by Jacob Holo
All he had to do was fire.
But he hesitated.
“Pilot Elexen!” the Choir shouted. “You have your orders! Destroy those flyers!”
Seth’s mind spun with confusion. What am I being ordered to do? Why am I being ordered to do it? Quennin is on one of those flyers? But that doesn’t make any sense! How could that possibly be?
“Destroy those flyers! Now, pilot!” the Choir commanded.
“Don’t do it!” Jack said. “Quennin is on one of those flyers! I know she is! You have to trust me!”
“Destroy them!”
“No!” Seth shouted back. “I refuse this order!” He broke away at a right angle to the channel, pulling up through the thinning gases. The command throne did not follow, but instead remained behind in tight escort of the flyers. Three more thrones joined it.
Seth broke out of the gas channel and regrouped with the Renseki. All six were thankfully alive, but their damage reports were a mix of yellow and red splashes in his mind. The Renseki were in no condition to continue the fight.
“Seth, why didn’t you follow orders?” Zo asked. “You almost had them!”
“Quennin is on one of those flyers. I couldn’t fire on them.”
“But…” Zo let the word hang in uncomfortable silence, then asked, “How did you find out?”
Seth’s shock over the whole situation turned into a cold seething anger. “You knew?”
“I…”
“You knew?”
“Yes,” Zo whispered. “I was there when the Outcasts captured her.”
“You knew, and you didn’t tell me.” His voice grew steadily louder. “You knew, and you still went along with this?”
“Listen, we still have Knight Squadron. We can regroup with them and try to—”
Seth broke the link and put a block on her channel.
He sighed and shook his head, wings bunching up and quivering. Anger, confusion, and the receding peak of chaos energy conspired to suddenly make him feel very tired.
“Jared, pull Knight Squadron out. This mission is over. We’ll rendezvous back at the Resolute.”
“Order confirmed, sir. And, if I may ask, what is going on?”
“I’ll let you know when I find out.”
Anger festered within Seth. The Choir had just ordered him to kill Quennin, his partner and beloved, the woman who gave birth to his firstborn, the woman he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
They ordered me to kill her, he thought darkly.
Fold points blossomed above the gaseous channel. The Glorious Destiny flashed into existence along with ten frigates and fifty-four archangels. The Choir must have decided this was the moment to cut their losses and leave. The Alliance negator and its escorts vanished from the system before they could be fired upon. The Renseki folded away moments later.
Seth slowed as he approached Tesset’s seraph. Besides the damaged right arm, she’d done just fine.
“I heard,” Tesset said, her voice less shaky now.
“Yeah.” The word was more a sigh than anything else.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Knight Squadron reported in with fold engines configured and charged. Seth sent the recall order, and all fourteen seraphs vanished from the system.
Chapter 7
Lies and Banes
Seth pushed out of the pilot alcove and exited the cockpit. The hangar bay bustled with activity around him as he walked across the gangplank to the wide ledge in front of the seraph.
Twangs of pain reverberated down his arms with each step. He turned and gazed up at the seraph. Clusters of maintenance arms were already peeling away its mnemonic skin along each forearm. Underneath, stress fractures marred the deformed endoskeletal struts.
The power of that weapon…
Seth shook his head and turned away. He walked into the next bay and saw Tesset step out of her seraph. She cradled her arm. A slow leak of black fluid dripped from her craft’s severed limb. Maintenance arms retrieved its conformal pods and summoned spare parts from the Resolute’s internal stores.
“How are you?” Seth asked.
“My i-suit did a good job of patching me up.” She massaged her limb in the exact location the seraph had been cut. “Arm’s still sore, though.”
“Good to hear.” Seth placed a hand on her head and ran his fingers through her damp hair. “Thank you for staying hidden.”
She gave him a hesitant smile. “So what happens now?”
“Now, I get my answers, one way or another.”
“Sir!” Jared shouted, jogging over to them. “Sir, what happened out there?”
“I’m not sure,” Seth said, surprised to hear his own voice so empty of emotions. Parts of him wanted to boil over and explode, but for now they waited behind a veneer of icy calm. “But I intend to find out.”
The pilots walked quickly down the long line of seraph bays, collecting other members of Knight Squadron as they proceeded. At the far end of the Resolute, the Renseki seraphs finished docking. With the Renseki carrier several dozen light-years away, the Resolute was a logical substitute.
Seth strode into sight of the first Renseki seraph. He wanted to release his tightly bound anger at someone, anyone, but what he saw gave him pause.
A float pallet passed him by, hurried into a lift by three medics. Seth caught sight of the occupant, one of the Torvulus twins, either Kevik or Kiro. He couldn’t tell.
The Renseki’s helmet had been removed, and his face lolled to one side. Charred flesh caked his neck and face. Blackened skin had been broken open where the i-suit had operated. Splotches of congealed blood matted down his sandy blond hair. Seth hadn’t realized their injuries were so severe.
“Oh, no,” Jared breathed quietly at the sight of his half-brother.
The second twin entered the bay at a run and squeezed into the lift just as it closed.
“Sir, if you don’t mind,” Jared said. “I think I belong somewhere else right now.”
“Of course, Jared. I understand.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jared nodded curtly and stepped into another lift.
Zo and Mezen hurried into the bay. They spotted Seth and walked straight towards him, Mezen taking long strides and Zo breaking into a jog to keep up with her towering partner. Zo’s long, black braid swung behind her with each step, fists clenched tightly at her sides. She looked as angry as Seth felt.
“Why did you disobey orders?” Zo ripped her i-suit gloves off and threw them aside. “Kiro might die for nothing because of you.”
“I decided it was the right thing to do.”
“You were in no position to make that judgment!” Zo shouted. “We could have all died for nothing because of you!”
With those words, Seth reached the limits of his restraint. He sucked in a deep, seething breath and let everything loose.
“YOU ORDERED ME TO KILL QUENNIN!!!”
His words echoed in the silent bay. Zo shrank back and could not meet his gaze.
The bay fell silent. Zo’s anger melted away, and Seth finally saw the Choir’s orders had taken their toll on her. Zo had known from the very beginning where Quennin was. Just when had the kill order come, and how long had she agonized over it?
Zo suddenly looked sad and small, nothing like the pilot filled with righteous anger who’d just strode into the bay. She spoke without eye contact.
“Seth, I’m sorry, but it was the right thing to do.”
“You dare tell me it was the right thing?” Seth stepped forward.
Zo flinched back, and Mezen placed himself between them.
“If you must hit someone, hit me,” Mezen said.
Seth hadn’t realized just how overwhelmed with fury he was. He lowered his white-knuckled fist and slowly unclenched his fingers.
“One life extinguished to prevent a greater evil,” Mezen said. “That is the reason we followed our orders.”
“And what do our
leaders mean by that?” Seth asked.
“We place our trust in the Choir’s wisdom,” Zo said. “That is enough for warriors such as us.”
“Your trust is misplaced,” Seth said.
You’ve changed, Zo. Where has your compassion gone? I remember a time when we were both young, when you flatly refused the Choir’s orders to attack Earth. It didn’t matter how logical they made it seem. You knew what was wrong, and you helped us save that world. Time has changed you, and not for the better.
“Seth, you say that as if the Eleven were still a part of the Choir,” Zo said. “And besides, you don’t have all the facts.”
“This is insane! Our duty was to rescue our fellow pilot!”
“Quennin S’Kev is no longer a pilot,” Mezen said.
“Then what is she? They sent four thrones and the Glorious Destiny to retrieve her! Just what is going on here?”
“We are…” Zo glanced at Mezen, who shook his head. “Not allowed to say.”
“And what do you have to say about this, Choir?” Seth shouted out, his voice echoing in the bay. He turned on the spot and looked up and around at random. “I know you’re listening! Answer me!”
Silence followed.
“Defend yourselves, Choir! You will answer, even if I have to go to Aktenzek and wring your corpses in person!”
Zo and the Aktenai pilots from Knight Squadron visibly cringed. No one spoke to the Choir like that. Not even the Slayer of the Bane.
Seth’s neural link received an incoming message, but it was not from the Choir. Instead, it was Vorin Daelus, Sovereign of Aktenzek, who wished to speak.
“Pilot Elexen, please remain calm,” Vorin said privately over the link.
“Sovereign, I—”
“We must not speak publicly on this matter due to its great sensitivity. Please be patient with me, and you will have the answers you seek. I give you my word.”
“I… Very well, Sovereign. I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
“Please assemble my Renseki in your quarters. I shall address all of you there.”
Seth broke the link and looked up at Zo.
“That was?” Zo asked.
“Sovereign Daelus. Meet me in my quarters. Tesset, we’re leaving.”
“Right.”
Seth turned his back on the Renseki pilots and departed without another word. Tesset followed him to the bay lifts. The doors closed, and they were alone.
Suddenly, it happened again: a wash of distant voices intruded into his mind, stronger and clearer than before. The clamor rose, pitching louder and louder with distant and distorted shouts, human voices ripe with worry and concern. The voices in his head peaked, fell away, and finally died out as suddenly as they arrived.
Two incidents in two days. It’s getting worse.
“Are you okay?” Tesset placed a gentle hand on his arm.
Seth didn’t know the answer to that.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” he said. “Just a little tired.”
***
Seth and Tesset changed out of their i-suits and waited in his quarters. The spacious room was arranged in the common Aktenai fashion, with a single large living space merged with dining and sleeping arrangements. Its two large tables and numerous chairs were all simplistic, cleanly designed, and functional: just the way Seth liked it.
A wall screen dominated a whole side of the room, showing a visual feed from the Resolute’s exterior with several inset windows displaying close-ups of Alliance vessels. The Resolute was back within the main Alliance fleet, still regrouping after the attack on the Wise Counsel.
Seth watched the screen, arms folded behind his back, occasionally taking deep breaths to calm himself. Tesset stood near him and didn’t speak. Seth knew she found him unsettling when his mood darkened, though perhaps her silence was because of Quennin this time. The distance between them seemed greater than normal.
It wasn’t often they were alone in his quarters together. Aktenai partners did not share the same living space: a tradition many Earthers found odd. But Seth found the opposite equally confusing. He couldn’t imagine having another person constantly intruding on his private space. A relationship needed closeness, true, but it also required a degree of distance.
Zo and Mezen entered, now dressed in their Renseki uniforms: long, storm-gray coats with the sleeves and hem chased in silver curls. Belts looped around their waists, the buckles shaped as silver six-winged hawks. They carried no indication of chaos frequency. Mezen’s uniform bore more prolific flourishes.
Seth turned from the wall screen. “How is Kiro?” he asked quietly.
“Recovering,” Zo said. “He’ll make it.”
Seth nodded.
A hologram shimmered into existence, dressed in a fashion similar to the Renseki, but with highlights of gold not silver. Sovereign Vorin Daelus was a tall, gaunt figure, his hair stark white and his face more sunken than Seth remembered. Normally, the ruler of the fortress planet showed little emotion, but when his eyes fell on this daughter, paternal joy softened his face.
Zo and Mezen fell to one knee and bowed their heads. Seth did not.
Tesset leaned towards Seth and whispered. “Who’s the hologram?”
Of course. How careless of me, Seth thought. Tesset’s sense could detect the hologram’s presence but none of its features, just as she couldn’t perceive the images on the wall screens or the colors on clothing.
“My dear daughter, it is good to see you again,” Vorin said warmly.
“Father!” Tesset bowed hastily. “Please forgive my rudeness.”
“Nonsense. I am well aware of your unique qualities.” Vorin turned to Seth and bowed his head, showing deference as he always did to the Slayer of the Bane. “Pilot Elexen, I wish circumstances were better.”
“As do I.”
Vorin nodded thoughtfully. “At first, I had hoped we would recover Citizen S’Kev, but then the thrones were dispatched from the Glorious Destiny, and we no longer had the time to capture all the remaining flyers. Under those circumstances, ordering her death was the correct choice.”
Seth’s jaw tightened.
“I believe I can convince even you this decision was justified. Please grant me that chance.”
“As you wish, Sovereign.”
“Father, is it possible the Outcasts picked the wrong target?” Tesset asked.
Vorin shook his head. “No, we are quite certain they didn’t take Citizen S’Kev in error. While it is true that Renseki Daed and Renseki Nezrii were there when she was kidnapped, neither of them warrants this level of attention.”
“And Quennin does?” Seth asked.
“Oh yes,” Vorin said. “The Original Eleven sent thousands of flyers to secure her. In order to bypass our defenses, they ordered those flyers to fold space directly into Earth’s gravity well. Almost all of them perished instantly as their atoms were smeared across the inner depths of the planet.
“It is an often ignored but proven fact that ships can emerge within a gravity well, though with horrendously small chances of success. Our former masters merely played a game of probability, sending in enough ships to ensure at least a few appeared on target.”
“How many ships?” Seth asked.
“The Choir estimates some fifty thousand flyers participated in the attack,” Vorin said. “We also believe each flyer was crewed by at least five warriors, given what we saw when Citizen S’Kev was kidnapped.”
The Eleven sacrificed a quarter million warriors without a thought. And for what?
“Originally, we tried to rescue Quennin,” Zo said. “I wanted to save her, Seth, believe me. And not just because the Choir saw benefits in retrieving her alive. She’s my friend.”
“What benefits? What are you talking about?”
“Allow me to explain,” Vorin said. “Do you recall our discussion concerning Citizen S’Kev? The one where I asked you to separate yourself from her and take my daughter as your partner?”
“I re
member it very well, Sovereign,” Seth said.
“Do you remember what convinced you to go along with the request?”
“You said Quennin’s life depended on it.”
Vorin nodded solemnly. “Indeed I did. With most pilots, we would have forced such a separation as a matter of course. A pilot so injured cannot pass on their former talent, and pilots are too valuable to Aktenzek not to be paired with compatible partners. However, that is no way to reward pilots who have served us so well, and I was willing to make an exception in your case. Citizen S’Kev’s condition changed all that. As you know, she lost her piloting talent during the battle with the Bane. What you don’t understand is how she lost her ability.”
“She suffered severe head trauma from chaos influx feedback,” Seth said. “What other reason is there?”
“That’s… not quite true,” Zo said softly.
“Indeed,” Vorin said. “Quennin S’Kev is the only warrior to survive such a grievous wound by the Bane, and that creature left its mark on her. She did not lose her piloting talent completely, though it is now deeply submerged in her psyche.”
“Then why not try to revive it?” Seth asked.
Zo shook her head sadly.
“Because, Pilot Elexen,” Vorin said, “her restored talents would have matched those of the Bane.”
Seth stared at the Sovereign in stunned silence for long seconds.
“You can’t be serious.”
Vorin shook his head. “As we imprint our seraphs when they are gifted to us, so too did the Bane imprint a part of Quennin’s mind. Her talents were not destroyed, merely leveled and overlaid with a new foundation. If we revive her talents, they would be the same as that abomination’s.”
“But even so, she’s not the Bane! What difference does it make how similar her abilities are to that creature?!”
“Seth, it’s not that simple,” Zo said. “It wasn’t just the Bane’s talents that got transferred. Part of that thing’s personality came with it. Not much, we think, but enough for us to be concerned.”
“Submerged in her subconscious, but present and detectable,” Vorin said. “A dangerous seed waiting for the right conditions to sprout.”
“Part of the reason I continued having contact with Quennin was to observe her,” Zo said. “To look for anything abnormal. We thought she might be more forthcoming with a friend than with the Choir.”
