The Last Blade

by Sarah Hawke

  “It was a betrayal,” Mosaad said pointedly. “Not just of me, but of every sentient being in the galaxy.”

  He glared at me for a minute, his dark eyes swirling with ancient, barely-contained fury, before he abruptly flicked his hand and took in another deep breath. I swore I could actually see the demons crawling on his back.

  “I suppose you of all people deserve to know the truth,” he murmured. “It’s difficult to explain everything, but you are already familiar with the basics. By the time your father claimed the Crystal Throne, the war had been going badly for a very long time. We had lost dozens upon dozens of colonies across the Far and Mid Rim, and the Convectorate had solidified alliances with numerous other governments. Falric blamed the Blades for your grandfather’s death, and he wanted to salvage what little remained of his power and sue for peace.”

  “From everything I’ve heard, suing for peace seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.”

  “On the surface, perhaps,” Mosaad said. “But the situation was more complicated than he wanted to admit. For all their ships and all their alliances, the Tarreen had stretched themselves too thin on multiple fronts. I assembled the Blades and Wings for a final offensive, and I was confident we could retake several of our lost colonies and open up another front.”

  “According to Raxyl, military leaders had been promising to turn the tide for years.”

  “This was different,” Mosaad insisted. “The men and women who followed me were the best of the best. Even the most conservative combat simulations gave us an eighty-percent chance of success. In six months, the Hierarchy would have been forced to withdraw from Dominion space. In a year, we could have rebuilt and taken the offensive. In two years…Seraph knows what we could have accomplished.”

  He shrugged another demon from his back and turned. “The point is that Emperor Falric and his sycophants on the Seraphim Council didn’t negotiate a peace to save the people of the Dominion—they negotiated a peace to save themselves. They chose to live on as Convectorate puppets rather than fight.”

  “And now?” I asked.

  “Now…” Mosaad said, bracing his hands on the projector. “The Council still meets on Keledon, and the Emperor-Regent still rules most of the Core Worlds. If you’re willing to ignore enough details, you might think that nothing has changed in twenty years. But all it would take is the smallest glimpse beneath the surface to see the rot festering beneath.”

  I nodded absently, wondering just how far I should prod him for details. “From the way it treated non-humans, it sounds to me like there was already a rot in the Dominion.”

  “You’re more right than you know,” Mosaad admitted. “Even as a young man I knew the Council was wrong. So were the Blademasters and the military and everyone else. It took many years, but I eventually came to accept that the Dominion I loved didn’t really exist…and perhaps it never did. Whatever the Seraph may or may not have been, her followers—our ancestors—quickly became every bit as brutal as their Tarreen slavers. Make no mistake, our empire was forged in blood and death.”

  “Yet you still want to fight for it?”

  “I fight for what it could be—for it what it should be,” Mosaad said. “For all the faults of the old Dominion, the Convectorate remains a far larger threat. The Tarreen won’t stop until they’ve subjugated every system from the Rim to the Core. We cannot fix the mistakes of the past until they are defeated. Your father never understood that. He didn’t want to understand that.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You really hated him, didn’t you?”

  Mosaad’s lip quivered almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t want to,” he said. “Your grandfather and I disagreed on many things, but I always respected him. Unfortunately, Falric was a very different man.”

  “Raxyl hated him too, possibly even more than Admiral Ferron in some ways.” I pursed my lips. “It’s a strange sensation to live in the shadow of a man you never met. You probably see my father every time you look at me.”

  Mosaad eyed me for a moment. “I did for a while after you told me,” he admitted. “So many old mysteries finally started to make sense. It was difficult to think about anything else, especially considering the nature of your powers.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father also possessed the gift of foresight,” Mosaad said. “He could have used it to help us plan our counterstrike and defeat the Tarreen, but instead he used it to sell out his own people.”

  A shadow fell across his face before he glanced back up to me. “But you are not him, Cole. When I look at you, I see the son of a proud, fearless Wing of the Seraph who was betrayed by a coward and murdered by a monster. You are not responsible for your father’s mistakes…but you do have a chance to correct them. You could redeem your family’s legacy, Cole.”

  “I’m not going back to Keledon, if that’s what you’re implying,” I told him. “I have no interest in—”

  “You misunderstand me,” Mosaad said, waving his hand. “Forget Keledon and the Crystal Throne and the Seraphim Council. Forget everything. One hard truth I’ve learned over the years is that you can’t measure a revolution by the grandeur of its ideals, only by the strength of its victories. There are billions of people suffering out here in Far Rim and across the Convectorate. The Seraph overthrew the Tarreen once, and we can do it again. But we need a win—any win—to lay the groundwork.”

  “And you still think Nelphari is the first step.”

  “I know it is the first step,” Mosaad said. “Just like I know that you will have our forces ready in time.”

  I blinked. “Me?

  “You’ve already proven your abilities as an instructor numerous times. Cobalt, Morningstar, Squeaker, and now Shandris…you obviously have a gift.”

  I felt my cheeks flush with the heat of embarrassment. “I still don’t really think I’ve done much of anything,” I mumbled. “They already had the talent. All I had to do was—”

  “Chip away the rough edges,” Mosaad said with a knowing smile. “I didn’t transform Kaveri into a warrior any more than you transformed Morningstar into a pilot. You just helped set them on the right path—ultimately, that’s what teaching is all about.”

  I swallowed and glanced away. Compliments had always made me uncomfortable, doubly so when I didn’t believe I deserved them. I had to stumble around awkwardly for a few seconds before I reminded myself that I hadn’t just come here to reminiscence about my father or absorb praise.

  “Well, speaking of Kaveri,” I said, “she said the two of you were planning on boarding Ferron’s command ship while the rest of us fight.”

  Mosaad nodded. “No matter how well we prepare, we will be outnumbered and outgunned. We will need to control the battlefield and exploit every possible advantage.”

  “That’s all well and good, but do you seriously think the two of you can take over a whole battleship?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But three of us can.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  He gestured his hand towards the small projector near his bed, and he telekinetically manipulated the controls until a small, three-dimensional hologram of the Nelphari shipyard materialized in the air.

  “Selorah claims she installed several backdoors in the Fury’s security systems before she left,” he said. “With her access codes, Kaveri and I should be able to board the ship and take control of the bridge. Combined with the Vantrax, that should give us more than enough firepower to overwhelm the shipyard’s shields.”

  I pursed my lips as I watched the simulation play out on the projection. “I’d assumed she would be staying on the Vantrax to boost and repair its systems.”

  “I wish we could spare her, but the others will just have to manage on their own,” Mosaad said. “Regardless, everything relies on our ability to distract and delay their fighter drones as long as possible. That is where you come in.”

  “Twelve fighters against several do
zen, plus the shipyard’s point-defense cannons,” I murmured. “That won’t be an easy task.”

  “You can’t afford to get that close to the station. But with luck, you won’t need to.” Mosaad adjusted the projection, and I watched as six Valkyries winked into existence on the display. “Your squad will initiate the attack. Once you shift out of astral space, you will draw their drones as far away from the perimeter defenses as possible. A few minutes later, Seraph Squadron will shift in on the opposite side and strafe their unprotected flank.”

  “What about the Vantrax?”

  “Assuming Selorah can jury-rig an astral drive, it will shift in third. By then, Ferron and the Fury will have moved out of position. That should give our cannons a bit of time to soften up the enemy shields.”

  “And when the Fury comes about to engage head-on, you and Kaveri try to storm aboard,” I reasoned, nibbling at my lip in thought. “It all seems fine in theory, but something is bound to go wrong.”

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with the old cliché—few battle plans ever survive the first engagement. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have one.”

  I nodded idly and studied the projection more carefully. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was probably right about the Fury. We were definitely going to need something to turn the tide, and neutralizing or stealing Ferron’s command ship even for a short time could make all the difference. Still, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if this was more about revenge than strategy. Conveniently, this would put Mosaad in a perfect position to kill Admiral Ferron and avenge the ghosts of the past.

  But even if that is true, why do you care? Ferron killed your mother and thousands upon thousands of other people at Talasea. Raxyl wants him dead, too, probably just as much as Mosaad. If this works, it will be the perfect opportunity to kill a dozen birds with one stone.

  I grunted softly and crossed my arms over my chest. Perhaps that was why this was making me so uneasy. If the last few weeks had taught me anything, it’s that nothing ever worked out quite like I wanted it to…

  “The other virtue of this particular plan is that it should limit your squad’s exposure to enemy fire,” Mosaad said into the silence. “At most, you’ll have to deal with whatever drones you initially draw out, and I suspect they’ll race back to defend the station once Seraph Squadron engages. At that point, all you’ll need to do is protect the Vantrax from potential bombers.”

  “I think we can handle that,” I said. “Assuming I can teach Shandris how to dogfight in two days…”

  “I have full confidence in your abilities,” Mosaad said with a grin, “especially now that Raxyl is willing to openly share his experiences with us. This will be a monumental day, Cole—I can think of no better way than to prove our intentions than to liberate this sector with the aid of so many non-humans.”

  “Assuming we all survive, sure,” I muttered. “But I suppose you’re right.”

  He clapped my on the shoulder. “Before you set out for more training, there is something I wanted to give you. I may not technically be an admiral or even a member of any real military, but this should still count for something.”

  I reached out as he handed me a small insignia pin. At the center was a shimmering holographic image of a bird wreathed in flame.

  “Back during the civil war, an old friend of mine had plans to form a new squad of Valkyrie pilots who would ultimately rebuild the Wings of the Seraph,” Mosaad said. “It took a while, but I think her dream has finally been realized.”

  “Phoenix Squadron,” I said, tracing my thumb along the insignia. “But we’re already part of Seraph Squadron.”

  “The Seraphs are Blackstar’s squad. Phoenix Squadron is yours.”

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I had never been particularly big on sentiment, and in any objective sense this wasn’t a real promotion. We weren’t a real squad serving in a real military; we were just a bunch of exiles and vagabonds who were probably going to die in dramatic fashion soon.

  Still…for some reason, holding this stupid piece of metal felt right.

  “Congratulations, Phoenix Leader,” Mosaad said, offering me his hand. “Now get out there and whip your pilots into shape. We have a revolution to start.”

  Interlude

  Regdar

  Dominion Core World

  1093.5

  “Citizens of the Dominion, I come before you today with a message of grave importance,” the voice of Emperor Falric said through the massive holo-projector at the center of the star port. “As you have undoubtedly heard, twenty hours ago the Convectorate embassy on Regdar was destroyed. This cowardly, shameful act was perpetrated by a handful of terrorists who seek to tear apart our blossoming alliance and throw the galaxy into yet another pointless war. They may call themselves the ‘Seraphim Covenant,’ but their actions prove them unworthy of the Seraph’s legacy. They are terrorists, pure and simple, and they will be hunted down and destroyed. On this, you have my word.”

  “He’s scared,” Wynn Mosaad said, a dark smile tugging at his lips. “They can filter his voice through as many modulators as they want. I can feel his fear.”

  “He knows we’re coming for him,” Natalya Vesh replied. “I’m surprise he hasn’t locked himself a bunker beneath the palace.”

  “He still might before this is over.”

  She nodded and pulled the cowl of her cloak more tightly around her face. “We shouldn’t linger. It’s only a matter of time before one of the facial recognition scanners identifies us.”

  “You said you disabled them.”

  “I did, but the repair mechs will fix them eventually. I’d rather not be standing here when that happens.”

  Mosaad didn’t move. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the projection. It had been ten long years since he’d stood before the Crystal Throne and held his blades at Falric’s throat, and to this day he still had nightmares about not killing this smug son of a bitch when he’d had the chance. Mosaad could have stopped this before it began. Falric’s death would have triggered a civil war, but at least the rest of the Blades would have survived…

  “The Council is still in panic about Kalifax,” Grayson said from behind his other shoulder. “Last I heard, the riots have finally spread to the capital.”

  Mosaad grinned again. “They’ll spread to other planets soon enough. Abolishing the Alien Assembly was a fatal mistake.”

  “Before we get too proud of ourselves, those ‘aliens’ are just as likely to flee into the arms of the Convectorate as declare their independence,” Natalya said.

  “The Kali will never embrace the Vecs,” Mosaad said. “Neither will the Neyris or the Thursk.”

  “But that doesn’t mean they’ll embrace us. Killing Falric’s thugs will only take us so far. We have to show them that everyone has a place in the New Dominion.”

  Mosaad nodded. The frustration in Natalya’s voice was a pale shadow of the bitterness on her face. She hadn’t wanted to come to Regdar; she hadn’t wanted to come back to the Core Worlds at all. Her idea of revolution was waging a long, protracted propaganda campaign to change hearts and minds across the galaxy, and she had made significant inroads on several nearby planets. Until this trip, Mosaad hadn’t even seen her in almost two months. It was like they were fighting two completely different wars.

  He appreciated her efforts, of course, but they simply didn’t have time to wait. There were too many people suffering on too many worlds. They needed to strike now while Falric and his sycophants were off-balance.

  “The more victories we achieve, the weaker Falric appears,” he said. “The weaker he appears, the more soldiers will flock to our banner. The people already know the armistice was a mistake. All they have to do is look around and see the Tarreen infesting their streets. We just need to give them a real alternative.”

  Natalya didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to. The crease in her brow told him everything he needed to know.

  “I will
follow wherever you lead, of course,” she whispered. “But we should go—soon. I will prep the ship for launch.”

  She turned and darted across the starport. Grayson shook his head as he watched her disappear into the crowd.

  “You should keep an eye on that one,” he warned.

  Mosaad sighed. “She’s just frustrated. I honestly thought a victory like this might help.”

  “Every Kali in the galaxy could join us tomorrow and I doubt she would care,” Grayson said. “To be honest, I’ve never understood why you keep her around.”

  “Because she’s right,” Mosaad told him pointedly. “Natalya and people like her are the future of the Dominion. At the end of the day, we have to convince aliens across the galaxy that we are a better choice than Falric or the Tarreen.”

  Grayson grumbled under his breath but remained silent. Mosaad could sense the other man’s doubt; whatever else the admiral might have been, he was still a human raised in the ranks of the old guard. If not for Falric’s stunning betrayal at Talasea all those years ago, Grayson probably never would have questioned the human-centric ways of the Seraphim Council.

  And he wasn’t alone. The Dominion was still filled with men and women who were content bask in the “glory” of the old days without considering for a moment what those days were actually like—or who suffered during them. The Tarreen Hierarchy had rallied dozens of other governments to their side for very good reasons.

  But as those governments slowly came to their senses, the fault lines in the Convectorate would become more and more obvious. The Tarreen would suffer the same fate as the Seraphim. The Kreen, the Krosians, even the Velothi…all they needed was a better alternative. And before this civil war was over, Mosaad was going to give it to them.

  “Come on,” Mosaad said, taking a final glance at the projection. “We should get moving.”