by M. R. Forbes
Abbey felt his Gift surround her, holding her like she were a rag doll, clutching her so tightly she had no hope to escape. Her arms and legs were pinned to her sides, her body stiff and straight like a giant hand was holding her. She started moving toward Lucifer.
It was buying Gant time, but not in the way she had planned. He was too powerful. Much too powerful. How the hell was she going to get out of this?
The Harvester began to move below her, the thrusters firing and altering its vector, pointing it toward a slowly opening blast door at the far side of the sphere.
At least they were getting away.
Or were they?
Lucifer shifted, reaching out toward the Harvester, taking hold of it and fighting its forward thrust, gripping it in his Gift and keeping it static. She could see the burn of the thrusters increase in response, trying to break away. It reminded her of General Kett’s escape from Azure when she had prevented Thraven from blocking their exodus.
The distraction loosened Lucifer’s grip on her, his power diverted. She pushed against his Gift with hers, her body beginning to slip from his grasp. He was powerful, but not powerful enough to hold them both at the same time. He would have to make a choice.
He stretched his arms out, jagged fingers clenched tightly, trying to hold them both. Abbey continued to fight against the grip, her Gift slowly overcoming his.
“Queenie, I’ve got a plan,” Bastion said. “Get ready.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“No time to explain. Just don’t move.”
“Stay away. He’ll crush you.”
“Let’s hope not.”
Flames were arcing from Lucifer, gouts of anger-fueled energy stretching across the inside of the sphere. He was trying to hold the Harvester and her both, but he couldn’t do it. He seemed to realize that truth a moment later, releasing the Harvester from his grip. Abbey cringed as the sudden acceleration shoved the ship forward. Could Gant survive the g-forces? At the same time, her body was locked in once more, frozen in Lucifer’s grip.
“Let them run back to the children of the Shard,” Lucifer said in her mind, still surprisingly calm. “Let them bring warning. They can’t stop me. Nothing can stop me. Not with you here.”
Abbey stared back at Lucifer, defiant while he pulled her toward him.
“I said not to move,” Bastion said, the Talon’s sensors picking up her motion.
“I don’t have a fragging choice,” she replied. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”
“Wait for it,” Bastion said, pausing for a moment. “Now!”
A blue and purple disterium plume appeared directly behind the wound in the sphere, the Morningstar visible within it. Every battery on the ship opened fire at once, all of it directed toward the Father of the Nephilim. Lucifer howled as laser bolts poured into his back, the distraction making him lose his grip on her once more.
The Talon dove into the gap, sweeping past him before he could react, vectoring toward Abbey at a velocity that wouldn’t allow them to turn around before they slammed into the wall. Maybe they could get the star hopper pointed at the blast doors, but it would take an insane pilot to even try.
“If we survive this, you owe me,” Bastion said.
Lucifer roared in fury, the sudden burst of energy hurting Abbey’s head. He held his hand out toward the Morningstar, aiming to destroy it as he had the Harvester. Only it was already gone, a preprogrammed jump routine taking it in and out of FTL within seconds, an action that could only be accomplished by a machine.
Or a synth.
Lucifer began spinning in place, returning his attention to Abbey. The Talon swooped down toward her. A collision would tear her to pieces.
“Hold the disterium,” Bastion shouted.
The cloud began to form around the Talon, its velocity leaving most of it behind. Only Abbey reached out and collected it, using the Gift to hold it, bringing it in and around the star hopper and herself. The charged gases would transport anything within them to that place outside of time where the laws of physics didn’t hold.
And she was inside the cloud.
She felt Lucifer’s Gift reaching out for her, seeking to take hold of her once more.
The Talon quaked in silence as its vectoring engines altered its course, rotating it toward the open doors where the Harvester was quickly escaping. The pressure inside had to be nearly unbearable, the altered course so tight half the Rejects were probably unconscious by now.
The disterium gas surrounded both Abbey and the ship, the path ahead of them suddenly clear as the Harvester vanished. She felt Lucifer’s power reach out toward her, tugging at her directly, using the link between his naniates and hers to try to draw her back. She was powerless against him, but he was too late.
A flash of color, and then it was gone. The sphere was gone. Lucifer was gone. The universe was gone. She floated in a sea of color beside the Talon, swept up by the disterium and carried away as though she were on the crest of a wave.
Safe.
For now.
27
“How many?” Thraven asked.
“Two thousand, your Eminence,” Bane replied. “With another thousand souls on their way.”
Gloritant Selvig Thraven turned away from the viewport of the Promise to look at his Honorant. He had spent most of his time lately watching the Gate from the bridge of the warship, observing the slow progress as his forces began bringing the planets of the Republic under control and rounding up Lessers. His Children would administer the genetic tests, and those that were healthy and worthy of the honor were being brought in, gathered for the glory of helping to power the Great Return.
Those that failed were measured for their usefulness. Converted, enslaved, or killed.
Two thousand was a good start. A thousand more pleased him. It would take five thousand before the naniates would be able to multiply into great enough numbers to provide the energy they needed. Ten-thousand would be better. At the current rate, they could achieve that in two or three months.
Too long. It was too long. Seeing the Gate had robbed him of his patience. He wanted to return to Elysium now. He wanted to confront the One, to lay his grievances out before them and finally set the Seraphim free. It was nearly time to call on the other Prophets to join him in the Glory. To accept their place at his feet as servants of the one true Disciple. To gather their armies and enter the Gate to victory.
“Gloritant?” Bane said.
What about Cage? He knew through the Bloodline she was in the Extant. Was she still there? What was her goal?
Did it even matter?
She was going to be too late. Much too late.
“Gloritant?” Bane repeated.
Thraven broke out of his thought, glaring at the Honorant. He raised his hand, tempted to choke him for his insistence. He stopped himself. “What is it?” he hissed instead.
“The reason I interrupted you, your Eminence.”
“Which is?”
“Honorant Devos was due to report in four hours ago, Gloritant. He did not, and attempts to contact him have failed.”
Thraven’s eyes narrowed. Devos was on Oberon, in charge of keeping tabs on the AI that was passing itself off as Don Pallimo.
“Have you been able to raise anyone in his battle group?” Thraven asked.
“Not yet, your Eminence. It’s as if the entire fleet was destroyed.”
Thraven lowered his head, teeth clenching. He flexed his fingers, so tempted to choke this Honorant for the failure of the other. But there was no one else on the Promise with Bane’s experience, no one else he could enlist to take his place. He had to exhibit some level of self-control.
“Captain Mann,” he growled. “I should have been more aggressive with you when I had the chance. I should have killed you long before this ever started.” It was a bad decision on his part. A tactical error, just as Cage had been.
“Gloritant?” Bane said.
“Put me in c
ontact with the Outworld Governance. I need to make them aware that a rogue faction has attacked Oberon, and that it is advised they send a fleet there immediately to deal with the threat. If Captain Mann has found a way to gain control of Don Pallimo and by extension the Crescent Haulers, we need to act swiftly.”
“Of course, your Eminence.” Bane turned to the bridge crew nearby. “Connect the Gloritant to the Outworld Governance immediately.”
“Aye, sir,” one of the Agitants replied. It only took a few seconds for the link to be established over the Galnet. “The channel is prepared, Honorant.” A projection appeared in front of Thraven. Two of the Outworlds’ representatives sat in different locations within their part of the galaxy.
Bane looked back at Thraven. “General.”
Thraven straightened his uniform. “Gentleman,” he said to the two representatives.
“General Thraven,” they replied. “How goes the war effort?”
“It is going well,” Thraven said. “However, I’ve recently been alerted to an unexpected complication that will require your assistance.”
“What kind of complication?” one of them asked.
“The planet Oberon has been attacked by Republic mercenary loyalists. I’ve been unable to reach my units stationed there, and I fear for the worst.”
“Oberon?” the other representative said. “Why would anyone loyal to the Republic launch an assault there?”
“Oberon is under my jurisdiction,” the first replied. “It doesn’t matter why. If the General says it is under threat, we must act. Immediately.”
“Don’t be too hasty,” the second said. “I want to know more about these mercenaries.”
“Who cares who they are? They attacked my planet. They killed my people.”
“And diminished my resources,” Thraven said. “Please. I know how much the Governance enjoys a good argument, but now is the time for action.”
“Give us the details, General. We need to ensure-”
The projection vanished.
“Agitant?” Bane said immediately.
Thraven’s head turned to look at the crew member, who was frantically working at his station.
“The link was dropped, sir,” the Agitant said. “I’m unable to reestablish it.”
“A problem with our equipment?” Bane asked.
“None of our systems are registering an error, sir. I don’t know what happened.”
“Get them back,” Thraven said. “Immediately.”
“I’m trying, sir,” the Agitant said, clearly frightened. He continued to work at his station, finally standing up and saluting Thraven. “Gloritant Thraven, my apologies for my failure. It appears the Galnet is offline.”
Thraven reached out with the Gift, taking the Agitant by the throat and lifting him into the air. “What?”
“It’s not there, Gloritant,” the Agitant said softly, struggling to breathe. “It’s just gone.”
Thraven opened his hand, and the Agitant fell to the floor. Gone? It was gone? That wasn’t possible. The Galnet spread across the entire galaxy. All of Shardspace. It was indestructible and incorruptible, which was why he had piggybacked his communications systems onto the network in the first place. There were thousands of nodes, too numerous to be removed. Except...
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. If Captain Mann had saved Pallimo’s neural network, then of course he would have access to the Haulers. Ships in the thousands spread across the entirety of the galaxy, certainly numerous enough to find and destroy enough local nodes to bring the Galnet to its knees.
He should never have sent an Honorant to do a Gloritant’s work. He should have left the Gate to deal with Pallimo himself. It was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make again.
“Honorant Bane, gather the fleet and set a course for Earth.”
“Earth, Gloritant?”
“Are you deaf, Honorant?” Thraven snapped. “The most populous planet in the Republic has yet to fall, is that correct?”
“That is correct, your Eminence,” Bane replied, falling to his knees.
“I want its resources,” Thraven said. “Whatever it takes. There is no time left to delay. The Gate will be operational soon.”
“As you command, Gloritant,” Bane said.
Thraven stormed toward the exit. It was time to call his brothers and sisters. It was time to draw them to Shardspace, to the Gate, to their destiny.
The Great Return was going to happen. No one could stop it. Not Cage. Not Mann. Not Pallimo. This was his destiny. His right. His honor and glory. He would not and could not fail.
28
The Promise was in FTL by the time Thraven reached the medical bay. Emerant Loque bowed as he entered, keeping his head down and eyes on the floor.
“Your Eminence,” he said.
Thraven ignored him, heading directly to the isolation chamber where Hayley was being treated. The door opened ahead of him, and he entered without slowing, coming to a stop only when he saw that she was sitting up, awake and alert.
He froze, their eyes meeting. He hadn’t expected her to be upright. Loque had failed to inform him of the change.
“Gloritant,” Loque said, coming up behind him. “What?” He paused too, staring at Hayley.
A new development, then?
He continued staring at her, noting the change in her eyes. They were nearly red, the pupils barely visible against the darkened backdrop. There was something off about her. Something that made his skin tingle. He didn’t recognize the feeling right away.
Fear.
“Hayley,” he said, pushing it aside. Why should he be afraid of her?
She continued staring without speaking.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Do you know where you are?”
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move.
He turned back to Loque.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Your Eminence, I don’t know,” Loque replied. “She was not like this five minutes ago. I swear. She was fighting the Gift as though it were poison. Her system was rejecting it with a ferocity I have never seen. But this? I will need to run some tests.”
Thraven looked back at Hayley. Her head had turned slightly, taking note of Loque. Her hands were rubbing absently together. A small line of spittle had appeared at the corner of her mouth. She was alive but damaged. Broken.
“If Cage returns, she will be looking for her child,” Thraven said. “Is this what I’m to deliver to her?”
He smiled at the idea. Alive, but broken. A shell of a girl ravaged by the Gift. He had never seen this kind of outcome before. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.
“Run your tests, Emerant,” Thraven said. “Do not be late to inform me of her health.”
“Yes, your Eminence.”
Thraven left the room, continuing to the Font. He began stripping his uniform as he entered the room, eager to make the Bloodline connection to Azul, to order him to begin rallying the other Prophets.
He was surprised a second time.
The Font was already active, a familiar shape outlined in the naniate-thickened blood.
“Caretaker,” Thraven said, closing the jacket of his uniform and falling to his knees.
“Gloritant,” Belial said. “I have been waiting for you.”
“Why didn’t you signal me?”
“I do as I will,” Belial replied.
“Have you reconsidered my request?” Thraven said. “Will you lend the aid you promised?”
“I have. The Great Return will happen, Gloritant. The Promises of the Father will be fulfilled. What is the status of your war?”
“Of what concern is that to you, Caretaker?” Thraven asked. “I have put the Promises of the Father’s Covenant in motion. I have carried his glory to Shardspace, and soon I will bring the might of the Nephilim to the One. He will fall to his knees in the name of the Father, and then I will remove his head and free our people.”
“You have never s
een the One, Gloritant. I have. He has no head to remove. Even so, the concern is not mine. I have another Master, as do you.”
“I will surrender to no other Nephilim save the Father,” Thraven said.
The Blood of the Font began to bubble, steam rising from it as it rose to an instant boil. The shape of the Caretaker started to morph in front of him, and he shuddered in sudden amazement as he felt a power unlike any he had experienced before. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he lowered his head, placing the front of it on the floor.
“Then surrender to your Father, Disciple,” Lucifer said, his shape growing within the Font, the Blood expanding until his monstrous silhouette towered over Thraven.
Thraven cowered in front of him, keeping his head down. “I do. I surrender to your glory, Father. What do you command of me?”
“Rise, Disciple,” Lucifer said.
Thraven lifted his head, leaning back on his knees. He looked up at the silhouette of the Father, forcing himself not to draw back in fear or disgust. He knew the Father had been changed by the power of the Gift. But he was supposed to be insane. Out of control. How was he here? Was this the help the Caretaker had promised? Had he known all of these years that the Father was still in control of himself?
He had been deceived, and for that he was glad.
“Father,” Thraven said. “I have followed your Covenant. I have subverted Shardspace, and I have built the Elysium Gate.”
“You have done well,” Lucifer said.
“I have failed you,” Thraven said. “A fleet of warships in the hundreds. That is what I tried to build, but they were destroyed. By a Lesser and her followers.”
“Abigail Cage,” Lucifer said.
“You know her?” Thraven said, surprised.
“I have seen her,” Lucifer said. “She is so like my Lilith. The naniates are changing her into my beloved. But she is willful. She resists. She could be a Queen, and yet she prefers to be destroyed.”
“There is more, Father. The Sharders have found a way to disable communications across my armies, and their homeworld’s resistance has been much stronger than I expected. I am on my way there now to put an end to their rebellion and finish claiming the souls needed to open the Gate to Elysium. I intended to contact the Prophets-”
