The Seven

He walks up winding stairs to the battlements, dragging Delta after him, her heels ringing against each step.

Beta follows and, after a pause, Epsilon, Theta and Eta do the same.

Past bowed heads and trembling bodies, Alpha goes, ignoring all. Displeasure radiates from him in waves, driving people from his path like iron filings from a magnet, flipped the wrong way.

Raising Delta over the edge, he draws his sword. Its eye is open, glaring balefully at Delta as she dangles, a puppet, stringless.

When Alpha draws back the weapon the light around it sparks so brightly that the blade turns black within it.

And then, Beta is at his side, one hand on his wrist.

Alpha looks down.

Their eyes meet.

One Thousand and Forty-Nine Years Ago

Massassi lets the slab take the weight of her body, groaning with pleasure as it lowers her into the vat. Nutri-fluid oozes between toes and into armpits, thickening at the base of her neck and the points along her spine, supporting, warming.

Damage sustained long ago has led to a regimen of treatments. Injections, tablets and organ stimulation are all daily routines. Some to manage the pain, others to keep her alert. Such things have taken their toll, however. Her hair is gone and her nails have fallen out. The metal studs she used to plug old wounds were not her best work, a rushed solution, plaguing her with regular inflammation and infection.

For years she has endured such things, a small price to pay for the safety of the world. No longer. At last she is able to rest. Alpha is here now, and he is more than able to run the Empire, giving her a well-earned break.

She tries to remember the last time she felt this relaxed and finds she cannot. The Nutri-fluid has eased her physical aches and Alpha has taken away the awful responsibility. It may have cost her the best years of her life but she has done it.

Hours pass, happy dozing punctuated with periods of self-satisfied reflection. Normally, her quick mind would be getting bored but she feels no need to move. Perhaps this is part of getting old, taking pleasure in the smaller things. Perhaps it is just that she is tired. For once, Massassi feels no desire to dig deeper. Understanding is not necessary. She could lie here until the end of time.

Her slumber is disturbed by knocking, insistent, on the side of the vat. Massassi wakes unwillingly.

It is Peace-Fifteen. One of the best of the new generation. Massassi only has to glance at the girl’s essence to know that something serious is going on. A bad tempered command sets the slab into motion, raising her from the vat into colder, more miserable air. ‘What is it?’

Peace-Fifteen bows, making the sign of the Eye. ‘It’s Alpha.’

She forces herself upright, ignoring her protesting back. ‘Well don’t just stand there! Help me up!’

Massassi is quickly wrapped in a self-sealing robe and ushered out of the chamber. She sees the fear in the girl, and some of it begins to leach into her. ‘What’s happened to Alpha?’ A flurry of possibilities already runs through her mind. Has her beautiful creation broken after a fall, a miscalculation on her part allowing the essence to slowly leak from him? Or perhaps she has failed to calibrate his wings properly. They worked well at low altitude but what if he has gone higher, trusting to her designs? What if she has made another mistake as she did with the Breach?

Peace-Fifteen shakes her head. ‘Nothing’s happened to him, Your Imperial Majesty. I have come to ask you to stop him.’

The relaxed feelings have evaporated and Massassi feels a familiar dread return. ‘Show me.’

Along corridors and through transport chutes they go, rushed along by automated platforms and assisted walkways, until they reach a set of doors that lead to a comms tower.

At Massassi’s approach the doors open, revealing the full extent of her failure. Four bodies litter the room, utterly broken. A fifth person makes muffled noises, his skull stuck between the wall and Alpha’s hand.

Unprepared for the sight, Massassi stops to stare for a moment. In that moment, Alpha squeezes and blood streaks stark red against silver skin.

Too late, her lips move. ‘What is this?’

Alpha turns, his eyes lightening with love. ‘Creator!’ He strides over the bodies towards her, opening his arms.

Massassi raises her hands, warding him off. ‘I said, what is this?’

He stops, arms still open while Massassi looks into his essence. It is easier to read than most, brighter, purer, and he makes no effort to hide from her.

The first man died because the calculations he presented Alpha with were imperfect, a reduction of zero point three required to balance it again. The second died because he dared to judge Alpha’s action monstrous, which, in Alpha’s mind was a suggestion he had made a mistake. This was of course a criticism of his creator as much as himself, and he could not allow such words to stand. The third and fourth died for much the same reasons as the second, and the fifth had been unable to cope with what he saw. His essence was showing signs of fracture and Alpha had decided it best to terminate him immediately to avoid the danger of the man cracking in an unsupervised space.

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.

CHAPTER SIX

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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