She was in there, alone. Crouched on the floor, so scared. I went to her.
I don’t know if she’d ever been held by another human.
It wasn’t until after the attack was over that we realized that my shielding had never activated. I’d been in the chamber without phase, but nothing had happened.
We kept it a secret. Our little secret.
I owe it to decades of planning. When my father was in the service of Mother, she changed him. This child…She knows that I’m the son of Joseph Windham. She knows, she knew, but she still let me get on that ship. Maybe she had plans for me. In the end, she decided to kill me, replace me with an angel named Nine. She never suspected that Hannon would find my Machine in the outer. She never suspected that I would kill her.
This silver is starting to
Maybe she wanted this. Maybe she knew.
She is weak. I can feel her. Digging, clawing, struggling against this, even as she knows that it must be done.
She fades, lashes out. Final struggle against this
Maire is ancient. She is older than this world, older than home Earth and Hannon and the system she tried to kill. She is older than her Judith. She comes from the night between times, the void between stars. She waited for forevers to find a suitable host. She found it in Maire. The
silver
speaks to me without lips, without voice or tongue or breath.
She is.
life like fire
And now I begin to understand. Laughter like pleas for mercy resonate. Purpose. Will be completed. I heard it in the wind and saw it in the sky; I thought it was the end.
Please, give me strength.
I’ve seen God. Judith. Touched her. Held her hand as she died. I wept for her. I don’t know if there are others. I can only pray that there is something beyond this dust, this plain, this dead weight of my love bleeding out into the hardpan. I can only pray that in these moments, it will guide me, give me the strength to do what I must do, to end this war, to kill this child, to find that stillness between
There was music in her voice.
Is this all there is? Please give me solace and strength. Please direct finger to action, pressure against metal, brace for the shock of
We’d trade glances during briefings. As we got farther into the Outer, closer to target, Uncle allowed her into the briefings. She remembered that attack, the way I held her and didn’t dissolve from contact with the catalyst. She remembered a moment of adolescent compassion. All I did was hold a frightened girl, but she knew. You know. You do. She remembered the fence, the afternoon walks where I held my mother’s hand, gloved hand concealing the affliction that killed our species, afternoon walks where I waved to the only little girl left, pretty little girl inasmuch as I could recognize pretty: colorless colorful eyes, curls, unruly. Sad girl behind walls, faceless angel watching over her. She remembered my grocery trips long after we’d left the planet and groceries and the galaxy of home.
I think Tallis knew all along. I think he was jealous.
We found time to be alone, little moments stolen from my menial tasks and her recoveries. We grew into adults in that metal box flying into war. I never wore a shield. I thought the resistance would last forever.
This crawling proves me wrong. This ripple of flesh, this tickling beneath scalp and wrist and thigh. These shaking hands
will find your back; the kingdom i’d unravel in our
So tired. I’m so tired.
Rebecca found us.
We’d crossed paths with other destroyers before, pauses on target, angels gathering to discuss the mission, probably using the boosted signal strength of two vessels to talk to home and Mother. We’d wait it out, just wait without orders until they were done. We’d meet the other crews, trade stories of combat and victories against our faceless enemy, confident that we were doing the right thing, spreading our jihad across timespace.
I’d heard of the Rebecca long before they caught us.
Rogue vessel. Canberra Compound. We heard that something had gone wrong; they’d left target, gone off-course and scope. There were a few ships that just did that. Just disappeared. I assume some of them were destroyed in combat. Everyone assumed the Rebecca had been lost.
and this heart for
It was a hushed conversation, without Tallis, without most of my officers. They never took to other crews, never liked waiting in nonspace for course alterations. They never liked anyone.
I tried to be friendly to most people.
I don’t remember which crew first told me of Canberra Rebecca’s reemergence. I remember the captain was trying very hard to grow a beard. I remember he spoke of a targeted world, arriving in-system to find the planet cracked in half, moons hanging perilously close to contact. He said there was a beacon, transmitting faintly, whispering into the night: Rebecca was here. That was it. That was their sign.
He’d found angels spaced into that system. They’d killed their angels.
What if Lilith had been on the Rebecca? Would there be anything left of this at all? They killed worlds, killed systems with the very basic weapons provided, without benefit of Catalyst. The slug generators we’d left outside of the Earth system, drawing fire from the suns, channeling it into phase and directing it on target from decades away…I don’t know why she didn’t change the access codes. I don’t know why she let that crew use weapons of night against innocent worlds, other Fleet vessels, eventually themselves. It was a game to her; she loved watching us struggle. We were puppets.
They caught up to us in those three days.
I don’t regret killing my angels, even though we probably would have survived with their help.
The Rebecca must have been listening all along. Must have intercepted Mother’s kill order. I don’t think they really cared about me or about maintaining the Catalyst integrity in a controlled environment. I think they wanted to kill everyone, just to spite Mother. If the painter and the ghost hadn’t gotten there in time, I wouldn’t be here today. It wouldn’t have mattered. Thousands of years of planning would have been lost because of a metal box of bloodthirsty Australians.
How much of Gary was Australia? Phase rudder, starboard side, deck three lavatory? Was his cockpit made of Kansas, his airlocks of Belgium, his voice the wind that scraped Africa?
I didn’t know him long, but he swore a lot.
I don’t want to be awake.
The Rebecca rammed Arch at full speed. Role reversal, sexual politics, the dance of metal sex, pheromones of phase dripping off into the night, sweat and cum of non-life struggle, fingernails scratching, no screams in that silence but fire, fire. And blood.
Too close for slithers. We flew across alone, armed, army of boys, not men, not boys, guarding our female against invasion. They met us halfway, conflicting invasions, hand-to-hand. Astronauts?
I saw so many of my men smeared to pulp between the grinding warships, caught between the tons, never knowing life, just this. Just this night.
The heart breaks because of
There was no reason for it, no reason for their fury without purpose or thought. They wanted to kill us, and they did, many. We killed many of them in return.
I watched Arik die. He was my best friend. He was cutting into the Rebecca hull, trying to board. He made the hole. Got that done. His troops poured in after him, flash of fire, spatter of red, limbs. Limbs everywhere. They were waiting on the inside.