“I have completed a preliminary analysis of the system, and have identified several subsets of data that pertain to our cause. I am indexing them for upload to the Wayfinder’s computer.”
“Can we take it all?” Kreon asked him.
“Unfortunately not. Even one of these data arrays exceeds Wayfinder’s total storage capacity several times. ALI is re-routing non-essential computer functions to free up space, and once aboard we can redistribute this information onto whatever external storage devices you possess. For now, we can take only files that match the criteria you stipulated precisely.”
Kreon gave a hiss of frustration, but Kyra was jubilant as she slid off the tomb lid and dropped to the ground. “Look on the bright side, old man. You got your daughter back, you got your records, and you’ve discovered a shared hobby in mercy-killing. Can we go now?”
Kreon straightened, dusting down his ruined trench coat. “Indeed.”
“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that thing,” Àurea said. “I only bought it for you as a joke.”
They rode the elevator back up, in a strange kind of subdued triumph. Tris could hardly believe how well the mission had gone. If the strange alien data stores had produced a few game-changing secrets about the Black Ships, this could be considered one of their biggest wins to date.
And no-one had to die.
Well, unless you counted several thousand nightmarish monstrosities, but even that felt like a bonus. If the coming revolution turned into a civil war, the Ingumend would be seriously grateful they didn’t have to face those things on the battlefield.
Yup — all in all, things had gone exceedingly well.
A burst of static from Kreon’s backpack startled him from his reverie. Loader’s drawl came out, loud and suddenly urgent. “ALI has detected incoming ships on the short-range scanners.”
Tris tensed — and heard the distant boom of engines filtering through the tonnes of rock above.
“Short range?” Kyra bit out. “They’re here!”
“ALI apologises, but she wasn’t monitoring the scanners. She was analysing the incoming information.”
Kreon blew out a breath through gritted teeth.
Tris knew how he felt. “You’re telling me we’ve got a sentient ship, and the enemy snuck right by her because she was reading?”
Loader apparently didn’t consider that question worth responding to.
“We make for the Wayfinder,” Kreon said. “All else is secondary.” This he directed at his daughter, who nodded her helmet. “We’re approaching ground level. Kyra, can you tell if anyone is in the lobby?”
“No-one so far,” she said, uncoiling the swords from her waist. “If there is, they’re gonna regret it.”
Tris debated reaching back for his glaive, but the double shhing! of Àurea unlimbering her chain weapons rang around the car. He was currently standing in between the two lethal ladies — definitely not a position he wanted to be in when they started swinging.
Looks like I’ll bring a gun to a knife fight after all.
It was probably for the best. He needed the practice.
The lift slowed to a halt and the doors opened smoothly. The lobby was as empty as they’d left it, the great doors opposite them still open. Daylight streamed in, a harsh and fiery thing with no atmosphere to cushion it.
“MOVE!” Kreon yelled, and all four of them took off at a dead run.
The ground shook in front of them from multiple impacts; Tris missed his footing but managed to stay up, arms flailing. “They’re bombing us?” he complained. “I thought this place was sacred?”
“Assault pods,” Kyra called back. She was nearly at the doors. “They’ll be coming in guns blazing!”
For a second Tris wondered what the hell she was on about, picturing a round robot studded with guns. Then he caught a glimpse through the open door, and understanding hit him. Pods full of troops. For assaulting.
“Here they come!” Kyra was at the door now, flattening herself against the wall next to it. Tris had lost ground on the run, so was left in the middle of the lobby facing the opening when the first armoured form charged in.
Tris skidded to a halt, his rifle coming up, but Kyra was already there. Her swords flashed, taking the first man by the knees and throat simultaneously. Not to be outdone, Tris fired through the opening, and was satisfied to see the next man through fall with a hole burned through his chest armour. Yeah! That’s how it feels! Then he threw himself aside, as the answering fusillade blew through the doorway, scouring the flagstone floor with laser blasts.
As Tris rolled to his feet he saw Àurea in full-flow for the first time. She’d reached her door at the same time as Kyra, but she’d held back, letting a sizeable group of soldiers pile in through the opening. By the time the first among them had realised their mistake she was already swinging her chains in bloody arcs, lopping off heads and limbs like a gardener pruning roses. The chains became a blur, winding around her body as she spun towards her targets, always moving too fast to follow.
Kreon had also fallen back on his tried and trusted methods; one blow from his grav-staff had slammed the nearest door shut, buckling the giant slab of bronze in the process. With no-one coming in that way, he’d piled in to the combat around Kyra, the staff crushing helmets like eggshells with every blow.
Tris scrambled to his feet and snapped off a brace of shots, downing a soldier who was circling Àurea at a distance, trying to flank her. Stray laser blasts still came in through the two openings, though it looked like the first wave of fighters had been mostly dealt with.
Time to go, Tris thought.
And he was right; Kreon led the way, flinging a corpse ahead of him and striding through the doorway as though nothing out there could touch him.
Which it couldn’t. The Aegis flared with repeated hits, diverting the energy that struck him into the surrounding stonework.
Kyra took advantage of his cover, throwing herself through the opening after him. Tris saw Àurea hesitate, and beckoned her to follow. Advancing, he poured shots through the door Àurea had been defending, hoping to discourage any assaults from that quarter. He was firing on maximum power; his charge depleted quickly, and he cycled the power-pack like Kyra had shown him. Shown him, and drilled him, and drilled him… it all came to fruition now, as he remembered the miniature grenade launcher fitted beneath the barrel. He eased up on the trigger, letting a pair of heartbeats pass without putting a shot through the door. He could almost feel the soldiers outside closing in, thinking that this was their moment. Then he hit the thumb-switch that jettisoned a grenade along the same trajectory.
And another one, just for good measure.
Then he sprinted for the door Kreon and the others had exited through, feeling the shockwave from the blast but staying on his feet nonetheless. He kept his rifle raised as he came through the doorway, ready to spray fire wherever it was needed—
Then stopped.
Kreon, Kyra and Àurea stood before him, all with their weapons dangling by their sides.
And in front of them was an army.
Hundreds of troops, arrayed in rough lines. Here and there, the muzzle of a heavy weapon poked out from the throng, painting them with targeting dots for things like micro-missiles.
Tris stared, appalled. His rifle was up, aimed and ready — but what use was it? His brain froze as he gazed out at the impossible odds. The Lemurians had moved troops in faster than he’d thought possible, and instead of fleeing to their ship under fire, his crew had been caught out in the open. The outsized portico offered no cover, raised as it was above a wide plaza of cracked stones.
A plaza that was practically filled with enemy troops. The sharp light glinted from dozens of helmets and rifle barrels, more than Tris could count even if his brain hadn’t locked up solid just from looking at them.
Unconsciously, his rifle dipped, coming to rest by his side.
No way… Kreon and Kyra had assumed the stillness of st
atues, as they too stared out at the multitude. Àurea, he could see from the corner of his eye, was still twitching her hands, keeping her weapons dancing with the barest of motions. Alone of all of them, she seemed to have some fight left in her — but it would do her no good. This trap was prepared for them, well-planned…
And it wasn’t hard to figure out how.
Kreon had been insisting on a visit to the Oracle ever since they’d entered Lemurian space. Even when the merest mention of it seemed to have repercussions none of them had foreseen. His directness was sometimes a virtue, but Tris realised it had given their enemy all the information he needed. Gerian must have known the world was ruined. He had only to set up camp somewhere nearby, wait for them to arrive, and while they were buried underground delving for ancient secrets, bring his entire force down to capture them.
Because that’s exactly what had happened. Gerian himself pushed his way through the crowd, standing front and centre amidst his army. His armour was sleek and glossy, a more practical-looking version of the insect-like garb Àurea wore. It didn’t have a mark on it, but then Gerian’s abilities as a warrior made no difference. Whether he fought like a god or an imbecile, it mattered not one whit. His strategy had made it moot.
Originally he’d wanted to capture them alive, for whatever propaganda purposes his twisted mind had come up with — and thanks to Kreon’s single-minded devotion to duty, he had done just that.
In one gloved hand, Gerian held up a bulbous golden device, its conical end pointing directly at Kreon. Tris recognised it from Kyra’s description of their battle in the prison, and the last flare of hope died within him. Gerian wasn’t even using the device — simply brandishing it, letting the light reflect from the tiny gold flaps that covered it. He knew he’d won.
And from the slow slump of Kreon’s shoulders, he knew it too.
“Have ALI broadcast the information we’ve acquired to Atalia,” the Warden hissed at Loader. “Oktavius may find a way to use it if we don’t return.”
Kyra glanced at him, and Tris could read the unspoken words in her eyes.
Returning suddenly seemed a lot less likely.
27
Gerian’s eyes positively gleamed as he sat opposite Tris in the prisoner transport.
Tris wasn’t the least bit surprised that the Lemurians had designed a vehicle specifically for this purpose.
Each of them had been securely strapped into individual pods — any of which could be jettisoned into space at the touch of a button, Gerian had informed them with relish. He’d also warned them to expect some loss of motor functions… then he’d turned the golden cone device on them, adjusted to a setting that caused paralysis without knocking them out completely. For all that he owed his life to that pine cone, Tris was starting to get annoyed by it. It made sense though; Kreon was hard to cage, with all his mechanical bits and upgrades. Kyra was more than a match for a room full of guards, and could be counted on to watch carefully for any opening she could exploit. Tris still felt like the weak link of the team, but as he occasionally reminded himself, he’d been on the team for less than two months.
He’d spent a disturbing amount of that time in prison.
Àurea’s fate was worst of all. Piece by piece, Gerian’s soldiers stripped her of her armour. Their appreciation for the task was clear; this wasn’t just some Lantian spy they’d arrested, this was none other than the leader of the resistance. Tris could tell they were enjoying her discomfort, and made a mental note to hurt them if he got the chance.
Gerian clapped his hands as her helmet came off, seemingly delighted to discover that his most infamous adversary was a girl. Her armour he ordered carefully stacked, to be used as evidence.
Then he reached out and casually tore the mask from the left side of her face.
Revealed beneath it was a nightmare of scar tissue, twisting the side of her mouth up in a permanent rictus. Blackened stumps of teeth jutted through the hole where her cheek should have been. In its place, ropes and strings of angry red flesh stretched across livid gums, somehow maintaining their grip on her jaw. The damage extended to her left eye socket, which looked thick and shiny. Her left eye had obviously been lost in whatever accident caused her injury, and had been replaced with one that was blatantly mechanical.
The horror of it would have caused him to recoil, if he’d had the ability. Tiny muscles twitching in Kreon’s face told the same story, though Tris could feel the old man’s rage from across the aisle. Abusing his long lost daughter right in front of him could have been a calculated move to break him — but Tris was reasonably sure their family history was the one piece of information Gerian didn’t have. How long that remained the case was anyone’s guess.
“I should probably make some formal statement of arrest,” Gerian mused, his smooth voice commanding instant silence in the cabin. “Very well then! Lord Anakreon. Warden of the First Circle. Representative of the Lantian people. Failure.” He shifted his gaze to the pod next to Tris. “Kylimnestra, patron of lost causes… and Tristan. Walking proof that genetic manipulation should be left to the professionals. You have all been arrested on charges of treason. Of conducting an illegal war against citizens and officials of the Lemurian Empire. Of trespass in our most sacred location, of conspiring with terrorists, of sedition, and murder. I won’t ask how you plead; your guilt is self-evident. All I have to do now is decide what to do with you… and believe me, I have a number of ideas.”
Then he turned his attention to Àurea. “You, my dear, are merely a home-grown terrorist. Garden variety. I have no doubt that once I cut you down, five more will spring up in your place. But such is the nature of my work; I like to think of myself as a pruner. You will be turned over to the Keepers of the Faith for immediate trial. And, I imagine, summary execution.”
He cleared his throat, looking around the cabin at the soldiers strapped into their seats. “I think that should do, don’t you? Carry on.”
And with a rumble of ignition, the transport lifted off.
The trip to wherever they were going was mercifully short. Between the coma-like effect of the pine cone and the subtle vibrations of the engine, Tris dozed off for a time. When he woke, it was to the jolt of an atmospheric transition; clearly the pilots of this tub were no match for Kyra. The journey of only hours rather than days meant they must still be relatively close to Oracle. Tris guessed that meant an important planet, and he wasn’t disappointed; the view from the small portholes lining the ship was of gleaming silver spires, each surrounded by a multi-levelled halo of roadways and platforms. The buildings grew taller and more impressive, until the ship decelerated for landing. It came to rest on one of the raised piers extending from the most impressive structure yet. Not much could be glimpsed from this distance, but during their descent Tris had seen a vast stone frontage with gigantic columns reminiscent of some ancient Egyptian temple.
Gerian must have done something with his pine cone, as sensation began to return to Tristan’s toes. Within seconds he could wiggle them, and a minute later his arms and legs had begun to respond again. He blinked several times, his eyes stinging in the fresh light streaming in through the hatch. He felt his restraints go limp, and found he could shrug his way out of them. The pod he’d been sealed into wasn’t much bigger than a coffin, with a front entirely of glass. This now slid back and Gerian stood in the opening, flanked by a pair of guards. He beckoned, and Tris slunk forwards. Kreon was still restrained in the pod opposite, but he glimpsed Kyra’s back as she was marched down the ramp at gunpoint.
Gerian waved at the guards, and they led Tris away. He complied sluggishly, trying to appear dazed and weak from the paralysis. In reality his mind was whirling, cataloguing everything around him in the desperate hope of escape. He knew Kyra would be doing the same, and she was an expert at this; when she made her move, he vowed to be ready.
It was only when he joined her outside that he realised what a foolish hope that was.
The spires of
the city spread out around them, above and below, vast and high-tech. A combination of the brisk breeze and his stomach told him he was impossibly high-up. The tower that reared above them stood out from its fellows in that it alone was clad in some glistening white material that sparkled in the mid-morning sun. Other traffic came and went in a never-ending stream of ships from all directions. But it was the heavy gun turrets that quashed his spirits; six of them that he could identify straight away, bracketing the landing pad from all sides. More protuberances bristled from the sides of the tower; presumably at least some of those were weapons too. And the squad of heavily armed and armoured guards waiting for them — twenty at least — put the final nail in the coffin.
They’d escaped from more difficult situations than this, Tris was sure. But outside intervention had featured heavily in most of those instances. Here, deep in the Lemurian Empire, they were completely alone. Save for ALI — Tris glanced up as Wayfinder’s shadow blanketed him briefly, the ship being flown in right behind them.
More evidence…
But if ALI had managed to hide herself, and had resisted the temptation to show off during the journey, she could still be in there. Which meant they had at least one ally here… well, unless she switched sides again. The AI was a Lemurian creation, after all.
Who knows? Maybe they’ve got some kind of master reset code for her?
The soldiers’ armour was fancier here, he noticed. More sculpted to their physiques, as though armour had fashion, and these guys were right on trend. Their weapons looked plenty serviceable though. With a barked command from the squad leader, they were marched off down the walkway towards the tower. Tris’ mind was still grasping frantically at straws. They were high up; could they survive a jump from the edge of the walkway? With Kreon’s grav-staff perhaps, but all their weapons had been confiscated before they’d boarded the transport. They could try throwing guards over the edge, but not without getting shot in the process. Even if they somehow managed to get out of their restraints and fight free of all the guards, those evil-looking gun turrets would shred them.
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