Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1)

by Tony James Slater

  Where is everyone? he asked. Are they all off fighting somewhere? I’ve never seen a place so empty.

  She glanced around before replying. Their population was never huge. Last time I was here, they all lived in a glorified basement. They can build as much crap as they want — and it looks like they have — but filling it with warm bodies is a much longer process.

  He frowned. That made sense in one way, but not in others. How do they build it all, if there’s hardly any people?

  The Ring. A wave of frustration accompanied her message. My sister must have given them full access, which is exactly what she was supposed to do. It can make practically anything, in limitless quantities, given enough time. I knew the Laugarrens would use it to rebuild, but I didn’t expect… this.

  Their route took them right to the base of those enormous towers, where a circular plaza offered zero cover for anyone dumb enough to attack the place. Both vehicles settled to the ground, and the soldiers exited in an orderly fashion. Tris was hauled out first, followed by Kyra and then Lukas. Tarri’s stretcher didn’t emerge from the other APC, though; once most of the soldiers had disembarked, it rose into the air again, setting off back the way it had come.

  “Wait!” Kyra started towards it, but her escorts grabbed her by the arms. She cursed and thrashed in their grip, but with her hands bound there was little she could do.

  Lukas stepped in front of her, catching her eye. “She’ll be okay,” he said, his tone gentle. “We’ll get her back, I promise.”

  Kyra continued to stare after the departing vehicle for a few seconds, blinking back tears. Then she wrenched herself away, allowing the men holding her to lead her into the building.

  They entered the central tower through sliding doors, under guard so heavy it bordered on the ridiculous. Even for us, Tris thought, and permitted himself the tiniest of smiles. They weren’t done yet. Whatever this commander wanted them for, he hadn’t killed them so far. There’s still a chance that this is all one big misunderstanding…

  A spacious (and empty) lobby led to a bank of elevators. Inevitably, a security checkpoint barred their path. The officer had accompanied them inside, marching at the head of his troops, and he waved impatiently at the tower guards to get their job underway.

  One stepped forward with what looked like a TV remote, aiming it at Tris and frowning at a screen set into the top of it. “No ID? He don’t look like he comes from the Communes.” He moved on to Kyra and then to Lukas, confused by their results too.

  A second guard opened a locker, and brought out a device that sent a shiver down Tris’ spine. The shock collar was instantly recognisable.

  Kyra was the first to be fitted.

  The guard backed up a step, then touched a control on his tablet. A buzz came from the collar, and she collapsed to the floor tiles, writhing in agony. “It’s on,” he grunted.

  When the buzzing stopped, Kyra was back on her feet in a flash. Rage poured off her as she advanced on the guard, fists clenched in front of her. “Try that again,” she snarled. “I dare you.”

  The guard wagged a finger at her… and tapped his tablet again.

  Kyra staggered, and the collar crackled, but she stayed on her feet this time. When it was over, she glared daggers at her tormentor. “Oh, I am going to burn your fucking house down,” she told him.

  Lukas submitted to the collar next, though the guard didn’t bother testing it, and Tris swallowed a rising sense of panic as the last one was fastened around his neck.

  “A word of advice,” the officer said, standing at parade-rest in front of Kyra. “That attitude of yours won’t fly here. The Commander is not a tolerant person. If he doesn’t like the words on your tongue, he’ll have it removed.”

  She seemed on the verge of delivering a furious retort — but then her shoulders drooped, and she stared at the floor.

  “Better,” the officer said, and something in his manner made Tris want to strangle him.

  As they waited for the lift car to arrive, they huddled together with their escort surrounding them.

  Tris nudged Kyra with an elbow. “This place is really getting under your skin, eh?”

  She gazed at him for a second, then made a visible effort to compose herself. “I’m fine,” she said, summoning a smile as proof.

  “That’s great,” Lukas chipped in, keeping his voice low. “Can you do me a favour then? Don’t piss this commander guy off unless you really have to. Okay?”

  She gave him a mock-hurt look. “I’ll just be myself.”

  “Yeah… that’s what I’m worried about.”

  The elevator car had its own guards inside. They were bare-headed, and every one of them glared intensely at Tris.

  Tough crowd.

  The car was spacious enough to accommodate the smug-looking officer and a full squad of his troops, too — all of whom removed their helmets, revealing a mix of grizzled-looking men and women. Compared to the lift-guards, these soldiers looked subdued and more than a little anxious. It wasn’t hard to tell why; even the lightest touch of their minds revealed a common belief held secretly by all of them. We are now in enemy territory…

  Tris couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not.

  As they began to rise, Kyra’s thoughts brushed against his; Eyes and ears open, she reminded him. And your mind, too. See if you can get a nose for these people.

  Just don’t ask me to lick anyone, he sent back.

  They rode up for an unnecessarily long time. Perhaps that was done to impress tourists, though Tris had yet to see anyone else who could be classed as one. The doors opened on a marble-lined foyer, sumptuous and sparkling-clean. Whereas downstairs had a corporate-lobby feel, this floor was styled closer to an Italianate mansion. Pale columns pretended to support the roof, and the oversized doorjambs were carved stone. Between the soldiers that had accompanied them up and the ones that were waiting for them here, they’d amassed an impressive entourage. Rank insignia glinted here and there amongst the grey; Tris had no way of interpreting them, but he guessed that the crowd ahead were in a much higher pay bracket.

  At the end of a short, wide corridor they reached a stone archway and wooden double-doors that looked positively medieval. An older man with silver trim on his neck and shoulders raised a palm to stop them.

  “Captain Iker to see the Lord High Commander,” the officer told him. “As requested.”

  “Very well, Captain.” The man motioned Kyra forward. “Name?”

  “Kylimnestra Loreak.”

  He inhaled sharply, and gasps issued from several of the guards around them. “Are you mad? The commander has no patience for games!” He scowled at her, and tapped an entry on his tablet. “I’ll put you down as ‘Unidentified Female,’ and let me warn you, if you take that tone inside he’ll have you executed on the spot.”

  Kyra quirked an eyebrow at Tris. “Better not tell them who you are, then.”

  The door-ward scowled at her. “Who is this boy?”

  “This is Tristan Andrews. From Earth.”

  FOURTEEN

  Needless to say, that introduction didn’t go down too well.

  Angry muttering and veiled threats filled the corridor. There wasn’t a lot Tris could do about it; he didn’t have his drivers license on him, and he doubted they’d accept it anyway.

  Eventually, the door-ward gave up arguing and decided to admit them. The commander had asked to see them after all, and as Iker coldly pointed out, he didn’t like to be kept waiting. The heavy wooden doors swung open, and a hefty number of guards accompanied Tris, Lukas and Kyra inside. Captain Iker and his squad were amongst them, surrounding their prize and marching in perfect unison.

  The room they entered was another surprise. An immense stone hall with soaring vaulted ceilings, it took up the whole top floor of the tower. Elaborate crystal chandeliers hung down, casting their sparkles over half an acre of cream-coloured marble. Tall columns marched along the walls, accented by vast swathes of embroidered pur
ple drapery. Numerous consoles were spaced in between them, where grey-clad figures sat in front of screens filled with data. A group of musicians off to one side played a soft melody on wind and string instruments, though it faded out when they noticed the newcomers.

  Amidst all this luxury, like a wolf in his den, sat the Lord High Commander.

  His chair wasn’t far off being a throne. Angular and black, it was festooned with controls and displays, and stood on a raised platform in the centre of the room. The commander was a middle-aged man sporting a brown goatee, and the circlet on his head had more than a hint of crown about it. He was bigger in girth than most Laugarrens Tris had seen so far; they tended towards the slender, while their leader had achieved a substantial gut. Rather than a uniform with rank insignia, he wore black body armour embossed to suggest muscles. A fur cloak hung from sculpted shoulder-pads, draping over the sides of his techno-throne.

  The dais placed him at eye-level with the men and woman standing around him, all of whom retained the same style of dress as everyone else in Laugarren. It was an odd juxtaposition; like seeing Conan the Barbarian holding court on the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

  The door-ward approached the dais and knelt. “Lord High Commander, may I present the fugitives who were captured in the forest. Their shuttle was brought down inside our boundaries.”

  The commander dismissed him with a wave, and beckoned Kyra forward. She strode confidently into the centre of the hall, with Tris and Lukas flanking her.

  No windows, she pointed out, using the Gift. They’re wasting a lovely view.

  Seriously? He shook his head. That’s what you’re thinking about?

  They reached a respectable distance from the dais and stopped. A crowd gathered on either side of them, eager to watch, and the soldiers fanned out with their rifles clutched to their chests. It was a sea of sombre grey uniforms, punctuated by the glint of weapons; idle curiosity and perverse glee lay over everything like a fog.

  “You are aware,” the commander said, “that the penalty for trespassing on Laugarren’s territory is death?” His voice was smooth, but the tension in his face betrayed a fierce interest.

  Kyra spread her hands. “My apologies. I’ll call ahead next time.”

  Careful, Tris warned her. I’m getting some really weird vibes off this guy.

  I’ll handle him, she fired back. You keep an eye on his buddies.

  The commander hunched forward in his chair. “You have no ID chips, and you were piloting a stolen shuttle. Would you like to explain what you are doing here?”

  She crossed her arms, and Tris felt her anger bubbling up to the surface. “Yeah, I need to have a word with you about that. Your patrol ship blew us out of the sky with no warning. My niece was badly hurt, and—”

  “We reserve the right to defend ourselves!” the commander bellowed. He pounded a fist against his armrest. “Invading our airspace is an act of war!”

  The flip in his mood was so abrupt that Tris took a step back. Woah… unstable much?

  “Your niece…” the commander continued, as though his outburst had never happened, “I presume you are aware that she is a terrorist?”

  “What? Are you out of your mind? She’s just a—”

  A buzz from Kyra’s collar made her back arch violently, and she reached up to claw at it as waves of pain stole her breath.

  Tris managed not to flinch, as their psychic link channelled some of her suffering his way. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the culprit — the guard from the lobby, who’d fitted them all for the collars, must have followed them up in the elevator.

  When Kyra had recovered enough to stand up straight, there was murder in her eyes. The commander didn’t seem at all fazed though, merely drumming his fingers impatiently on his throne.

  Kyra spat a gobbet of blood onto the marble floor and gazed defiantly up at the dais. “Respectfully,” she said, in a voice that sounded anything but, “That girl is Her Royal Highness the Princess Elutarria of house Loreak. As was confirmed by your men at the scene of our crash.”

  Surprised whispers broke out all around them, and Tris felt genuine fear amongst the sudden flare of emotions.

  “I know who she is,” the commander snapped. “The royal brats of Lehen get no special treatment here. If she wakes up, she will be interrogated about her role in the attacks on my people. Now I’m giving you one more chance to explain yourself, before I have you executed where you stand.”

  Kyra sighed theatrically. “I tried to tell your man at the door, but he wouldn’t listen. My name is—”

  “I know who you are, too,” the commander snarled.

  “Oh! Good.” She looked surprised. “In that case—”

  “You are spies! Sent by Lehen, from their hidden base in the forest. Oh yes, I know all about it. I have spies of my own amongst them. I know that you seek to overthrow me from within, subverting my own people with lies and false promises. But your mission has failed. The penalty for spying is death.”

  Kyra raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay… I’m starting to sense a pattern here. Look, we’re not spies. Whatever beef you have going on with Lehen, I couldn’t care less. I’m here with a warning. Laugarren, and all its people, are in danger.”

  “You dare threaten us?” the commander roared. He half-rose from his chair, eyes wild with anger. “Have you any idea what I do to people who make threats?”

  Kyra weathered the storm with a wry look on her face. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say, death? You’ll have to add it my tally. I’ve earned so many death-marks since we walked in, I’ve lost count.”

  A titter ran through the crowd, quickly stifled. The commander’s gaze roved over his subordinates, as though searching for the source. Finally he gave up, and his lips curved in a half-smile. “Such insolence, in one so young!” He sat down again, apparently mollified. “Very well. Continue your story, while I decide how to apportion your punishment.”

  She turned slightly, so that she was addressing the crowd as well. “I am Kylimnestra Loreak.”

  There was silence for a few seconds — and then the entire hall burst out laughing.

  The commander slapped his armrest and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. It took him a good while to stop chortling, and the rest of the laughter died away as soon as his did. “Surely you didn’t come all this way to make jokes?”

  “Scan me,” she said, turning her head to the nearest soldier.

  “She was scanned multiple times, as per procedure,” Captain Iker spoke up from behind them. “All were ID negative.”

  “Scan me again,” Kyra said, not bothering to look at the man. “You can ID bodies, right? Even after their chip has gone dormant? Set it to search for deactivated chips.”

  Confusion clouded the soldier’s face. He glanced first at Iker, then up at the dais.

  The commander looked mildly amused. He nodded.

  The soldier pulled the TV remote off his belt, tapping commands into its little screen. He held it out towards Kyra… and gasped. “K… Kylimnestra… Loreak…” he turned the device around as proof, though the results were far too small for anyone else to read.

  “Give me that!” Captain Iker stormed over, snatched the scanner from his man and aimed it again. His face went slack when the device chimed. “It’s true,” he said, looking at Kyra with something like awe. “It’s her…”

  The surrounding men and women had gone dead still. Tris reached out to gauge their reactions, and found their minds as stunned as their faces. They were all waiting on their leader, and not one of them knew what to expect. It was a disturbing insight into the man’s condition; even those in his inner circle didn’t know if he would respond with fascination or fury.

  Kyra waited patiently for the verdict, with a triumphant smile on her face. Up until this point, her hair had been solid black, without even the crimson streaks she usually put in to show that she meant business. It was almost like she’d been taking Lukas’ stealth gag s
eriously. Now though, Tris sensed her give the mental command for it to change, and a kaleidoscope of colours flowed down from her scalp, coming to rest in the familiar rainbow.

  A gasp ran through the crowd, and that seemed to jump-start a dozen hushed conversations.

  “Enough!” The commander yelled, clapping his hands. He was rewarded with instant hush. He leaned forward, fixing Kyra with a flinty stare. “So… you’ve returned, have you? To what do we owe the honour?”

  She cracked her knuckles. It had the desired effect; fully half the people present winced at the sound, as it echoed around the hall. “Okay. I believe that Viktor, captain of the Revenants mercenary troop, is back. I suspect that he staged an attack on the royal palace.”

  The commander’s eyes bored into her. “Yes, the palace has fallen,” he said. “And the city shortly thereafter. A number of my agents made it out before they closed the gates. But this is an internal matter, between the people of Lehen and their former employees. These despicable mercenaries would not dare assault Laugarren.”

  Tris saw the news hit Kyra like a punch to the gut. She looked down at the floor, trying to hide her shock, but her mind was reeling. “What…” she managed, “What do you mean? You’re just… going to sit here, surrounded by all these soldiers, on your pretend throne? And what? Pray that Viktor doesn’t carve a slice off your fat ass?”

  She started forward, but a crackle from her collar stopped her in her tracks.

  Her whole body went taut as the current coursed through her. A ragged cry burst from her ruined lips; the guard with the controls leered at her, clearly enjoying his job.

  The buzzing stopped and she bent double, wheezing for breath. But the smirking guard had strayed too close. Kyra straightened in a flash. Both arms lashed out, striking the tablet in the man’s hand and driving it back into his face with a satisfying crunch. He staggered back, blood pouring from his nose, and the shattered tablet fell from his grip.