Kyra moved with fluid grace over to the main doors. Expecting her to start hot-wiring the control panel, Tris nearly jumped out of his skin when the door slid open. The swish was so loud in the surrounding silence he froze for a second, waiting to see if it disturbed anyone.
But no. The door remained open, and no-one came through it. Kreon shrugged, and led them on.
As they picked their way through the station, Tris was struck by its similarities to the Folly. The size and shape of the corridors was immediately familiar, albeit much grubbier. Whereas the Folly remained spotlessly clean with elegant, minimalist lines, the research station had more of an industrial feel to it. Details like the lighting, vents and ductwork were all visible, the surfaces themselves a bare grey metal, scratched and streaked with dirt from heavy use.
Doors opened at their approach, then slid closed as they passed; Kreon led them straight ahead, choosing not to enter any of the side rooms. “We make for the bridge,” he said, his tone hushed. It was impossible not to whisper, with the silence hanging thick in the air.
“No damage so far,” Kyra noted. “No sign of a struggle.”
“It’s the Mary Celeste,” Tris murmured, peeking into a room as they passed. Nothing looked out of place; it was a ready room, with seats arranged in a circle around a wide console. It looked like it could have been left this way a hundred years ago, the whole place drifting through space like it was derelict. Only it wasn’t derelict; it was perfect.
The contradiction became more apparent when the door to a mess hall slid open. Personal items had been left on several of the tables, bits of clothing and portable gadgets. At least one cup still had liquid in it, and several metal serving trays held the remains of meals.
“Should we check if it’s still warm?” Tris asked.
The glare Kreon gave him was all the answer he needed. “I’m just sayin’” he mumbled.
Kyra sidled up next to him, her rifle lowered but ready. “We’re being followed,” she whispered.
Tris opened his mouth in surprise, then shut it again. “By who?” he hissed back.
Her reply wasn’t quite an eye-roll, but a flat look that managed to convey the same meaning.
Tris nodded to admit the inanity of his question, then turned to check the corridor behind them. He was pretty sure that Kyra was conferring with Kreon using the Gift. He was tempted to take his pendant off so he could hear them, but he’d been specifically instructed him to keep the psychic-suppressing gem on. In his inexperienced state Tris was more liability than help when it came to using the Gift in combat operations — and more worryingly, the Lemurians had telepaths too.
But you don’t want to meet them, Kreon had warned him.
With nothing more to see, the Warden led on, his pace even more cautious. Kyra dropped back to shadow Tris, and he remembered to mirror her actions, sweeping his side of the corridor and checking behind them at regular intervals.
“They’re close,” Kyra hissed through gritted teeth. She sounded more frustrated than anything; Tris guessed she still couldn’t get a mental bead on whoever was stalking them.
Then Kreon stopped. “Kyra,” he said, hefting his staff.
She turned to look at him, and Tris caught the widening of her eyes. “They’re ahead of us?” she breathed.
Tris swallowed his panic. “Go back?” he asked.
She shook her mead minutely, keeping her eyes moving around the corridor. It was wider here, and lined with doors; offices? Bedrooms? Tris had no idea. “We’re surrounded,” Kyra said softly.
Tris spun to cover their rear, but all was as silent and empty as it had been since they arrived. “Are you sure?” he asked, regretting the words as soon as they were out.
“They’re blocking me,” Kyra admitted, squeezing her eyes shut. “But they’re not happy.”
Kreon backed towards them, turning slowly to study the walls on either side. Tris knew the Warden wasn’t nearly as strong in the Gift as Kyra, replying on a pendant of his own for what little sensitivity he had — but he seemed just as uneasy. “What are you feeling?” he asked Kyra, without taking his eyes off the nearest door.
“Not sure,” she replied. “They’re waiting for something? Definitely not friendly.”
Tris spun again, giving the corridor behind them another sweep. It was empty, but he could almost feel eyes on him. He shook it off, reaching one hand back to check the glaive was still attached to his waist.
“Suggestions?” Kreon asked.
Tris resisted the urge to yell, ‘get the hell out of here!’ This place was creepy enough as it was, all grimy and derelict like a set from the Alien movies. Add these unseen lurkers into the mix, and he found himself wishing he’d been less enthusiastic about their need to find answers.
“Back,” Kyra hissed suddenly.
Kreon turned to comply, but he got no more than two steps before Kyra added, “They’re coming!”
Tris whirled again, trying to look in all directions at once, still seeing nothing—
And then in perfect synchronisation, every door along the corridor swished open.
Men dressed in shabby jumpsuits, brandishing rifles, pushed out into the corridor — two at least from each doorway. Five people faced him, then ten; he could tell from the noise behind him that more had appeared in front, facing off against Kreon and Kyra.
Tris had gained a great deal of faith lately in their ability to fend off attackers, but already the numbers looked hopeless. More people piled out of the rooms on both sides, filling the corridor with a firing squad two-dozen strong. Tris kept his rifle up and aimed, but it was pretty obvious he’d be dead before he got a shot off. His mind churned through the options, finding nothing good. Can Kreon withstand this? If Tris threw himself to the deck and let the incoming shots hit the Warden’s Aegis field, he’d have a split second to fire — or perhaps roll into cover through the nearest doorway? Over three metres away… It didn’t look good.
“Please!” A loud, brassy voice rang out, a note of command in it. “Lay down your weapons, or you will be executed immediately.”
“Executed?” Kreon growled. “On what grounds?”
Tris could hear the speaker but not see him; evidently the newcomer was facing Kreon and Kyra.
“Trespassing,” the voice replied. “And for conducting an armed insurrection against the Lemurian Empire.”
“Ha!” Kreon’s bark contained no humour. “If this is the fabled Lemurian Empire, it is in dire need of some maintenance. We are here as representatives of the Lantian People, under the auspice of truce which exists between our two nations.”
“So you say,” continued the voice. “And yet you enter our facility uninvited, as thieves in the night.”
“What?” Kreon’s anger was palpable. “We hailed you on approach! I personally broadcast a greeting and a request to dock. I was met with silence. Or is the mighty Lemurian Empire having difficulties with its communications systems too?”
Tris heard the sneer in the reply. “And were I to arrive uninvited at your door, knock and receive no reply, would you expect me to enter regardless? Your request was not answered because you are not wanted here. I have no desire to sully this facility with the presence of lesser beings like yourself.”
Kreon’s tone was low and dangerous. “We are here as ambassadors, on a mission of utmost importance.”
Tris knew the Warden had a problem with being looked down on; he fervently hoped it wasn’t going to come to a head now.
“Ambassadors.” The Lemurian made the word sound like an insult. “We judge intruders by their actions, rather than their words. For instance, you claim to come in peace, yet you carry enough weaponry between you to start a war.”
“Because we thought we might have to help you,” Kreon bit back.
“Help us? How? By shooting us?”
“This is ridiculous! I am Lord Anakreon, a member of the First Circle of Atalia.”
The voice didn’t sound impressed. “I k
now who you are, Warden. I know a great deal about you. What I don’t know is why you are invading my home.”
Kreon took a long breath. Tris silently applauded; Kreon reigning in his temper before he snapped and killed someone was definitely a positive.
“I am here on behalf of the entire First Circle, to request the aid of the Lemurian Empire in combatting the threat represented by the Black Ships.”
The reply came in the form of mocking laughter. “Ha ha ha! And perhaps then you would like a date with Aide, Goddess of Fair Winds? She could sweep you off to her castle in the clouds for a night? Fairy tales, Lord Anakreon. I thought you Wardens took life more seriously.”
Tris could practically feel the rage radiating off Kreon’s back. He licked his lips, keeping his rifle aimed at the crowd before him, and prayed the Warden wouldn’t do something stupid.
“If you are unaware of the threat these Black Ships represent,” Kreon said icily, “then I must assume it is above your pay-grade.”
That barb seemed to strike home; the Lemurian’s tone flashed to anger. “I am the Proconsul of this facility!” he declared. “I hold the power of life and death over every living soul on board. And since your ill-advised excursion has placed you squarely in that category, I’d advise you to be more cautious in who you insult.”
Tris winced. Kreon was never impressed by authority figures on a power trip.
Surprisingly, the Warden’s reply was casual. “Ah, Proconsul… Augustus, I believe? It was you I particularly wished to meet. I need to visit your Oracle and ask a few questions. Perhaps you could—”
The Proconsul’s shriek of rage cut him off mid-sentence. “How dare you? Blasphemer! You stand here with your pack of filthy mongrels and profane our most sacred mysteries with your disgusting, impure tongue?” His voice had risen an octave as well as a few decibels. He paused for a few seconds, perhaps to regain control of himself. When he spoke again, his voice snapped with repressed anger. “Take them and process them, commander. I’ll conduct the interrogations myself.”
* * *
Cells.
Tris had seen way too many of them lately.
Why does this keep happening to us?
It made no sense. Between them, Kreon and Kyra could take on an army. And he wasn’t doing too bad on that front himself. Yet some quirk of fate kept forcing them into these situations.
Huh. A quirk of fate called Kreon’s mouth, more like.
While there was no denying the Warden’s credentials and combat skills, the sheer arrogance of the man created problems out of fresh air.
Maybe next time I should do the talking. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trespass but we really need your help…’ Bollocks. We could be negotiating over cocktails by now!
Although it had to be said — these Lemurians didn’t seem like the friendliest bunch. The ambush had been deliberate. The radio-silence, the empty station… it had been some kind of a test. Or an elaborate ruse, perhaps? A set-up, designed to make it look like Kreon was attacking them? But to what end? Did they think it would justify their interrogating a high-ranking Warden? What secrets did they hope to learn?
Tris had mentally rehearsed his story for when his own turn came.
He almost need not have bothered; his story was the truth, after all. But he wanted to tell it in such a way as to make it clear he was being straight with them. That cordial relations could still be maintained. Because once the pliers and thumbscrews came out, it would all be over…
Idly, he wondered why he wasn’t more scared. He’d almost relaxed once he wound up in a cell. Was it because he’d been here before? Only worse? Surely, nothing the Lemurians threatened him with could match the terror he’d felt as Sera approached him with his dad’s knife. Or the utter hopelessness he’d experienced in the caverns beneath Atalia, with Kreon decomposing in the cell next to him and Demios chuckling as he told them he’d just killed Kyra…
No, Tris realised — that wasn’t it.
He wasn’t scared for two very good reasons.
One; his dad had sent him here, specifically to this station, and there was no way he’d do that if it was a death sentence. There was a good chance these guys were just posturing, rattling their sabres to show Kreon who was boss. And if they weren’t…
Then reason two would come into play.
Because there can’t be many cells in the galaxy that can hold Kreon…
And the Folly was still nearby, waiting to hear from them. Tris no longer had the ability to contact Askarra remotely, but at least she knew where he was.
Hopefully she would come looking for them before the Lemurians picked an execution date.
* * *
Tris scrambled to his feet at the sound of footsteps approaching his cell.
He’d been lying on a narrow shelf bolted to the wall, staring through the bars at the grimy metal corridor beyond. It wasn’t long since they’d been locked up; whether that meant he was first to be questioned or not, he couldn’t say.
“Open one-seventeen,” a voice said from just out of view. It was the same voice that had challenged Kreon when the ambush had been sprung — Tris had gotten a decent look at the bloke as the guards confiscated their weapons and led them away. A tall, slender man in a grey uniform jumpsuit, he had the faint air of privilege about him — especially when compared to the more ramshackle look most of his followers sported. The man had a beaky nose and a sneering face; Tris had disliked him on first sight.
But that could have had something to do with being ambushed by him.
That same narrow face was the one which now presented itself, as the bars to Tristan’s cell rolled back. Seemingly unarmed, but accompanied by a giant of a man in full body armour, the skinny officer stalked into the cell, pausing while the bars clanked shut behind him.
Tris stared at him, careful not to let hostility show through. If this bloke really did run the place, he had the power to set them free; a negotiation was called for, rather than threats and insults. Tris had no idea how to begin — he’d never tried to talk his way out of prison on an enemy space station before — so he waited for his opponent to talk first.
When he did, it was quite a shock.
“My humble apologies sir,” he began. “I am Proconsul Augustus. I had no idea that you were embedded with this group. I received no directives at all concerning your visit! I gave a suitable performance, I hope?”
Tris stared back at him, trying not to let his mouth fall open. He thinks I’m someone else! That much was obvious. But who? And why?
And should I try to maintain the illusion, or admit the mistake?
Things could go badly either way.
Think like a Warden, Tris reminded himself. With only a split-second to make the decision, he sighed inwardly. What would Kreon do?
Channeling the Warden in one of his more co-operative moods, Tris began. “For what reason did you deem such a deception necessary?”
“I…” Augustus was clearly not a man used to being flustered. He probably wasn’t on the receiving end of pointed questions very often. “I must admit sir, I was not initially aware of your presence. I prepared a standard containment protocol for the Lantian party in order to detain them. I have already passed word to the Keepers of the Faith about their arrival and I expect to hear back shortly. But your presence amongst them was a complete surprise. I trust I have not endangered your mission?”
Tris studied the man cooly for a second before continuing. “No. My situation has not been compromised. But my, ah, companions are not to be interrogated, you understand? I can’t have you jeopardising everything I’ve been working towards.”
For a second Tris thought he’d gone too far; that the man he was impersonating had no authority to make such a request. The Proconsul didn’t look happy, but then he bowed his head.
“Certainly, sir. They’ve been tested and processed, but I wanted to check with you before I went any further.”
Tris nodded solemnly. He needed spac
e to think. What should he do next? Demand their release? Or was that too suspicious? Who was he meant to be here? He’d also been ‘tested’ with some kind of portable monitor on the way to his cell — what had it revealed?
Then he had it.
DNA test! Mikelatz Andoss. Lemurian deep-cover operative…
So was this bloke his dad’s contact, or not?
Only one way to find out.
“You should know that there’s no fear in the darkness. All nightmares come true.”
The Proconsul’s eyes went wide. Tris though the man was about to have a heart attack. Then a veil of disgust dropped over his features. When he spoke, his words dripped scorn. “So! Your true nature revealed at last! To think, I was about to let you go. Guard!”
The bulky figure next to him raised its rifle. Tris could do nothing but stare helplessly down the barrel.
“Take him,” the Proconsul commanded. He stepped back, pressing a button on his wrist console. “Door!” he yelled.
The bars slid across, leaving a gap wide enough for Augustus to slip through. The armoured figure facing Tris gestured with its rifle — the meaning of the gesture was unmistakable.
Tris took a deep, shuddering breath. He’d been braced to feel an energy bolt burning its way through his chest, but apparently the Proconsul had other plans. They were moving him… Tris glanced around, hyper-aware for anything that gave him a chance to escape. Even a few more seconds of life would be worth the struggle. He couldn’t tackle the guard head-on; he’d just bounce off the armoured mass. Augustus was a different story; skinny, probably not a fighter. If Tris could get within striking distance, he could gain a valuable hostage.
The guard shepherded Tris out of the cell at gun point, forcing him to lead the way down the corridor. The other cells lining it on both sides were empty. Kreon and Kyra must have been taken somewhere else…
Interrogation?
The muzzle of the guard’s rifle jabbed Tris between the shoulder blades. “Move!” the man ordered, and Tris picked up his faltering pace.
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