The Seven. Peter Newman

sings a second note, and for a moment it is too bright to see anything, the Knight Commander is forced to shield his face from a world turned searing blue. When he looks again there is no house, no woman, no resistance. Just a pile of ashes smouldering in the breeze.

      Then Alpha is moving towards the next house, and the Knight Commander is shouting orders, mobilizing his forces. This time, when the soldiers and knights fire, the rebels have no answer.

      Hours pass as the metal snake continues to work its way towards the coast. Despite its size, the vehicle moves swiftly. Smoke trails at sharp angles from shattered turrets, and the caterpillar tracks make short work of the uneven terrain.

      Delta of The Seven blinks, returning from thoughts of the past. She has been staring at a tiny hole in the ceiling, waiting for Obeisance to come. But Obeisance has not come. Her brothers and sisters are expecting her return. Alpha will be displeased at the delay. The thought concerns Delta, for she has always tried to be in harmony with the others, prided herself on it.

      She realizes that no immediate aid is coming and that she should take action herself. But what action? More information is needed.

      In turn, she regards each of the people sharing the cockpit with her.

      The child, Reela, sleeps badly. Straps meant for an adult ride up under her chin, digging in. Her dreams are reflected in Delta’s eyes. She is trapped in a house that burns, and visored faces stare at her through windows, blocking escape.

      Studying her essence, Delta sees little to cherish, and the proximity of the taint, however slight, is unpleasant.

      The smaller man, Jem, is looking at her. He is afraid. He is right to be. She sees his mind making its petty calculations, the network of small lies that permeate his being and, beneath them, a heavy sense of bitterness and regret she cannot help but feel empathy for. But more than all of this, she sees that he is tainted, spoiled by years of infernal contact.

      The other man, the one that once bore Gamma’s sword, and has now dared to use hers, is not tainted. Though he is easy to read, a simple example of the species, she does not understand where he fits. Like a spare part left in the box after construction is completed. There is a temptation to keep him around, just in case, but really, there is no need for him. She lingers briefly on the freshness of the man’s grief, how it threatens to overwhelm him, the tidal surge of it held back by adrenaline, fear and the demands of the moment.

      Delta knows what is expected of her. She closes her eyes, imagines Alpha giving the order. So easy is it for her to picture her brother, it is as if he were there, demanding their destruction.

      Her hand opens as she turns to where her sword lies. It is next to the Vagrant’s chair, feigning sleep. It does not respond to her summons. She considers picking it up. Certainly, none of the humans present could stop her. And yet, she does not pick it up.

      Even as the outrage runs through her that it has not responded, she realizes she does not want it to. Delta has always carried weariness within her and she has little spirit for fighting. She did not leave the sanctum to bloody her hands. She left it to investigate her sister, to understand why the last fragment of Gamma acts the way it does.

      She tells herself that these humans are not worthy of her wrath. Tells herself that it is only a matter of time before the Empire comes to collect her, and so it is not worth the effort of leaving. She tells herself that she is choosing to wait because it suits her.

      And then, because it is habit and because it is easier, she sits down and closes her eyes.

      Both suns are in the sky, casting lights, sparkling, across the sea. Water dominates the view now, from the unbroken line of the horizon to the waves smacking against the shore.

      Throughout the dawn and early morning, the metal snake continues its journey, tireless. Thinning smoke leaks from ravaged turrets but, despite the battering, it moves as fast as ever.

      Jem comes over to stand next to the Vagrant’s chair. He glances at Reela, asleep in the straps, and lowers his voice. ‘We’re making good time.’

      The Vagrant doesn’t register the words at first, his attention elsewhere, in the past, on things lost. Amber eyes focus again. He blinks away tears, nods.

      ‘Do you think we can get to Vesper before they do?’

      The Vagrant shrugs and Jem looks past him, towards their destination.

      Up ahead is a port, but not the great northern sea base that Jem expects to see. ‘I thought you’d be taking us to Skylanding.’ He leans forward, squinting, trying to recognize a landmark. ‘It’s not Northwing either. Where are we?’

      The Vagrant points at the navcom, shrugs.

      ‘You don’t know?’ asks Jem, incredulous. The display is damaged but he is able to make out enough detail to guess. ‘It’s taking us to Greyspot Three, isn’t it? But Vesper will be going to Crucible. We should be heading to Skylanding, that’s the most direct route.’

      The Vagrant gestures back to where Delta sits and shakes his head.

      He imagines the kind of welcome they’d get from the Empire’s forces at Skylanding or Northwing and reconsiders. ‘Alright, you have a point, but we can’t take Reela to Greyspot Three. It’s not safe. It’s full of refugees and rejects from the Shining City. For suns’ sake, I’ve even heard rumours that the First’s nomads use it as a trading spot!’

      Reela stretches, yawning, and whatever Jem is about to say is bitten back.

      The Vagrant pulls gently back on the control stick and the metal snake eases to a stop. He rubs at his eyes, bloodshot, before resting his hands on the dashboard. There is a pause, long enough to take a breath, to sigh, and then he is pushing himself out of the chair.

      Jem goes to unstrap Reela but finds she has already stood up, a big frown on her little face. ‘What’s wrong?’

      Reela looks up at him, solemn, but says nothing.

      The Vagrant collects Delta’s sword from the floor and opens the hatch. There is a hiss, and fresh air wafts into the stuffy room, enlivening.

      Jem moves to his side, pulling Reela behind him. He leans in close. ‘What about Her?’

      Both men look at Delta for a moment. If she is aware of their scrutiny, she gives no sign.

      ‘Maybe we should just leave Her here?’

      The Vagrant thinks for a moment, nods, and takes a step towards Delta.

      ‘What are you –? Actually, I don’t want to know.’ Jem retreats towards the exit hatch. ‘Before you do anything, I’m going outside.’ He looks down, adds hastily, ‘To keep Reela safe.’

      The Vagrant nods.

      Jem ushers Reela out, turning briefly before following her. ‘Whatever you’re going to do, be careful.’

      The Vagrant raises an eyebrow.

      Alone, save for Delta, the Vagrant seems to sag, the weight of recent events folding over his shoulders like a cloak. He pinches the bridge of his nose, knuckles tired eyes and walks to where Delta sits.

      Carefully, quietly, he kneels down opposite her. The top of his head barely lines up with her shoulder.

      She does not stir.

      With reverence, he returns her sword, leaving it at her feet. He glances up, but her eyes remain closed. Neither sword nor immortal show any sign of having noticed each other. He stands slowly, leaves quickly, and doesn’t look back.

      Outside, Jem and Reela are waiting. The three of them walk towards the cliff’s edge. Up here, they are exposed, the wind knocking at them, playful, tugging hair and making speech difficult. The smoke that rises from the other side is whisked away as soon as it peeks above ground level.

      The Vagrant sees the smoke and his frown burrows deeper.

      ‘I don’t like this,’ murmurs Jem.

      They