Aetheral Space

Chapter 428:14.2: Amuse-Bouche

03:31

"Yeah, no," said Dragan.

Azez cocked his head, the shadows playing across his features. His brown cloak pooled on the floor around him. "Is there a problem, Dragan Hadrien?"

"There’s no way you’re alive. No, I know you’re not alive. Your body was displayed at your funeral -- there’re more pictures of your corpse than people on this planet."

"You don’t think that corpse could have been fake?" Azez smiled.

"Was it?"

For a moment, the young man didn’t reply -- but only for a moment. He closed his eyes and chuckled lightly. "I’m glad you’re a rational person, at least. A lot of people who end up here aren’t." He opened his golden eyes again. "It’s as you say. Azez Tazir died many centuries ago. Think of me as something he left behind."

Dragan narrowed his glowing eyes, slowly circling his counterpart. "For what purpose?"

"For this purpose," ’Azez’ replied casually. "To greet the successors to my title and take their measure. Congratulations on your victory in the Dawn Contest, by the way."

"So you’re some kind of projection?"

’Azez’ very nearly rolled his eyes, but restrained himself. Instead, he reached for his collar and pulled it down, baring his chest -- or where a human being’s chest would have been. Instead, there was just a framework lattice of thin lights… and visible within, where a heart should have been, floated a shining lantern.

"Again," ’Azez’ continued. "It’s as you say. This form is just something projected by the Lantern of Truth, the real Azez Tazir’s Aether Armament. This impression of consciousness too is just that… an impression. Perhaps the word fabrication is more accurate, though? I’m able to speak and interact with you to a certain degree, but please make no mistake -- I am not a sapient actor."

"So you’re like an automatic," Dragan noted, stopping on the other side of the being. "How close are you to the original Azez… in terms of that consciousness you’re fabricating?"

The projection smiled as it looked over its shoulder. "Who can say?"

"You. You can say."

"I have to say, you really are a sceptical person, aren’t you? I haven’t seen one since Renée who questions the mechanics of the whole thing so deeply. Although I suppose that was more of a vivisection than an interrogation, haha."

It replies, Dragan noted. But doesn’t initiate. Maybe the personality is partly derived from the person it’s interacting with?

"Okay," Dragan said. "You want to talk. I get that. So… what do you want to talk about?"

"What else?" the man of light said, turning fully to face Dragan once again. "I want to know your intentions for my Supremacy."

03:32

"I know this sounds rich, coming from me," Gregori Hazzard said. "But I really think we should work together here."

The other two in the storage car ignored him. If they had been able to, they’d probably have just left him to his own misery -- unfortunately, however, they weren’t able to. Their arms were tightly bound with Neverwire and strapped to the walls behind them, leaving them facing each other. They couldn’t move from these spots, much less leave.

Outside, they could hear the thrum of the train carrying them through the skies of Azum-Ha. It seemed the S4 had commandeered this vehicle to take their prisoners to whatever destination they had in mind. Wherever that was, they sure were taking their sweet time about it.

Not that any of that bothered these two anyway. They were busy glaring daggers at each other, mutually eager for blood. On one side, the desire for vengeance -- on the other, the call of spite.

Morgan Nacht and Gretchen Hail.

"So you really were still alive," Morgan grunted, ignoring Gregori. "I thought maybe you’d set things up in advance… but no, you were handing out those Fusion Tools yourself."

"Are you proud of yourself for figuring it out?" Gretchen scoffed. "A child could have told you I was alive. Fusion Tools are bespoke for their users -- they wouldn’t go spreading across the galaxy all by themselves."

"You were Hapgrass, then," Morgan muttered. "That’s quite the disguise you pulled off."

"If you must know, it wasn’t really a disguise," Gretchen smirked, clearly unable to resist the urge to gloat. "I transferred my consciousness into her empty body with an Aether Armament, then used a specialised Fusion Tool to rewrite the body to match my own self-image. So, I wasn’t wearing a wig or anything if you thought that’s --"

"What happened to Ionir?" Morgan asked.

His heart thumped in his chest. The entire time since he’d woken up, this was what he’d been asking himself, over and over again. An accompaniment to his heartbeat.

He needed the answer. He wouldn’t be able to do anything until he knew. But at the same time…

Gretchen’s smirk stretched up her cheek. "I killed it."

Morgan blinked.

"I’ll kill you," he said quietly.

"You two can kill each other later," Gregori cut in, raising his voice. "But if we don’t get out of here, we’re all fucked."

"Speak for yourself," Gretchen lounged back on her restraints. "These men are taking us to the new Supreme, right? In that case, I don’t have anything to worry about. If anything, I’m thankful -- it’ll save me the taxi fare."

Morgan’s hands trembled behind his back, a burning venomous sensation crawling up his throat as he made the connection. "Traitor."

"Hm?" Gretchen cocked her head. "You’re surprised at this point? Besides, if I’m a traitor, so are you. Probably more so. I didn’t even get the chance to pull off my betrayal, you know? You beat me to the punch."

"So you were working with Hadrien," Gregori mused. "I’m assuming your job was to ensure his victory against Aclima, then?"

Wait.

Morgan’s eyes widened. He’d been so caught up in his fury that he’d missed what Hail had just said. The new Supreme. If they were talking about Hadrien, then that meant… that meant…

Gregori seemed to notice Morgan’s shock, glancing over at him. "I woke up first," he said. "Heard the guards talking. From the sounds of it, Atoy Muzazi was defeated by Dragan Hadrien -- and then he got pulled out of there by two of the UAP’s Nebula. So it looks like he’s a traitor, too."

"No…" Morgan muttered.

"I know, right?" Gregori rolled his eyes. "That’s two years of my life I’m not getting back."

Morgan went to snap at the other man -- but before he could, Gregori turned back to Gretchen.

"Anyway," he said casually. "I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"You said it yourself, didn’t you? You weren’t able to pull off your part of the plan. Instead of an easy win against Aclima, Hadrien had to fight for his life against Muzazi. If I were him, I might see that as a betrayal -- or, at least, incompetence. I don’t think I’d see much point in keeping an incompetent ally around."

The smirk faded from Gretchen’s lips. "You’re just trying to save yourself, Hazzard."

"Sure. But if you were in Hadrien’s good books, why are you tied up with us in the first place? That tells me he sees us as being in the same category." Gregori smiled thinly. "Obstacles to be eliminated."

For a good long moment, Gretchen’s golden eyes just stared into Gregori’s crimson. Neither blinked -- but finally, Gretchen looked away.

"What do you have in mind?" she muttered.

"No," Morgan growled, his eyes still fixed on the murderer. "No way. I’m not working with her."

"Fine," Gretchen snapped back. "Me and him will just escape without you, then."

"I’m so popular all of a sudden," Gregori sighed. "But we need all three of us if we’re going to do this. Once we’re out, we need to break through the S4 lines and get off this train -- and my escape method needs all of us, too."

"What is it you have in mind?" Gretchen asked.

"This Neverwire is pretty high-quality stuff," Gregori said. "Sufficient to keep each of us suppressed, at least. But that’s each of us individually. You know multi-infusion?"

Slowly, Gretchen nodded. "I see. You want us to channel all of our Aether into one of our bodies simultaneously, so it destroys that Neverwire restraint -- and then they bust the rest of us out?"

"Exactly," Gregori replied. "The way they’ve tied us up, we can just about touch each other’s feet. We make contact, then we push our Aether in the same direction as hard as we can. It’ll give."

"Not bad, Hazzard," Gretchen’s smirk returned. "I didn’t realise you had a working brain back there. I suppose the only question is… who do we break out first?’

Morgan cut back in, his voice harsh. "Not her."

"I thought you weren’t cooperating, Nacht?" Gretchen sneered.

"Not her," Morgan repeated, ignoring her, his gaze on Gregori. "Break me out and I’ll get you free. You know I’ll honour my word."

"No way!" Gretchen squirmed in her binds, looking for all the world like a particularly orange chihuahua for a moment. "No way, no way, no way. You cut him out first, he cuts my head off. He’s crazy."

"Fuck you," Morgan snarled.

"Fuck you," Gretchen spat back.

"Okay," Gregori said calmly. "I hear what you’re both saying. How about we cut the difference and break me out first? Then I can free the both of you."

Both glares swung in his direction.

"I’m serious," he continued. "I understand both of you have your reasons not to trust me. Think about it, though. Right now, the two of you have every reason to betray each other. But, in this situation, I have no reason to betray either of you. There are armed guards just outside this compartment -- probably Aether-users, too. It’s to my advantage to keep the two of you around to help fight them. Understand?"

"...right," Gretchen narrowed her eyes.

"So I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m just asking you to trust the principle of mutual self-interest."

Morgan’s eyes flicked from Gretchen to Gregori, his brow twitching. He sucked in a breath. It was Hadrien or this. At least this way, he supposed, there was a chance.

"Fine," he said. "We break you out, then me, then her."

Gretchen opened her mouth to protest, but Gregori cut in first.

"I’ll break both of you out at the same time," he said quickly. "Happy?"

Eventually -- after much glaring and glancing back and forth -- the pair nodded. Grunting, Gregori slouched down as much as he could, pushing his foot out towards the centre of the room. Morgan and Gretchen mirrored his movements -- neither of them were particularly tall, so it took quite a bit of manoeuvring, but eventually they managed to assume a position where all three of their bodies were just barely in contact.

"Keep it like this," Gregori said quietly. "On three, flare your Aether as much as you can, for as long as you can -- focusing on my wrists like they’re part of your own body. Ready? One… two… three."

Morgan pushed.

It was a strange sensation -- flaring his Aether without being able to feel it. It was like a pressure was building up in some imaginary organ, like he was trying to push something bigger than himself through his chest, like he was tightening a vice around his own head. A pain began to crawl through the back of his skull. His bones felt like the marrow was being drained away. It felt like… it felt like…

…it felt like something gave.

There was a series of loud pops, like a firecracker going off, and the Neverwire around Gregori’s wrists scattered in a shower of sparks. Grunting, he stood up, massaging his wrists. Experimental sparks of white Aether crawled around his hands as he grinned easily down at them.

"Great," breathed Gretchen. "Now --"

Gregori folded his body into a butterfly and flew away. Thin as he was, it was easy for him to slide under the door. Then he was gone.

A moment passed.

"Motherfucker," said Morgan.

03:38

Jude Greer flicked dice of bone between his fingers, staring listlessly at the monitor before him. It was blank, save for a tiny green dot blinking in the corner… their message awaiting a response. He was starting to get the feeling that they wouldn’t be getting one. That thought only made his heart beat harder.

It had been an hour since they’d taken control of this cargo train and sent their offer to the Tree of Might -- these valuable hostages in exchange for clemency for any previous aggressions from the S4. An hour of this black screen and this blinking dot. An hour of nothing.

Why? Had the fanatics of the Tree of Might decided to focus on vengeance, and not informed the new Supreme of the offer? Or was the Supreme himself unwilling to negotiate?

If their offer was going to be ignored, that meant it was no longer safe for them to be on Azum-Ha. Hell, the S4 might have to uproot their Supremacy operations entirely if they were now an enemy of the government. He’d need to get transportation off the planet arranged -- flee to the UAP and inform the board of directors.

The energy in the conductor’s carriage was atrocious at this point. The soldiers he’d brought for this operation manned their stations, but all of them knew that the situation was bad. Even if nobody said it, everybody felt it -- and so the time had come to make the choice.

Jude took a deep breath as he stood, turning his gaze to the man he’d placed on driving duty. "Change of plans," he said seriously. "Stop the loop and take us to Newverse Starport. We --"

Thump.

His head snapped up, looking towards the ceiling. That sound had come from the roof. Slowly, he readied his spear.

"What was that?" he asked.

03:39

By the time the screams started, there were already enough of them to form a crescendo.

Morgan stared at the door, eyes wide, as he heard the sounds of dying men ooze through the metalwork. A scream. A slash. A shot. A thud. A whimper.

A silence.

"What the hell…?" he muttered.

"Well, if he’s killing them on his way out, that’s just as good," Gretchen grumbled. "Still, it would have been easier if he just stuck to his own plan."

Morgan slowly shook his head. For some reason, even though this woman beside him was someone he wanted dead more than anything else, he felt some instinctual urge to warn her. It would be unacceptable to keep this feeling in his gut to himself.

Whatever was on the other side of this door… was not human.

"Wait!" shouted a deep voice from the next compartment, emboldened by panic. "Wait, wait! I have the keycode -- I’ll give you the hostages, I’ll forget all about this, just let me live!"

For a moment, Morgan heard nothing, and he thought that whoever had spoken had surely been killed as well.

But then… a reply.

"If I let you live," someone said. "You use that gun you have in your inner pocket to shoot me in the back as I cross the threshold."

Wait…

A clatter -- a gun dropping to the floor.

"Please…"

"If I let you live," someone said. "You kick the corpse of your comrade aside and run me through with that spear you’ve hidden beneath him."

I know this voice.

Footsteps, someone walking -- walking towards the door, growing slightly louder. A thump as someone’s back collided with it.

"There, now -- now I can’t --"

"If I let you live," someone said. "You try and kill me. Always."

Oh no.

This time, there was no scream -- just the whistling of metal through the air, and the slightest gurgle as a throat was slit. Morgan heard the sound of a body sliding down the wall… and then came the noise. The sound of metal being shredded.

The door flew inwards as it was slashed into countless pieces, and Morgan readied himself for the silhouette behind. The man looked like he’d come here straight from bed -- wearing white pyjamas and an undone green dressing gown -- but his stance was that of a warrior. Cold Cogitant-blue eyes surrounded by a mess of blonde hair and stubble. Green Aether crawled up his cheek. In his hand, he held a bloody dinner knife. Over his shoulder, Morgan could see the dismembered corpses of their captors. A dinner knife. He’d done all this with a dinner knife.

Gretchen’s mouth spread into a wide and pure grin… Morgan’s heart dropped into despair…

…as they both beheld the figure of Baltay Kojirough.

This is it. I’m dead. I’m dead for real this time.

The last time Morgan had seen this man -- the former leader of the Seven Blades of the Turning of the Heir -- he’d been betrayed and stabbed in the back, spared a torturous death only by Ionir’s intervention. But now Ionir was gone, Morgan was helpless… and Baltay Kojirough no doubt desired revenge for his humiliation. He would die in this room.

"Baltay!" Gretchen chirped excitedly, wriggling as she tried to climb to her feet -- before remembering that she couldn’t. "What are you doing here?!"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Baltay’s gaze drifted over to her, but his face remained blank. "Gretchen," he said, his voice quiet and emotionless. "I need the new Leviathan you’ve made."

Her eyes widened. "How did you…"

"Please," he said, even as his tone remained unchanged, stepping over to her. "There isn’t any time."

He reached out with his tiny knife and slashed through Gretchen’s restraints effortlessly. Morgan couldn’t help but imagine how easy that knife would go through his neck. Baltay had only been second to Nigen Rush in terms of swordsmanship, after all. In the hands of someone like that, any blade was a manslayer.

As soon as Gretchen was free, she reached into her Ragnarok Forge, pulling forth a glowing green blade. It was just as Baltay had said -- it seemed the blacksmith had recreated his sword. It didn’t quite resemble the original -- its blade seemed to be formed from some kind of thin emerald, rather than metal -- but Morgan had no doubt it would serve.

"Thank you." Baltay accepted it, swinging it through the air once to test the balance before sliding it into a makeshift sheath at his hip. It fit perfectly.

"What’s going on, Baltay?" Gretchen insisted, looking up at the taller man. "I mean -- I’m glad you’re out and everything, but --"

"It should be obvious," he interrupted, voice flat. "I came to save you."

That seemed to shut her up. Gretchen’s smile widened, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. Baltay turned his head to face Morgan, those blue eyes staring down without blinking. A shudder went down Morgan’s spine. It was like the Cogitant wasn’t even looking at him -- like he was looking at something through Morgan.

"As for you…" Baltay said.

This is it. I’m sorry, Atoy. I’m sorry… Ionir.

The blade moved… and the restraints fell from Morgan’s wrists, cleanly cut.

"What?" Morgan said.

"What?!" Gretchen cried.

Baltay glanced back at her. "Muzazi only appears if we have Morgan Nacht alive with us. ’You save all of us or you save none of us’. If Nacht is dead, things don’t play out the way I want. Understand?"

"No!"

"That’s fine," Baltay said casually. He turned to face Morgan again. "Come with us, Nacht. You won’t come to any harm if you do."

Morgan pushed himself back across the floor, as if trying to slide through the wall and out into the night. Once again, the situation had swerved out of his comprehension. Was this a trick? A trap? No, that didn’t make sense. If Baltay wanted him dead, he had the perfect chance to kill him just now.

Did he want him as bait for Muzazi? Is that what he meant by Muzazi appearing?

It was strange. He looked behind Baltay’s shoulder, to where Gretchen was glaring at him. To be honest, he’d planned on attacking Gretchen the moment he was free -- he was just as bad as Gregori. But right now, he didn’t dare. The pressure emanating from Baltay Kojirough would not permit that.

If Baltay wanted Morgan dead, he would die. That was the sensation he now felt from his former superior officer.

Baltay interrupted Morgan’s downhill train of thought. "If we stay here, we’ll all be killed when the man called Appointment attacks this train in fifty-one seconds. I need an answer in the next thirty -- or else I take Gretchen, leave, and pursue another route. Your answer, Nacht."

Morgan blinked. There was a strange shivering inside his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring the words out.

If his reticence irritated Kojirough any, though, he didn’t show it. The man just squatted down, ignoring Gretchen’s frantic requests to elaborate, bringing himself face to face with Morgan. Those empty blue eyes peered into the New Moon’s soul.

"I’ll make it simple for you. Choose life, or choose death," he said simply. "Now."

Morgant spent precious seconds looking back into the eyes of the man before him. No matter how deeply he looked, no matter how hard he

WELCOME TO THE HIVE OF MALKUTH. YOU ARE NOW DRONE 64. YOU AND DRONE 103 WILL JOIN SQUAD 3 AS THEY ASSAULT TERONIER HOSPITAL. YOU WILL ELIMINATE THE DESIGNATED TARGETS.

"We obey," the two Drones buzzed in unison.

DOWNLOADING ABILITY… "Noble Rocinante"

DOWNLOADING ABILITY… "Travel Link"

The bloody alleyway was filled with the glow of crimson Aether as the bodies of the two Drones shifted once more into bulky centaurish forms… and, without a moment’s hesitation, they galloped into the night.

03:50

"It’s been a while," said Atoy Muzazi.

"Yeah," replied Ruth Blaine. "I guess it has."

The two of them stared at each other over the length of the apartment. The two Nebula were running around getting their exfiltration arranged, so for the time being their guests had been left to this awkward reunion. How many times had they tried to kill each other now? Muzazi had lost count.

Both of them were covered in bandages. Both of them were barely standing. Whatever Ruth Blaine had been trying to do, it had clearly ended as well as Muzazi’s own endeavours.

His eyes flicked down to the couch where his temporary ally was resting. "Are they okay?"

Apparently, the Del Sed’s hadn’t woken up since taking an attack from Dragan Hadrien at the Arena of the Absolute. It was odd, though. From what Jamilu had said, the attack had only managed to break through the first layer of their epidermis before fading away. After his fight with Muzazi, that had been the extent of Hadrien’s remaining strength. Was it shock then that kept the Del Sed twins asleep?

"I dunno," Ruth muttered. "But I know they won’t be okay so long as we’re here. So I’m getting them out."

"You think you’ll be targeted for this Banquet too?" Muzazi asked.

Jamilu had explained the situation to him after he’d finally managed to climb out of bed. To ring in the glorious new era of the Supremacy, the Supreme would bring forth the scum of the underworld and have them eliminate any lingering enemies for him. It sounded like a bad joke. Was this really how things were done?

"We showed up at the Arena at the same time as these guys," Ruth shrugged. "So I guess it could look like we were part of the team saving you. You know… that’s… I guess people are really pissed off about that."

Muzazi squeezed his eyes shut. There was another blow to his heart, as if he hadn’t had enough. They’d been plastering his face all over the media since the match, exposing the fact that two of the UAP’s Nebula had swooped in to save him from trouble. Evidence, they said, that he’d been supported by the UAP all along, that he was a traitor who’d sold out his principles to attain victory.

They weren’t even wrong.

"I’m in no fit state to fight," Muzazi said honestly. "Are you?"

Ruth shook her head. "I’m surprised I’m still standing, honestly."

"Then it seems we must rely on them," Muzazi said, turning his head as the two Nebula returned to the room.

Rufus lingered by the door, arms crossed, while Jamilu approached. Muzazi had never known the warrior to be anything but calm, but right now his movements betrayed a certain anxiety. A sheen of sweat clung to his forehead.

"Alright," Jamilu said quickly, his ghastly spear slung over his shoulder. "It’s guaranteed that the people hunting us will be watching the starports, so I’ve made contact with an Ultraviolet team on the planet who should be able to get us out. They’re preparing a starship on top of the Alyn Grace Memorial Shopping Centre -- should be ready for flight in around an hour. From there, we’ll have to take one of the smuggling routes to get across the border."

"I see," Muzazi nodded. "That… that sounds like a good plan."

"You can’t fight right now, so use this if it comes down to it," Jamilu continued, handing him a plasma pistol. He looked over at Ruth. "I’m sorry, but we’re limited in supplies. Defend yourself with your armour if it comes down to it, alright?"

"Alright," Ruth grunted.

She squatted down and picked the Del Sed body up in a piggyback, even as she winced from the pain. Muzazi supposed they couldn’t waste either of their viable fighters moving them around. He was just about to offer to help when a thought occurred.

He turned back to Jamilu. "You said one hour?"

Jamilu -- who had just been about to head back for the door -- turned back and nodded, hand on his hip. "Yes, that’s right. They’re moving as fast as they can."

"Will that be enough time to find Morgan and the others?"

Jamilu looked away.

I knew it.

"I’m not leaving without my comrades," Muzazi said seriously.

"I understand," Jamilu said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Believe me, I do, but we need to get off this planet as soon as possible. It’s just not realistic. Your team is competent. I’m sure they’ll be able to lay low and --"

"You’re concerned because these people coming after us are a serious threat to you," Muzazi pressed on. "If they’re a threat to Nebula, they’re a threat to my friends. I’m not leaving unless I have them with me."

Jamilu breathed in deep through his nose. "I’m sorry, but every second we spend on this planet is a risk. I am not extending that risk any further than --"

Muzazi put the pistol to his own head.

"I’ll make it simple for you," he said. "You save all of us or you save none of us."

Do it! Victory jeered. Nobody loves you!

Jamilu exchanged a glance with Rufus, and a glance with Ruth. After a moment, it seemed they realised none of them would be able to grab the gun in time. "Muzazi… come on," Jamilu said quietly. "Think about this. You wouldn’t --"

"I wouldn’t?" Muzazi laughed. He’d forgotten what that felt like. "What a strange thing to say, Nebula Two. You saw what happened at the Arena of the Absolute. You know my history. What I’ve lost, what I’ve bled. I’m sure you know all of that, and yet you say I wouldn’t? If you don’t understand, then let me just ask the question another way."

He glared into the eyes of the Nebula, and his gaze was steel.

"What exactly do you think I still possess that would stop me pulling this trigger?"

The spear slipped from Jamilu’s grip and clattered to the floor.

"Damn you," the warrior whispered.