Union, page 1
Union
A Seraph Universe Novel
Published by Jade Fantasy
Copyright © 2022 Sarah Hawke
Cover Art by Tony Tzanoukakis
Edited by Sean L.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
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Prologue
My pain is my power. My suffering is my purpose. I will earn what others have been given. That is what makes me strong.
Vestri’s eyes shot open. Her vision was blurred by the greenish koboro fluid surrounding her, and air rattled through her rebreather clamped over her mouth. She must not have been unconscious for long—her lungs still burned as if she had inhaled flame, and every time she drew breath it was like a bellows feeding the heat. But a faint telepathic presence tugged at the corners of her mind and roused her from slumber.
The Master wanted to speak with her.
“You should be proud of yourself. Once again, you have proven him right.”
The voice—her voice—came from outside the koboro tank. It was clear and crisp, without the slightest bit of distortion from the liquid. When Vestri turned her head, she saw the blond-haired, green-eyed version of herself standing beyond the glass, arms crossed over her pristine blue Dominion uniform.
“You won’t be able to beg for forgiveness this time,” Selorah Trell said. “He gave you another chance, and you failed. The Seven and her shaper are gone, possibly forever.”
Vestri snarled into her rebreather. A light on the console outside the tank was blinking, indicating an incoming transmission. She hadn’t expected the Master to reach out to her again so soon. She wasn’t even certain how he knew she was here on Ziphrades in the first place—she hadn’t contacted him since she had chased Kaya to Cira Narn.
But he did know, and there was no point in delaying the inevitable confrontation. Her mental phantasm was right—the Master would not show her mercy again. Vestri had promised him that she would recover Kaya and the shaper, but despite trapping them in the underwater facility—despite the fact that they possessed no weapons capable of harming her—they had still escaped her grasp.
“Because you’re pathetic,” Selorah goaded. “You aren’t worthy of being called Seraphim.”
Vestri turned away from her tormentor. Normally, the taunts would have provoked a violent response. She would have lashed out with powers; she might have even smashed the tank around her. At the very least, she would have seethed in quiet fury while she replayed and analyzed her mistakes during her long recovery.
But that hadn’t happened. She hadn’t lashed out or broken anything or even floated here in brooding in silence. Since dragging herself back to the ship, the only thing she had done was think about the last words spoken by the Seventh Shadow.
Spider Zero was here with the Union. If she has turned away from the Widow, then the other Shadows can, too!
Vestri closed her eyes again, trying in vain to focus on the shattered memory fragments at the edge of her consciousness. But as always, she could never quite reassemble them into a coherent whole. She had no idea how many times her mind had been purged—dozens? hundreds?—but it was one type of damage that even a koboro tank couldn’t repair. All she knew was that the Master was keeping things from her.
The Master, the Widow…they’re monsters. We’re nothing more than tools to them. You should understand that better than anyone.
Her amber eyes reopened. Selorah Trell. Spider Zero. The first trained operative of the Widow and now the genetic template for the Shadows of the Seraph. Vestri knew exactly who she was—she was the phantasm that haunted her, the voice she could never ignore. She was guilt. She was judgment.
She was her.
“But you’re nothing like me,” the voice outside the tank said. “You are a copy, and a flawed one at that. A shadow of my greatness, easily forgotten and instantly replaced.”
The words of the Seventh Shadow—of Kaya—came to her again. Spider Zero must have turned for a reason. The Master tortured both of us. We don’t owe him or the Widow anything!
Vestri knew that Kaya could have been lying. The Sevens were duplicitous by their very nature. She could have simply been stalling in an effort to give her Velothi wraith more time to get into position.
But what if she wasn’t? What if Spider Zero really had turned? What did it mean for the Eclipse? What did it mean if the Master was keeping all of this from her?
Vestri slammed her hand against the release button. The tank hissed as the green liquid surrounding her began to drain out, and her vision sharpened once her eyes were clear.
“The Master wishes to speak with you,” the ship’s disembodied voice said once the tank was empty. “I tried to inform him that you were still recovering, but he insisted upon—”
“Inform him that the hunt continues,” Vestri said, her voice barely even sounding human through the rebreather, “and that I will update him again once I have more news.”
The Synesthete didn’t reply for several seconds. “Mistress?”
“You heard me. I have nothing else to report.”
Vestri wondered if the Synesthete might open the channel anyway. This ship belonged to the Widow and the Master, and the psychic whose consciousness had been merged with it was loyal to them, not Vestri. If it decided to ignore her commands, there was precious little she could do about it. The Synesthete didn’t have a body to kill, and there was no traditional computer core for her to purge and reprogram. The vessel and its psionic consciousness were a single inseparable being.
“Message sent,” the Synesthete replied, its voice still as cool and modulated as ever.
“Good,” Vestri said. Pausing for a moment, she allowed most of the koboro to drip from her body and follow the rest down the drain before she opened the tank and stepped outside. The maintenance drones had already repaired her damaged armor during her short rest. Stretching out her hand, she telekinetically pulled the chest piece from the armor rack to her grip and turned it over to inspect their work. As usual, there was almost no sign that it had even been scratched.
“Perhaps you should return to the tank, mistress,” the ship suggested. “Your lung tissue was severely damaged, and—”
“What have you uncovered in your search?” Vestri demanded. With her free hand, she removed the tank rebreather and drew in a low, slow breath. The tiny amounts of anesthetic in the chemical-filled air of the ship dulled the worst of the pain.
“As you anticipated, the Intelligence Ministry Database does not possess any information on the current whereabouts of operative codename Spider Zero. In fact, there are no references to her whatsoever.”
Vestri nodded as she telekinetically pushed her armor back to its stand. “Were you able to access the records in the Nest?”
“I am afraid not, mistress. There was no additional information available to me.”
It was an annoying answer but not a surprising one. Just like this ship, the Nest didn’t have a conventional computer system with conventional data storage—at least, not one that contained anything important. Truly vital information was stored telepathically inside a nexus of psionic crystals that could be accessed by Synesthetes anywhere in the galaxy. In a way, it was essentially a vast wireless cloud of data that only telepaths could access.
Assuming they had the proper mental “code.” The Master had probably sealed off information on Spider Zero from everyone, even the Synesthetes. If Vestri were physically there at the Nest, she might have been able to figure out a way to access the crystals herself and keep her queries private. But out here, hundreds of light-years away, her telepathy simply wasn’t strong enough to achieve such a feat.
All of which meant that locating Spider Zero might prove even more difficult than capturing the shaper.
“What about my other inquiry?” Vestri asked, feeling the usual frisson of surprise at the sound of her normal, unfiltered voice.
“You’re not going to find her,” the same exact voice came back at her. Off to the left, her mental phantasm was now sitting cross-legged at the computer terminal, a smug smirk on her face. “Not before the Master realizes what you’re doing.”
“I have narrowed down a list of potential candidates to three,” the Synesthete said. “Do you wish to see them?”
“Yes,” Vestri said, stepping over to the medical console on the wall while trying to ignore the phantasm in the chair. As her wet feet squished across the deck plates, the holo-projector displayed images of three individuals, all non-humans, along with a scrawl of relevant identification data.
“When cross-referencing records from the Science Ministry and the Intelligence Ministry, only these three individuals met all of your criteria. However, I am skeptical that—”
“It’s him,” Vestri said, a chill rippling over and through her body as if she had just slipped back into the cold koboro tank. “Pherion Gizahri.”
She reached out and touched the controls to increase the size of the projection from ten centimeters to a full meter. The image of a male alien spun on its axis before her, his light blue-gray skin the only immediate indication that he wasn’t human. Though upon closer inspection, his ears were probably his most distinguishing feature—they were pointed at the arch and at the lobe, with small, serrated ridges along the back. His eyes were a soft luminescent violet not so different than a Velothi’s. In this particular image capture, only his left ear was visible thanks to his long mane of straight white hair.
“Are you certain, mistress?” the Synesthete asked.
“He’s the only one I’ve seen before. Many times…”
Vestri closed her eyes, a sea of incomplete images flashing through her mind. Bright lights. Medical status monitors. A deep, dispassionate voice…
But no matter how hard she focused, the fragments still inevitably faded. All she knew for certain was that she had met Gizahri before, and that he was somehow involved with the Shadows just like the dead Thursk cyberneticist back on Cira Narn.
Or maybe not just like Garen Ruto. No, Gizahri’s work had been more subtle. Perhaps even more important. Was it related to memories, perhaps?
“This is pointless,” Selorah said, her voice twice as loud, as if irritated she was being ignored. “Do you honestly believe that the Master would trust an alien to keep information on his operatives?”
“An alien species the Tarreen barely know anything about,” Vestri countered, her eyes slowly reopening. “The Yarasi have innate clairvoyant and telepathic abilities.”
She glanced down at the chair next to her to keep arguing the point, but the phantasm was already gone.
“I beg your pardon, mistress?” the Synesthete asked.
“Never mind,” Vestri murmured, inhaling another lungful of air despite the burn that came with it. It felt good to breathe for herself no matter how much it hurt. “Do you have a location?”
“He is currently assigned to Suntara, a lunar research station in an adjacent sector.”
Vestri searched her memory to no avail. “How far?”
“Approximately four hundred parsecs from our present position.”
Farther than she would have liked, but certainly not as far as it could have been, given the breadth of Convectorate-controlled space. And with her astral drive, the journey would take less than three days.
“Set a course,” Vestri ordered. “Shift us into astral space as soon as possible.”
The voice paused. “The Master’s orders were quite clear, mistress. We are to apprehend the shaper at any cost.”
Vestri meandered back toward the tank as she examined the rebreather still clutched in her hand. She needed to be careful. Ultimately, there was nothing to stop the Synesthete from shifting to astral space and taking them right back to the Nest instead. If the ship became convinced that she had abandoned her mission…
“Kaya and the shaper are trying to contact the Union,” Vestri said. “We know that much. And if she’s right about Spider Zero, it means that she’ll be on the same trail we are. Finding one will lead us to the other.”
It wasn’t the tightest logic in the universe, obviously. With access to an astral drive and to the resources of the Convectorate, not to mention her ability to spin a psychic web, Vestri still had a great many traditional hunting options available to her. And of course, there was absolutely no guarantee that Kaya also knew about Gizahri. Both of their minds had been wiped countless times, and it was impossible to guess what fragments remained.
But tracking down a shared target of interest was a time-tested hunting technique, and as long as Vestri could make a case Kaya might pursue the same person, this plan could at least seem plausible. Or so she hoped.
“Setting course,” the Synesthete said eventually. “We should arrive in approximately sixty-five hours. However, at least one shift back into normal space is recommended for safety.”
“Fine, but not for more than an hour,” Vestri said, reattaching the rebreather. “And don’t wake me again unless it is vital.”
She stepped back into the tank. As the curved surface slid shut and the cold liquid began to rise around her again, the image of Kaya’s face flashed into her mind—her face, yet somehow different. The Master had always coddled the Sevens and tormented the Nines, and Vestri hated them for it.
I remember how badly they treated you. They were always pitting us against each other, but they never even gave you a chance.
Vestri grimaced. She had been so determined to complete her mission and prove herself that she hadn’t really listened to what the Seven was telling her at the time. But now, hours later, the other woman’s pleas seemed…earnest. Genuine.
“The Sevens are built to lie,” the voice of the phantasm said. “Spider Zero is the catalyst for the Eclipse, the bridge to a new Dominion and a restored Seraphim Order.”
“Then why has she turned?”
“She hasn’t. Unlike you, she is a true daughter of the Seraph’s legacy. Listening to the lies of the Seven will only lead you to your doom.”
“Perhaps,” Vestri muttered as the liquid crawled up her neck. “But you want me to fail.”
“You have already failed. And when the Master realizes what you’re doing—”
“If I’ve already failed, then why do you care if I listen to the Seven? Why does it even matter if I find Spider Zero?”
The phantasm did not answer.
1
Contingencies
“The Velothi’s vital signs are stabilizing,” Ghost reported, his spherical holographic orange avatar floating in front of the medical displays in the Prowler’s small infirmary. “Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary.”
“Yeah…I am,” Kaya bit out through clenched teeth. “Thanks for noticing.”
Dorian Garr smiled and squeezed her supportively. He was standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her stomach. He could feel her abdominal muscles tremble every time a new spike of pain shuddered through her body, and he was trying to help. But ultimately, there was precious little he could do besides wait and watch the show.
“Take it slow,” he warned.
“I told you before, I’m not that kind of girl,” Kaya said, a bead of perspiration trickling down the back of her neck. “It’s fast and hard or nothing at all.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’s always better to rip off the bandage in a single pull.”
“This isn’t a bandage. And we’re not in a rush.”
She snorted but didn’t argue the point. Her hands were on the side of Mysha’s stomach where the field dressing was soaked red, her face scrunched in pain as she siphoned the unconscious woman’s wounds into her body. Dorian had witnessed the process several times now, but he still shared Ghost’s disbelief at just how astonishing—and in some ways disturbing—psionic healing was to behold.
Still, it was useful to know how powerful it could be in a pinch, especially considering how often they seemed to get shot at. After Ziphrades, they were lucky to be alive and in as relatively good shape as they were.
The underwater lab was already five light-years behind them, but Dorian swore he could almost feel their masked Shadow of the Seraph breathing down their necks. They had left in such a hurry that the battle was still fresh in his mind: the pain when he’d been shocked into unconsciousness by the stun bola, the surprise when Mysha helped awaken him, the rush of adrenaline when he had unleashed his magnokinetic powers and pinned their assailant to the wall of the derelict facility…
The horror at how, aside from her raven hair, she had been an exact copy of the woman Dorian had fallen in love with.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Kaya’s face duplicated in another—there had also been the old footage of Spider Zero invading the lab on Ziphrades. But that woman had never actually spoken.
This one had been a fully realized clone of Selorah Trell—Spider Zero—and thinking about the murderous glint in her amber eyes sent a chill down Dorian’s spine. Despite the fact that he had left her pinned to the wall of the collapsing station—despite the fact that the Prowler’s sensors assured him no one was in pursuit—he knew that they hadn’t seen the last of the seemingly invincible assassin.
