by M. R. Forbes
“Another fragging Evolent?” he said out loud. “Great.”
She spotted him, one of her hands dropping and unleashing another torrent of flame. He raised his hands, begging the Gift to protect him, feeling the drain on his energy as the barrier formed, blocking the energy. He held it, being pushed backward by the force until Coxie’s squad noticed the assault and started firing back. The Evolent couldn’t attack him and defend the soldiers at the same time. The flames vanished, freeing him to retreat, bouncing three hundred meters to the freighter’s hatch.
“Get in,” Coxie said, standing beside it.
“Hayley?”
“She’s already on board.”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
Olus boarded the freighter. Immediately, the launcher beneath it began to vibrate and hum, a massive sling that would help the ship climb to orbit. Coxie joined him inside the airlock a moment later, his squad entering one by one and the hatch sliding closed.
“We aren’t safe yet,” Coxie said, brushing past him.
He followed the Sergeant, grabbing onto the side of the corridor. The freighter’s velocity was increasing, pushing against him.
“We’re going to jump in atmosphere, aren’t we?” Olus asked.
“No choice,” Coxie replied.
Olus crinkled his face, not looking forward to that, or to Hayley having to go through that. It was the only way to escape.
The ship shuddered, a loud crack audible through the dense hull. A yellow warning light flashed, and they started lilting to the side.
“Frag,” Coxie bellowed. “Hold on tight. This is going to be funky.”
Olus looked down the corridor, searching for Hayley. Where was she? She shouldn’t have to be alone during an atmospheric jump.
Too late.
Olus felt his entire stomach clench, the pressure on him increasing tenfold. Time seemed to slow around him, everything moving like mud for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds. His head began to throb like it was about to explode, and he wanted to close his eyes and fall on his knees.
He did a second later as his perception of time regained itself and allowed him to move once more. The pain of the jump was still there, but it subsided relatively quickly thanks to the Gift. Hayley. He needed to find Hayley.
He forced himself up, then slowed down, allowing himself to relax.
She was on board. They had made it out. Earth was already millions of kilometers distant.
They were safe.
For now.
26
“Dak, do you copy?” Abbey said, trying the comm again. When nobody answered, she looked back at Gant. “Are you sure you set this thing up right?”
Gant chittered. “Seriously, Queenie? I invented the fragging thing.”
“Then why aren’t they answering?”
“Maybe Kett isn’t as afraid of you as you thought?” Bastion suggested. “It could be that he arrested Dak and seized the High Noon the moment they showed up nearby.”
“That would be a stupid thing for him to do.”
“Pretty much my opinion of that asshole,” Benhil said.
“Queenie,” Phlenel said, calling her from their limited medical bay. “He’s awake.”
“Keep trying,” Abbey said. “Gant, double-check your work. I’m going to say hello to our new guest.”
“Double-check my work?” Gant said.
“I trust you, but we need to be sure. This is important.”
“Roger, Queenie. I’m on it.”
Abbey reached the ladder, descending it to the lower deck. Her body was still a little sore from their escape from the factory; the naniates pushed into overtime to help her recover. She had nearly died out there. Again. But like before, the Gift of the Shard had protected her when every other option had run out.
The attack on the factory had left her, Phlenel, and everyone else in the loading dock suddenly exposed to the vacuum of space. While the Hurshin was able to survive without an external oxygen supply and her gelatinous form was impervious to temperature changes, Abbey wasn’t so lucky. She had been choking and freezing when the Gift of the Shard had wrapped itself around her defending her from the cold of space, and maintaining her systems while she was unable to breathe, mechanically keeping her alive when her organic parts couldn’t.
It had also understood the danger she was in, and like on Avalon had cast out a last-ditch burst of energy, this time in the form of a starburst of light that she guessed had completely fragged with the Nephilim fleet’s sensors. The flare had left her barely conscious, but she could remember Phlenel enveloping her, yet another skin over the shardsuit and her body, keeping her warm and safe and surrounded in a living cocoon. She recalled the sense of intimacy of the action, a gentle care that she would never forget.
That care had given Bastion time to bring the Faust around to pick them up, getting them away from the area before Thraven could recover and start shooting at them again. She had spent the next hour after that slumped against the wall with Gant sitting beside her, holding her hand while her body came back to life. Pik had retrieved enough food bars to keep them all going for a month in the meantime, and she started powering through them, feeling her strength beginning to return. Even with the pure Gift of the Shard, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would have recovered faster by drinking blood. Not that she would have asked any of the Rejects to donate any.
It was only after she had gotten back to her feet and started for the bridge that Gant informed her they had picked someone else up from the debris field, finding faint life signs near her position. They had brought him to sick bay to recover.
Phlenel looked up as she entered, a smile forming on her translucent lips.
“Queenie, how are you feeling?” her bot asked.
“Better,” Abbey replied. “Thanks to you.”
“I was happy to be of service.”
She turned her attention to the newcomer. She wasn’t sure how to consider him just yet. Prisoner? Guest? It all depended on him.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, standing over him.
He was laying on a gurney, the parts of his body visible beyond the sheet that covered his nakedness pale and unhealthy. There was a thin choker around his neck, one that she knew would have a small container of the Shard’s blood stored within. It was the reason he had been able to survive in space. The reason he was here and alive now. But she could tell without looking that the blood had been used up in bringing him back to where he was and that unless he were given more, he wouldn’t be alive much longer.
She also knew that she could give him what he needed. But would she?
Again, that depended on him.
“I said, do you have a name?” she repeated when he didn’t speak.
“Uriel,” he replied.
Abbey turned her head toward Jequn when she gasped.
“You know him?”
Jequn shook her head. “Not personally. But there are stories. Some have even made it into human legend. He’s supposed to be dead.”
“A hero,” Uriel said. He coughed out a laugh. “I’m not what the legends say I am. Not exactly.”
“Then what are you?” Abbey asked.
“Imperfect.”
“In our legends, Uriel traveled the galaxy and helped the Seraphim being hunted by the Nephilim escape,” Jequn said. “Without Uriel, there would be no Ophanim.”
“That’s the trouble with legend,” Uriel said. “It only gets things half-right.”
“What’s the other half?” Abbey said.
“I didn’t ferry Seraphim out of the goodness of my heart. I’m a profiteer. They paid me to bring them to safety.” He paused. “Thraven fragged me over. He promised me worlds to protect the Gate. How could I be so stupid to trust a Nephilim? Especially a fragging prophet.”
“How could you be so stupid?” Abbey asked. “If you’ve been around for as long as you say, you should know better. I mean,
it only took me a few days to figure it out.”
“There’s a reason why greed is a deadly sin,” Uriel said. “Five thousand years is a long time to be working for others. I wanted something different. I wanted to be in control.”
“How’s that working out for you now? Your regeneration device is dry. The Blood’s run out.”
Uriel slowly lifted his hand, putting it to the choker and unclasping it. He looked at the clear vial inside its container. A slight red stain ran along the bottom, but there was no liquid remaining.
“It figures I would die like this. You should have left me out there.”
“Probably,” Abbey agreed. “But you have something I need.”
“I do?” He paused and then smiled. “You want to know where they brought the Gate.”
“Thraven wanted you dead for a reason. I imagine that’s it?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t know where they’re taking it. I can show you where it used to be, but it won’t be all that helpful.”
“You’re sure you don’t know?” Abbey asked. “Because it’s the only reason you’re alive right now.”
“Thraven wanted me dead because I’m a Seraphim. He wanted me dead because I know how the Gate operates and how to destroy it.”
Abbey stared at Uriel. How was it that this one had been so corrupted? Could he be saved the way Trinity had been saved?
“You said there was something different about my Gift,” Abbey said. “But you didn’t know what it was.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how to destroy the Gate, and I’ll show you.”
“I have a better idea. Find a way to save my life, and if you find the Gate, I’ll help you destroy it.”
“You aren’t in a position to bargain.”
“No? I have information you want, but I’m dying. Stop me from dying, get the information. Let me die, get nothing. I think that puts me in a fine position.”
“He’d make an excellent Reject,” Phlenel said.
“Shut up,” Abbey replied. “He doesn’t need encouragement.” She looked back at Uriel. “You do have a point.”
She leaned over him, reaching out and taking his hand.
“What are you doing?” Uriel said.
She lifted his hand, turning her head and pushing her hair aside, leaving the Hell brand visible. The Light of the Shard had entered her, but it had also remained there on the surface, causing the brand to glow.
“What is that?” Uriel asked, suddenly frightened.
“Everything you’ve turned your back on,” she replied.
He tried to pull his hand away. To resist. He was nowhere near strong enough. She brought his palm to the brand, pressing it against the mark. His eyes widened, and he started to moan. When he tried to yank his hand away, she let him.
“What did you do?” he asked, turning his palm over so he could look at it. The brand was etched into the flesh, glowing with a pale light. “What is this?”
He started to shiver, his body quaking beneath the sheets. His eyes closed, but the tears escaped through his eyelids, running down his face.
“You betrayed the Covenant,” Abbey said. “The true Covenant. You turned away from the promise you made. You profited from your people’s sorrow. Your Gift twisted you. Corrupted you. I saw what the Seraphim did on Avalon. They were trying to change the Blood, to make it more powerful and more capable of helping them commit violence. They failed.”
“On Avalon,” Uriel said. “Yes. On Jubilation. On Deminoss. The Infected are there, too. That’s why I abandoned them. That’s why I didn’t want to help them. They killed thousands seeking to be more like the Nephilim. They gave me their tainted Gift, and it would have killed me if not for the pure Blood. I’m guilty, Queen of Demons. But not any more guilty than the rest of them. My actions are different, but my motives are no worse than theirs.”
“The Shard didn’t want me,” Abbey said. “He chose me because he was desperate. I’m too violent. Too angry. Sometimes violence is needed. Sometimes it’s the only way. Anyone who says otherwise is either too naive to be realistic or is lying to begin with. It doesn’t matter. Let the Light show you the truth you hide from yourself.”
“What is the truth?” Uriel said. He opened his eyes. “Knowing won’t save my life. Removing the corruption won’t don’t anything for me.”
“Swear yourself to me, and I’ll save you,” Abbey said. “I’ll give you a chance to make up for the damage you’ve done by helping Thraven build the Gate. Billions of innocents are going to die otherwise.”
“You won’t be able to reach the Gate. You’ll die trying.”
“Maybe. But at least I’ll die for something. How do you want to die?”
He stared up at her. Then he smiled. “Okay. Fine. I pledge my loyalty to you, on my honor.”
“Queenie,” Jequn said. “He doesn’t have any honor.”
“I think he does now,” she replied. “Phlenel, hand me a laser scalpel.”
The bot picked the tool off a nearby counter and walked it over to her.
“What are you going to do with it?” Phlenel asked.
“Uriel, open your mouth.”
He did as he was instructed. Abbey took the scalpel, turning it on and running it along the edge of her thumb. It opened up her flesh, allowing blood to pool on the edge. She suspended her thumb over Uriel’s mouth until a single drop fell from her finger and entered him.
He swallowed, staring at her. Then his eyes closed, and he was still.
“Did you kill him?” Jequn asked.
“He isn’t dead,” Phlenel said.
He was better than not dead. His skin began to tighten, his complexion losing its sick paleness. Abbey could sense the change in him, the pure Gift of the Shard working its way through his system.
“What did you do?” Jequn asked.
“I’m not sure yet, exactly,” Abbey replied.
“What? I thought you knew what you were doing?”
“To an extent. He looks better, don’t you think?”
“He will survive,” Phlenel said.
“Good enough,” Abbey replied. “Keep an eye on him, help him get settled in when he wakes up again.”
“Aye, Queenie.”
“Queenie, are you sure we can trust him?” Jequn asked.
“Yes. If for no other reason than because Thraven fragged him, too.”
“What if we can’t?”
“Then we’ll finish killing him. But not before he tells us how to destroy the Gate.”
“Roger that.”
“Queenie,” Gant said. “I, uh. I’m a little embarrassed to admit, but I did enter one of the keys for the subnet incorrectly. Communications with the High Noon have been restored. I’m sorry.”
“You made a mistake,” Abbey replied. “It happens.”
There was a pause on the other end of the comm.
“Not to me,” Gant said softly.
Abbey could tell he was distressed by the oversight. Probably more than he should have been. She would deal with that later.
“Imp, find out where the fleet is hiding and set a course.”
“Roger, Queenie,” Bastion replied.
“General Kett’s about to have the worst day of his life.”
27
The Faust dropped out of FTL three hours later, appearing amidst a disterium plume that formed in the center of what Abbey considered her fleet, and what she was sure General Kett considered his fleet.
She had tried to talk to Gant during the trip, but he had been unusually sullen, excusing himself when she mentioned how hard he was taking his error and vanishing somewhere on the lower deck. She decided after that not to follow him or to push him again, at least not yet. Maybe he would come back to her on his own; maybe she would have to approach him later. It bothered her that they were supposed to be close, but he wouldn’t open up to her. At the same time, she didn’t know all that much about his past. There was a reason for his distress. She just
didn’t know what it was.
She couldn’t worry about it now. Putting the Faust into the middle of the fleet was a bold maneuver, one that had the potential to leave them surrounded and under attack, with only the High Noon to try to defend them.
She found the battleship quickly, positioned near the outer rim of the assembled starships, on the opposite side of the Brimstone, which was hanging directly below them.
“We’re being hailed, Queenie,” Bastion said, checking the comm equipment. “The Brimstone.”
Kett.
“Tell the General I’ll only speak to him in private. I expect clearance to dock with the Brimstone.”
“Aye, Queenie,” Bastion replied. “This is the Faust.”
“Abigail, are you there?” Sylvan said. “I’m glad to hear you made it off Azure. We need to talk.”
“Number one, it’s Queenie to you,” Bastion said. “Number two, we’re coming in to dock. Queenie will meet you in your quarters in fifteen.”
Sylvan laughed. “That’s how you want to play it? Very well. I’ll see you there. Brimstone out.”
“Very well,” Baston mimicked. “I’ll see you there. Asshole.”
“At least he didn’t put up a fight.”
“Which probably means he has an entire company of soldiers waiting to try to subdue you.”
“Good luck with that. Bring us in.”
“Roger.”
Bastion directed the Faust toward the Brimstone, staying focused as they made their approach. The ship’s laser batteries were barely visible beneath the sleek outline, but they both knew they were present, and could take down the star hopper in one instant blast. Abbey could only hope Erlan would give them a heads-up if Kett were planning something like that, but what if Erlan had been replaced?
It seemed ridiculous to her that she even had to consider it. Sylvan Kett had built an army separate from the Republic, specifically because he and his Seraphim spouse had known how badly things might go. They were on the same side, so why the hell did she have to fight with him or worry about him? She didn’t even care if he stayed in control of the fleet. She had other plans, anyway. She just wanted him to start doing something.