of the disterium field, the sight of it taking Abbey by surprise. She had been expecting a regular space station, something akin to the ring stations where the Republic docked their battleships.
Instead, she found herself staring at something she was having trouble finding the words to describe.
“Wow,” Bastion said from the pilot’s seat, echoing her silent thoughts out loud. “Just. Wow.”
The station was massive, a maze of interconnected modules that stretched across their entire field of view. Some were densely packed webs of connectors and habitats; others were more spread out blocks of space reachable either by kilometer long corridors or small transports that darted around the Combine, entering and leaving different portions in a flow that reminded her of an anthill. Some of the pieces looked brand new; others looked hundreds or even thousands of years old. All of it was rotating in space, turning around a central sphere, a dark metal ball barely visible between the cracks of the rest of the station.
“I was expecting a ring with a couple of ships attached,” Bastion said. “Maybe a few hundred individuals. This is a fragging city, with a population that’s probably bigger than eighty percent of the planets in the Republic.”
“I don’t see any Harvesters,” Abbey said, scanning it again. “Or any ships big enough to be Harvesters.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. I think you could hide the Covenant in that mess.”
Abbey smiled. He was right. There were so many densely packed layers to the station; they could be looking right at one of the ships and not realize it.
“We’re being hailed, Queenie,” Bastion said.
“Here we go,” Abbey replied. “Open the channel.”
“Roger.” He flipped a pair of switches on the control surface.
“Prophet Azul,” the voice said in a deep, easy bass. “We weren’t expecting you to return so soon.”
Abbey glanced at Bastion, who nodded. Helk had insisted that they not try to deceive the Reapers. Like the Crescent Haulers back home, they were supposed to be neutral to the interconnected affairs of the Prophets. Their only concern was the use and conservation of the Harvesters.
“Combine Control,” Abbey said. “My name is Abigail Cage, Queen of the Liliat Empire.”
A few seconds passed in silence.
“Rezel is the leader of the Liliat Empire,” the voice returned.
“Rezel is dead,” Abbey said. “As is the Prophet Azul. This ship, as well as his flagship the Morningstar, are forfeit to me as spoils of war.”
Another pause. She could imagine the tech discussing the situation with a higher ranking Reaper.
“You are cleared to land at the central receiving module,” Control said. “Coordinates are being transferred to your ship now. An escort will be waiting to meet with you.”
Bastion looked at the HUD and then nodded when a red dot appeared on it, showing him where to land.
“Roger, Control,” Abbey said.
A new voice joined them on the comm. “I expect that you will leave the majority of your entourage behind, Prophet Cage. We do not suffer violence within the Combine.”
“Of course,” Abbey replied. How did he know about the rest of the Rejects already? “But I’m not a Prophet.”
“In that case, how would you like to be addressed?”
“Queenie will do,” Abbey said.
“Very well, Queenie. An escort will be waiting for you on your arrival. I’ll look forward to making your acquaintance.”
The comm link went dead.
“He seemed nice,” Bastion said.
“Yeah, a real charmer,” Abbey said. “I trust that not at all.”
“Me neither, but money talks, right?”
“So Helk says. We’re going to find out. Bring us in.”
“On it.”
“Gant,” Abbey said, activating her comm. “Meet me near the exit.”
“Aye, Queenie,” Gant replied.
“You’re bringing Gant?” Bastion asked.
“You heard the Reaper. Most of the Rejects have to stay behind, or they’re going to take it as a threat. Gant is the most non-threatening threat we have, and if these Reapers are Gifted, they’re going to be in for a bit of a surprise.”
“You don’t need Gant to surprise them,” Bastion said. “But I get it. We’ve got your back, Queenie.”
“I know you do,
” Abbey said, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the bridge.
She headed through the ship, descending the ladder and making her way to the rear hatch. Gant was already there, along with Pik and Jequn. Pik was wearing the blacksuit now, his appearance nearly enough to intimidate her.
“You’re definitely staying behind,” she said, looking at him. “Cherub, you too. I don’t know how they might react to a Seraphim.” She opened her comm again. “Pudding, where are you?”
“Aww,” Pik said. “I want to come.”
“Forget it,” Abbey repeated. “Pudding?”
“On my way, Queenie,” Phlenel said.
“We’ll be touching down in two minutes,” Bastion said.
“Roger. Gant, you’re with me. Pudding too when she gets here. The rest of you are backup. The Reapers already warned me about entering the Combine armed.”
“You’re always armed,” Jequn said.
“I’m sure they expect me to be Gifted, but they might not realize to what extent.”
Phlenel reached them, having taken on a more basic female humanoid form. Her bot trailed behind her.
“My apologies, Queenie,” she said.
“There’s no reason to apologize. You’re here. I want you to be my Immolent.”
“Lucky,” Pik said.
Phlenel smiled, her shape beginning to change to match the armor the Immolents wore. She remained transparent at first, her inner synapses visible through the form. A dark fluid began spreading from her center, floating upward until it reached the surface and then hardening into an opaque shell.
“How is this?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Abbey replied.
“I wish I could do that,” Pik said. “You get to have all the fun.”
“I’m sure you’ll have another chance before this is over,” Abbey said.
Pik nodded. “I’ll be rooting for you, Queenie.”
“Thanks, Okay.”
The Talon touched down a minute later, rocking slightly on its skids before settling. The hatch opened, revealing a trio of Reapers waiting outside. One was dressed in black robes while the two on the flanks were in red. All of them had their faces hidden behind large hoods.
Abbey didn’t hesitate, heading out of the hatch and down the short ramp to the ground, Gant and Phlenel on either side.
The lead Reaper’s head shifted slightly, revealing a pair of glowing eyes against a smooth, metallic face that reminded her of Keeper.
She should have guessed the Reapers would be bots.
24
“Queenie,” the Reaper said, taking two steps forward to meet her at the base of the ramp into the Talon. It extended both hands, revealing them as mechanical in the process. “I am Reaper One.”
She recognized the voice. The bot that had spoken to her from Control. She hesitated a moment before taking one of its hands in hers. These things weren’t as fancy as Keeper. Did that make them more or less hackable?
Most likely more. She wasn’t that trusting to begin with, and their nature put her even more on guard.
“You’re worried we’ve been manipulated,” Reaper One said as if it could read her mind. “Don’t be so surprised, Queenie. We are designed to notice even the smallest of changes in muscular formation.”
Not mind readers, then. They were reading her like a book. She forced her body to relax. Breaker training had included lessons in how to defeat systems like theirs.
“I am impressed,” Reaper One said, noticing the change in posture. “This is Reaper Two and Reaper Three.” It motioned to the two bots in red.
“Gant,” Abbey said, motioning to Gant. “I don’t think I need to introduce my bodyguard?”
The Reaper stared at Phlenel for a moment. Abbey had to keep herself from reacting. Could the bot tell she wasn’t a real Immolent?
“Of course not,” it said at last. “Please, follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You came to purchase use of a Harvester, did you not? The Prophets do not come to the Combine for any other reason.”
“Yes, I did,” Abbey admitted. “Do you know who I am?”
“We know enough,” Reaper One said cryptically. “We are not designed to get involved in the affairs of the Nephiliat.” It paused. “Or of Shardspace. Again, please follow.”
The three Reapers turned as one, remaining in formation as they began to walk across the tarmac. Abbey took a moment to look around, noting that they were inside a massive hangar, on one of a few dozen platforms that hung across the open space. There was gravity in here, and air, though it shouldn’t have been possible.
“This place defies understanding,” she said, trailing them.
“It is thousands of years in the making,” Reaper One replied. “Once, there was only a single Harvester here. Then there were many. Now, only a few remain, but the Combine continues to grow.”
“Not everyone who lives here is a Reaper,” she said.
“There are nine hundred and ninety-nine Reapers on the Combine,” Reaper One said. “As there have always been. As there will always be. The Combine is forever neutral, and so has become a place of refuge for many wishing to escape the strife of the Nephiliat.”
“Unders?”
“Unders, Lessers, Apostants, and even a few former Prophets,” Reaper One said.
“If you made the Combine, who made you?”
“I believe you already know the answer.”
“Lucifer,” Abbey said. Who else could it have been?
“He made the first dozen. We made the rest.”
“But I’m supposed to trust you?”
“If our programming were suspect, our value would be nil. We must remain neutral to provide the proper services to all comers.”
“So you’ll rent a Harvester to me?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“I want to take it back to Shardspace and use it to stop Lucifer from bringing his war to the One.”
“That is not our concern. We are machines, Queenie. We do not choose sides.”
“Did you know that Lucifer is alive? That he was freed from the Shrine?”
The Reaper didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. We are aware.”
They reached the open passage. It led to a long corridor that crossed space to another section of the Combine. A sled was waiting there to accelerate the journey. The Reapers climbed into it and sat. Reaper One put out its hand and motioned to them.
“Please, sit.”
They did. The sled zipped across the corridor, giving them a fresh view of the Combine as they passed to the next module. They didn’t slow as they moved through it, giving her the briefest view of the different individuals on the station, some of which she couldn’t place.
“Do you have a Harvester available?” Abbey asked. “If you don’t, we have no reason to linger here.”
“We understand,” Reaper One replied. “Yes, we have a Harvester. We will turn it over to you after we have settled on terms.”
“Whatever they are, I’ll pay it,” Abbey said. “I have funds.”
“We are aware,” Reaper One said.
“Is there anything you aren’t aware of?” Gant asked.
The sled came to a stop. The Reapers climbed out, motioning for them to follow. They led them to a tube, which took them through another section of the Combine. Abbey could see that they were moving inward, approaching the central sphere.
“Is that where you keep them?” Abbey asked.
“Yes. The sphere is made of rhodrinium and heavily shielded. The Harvesters are beyond value, and must be protected at all times.”
“I can imagine.”
They exited the tube to board another sled. This one took a straight shot toward the sphere, sliding under a massive dark metal blast door that opened just far enough for them to enter before slipping closed again.
The sled came to a stop, the Reapers climbing off once more. There were uncloaked bots here, three meters tall, with heavy armored bodies and
large limbs. They appeared unarmed, but Abbey had a feeling they were more than capable of dealing with most threats. What about the Gift?
They didn’t move as the Reapers led her through a final corridor and into a large room with a viewport to the interior of the sphere. Abbey’s eyes landed on a pair of Harvesters within. They were large ships, twice the size of a standard Republic battleship, rectangular in shape and very ordinary looking save for the evenly spaced lines of glowing blue tendrils that extended from the bow.
“There were a number of laws written by the Caretaker with regard to the balanced usage of the Harvesters,” Reaper One said. “No Prophet shall borrow more than one Harvester at a time. No Prophet shall borrow a Harvester more than one time more than the least times of any other Prophet. No Prophet shall intentionally damage a Harvester. No Prophet shall intentionally put a Harvester in danger of being damaged or destroyed.”
Gant glanced over at Abbey as the Reaper spoke. She made a face at him, telling him to stay quiet.
“If you intend to bring it back to Shardspace to confront Lucifer, you must agree to transfer away from the Harvester before engaging in any armed conflict,” Reaper One said.
“What if I agree and then renege?” Abbey asked.
“Harvesters do not travel without Reapers aboard,” Reaper One said. “Reaper Two will be assigned to you, as will Reapers six-hundred through seven-hundred. Their purpose is to protect the Harvester at all costs. Do you understand?”
“I am very strong in the Gift,” Abbey said.
“We are aware,” Reaper One replied. “To be clear, Reapers are immune to the Gift.”
“How?” Abbey asked.
“The naniates are programmed not to attack us. They are useless as a weapon against Reapers.”
Abbey wondered if maybe the naniates thought Gant was a Reaper. Could that be why he was immune? It seemed ridiculous, but so had a lot of things that had turned out to be real.
“I’ll keep the Harvester out of harm's way,” Abbey said.
“Yes, you will,” Reaper One agreed. “Let us review the covenant.”
A projection appeared from the floor, a document written in Seraphim.