Good Intentions (Chaos of the Covenant Book 6)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Of course, your Eminence.”

  Thraven’s head turned slightly as he noticed a small disterium plume appear to the port side. An armored star hopper slipped out of it, angling toward the Promise.

  “My guest has arrived,” Thraven said, getting to his feet. “Honorant, you have the bridge.”

  “Yes, Gloritant.”

  Thraven abandoned the command station, leaving it to Honorant Bane. He strode from the bridge as the Honorant announced his exodus, causing the rest of the bridge crew to stand at attention. He ignored them, a sense of excitement rising in his chest. There had been moments when he had almost believed that Abigail Cage had the potential to disrupt the glory of the Great Return.

  He had been foolish for doubting the Father. His faith had been rewarded, and his victory was becoming more assured by the hour.

  He traveled to the hangar alone, drawing a series of surprised salutes along the way. It was rare for him to move around the ship alone, without at least an Immolent by his side. It was rare that he went anywhere other than to the bridge, his quarters, and the Font.

  The star hopper was setting down near the center of the hangar when he arrived. The starship techs froze at the sight of him before scrambling into ranks, standing stiff and saluting as he passed them by.

  The ramp of the ship lowered, Honorant Freich’s guard descending first. They too came to attention at the sight of the Gloritant, positioning themselves on either side of the ramp.

  Thraven was standing at the base of the descent when Honorant Freich appeared, the young girl at his side. Her face was stone, her eyes burning. She was wearing a lightsuit that was too large for her frame. When Freich tried to place a hand on her shoulder, she yanked it away.

  “Your Eminence,” Freich said, seeing Thraven waiting. He fell to his knee, bowing his head before rising and stepping forward.

  The younger Cage remained in place, staring at him. There was no fear in her eyes. He admired that.

  “I bring you Hayley Cage,” Freich said, reaching Thraven and saluting before realizing Hayley had remained at the top of the ramp. His face flushed as he turned and looked for his guards.

  “All is well, Honorant,” Thraven said. “I will handle things from here.”

  “As you wish, your Eminence.”

  “What of Captain Mann?”

  “He’s with the Asmodeus. It is scheduled to return within the hour.”

  “Very good. You and your crew are dismissed. I’d like to meet with Miss Cage in private.”

  “Yes, Gloritant.”

  Freich whispered into his communicator. A moment later, the crew of the star hopper made their way past Hayley and down the ramp, saluting Thraven before clearing the area, waiting with the others behind him.

  “Be cautious, Gloritant,” Freich said. “She is her mother’s daughter.”

  Thraven smiled again. “Perfect.”

  Freich joined the other soldiers, ordering them away from the area. Thraven ascended the ramp, coming to a stop in front of Hayley and dropping to a knee to meet her at eye level.

  “Hayley Cage,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She stared at him but didn’t speak.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Yeah. You’re the asshole my mother’s going to kill.”

  Thraven’s smile grew even larger.

  Just perfect.

  24

  “What makes you think your mother is going to kill me?” Thraven asked, amused.

  “That’s what she does to miscreants like you.”

  “Miscreant? An interesting word from someone your age. The problem as I see it, Hayley, is that your mother would never harm me as long as I have the potential to harm you.”

  “If that’s what you think, you’re dead for sure.”

  “Oh. So you think your mom would sacrifice you to get to me?”

  “If it means saving millions of others, yes. And I would want her to. She knows that.”

  He had no choice but to wonder if her words were true. Would Abbey let her child die to save the galaxy?

  “I don’t suppose you know where your mother is right now?”

  “No,” Hayley said, too quickly. Of course, she knew.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care. You’re supposed to be tough. Why don’t you torture it out of me?”

  Thraven’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t have the patience for these stupid games. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that because you’re a child, I’m opposed to hurting you.” He grabbed her wrist and squeezed. She didn't cry out, but her eyes began to tear, betraying the pain he was causing.

  He let go a moment later. She stared at him defiantly, refusing to rub her arm. He liked her despite himself.

  “Come with me,” he said, standing up and walking down the ramp.

  As expected, Hayley didn’t move.

  “Don’t be a child,” he said, reaching out with the Gift. Hayley’s eyes widened as she was lifted into the air and carried down the ramp. He put her down beside him. “You can walk, or I can carry you.”

  He started walking again. This time, she followed.

  “What do you want with me, anyway?” Hayley asked. “I mean, so what, you have me, and maybe you can threaten my mother with my life. The way I see it, there are only two possible outcomes to that scenario.”

  Thraven was intrigued. “Which are?”

  “One, she tells you to go frag yourself, you kill me, and then she kills you. Two, she gives in, and eventually you either kill me or let me go, at which point she kills you.”

  “What about the third option?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your mother comes for you, I kill her, and keep you.”

  Hayley laughed. “Yeah, that might happen. If you were so sure you could stop her, you wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble to get me.”

  “That’s not completely true. There was a time when I was worried her interference might be enough to delay my plans, but that time has passed. The Republic is falling, Hayley. World by world, it is crumbling to my rule. My control. My fleet has tripled in size, while the Republic has been left blind and deaf and cut into pieces. I have a great deal of respect for Abigail Cage, but she doesn’t stand a chance.”

  He brought her to one of the tubes. They boarded and ascended back up to the main deck.

  “I considered giving up on you and letting you go to Don Pallimo. There were two problems with that. First, I needed to take the Don out of the equation. His Haulers have significant resources that could be turned against me, and I’d prefer that they stay out of this. Second, I decided that I had another use for you. You see, your mother killed one of my Immolents. Not only that, she managed to survive her encounter with Trinity Gall, and somehow brought her over to her side.”

  “Meaning what?” Hayley asked.

  “Your mother is incredibly strong in the Gift of the Father. A skill like hers comes along once in a lifetime.” He turned to face her, locking her eyes with his. “Except perhaps in their progeny.”

  He could see how her face paled at the suggestion.

  “Before, I wanted to use you as leverage against your mother. A bargaining chip in case she posed a larger problem. I no longer need you as a chip, but that doesn’t mean I no longer need you. What you can become may be the sweetest revenge of all.”

  She had been defiant before. When he glanced over at her again, he knew she was terrified. Good. She had every right to be. He was going to give her the Gift. He was going to turn her into his Immolent, and when Abigail came for him, and for her, that was exactly what he would give her.

  If the sight of her child as his servant didn’t drive her to insane rage, nothing would.

  He reached the Font room, the hatch opening ahead of him. Hayley entered with him, remaining at his side. He respected the child for that. She had no idea what was about to happen, but she was still moving forward.
Still putting one foot in front of the other.

  “What is that?” Hayley asked at the sight of the Font. She was too short to see over the edge of it, to the blood inside.

  Thraven began to remove his clothes, stripping off the jacket and pants and shirt of his military uniform and leaving himself in skin-tight underclothes. He would have preferred to enter the Font unclothed, but not with a child.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice getting weaker.

  “I won’t harm you, Hayley,” he said. “In fact, I won’t touch you at all.” He pointed to a shelf on the side of the room. “There should be similar underclothes for you there.”

  She walked over to the shelf and lifted the one piece skinsuit. “I don’t want to wear this,” she said.

  “I’m not asking,” he replied. “I can summon a female member of my crew if you resist.” He turned his back on her. “Tell me when you’re done.”

  “Whatever you want to do to me, I don’t want it.”

  “I know.”

  He heard the lightsuit fall to the floor. He heard her moving and shifting as she changed. Then he smiled as he heard her trying to sneak up on him. He let her raise her arm, let her prepare to bring the knife down on his back before he froze her with the Gift.

  He turned around calmly.

  “I love your spirit, Hayley,” he said. “Perhaps I won’t use you as an Immolent. Perhaps there would be a place for you as my heir.”

  “No thank you.”

  He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  The knife was pried from her fingers. Her hand lowered of its own accord, meeting his. He held it as he released the rest of her.

  He walked her to the Font, up the three steps to the edge. She looked down at it, and then at him. He could feel her hand shake beneath his.

  “Is that?”

  “Blood. Yes.”

  “What the frag is wrong with you?”

  “The blood of a demigod is in this Font, Hayley. I’m going to share it with you. Where I came from, it is considered the highest honor.”

  “Where I come from, it’s disgusting.”

  He stepped down into the Font, sinking to his waist in the blood. He turned and gripped her waist in both hands, lifting her and holding her over it. He glanced back at the door, finding his Immolent waiting there. He nodded, and the Immolent vanished.

  She was crying as he lowered her into the liquid, all of her defiant courage gone. The blood came up to her chest, and she looked down at it in horror.

  “It’s moving?” she said, even more disturbed.

  “It is thick with the Gift. The power of the Nephilim. The power of the Father. I’m giving you a glory, Hayley Cage. The same glory I tried to give your mother. She rejected me, but you won’t. Not when you feel the power. Not when you realize what you can become.”

  He lowered himself in the blood, opening his mouth to bring it in. He held it there, reaching out and wrapping his arms around her. She tried to pull away, of course, she did. He held tight, keeping her in place as he neared her. Receiving the Gift was an honor. Receiving it directly from the Herald of the Great Return was unprecedented. She would realize that one day soon. She would be grateful for what he was about to do.

  “Please,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Don’t.”

  He ignored her, leaning in with his face. He opened his mouth, his teeth long beneath his lips. He turned his head; the pointed ends finding the soft flesh of her neck. She tried harder to wriggle away, but he locked her with his power, leaving her unable to move.

  “Please,” she said again.

  His teeth sank into her, opening the wound. He didn’t draw her blood out, though. Instead, he took the naniates in his mouth and pushed them into the holes, using the Gift to force it into her.

  Immediately, he withdrew himself from her, shifting back to the edge of the Font. She remained still even after he released her. Her eyes moved back and forth. The tears stopped. Her breathing began to calm.

  He looked back to the door. Emerant Loque was there with a gurney, ready to take her to medical to recover. He would keep a closer eye on her than he had with her mother. He wasn’t taking that chance again.

  She passed out a moment later, sinking into the blood. He allowed her to float on top of it for a moment, her arms spreading beside her. Then he scooped her up in his arms, climbing from the Font and bringing her to the table. He placed her gently on it.

  “If she dies, so do you,” he said to the Emerant.

  “Yes, your Eminence,” Loque replied.

  Hayley Cage was guided out of his presence, down to medical where her vital signs would be monitored. He had little fear that the process would turn her into a Convert. She was much too strong willed for that.

  For now, there was nothing to do but wait.

  25

  “Tell me again how this is a good idea?” Bastion said, looking down at himself.

  He was wearing grimy, torn clothes they had taken from one of the former slaves, his face sporting two days of facial hair, his body unwashed for just as long. Abbey had also made sure he smeared grease on himself to make the effect even more convincing.

  “We need information about current events in the Nephiliat, especially concerning the Liliat Empire. Getting sold to an Apostant is the quickest, easiest way to do that.”

  “Easy? You call this easy? What happens if they don’t take us together?”

  “Did you swallow the tracking device Keeper gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then if we get split up I’ll find you.”

  “I could be food by then.”

  “I won’t let anyone eat you.”

  “Or suck my blood?”

  “Or suck your blood.”

  “Well, you can if you need to, or if it was part of something kinky-”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Roger. What are you going to do when they figure out your hair doesn’t look like that because it’s filthy?”

  He pointed to her head. She had greased up the silver locks and used the naniates to change the color to a muddy brown. It still had an almost metallic sheen, and it was still sharp. She had smoothed the ridges on her skin, disguising herself with the Gift.

  “I’ll be in control by then.”

  “You sound confident. What if you get bought by a Prophet?”

  “The Prophets don’t visit the slave markets.”

  “A Venerant then.”

  “I can handle a Venerant.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I told you, I’ll take care of you. Okay is going to sell us as a package.”

  “Another part of the plan I strongly disagree with.”

  “I heard that,” Pik said, making his way into the cargo hold of the Carrion.

  “Whoa,” Bastion said. “Pudding and Gant did a number on you.”

  “You like it?” Pik asked, showing off the spikes along his arms. “It’s kind of creepy wearing someone else’s bones on your arm, but at the same time, it looks cool.”

  “You look like an Executioner slaver,” Abbey said. “That’s the important part.”

  “Shut up and get in your cell, slave,” Pik said.

  Abbey raised her eyebrow.

  “I’m just kidding,” Pik said. “I wanted to see how it felt to say it.”

  “How did it feel?” Bastion asked.

  “Weird.”

  “You have a direct comm line to Helk?” Abbey asked.

  “Aye, Queenie,” Pik replied. “I’ve got the little guy jibber-jabbering in my ear right now.”

  “Good. Ruby?”

  “Yes, Queenie?”

  “We’re ready to launch on my mark.”

  “Of course, Queenie. Waiting for your signal.”

  “How long is it going to take to get to Norqal from here?” Bastion asked.

  “Less than an hour,” Abbey replied. “We’re on the same heading the slavers had programmed into the ship, so there should
n’t be any surprises.”

  “I’d rather be flying this old shitbucket than hanging out back here. Why do we have to ride third class, anyway?”

  “To absorb some of the smell. Keeper?”

  “Aye, Queenie?”

  “Keep the Covenant out of sensor range, but be ready to come running.”

  “Aye, Queenie.”

  “Ruby, let’s go.”

  “Roger. Launching now.”

  The Carrion shuddered, and they were rocked slightly in their cell as the thrusters fired, pushing them out of the landing bay and away from the Covenant. The Shardship was positioned well outside of sensor range, hiding in the corona of a small star.

  “Entering FTL,” Ruby announced a minute later.

  There were no viewports for Abbey to look out of, but she could tell when they had entered FTL by the increased hum of the disterium reactor.

  “Why didn’t you bring Uriel or Cherub down with you, anyway?” Bastion asked. “How did I draw the short straw instead of pulling pilot duty?”

  “I thought you wanted to spend more time with me?”

  “No offense, but not like this.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Funny. Really.”

  “Uriel is five thousand years old, and he’s spent time with a Venerant before. How do I know he isn’t one of the Nephilim most wanted? Cherub is female.”

  “So?”

  “So, what if our Apostant is a woman or a male who prefers male slaves? One of each gender, just like Noah.”

  “This is nothing like Noah. Where’s our ark?”

  “Your whining is a definite turn-off.”

  Bastion stopped speaking, his lips fixing into a tight thin line.

  “Better,” Abbey said.

  The silence only lasted for a few minutes.

  “So, how is this supposed to work again?” Bastion asked.

  “It’s like a meat market,” Abbey replied. “Literally. Okay will buy a space to show us off, the Nephilim buyers will walk the market and pick out what they like, they’ll pay for us, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “It seems so primitive. They should try putting up a storefront.”