The Seven. Peter Newman

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СКАЧАТЬ her, knights prepare their weapons, their lips moving to prayer, automatic: ‘Winged Eye, watch over us, protect us, deliver us.’

      They do not appreciate the irony, for an eye is watching them, a sphere of silver-steel high in orbit. But its attention does not herald salvation.

      An answering song is given, emotionless, flat, directed back to Alpha.

      Vesper opens her eyes again, runs to Samael. ‘The Seven! They know where we are!’

      ‘Yes,’ replies the half-breed, unsurprised. ‘You hold the Malice.’

      She remembers what the sword was trying to tell her. ‘This is different. They know exactly where we are. Signal the First.’

      Samael does so, then adds, ‘We’re already at top speed and there is no sign that they can match it. Could this be a way to make sure we don’t lose them?’

      ‘No. Well, it could be but that doesn’t feel right. The sword knows The Seven are in that direction.’ She points without thinking. ‘They must sense where we are. Why bother with anything else?’

      ‘To know our strengths.’

      ‘That makes sense but …’ She trails off, looks at the sword. It is looking back the way they came, across open ocean, expectant.

      Then she sees them.

      A cloud of missiles, each one spinning, air playing across fluted surfaces to create a collective buzz. Their approach is so fast that by the time Vesper’s brain has made sense of what she is seeing, the missiles begin arcing down, splitting into clusters, each one targeting a specific vessel.

      The First’s fleet springs into action. None of the sky-ships are targeted, leaving them free to fire on the missile clouds, thinning them. Warships submerge, leaving countermeasures in their wake.

      Meanwhile, Samael turns The Commander’s Rest as tightly as he dares, the whole ship tilting, threatening to flip over. Knights are thrown against their harnesses, forced to watch and hope.

      Vesper runs to the back of the ship, staggering as the lean of the deck sharpens. Slamming into the back railing, she gasps down a breath and holds up the sword, singing. Air flashes blue around her and the nearest missiles tremble, their spinning suddenly erratic.

      An eye flashes, angry, and missiles veer away, crashing into the sea.

      In spite of this, in spite of everything, many missiles find their targets, puncturing hulls, ripping holes, and fire flares underwater. With each detonation comes a smaller pulse of essence. None trouble Vesper, but within its many shells, the First pauses, momentarily stunned. Samael flinches, pressing a hand to his head, and Scout howls wildly.

      The First’s fleet remains intact but four of the vessels have been forced to return, smoking, to the surface, and one of them has stopped entirely, its engines ruined.

      Vesper grips the railing, catching her breath as The Commander’s Rest slows to a crawl. She doesn’t relax, the sword won’t let her, and when the second wave of missiles comes, she is already straightening, drawing breath to sing again.

      As they travel, the Vagrant pushes the sea-shuttle faster, until his hands meet resistance on the column, feedback from the mutigel informing him that he has reached the craft’s safety limits.

      The water is choppy here, the sea-shuttle launching from one wave-top to another, haphazard. Jem hunkers down in a corner, holding Reela to him. Hard surfaces smack against his back and legs with each new impact. Delta unfurls her wings, for balance.

      The Vagrant squints at the empty horizon, scowls, and presses his hands forward again, until his fingers are curling against the back edge of the steering column.

      A humming engine becomes a whining one, though the sound is barely heard over the wind. Emergency flaps open at the front of the sea-shuttle, bravely trying to prevent the high speed from flipping the ship over.

      Onward they go, the sea-shuttle so fast now it threatens to defy gravity. Water soaks them all, whipped cold, numbing hands and stinging eyes.

      The Vagrant grits his teeth.

      Jem tries to talk to him, but the words are torn away. Terrified, but more scared of moving than staying, Jem reverts to watching Delta’s hands and the bones within them.

      At last, Alpha’s sky palace comes into view. Such is its size that it confounds the mind, like a half-rendered image where the mountain that surely supports the structure has not yet resolved itself. But there is no mountain, no ground beneath it.

      Ahead of them, on the water, they see rows and rows of Alpha’s ships, an armada, too many to count. War cruisers, frigates, scouts, all moving in perfect formation. Such a fleet has not been assembled since the Battle of the Red Wave.

      And then, from the battlements of the palace, a glimmering cloud issues, a swarm of missiles streaking away, soon lost to sight.

      Jem shouts, his voice an insect’s whine against elements and engine. ‘Now what?’

      The Vagrant ignores him.

      ‘You’re not just going to sail through that? You can’t!’

      The Vagrant ignores him.

      ‘I won’t let you do this to Reela!’

      A shadow looms over them, making both men turn.

      Delta has stepped forward, she steps again, so close that the hilt of her sword nearly pokes Jem’s chest. Knees bend and she leaps skyward, the sea-shuttle lurching dangerously in the opposite direction.

      Seawater briefly rises above ankles, diving over boot-tops to chill toes.

      Delta’s wings beat, the downdraught plastering the Vagrant against the steering column, and Jem and Reela against the floor.

      Spluttering, Jem sits up, looks up.

      Delta’s wings beat again, long and fluid, propelling her, catching currents that draw her swiftly away, a silvered arrow pointing unerringly at Alpha’s palace.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Delta looks at the ships beneath her. They carry the same troops that razed Greyspot Three, the ones that turned the people living there to the bones in her hands.

      She looks at Alpha’s palace in the wake of its just-launched volley of missiles. Distantly, she feels their tiny impacts. Deep inside her, the misery grows until it becomes too much to contain.

      Her mouth opens in song.

      The air shakes with it. Nearby clouds weep, and below, waves pause, collapsing in on themselves.

      Without being ordered by their commanders, the pilots of each of the ships cut their engines.

      Everything stops.

      But Delta is not done.

      She СКАЧАТЬ