by Jacob Holo
Plaerion placed the emitter on the hold’s floor and stepped away. The air sizzled and coalesced into an elderly woman with pure white hair. Beside the Outcast warrior, the woman appeared small and fragile, but she possessed an air about her, one of confidence and absolute superiority. Her dress was split down the middle, white on one side, black on the other, with gloves of the opposing color.
Dendolet, Second of the Eleven, crossed her arms and looked down at Quennin. Her eyes possessed silver irises.
“Hello, Quennin S’Kev,” Dendolet said with unexpected warmth in her voice. She dipped her head in a slight bow of respect.
Quennin turned away and stared at the floor.
Plaerion tensed up at the show of disrespect and opened his mouth, but a simple wave of Dendolet’s hand silenced him.
“I must apologize for the way you have been treated, child, but I assure you it was necessary.” Dendolet took in Quennin’s swimsuit. She pressed a finger to her thin lips and grinned. “Warrior, see if you can’t find something more suitable for her to wear. You Outcasts like your ships colder than true humans.”
“I will see what I can find, venerable master.” Plaerion bowed his head and left the hold.
“I don’t need your pity.” Quennin looked up at the Eleven. “You kidnapped me.”
“Kidnapped is…” Dendolet seemed to struggle with the words. Quennin could almost see the lies and half-truths lining up behind the woman’s eyes. “Kidnapped is not an appropriate description, thought I am sure that is how it seems without—”
“How it seems?”
“Without proper context, of course,” Dendolet said calmly. “Which we will provide to you once you are safely onboard our command ship, the Glorious Destiny.”
“You named your command ship the Glorious Destiny? I see the past five years have done nothing to make the Eleven less arrogant.”
“I am sure you have many questions,” Dendolet continued, showing no sign of hearing Quennin’s insult. “Please rest assured that your questions will be answered, but only once we have guaranteed your safety.”
“Why me? Why all this effort to capture me?”
“Because you are unique, Quennin S’Kev, though you do not yet realize it. I would say more, but Veketon has reserved the right to explain this to you in person.”
There it is again. “In person.” Just what do they mean by that?
Dendolet turned to the wall, watching the distant battle unfold through the flyer’s screen-skin. Renseki seraphs clashed with a dozen Outcast warships. Brilliant beams slashed across space. A warship exploded. Then another. The Renseki slaughtered their opposition with mechanical precision.
“Regrettable,” Dendolet said. “We didn’t expect the Renseki to be so close to you. Strange, don’t you think? Aren’t you surprised to see the Sovereign’s honor guard fighting to reclaim you?”
“I…” Words caught in Quennin’s throat, and she reflected truthfully on the question. They had cast her aside once already. Why show concern over her capture? “Yes, I think it’s strange. I don’t understand why either of you have bothered.”
“All six Renseki and dozens of ships, even when the Alliance is stretched so precariously thin. They would not make this effort unless we had taken something very important from them.” Dendolet flashed a bemused smirk. “Or should I say, rescued something important from their grasp?”
Quennin gave Dendolet a venomous look. “Do not twist words with me.”
“As you wish. You will see the truth soon enough.” Dendolet glanced out at the Renseki once more. “Surely they sense the waste in destroying you, even if they don’t comprehend your potential. But I fear if you become unattainable, the Choir will order the Renseki to kill you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it now?” Dendolet said. “Are you that certain, child?”
“They’re my friends. They would never do that.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t blame the Choir or your former comrades,” Dendolet said. “After all, attacking something that frightens them is a very natural response.”
“You’re lying. Look at me. I couldn’t possibly frighten anyone.”
“Oh, but you do. They view you as a terrible threat. One that chills them so thoroughly, they sought to exile you on Earth. They thought their secret secure, but we have ears even within the Choir.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Dendolet pointed to the screen. “Look upon this battle and decide for yourself who is telling the truth.”
Quennin shook her head. “Even if what you say is true, my friends would refuse the order.”
“My dear, you think others are honorable because you yourself are. The universe is not like that. But you have little to fear. We have dispatched our thrones to ensure your safety.”
“How very gracious of you,” Quennin muttered bitterly.
“Even though Veketon has reserved the right to explain our reasons, I shall leave you with something to ponder.” Dendolet knelt down and leaned close, as if to emphasize the importance of her words. “You already know the answer. It haunts you when you sleep.”
“What?” Quennin blurted, a chill running through her body. “You couldn’t possibly know!”
Dendolet smiled coolly. “Places you’ve never been. People you’ve never seen. The same mysterious images over and over again. Didn’t you ever wonder?”
“Dreams are just dreams!”
“No, child, they are not. Not in one such as you.”
“They’re just dreams,” Quennin whimpered, hugging her knees close, burying her face in them.
“Farewell, child. I wish you a safe journey.” The hologram vanished.
In time, Plaerion brought her a suit of combat fatigues, warm but several sizes too large. Even with it on, she couldn’t stop shivering.
***
Fourteen seraphs flashed into the system. Seth spread his wings and turned.
Over his decades of service he’d witnessed many strange stellar phenomena, but he’d never seen anything quite like this.
Two gas giants orbited no further than twenty thousand kilometers apart (small distance indeed for objects over fifty thousand kilometers in diameter). Some cataclysmic event had taken place unknown years ago. Perhaps one of the orbits had been elliptical and the two giants had passed precariously close to one another before becoming locked together. Whatever the cause, the result reminded him of two blobs of paint, one a mix of reds and browns, the other blues and grays, which had brushed past one another, pulling pieces of the neighbor with it.
Seth took some small pleasure at the unexpected beauty in an otherwise grim battlefield, then turned his focus to the matter at hand.
A wide channel of shared gases stretched between the two planets. The Alliance battle network showed two groups of Outcast flyers retreating into that channel, their current positions estimated. The Renseki and a force of twenty Alliance robotic warships stood watch outside the gaseous storms. An Alliance negator held station, cordoning the area.
“Zo, what’s your status?” Seth asked.
“The flyers have retreated into that gas channel spanning the two planets,” she said. “They’ve released sensor chaff and scanner decoys, so we’re not sure how deep they are. I’m fairly certain there aren’t more than two main groups, given how the chaff dispersed. They can conceal their exact position but not the general area. One group is heading for the red planet, and one for the blue planet.”
“Any idea which one has the target?”
“No. We should split into two groups and go after them simultaneously. I’ll lead the Renseki after the blue group. You take Knight Squadron and eliminate the red group.”
“Fourteen seraphs after one and six after the other?” Seth said. “We should split up more evenly. Tesset and I will join you.”
“Okay,” Zo said. “Good idea.”
“Jared, take Knight Squadron and deal with the closer of the two groups.”
&n
bsp; “Confirmed, sir.” Jared powered up his drive shunts and led Knight Squadron into the channel.
Seth pulled in behind the six Renseki seraphs. They skimmed the upper reaches of the gas channel, passing thin tendrils of blue and gray smoke.
“What makes these flyers so important?” Seth asked as they approached the target area.
Zo paused for too long. “I don’t know.” Her voice quavered when she spoke.
“You’re lying, Zo.”
“So what if I am? We have our orders.”
The retort frustrated Seth. Both he and Zo had lived through the Choir’s most egregious lies. He followed the Choir; his sword lay at Aktenzek’s side always, but he no longer trusted them implicitly. Zo’s candor at her lie disturbed him, but he could do nothing about it… or perhaps…
An idea came to him. He couldn’t find out what was going on. But there was someone who could.
Seth switched on his hypercast array and sent out a query. Jack responded a few minutes later.
“I’m guessing this is important,” Jack said. “Am I right?”
“Know anything about a big Outcast operation heading back from Earth-Aktenzek?”
“Yeah, and most of it’s bad. You have inbound thrones. I’m not sure how many. Three, maybe four thrones total.”
“Four thrones? Curse it, what are they after?”
“No idea, but it’s got to be something big to attract this much attention. Why do you ask?”
“The Choir isn’t being upfront with me, and Zo’s lying about the whole thing. Nothing feels right about this. I need you to find out what’s going on.”
“Well, all right. I’ll do my best. No guarantees, though. This whole hypercast monitoring trick is temperamental.”
“Do what you can. Call me immediately if you find anything.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Jack closed the hypercast link.
Seth and the seven other seraphs pushed hard along the gaseous channel, flying far enough above it to avoid most air friction. They closed on their targets.
Hostile fold points snapped open ahead, sending out wide rings of shimmering light. Four thrones entered the star system.
Thrones resembled seraphs in many ways, but always more human than humanoid, their curves more organic and natural than the machine-like angles of typical seraphs. Their bodies were sleek, and their armor clean and white. A halo spun at great speed behind each of their backs, disappearing in a white blur edged in crackling blue energy. The halos were wider than their shoulders and physically disjoined from their bodies. Each throne only had one halo-wing.
Except for the lead throne.
That one possessed two halo-wings, the second smaller, hovering further back from the torso and spinning in the opposite direction. Bands of white and black symbols traced alongside the throne’s chaos shunts: half-moons, circles, and arches all tightly packed together.
Veketon’s heraldry.
In the command throne’s hand was a great lance, taller than the throne itself and etched with strange glyphs. The characters flowed from one to the next, continuous and graceful. His neural link found no match for the language, which covered the lance from top to bottom. These glyphs burned with blue fire that matched the throne’s chaos frequency.
A transmission came from the enemy forces, relayed through the prototype command throne to protect its point of origin. Seth let it play.
“Faithless servants,” Dendolet said. “Yield and you will be spared. Continue and you will be destroyed.” The message terminated.
Seth answered by drawing his swords and igniting them. The Renseki followed his lead by retrieving their own weapons. Tesset remained safely hidden within an active stealth field.
“Here they come,” Zo breathed, raising her twin swords. “Be ready.”
The command throne turned away and descended into the gaseous channel, no doubt to guard whatever they had captured. The three remaining thrones charged.
No throne had ever been defeated in battle. Wherever they fought, they left only carnage and death in their wake. But these thrones now faced the elite of Aktenzek: the Sovereign’s own honor guard and the Slayer of the Bane.
Even still…
Seth closed with the nearest throne. He swung in, and the throne raised its forearm to block. His chaos sword scorched past the outer armor but could not penetrate further. Blue viscous fluid dribbled out of the wound, floating away in large globules.
The throne twisted its forearm and grabbed the sword with its hand. Talons edged in blue energy sunk into the blade. The throne lashed out with its other clawed hand.
Seth powered up and over the throne. He ripped his sword free, turned, and came in behind the throne with another attack. His sword struck the throne’s halo-wing but just skidded across the surface in a shower of blue and purple sparks.
Seth swung again and lodged a blade in the throne’s shoulder. It batted the sword away with visible contempt, turned, and lunged at him, talons reaching. He raised both swords and blocked the throne’s hand. Behind it, Tesset flickered out of stealth mode and raised her carbine’s bayonet. She stabbed into its arm just above the elbow.
The throne spun in a blur and swiped upward with talons. Tesset couldn’t back away fast enough. The talons struck her extended arm and tore through as if it were tissue. Tesset cried out and pulled away. She clutched the mangled stump, energized fluid gushing through her fingers.
Valves quickly rerouted and bypassed the damaged portions of the seraph’s circulatory system. The flow ebbed to a trickle, and Tesset vanished.
The throne faced Seth again. He raised his swords and braced for another attack.
“You okay, Tesset?” he asked.
“I’m… okay,” she said shakily.
“Stay hidden.”
“Yeah…”
Seth quickly checked the Renseki seraphs and the other thrones. Even with three to one odds, the Renseki had suffered moderate damage. A throne had ripped out one of Kiro’s wings, but that was the worst. No fatalities so far, but Seth saw where this would lead. The thrones would win. It was only a matter of time. They simply weren’t doing enough damage.
“Seth, this isn’t working!” Zo shouted, her voice urgent and preoccupied with combat. “You’re the fastest one here! Make a break for it! We’ll hold their attention! Destroy those flyers!”
“Understood!”
The throne came at him. Seth dodged beneath its reaching talons, angled his wings, and shot away at full speed. He dove into the gaseous channel, all the arguments and oddities of this mission forgotten. He flew through layers of blue and gray cloud that thickened around him. His scanners began picking up the signatures of at least twenty Outcast flyers.
A lone chaos energy signature showed the command throne’s location directly ahead.
Seth still had thirty tactical seekers. One crash-launched salvo at close range should be more than enough. I can use my cannon to take out any flyers the seeker volley misses. Just one throne to break past…
The command throne closed rapidly, drawing its lance back and swinging in. By the way the throne wielded its lance, Seth guessed every surface was a deadly cutting edge. Seth met it sword for lance. The two weapons clashed in a snap-flash of brilliant energy.
The impact jarred through Seth’s barrier and poured into his body. He felt hot needles stab into his hands and arms. The sensation stunned him, and he gasped in pain, but he still held against the attack. His barrier did not waver, nor did the strength of his blade falter.
Sword and lance ground against each other. The command throne’s power reserves seemed limitless, its weapon awe-inspiring and terrible. Seth brought his second sword in, and the throne shifted, blocking the second attack. It pushed up, forcing the lance into a clockwise spin, and Seth found himself thrown back, unbalanced and open to attack.
The throne lashed out, and Seth desperately crossed his swords to block the attack. The strike slammed home and reverberated up his arms.
In his mind’s eye, damage indicators lit up yellow. The throne’s attack had cracked the endoskeletal struts in his forearms. In a corner of his mind, he heard the flesh of his true arms sizzle.
“Gah! Curse it!” Seth gritted his teeth. He couldn’t face this foe strike for strike.
He pulled away, and the throne followed, thrusting repeatedly with its lance, forcing Seth back. Unlike the almost animal savagery of the other thrones, this one moved with a sense of calm precision.
“Seth, they’re coming after you!” Zo shouted.
Three thrones sped in behind him. He had only seconds before he was surrounded.
“I see them!”
The command throne attacked again, lance crashing again sword from the side. Seth’s blade shattered into a rain of obsidian splinters. The command throne pulled its lance back for another thrust, but Seth dashed underneath and past it. He shot through the gas channel with all the speed he could muster, wings burning white with energy. As powerful and impressive as the thrones were, they could not keep up.
His targeting scanners picked out twenty-two Outcast flyers directly ahead. He had only one shot at this.
Just a little closer, he thought.
A hypercast message came into his link from Jack, marked as High Priority. Seth ignored it. He didn’t have time for interruptions.
Ten seconds later, a second signal arrived. Jack had attached every flag, tag, and marquee available to an Alliance hypercast message. The thing blared, throbbed, strobed, blinked, vibrated, sang, whooped, and whistled in the corner of Seth’s mind.
“I don’t have time for this, Jack!” Seth shouted, mentally reaching to kill the channel.
“Seth, don’t fire on those ships! Quennin’s onboard one of them!”
“WHAT?”
“Don’t fire! Whatever you do, don’t fire!”
Seth saw the Outcast flyers directly ahead, now finally in terminal weapons range. Even with the scanner chaff and decoys clogging the gaseous channel, they had no chance of surviving his attack.
