Warden's Fury

by Tony James Slater

  Gerian looked up at him for a few seconds, drumming his immaculately-manicured fingers on the great wooden desk. “Tristan, you have to understand. Our way of life has been firmly established for many thousands of years. Are there imperfections in the system? Of course! Show me one society, anywhere in the galaxy, that has achieved a flawless form of government. It doesn’t exist! Those of us in high office, it is our duty to work tirelessly for the betterment of our people. You see us only from an outsider’s point of view, without being able to appreciate the nuances of our system. The stability and security it provides to our citizens. Your viewpoint is limited by your experience. Don’t seek to pass judgement on us until you have made an attempt to understand our society! You have an opportunity here, Tristan. You can become one of us, and help to guide our civilization into the best possible version of itself. You can be an instrument of change here, change for the better. We can right old wrongs, correct the small injustices, create a better future for all of us. What do you think?”

  The whole spiel washed over Tris like a sermon.

  It was so glib, so prepared — the election speech of a career politician. He could hear the cadences of Gerian’s speech, the careful notes it hit, the formula. But all he could smell was bullshit.

  “You’re a sick bastard,” Tris flung at him. “You represent a sick society. You talk all this crap about making a change, but you want things exactly the way they are. Because you’re sitting here, at the top. You’re the one people are afraid of. How many have you ‘disappeared’? Do you do it personally? No, you’ve got an army of lesser minions to commit your murders, haven’t you? And every one of them afraid to complain about it, for fear they’ll be the next to vanish. There’s regimes like yours back on Earth, but they all get toppled eventually. If I were you, I’d be sleeping with one eye open. Assuming you can sleep at all.”

  To his credit, Gerian weathered this tirade without comment. At last, when Tris ran out of words and stood there breathing heavily, cheeks red and fists clenched, Gerian spoke. His tone was cold but level — the consummate statesman, unruffled to the end.

  “And so, you’ve delivered judgement on us after only a few hours in our company! I must say, that was quick work. A complete and thorough analysis of our entire way of life, conducted from the confines of a single room! Well done indeed, Tristan. I see your talents are not wasted with this crew of degenerates.”

  Tris endured the sarcasm in silence. He suddenly wondered if he’d gone too far. They were here as Gerian’s guests after all, and it had been their idea to enter Lemurian space. Gerian himself was just part of the machine — an unjust machine for sure, but it wasn’t like the man in front of him was directly responsible for an empire’s worth of suffering. Tris had a horrible feeling that the meeting was over, and all he’d done was rant and rave like a kid throwing a tantrum.

  Kyra would be thrilled.

  Gerian seemed to be done talking. A stack of tablets he’d pushed aside when Tris walked in had been redistributed around the giant desk, and now he was reaching for a pen. The thief in Tris had marked the pen straight away; it reminded him of the insanely over-priced fountain pens he’d seen in bookshop windows in Bristol. Back then it had melted his head that anyone would pay £700 for one, even if it did say MontBlanc on the nib.

  More recently he’d wondered why there were so many raids on Earth by smugglers and the like. Here was his answer; enclaves of the fabulously wealthy, all festooned with what they considered to be priceless artefacts from Earth. A rich and insatiable market… no wonder so many people risked their lives in dogfights with the Earth Warden’s forces.

  Thinking of Sera gave him a sudden chill. Trouble awaited them back in Lantian space, whether they were successful here or not.

  Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

  Tris took a deep, calming breath. “We came here for a reason,” he said, remembering Kreon’s warning. “And it wasn’t to dance the night away with a bunch of rich assholes. We need information, and we need it now.” He took a step forward. He could tell Gerian was listening with half an ear as he plied his fat pen, and that gave him an idea. “How about this? I’ll look into this whole Seven Systems thing as soon as you agree to help us. I can’t promise I’ll fall madly in love with the place, but I’ll go through this paperwork with you. As a deal,” he added, concerned that he was getting no response. “A bargain? You arrange for us to visit the Oracle and I’ll—”

  “Never!” Gerian snarled. “Never say that word! You profess to know so much about us, and yet you profane our most sacred mysteries every time you open your mouth! If I were to listen to you — and if I were to agree — the price would be far steeper than you can imagine. For all of you.”

  Tris was taken aback. One minute he was being ignored, the next he was under attack. “Look, I’m sorry,” he back-pedalled, “I didn’t mean to insult your, ah… whatever it is. Honest. It’s just really, really important that we find the information we’re looking for. Kreon — Lord Anakreon, the Wardens, the entire First Circle… they think it’s vital.”

  Gerian fixed him with a stare so intense he felt his guts clenching. “This is vital.”

  Then he crooked a finger, beckoning.

  Tris took a hesitant step forward, his hips only inches from the front of Gerian’s desk.

  Gerian held the finger up straight, then stabbed the paper on his desk with it. “Your future is right here.”

  Tris glanced down. He couldn’t read the notes Gerian had been scrawling in his indecipherable Lemurian script. But then the Magistrate moved his arm, revealing a single sentence of English he’d been hiding beneath his wrist.

  Even upside-down it was easy to read; Agree With Me was all it said.

  Tris raised his eyebrows. There was a game afoot, as there always seemed to be around here, but this move was unexpected. “Ah, yeah,” he said, nodding.

  Gerian frowned at him. “These documents will need to be examined most carefully before we can make any progress on claiming your birthright. But I’d hate for us to spend hours locked in here together, each secretly scheming how best to stab the other in the back. Come! We’ve cleared the air. On matters of statecraft we can surely agree to differ. After all, my superiors don’t listen to me; I sincerely doubt you’ll do any better!”

  Tris forced a laugh. “Ha! True enough,” he agreed.

  “So we’ve exhausted politics,” he said with a smile, “and my people do not openly discuss religion with foreigners. What now then?” The finger shot up again as though an idea had just occurred to him. “I hear you’ve been learning to fly a fighter.”

  Tris gaped. “How did you know that? Did Kyra…?”

  “Oh, a little bird told me,” Gerian chuckled. “But listen. I’ve just taken delivery of a fifth-gen Spectre assault fighter — the very latest in military hardware. Ridiculous really, with a desk job like this, but the thrill of flying it is beyond compare. You simply must come and take a look at her! The cockpit seats two, so we can take her out for a test-flight if you’re interested.”

  Tris had that feeling of being out of his depth. Things were changing too fast for him to follow; he couldn’t keep up his end of the conversation and process all the implications at the same time.

  Thankfully, there was an easy option.

  Agree With Me.

  “Okay then.” Tris tried to stir up some enthusiasm. “Sounds great.”

  “That’s settled then!” Gerian beamed, getting up from his desk and reaching across it to shake Tristan’s hand. As he did so, the Magistrate’s other hand closed on the sheet of paper, silently balling it. He strolled out from behind the desk and went to poke the fire — Tris caught a glimpse of white as he tossed the paper into the flames, raking coals over it immediately.

  “I’ve instructed my pilot to return us to Berasko Station. We can take a jaunt as soon as we arrive, if you’d like? Your friends will have the run of the place until the negotiating team arrive, and then
you’ll be able to put your requests to them directly.” He finished fussing with the fire and came back to show Tris out. “Thank-you Tristan, I’ve rather enjoyed our little sparing match.” He opened the thick wooden door. “But a word of advice? The Keepers of the Faith take a dim view of blasphemy. I’d be inclined to steer clear of that topic if you want your internal organs to remain internal.”

  By the time he got back to the lounge, Kyra had changed back into her usual jumpsuit. Kreon had found a robe not dissimilar to a dressing gown, and was wearing it like a surrogate trench coat. Both had drinks of the purple liquor, though not as shimmery as the stuff at the party. Seeing Tris approaching, Kyra jerked a thumb at a third glass sat on the bar behind her. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “I dunno,” he replied, honestly. “But I think I’ve got a date.”

  She shook her head at him. “Men! I swear, half your brain power is down there.” She pointed at his groin.

  “No, I mean a date with Gerian. Like, he wants us to go flying together. In his new fifth-gen Spectre.”

  Kyra let out a low whistle. “Wow. I’ve never even seen one of those. I gotta start hanging around with more millionaires.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what happened,” Tris continued, “but I promised to look into this Dynasty of Seven Systems crap if he’d agree to help us out.”

  “Help us with what exactly?” Kreon interjected. “Did he agree to take us to see the—”

  “Woah, woah!” Tris waved at him. “I think saying that word is a good way to get your head chopped off. It’s sacred or something, and every time one of us mentions it the shit hits the fan.”

  “Duly noted,” Kreon said, his tone betraying frustration. “However, my questions must be asked, regardless of any ill-feeling it engenders. Remember Tristan — your father sent us here, and it was his explicit instructions that we seek out this unmentionable person.”

  “I know, I know. Look, we’ve got a bit of time until the Lemurian team arrives to discuss all this. I’m sure we can find a work-around. Gerian’s not bad once you get past all that politician crap. I think he wants to help us. When I get him alone again, I’ll ask if there’s a better way to phrase it.”

  Kreon stood abruptly, draining his drink in a gulp. “You’ve done well Tris,” he said, placing the empty glass on a side table. “But I must sound a note of caution. Gerian is not your father. No matter how much you may want him to be. This is difficult for all of us, but for you especially. Nevertheless, you must be on your guard. Trust me, and trust Kyra. No-one else.”

  “And my instincts,” Tris added.

  Kreon fixed him with a stare. “No,” he corrected. “Trust my instincts and trust Kyra’s instincts. The last time you trusted your own instincts, you ended up in bed with an assassin who’d been ordered to kill you.”

  * * *

  Tris surprised himself by getting quite excited about seeing the Spectre. Shortly after they docked with Berasko Station Gerian made good his promise, sending a grey-clad envoy to summon Tris to a small hanger bay in the station’s northern hemisphere.

  “What do you think?” he asked, as Tris entered. “Incredible, isn’t she? They say she’s the fastest ever made in her class. Pared-back armour for speed, powerful shields to compensate. She’s two-thirds engine, one-third hell-fire raining down on any idiot that gets in your way!”

  “Wow.” Tris ran his gaze along the sleek lines of the ship in front of him and felt a shiver of thrill. She was nice to look at alright; angular and elegant and deadly as hell. Roughly wedge-shaped, the fighter’s nose was hooked over like a talon. The twin-seater cockpit rode high on the fuselage, with short wings and weapon pods curving down to form the landing gear. Tris had seen a few different fighters now, from the businesslike silver interceptors used by Sera’s pilots to the rag-tag patchworks of guns and generators flown by Sharki’s crew. This one was by far the most beautiful, like a predatory bird frozen mid-dive.

  “She’s… amazing,” he breathed.

  “Glad you like her,” said Gerian, beaming. “She’s yours… for half a million credits!”

  Tris shook his hand. “Bit pricey for me, mate.”

  “Yes well, perks of the job and all that.” He moved closer and threw an arm around Tris’ shoulders. “What do you say? Shall we take her out?”

  Tris couldn’t help but admire the Spectre’s luxurious interior, as Gerian took the controls and guided them out into space. The seats were actually comfy, for crying out loud! Controls and indicators were confined to a single wrap-around console, which also served to separate him from the Magistrate sitting next to him.

  “I’m steering, you’re guns,” Gerian joked.

  Tris hadn’t dared to activate his own console for fear of breaking something.

  “So if you have a heart-attack, I can still drive this thing?”

  “Of course! Fully redundant back-ups. Including this.” A tinted glass partition slid up between them, sealing Tris off from Gerian completely.

  “Independent ejector systems!” The Magistrate’s voice came crackling through the helmet comm. “With a flick of a switch, I can fire you off into space and carry on as if nothing had happened.”

  Tris let out a slow breath and reminded himself not to panic. A man in Gerian’s position would almost certainly have a sadistic sense of humour. “You ever had to use one?”

  The partition lowered, revealing Gerian grinning at him. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  The view of space from the dual cockpit was incredible, vastly superior to the fighter he’d been learning in. Instead of feeling hemmed in by the various controls and the superstructure, this ship had wide bubbles of glass for its canopies, offering an unrestricted panorama that stretched to infinity.

  “I like it,” Tris decided, a few minutes in.

  “I’ve heard the top speed is literally astronomical,” Gerian drawled. He seemed to have loosened up quite a bit since leaving the confines of the space station, though a warning trilled in the back of Tristan’s mind; it could be an act.

  Certainly, this bloke was a slippery sucker. It gave him a depressingly hollow feeling whenever he thought about it — was his dad the same? He’d been keeping some pretty big secrets from Tris his whole life. Had the fabled Lord Andoss been just another skilled manipulator? Had he laughed at how well he had everyone dancing to his tune? Kreon and the First Circle, Lantians and Lemurians… had it all been one big game? With Tris the latest piece to enter play, good for novelty value but not much else?

  He shook the thoughts off. Being confined inside his own mind was nearly as bad as having it wide open to every idiot he walked past.

  Suddenly, his attention was grabbed by a light flickering in front of him. His canopy had been clear a second ago; now a holographic display sprang into life, reporting something he should probably pay attention to.

  “Uh, Gerian? There’s a light on my display. Do I need to do anything?”

  “No, nothing to worry about. Our comms have failed, but I’m sure it’s just a glitch.”

  “Oh. Alright then.” But Tris was alert now, his mind throwing out possible reasons for the error.

  Communications down? No calling for help from the station then…

  A second light joined the first, this one a garish orange next to the amber of the comms warning. A few seconds later the orange began to flash, and the trill of an alarm filled his side of the cockpit.

  “Hey! What’s going on? Are we in trouble?”

  Gerian’s manic grin had faded, but he didn’t look unduly concerned. “No trouble, Tris. You don’t mind if I call you Tris? We’re losing power. Main thrust is down to five percent.”

  Tris swallowed a nervous reply, but then a louder alarm began to warble. “What’s that one? Don’t tell me that’s nothing!”

  “No,” Gerian agreed, with maddening calm. “I’m afraid that’s a global systems malfunction. It appears to be a cascade failure, impacting everything that draws power from
the main engines.”

  “Can we fix it?”

  “We’ll have to shut down completely and reboot the control matrix. It’s easy enough to do though. These fighters are equipped with it as a failsafe, in case of attack by EMP.”

  “Is that what happened?” Tris was struggling to keep a quaver of panic from his voice. He’d been in plenty of tricky situations recently, but usually Kyra or Kreon was with him. It shocked Tris to realise how much he’d come to rely on those two to get him out of trouble — and how vulnerable he felt without them.

  Time to get a grip, Tris.

  “Cascade failure.” He took a calming breath. “That’s where something small and easily overlooked goes wrong, causing everything else to pack up after it, right?”

  “Correct. In this case it appears to have been a capacitor relay in the communications system. But I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  A harsh red light overlaid Tristan’s display, pulsing urgently. A symbol appeared in the centre, blinking in time to a low beep like an electronic heartbeat. Tris felt his own pulse quicken in response. “Shit! I recognise that symbol. That’s life support!”

  Gerian said nothing as the red glare faded, taking all the other lights with it. A second later the alarm died too, leaving the cockpit dark and quiet as a tomb.

  15

  “Gerian?” Tris hated how scared he sounded, but this was his first time drifting in a dead ship.

  Not one thing about it seemed good.

  Including his host’s sudden reticence. “Gerian, man, I really hope this is a joke? That last alert said life support was broken…”