Читать книгу The Seven - Peter Newman, Peter Newman - Страница 14

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.