Bane of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 1) (20 page)

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Damn it, Jack, just tell me what I want to hear.”

Jack wore a carefree grin. “And what exactly do you want to hear?”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope.”

Dominic let out a frustrated sigh. “If that’s how you want to play this, then so be it.” He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Let me explain something to you,” Dominic said. “I want answers, I don’t care how I get them, and we are all alone out here.”

“Dom, I love you, too, but not in that way.”

“Shut up. You may be a remarkable pilot, but outside your seraph you are just a man like any other.”

“Oh, my mistake. I thought you were going to try to seduce me.”

“No, Jack. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth before I beat it out of you.”

Jack crossed his arms. “You do realize I could have my seraph here in less than a minute.”

“And I can kill you in seconds,” Dominic said, his posture unchanged and unthreatening. “Remember, for a human my size, I’m ten times as strong, twice as fast, and far more durable. The Aktenai didn’t hold back when they made me.”

Jack sighed. “Well, if you want to try, I won’t stop you.”

“Last chance.”

Jack shook his head.

Dominic shot forward with inhuman speed. But instead of punching Jack in the stomach, he suddenly found himself staring at an approaching knee.

Jack had grabbed Dominic by the hair and then slammed the observer’s face straight into his rising knee. Dominic staggered back, momentarily stunned. He shook his head and raised two fingers to his mouth, gently touching it. Blood oozed from his cracked lip.

“What the hell?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe I got lucky that time. Would you like to try again?”

Dominic dashed forward, made a brief feint to the left, and swung a fist into Jack’s right side.

The punch should have landed, but Jack suddenly wasn’t there. Something hit Dominic’s leg. He flew off his feet and landed hard on his hands and knees.

“Again?” Jack asked, hands in his pockets.

Dominic sprang to his feet and snarled. He may have been a construct, but his emotions were all too human. Rage boiled hot inside him, purging any semblance of rational thought. He rushed in again. With Jack just standing there mocking him, surely he could land a hit.

Dominic threw an uppercut that would kill an unprotected human on impact, shattering bones and pulverizing organs. But his efforts weren’t enough. Jack caught the punch and locked onto Dominic’s arm with both of his.

“How?” Dominic gasped, struggling to free his arm.

Jack replied with a sly grin and shifted his stance. He picked Dominic up and threw him over his shoulder. Dominic rocketed through the air and smacked hard against the wall. The force of the impact cracked the wall’s tiled plastics. He fell to the ground and landed painfully on his back.

Dominic struggled to his feet. He coughed, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Do we really need to keep doing this?” Jack asked.

Dominic pointed at Jack. “You should not be able to do that!”

“Let me tell you something. What makes a seraph work? It’s a pilot’s instincts drawing on that vast chaotic sea of energy in order to stay alive. Even Aktenai and Grendeni science has trouble detecting that small spark of energy unamplified in a normal pilot.”

Jack held his hand out, palm up. “But as you know, I’m no ordinary pilot.” A small pin-prick of blue light ignited above his palm. The pin of light blazed and grew until it was the size of a fist, making Dominic squint.

Jack let the ball of light disappear.

Dominic backed half a step away. “How did you do that?”

Jack shrugged. He reached down, retrieved Dominic’s jacket, and brushed the dust off it. “Vierj is the real expert. She taught me how to channel this power even without a seraph.”

Dominic accepted his coat back.

“So, as you can see, I’m quite capable of defending myself,” Jack said. “I know what you think is going on. I know you think Vierj is dangerous, and you would be right. She is a very dangerous woman. However, please trust me. I know what I’m doing, and when I’m done the universe will be a better place.”

“For whom?”

Jack grinned sadly. “For everyone but me.”

Chapter 13

Forged in Chaos

From a balcony above the seraph bay, Seth gazed down at the dissected Grendeni archangel. With its internal systems spread out below, the archangel looked even more like a grotesque metal skeleton. Spindly maintenance arms moved in blurs of motion, prying into its systems at Zo Nezrii’s neural commands.

Quennin and Jared both watched the dissection with rapt attention. Once finished, the arms folded into cradles along the bay ceiling.

“So what are we dealing with, Zo?” Seth asked.

“A lot of sloppy engineering, courtesy of our Fallen brothers and sisters,” she said.

Jared pointed at a flexible column pulled from the archangel’s back. Over one hundred spheres wrapped around the column in a rising coil.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Zo said. “Like pre-Alliance seraphs, the archangels need live neural material for their amplifiers rather than the synthetic mass we currently use. We were able to overcome that requirement by studying Pilot Donolon’s merger and partially replicating it for all seraphs. I can only imagine what we’d be up against if the Grendeni could duplicate current seraph tech.”

“The Grendeni must have a vastly accelerated breeding program,” Seth said. “Given the numbers we’ve faced.”

“Agreed,” Zo said. “Genetic analysis of the, shall we say, unwilling donors leads us to the following conclusions. One, the archangel pilots and amplifier donors are indeed descended from Mezen Daed by roughly ten generations. Two, those generations have repeatedly interbred to produce the desired chaos coefficients.”

“Disgusting,” Quennin breathed.

“The archangels employ several radical design choices,” Zo said. “The pilots actually share a direct physical link to the amplifier. While this increases performance, it also makes buffering out the chaos slaves extremely difficult. This may have contributed to the violent behavior we’ve witnessed.”

“We should destroy this amplifier,” Quennin said.

“Agreed,” Seth said. “Find out what you can, Zo, then let those minds rest in peace.”

“Of course.” Zo pointed to a pile of coiled tubing next to the archangel. “There’s another item I’d like to review first. The archangels’ circulatory system actually floods the cockpit with conductor fluid. We abandoned that method long ago because it’s highly detrimental to pilot health.”

“Grendeni concern for their pilots seems rather lacking,” Seth said.

“True,” Zo said. “But while pilot life expectancy is severely diminished, performance is increased.”

“Sort of like burning a candle at both ends,” Jared said. “Twice as bright, half as long.”

The three Aktenai pilots turned to Jared. Their neural links looked up the obscure Earth culture reference.

“Oh!” Zo said. “A candle. So that’s what you meant. Yes, something like that.” She tilted her head to the side. “But wouldn’t that be difficult?”

“What do you mean?”

“Burning a candle at both ends,” Zo said. “Wouldn’t you drip wax all over the place?”

“Umm, actually I never thought of it like that.” Jared shrugged an apology. “It’s just a saying. I didn’t make it up.”

“But if you’re going to use a vague cultural reference, shouldn’t you pick one that makes sense?”

“Well, I, uhh…”

“In fact, aren’t you that strange Earth Nation pilot who’s been hanging around my daughter?”

“Umm…”

“You better not be the one who suggested she pierce her ears.”

“What? No! I had nothing to do with that!”

Seth cleared his throat. “Zo, the archangel swords?”

“Oh, very well,” Zo said. “Pilot Daykin, you and I will continue our discussion later.” She linked a command to the bay.

Ordnance hatches opened along the ceiling. A massive sword descended next to the archangel, stopping when its grip touched the bottom of the bay and its tip just barely cleared the ceiling ordnance chamber.

“We recovered forty-eight intact swords,” Zo said. “Unlike the archangels, these are simply amazing.”

“At cutting us down,” Seth said darkly.

“How do they work?” Quennin asked.

“They’re chaos energy conductors similar to the fluidic conductors in our seraphs, but with a dramatically lower decay rate. The conducting polymer is solid and runs from the tip of the blade down a single edge to the grip. Contacts on the archangel’s hand allow chaos energy to be transferred through a standard fluidic exchange inside the archangel’s arm.”

“So, instead of projecting chaos energy into dead space,” Seth said, “they generate a blade along a solid conducting edge.”

“Precisely,” Zo said. “That gives them a huge advantage in close combat.”

“Can we adapt this technology for our seraphs?” Seth asked.

“Well, the polymer is extremely complex,” Zo said. “Special facilities will need to be constructed in Aktenzek to replicate it.”

“No, I mean
us
here with
these
swords.” Seth pointed out the balcony window.

Quennin smiled and shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this.”

Seth gave her a warm smile.

“You’re on to something, Seth.” Zo nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I think we can. In fact, the Earth Nation seraphs already have a similar connection with their rail-rifles. Our seraphs’ arms will have to be redesigned and modified to accommodate the connection. We’ll need to wait for Aktenzek to produce replacements, but yes, we should be able to use these swords.”

“Zo, why don’t we keep enough swords here to equip the Renseki and Epsilon squadron?” Seth said. “We can forward the rest to Aktenzek for further study. We have enough of them for both, right?”

“Oh, yes. More than enough.”

Seth took another look at the sword and pondered what he could do with one or even two of the Grendeni devices.

Could this give me the edge I needed to defeat Jack?
he wondered.

“Have we learned anything about Azeal?” Quennin asked.

“No,” Zo said. “But here’s something strange. Immediately after we got back to the
Resolute
, the Choir demanded an audience. And you won’t believe who the representatives were!”

“Veketon and Dendolet?” Seth asked.

“No fair,” Zo said. “You already knew.”

“Just a lucky guess,” Quennin said. “Seth and I were approached after fighting Azeal. Our venerable masters seemed very concerned about that pilot.”

“Yeah, I got that impression, too,” Zo said.

“They know who Azeal is,” Seth said flatly.

“Seth, they would tell us if they did,” Quennin said.

“I don’t know,” Zo said. “You could be right, Seth. I talked to Vorin shortly after Veketon wrung what he could from us. He and the rest of the Choir are completely in the dark. Can you imagine that? The Original Eleven keeping secrets from the Sovereign
and
the Choir?”

“What does the Sovereign plan to do?” Quennin asked.

Zo shook her head. “He didn’t say.”

***

Sovereign Vorin Daelus stepped into the Great Hall. In truth, the Great Hall was nothing more than a small dark room within the Sovereign’s Palace. However, as Vorin entered the room, the walls came alive with sweeping images of a vast bowl-shaped auditorium that rose high above him on all sides. A midday sun within a cloudless sky warmed his face.

Dead sovereigns of Aktenzek filled the auditorium’s tightly packed stands: row after row of men and women in strange uniforms or modern attire, some famous and others forgotten. But each of them had been a leader of the Aktenai. Vorin felt tiny and humbled in such esteemed company.

Taen Elexen waited for Vorin as he entered. Vorin always found it disconcerting to see Taen so young and full of energy. Towards the end, he had been a shriveled old man hardly able to move on his own.

A future I will face all too soon,
Vorin thought grimly.

Taen gave him a polite nod. “Sovereign.”

“Have the Original Eleven made a decision?” Vorin asked.

“Not yet,” he said, facing the Great Hall’s center.

Six men and five women stood far apart from everyone else, shrouded behind a privacy screen. They clustered together in a tight circle as if fearful their conversations could still be heard. Each of the Eleven wore a variant of the black-and-white dress they favored: one completely black with white gloves, another all white with layers of black zigzags up the arms, and most with an even mix.

Their visual ages also varied. Each of them was over twenty thousand years old, present at the moment of Exile and firsthand witnesses of Imayirot’s destruction. Most assumed youthful guises, though a few had chosen the look of dignified age.

“What could possibly make this so complicated?” Vorin said. “Their silence only adds to our unease.”

“Our venerable masters are not accustomed to defiance,” Taen said. “Pressing this issue may have dangerous consequences.”

“Regardless, the sovereigns and I require all available information on this Azeal. A seraph that is impervious to our weapons? Surely the Original Eleven see the reason behind our need.”

“Agreed, but I advise caution,” Taen said. “The Original Eleven are as ancient as they are powerful. They must not be trifled with.”

Vorin took several steps into the auditorium. Polished flagstones ranged in circles from the center, eventually rising to form the ring of surrounding stands. The din of thousands of conversations hung heavy in the air.

“Venerable masters!” Vorin’s voice echoed across the Great Hall. The din of conversation died quickly as the decisive moment drew near. “Venerable masters, have you decided?”

The Original Eleven continued to debate among themselves, though two of the founders glanced in Vorin’s direction.

“I ask again, venerable masters, that you share with us your knowledge of the pilot Azeal. Or, if you cannot, please impart upon your humble servants why you must keep this secret.”