by Jacob Holo
And not all of the strands were used by factories. A dozen satellites refracted their strands back in towards the broken remains of a lifeless planet above the ring. The Grendeni used the focused strands to carve chunks off the planet, which robot tenders then moved to factories as raw materials.
“Welcome to the Valiant Artisan, Vierj.”
***
Aboard the seraph carrier Resolute, Seth crossed the gangplank and held out his i-suit helmet. The waiting technician accepted it and bowed in wordless respect for his grief.
They knew. They all knew.
Seth turned around and looked at his seraph in silence, wondering where he’d gone wrong, what he could have done. Should he have flown in with his son’s squadron? Could they have secured a retreat through the northern dock? Maybe he should have sent the EN squadron in first instead.
Or perhaps he should have seen this trap for what it was long before the mission launched.
Seth looked away and proceeded wordlessly through the seraph bay. Technicians and other pilots avoided his gaze.
My son is dead.
Even now, the fact refused to settle. Dark denial swirled in his mind. How could this even be possible? How could Jack have betrayed them and killed his son? Why had he betrayed them?
Try as he might, Seth couldn’t figure it out. For what possible reason would a hero of Earth and forger of the Alliance side with the Grendeni? Seth thought back to Jack’s great journey, his sabbatical into the unknown, and his long search.
What were his words?
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Quennin had asked.
“Yes, unfortunately I did.”
What had Jack found? Why was it so unfortunate? Why did it drive him towards such treachery? Seth couldn’t solve the riddles behind Jack’s actions and soon found he no longer cared.
My son is dead, and Jack killed him.
Seth walked down the long line of seraphs. Many of the machines were damaged, their pilots shaken. He watched a medical team pull a wounded EN pilot out of his cockpit and place him on a float pallet. The pilot clutched at his chest in pain, smoke rising from a blackened scar on his i-suit. Looking up, Seth noted the nasty diagonal gash across the seraph’s torso.
He walked by Yonu’s seraph. The skin of the blue machine was slick with black fluid that leaked and dribbled from multiple torso wounds. The right arm, right wing cluster, and head were completely gone. The chest had been cut open by maintenance arms, allowing a medical team to retrieve the wounded pilot.
Seth finally came to his son’s empty hangar. Quennin stood near the bay’s edge, staring into the empty space. She had a helmet in a gloved hand. Smoke fumed from the helmet’s interior, and the material was blistered around the neck and chin. Small runic letters spelled “YONU” on the surface.
Seth walked up to her, afraid of the answer to his unasked question. He looked at his beloved’s face and saw one as hard and emotionless as his own.
“She has a good chance of living,” Quennin finally said, still staring into the empty hangar. “We got her out fast enough, but her burns are severe.”
Seth glanced once more at the smoke rising from Yonu’s helmet.
“The i-suit did what it could,” Quennin said. “But her skin fell away like ash. I could see part of her jawbone.”
Seth didn’t know what to say, was fearful that whatever words he used would only make matters worse. He wasn’t the only one bottling up his rage and grief.
“I…” Quennin’s mouth wavered on the edge of words, but no sound came out. Suddenly with a yell, she flung the helmet with all her strength. The helmet clapped against the far wall and fell into the catapult pit.
“I’m sorry,” Seth said.
Quennin shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself.”
Seth draped an arm over Quennin’s shoulders. She put her hand over his and squeezed. Her eyes moistened, but she fought the tears back.
“The Choir will want a report,” she said. “We lost so many.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
Finally, Quennin broke down. She fell to her knees, tears streaming from her clenched eyes. She put her hands to her face. “Why? Why did he do it?” She began sobbing uncontrollably.
Seth knelt beside her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his chest and wept.
The Choir requested Seth’s presence through his neural link. He ignored them. After several minutes, their polite requests turned into stern orders. Seth switched his neural link completely off.
“I’ll be okay,” she said. “Go talk to the Choir. They’re being persistent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, go ahead. I… I’ll go see how Yonu is doing.”
“Okay.”
Despite not wanting to leave Quennin’s side, Seth knew they were both warriors. They understood their unending responsibilities. And with his duty foremost in mind, Seth headed up the bay’s lift to the pilot concourse, then followed it to his quarters.
For a pilot of such seniority and importance, his quarters were quite mundane. It was a single room in the common Aktenai fashion, combining sleeping, eating, and relaxation areas without the need for Earther walls in the way. It was clean and utilitarian. D-scrolls proclaiming the Litany hung above the door and the futon.
Only one object seemed out of place. A roughly made model seraph floated above the dinner table, displayed with the prominence of a treasured possession. The purple runes along its black limbs were painted by a clumsy hand, the letters uneven and blotchy.
An eight year old Quennin had given it to him.
Seth linked to his wall screen. He opened the feed from a pebble-sized probe left at the Grendeni schism. Its hypercast link was still active.
Good. The Grendeni didn’t find it, Seth thought.
The schism was still present, but several ships had folded out. The probe had relayed those fold coordinates to a waiting squadron of stealth exodrones.
Grendeni warships rejoined other known fleet elements, but the archangels folded space to a vast nebular facility near a white dwarf star. One exodrone spotted a carrier fold in near the nebular facility and two seraphs launch from it.
Seth watched the archived visual. Jack and that mysterious black seraph flew up to one factory among a vast ring of hundreds. Seeing Jack once again made him realize, with absolute clarity, what he had to do.
Jack, I’m going to kill you.
Seth reactivated his neural link and informed the Choir he was ready to be debriefed. Normally, the Choir spoke in a tossing cacophony of voices. Sometimes a single voice would fight to the top and become dominant. Even more rarely would the individual manifest before Seth in person.
So it surprised him when two holograms appeared, a man and a woman. Seth recognized both as members of the Original Eleven. He immediately fell to one knee and bowed his head before the dead founders of the Aktenai.
Every child of Aktenzek memorized the names of the Original Eleven, and Seth could put faces to those names. The tall man possessed handsome, chiseled features with neatly trimmed black hair. He wore a white suit with black heraldry that looped around his waist and ran up his arms. The heraldry consisted of an interlocking pattern of circles, semi-circles, and arches.
His name was Veketon: architect of the Choir and First among the Eleven.
The woman was fair-skinned with short, white hair and unusual silver irises. Her dress was split down the middle, half white and half black, with gloves of the opposite color. She was Dendolet: the scientist who created the Bane and chief executor of the Great Mission to destroy that abomination.
The Original Eleven only appeared when the Great Mission was in peril, and his mind searched for the trigger that brought these personalities to the Choir’s forefront.
Seth kept his eyes downcast. “Venerable masters, how may I serve you?”
“Rise, pilot,” Veketon intoned.
“We wish to d
iscuss certain elements of the ambush with you,” Dendolet said.
Both founders spoke in the Aktenai tongue, but their unusual accents were full of harsh consonants. Seth had to focus to understand some of their words.
“Of course, venerable masters,” he said, rising. “What in particular do you wish me to elaborate on?”
Veketon walked across Seth’s quarters and gazed at the wall screen. He gestured to the image of the Grendeni nebular facility. “An interesting find. A pity we cannot bring the drone any closer.”
“Resolution is poor,” Dendolet said, “but evidence suggests at least some of the archangels were produced here.”
Veketon snorted. “Pathetic imitations of a truer weapon.”
“They are quite formidable in numbers, venerable masters,” Seth said.
“No matter,” Veketon said, his back to Seth. “It was inevitable the Fallen would eventually learn our secrets. In fact, their efforts seem to have produced unanticipated rewards.”
“Your pardon, venerable master?”
Veketon turned to face Seth. “Those swords. The technology is quite impressive. I’m disappointed you didn’t claim at least one for our study. There were certainly enough floating around during the battle.”
“The few of us that escaped were fortunate to do so.”
“And what is the purpose of your life,” Dendolet said, “if you do not serve the Great Mission?”
“Yes, of course, venerable masters.” Seth bowed his head. “My apologies.”
“There will be other opportunities to claim the sword technology,” Veketon said. “But enough of these mundane matters. It is the black seraph that concerns us.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about her?” Dendolet asked.
Veketon shot her a sharp look.
“About her, venerable master?” Seth asked.
“Or him, I suppose.” Veketon made a dismissive wave. “It’s an easy conclusion to mistakenly jump to. We’re so used to dealing with pilots in male-female pairings.”
“Ah,” Seth said.
“For now, let us call this one Azeal until we know more,” Veketon said. “Hmm, yes. I think that will be an appropriate name.”
Seth had to use his neural link to pick up the reference. Azeal was a very old Aktenai word for darkness.
“But the question remains,” Dendolet said. “Did you notice anything unusual?”
“The pilot, Azeal, was incredibly powerful, venerable masters. Perhaps even stronger than Pilot Donolon, though I have no way of being sure. I could not accurately measure Azeal’s coefficient. Also, Azeal’s seraph appeared featureless, but I believe this is a result of an extremely intense barrier.”
“Pilot, do you think we are blind?” Veketon sighed and shook his head. “All this we already know.”
“Then what, venerable master, should I elaborate on?”
“You came into contact with Azeal,” Veketon said. “Your blade touched that seraph’s barrier. There is no way to quantify the data you felt, that you alone experienced. So I ask again, did you notice anything unusual?”
“I… I don’t know.” Seth tried to recall the actual strike. With death and destruction all around him, how did they expect him to remember a single blow? And why the focus on only one pilot? Was the Choir not even concerned about Jack’s betrayal?
“Think harder, pilot,” Veketon said. “Was it any different? Yes or no?”
“It was…” Seth raised his arm. He looked at his open hand, clenched it, then relaxed his fingers. “It felt… cold, I think. But only for a moment.”
“Did you hear anything?” Dendolet asked.
Seth gave the founder a confused look. “No, venerable master.”
Dendolet leaned next to Veketon and whispered in his ear. “It may not be her.”
Veketon held up a hand. “Let us not jump to conclusions.”
“Venerable masters, do you know who this pilot might be?” Seth asked.
“It would be unwise of us to voice a mere theory at this point,” Veketon said. “We will wait for more data.”
“But even a theory may help us face this new enemy,” Seth said. “Surely you must share it.”
“It is not your place as a mere soldier to question us,” Veketon said firmly.
Seth bowed his head. “Of course, venerable master. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“We can leave the mystery behind this Azeal for another time,” Veketon said. He gestured to the image of the nebular facility. “For now, we will send your forces back into combat. One of these factories may be a source of archangels and their swords. You will claim examples of both.”
“Such a base would have extensive defenses, and we have taken heavy losses.”
“We will dispatch the Renseki to reinforce your depleted strength,” Veketon said, “and give you command over a larger fleet element.”
“Is it wise to have the Renseki leave Aktenzek unprotected, venerable masters? Has Sovereign Daelus approved their deployment?”
Veketon grinned ever so slightly. “The Sovereign and the Choir will obey our wishes.”
“But the Sovereign—”
“Will do as he is told,” Veketon interrupted.
The statement gave Seth great pause, but he bowed his head and said, “My apologies, venerable masters.”
“You have much work ahead of you. See to it.”
The two holograms flickered and vanished. Seth found himself alone with many disturbing thoughts and more questions than before.
***
Seth stayed in his quarters and brooded over what Veketon and Dendolet had said. It wasn’t unusual for elements of the Choir to hold secrets. Naturally, some information was too sensitive to be discussed outside the ruling circle of the Choir and the Sovereign. But why would the Original Eleven hold secrets in the face of such an obvious threat?
He agonized over the situation so intensely that he completely forgot his other obligations.
Quennin walked into the quarters.
Seth looked up apologetically, the passage of time suddenly registering. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Quennin waved away the apology, her eyes red from tears. She collapsed next to him on the couch. Her hand found his, and she squeezed.
“Yonu will live,” she said, her voice steadier than before.
“That’s good.”
“She was lucky,” Quennin leaned her head against his shoulder. “There wasn’t any permanent damage.”
Seth nodded thoughtfully. Aktenai medical science could repair almost any physical damage and extend human life until it was measured in centuries, but pilots who suffered head injuries often lost their talents permanently.
“The Choir questioned me,” Quennin said. “Probably after they questioned you.”
“Veketon and Dendolet?”
“Yeah.”
“They should not have bothered you,” Seth said.
“They are the Original Eleven. They can do whatever they want.”
“I don’t care who they are. They should have waited.”
Quennin closed her eyes and nestled against his neck. “Veketon kept asking me questions about that black seraph we’re calling Azeal. He kept pushing and searching, like there was a particular answer he wanted me to give.”
“I had a similar experience with him.”
“I don’t care about that other seraph. What about Jack? Why did he turn?”
Quennin took a deep halting breath.
Seth squeezed her hand tighter. “Before he left, there was no one in this cursed universe who knew him better than we did. If we don’t know, no one does.”
“Maybe he finally snapped,” Quennin said. “He was always close to the edge after… after he merged with his seraph. We should never have let him go. We should have gone with him.”
“He asked us not to follow.”
“We should have gone anyway.”
“But we couldn’t do that, Quennin. The Alliance needed us back then.
”
“Well, we should have done something,” Quennin said, tears returning.
“Perhaps, but the opportunity has passed us. He has chosen his allegiance. All we can do now is face and defeat him in battle.”
“Seth, please don’t say things like that.” Quennin leaned into him. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”
The two pilots sat in silence holding each other, sharing their grief and pain.
The Choir chose that moment to request another audience.
“Not again,” Seth said. “We should just ignore them.”
Quennin sat up on the couch. She rubbed her eyes and stood up.
“We have our duties, Seth,” she said.
“Yes, of course.” He stood up and linked an acknowledgement to the Choir.
A familiar hologram appeared before Seth and Quennin. The young man stood tall and slim with an oval face, prominent nose, and dark brown hair. But despite this appearance, a certain sparkle in his hazel eyes betrayed the depth of his age and experience. Though the man had been a withered shell when he died, his elevated existence within the Choir allowed him to take on this youthful visage.
He wore the uniform of a sovereign: storm-gray with gold trim and the white-stitched hawks of a full seraph pilot. The man was Taen Elexen, adoptive father of Seth Elexen, biological father of Jack Donolon, and former Sovereign of Aktenzek.
Seth and Quennin kneeled before him.
Taen motioned to the couch. “Please be at ease. Sit. There’s no need to be so formal.”
Seth and Quennin sat on the couch. Taen dropped into the chair opposite them. His hologram sank back into cushions that did not give.
“What brings you here, Father?” Seth asked.
“First, I would like to offer my most sincere condolences for your loss. I followed Tevyr’s career with great interest, especially after he chose our shared surname upon coming of age. It saddens me to see such a bright star snuffed out like that.”
Seth bottled up his grief and nodded. Quennin rubbed her eyes.
Taen leaned forward in his seat. “Now, I know you two have much on your minds right now, but I felt I must warn someone.”
