The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy

by Terra Whiteman

  But Leid was worth those risks.

  I crept out of her room and locked the door behind me, making my way to the lab. It was the middle of the night, again, and Zhevraine was perched on a guardrail, watching soldiers move jet parts across the port. She cast me a quizzical look, one that said, ‘What the hell are you doing awake?’

  I kept my eyes ahead, shivering into my coat.

  The lab was vacant as always. I took the lift to the second floor and Yahweh hailed me from his office doorway. His coffee mug was the size of a pitcher. This time I opted for some, too.

  I sat in a chair beside his desk as he typed away at his computer. “I thought we’d turn up nothing, honestly,” he said.

  “What did you find?”

  “Three ninety-eight percent matches; two hundred and fifty others that are relatively similar.”

  I must have heard him incorrectly. “What?”

  “The portion of noble genome that you gave me, if correct, has a sequence that is near-identical to three other species across Atrium-field worlds.”

  Before I could inquire further, he activated the holo-projector. I was expecting to see a hominid creature—something similar to us—but what rotated before me in bright gold light wasn’t even sentient.

  It was some kind of insect with fan-like wings and a multitude of legs. Spiral patterns crested its pill-shaped body, antennae arched like tiny hooks. Text blinked beneath the image. Faveria tenacae – Caia, Amerose tr.

  “… Is this some kind of joke?”

  “It is not. Most of the Vel’Haru genome is completely foreign to anything we’ve ever seen before, but one gene sequence caught over two hundred matches in our cDNA library. Are you familiar with metamorphosis life cycles of insects, by any chance?”

  I shrugged. “Like butterflies, moths, and shit?”

  Yahweh smiled at my choice of wording. “And shit. Insects that metamorphose use gene expression and suppression to control the cycle. What tenacae and many other metamorphosing insects have is something called a transitus gene. A transitus gene is suppressed during the juvenile stage of life and is expressed at the metamorphosis stage.”

  I stared at him.

  “There is a sequence in the noble genome that is nearly identical to a transitus gene—all except a few base-pairs. The stereochemistry is identical too, which suggests a hormonal lock-and-key that activates and deactivates the cycle.”

  “Okay, so let’s pretend for a second that I’m retarded.”

  “I was under the impression that you’re a scientist now, too.”

  “In particle physics, not genetics.”

  Yahweh shut off the holo-projector and reclined in his seat, sipping coffee. “I’m hypothesizing that Vel’Haru have a gene similar to that of metamorphosing insects. If I’m headed in the right direction, I might have an idea as to what expiration really is.”

  And then it clicked. “Metamorphosis?”

  Yahweh nodded.

  “Into what?”

  “That I can’t say. Some species spend their juvenile life cycles preparing for metamorphosis, cocoon, and then emerge as something phenotypically foreign. Their juvenile bodies break down—which might explain Leid’s growing sickness—and then take form as something else.”

  I looked away, trying to grasp Yahweh’s proposal. “You’re saying we’re juveniles.”

  “Nothing is certain at this point.”

  If that were true, the implications were horrifying. For thousands and thousands of years, Vel’Haru had been killing each other out of ignorance.

  No. That couldn’t be.

  “This was too easy,” I said. “The Court of Enigmus would have already strolled down this alley.”

  “Possibly,” admitted Yahweh. “Why don’t you check euxodia?”

  The repercussions of that might prove deadly. Did I really want to search the database for transitus gene sequences and juvenile hormones for all Exodian eyes to see? If a scholar looked into the search, it would be made clear that I had shared Vel’Haru secrets with lessers, a crime that came with heavy consequences.

  … But in the off-chance that they hadn’t looked into this yet, I could be saving our entire race. Leid might be cured yet.

  I scoured the database, combing through search queries. It was fruitless.

  “Nothing,” I confirmed.

  Yahweh was holding his chest, staring wide-eyed at me. Something always happened to the air when one of us accessed euxodia. Little vibrations and tingles, like feathers across skin. “That never gets old.”

  “So, what now?” All fatigue was swept away by adrenaline in light of this discovery. There was finally hope. I wanted to hug Yahweh, which was kind of frightening.

  Yahweh’s tired, contemplative frown switched to a conflicted one. “I’ve already extracted blood samples from your finger. Not an easy task, mind you.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The juvenile hormone. Or a derivative of it. A close match, at least. The tests won’t come back for several hours, but…”

  He trailed off, leaving me hanging.

  I leaned in. “But?”

  “There are two options; either you tell Leid now, or later. Now would mean you could convince her to give me an expedited sample. Later would give you some time to think of how to convince her. The choice is yours, but inevitably she will have to know. I can’t proceed without testing her blood to support my claim.”

  My face said it all. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  For one, Leid would vehemently object. If she knew I’d haggled Yahweh into working on this while he should have been concentrating on the war, there’d be a handprint on my face in the foreseeable future. I imagined a heated argument to follow.

  Leid thought her life was dispensable. Somehow I had to change that.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “She’s resting now. We’ll talk when she wakes up.”

  Yahweh nodded. “This is good news, at least.”

  It was.

  I left the chair and headed for the exterior lab. As I walked out, Yahweh returned to his computer.

  “Aren’t you heading in?” I asked.

  “Soon. I have a few things to look at.”

  I squinted. “Do you ever sleep?”

  “Yes. Yesterday, I think.”

  The intensity in his eyes said this was becoming more than just an obligation. Yahweh had stumbled onto a cosmic breakthrough. If he, a lesser, could find the cause and meaning behind Vel’Haru expiration—an achievement that had slipped even the Court of Enigmus’ grasp—then there was much more than fame waiting for him down the road.

  But Yahweh had an affinity for obsession. Once he had holed himself up at the Plexus for days and Lucifer had to issue guards to remove him from his office and force him to sleep, eat and bathe. Heaven might be sacrificed for Leid’s life, and she would hate me even more for it.

  I returned inside and hit the power switch on his computer. The lights in his office died. “Out. Now.”

  He looked up at me, shaken, angry. “But—”

  “Get out of here. I won’t say it again.” I snatched the pitcher of coffee from his hands, curling my lips into a snarl. “You need to sleep. We could be attacked at any second. If Ezekiel explodes, none of this will matter anymore.”

  Sullen, he looked at the ground. “You’re right.”

  Without another word he trudged off, hanging his lab coat on the door.

  I watched him leave, noting to check his room later to make sure he was actually there. Daunting to think I had to babysit him. Seyestin’s job was a lot harder than I’d thought.

  *

  I was feeling sadistic so I woke up my recruits and marched them back to the training grounds. None of them seemed annoyed—in fact as I taught them dir venyara (shield wall) they soaked me up like little star-struck sponges.

  It was confusing. I’d expected more resistance, considering I’d once set out to kill them all. Then again they’d been children—no old
er than Yahweh, minus the freakish intelligence—and judging from their track records, morale held no place with them. These were the violent youth types, fresh out of broken homes with no options except enlistment. Now they were taking lessons from The Atrium’s most notorious mass-murderer. In their eyes, I was a celebrity. That notion was flattering and unsettling all at once.

  After dir venyara, everyone pitched their ion shields and I selected two recruits to fight each other. The rest of us watched from the sidelines; each soldier was allowed a steel baton. No blows to the head. The winner wouldn’t have to fight at next session.

  My method of training had gathered an audience. Other soldiers in the training arena had stopped to watch, their looks ranging from disgust to mild intrigue. This wasn’t routine. From what I understood, beating each other to a bloody pulp wasn’t part of formal Argentia Guard training. That was probably why they were so horrible at physical combat.

  I ignored them, shouting insults—and sometimes lines of encouragement—to the battling trainees.

  Keep your guard up.

  Stop looking at his fucking weapon.

  If you don’t keep eye contact, he’s going to know your next move.

  Eventually one of them remembered my previous lesson about disarming a foe. His opponent fell after a few more clocks, nursing a near-broken wrist.

  I selected two more soldiers, ordering them to fight thereafter. As their battle commenced, the victor of the previous match, Michael Kiran, took a seat next to me.

  “How come you’re not fighting for the other side?” he asked.

  “My reasons for fealty are none of your business, Private.”

  “How much?”

  Curious, I looked at him.

  Michael smirked. “How much is the Commander paying you to work for him?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  He only shrugged, glancing away. After a moment he said, “I saw you back then, on the televised screen. You used to give some convincing speeches. That peace ceremony was all the talk around Crylle. Until you blew it up.”

  This time my eyes stayed on him. Burned on him.

  Michael was barely a man, with pretty Archaean features and shaggy ice-blonde hair. His attitude was bolshie and forward. Private Kiran was trying to impress me with his courage, but sadly the only way he would ever impress me was with an extraordinary kill-count. True, he seemed the most promising of the bunch, but attention to detail and a decent memory only got you so far in an actual war.

  “You hate us,” he stated.

  “Hate is subjective. Circumstance tends to play a heavy part in it.”

  “That’s shit. You hate us and it shows. Why should I fight for someone who secretly wishes us dead?”

  If I’d been the Commandant and one of my lieutenants had spoken that way to me, I’d have broken his jaw. But I was not the Commandant, and this was not Sanctum. His question was valid, and I had to be somewhat diplomatic in all of this. “You’re not fighting for me. You’re fighting for you. I’ve been tasked with showing you how to protect the fleet. Feelings aside, Heaven’s victory benefits everyone here. Your morale shouldn’t lie with me; it should lie in your desire to protect your region and its people. I’m just teaching you how to stay alive.”

  Michael said nothing, but his expression hardened. He didn’t look at me.

  And that was the end of that.

  When the final match was done, I ordered everyone to grab their pulse rifles and practice at far range targets. The first to nail the furthest one dead center earned the prize of going back to bed. As expected, their firearms skills were better than their physical combat skills, and after a while I dismissed them because I was getting tired. We couldn’t move into actual training as an elite unit until the specialized armor and weapons were made, anyway.

  On the way back to my room, I checked in with the specialists at the armory to inquire about my requests. They said they were working on them and the modifications should be done by tomorrow. I asked if they thought we would be alive tomorrow, and my question received blank stares.

  To my surprise, Leid was awake. I entered our room to the sound of running water as she washed her face at the sink.

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “Training.” I threw my coat on the bed and grabbed another cigarette from the nightstand. “Take your time. Yahweh’s asleep.”

  “Nonsense. He never sleeps.”

  “I saw to it myself.”

  I caught a smile from her reflection. Not a true smile, but it was more than I’d seen since Avernai. Leid looked a little better, but not by much. Her hair had lost its silky sheen, now stringy and tangled. She’d settled for a messy bun. Nothing could hide her pasty complexion and the bags under her eyes. Seeing her like this always pinched my heart. I was used to fixing things. I couldn’t fix this. Not yet.

  “We need to talk,” I said, exhaling smoke. As casual as I’d sounded, my heart was pounding in my chest.

  Leid paused at the closet, waiting.

  “Come,” I said, patting the bed. “Sit.”

  She shot me an incredulous look, already well-familiarized with that line.

  There was really no easy way to say this. Might as well delve right in. “I’ve struck a deal with Telei. He’s been researching expiration while I’ve been training a group to fight like enforcers.”

  Her stare iced over.

  “He found something this morning. Something big. I didn’t want to tell you yet because—”

  “How long has this been going on?” demanded Leid.

  “Since Avernai.”

  “The beginning of the invasion,” she reiterated. “So, this whole time you’ve been blackmailing the Argent Commander into placing his precious time and resources into pointless research.”

  Here we go. “It isn’t pointless. Let me finish.”

  “Do you understand the importance of what we’re doing here? Yahweh is essential in this war. You know how he gets. You’ll fill his head with illusions of grandeur and he’ll obsess over trying to find a—”

  “A way to save your life?” I snapped. “Yeah, that’s totally unimportant. Unessential.”

  Conflicted, Leid resumed dressing. She offered no response.

  “I gave him a recreated diagram of noble DNA.”

  “You’ve been to the Sanctuary,” she murmured. A rhetorical statement.

  “He found a sequence that matches something called a transitus gene in insects across a few worlds. These insects metamorphose. He thinks expiration is a stage of metamorphosis, and if he’s right, we might be able to figure out how it works and how to stop it.”

  “How to stop it?” she asked, brows raised. “Stopping metamorphosis kills the organism. It’s a natural part of their life cycle. You can’t tamper with nature like that.”

  “Says the woman working for a faction that genetically engineered forty different species across the galaxy.”

  Leid only shook her head.

  “He needs to take a blood sample from you,” I pressed. “I’ve already given him mine. He wants to compare them.”

  “Qaira, there’s no use in trying to save me. I’m dead anyway.”

  “What the fuck is your problem? There is a legitimate way to save your life, and you’re passing it up?”

  “Have you already forgotten?”

  Decoding that cryptic question took a second. “No, I haven’t. One thing at a time.”

  “It’s beyond that,” she whispered. “Touching that statue sealed my fate. Even if you and Yahweh miraculously find a way to stop the expiration process, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a ticking time-bomb. You of all people know what might happen if I let her dwell inside of me long enough. Please, just… just let me die.”

  “I’m not going to let you die! You think this is all about you? You think you can turn me into …this… and then self-righteously march off a cliff and leave me here to rot?!”

  “Keep your voice down!”

&
nbsp; “You threw your rights to the wind the moment you decided to bring me back here instead of killing me. You want to be put out of your misery? Then put me out of mine first.”

  Leid sighed, sinking to the bed. She leaned forward and held her face, drained. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Let me help you. Let me help us. We’ll find a way to keep you around and once this war is over we’ll go somewhere else. Just the two of us.”

  Leid looked at me, hope filling up her eyes. Sad hope. Transparent hope. She and I both knew the consequences that might arise if we stopped her expiration. It would certainly put a kink in how the God Killers did things. And how far would we have to run for them not to find us? A cure for expiration was a double edged sword. It could offer longer life—immortality, maybe—but would tear apart their social structure at its core. Calenus would never have his queen. I doubted he could live with that.

  There wasn’t much time to consider things like this. All I could concentrate on was how to keep the only piece of my former life in existence. She’d destroyed my world and had stolen almost a millennium of my life, but none of that had been entirely her fault. Most of it had been mine, and no matter how much it hurt to even look at her sometimes, I couldn’t stop loving her. I loved Leid more than anything, then and now. Part of this was our noble-guardian bond, but mostly it was the understanding that without her, there was nothing else.

  It was selfish; I knew that, but also couldn’t help it. I was who I was.

  Our relationship had never been rainbows and blue skies. It’d been molded out of blood, tragedy, death, war—we’d grown to learn of our equal damage and understood each other better than anyone. We’d nursed our wounds together.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said, no louder than a whisper. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. You don’t know how many times I’ve…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence, but I’d caught the gist of it. I pulled her into me and she leaned on my shoulder. We didn’t say anything for a while.

  And then sirens blared.

  We broke away, gathering our things. The hall beyond thundered with sprinting boots as soldiers bled from their quarters to answer the call. Leid would reunite with Yahweh and head to the command station, and I would regroup with my recruits and man the deck. Each time this happened, there was a chance that we would never see each other again.