by Jacob Holo
The Glorious Destiny’s crew had representatives from every Outcast nation enlisted by the Original Eleven, and not all of them like each other. A tense, electric atmosphere permeated the ship. In the three months Jack had covertly monitored this vessel (merely his most recent incursion) dozens of Outcasts had killed each other in duels, brawls, or outright killings.
But that was just background noise, an undercurrent of violence the Outcasts seemed to accept without question. The killings were simply tiny pieces of the larger game each nation played, all vying selfishly for the Eleven’s favor.
Jack passed two warriors from the Felleross nation, marked by sashes with diagonal swirls of orange and black. He kept his head low and gave all the proper signs of quiet subservience. The two soldiers passed without comment, though one spat at him. The Outcast proved a fine marksman, and Jack wiped the spittle out of his right eye.
All in a day’s work, he thought.
Jack impersonated a member of the Jallero nation, a small and rather sad lot that held little sway or prestige next to the larger nations. They were basically war-slaves, a wretched and conquered people with little more than a name to call their own. Other Outcasts greeted Jalleros with unhidden contempt, viewing them as something similar to steaming dung on their boots.
Their bigoted attitudes made going unnoticed all the easier.
Little was known about the Outcast Nations. The great archives within Aktenzek held only scraps of data on their history, political structures, or economic systems. Outcasts encountered on the front were almost exclusively engineered supermen designed as expendable combatants and so did not make good examples for their home populations.
Despite having spent almost two decades in Outcast space, Jack had only encountered a few of the nations the Eleven had pulled together. Just how many factions where there in the galaxy? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Millions? Billions?
And where did they come from? Who had seeded an entire galaxy with human life? Did the Eleven do it? Did the Outcasts themselves even know?
Another member of the Jallero nation stepped into the corridor. Like Jack, he wore plain utilitarian overalls with tools filling its pockets. Blue and white bands around both arms identified their nation. The man looked like a typical (almost stereotypical) Jallero warrior, with a round face, bald head, and beady eyes.
But then, the man could change his features at will.
Dominic of the Grendeni nodded to Jack and joined him on his way to the archangel bays.
Technically speaking, Dominic wasn’t human, but an observer manufactured by the Aktenai. Built faster and stronger than any natural human being, Dominic had once been Jack’s infiltration partner when they’d served under EN Special Operations.
As a principle, Aktenai and Grendeni alike abhorred genetic modification (among other taboo technologies like artificial intelligence). When it came time to create their observers, they had used the genetic templates of Outcast warriors captured in secret. And so, with some minor modifications, Dominic became the perfect candidate for infiltrating the Outcast war machine.
However Jack, as a mere human, required a technological solution. He wore a slipsuit and facial façade of Aktenai manufacture that masked his natural biometrics and physical features. The simulation wasn’t as good as the real thing, but Jack’s talents with hypercast arrays made the risks worth it.
The two infiltrators headed single-file towards the archangel bays.
Dominic opened a secure hypercast link. “Have you heard anything about what’s going on?”
“There’s so much traffic shooting around, it’s hard to pick out what’s important,” Jack linked back. “But, yeah, I’ve picked up a few interesting tidbits. We’re going to be folding soon.”
“Any idea where?”
“Towards the front, but in the direction of Aktenzek, not the Gate.”
“Why would they do that?” Dominic asked. “They have to sense the Alliance is going to launch an offensive soon. And so, in anticipation of this attack, they’re spreading their forces thinner?”
“Yeah, I agree. It doesn’t feel right.”
“And why prep all the archangels? Do they expect combat in the next system?”
“I don’t see why. No bases or recent engagements there… wait a moment…”
Jack felt another flurry of hypercast transmissions sent out from the Glorious Destiny. It was a simultaneous burst to multiple fleet elements: a sure sign of something important. Jack listened in.
The corridor widened, and they proceeded side by side. Dominic caught the distracted look on Jack’s face.
“Anything good?” he asked.
“Sounds like we’re joining up with another group. They’re returning from an operation deep in Alliance space.”
“They’re coming back from Aktenzek? Not a good sign.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Jack entered the archangel bay. In sharp contrast to the surrounding corridors, the archangel bays were a series of rectangular chambers twenty stories high and kilometers long. Over thirty archangels towered above them in this one bay alone. Long strips across the ceiling provided harsh illumination.
Jack glanced up at the archangel before him. They were simple machines compared to the seraphs, cheap and expendable. Reflective Outcast-style armor shone brightly in the bay lights, built across the body in tightly fitting segments that reminded Jack of medieval plate mail. Two large wings extended from the back, folded tightly like switchblades. External pods for cannons and guided munitions awaited loading below the archangel.
“Time to go to work,” Dominic said in a carefully crafted grumble.
“Yeah, whatever,” Jack said aloud, walking towards the loader console.
A voice called down from the bay’s observational balcony, ordering Dominic and Jack’s alter-egos to hurry it up.
“Do you think anyone would mind if I went up there and broke his neck?” Dominic linked.
Jack reached the loader console, then turned and looked up at balcony. “Well, I count about fifty Slannells up there, give or take ten,” he linked. “Plus a few Fellerossi supervising them. So unless you want to wade through all that—and the Fellerossi have guns mind you—I’d just go about your business as normal.”
“I think I could take them.”
Jack suppressed a smile. True, the Grendeni enhancements grafted in before their infiltration made Dominic a true terror in combat. But not that scary. And besides, Outcast warriors had no sense of fear.
“I seriously doubt that, Dom. I could take them. You would just get plastered all over the walls. And then who would I have to keep me company?” Jack worked the console controls and lifted a fusion cannon pod up from the munitions bays.
“I think you’d like that,” Dominic linked. “The Grendeni would send someone to take my place, maybe even model my replacement after one of those Reffelleni amazons. They might even copy that Tesset girl you keep pining over.”
Jack’s hand slipped on the controls. The cannon pod’s gravity crane veered sharply towards the archangel and nearly impaled it before he smacked the emergency halt button. Shouts, various obscene curses, and questions concerning his genetic lineage rained down from the observational balcony.
“Shut up, Dominic! You’re breaking my concentration!”
Dominic chuckled before he closed the link.
Jack finished latching the fusion cannon in place, then sent the crane down for the archangel’s chaos sword.
As he worked, Jack wondered about the archangels. Seraphs and the original Grendeni archangels needed pilots to function. Without a chaos adept human acting as a power bridge, a seraph couldn’t even move.
So these Outcast archangels logically needed pilots, too. And, apparently, these pilots shared Jack’s chaos frequency, though not his strength. But how could pilots with his frequency exist? He had no children. Chaos talents could not be cloned or created, but only passed on through natural procreation. They were heredit
ary, but non-corporeal, related to a part of humans that science struggled to explain. Quennin once described that part of him as his soul.
Jack finished loading the archangel’s sword and secured its latches along the wing pod. The weapon was a monstrous blade of conductive alloy, single-edged and as tall as the archangel itself. It was designed for only one purpose: killing seraphs.
Jack sent the crane down for a fusion torpedo pod. He made a show of reviewing the archangel’s loadout while he listened to the seemingly random chatter of hypercast.
Suddenly, a single high-priority communiqué streamed in from the general direction of Aktenzek and Earth.
Jack tried to pick out the important details. A successful mission… a successful mission from Earth?… Alliance forces in pursuit… several Aktenai seraphs in pursuit… the Renseki?… reinforcements inadequate… requesting additional support.
Casualty numbers to follow… one in five thousand survival ratio! What kind of mission was this?… something retrieved… a person?
Jack struggled to make sense of the message. What kind of a mission would have only one in every five thousand warriors survive and still be considered successful? What person could be worth that?
Half a minute later, new orders came down. All thrones were to be removed from cryogenic storage and launched immediately.
Chapter 5
Slayer and Empath
Seth pulled the i-suit glove over a hand and flexed his fingers. He sealed the wrist-clasp and picked up the other glove. The huge wall screen in his quarters glowed with masses of green and red icons. A timer in the center counted down the minutes before mission start.
“Uhhh, I hate this stuff.” Tesset struggled with her i-suit coat. She stuck her arms in the air, but her head remained stubbornly beneath the suit’s neckline.
“Here, let me give you a hand with that.”
“No, no. I’ve got it.” With an exaggerated wiggle, her head popped out. She pulled her hands out of the sleeves and sealed the clasps at her waist.
“These suits have saved my life more than a few times,” Seth said. Strikes against a seraph’s barrier reverberated back to the pilot, often with enough force to kill. Quennin had lost her talent…
Seth grimaced. He shook the thought away.
“That doesn’t mean it’s comfortable to wear,” Tesset said. “Sometimes I think I can feel all those needles.”
Seth picked up her helmet and handed it over. She slung it under her arm and followed him out of his quarters. The floor of the pilot concourse was emblazoned with the seals of Aktenzek and the Earth Nation: the black inverted i and the Earth-Moon pair surrounded by sixteen stars.
Four pilots from Knight Squadron hurried from their quarters to the waiting lifts. Seth and Tesset stepped into one and descended to the seraph bays.
“You nervous?” Seth asked.
“Not at all,” Tesset said, her words drenched with sarcasm. “I never get nervous before a fight.”
Seth put a consoling hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Tesset gave his hand a friendly pat.
“They’ll be too busy trying to kill me to notice you.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
Seth removed his hand before the lift opened. They stepped into the seraph bay. The Resolute stored each seraph in a separate, self-contained chamber, complete with its own munitions loaders, repair robotics, and isolating armored membranes. Around that, triple layers of mnemonic armor girded the carrier’s long, cylindrical form.
Seth gazed up at Tesset’s seraph. Robotic arms danced about it, busily sealing maintenance holes in the mnemonic skin and affixing Tesset’s chosen loadout of conformal pods. From an Aktenai standpoint, the seraph’s design was somewhat conservative. Its green body featured smooth utilitarian lines, similar to the EN seraphs, but in a way that made it look faster and more aggressive. Vents along the six wings, sides of the torso, and limbs provided the necessary release points for chaos energy when active.
Tesset gave Seth a final nod, then hurried over to her seraph’s technician. Seth continued across the bay, past the open emergency airlock, and looked up at his own seraph.
The black, angular machine possessed an ominous bearing to it. Enemies feared it. Allies respected it. In runic script, the seraph’s chaos shunts declared the Litany of the Mission: the very definition of what it meant to be Aktenai, to be one of the Forsaken.
Who are we?
We are those forsaken by our kind.
What is our purpose?
To repent for our greatest sin.
What was our sin?
The creation of the Bane.
How must we repent our sin?
We must kill the Bane.
Who will judge our worthiness?
The Keepers of the Gate.
And now, after finally vanquishing the Bane, their former masters sought to steal away the salvation of an entire people. Seth would not allow it.
He’d selected his standard equipment loadout for this mission. Fusion cannon with eighteen shots in the right forearm pod. Railgun in the left forearm pod. Leg missile pods held a balanced mix of thirty high-maneuver tactical seekers and thirty ship-killing fusion torpedoes, while the wing pods contained a countermeasure suite and extended scanner array.
Seth hurried across the gangplank, entered the cockpit in the torso, and settled into the pilot alcove.
The gangplank pulled away, and the seraph’s outer skin sealed. He took a deep calming breath, closed his eyes, and let the physical sensations of his true body melt away.
The slightest trickle of chaos influx leaked into the seraph’s fluidic conductors. Its chaos shunts flared to life, glowing hotly, flooding the bay with purple light. Seth’s knowledge of his frail human body receded to a small corner of his mind, into a tiny pearl of perception. He opened his eyes and saw through the seraph’s scanners, felt through its armor and barrier.
Seth didn’t pilot the seraph. He was the seraph.
He shuffled from one foot to the other, the clamps on his shoulders and wings restricting his movements.
Armored shutters underneath him snapped open, and the rail system engaged, catapulting him into space. The triplicate exterior flinched open, only for the briefest of moments, and sealed again as Seth fell away from the Resolute.
Seth spread his knife-edged wings and their edges burned with brilliant purple light. He pulled up and away from the Resolute and halted near its nose. Tesset and the twelve members of Knight Squadron joined him in short order.
Seth brought up the operational clock. When the countdown reached zero, the Choir spoke to the Alliance forces.
“First wave, advance!” the Choir ordered in a sharp staccato voice Seth did not recognize. He wondered which of the Choir’s countless personalities had risen to prominence for this battle.
It might even be someone who had fought and died here in Graveyard three thousand years ago, Seth thought.
Six full squadrons of Alliance seraphs, two hundred fifty warships, thick swarms of exodrones, and over four hundred Grendeni archangels folded space.
In his mind, Seth opened a visual feed from one of the lead Aktenai dreadnoughts. He zoomed in on the Wise Counsel. The supply depot was a massive spaceborne edifice, shaped like a long column capped at either end by wide saucers. At the center of the column was a thick, bloated nodule that housed the station’s primary power plants.
Hundreds of warships docked all across the column and along the outer edges of the saucers. The Wise Counsel dwarfed them all.
Dozens of beams cut across space, slamming into the lead Aktenai dreadnought. Its mnemonic armor liquefied without even the slightest chance to self-repair. The hull underneath vaporized.
Its signal vanished. Two hundred forty-nine Alliance warships returned fire.
“Eight seconds,” Tesset breathed. “A dreadnought gone in the first eight seconds.”
“Second wave,
advance!” the Choir shouted.
Four additional squadrons of Alliance seraphs folded space, followed by six Alliance negators and their escort frigates. Fold neutralization fields charged up and came online, pinning the Outcasts down for as long as the negators functioned.
Seth switched his perception to a tactical view of the battle. Waves of Outcast archangels folded in or launched from the Wise Counsel. Aktenai seraphs pulled ahead of the warships, energizing swords. Seth watched for a weakness in the enemy formations: a cleft that he and Knight Squadron could strike and—
In Graveyard, dozens of fold points blossomed open like ripples in water. Outcast warships and archangels poured through the momentary rips in space-time.
“They backtracked our fold signatures to Graveyard,” Jared said. “They’ll try to disrupt our reserves.”
“Hostile negator field coming online!” Yonu shouted.
“Yep, called it,” Jared said.
“Take them down!” Seth swung about and throttled up to full power.
He pulled away from the Resolute with Tesset and Knight Squadron close behind. They weaved through the leprous wreckage of an ancient derelict and came into view of their target.
The Outcast negator hovered inside a tight sphere of twenty escort frigates. Two squadrons of archangels ranged outward in a looser protective shell. An identical formation folded to the opposite side of Graveyard.
“Not a bad tactic,” Jared said. “Sacrifice a few ships and archangels to disrupt our plans. They’re already putting us on the defensive.”
“Then let’s finish them off quickly,” Seth said.
“Knight Squadron, engage!”
Half of Knight Squadron undocked their rail-rifles and powered the long barrels. The other half readied their swords.
Beam fire shot out of the spherical Outcast formation. Knight Squadron evaded the fire and dove at them like vicious birds of prey. Outcast archangels flew out to meet them.
Seth reached over his shoulders and gripped his swords. Mnemonic latches along his back snapped open, and he pulled the twin blades free. Conductors on his palms mated with the swords, flooding them with chaos energy. The double-bladed weapons flared to life, each as long as his seraph was tall.
