“A Felorian-era ruler laid out certain guidelines to maintain a healthy mind. Those who wish to look back on their lives and feel good about it must have…well, let’s say a moral compass.”
“Rubbish.”
“You don’t understand since you were born into darkness.”
“I was born into war,” I said, feeling my lip curl at his ignorance. “No single individual matters in the biggest picture, only the continuation and longevity of our race. How we get there is just a means to an end.”
“And what kind of end will that be? We war against our enemies because we deem them unfair and dangerous tyrants, fueling poverty and crime in Hell by withholding precious resources from the demons. Our end is to secure freedom and break the angels’s chains from our necks.
“Depending on the means, the end may be us becoming the angels. Violent, savage, power-hungry slavers who turn the tables on our foes, practicing the very thing we’d fought so hard against.”
“Deep stuff. You should write a book.”
Caelis gave me a look. “Battle monsters long enough, you become a monster. No matter who you are, no matter what you are.”
I was getting tired of this nonsense. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with this information, doctor? It’s not like anything I say could change Lucifer’s mind. I’m the Praetor, boy, not a foot soldier with a warped moral compass. I am the Obsidian Commander’s war machine; perhaps you should divulge all this to him.”
“I’m divulging nothing. Just calling it now.”
With that he left, heading for the command station. I watched Caelis until he disappeared from view. Not once did he look back.
What on Hell had been the point of spewing all that philosophical crap—at me, no less?
Everyone was losing it, not just Lucifer. I guessed the idea of mass-executing thousands of angels and demons alike could put a strain on your psyche. Good thing I didn’t really have one. Not that kind, anyway.
One of my men stepped from the shadows of the bridge post. “Praetor, we’re awaiting a briefing in the sky conference room.” He bowed his steel-decorated head.
“Thank you, Primer Vella; I’ll be with you all in just a moment.”
He cast a curious look around us, probably wondering what I was doing here in the first place. Me, too. “Yes, Praetor.”
I nodded in gesture for Vella to leave, and once he was gone I gave a final glance toward the command station. Lucifer’s silhouette hung in the warm, orange backdrop of the observatory window. The moment I spotted him, he retreated out of view. It was casual-seeming enough, but I was smarter than that.
Time for that briefing.
XVIII
THE SPACES IN BETWEEN
Samnaea Soran—;
I SAT QUIETLY IN THE BASTILLE, the shallow wound across my throat throbbing with my pulse. Everything within me screamed that I had made the wrong decision, but it was too late now. I was a prisoner.
His prisoner.
Qaira’s piercing stare stayed on me, even while he spoke to his team. I avoided eye contact, but was unable to shake the feeling that any moment he’d change his mind and tear me up like a flimsy sheet of paper. He’d been given orders, no doubt about that, but the Qaira Eltruan of which history recited never followed any rules except his own.
He spoke into his headset to whomever, arguing about what to do with me. He wanted to put me in the soldier barracks, that way there’d always be an eye on me, but someone else wanted me in the medical wing.
His lemmings wiped their faces, slowly revealing their powder-white complexions. Disgusting; he had once slaughtered them on sight and now they were following his orders. Not by force, either—they looked up to him, I could see it in their eyes.
“Fine, whatever,” Qaira muttered, having obviously lost the argument, “but when you have brains decorating your hospital wall, that’s on you.”
He was talking to Yahweh Telei.
“Looks like you’re paying our Commander a visit in Ezekiel’s medical bay,” he said to me, tossing his gun aside. It made a clang against the ground and I flinched, to which he smirked. To think he’d once been Alezair Czynri, and to even think that we’d—
“Everyone out. I’ll be her personal guard for the return flight.” He sat down on the adjacent bench, paying me a wink.
The door shut and we were left in darkness, save for a flashing red beacon that signified the room was in lockdown. I sat still and gazed ahead, having no intention of playing any games with him.
“So, help me figure out why Lucifer would try to smoke you,” he said, lounging back. “I know him pretty well and he doesn’t seem the type to murder one of his own.”
“Tell that to Vetis.”
“Who?”
“The head of the Crimson Court. Lucifer put a bullet in Vetis’s head while he sat at the council, in front of everyone.”
Qaira was clearly considering that scenario, intrigued.
“He’s not an angel anymore. Things have changed.”
He held up his still-regenerating hand. “Haven’t they, though?”
“I don’t agree with his tactics,” I said, struggling with this confession. “Lucifer’s becoming something—someone—who won’t be able to lead Hell’s new republic.”
“There isn’t going to be a new republic. Thought that was already obvious.”
“I’d rather there be no new republic than the one Lucifer is turning it into.”
Qaira leaned in, tilting his head. “You’d rather have the angels win than a Commander with balls?”
My eyes narrowed. “He’s turning into you.”
I thought I saw him flinch, but it was subtle. Then came the cracks in his cold façade. I had hurt him, if only a little, and it felt wonderful; so wonderful that I drove the dagger home. “A world doesn’t survive long when it’s run by someone like you.”
Qaira hung his head between his shoulders. He gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, but I’d hate to think what kind of first general your new republic would have, too.” He raised his head, a fiery gleam dancing in his eyes. “What with a traitorous, demented whore filling its shoes.”
I spat at him. “Keep talking, Savior. You’re just Yahweh’s sock-puppet.”
“Okay, now you’ve lost your privilege to speak.”
“Are you trying to repent for all the celestial blood you’ve spilled?” I kept on, even as he grabbed the hem of my dress and tore at the seams, taking a long scrap and moving for my face. “Redemption is something you will never—”
Qaira wrung the cloth past my teeth, all the way into the creases of my jaws. I whimpered as pain shot down my neck, but he tied the knot even tighter.
“You’re prettier when you don’t speak,” he whispered, returning to his seat. He lounged back again and closed his eyes. That bastard was taking a nap.
I hung my head and battled tears the rest of the way.
*
The ship docked at Ezekiel’s hangar. The jolt of the engine stabilizers woke Qaira and without a word he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.
On the hangar bridge, a group of argent soldiers awaited us at the end of the dock. Seyestin Trede stood front and center, visor-less. His cold, crystal-blue eyes shifted between Qaira and I, and he gave his comrade a look, as if to say, ‘Really?’
“She talked a lot of shit,” said Qaira, catching the meaning behind Generel Trede’s look. He shoved me forward and I stumbled, almost falling over, but Trede’s soldiers caught me before my knees hit the grate.
Seyestin didn’t respond. All he did was cut the gag from the back of my head, tossing it aside. I tried to close my mouth but sharp pain prevented me from doing so. Instead, I winced.
“I should escort her, too,” said Qaira. “You’re susceptible.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said Seyestin. “Surely General Soran is clever enough not to try anything.” He shot me a sidelong glance, to which I was silent. “The Commander is requesti
ng you find Justice Koseling and bring her to what’s left of our lab.”
Qaira grimaced. “Sure, I’ll get right on that.”
He moved past us as the rest of his coua-smeared team dispersed.
Seyestin leaned down and murmured in my ear, “Please, please try something. I need just the tiniest excuse to kill you.”
A shiver descended my spine.
“Take our detainee to the Commander,” he ordered his group.
And off we went.
*
“Are you bloody kidding me?!” came a muffled yell from behind one of the viewing panels of an engineering sector.
My eyes moved to the glass, catching a glimpse of an angry, horrified Belial Vakkar. He was surrounded by angel soldiers with sniper weaponry, all of whom looked our way as General Trede’s men dragged me down the hall.
“No one said anything about taking her hostage!” he continued.
General Trede sighed, waving him off. “Take it up with Yahweh later; I’m following orders.”
Belial said nothing else, watching us head toward the medical wing. I looked back right as we were stepping through the cleared sector barrier, catching Vakkar’s venomous gaze.
I smiled.
He did too, but a smile like his meant I had to watch my back.
No matter. I’d get that traitorous clown one way or another; if he tried to kill me first, even better.
*
Yahweh Telei was waiting at a gurney partitioned behind white curtains. He was dressed in a black suit and powder-blue tie, and I was alarmed at how much taller he was than me; decades of standing next to Seyestin and Cereli Trede hadn’t done him any justice.
The partitions were in vain. By now every pair of angel eyes was on me, watching the Commander’s right hand guide me to the back of the room. I felt their condemnation like hot blue lasers, honing in for the kill. My only comfort was knowing I could wipe out this entire room with just a bit of concentration. But I wasn’t here for that.
I was here for the bigger picture.
“Thank you, general,” said Yahweh as we approached. “I’ll take it from here.”
Seyestin seemed unsure. “You mean to be with her by yourself?”
He rummaged through a cabinet. “I do.”
“Sir, as your general I need to advise—”
“As my general, you need to do as I command,” interjected Yahweh, paying Seyestin a diplomatic smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Adrial Trisyien appeared behind them. Seyestin turned and nodded in understanding. He and his guards left without another word.
“Having that god killer with us is unnecessary,” I said, taking a seat on the gurney. “Had I wanted you dead, you’d have been so by now.”
“And what god of yours have we killed?” snarled Adrial. “You throw that phrase around like you have any idea what it means.”
“Please, you two,” said Yahweh with a sigh, “let’s keep this as civil as we can. I assume you don’t intend to cause me harm, General Soran, but I’m not omniscient, either.”
I looked ahead. “Fair enough. Am I getting a physical, then? If so, I want a female doctor.”
Yahweh laughed a little, pulling a syringe from his breast pocket. “Not exactly a physical.”
The fine hairs on the back of my neck pricked at the sight. My pulse quickened when Adrial handed him what appeared to be a sharp silver bullet.
“Found some on a primer body,” said Justice Trisyien. “Thought you might want to study it.”
“I don’t have to study it,” murmured Yahweh, injecting the syringe into the tranquilizer cap, extracting the clear liquid inside. “I was the one who developed it.”
Adrial and I were mutually surprised.
Yahweh held up the syringe. “This is a sedative that I invented to suppress Qaira Eltruan’s brain apoptosis ability in the Adoria Era. Never did I expect it to be so potent on Vel’Haru as well.” He shifted an uncomfortable glance at Adrial. “It was never intended to be used again. Lucifer was once a man of morals; I’m sorry.”
“Says the Archaean with the Jury on his side,” I muttered.
“Let’s leave politics for later, hm?” whispered Yahweh, sliding the syringe into the base of my neck. “Let’s focus on getting you all relaxed and honest.”
Adrial grinned. “Like a kitten without her claws.”
“You monsters!” I slurred, my head already heavy, the room swirling before my eyes. “I came willingly, without any violence, and this is what you do?!”
Yahweh responded but his voice was a low-pitched drone. It felt like someone was holding me underwater. Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to my feet.
Then, black.
XIX
MORITURI TE SALUTANT
Qaira Eltruan—;
I FOUND ORANIQUITIS IN THE GARDEN.
It’d taken awhile to track her down, considering that was the last place I thought she’d be. Oran was able to turn her Vel’Haru beacon off somehow; half of the time I had no idea where she was.
Ezekiel’s garden wasn’t purely aesthetic. Although it gave the illusion of a fancy park in the middle of a warship, it recycled oxygen and cleaned the air which was greatly needed the deeper we traveled.
And there, near the fountain among a bed of white and blue flowers, Oraniquitis watched painted insects and birds fly amid the enclosure. The air was thick with moisture, simulating Crylle’s tropical climate. Not even a minute inside and I was drenched with sweat.
“Hello, Qaira,” she said, keeping her back to me. “Have you come to enjoy the view?”
“Yahweh wants you in the lab,” I said, not in the mood to chat. “If you want to keep your meat-suit from expiring, I suggest you follow me.”
She turned, the ends of her violet and jewel embroidered sundress swayed across her thighs. Leid’s white fur-lined coat framed her weird ensemble. The most gut-wrenching part was that this was so typically Leid.
Oraniquitis knew her, inside and out. She also knew that that was my favorite dress. I’d just about fainted when Leid had worn it to court for the first time.
But she wasn’t Leid, all mind tricks aside. Her eyes told me the truth.
“You don’t have to be rude,” she said. “I’m on your side this time, remember?”
I frowned. “You have a pretty hefty track record of fucking me over.”
Oran smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Please, lead the way.”
*
Yahweh was sweeping up broken glass and pieces of instrumentation with his assistants. Half of the room was inoperable, and there was a roped-off section where the lift had been.
“Did you already see Samnaea?” I asked, stepping over shrapnel.
“Mm, she’s resting.”
“… Fuck, did you tranq her?”
Yahweh smiled. He set the broom aside and dusted himself off. “Clever as always.”
I was torn between the idea of anyone using that stuff and knowing it was probably the safest and most efficient way of keeping Samnaea under our thumb. I gestured to Oran. “Here she is.”
Oraniquitis stared at him, silent.
Yahweh stared back.
Just as I was properly creeped out, Yahweh broke eyes with her and gestured toward the other side of the lab. “Thank you for coming. Please, this way.”
As the two started to leave, I headed for the exit.
“You’re not staying?” called Yahweh.
“I’ve got shit to do,” I said, pausing at the door. “Call me when you’re done. I don’t need to watch; just give me a summary when I get back.” Hopefully Yahweh didn’t expect me to protect him, even if I could. By now I was fairly certain Oran wouldn’t turn genocidal—at least not anytime soon. He’d be safe without me.
*
I found Adrial in Zhevraine’s room—or, the room that used to be hers.
He was knelt on the floor, tearing out books from steel shelving. It seemed as if he’d been at this for a while, considering the amou
nt of books scattered across the floor. Ezekiel and her army were on the move again, into Orias and onward to Junah, and the downtime wasn’t treating Adrial well.
Zhevraine had always been tidy. She’d made her bed the morning of her death, even unpacked all of her belongings from her luggage as if this little box had been her new home. A leather-bound notebook on the bed stirred up memories of all those late nights back at Cerasaraelia, when she had bored me to death with her poetry.
Alezair’s memories, not mine, but I felt his grief just the same.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Nothing you’d care about,” said Adrial, not even paying me a glance. “What do you want?”
“Still sore, huh?”
“You make it sound like all you did was ruin my favorite shirt.”
I moved Zhev’s notebook and sat on the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” laughed Adrial, rifling through a large volume of philosophical anecdotes from Caia. She’d been obsessed with that world.
“I’m not sorry for what happened, but I’m sorry that you’re mad at me. And, I’m sorry for your loss.”
I heard him exhale slowly. He dropped the book on the floor. “That’s more than I ever expected, from you.”
I smirked, and so did he.
“Yahweh confirmed that you’re researching expiration.”
I nodded. “I think we’re moving through stage one as we speak.”
Adrial lifted a brow. “Meaning?”
“Long story short, we have a hormone in us that fades over time. Yahweh found stereochemical matches in his database; it’s almost identical to insect juvenile hormones found in species that metamorphose.”
Adrial said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
“Right now we’re going to assume the hormone functions in the same way. The hypothesis here is that expiration is a transitioning state between juvenile Vel’Haru and adult Vel’Haru.”
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 94