by M. R. Forbes
Olus bowed his head, closing his eyes, waiting for the spear to pierce the viewport, for the cold harshness of space to take him. He had lived an imperfect life, but he had done his best to serve the Republic and protect the innocent.
He heard the crack as the spear hit, the hissing as the atmosphere inside the Quasar started venting into the vacuum. He opened his eyes again, just in time to see the tip of the weapon pass beside his head, missing him by centimeters. It was entering slowly.
Too slowly.
He reached out toward it, confused. It should have blasted through the Quasar like a bullet. Instead, it was barely moving, coming to a stop as he put his hand on the side of it, suddenly unsure if he were already dead.
What the hell?
“It looks like you owe me again, Captain,” a familiar voice said.
No. It couldn’t be. Could it? He turned his head toward the cracked viewport. The air was being held inside the ship, which itself was being held in place near to a new arrival, a vessel he didn’t recognize.
“Unless you want to claim you were trying to save me?” Abbey asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He saw her then, standing in the open airlock of the new ship. She was unprotected from the freezing death of naked space and yet somehow able to survive. A very, very angry expression rested on her unfamiliar face.
“Abigail,” he said. “You’ve changed.”
“Screw the pleasantries, Olus,” she said. “Where the hell is my daughter?”
43
“Queenie, whatever you’re doing, can you do it a little faster?”
Abbey ignored Bastion’s plea, keeping her attention on drawing the battered shell of a starship to the Harvester’s hangar. She could feel the constant pressure against her, the weight of Thraven’s Gift pressing up against her own. She had been surprised to arrive in Earth’s orbit to find the Prophet was already here.
Surprised and thankful. Thraven had saved her a lot of effort hunting him down.
“Olus, I said, where the hell is my daughter?” she repeated. “And don’t give me the ‘she’s with Don Pallimo’ bullshit.”
“Abigail,” Olus said again. “Thraven has her. I’m sorry. I tried-”
“Forget it,” Abbey said. “I already know. I just wanted you to admit it.”
“Queenie, seriously,” Bastion said. “There’s about a billion tons of space shit heading our way.”
Abbey sighed. “Give me a second. Do I have to do everything around here?”
“Abigail, there’s more,” Olus said. “Lucifer-”
“I already know about that, too.”
“We need to stop Thraven.”
“I’m working on it. Do you see all the ships I brought with me?”
Olus was silent. She assumed he was taking a bewildered look around.
She moved her hand, the naniates carrying the Quasar into the open mouth on the side of the Harvester. As soon as it was clear, she turned back toward the oncoming mass of debris.
“Lucky for you I decided to go directly to Earth,” she said. “Otherwise, you would be dead right now.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Olus replied.
“Don’t say anything. We still have work to do.”
“I’m with you, Abigail.”
“Damn right you are. And call me Queenie. Everybody else does.”
“Okay, Queenie.”
Abbey reached out toward the debris, her hands slowly stretching apart. She visualized the mass of junk changing direction, turning back the way it came. She could feel Thraven countering her as she did, pushing back against her effort, trying to force it to consume her.
Even after all the blood she had taken, all of the naniates she had added, he was still so strong. She tensed her body, burning with anger as she resisted. The debris field started to slow, and she could sense that she was finally overpowering him.
The resistance vanished then, the debris pulling back. Thraven was still controlling it, but he had stopped his attack. Instead, the mass of material began to compact, pressing together, crushing into a slowly forming shape. Abbey watched it, ready to defend them again if needed.
“Ruby, what does it look like out there?” she asked, eyes passing beyond the garbage to the ruined mess of ships in the distance.
She could see motion out there. A few remaining ships were working to escape. Had all of the Nephilim warships been destroyed?
She didn’t see them, but she doubted it. Cloaked?
“The Haulers have taken heavy losses, Queenie,” Ruby said. “None are without damage.”
“How many ships?”
“There are seventy-seven ships with adequate power and life support.”
“What about the Brimstone?”
“It is not on the sensors.”
That didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Cloaked as well?
The debris finished moving into its new position, forming a massive head that floating in space ahead of the Harvester. It resembled Thraven, but only vaguely, with plenty of large crags and uneven surfaces from the mismatched composition.
“Welcome to Earth, Abigail Cage.”
The lips of the head moved. There was no sound in space, but she didn’t need it. She could read them easily enough.
She reached out with the Gift, pressing it to the head, tentatively linking the naniates to Thraven’s. She was ready to pull them back if he tried anything, but she assumed the head meant he intended to talk.
“Where’s Hayley?” she asked.
She had to fight to stay calm and under control. She knew the naniates wanted to take her, to use her. She had to remain herself for her daughter’s sake.
“With me. Safe. You’ve changed. Your power has grown, as the Father said it would. I once thought I made a mistake giving you the Gift, but looking at you now? Give in to it, Abigail. Become what you were destined to be.”
“Go frag yourself. I want my daughter. If you hurt her-”
“I would never. You truly are the Queen of Demons, and Lucifer is our King. I would serve you, Abigail. I would serve you both if you took up the mantle offered to you. If you would join us in the glory of the Great Return, and free the Seraphim from the One.”
“Or I could just kill you and be done with it. If you’re here, it’s because old Lucy wants you here, and that’s bad for anyone who isn’t a total dipshit like yourself.”
She could sense the anger ripple along Thraven’s naniates. She didn’t know which he hated more, the derision against him, or the derision against the Father.
“Queenie,” Ruby said. “The Nephilim ships are unaccounted for. They may be cloaked.”
“I’m assuming they are,” she replied. Likely circling like a pair of hungry sharks. She could handle them, but not if Thraven attacked again. His power would be a distraction to her like she had been to his. “Imp, I need to get to the surface. Prep a fighter.”
“Aye, Queenie,” Bastion said.
“Queenie, I’m coming with you,” Gant said. “Thraven can’t beat both of us together.”
“The fighter’s not big enough for all of us,” Bastion said. “Queenie on my lap is one thing. You on my lap is something else, freak-monkey.”
“How many chances have I given you, Abigail?” Thraven said. His voice had changed. There was an obvious thread of anger running through it. “Even now, when the Father gave me permission to destroy you? Go into the Harvester, Queen of Demons. I want to show you something.”
She could feel Thraven’s naniates flee from the debris, though without an outside force the head remained intact. She reached out and slapped the controls for the airlock, closing it and pulling the thin layer of naniates away from her face, letting herself breathe freely once more.
“Queenie, we’re being hailed from the surface,” Ruby said.
“Thraven,” Abbey replied. “Gant, do whatever you can to get a lock on the position.”
“Aye, Queenie.”
She hurried
from the airlock out into the corridor, headed for the bridge.
“Queenie,” Olus said, approaching her from the direction of the hangar. She recognized one of the individuals that was with him.
“You?” she said.
Quark smiled at the same time he rubbed his neck. “Good to see you too, Queenie. Let me know what I can do to help you kill that asshole out there. He damn near broke my fragging neck. Would have killed me if not for the Captain here.”
“I’m Nibia,” the other individual said. “Your Meijo is unbelievably beautiful.”
Abbey glanced at the woman. She was exotic looking, dark and covered in tattoos. Stunning in a unique way. She could sense a power in her, subtle but present, a wave of color that rippled along the etchings on her flesh.
“So is yours, if you mean what I think you mean,” she replied. It was the Gift, but not the Gift. “You’re all welcome to join me on the bridge.”
They did, following her up to the control center of the Harvester. A Reaper stood guard over the entrance, saluting her as she entered.
“Queenie, I’m prepped and ready,” Bastion said. “I guess you can bring Gant along if you have to.”
“Roger, stand by,” Abbey said. “Ruby, open the channel.”
The projection appeared at the front of the bridge. Thraven in full uniform, collar tight against his neck, face smug. She could still sense that hint of anger beneath it. She had struck a nerve.
“Where is she?” Abbey asked before he could say anything.
Thraven smiled, stepping to the side to reveal the bed behind him. Hayley was sitting upright in it.
“Hayley,” Abbey said, her heart jumping. “Hayley, it’s me. Are you okay?”
She didn’t react, looking straight ahead. Abbey noticed her eyes. They were red and flat. They stared into the distance.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Abbey said, her elation at seeing her daughter turning to fear and anger.
“I tried to give her the Gift,” Thraven said. “I wanted to turn her against you. To make her my immolent. It didn’t take.”
“Hayley,” Abbey said again. “Hayley, can you hear me?”
She still didn’t react.
“You son of a bitch,” Abbey said, looking at Thraven. She could feel the anger increasing, the rage building. “I’m going to rip your fragging heart out with my bare hands and shove it down your fragging throat.”
The last few words came out as a deep growl. She looked down, seeing her hands had extended into claws, boney and sharp and as non-human as they had ever been.
“Yes,” Thraven said. “Why don’t you rip my heart out, Abigail? Why don’t you come and get me?”
Abbey felt her heart racing. She looked around at the Rejects, but she barely recognized them. They were obstacles. Enemies. She needed to get to Thraven. She needed to get to her daughter. They were all in her way. She needed to kill them. All of them. She needed to destroy this ship, to destroy everything in her path.
She lowered herself onto her hands, looking wildly around the room. She could feel the heat of her anger, the pulsing of the naniates. Her body was on fire with rage, and she snarled as someone moved in front of her.
“Queenie,” Trinity said, holding her hand out. “Wait.”
“There you are,” Thraven said. “Trinity Gall, my favorite Evolent. I left her on Azure, Abigail. Do you know why? So she would kill you.”
Abbey could barely think. She took a step toward the armored form in front of her. That wasn’t the story Trinity had given.
“He’s lying,” Trinity said.
“Am I?” Thraven asked. “Did you think I forgot about you, Trinity? Did you think I could ever forget about you?”
“You tried to kill me,” Abbey heard herself say, though the words sounded more like a growl.
“I did,” Trinity admitted. “Not for Thraven. For Ursan.”
“Are you planning to betray me?” Abbey said.
“No.”
“You are, aren’t you? When I least expected it, you would turn on me. You would take me from my child.”
She edged closer to Trinity, the anger going out of control. She felt the heat along her body as the flames of energy from the naniates burst out of her.
“No. Queenie, I didn’t.”
Abbey wanted to grab her and rip her in half. She wanted to bite her, to rend her to pieces. She wanted to kill them all.
“Queenie.” Gant jumped in front of Trinity, close enough that the flames reached for his fur, drawing back before touching him. “We’re not your enemies.”
“Everyone is your enemy, Abigail,” Thraven said.
“Can someone shut him up?” Quark asked.
“Your daughter is here with me. What are you waiting for?”
“He’s trying to make you angry,” Gant said. “He wants you to lose control. To lose yourself. If you do, it’s all over for everybody.”
Abbey looked down at him. She was consumed by the anger. The fury. The rage. Her daughter was injured. Damaged. Broken. She didn’t care about anything else. The Republic. The One. The Great Return. Lucifer.
What did any of it matter?
“Queenie,” Gant said.
“No,” Abbey shouted, slashing at him.
His eyes widened in shock, and then he was thrown backward by the force of the blow, slamming against one of the consoles and falling to a furry, bloody heap.
She heard Thraven laughing behind her.
“What did you do?” Pik knelt beside Gant, putting a large hand on his small forehead and looking at her. “Queenie, what did you do?”
She stared at him, barely aware of herself.
“This isn’t you,” Pik said. “We don’t have to be this way, remember? Not me, not you, not anybody.”
She shifted her attention to Gant. He wasn’t moving.
“We’re supposed to be a family,” Pik said. Tears rolled from his eyes.
She stared at him. Thraven was still laughing behind her. Her body was burning, the naniates desperately trying to finish the job. To steal her consciousness, to take her body and use it to escape.
She felt wet against her face, her own tears forming there. Gant. What had she done? She felt a pang of guilt and regret, but only for an instant.
She reached out to it, desperate to hold on, to save that last vestige of herself. Her lip quivered as she struggled to hold on, to maintain her sanity, to bring herself back from the edge. The naniates fought her, trying to push her away, trying to complete the change.
Gant’s eyes opened. His head shifted slightly. He raised his arm, reaching out for her. Reaching out for his alpha, loyal even after her betrayal.
A cold wave of energy flashed through her body. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, pulling herself back. She clenched her teeth, kneeling on the ground, folding into a fetal ball and fighting the Gift. She wouldn’t let this break her. She wouldn’t let anything break her.
Pik was right. Hayley was her daughter, but she wasn’t the only family she had left.
“I’m not doing this again,” she said, speaking to the naniates. “You’re mine. Now and forever. You belong to me, and to my Rejects. Now, get in line.”
The flames subsided, the heat evaporating from her flesh, replaced by a comforting cool. She breathed in, feeling the tingle of power within her, rising to her feet. Nibia was at Gant’s side now, her hand on his chest, the colors within her tattoos running out and along him, putting him back together. How?
She would have time to understand later.
She turned back to the projection. Thraven had stopped laughing. His face was serious once more.
“You failed,” she said, looking at him, calm once more.
Even the sight of Hayley didn’t incite her to anger. She was going to save her daughter. She was going to fix her, one way or another.
“Did I?” Thraven asked, right before dropping the link.
“Queenie,” Ruby said. “Two warships just decloake
d. Torpedoes incoming. We’re under attack.”
44
The Harvester shook, struck by the first round of torpedoes as the Nephilim warships appeared, one on each side of them.
“Iona,” Abbey said, calling on her Gloritant. “Get the fleet in motion, target the Nephilim ships.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Iona replied.
“Imp, I’m on my way.”
She took a few steps, pausing at the sight of Gant.
“Queenie, we’ll take care of this,” he said. “Go get your daughter.”
She nodded, running from the bridge.
“Where’s the weapons station on this bitch?” she heard Quark say behind her. “I’ve got payback to deliver.”
Then she was gone, racing through the corridors toward the hangar. The Harvester rattled a few more times, absorbing another hit but somehow holding together.
“Firing,” Iona reported, and then a few seconds later, “They’re backing off, getting a better attack vector.”
Abbey threw her hands out in front of her, using the Gift to tear holes into the ship, ripping metal plates aside to create shortcuts through the decks. She leaped through them, one after another, turning the curves of the corridors into a straight line, breaking through the ship until she was right on top of the hangar, and then creating a hole beneath.
“Oh no,” she heard Jequn say. “The Seedship.”
She jumped, falling fast, hitting the ground beside the Apocolypse fighter and bouncing back to her feet. Bastion was sitting in the cockpit, and he turned his head to look at her.
“You know how to make an entrance; I’ll give you that.”
She jumped into his lap, yanking the canopy closed with the Gift.
“Get us down there.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
The fighter roared forward, g forces pressing them both back hard. They launched from the hangar and out into space, Bastion flipping the fighter and narrowly avoiding an incoming plasma bolt. It struck the hangar behind them, digging into the space and creating a deep gash through it.
“Shit, that was close,” Bastion said, angling the fighter toward Earth.
Abbey craned her neck, looking out at the fighting. The Purgatorian ships were heavily engaged with the two Nephilim warships, their overall numbers and freshness giving them what should have been an edge. They battered the ships with missiles and lasers, while the Nephilim ships returned fire with energy weapons, each beam piercing the shields and hull of their target, each blast taking one of theirs out of the fight.
