by M. R. Forbes
Olus didn’t want to know how many of these weapons might be out there. At least he was fairly confident it hadn’t been designed for the Nephilim.
“Thanks,” he said. “Do you have anything sharp?”
Xalix retrieved a sheath from the same shelf. “Standard issue combat knife. This one is made of rhodrinium.”
He slid the blade out slightly, and then handed it to Olus.
“It’ll do,” Olus said. “I don’t suppose you have a softsuit, by any chance?”
“No, Captain. Such armor is difficult to move, since it is fitted to the wearer and dependent on species.”
“Fair enough.” He turned to Dilixix. “Send the bill to my office, the usual method.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Olus removed the magazine from the pistol so that he could fit it into the holster beneath his jacket. The weapon was a marvel of engineering. A terrifying marvel. He took the rest of the magazines and shoved them in the other holster. Then he strapped the combat knife around his calf beneath his pants.
“You can head out this way,” Xalix said, pointing him toward the front of his shop.
“Thank you,” Olus said. “Both of you. The Republic owes you.”
“Quite a bit,” Dilixix said.
Olus left them there, passing out the front and through a small Plixian eatery.
He had a mission to complete.
19
The transport dropped him two blocks from the address Gyo had provided. It was in an older part of the city, a relative slum, where the trash wasn’t picked up daily, and there wasn’t an army of bots keeping everything clean and fresh. It was a depressed area. Quieter than most. Even the skies were mostly clear of traffic.
It was the kind of place where he could kill and nobody would notice.
He stayed in the shadows, finding a back route toward the older building and sticking to it, keeping his eyes out for any sign of sentries along the streets. There was nothing out of the ordinary. No guards. No cameras. No drones.
Then again, if the building was home to a Venerant, they didn’t need to worry about shit like that.
He crossed the block, coming up to the side of the building and double-checking the address. This was supposed to be the place. A long, five-story cement block with opaque windows and a ramp leading down into an underground garage. The spaces around it looked vacant.
He drew the pistol from his holster and snapped a magazine into it. He scanned the building for a door, and briefly considered going in through the garage. He was done being subtle. He dug the pills Dilixix had given him out of his pocket. She said they would strengthen his defenses. She seemed to know about Davis. How? Why?
It didn’t matter right now. He tossed the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. He remained hidden for a minute, a sudden feeling of nausea working its way up. He fought against it. This was supposed to help?
He crossed to the front of the building and tried the door. It was open. He went in, through a second door and into a small, empty lobby. There was a directory kiosk on the left. He walked over to it.
A door opened behind him.
“Captain Mann.”
He turned slowly, clutching the gun. The man in the doorway was tall and muscular. Not Davis, though. A regular soldier.
“Nephilim?” Olus asked.
The man smiled. It continued to grow as it spread, his body changing. “Yes,” he replied roughly.
Olus felt for the toggle on the gun. He flipped it to two.
“Bad night to be a Nephilim,” he said, fighting back the sudden fear. What the frag was this?
The Goreshin threw itself at him. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
The bullet was nearly invisible, firing almost silently from the weapon and piercing the creature’s skull. Olus fell to the side, sliding on the floor and coming up on a knee as the bullet detonated, causing the enemy to cry out and then flop to the ground.
Olus stood and stared at the creature. “Damned demon.”
He knew the Converts needed to be decapitated. He would have done the same to this thing, but there was no time. He went back the way it had come. He could hear noises coming from inside now.
He had upset the monster’s friends.
Good.
He paused for a moment to button his jacket. Then he reached down, grabbing the knife with his free hand and pulling it from its sheath. He had always been better in close quarters than the open field. He wondered if these things, whatever the frag they were, could say the same?
He was going to find out.
He moved down the hallway. He could hear the movement around him. It seemed like it was coming from everywhere at one time.
His eyes landed on a stairwell a few meters away, and he pointed the gun at it, switching the toggle to three as something appeared behind it. He fired, the bullet whipping from the weapon and through the door, into whatever was behind it. Another cry of pain and the creature fell inward toward him, wounded but still alive.
A second vaulted over the first. Olus crouched, bouncing sideways as it tried to grab him with sharp claws, trailing with the knife and cutting into its hand. He shifted his weight, rolling across the wall, ducking as it turned, flipping the toggle on the gun to one and shooting point-blank. The bullet still sunk in deep at that range, and when it detonated the Goreshin fell limp.
He brought the knife down on its neck, chopping hard, the ultra-sharp blade slipping right through. He looked back toward the stairwell. The first creature was up again, advancing toward him. He toggled to two and fired, hitting it in the head. Again, the shell exploded, sending fragments of metal throughout its brain. It fell and didn’t move.
He ran past it, onto the stairs, ducking as bullets began pinging off the metal around him, a few of the rounds edging against his hardened suit. He went down a flight, getting out of the line of fire, feeling himself becoming angrier, his heart pumping, his adrenaline flowing. He clenched his teeth, steeling himself, checking the rounds he had left in the current magazine. Four. He didn’t have enough to waste any of them.
He went ahead, turning the corner, finding the targets and shooting in rapid-fire, faster than he would have believed. Pop. Pop. Pop. The bullets tore into their chests and exploded, nearly ripping them apart. He bounced up the steps in one jump, landing beside the enemies and digging in with the knife, not taking chances that they weren’t Converts.
He continued up, reaching the next flight. The stairwell door opened. Olus slammed his shoulder into the soldier there, pinning him to the wall and bringing the knife up and across his throat, turning and shooting the second soldier there, switching the toggle to one. He moved past them, onto the second floor, not sure exactly where he was going. If he had to clear the entire building, he would. He was furious, his whole body burning with energy. It had to be the pills Dilixix had given him. How long would it last?
He pulled the magazine from the gun, dropping it and replacing it with a fresh one. He moved down the hallway. He had to find Davis if he was here. He had to try to hit him while the pills were active.
He moved through the building, the muscle memory of his past career returning with a vengeance. He heard movement to his left around the corner, and he set the toggle on the gun to three, aiming it at the wall and firing. The round went right through, digging into whatever was on the other side and causing it to cry out. Olus reached it, kneeling over it and digging his blade through its neck before moving on.
He cleared the second floor. It was mostly small rooms that had once been offices but had been converted to sleeping spaces, with small mattresses and blankets and stand-alone clothes lockers. He could feel the effects of the meds beginning to wane by the time he did. He had to hurry.
He skipped the other floors, heading to the top. He could work his way down from there. He needed to find Davis, or at least find a terminal to break. He needed to finish this quickly.
He emerged onto the top floor, out
into a more open penthouse, with a cathedral ceiling and full length glass. Desks were organized along the floor, each of them with a terminal resting on it. A large bank of servers sat against the wall. It reminded Olus of the main working floor of the OSI.
Was that what this was? Thraven’s version of the intelligence agency?
There was nobody up here, but there was a desk at the front of the room projecting a pale blue light into the air above it. A small box sat beside the projection.
Olus approached it, the details of the box becoming clearer as he got closer. It was a computer mainframe, Republic issue.
He reached the desk, picking it up. He found the serial number on the side. It was the mainframe Cage had captured on Gradin and brought onto the Nova.
Davis had left it there for him to find.
The projection beside him changed. A smaller version of Davis was standing there, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“Captain Mann,” he said. “My apologies that I couldn’t be there in person. I had a party to attend at the museum. Some of the Council members are going to be there. Or had you not heard? Yes, Captain, that is General Kett’s mainframe, and yes, I am giving it to you. I don’t need it anymore. My team, or should I say, your team, has finished helping me break the algorithm used to hide the contents. No, not the two you so kindly abandoned to save your skin, but members of the OSI all the same. Don’t worry about Haeri and Shaw. They didn’t feel any pain. Of course, their deaths are on you in more ways than one. Thank you for making it so easy for us to turn the Republic, and now your office, against you.”
The recording ended, returning the projection to a blue light. Olus shook beneath his anger. Damn Davis. Damn Thraven. Son of a bitch. He picked up the mainframe, pulling the wire from his jacket and connecting it, activating the command line. It was open, wide open. There was hardly anything on it. A guidance system for a starship, with numeric starmap coordinates. He took a snapshot of them to send them to Ruby. Thraven knew where Kett was hiding. For how long?
He detached the wire from the mainframe and reconnected it to the terminal. It had Galnet access, and he used it to search for Davis’ reference to the museum. There was a party tonight at the Museum of Natural History. A new exhibit on prehistoric creatures from around the Republic’s worlds. Eight members of the Council were going to be there to represent the Government. He cursed when he discovered which eight.
Davis hadn’t mentioned it by accident. He was toying with him. Mocking him.
Checkmate.
Frag.
He stayed on the Galnet, entering Ruby’s private identifier and sending her the shot of the coordinates. The public net was barely secure, but he was out of time. He had to get to the Museum.
He abandoned the area, his body shaking as it came down from the adrenaline and drug-induced high. He had to get to the Museum. He had to stop Davis, somehow.
The fate of the whole Republic might depend on it.
20
Gloritant Thraven watched as Noviant Soto held out her hand, trying to use the Gift to lift a ten-kilogram weight from a nearby table. He could sense the Gift within her, churning under her skin and within her blood, the power of it bursting out from her hand and striking the weight.
It didn’t lift from the table. Instead, it began to melt.
Interesting.
“I said to lift it,” he said.
“I’m trying,” she replied. “Frag.”
She was naked, and still covered in the remaining blood of the Font, which he had allowed her to bathe in and drink from for nearly an entire minute. She was alive with the Gift. Thick with it. Her strength was decent. Not impressive like Trinity or Abigail Cage, but acceptable.
What she lacked was control.
“Not everything needs to be destroyed,” he said. “Even when you are angry. Even when you hate. Sometimes, destruction is too much of a kindness.”
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “When do I get the other half?” she asked.
“When you learn to control the Gift.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you will go mad, and either become a Convert or die. That is the way of things. The Father does not tolerate the weak.”
“You’re saying if I can’t lift the thing instead of melting it, I’m weak?”
“Yes.”
She turned back to it, trying again. This time, she knocked over the table the weight was resting on, sending it across the room and into the wall.
“Frag!” she shouted again. She lowered her hands and turned all the way around, walking over to him. “You keep referring to the Father. Who is he?”
“Lucifer,” he replied. “The Morningstar. He uncovered the truth of the Seraphim’s enslavement before the Blood of Life drove him mad.”
“If the Gift made him crazy, does that mean he was weak?”
Thraven stared at her. She started to choke.
“Do not question the strength of the Father. He was the only one who had the courage to question the Shard and to recognize the truth. He was the one who developed the Serum that made his blood fully ours. Too late to save himself, but not to save all of his kind.”
“I. I’m sorry.”
He let go.
“Is he still alive?”
Thraven nodded. “In a sense.”
“The Gift will make me immortal?”
“If you learn to control it. If you earn the Serum.”
“You were going to give it to Lieutenant Cage, weren’t you? The Serum?”
“She has control over the Gift. Control that few master on their own. Yes. Try again. Control your anger. Control your fury.”
“When do I get some clothes?”
“What do you need them for? I told you, I have no interest in your flesh. Neither does the Immolent. Are you ashamed of what you are? It is the One who made you to feel ashamed.”
“I thought he was dead?”
“You are of his seed. You carry his guilt.”
“You wear clothes.”
“Cloth is not equivalent to shame. Consider its purpose. Consider your purpose. Stop talking.” He pointed to the table and weight sitting on the floor.
She left him again, returning to her task. She tried to lift the table now, and it rocked on the ground before settling again.
“At least I didn’t blow it up that time,” she said.
He didn’t reply. The door to the chamber opened, and Honorant Piselle entered. She glanced over at Airi, barely noticing the other woman’s nude and bloody state.
“Gloritant,” she said, her voice quivering as she saluted him. She was holding a communicator. “Evolent Ruche.”
“Open the link,” he said.
She did. The projector turned on, placing the Evolent in the room ahead of Thraven.
“Gloritant,” Ruche said, kneeling in front of him.
“Evolent,” Thraven replied. “Stand.”
Ruche stood. His eyes drifted over to Airi. “A new recruit, Gloritant?” he said. “She’s attractive.”
The table shot forward, slamming into the wall again, hard enough that it crumpled against it.
“And angry,” Ruche said. “Where did you find her, your Eminence?”
“She was one of Captain Mann’s renovation projects, along with Lieutenant Cage.”
“A traitor?”
“Do you have something to report?” Thraven asked, ignoring the comment. It was none of the Evolent’s concern.
“Yes, Gloritant. The Breakers General Omsala provided have finally cracked the algorithm on the mainframe. We have the coordinates to what we believe to be General Kett’s location in the Bain System.”
“The Bain System?” Thraven replied. “Interesting.”
The system was on the bleeding edge of the galaxy, so close to the Extant he could hardly believe it. How did the Terran saying go? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. General Kett had taken the statement literally.
“Honor
ant Piselle,” Thraven said.
“Yes, Gloritant.”
“Contact Honorant Ward. If any more of the ships have been completed, I want them launched and on their way here immediately.”
“Yes, Gloritant.”
Piselle placed the communicator on the ground, turned on her heel, and left.
“You’re going to attack, your Eminence?”
“Of course, I’m going to attack. Kett escaped from me twice already. He won’t escape again. He and his army will be reduced to nothing but corpses by this time tomorrow.”
“Do you think the Focus is with him?”
“No. Which is why we can’t simply bombard whichever rock he is hiding under from orbit. I need them intact.” He paused, considering. “What about the Council?”
“Everything is going according to plan, Gloritant,” Ruche replied. “I’m on my way to the museum now. Our people report that all of the invited Council members have arrived.” He smiled. “Oh, and Olus Mann is here on Earth.”
“What?”
“He killed General Omsala and left a dagger in Venerant Elivee’s eye. Then he used the data on his communicator to locate our local operation with the help of some of his team at the OSI. I give him credit for efficiency.”
Thraven felt his anger flaring, along with a measure of respect. Taking the Venerant by surprise and disabling her would have been no easy feat, but also not beyond the Captain’s skill. “Where is he now?”
“Likely on his way to the offices. I nearly had him earlier, but he sacrificed his people to escape.” Ruche smirked. “I didn’t expect the Captain to be so cold.”
That was because he didn’t know Killshot that well. Thraven did. He had been following him for years. How else could he use him so effectively? They were so alike in so many ways.
“Did you eliminate the data there?”
“It has been handled, your Eminence. I left three squads of Children and Converts there to greet him.”
