Now she came over to wrap her arms around him. “But you care. Even though the people who died were the enemy.”
“Not all of them.”
“Okay, not all of them. But you went there to stop a fearsome enemy, and you succeeded. There was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened in the aftermath.”
“That’s not true. I could have tried to lure him out of the building, away from other Praesidis. I could have…teleported away the instant he died. I could have….” The look on her face exposed the lie he was trying to tell himself, but it didn’t make the truth any easier to accept.
The truth was that he didn’t want to be forgiven or forgive himself. In the wake of such overwhelming death, someone had to be held accountable, and the line of candidates began and ended with him.
Whether Alex knew what he was thinking or not, she remained undeterred. “You did what no one else was capable of doing, and you took power away from an evil, cruel man. For a tragic couple of minutes you weren’t in charge, but now you are. Thanks to you, he’ll never cause others suffering again.”
“I know you’re right. But is there a path back from genocide? Because from here I can’t see one.”
She brought her hands to his cheeks and let her fingertips caress his jaw. Insisted he meet her gaze, where he found fierce resilience challenging him. Demanding that the universe, and he, bend to her will. “We’ll find one. Together.”
Damn her persistence. Damn her words, her touch, her warmth. Damn her for kindling something inside him he hadn’t thought possible—a tiny spark of hope that somewhere out there, salvation existed for him. He simply needed to find it.
And now, he understood something else the diati never would. This was why love existed: so when it all went wrong and all you could see was darkness, you had someone there to give you hope.
41
AFS STALWART II
TARACH STELLAR SYSTEM
* * *
AS MIRIAM CONSIDERED the people gathered in the conference room—increasingly a mix of AEGIS personnel, anarchs and other allies—she continued to struggle with settling on a sentiment to project to those present.
They had, by and large, succeeded in what should have been an impossible task. The scope of the collective missions had exceeded in complexity even the final battles of the Metigen War. Their losses were lower than she’d had any right to expect. In most respects, this preposterous plan of hers had worked.
But the fallout from the ways in which it hadn’t succeeded was significant. The missing Machim Primor represented a problem in multiple respects, and they dared not consider declaring any kind of ‘victory’ until he was tracked down and brought to justice. She assumed the Machim military would continue to fight them until he was eliminated and the Machim integral began to weaken.
Then there was Solum. The most powerful Primor and greatest threat to them had been felled, but the cost….
Though she knew it shouldn’t, the loss felt more disturbing for the fact that Solum was—or had been—Earth. It hadn’t resembled her homeworld in hundreds of thousands, perhaps a million years. But Solum was Earth and Earth was Solum, nonetheless. And now in this universe it no longer existed.
She checked the doorway a final time, but she couldn’t expect Alex or Caleb to attend. He was essentially in self-imposed exile until he brought this ungodly, unfathomable amount of power under control. Except for Alex—she not only refused to respect his exile, she refused to leave his side.
She’d worried about her daughter often and regularly over the years, but no one had warned her the consequences of growing emotionally closer would include feeling such worry in her heart as well as her head. She ached for her daughter and the pain Alex suffered, but she had to trust that if this otherworldly power hadn’t harmed Alex when it ran wild across a stellar system, it wouldn’t harm her now.
The door closed, and Miriam forced a smile for the room. “Congratulations, everyone. You are all to be commended.”
Malcolm squirmed uncomfortably halfway down the table, so she might as well address it now. “Yes, Brigadier Jenner, including you. I wish a speedy to recovery to Captain Harper, Lieutenant Odaka and the other members of your team who were injured.”
He didn’t look any happier after her assurances. “Thank you, Commandant. I wish we’d been more successful, and I take full responsibility for the failure to complete our objective.”
Everyone was so quick to ask for responsibility, but it didn’t work that way.
“Your mission was among the most difficult. I’ve reviewed the reports, and you and your team performed in an exemplary manner. We forewent assigning additional ships to the Annex in favor of maintaining the element of surprise. If the decision was a mistake, it was as much my mistake as anyone’s.”
She directed her focus back to the group before he began to argue. “The Machim Primor is currently unaccounted for, but more on him in a minute. First, I want to make certain everyone knows that we succeeded in eliminating all twenty-four targeted regenesis labs, as well as seven of the eight Primors. Or, I should say, we eliminated six of the eight—one Primor was killed by a member of their own progeny just prior to our team’s arrival. An Erevna ela confessed to the killing and willingly surrendered himself to our people.”
Eren asi-Idoni scowled. “Tell me it wasn’t the prat I shot at the exobiology research lab.”
She called up a visual of the prisoner in question for all to see.
“Ah, bloody hell. He’s scum. Don’t trust him. And if you want to keep him alive, don’t let any of the refugees catch sight of him, lest they try to settle old scores.”
“Understood. However, I submit that he may prove to be useful scum. His area of expertise is exobiology, and as such he can speed the regenesis research for other species by years if not decades.”
“Oh.” Eren frowned. “I suppose making him pay recompense for the evils he committed upon other species by saving their lives could be a good outcome. Watch him, though.”
“We will. Now, as I was saying. Excluding the Machim and Praesidis missions, our objectives were achieved in full and, all things considered, we saw minimal complications or loss of life. So again I say, well done.”
She took a breath. “With respect to the Praesidis mission, our primary objectives were achieved as well, but not without…disproportionate consequences. All of you know Caleb Marano and have at least some familiarity with the power of the diati he wields. When he killed the Praesidis Primor, the diati the Primor had controlled ran rampant for a time, killing numerous nearby lesser Praesidis and destroying Praesidis Command, which led to additional deaths and destruction, which grew into a self-perpetuating cascade. The end result is that the planet of Solum is no more.”
Gasps and confused exclamations echoed around the table from everyone, with the exception of the Prevos; of course they would already know.
She gave the uproar a few seconds before motioning everyone silent. “To answer the obvious questions, first, no, I don’t mean wholesale structural damage. The entire planet has been reduced to scattered debris. I’m sure an astrogeologist could explain the chain of events, but the simple fact is, the planet no longer exists. Second, yes, Mr. Marano is alive. I won’t pretend he’s well. The physical and psychological toll these events exacted can’t be understated. Alex is fine, as are the Marines tasked with destroying the regenesis lab on Solum and everyone under Field Marshal Bastian’s command.
“The loss of life on Solum, which includes many individuals who were not actively our enemy, is tragic. I wish there had been some way to accomplish our objective without those casualties. But here is the unvarnished truth: the upper echelons of the Praesidis Dynasty represented the highest threat to us, the anarchs, billions of innocents here and everyone back home. The magnitude of the threat exceeded even the threat from the Machim fleets, and it has now been eliminated.”
She clasped her hands at the base of her spine in a more formal
posture. “Nevertheless, the Machim threat was hardly insignificant, and unfortunately it still exists. Let’s talk about what we plan to do to end it.”
Caleb stared at the table through fingers splayed across his face. The pseudo-ceramic surface marbled in gray-and-white splotches, but they formed no pattern. He studied a fleck of gray until it blurred into hazy indistinctness.
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway of the small meeting room, and he looked up to find David standing there. Any sort of greeting felt inappropriate, so he merely tilted his head a fraction in recognition.
His father-in-law took it for what it was; he came in, closed the door behind him, and sat down opposite Caleb. “I’d ask how you were doing, but you don’t need me to patronize you.”
“You’ve gotten an update from the anarchs?” This was why he’d come, why he’d reluctantly broken his exile.
“I have.”
“How many?”
“Eight billion, give or take a few hundred million.”
Caleb breathed out through his nose. His hands trembled atop the table. A crimson aura brightened above his skin. Oh, so now the diati was feeling remorseful? Now, when it was so far beyond too late? He bid it to shut the fuck up, and the aura dimmed in compliance.
The number was large enough to surpass tangible meaning, but he owed it those who died to try to grasp it nonetheless. Eight billion lives lost because he hadn’t been strong enough to control a primordial force of the universe. Was it a defense or an indictment?
Caleb Andreas Marano: Killer. Lover. Dragonslayer. Razer of Worlds.
He glanced around in sudden desperation for water and found a glass beside him. He didn’t remember having gotten the glass or pouring the water, but still-shaking hands brought it to his lips and he guzzled it down. It whetted his parched throat, but nothing else. “How many—do we have any idea how many Praesidis were—still are—alive at other locations?”
“Forty billion at a minimum. More than enough.”
“Enough so that I didn’t commit genocide, you mean?”
David nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Weren’t you supposed to say I wasn’t really the one who caused the destruction? How genocide or not, I’m not responsible?”
“I could have said that. And I suspect it would be a fundamentally true statement. But me handing platitudes back to you isn’t going to help you come to terms with what happened. Only you can find peace for yourself.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“I think you have to. If not for yourself, for Alex.”
“Alex…” he squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples, remembering the fleeting hope she’d worked so hard to give him “…deserves better.”
“The way I see it, that depends.”
He frowned, surprised. “On what?”
“You’ve got this insane amount of power under control now?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
Toss it in a black hole. Save a life where I can. Make sure it never steals another innocent life, somehow. “I don’t—”
The door beeped, signaling another entry request. Grateful to not have to answer the question but not relishing facing another person, Caleb shrugged assent, and David opened the door.
Malcolm Jenner took two steps inside and greeted David before turning to Caleb.
Caleb exhaled heavily. He was so damn tired. His reserves were dried up, and he had no energy for this confrontation. “Come to arrest me?”
“No.”
“Why not? I won’t resist.”
“I don’t pretend to understand this power of yours, or even to understand you. But no one with a soul could have intended to cause what…happened. You say you didn’t intend it, and I accept your word for it.”
All this forgiveness and understanding was ripping him to shreds. Would no one yell at him? Call him a murderer? Insist he should be punished? “Thank you, Brigadier.”
Jenner jerked his chin in a curt acknowledgment.
“Why are you here, then?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
Fresh snowfall had covered the charred bodies and much of the bombed-out wreckage, lending the scene a gentle, pristine aura.
Caleb knew the scene well, as he’d wandered among it hardly hours earlier.
“We left behind a couple of drones when we departed, mostly on the off chance that a survivor might descend out of the mountains in search of help. She showed up just over an hour ago.”
The raven curls and midnight-black attire were instantly recognizable. There was no way he could sense her diati through the cam feed, but his skin buzzed nonetheless.
He watched her for a minute, sitting in the snow in front of the drone, arms draped over her knees as if she were waiting for a lunch date. “Have you made contact with her yet?”
Jenner shook his head. “She found the drone almost instantly and started talking to it, I guess assuming correctly that we could hear her. She claims she doesn’t want to harm anyone, and she’s asking to speak to either you or Sator Nisi.”
Caleb sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not up to an interrogation right now.”
“Up to it or not, we need you to come with us. You know as well as I do that our weapons are useless against her.”
“And I’m the only one who can…” he rubbed at his temples “…right. I’ll teleport there and deal with her.”
“You’ll forgive me if I want to take precautions. You’re taking a squad with you.”
“I thought you said your weapons were useless against her.”
Jenner arched an eyebrow. “And against you. Doesn’t mean I don’t have to try.”
42
CHIONIS
ANARCH POST ALPHA
MILKY WAY SECTOR 59
* * *
THEY MATERIALIZED THIRTY METERS from where Nyx sat.
Jenner and seven other Marines immediately trained TSGs on her, for all the good they would do. Caleb’s arm extended, ready to attack at the first hint of aggression from her.
She stood and raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Please. I’m not here to hurt anyone, and I know I can’t hurt you.”
She had locked on Caleb the instant they arrived; he doubted she cared about the Marines or their weapons. “Then what are you doing here?”
“This was the most logical and quickest way to get your attention. I have information critical to your cause.”
“Fine. Speak it.”
“If you want to guarantee the Primors don’t return, you have more work to do. Before I tell you any details, however, I want to see your Sator.”
Caleb shook his head. “His people won’t let you within a parsec of him.”
“Overrule them.” She took a step toward him, and his skin hummed with anticipation.
He held up a hand in warning. “Stop. If you come any closer, you will lose your diati to me, and there’s no longer a replacement well you can draw from. You will lose your power forever, and I can’t prevent it from happening.”
“Don’t you want to deprive me of it?”
He snorted.
Her gaze fell to study the disturbed snow at her feet. Finally she squared her shoulders. “The diati I control came from the Primor. It’s tainted by his use of it, by his actions as a pretender and a liar. He destroyed my homeworld.” She took a step forward, then another. “I don’t want it. Take it.”
The influx of new power was but a drop of rainfall added to a vast sea; even so, he stumbled back, his hands searching for a brace and finding none. His head swam from the dizzying rush, and he fell to his knees.
His vision cleared in time to see her struggling up from where she’d fallen as well. At least the taking hadn’t been so violent that it killed her, as it had been for so many on Solum.
Solum….
A hand extended out from his left, and he looked up to see Harper smirking at him. “Easy there, Icarus.”<
br />
He stared at her, noting idly that she wielded not merely a high-powered assault weapon but also several medwraps as souvenirs from her spacing mishap. Her offhanded remark penetrated his tortured mind, and he started laughing. Caustically and darkly, but it was laughter nonetheless. He accepted the outstretched hand and stood.
They both returned their attention to Nyx. No one had rushed in to offer her assistance, and it took her several seconds to make it to her feet. She braced her hands on her thighs to steady herself. When she finally straightened up, she wore an odd expression. “Thank you. Now will you take me to see the Sator? You can vouch that I’m no longer a threat to him. To anyone.”
“I can vouch for your lack of power, but I can’t take you to him.” He couldn’t control much right now, but he could ensure Nisi didn’t lose the diati which had always been his, though this meant he’d likely never see the man again. “I’ll recommend you be allowed an audience. But first, I suspect my friends here are going to want to search you for weapons.”
Jenner nodded firmly. “For starters.”
ANARCH POST SATUS
LOCATION UNKNOWN
Gone. His homeworld. Billions of Praesidis lives. His son. Gone.
He searched his mind for defined, coherent sentiments. But whatever grief he felt answered his query only as a distant, muted echo of its true self.
He’d been Danilo Nisi for too long. He no longer recalled what sentiments Corradeo Praesidis would have felt in the wake of these events, much less feel them for himself.
He did feel…frustration. Regret that he hadn’t properly foreseen the risks of pitting the two most powerful men in civilization against one another. Chagrin that he had expected anything other than exactly what occurred to be the result of such a confrontation. Idle pondering of the notion that if it had been him in Caleb’s place, he could have done better. Nagging suspicion that if it had been him in Caleb’s place, he would be the dead one. Concern at what the destruction of Solum, the birthplace of the Anadens and their empire, meant for the future. A touch of irritating helplessness at his inability to shape the world to his desires. Apprehension at what his role in a world without the Directorate was to be.
Requiem_Aurora Resonant_Book Three Page 31
