The prisoners seemed too weary to care though, so he followed them through.
Inside, the change was dramatic.
Colour bloomed on the walls, in abstract murals of swirls and splotches. Leafy plants in big earthenware pots broke up the corridor, and the floor underfoot was covered in a kind of spongy rubber mat. The light was much brighter than it had been in the rest of the complex, and Tris blinked away moisture as his eyes protested the glare.
“Welcome to Laugarren Underground,” Aldur said, with a sweep of his arms. A door slid open, and he led them all into a room that reminded Tris of Mission Control at NASA; the version he’d seen on TV, anyway. Rows of computer consoles and displays were arranged facing a narrow stripe of darkened windows. Only a couple of systems were running, with blinking lights and screens filled with code. The back of the room had been given over to a long table, around which six elderly people were having a meeting.
“Aldur!” A gaunt old lady who had to be in her late seventies levered herself up from her chair, turning to face him. Then her eyes went wide. “Gods and stars,” she gasped, her hands going to her cheeks. “It was true…” Two thin trails of tears tracked down her wrinkled skin. “Kyra? Is it really you?”
Tris glanced over, to see the blood draining from Kyra’s face. “J… Jen?”
The old lady rushed over, heedless of her frailty, and wrapped Kyra in a hug. She was weeping openly now, her whole body shaking with the sobs. “Stars, girl, I’ve missed you!”
For her part, Kyra looked stunned. She put her arms gingerly around the woman, hugging her back without applying much force. When Jen released her, they gazed into each other’s eyes, and a profound sadness passed between them.
“What happened?” Kyra broke the silence. “Why are you… um…”
“Old? Decrepit? Useless?” Jen gave a bitter laugh. “Oh come on! I know you’ve been gone a long time, but don’t tell me you’ve developed tact?”
Kyra looked more awkward than Tris had ever seen her.
“It’s the commander’s fault, of course,” Jen continued, taking pity on her. “He banned all life extension tech just after he took over. We figured it was just a phase, but he stuck to his guns about it. We only figured it out years later, when it became obvious that he wasn’t getting any older. He wanted the older generation to die off — everyone who was around before his time. That way, he could rewrite history however he wants. And unfortunately, that’s exactly what he’s done.”
A deep sorrow welled up in Tris, prompted by the emotions he was sensing from the two women. To grow old was one thing; to be confronted by proof that you could have had a choice…
It was too horrible to contemplate.
Jen seemed to have made her peace with it though, inviting Kyra to sit with her at the table. “The rest of you will have to make do with the ready room next-door,” she told Aldur. Looking past him to the assembled group of ex-prisoners, most of whom were so tired they could barely stand up, she smiled softly. “Our barracks are full,” she explained, “but you won’t be here long. Those of you who want to stay and fight are welcome to join us, but for the rest of you, a new life in the Communes awaits. But you don’t have to worry about that right now. Get some rest, and we can talk more in the morning.”
As Aldur led the exhausted people out, it occurred to Tris; he didn’t know if it was morning, or night-time. Their escape had taken hours, and they’d been underground for a good while before that. He didn’t have a clue what the time was up in the sun.
What a miserable way to live. And Kyra said this was all they had, once.
He took a seat at the table, and Lukas joined him.
Two men and three women, all of whom looked to be around Jen’s age, were already arranged opposite each other. They kept their faces carefully neutral, but they did seem to defer to Jen, and no-one questioned her inviting her new friends to join them.
“So much to tell,” Jen said. “But where to start?” She laid a hand on Kyra’s. “Perhaps you’d like to share some of your exploits from the last few decades?” There was gentle mockery in her tone, as though she couldn’t help reprimanding Kyra for staying away so long.
“Ah, you know…” Kyra looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I… did some stuff. Nothing really important.”
Tris scoffed at this, but she ignored him.
“So… what is this place?”
Jen chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “All this time, and you want to make small-talk?” Her eyes glittered. “Very well. We happen to be inside something that history tells us never existed. You noticed the tall, cylindrical chamber you came down through? It’s a launch tube.”
Kyra looked confused. “Like… for fighters? It’s so far down… how would they get out?”
“Apparently the top portion was never completed,” Jen said. “Whoever the commander was, if we even had one back then, he was building these in secret. He started deep, creating tubes big enough to house the missiles he was making. Twelve of them, scattered throughout the underground. It seems like he had a bit of a problem with your people, and he’d decided to solve it.”
Kyra looked like she was about to faint. “Missiles… but… when was this? This is all so old…”
“It was back before the Rain of Fire. I’m starting to think that your ancestors weren’t the only ones with a thirst for destruction. As much as it pains me to admit it, it looks like they wiped out Laugarren just in time.”
Tris had never seen Kyra this shocked. Her face had gone white, and she was leaning so far forward that she was in danger of banging her chin on the table.
“Sydon’s Name,” she hissed, burying her head in her hands for a moment. “This is what you call small-talk?”
The elderly Laugarrens excused themselves, clearly sensing that their business was done for the evening. Lukas yawned and left with them, striking up a conversation on the way out that had something to do with food.
Tris’ stomach growled in response, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for a meal. Living like this, so cut off from the surface and everything it provided, had to be tough enough without caring for freeloaders.
“So what’s your plan?” Kyra asked. Her posture had straightened; she’d recovered from the latest surprise, though Tris didn’t understand why it had affected her so much.
“Ah!” Jen’s eyes glittered. “Now we get to it! My plan is one of hearts and minds,” she said, shooting Kyra a reproving glance. “Not mass-destruction, though I appreciate that is more your style.”
“You know about that?” Kyra managed to look vaguely guilty.
“Of course! We wouldn’t last long down here if we didn’t know everything that went on around us. I have a network of volunteers scattered throughout the underground. They man checkpoints at the most obvious routes in or out, and try to give us some advanced warning if the commander sends his troops after us.”
Tris leaned forward. “Does that happen often? If they trap you down here, they’ll wipe you out.”
Jen favoured him with a smile. “Who’s the boy? Not one of yours is he?”
“Eurgh! Hell no!” Kyra’s reaction was dramatic. “He’s not even old enough to grow a beard!”
Jen’s lips compressed. “I meant, is he your son. Though after that, I’m guessing not.”
“No way! My kid would have way more… ah…” she looked at Tris.
He gave her the ‘just say it’ eyebrow.
“…fashion-sense,” she finished.
Jen giggled, and it was such an honest gesture that they all joined in.
When the amusement died down, Kyra took a deep breath. “In answer to your question, this is Tristan. He’s an apprentice Warden, and he’s psychic as all hell, so bury your secrets deep.”
“I’m an old woman,” Jen pointed out. “I don’t have any secrets. Not from my friends.”
Tris couldn’t resist that opening. “Kyra’s as old as you, and she’s got nothing but secrets. I never even knew th
is place existed before today.”
“Neither did she. We discovered this place long after she left.”
“Oh.” Tris looked down at the table. “But I was referring to Esper.”
This caused another round of giggles from the two women, though Tris felt it was more at his expense this time. When they finished, Jen wiped her eyes with a rag from her pocket. In spite of her age, she still wore the standard grey Laugarren uniform.
“You always did have secrets,” she said, studying Kyra’s face. “And so much responsibility. Did it change, out there amongst the stars? Did you find what you were looking for?”
Kyra shrugged, looking away.
“No… love, then? No… children?”
“Would just slow me down.” Kyra drummed her fingers on the table. “Speaking of which, when are we getting out of here? Because they will come looking for us.”
For a moment, it looked like Jen wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. There was deep sympathy in her eyes. Then she sighed, and glanced at the ceiling. “Yes, they tend to do that when you blow up a prison. We’ve got an escape tunnel that leads out to the forest. The Zortzigarrens dug it for us, in exchange for the warhead from this silo.”
“What?” Kyra’s brow furrowed. “What the hell would they need that for?”
“And what the hell is a Zortis-gammon?” Tris added.
Jen spread her hands on the table. Her skin was paper-thin, almost translucent. “I didn’t ask. We needed their help to get this place functioning, and they needed an easier way in and out. I think it was the last time any of us worked truly together on anything.”
“So, you want to run away into the forest?” Kyra didn’t sound impressed by that.
“Not quite. There’s a… base, of sorts. A place where we meet sometimes, with people from your city. We exchange information now and then. Theoretically, they’ll help us if we ever need them to. In practice…” she shrugged. “There’s not a lot any of us can do right now. The Lord High Commander has got this place buttoned up quite tight.”
“What can we do?” Tris asked her. “There has to be something.”
“Stay alive,” Jen said, giving him a sad smile. “And look after Kyra. If anyone can really help us, she can.”
Kyra scoffed at that. “I’m quite capable of looking after myself, thank-you very much.”
“No,” Jen said, shaking her head slowly. “You’re not. Not in the way that matters.”
EIGHTEEN
The talk shifted to a person they’d both known, someone called Alek, and Tris found himself drifting. Motes of dust stirred in the air, a perennial feature down here. He snapped back to attention when Kyra pounded a fist on the table. “The bastards!” she said, presumably referring to the Lord High Commander and his associates. “We can’t leave her here. I’m getting her back, if I have to cut my way through half the frikkin’ city.”
Jen accessed a console built into the table. “My boy inherited the family gift,” she said, as she tapped the icons. “Not quite as useful as your family Gift, but very handy in its own way.” She scanned the display, her eyes flicking from side to side. “Ah. Here.” She squinted, then looked up at Kyra. “I’m sorry. According to this, she’s still undergoing surgery. She has…” she gazed down for a moment, reading. “Concussion, a fracture to the skull, and swelling of the brain due to a bleed in the meningeal artery. Epidural hematoma. It looks like the auto-surgeon is operating to relieve the pressure, but she’ll be unconscious for some time. It’ll be days before it’s safe to move her.”
Kyra’s face clouded over. “What will they do to her?”
“A princess?” Jen laced her fingers into Kyra’s. “They’ll take good care of her, I’m sure. Her value as a hostage is greater than any information the commander could get out of her. His spies tell him everything, anyway. He probably knows more about what’s going on in Lehen than most of the people who live there.”
The two women still had a lot to catch up on. Tris left them to it, taking himself off in search of Lukas. The big man had claimed a row of seats in a briefing room next door, and was stretched out comfortably.
“You’re sleeping already?”
Lukas cracked an eyelid. “Sleep when you can,” he replied. “Old soldier’s habit. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got a feeling tomorrow will be a big one, too.”
“What on earth makes you say that?”
They were deep underground, fugitives from justice, and Tarri was still up there somewhere as a hostage. Somehow, they had to get her back… to say nothing of solving the problem that brought them here in the first place.
Viktor…
“Yeah, you might be right,” he said, finding a row for himself. The prisoners were slowly doing the same, some choosing the floor while others squatted close together in subdued conversation.
He lay down, using his hands for a pillow, and stared at the hunched figures of people trying to reconcile this devastating change in their lives. Some would ultimately opt to stay here and join the Resistance; most, he felt, would take the easy route out and come with him to this secret base in the forest. Although calling it an easy route glossed over the fact that these people were being forced to abandon everything they’d ever known. Any friends, relatives, or jobs they had here were now gone. He tried to imagine what it would be like, and settled on the closest comparison from his own life. He’d been on his own for years, in a cold, empty house in Bristol. He’d gotten used to living in darkness, because he was afraid to turn the lights on. He’d lost everyone he ever cared about, yet he’d continued to exist, haunting the ruins of his former life. It wasn’t a period he remembered fondly.
If I can help these folks, I will. But I can’t lose track of the bigger picture. This messed up city is full of desperate people; we can’t save them all.
He wondered about that. What use were the Wardens, if not for this? What good was the oath he’d been about to take back on Atalia — to protect humanity, wherever it roamed in the galaxy? Protection implied a defence against evil, in all its various forms. Against suffering and hardship, as well as alien invasions and deadly artefacts. Tyrants had to be toppled; that was a no-brainer. And here, at the farthest reaches of known space, they seemed to have plenty of them.
Maybe this is where I should be? Fate keeps putting me in these situations. Whether there’s a god out there somewhere, or just some ancient alien benefactor pulling the strings, I think they want me to do more with my life than count asteroids.
That was the tiredness talking, he recognised. He hadn’t slept for a long time — unless a bout of unconsciousness following the crash counted. No, the last decent sleep he’d had was back on the Folly… with Ella.
I miss you so much! he willed the silent message to her. If only you were here, everything would be so much simpler.
The things Ella had been able to pull off still blew his mind. The list of events she’d had a sneaky hand in grew longer every time he thought about it. She was an incredibly talented operator, not that he’d ever doubted that. And she was modest…
Does lying to hide what you’ve done count as modesty? I guess it’s better than her constantly bragging about all the times she’s saved my ass without me even noticing…
Right now, he’d give anything to have her here.
I wonder if they can get a signal out from this place? They must have access to comms tech. It was a sign of how exhausted he was that he’d never thought to ask.
What would she do, though? Even if she could slip in past the Ring? Wander around the forest calling my name?
He was picturing her doing just that — in one of those tight-yet-revealing outfits that she loved so much — when he finally fell asleep.
* * *
He woke to thunder.
His eyes were glued shut; his tongue was welded to the roof of his mouth. What the hell is happening?
Dust fell from the ceiling, showering his face. He blinked, and sat up with tremen
dous effort. His injures from both the shuttle crash and the commander’s beating were making themselves known in no uncertain terms. His ribs ached, with a sharper pain when he breathed in; a crack there, he figured, but nothing too serious. Various twinges and throbs were competing for his attention but he ignored them all, swivelling to put his feet on the floor. Something was wrong.
The thunder came again; louder this time, and closer.
And that’s when he felt it.
People. Enemies. Dozens of them.
On the edge of his range, but getting closer every second. Minds filled with determination and purpose, amped up by aggression and raw hatred…
The shock troops had arrived.
Aldur burst in, a rifle in one hand and a scanning wand in the other. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. “In here!” he yelled, rushing into the middle of the room.
Tris pushed himself to his feet. “What is it?”
“A signal. We deactivated everyone’s IDs, but one must have come back online.” He swept the wand over Tris, then waved it around in the air. “The commander’s goons have attacked our checkpoints. They must have come straight down one of the other launch tubes.” He was frantic now, poking the wand at the sleeping refugees as they started to come around.
Lukas was up, massaging his shoulders while he took stock of the situation, but there was no sign of Kyra.
Then the wand chimed. Aldur was holding it over a young woman, who had gone to sleep wrapped in a tatty blanket. “Miss?” he asked, shaking her with his free hand. “Miss, you need to wake up.”
She sat up groggily, rubbing at her eyes. “What is it?”
“Miss, you have some kind of tracking device or locator, that’s sending a signal…”
She dug into a pocket and held up a small strip of metal with a blinking light on one end. “Like this?”
Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1) Page 14
