Instead the softness of his gaze iced over, until there was no emotion left. “See you soon, father.”
Yahweh cut the call, and the holosphere went black. My attention lingered on the screen long after he was gone.
He would not see me soon.
I left the chair and unlocked my cabinet, retrieving two syringes and vials. I placed them in my pocket and vacated my office, leaving the door ajar.
*
My estate was empty and dark, although it’d always been so. I was seldom home. The last time I’d sat in my living space was when I had brought Samnaea here to recover. Back then she’d been starry-eyed with ambition, ready to fight for a cause. Now she was either dead, in a prison cell, or turned to the other side with the false belief that anything would change.
Nothing would change; I realized that now.
I was tired of living in this world, in this body. I’d seen too many things to believe in anything anymore; and after this final act I could no longer be here. After centuries—no, millennia—of circular war and tragedy, the truth was clear: change could only be brought around by death.
Including mine.
But suicide was a hard act to follow through with, so I spent the next half hour staring at the wall, steeling my will to reach into my pocket and pull out the vials and syringes. Once I succeeded, I placed them on the glass coffee table, catching a glimpse of my reflection. I looked tired and defeated, and I recoiled with a wince.
Bottoms up.
I unscrewed the cap of the first vial. It contained a powder-blue substance that lowered inhibitions. I filled the syringe and rolled up my sleeve, staring at the ugly, twisted flesh of my mutated arm.
After my fall, I developed the power to heal through touch. I, too, was a psion, however I kept this secret to myself. A short while after we were released into Hell, my severed hand began to grow back. Not with the same skin, but like this.
I tried everything to get rid of it, even excising it with a kitchen knife and cauterizing the wound. Twice. It grew back both times, uglier than before. Therefore I surrendered, forced to wear this reminder of Sanctum and the Fall for the rest of my life.
With a quick exhale, I injected the contents of the syringe into my arm. There; the hardest part was over. Now I just had to sit back and wait for the courage to complete the task.
I closed my eyes, listening to the beating of my heart. When I opened them, Calenus Karim was sitting on the chair across mine, regarding me with unease.
His appearance made me jump. “Why can’t you knock on the door like ordinary people?”
“I’m not ordinary people.” Calenus eyed the items on my coffee table. “It appears I came at a bad time.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“You’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
“Whatever you want, I can’t give you. I’m done.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then why are you—?”
Calenus narrowed his eyes. “Because you’re here.”
Ah, I was the bait. He’d wait for them to come and find me. “They may never show up.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’ve set an anti-matter bomb to detonate the moment Judas lowers her bridge for docking.”
Calenus furrowed his brow. “Aren’t your forces still on the Judas?”
I looked away.
“I see,” he responded, wary, looking at the syringes on the table again. “Are you sure you’ve thought all of this through?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” He reached inside my coat, left on the back of his chair, and retrieved my package of malay cigarettes. “Can you afford the time to have one with me?” He raised his brows in question, waving the pack.
“I wasn’t aware you fancied mind-altering substances.”
“This warrants an exception.”
So it did.
I nodded and extended my hand. Calenus opened the pack and gave one to me, then a lighter. By now the substance had taken full-effect; my hand trembled as I lit the cigarette. I wasn’t sure if malay would cross-react with the injection, but I didn’t care. No inhibitions.
We smoked in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
“This is what Qaira did, wasn’t it?”
I looked to him in question.
“Sinking into madness, blowing everything up?”
“I’m not mad. Just tired. The world would have a better shot if all the people making decisions for it disappeared.” Qaira had done it for revenge. I was doing this to save the world. The civilians would be free to decide their fate from here on out.
And then I noticed the crimson thread under Calenus’s nose. My expression gave it away, and he wiped it clean with his thumb.
“You as well?”
Calenus nodded.
“How long?”
He took a drag, exhaling purple smoke. “Soon. I have enough time to watch the Scarlet Queen die, however.”
“Are you frightened?”
He looked at me like what I said was incomprehensible. “Why would I be frightened?”
“Most sentient beings are frightened by the thought of their existence ending.”
“Lesser sentient beings. Vel’Haru philosophy abides by the notion that we are here to serve a task. Our task is completed upon death.”
“… That’s it?”
“I am not afraid of death because it’s a process of existence. Without death, do you really exist?”
I frowned, glancing at the second, unopened vial. “I’m really not the person to ask.”
“Fair enough.”
“What do you believe your task was?”
“To protect Exo’daius; to direct the others into learning more about the Multiverse.”
“So you’ve completed your task.”
“No,” Calenus said, near whisper. He ashed the cigarette in the tray beside the syringe case. “I still have to protect Exo’daius.” He took the smoking cigarette from my fingers before it burned all the way to the filter. I could no longer think straight, nor could I move right. “I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye, Lucifer.”
I leaned forward, shivering. “Good luck, Calenus.”
He disappeared into the foyer. I heard the door close, and couldn’t help but smirk at his choice of exit. At first I’d felt humiliated, but this visit had turned out to be quite ataractic, cathartic even.
And then I reached shakily for the green vial, more than ready to take the leap.
XXV
ENIGMATIC CIRCUITS
Seyestin Trede—;
AFTER READING COMMANDER RAITH’S FINAL charge over telecoms and aeon transmissions, Caelis Jonarr sat back in his seat and sagged his shoulders, offering us some time to absorb all of this.
An hour ago, Lucifer had contacted Ezekiel and mirrored the same sentiments to Yahweh from his office in Akkaroz. After that brief conversation, now that communications were online once more, I was ordered to call Judas and negotiate terms.
I sat stoic in the chair at the command panel. Behind me, Yahweh, Qaira, Adrial and Belial shared troubled looks. Qaira was the first to speak.
“Who is left aboard your ship?”
“A handful of admirals and foot soldiers. The rest have been deployed to help evacuations.”
“Primers?”
“None. I believe you’ve killed them all.”
Yahweh stepped forward. “Doctor Jonarr, I am accepting your terms. We will allow any civilian evacuees clear airspace to retreat to Avernai. We have refugee camps already established that will shelter and feed them. All military personnel aboard Judas will be placed into custody. No harm will come to anyone who doesn’t resist.”
Caelis frowned. “Does that include me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Caelis sighed, nodding. “How far out are you, Commander Telei?”
“Roughly half a day from your coordinates. Ezekiel is crossing into Junah as we
speak. Commander Raith’s terms are accepted only on the condition that we are not met with hostility through the layer.”
“As far as I know there isn’t anyone left capable of hostility, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Also I must advise you to please not move the Judas from your current coordinates.”
“Of course.”
“That is all,” said Yahweh, glancing toward me. That was my cue to cut the call.
Once the transmission died we convened in a circle around the navigation table. The holomap projected the coordinates of Judas and the flight trajectories across Junah that would make for the quickest trip.
“General Trede, you’re awfully quiet,” remarked Yahweh.
“That’s because my comments would not have made for pleasant conversation when the line was hot,” I said. “This is obviously a trap of some sort.”
“I’m going to agree with Seyestin for once,” muttered Qaira, eyeing the others. “It stinks. Lucifer just lays down his fully armed ship and slinks off to Akkaroz?”
“I’m not sure if it’s a trap, but I do believe that something is amiss,” said Yahweh, rubbing his chin. “I doubt the threat will be aboard Judas, as Caelis is not a war tactician and obviously a fleetless command ship would lose against Ezekiel.”
“There’ve been refugee transporters moving through Junah all afternoon, so we know Raith has been truthful about that bit,” commented Qaira. “If there’s a threat, it’s not Judas. He wouldn’t kill everyone aboard while wasting time evacuating others.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Belial interjected. “There’s a reason he’s not on that ship anymore, friend.”
Qaira scowled. “I’m not your friend.”
Belial blew a kiss at him.
“Let’s send a transporter ahead with a small team to secure the ship before we dock,” offered Adrial. “Either Qaira or I will go with them.”
“Why not both of us?” asked Qaira, lifting a brow.
“Overkill. Not to mention someone needs to stand guard here in case it is a trap.”
Qaira considered this, folding his arms, glancing down at the map. “I’ll go, with what’s left of my enforcer-angel team.” He thumbed the board. A red incandescent dot trailed from Ezekiel to the Judas. “We’ll deploy several hours from when Ezekiel reaches Judas. We’ll secure the ship before you all arrive.”
“No,” said Yahweh, and everyone looked at him.
“No?” Qaira repeated, brows raised.
“We don’t know if the Court of Enigmus will be there,” he elaborated. “They may not be there now, but could very well be scouting Judas and waiting for you to arrive. After what happened on Gomorrah we have to assume that they could reappear at any time.”
“Lucifer could very well be in on it,” I mused, “which gives reason for his departure, knowing a Vel’Haru fight would sink the ship anyhow.”
“The transporter will have to be without Vel’Haru,” deduced Yahweh, frowning.
Qaira conceded, looking down.
Belial’s face lit up with an idea, a crooked grin forming across his lips. “Why not use General Soran? Have her prove her worth to us.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Congratulations,” said Qaira, “you’ve just won the Worst Idea Ever award.”
“That actually might work,” said Adrial. “We’re playing it safe by sending her and a dozen soldiers. If anything goes south, we’ve lost almost nothing.”
Everyone considered this idea. Everyone but Qaira.
“You’re not serious!” he almost shouted, turning to Yahweh. “Belial is just trying to get her killed!”
“This is true, I’ll admit,” said Belial, “but it serves our purposes, too.”
“It serves no purpose,” snarled Qaira. “If she’s still allegiant to Hell, we’ve just delivered their general back to them and they could very well trick us into flying directly into an ambush.”
Belial sighed, frustrated. “I didn’t suggest sending her by herself. Like Adrial said, take a group of angel meat-shields to keep her in check.”
“So she can explode their heads and saunter onboard, unchecked?”
“Let’s let the Commander decide, hm?” said Belial, turning toward him.
Until now Yahweh had followed the argument with a conflicted frown. Now all eyes were on him.
He straightened, clearing his throat. “The transporter will have a dozen angel soldiers, accompanying Samnaea Soran—”
Belial grinned victoriously; Qaira turned and shook his head.
“—and you, Belial.”
I’d never seen a smile leave a face so quickly.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Qaira makes a point that it isn’t certain whether Samnaea is entirely trustworthy. I agree, sending her on the transporter with the ability to execute any celestial by mere thought poses an unnecessary risk to our soldiers. However, you are not susceptible to her ability. We are unable to send the Vel’Haru, so therefore you are our next bet.”
Belial stared at him, stunned.
It was apparent Qaira was resisting the urge to laugh at him. “How about you both prove your worth to us, you selfish, murderous fuck?”
Yahweh’s expression steeled. “That is an order, Admiral Vakkar. General Trede, have a team prepare a transporter.”
I returned to my seat, delivering his charge.
***
Yahweh Telei—;
Oraniquitis sat atop the gurney, waiting for her next injection.
She didn’t appear as ill as yesterday, but all the same she knew the dose I was giving her wasn’t a cure. I was a little surprised by how calm she seemed; Oran was taking this miles better than Qaira.
We didn’t speak until after I administered the dose into her left arm. Her posture was relaxed, lithe, with her head slightly hung. She looked at me and murmured thanks, and I came to realize her black eyes didn’t scare me anymore. She didn’t scare me at all.
I’d seen firsthand what Oran was capable of, but time had led me to the sad conclusion that everyone did things for a reason—whether it be for their own moral justifications or otherwise—and she wasn’t any different. She believed her throne had been taken from her (which was more or less true), and any tragedy or ill-consequence suffered by others in the process of reclaiming her title was justified.
And, it seemed mortality had humbled her.
“This is a stronger dose with a more potent constituent,” I said. “Hopefully we can delay the sickness a little longer.”
“I only need to make it to the end,” she said, near whisper. Her gaze trailed to the window. “And it appears the end is drawing near.”
“Why only then?”
“He won’t leave until then.”
I hesitated, knowing who she was referring to. “He made a promise to me, so I am partly to blame.”
“And you made a promise to keep her healthy. Or, at least, this body healthy. Should it falter, you know he’d crumble and lose any ambition to press on.”
“Mm.”
“She won’t survive. I don’t feel her fighting me anymore,” Oran confessed, “but the illusion of hope is necessary for both of us.”
I said nothing, sterilizing the injection site.
“You’ll come, too, won’t you?” she asked, and our eyes met. I was taken off guard by the fact that she was asking, not ordering. “Once this is over?”
“I suppose I have no choice.” Whether or not she was giving me one. Exo’daius was the only place I had to go after the war ended, and it was clear that the Violet Line was not welcome there under its current management.
There were troubling times ahead.
***
Adrial Trisyien—;
I stood in the doorway to Qaira’s room, watching him smoke a malay cigarette while staring at the wall. I was sure he’d noticed I had activated the door, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze.
There were fist-dents in the wall and wood splin
ters across the floor. Spots of blood soiled his bed. The entire room smelled like Oraniquitis—;
So did he. He’d reeked of her at the command station.
My attention settled on the Argentian coat he wore, which was unusual in itself. Qaira was more likely to burn anything resembling angel upper-rank apparel, but past its high collar I could see faint scratches marring his neck. Any wound he’d gained yesterday would have healed by now, unless it was from one of us.
I’d only known Qaira for the better part of a month, but Alezair for a century. Back then he’d reluctantly accept my counsel, but I wasn’t so sure if he would now. It was clear that he was in an advanced stage of nervous collapse; that distant stare and affinity for spontaneous destruction were perhaps the only two traits Qaira and Alezair had ever shared.
I sighed and stepped into the room, sealing the door behind us. I took a seat next to him on the bed, and he threw the pack of cigarettes into my lap. He still refused to look at me.
I lit the cigarette and took my first few puffs. Then, I nodded to his coat. “Did she force you?”
Qaira flinched at the question. “I don’t know. Not really.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “You consensually fucked Oraniquitis Loren?”
He shrugged.
This was worse than I’d thought. “She’s poisoning you, Qaira. That’s not Leid and it never will be. Keep it together.”
Qaira shot me a sidelong glance. “Thanks for the advice. I need to shower.”
He mashed his cigarette onto the floor and threw it in the sanitizer. Without another word he moved to the bathroom. He’d removed the coat before the door was fully shut; more nail marks ran all along his shoulders, disappearing under his shirt. I looked back at the blood on the bed, cognizance settling in. I vacated the room as I heard the shower run.
In the hall, on the way to the lift, I realized how alone I was.
Zhevraine was gone, Leid as well, and now Qaira was barely hanging on by a thread. There was no one to confide in any longer except for Yahweh, and burdening him with personal plights seemed unfair. He had enough on his plate.
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 101