Название: The Seven
Автор: Peter Newman
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Вестерны
isbn: 9780008239077
isbn:
Replacements are already being summoned. Within the hour, the mess will be cleaned away and perfection restored.
Massassi finds no concern for any other ramifications of these actions and no regret over the deaths. For Alpha lacks the capacity for regret, having been created without any. He is perfect and he expects perfection in all things. He can neither understand nor tolerate anything that fails to meet those expectations.
She sees a new future for the Empire when she is gone. One where Alpha slowly destroys it from the inside. She feels a slight sympathy. Many a time have the incompetencies of her fellows driven her to break things. But no, this will not do. Alpha’s role is to lead the Empire, to watch over it. It appears that he will need some help.
Massassi turns from the room, and Alpha follows without the need to ask.
They go back to her workshop and Massassi starts on a new project. She is grateful that Alpha is there to assist, making matters easier. Even so, she struggles.
Where before, with Alpha’s creation, she aimed for an ideal, this time she is more restrained. The body they craft is grand, more than human, but it is not quite so large. She still gives it wings however.
The new creation is designed to be a balance for Alpha. Where he is single-minded, ruthless and exacting, she will make someone more cautious, who thinks about the bigger picture, who considers the details.
If Alpha charges headlong into battle with what’s coming, then he will not be alone. There will be another there to watch his back and keep him safe. She crafts a second great sword and it is lighter than Alpha’s, quicker.
When the time comes to infuse the body and the sword with essence, she tries to capture the spirit of being an engineer, remembering that it is this training that has saved her in the darkest times. She tries to make him careful, thoughtful, analytical, logical. Like her on her calm days.
Essence flows from the iris in her palm and into the body and the sword, creating life, diminishing hers.
She sways but before she can fall, Alpha catches her, taking her weight. She feels his love around her like a physical thing.
In front of them, Beta is born. Where Alpha’s eyes are the blue of a clear sky, Beta’s are the blue-black of night.
Massassi is the first thing that Beta sees, and she feels his love for her just as she feels Alpha’s. Gentler, but no less powerful.
She pats one of the silver hands supporting her. ‘Alpha, this is your brother.’
Alpha tilts his head down.
Beta tilts his up.
Their eyes meet.
The sea is so unnaturally calm it resembles a vast lake, the echoes of Delta’s power calming currents, smoothing waves. The armada sailing across it is equally still, collectively holding its breath until The Seven resolve their dispute.
Half a mile above them sits Alpha’s sky palace, also motionless.
Intruding into the serenity is a small sea-shuttle, a mosquito in an otherwise quiet room. It is the only thing moving, and operators on every ship watch its progress on scopes or through plasglass viewing ports.
Though the occupants of the sea-shuttle cannot see the watchers, they feel their scrutiny.
‘This was a bad idea,’ says Jem.
The Vagrant doesn’t respond, forcing the other man to address his back. As they approach the gap between two larger Empire craft, the Vagrant eases back on the steering column, slowing down to adjust their positioning.
‘I just don’t see why we can’t go round them.’
The Vagrant presses his lips together, continuing on his course.
Jem is left to seethe. Powerless, he raises the scope to his eye, moving it from ship to ship, checking to see if guns are tracking them. They are not. Safe for the moment, he trains the scope on Alpha’s sky palace.
‘I can see movement on the battlements … I can see The Seven!’ he shouts, making the Vagrant flinch and Reela jump. Then, in a whisper, repeats. ‘I can see The Seven. I think that’s Alpha. He’s … He’s holding Delta … She looks bad. Is She dead? He’s throwing Her!’
The Vagrant looks up. Even without the aid of the scope, he sees her, sunslight glittering red and gold over her as she arcs in the air, corkscrewing, falling.
His hands twist on the steering column, push forward. As he does so the sea-shuttle pivots in the water, then accelerates. The engine starts to whine, an unhappy noise.
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