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

by Tony James Slater

  I did it once, she reminded herself. Maybe I can do it again? Kick the mercs out of my city, bring the Laugarrens back to their senses… She groaned at the sheer futility of it. I’m so damn tired! Why can’t someone else solve all the problems for a change? And while we’re about it, why can’t some other asshole drive? Why can’t I be the one who’s fast asleep in the back?

  It was so tempting to close her eyes. The hover car didn’t need much direction at this point, and Tris was right — it had been a rough couple of days. She felt her head sagging, and gave herself a shake. Not now! Keep your shit together. Once Jenna is safe in Issi’s med-bay, we can all take a nap.

  But then she caught sight of something on the long-range display, and suddenly she was wide awake. A familiar knot twisted in her guts as she dialled the image up to maximum resolution.

  Smoke… a great pall of it hung suspended in the air, slowly seeping up from the forest below.

  Right over their destination.

  “Hey!” she yelled, and heard Lukas startle awake with an oath. “We’ve got trouble.” Tris was still snoring away, held upright by his seat restraints. “Whatever you gave the mouth-breather, better give him the antidote,” she said. “Much as I hate to admit it, we’re about to need him.”

  Lukas leapt to his feet and came into the cockpit, shading his eyes with one hand as he stared out through the canopy. “An attack?”

  Kyra eased the throttle open, increasing their speed. “Looks like it. Someone must have hit them after we left. Shit! We took their only decent vehicle.”

  Lukas said nothing, but he went back and fussed with the medi-kit. Tris came awake with a yell, and thrashed against his restraints. “Uh! What? Where… oh. Are we… Is everything…”

  “Fraid not,” Lukas said, lowering himself into a seat. “I think we’ve got trouble.”

  “More trouble?” Tris yawned. “Damn, Kyra. Your planet sucks.”

  She followed the plume of smoke, circling around to try and get a better look. The dense leaves offered little glimpse into the shadowy world below.

  No point in being cautious, she told herself. For one thing, she was in a tank; it was hardly going to be inconspicuous, no matter what she did. And also, she was in a tank; she was already better off than Issi’s forces, even without the main gun.

  Kind of wish I hadn’t left it back there, now. Not that she’d had much choice.

  Dipping the control stems, she plowed into the foliage. Branches snapped and splintered, but the car’s armour was more than up to the task. She broke free into clearer air, and swung around the bole of a truly enormous tree—

  To see the Harrespil, its scorched metal hull clearly visible through the greenery. The holographic camouflage had failed, turning the tethered ship into one big ugly target. Great rents had been torn in its side, and that’s where the smoke was coming from. Thick and black, it billowed out; Kyra stared at it, as the blood froze in her veins.

  Issi… oh gods, Issi where are you?

  It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment; if her sister was alive in there, she should be able to sense her by now.

  She couldn’t.

  She sobbed once, but managed to swallow it. No… no, it can’t be. She had an escape plan. Grav-belts and guards, and contacts in those villages. She must have got out in time. That’s the only way it makes sense.

  Steeling herself, she guided the hover car around to the back of the Harrespil, to the small docking bay they’d left from. It was closed, showing signs of damage, so she nudged the car up through the vegetation and set it down on top of the ship.

  She couldn’t summon any expression as she marched through the crew compartment and down the ramp; her emotions were bubbling over inside, and she daren’t let them out. She quickly located an airlock and used her swords to cut an entrance. Given the state of the place, she didn’t think Issi would mind. It’s going to take a lot more than a new holo-net and a fresh coat of paint to get this place back in action.

  Tris and Lukas followed her out, with Alek trailing at a nervous distance. The coder was shaken up; this was part of his world that had been violently upended. By contrast, Tris and Lukas merely looked grim; as far as they were concerned, it was just another day at the office.

  “Alek,” she snapped her fingers. “Stay with the car. Watch Jenna.”

  He looked like he was about to protest, then he turned and scampered back up the ramp.

  One less problem to deal with. The last thing she needed was him rushing off into unsecured areas of the ship; this had be done quick and tight.

  She lowered herself into the airlock, keeping one sword in hand, and climbed down rungs into the body of the ship. It was a real mess. Signs of violence were everywhere she looked. The air was thick with smoke, and she breathed through her sleeve as she looked around for something better. Beneath scorch marks on a bulkhead she made out the symbol for emergency equipment, and pulled out oxygen masks from a locker built into it. The others took them gratefully, fastening them into place without a word. Then, keeping their weapons ready, they spread out to search. She didn’t need to tell them what to look for.

  When she found the first body, her heart leapt into her throat. The camouflage outfit marked the dead woman as one of Issi’s; definitely not a good sign. Nearby lay another corpse; this one dressed in the shapeless grey coveralls of Laugarren. Those bastards! She’d half expected to find a bunch of Viktor-bots hiding in the ruins — still might, she reminded herself. But the next few bodies she came across, all horribly burned, were dressed in brown and green.

  Shit, shit, shit. This is all wrong. It didn’t look at all like a coordinated defence — more like a bunch of hopeless amateurs that had been caught napping by a vastly superior enemy.

  Issi? Where the hell are you, girl? Kyra thought about checking that filthy bedroom, but she couldn’t imagine her sister taking cover beneath a pile of garbage. She’d want to fight… damn it, after I showed up and started giving her lip, she’d be determined to fight! My big mouth strikes again… She wanted to slap herself, but this was hardly the time. The bridge! That’s where she’d be. The most defensible room. The command centre, where she’d try to marshal her troops.

  As it turned out, she was right.

  Amidst the devastation of smashed consoles and broken bodies, Issi lay on her side, curled up as though taking a nap. Kyra knelt beside her, and knew straight away that she was gone. A heavy rifle was still clutched in Issi’s hands, her finger on the trigger. Its powerpack was spent, and Kyra could see several grey-clad forms draped around the place.

  You got some of them, didn’t you? she reached out to touch her sister’s face. Good for you, Issi. Welcome to the club. She closed Issi’s sightless eyes, noticing how peaceful she looked. How beautiful, without that sardonic smile…

  Kyra’s body spasmed, and blood ran down her face. Confused, she reached up to wipe it away — but it was only water, salty where it touched her lips. It took her a second to realise what was happening. I’m… crying? But… I don’t cry.

  Then her breath caught, and her chest went tight. Her shoulders shook, as a pain more powerful than anything she’d felt stabbed through her. She collapsed to the floor, as great ugly sobs tore out of her. Unable to see, or hear, or think, she wrapped herself around her sister’s body and let the tears flow.

  TWENTY-NINE

  As Kyra howled with grief and clung to her sister, Tris looked on, aghast.

  He’d never seen her like this. They’d lost a lot of friends in their time together; Blas, Serra… even Kreon. But she’d always maintained a kind of stoic detachment, as though such losses were inevitable.

  This was different. This was raw; Issi’s death had done to Kyra what any sibling’s death would do to a person: it had destroyed her. Watching her writhe around on the floor, desperately clutching a lifeless body, was unnerving. This wasn’t the Kyra he knew. This wasn’t the reaction of a battle-hardened veteran in the middle of a war-zone. This w
as a scared little girl, whose whole world had just been torn apart. And truthful as that was, Tris was deeply concerned about its implications. He needed the old Kyra back, and fast.

  A buzzing came from the side of his mask, and a flashing red X appeared in his vision.

  Lukas nudged him. “Nearly out of air, mate.” His voice was one notch above a whisper. “We need to go, while we can.”

  Tris nodded, and took a steadying breath. Issi’s death had affected him too; he’d always struggled with his emotions around loss. But Kyra… he wasn’t looking forward to disturbing her. “Is there anything we can salvage?” he asked, more to give himself a bit of time than from any real hope.

  Lukas glanced around, but the answer was in his eyes. He knew Tris was stalling, but wasn’t keen on tackling the job himself.

  Ah well. At least I don’t have to shake her.

  Tris pushed the despair he was feeling to one side, and reached out to Kyra’s mind as gently as he could. I’m so, so sorry, he started.

  Her reply was a shriek. Go away! Leave me alone.

  I can’t, Tris pointed out. We can’t.

  GO THE FUCK AWAY!

  He closed his eyes. The flashing red X in his mask was starting to annoy him. We’ll find fresh masks, he sent, and turned away without waiting for a response. He grabbed Lukas and pulled him along — a feat only made possible by the fact that they were both eager to get out of there.

  “Is it a good idea to leave her like that?” Lukas asked, once they were out of the room.

  “I think she needs it,” Tris told him. “Plus, I don’t think we had an awful lot of choice.”

  They found more masks after a short search. The ship’s builders might have skimped on comfort, but they’d kept safety a priority. Every compartment held at least one emergency locker, though a couple had been destroyed by bullets and laser blasts. Thin suits were folded inside the lockers, too — presumably they’d seal to the masks and provide some protection from vacuum. Tris stuffed a few of them into a backpack he pulled off a dead Laugarren, in case they came in handy.

  After that, there was nothing else to do but head back to Kyra. Her mask would also have run dry by now; Tris had a sudden premonition that she’d keep it on, following some mad impulse to suffocate herself and join her sister in death. He put a spring in his step, Lukas keeping up without asking why, and they all but sprinted back onto the bridge.

  He should have known better.

  Kyra knelt beside her sister’s body, her mask cast aside, ignoring the smoke that curled around her. Her eyes, red from crying, were fixed on Issi’s face, but she rose to her feet as they came closer. Her expression was soft, tender even — but as she turned to face them, it hardened.

  Tris held a mask out to her wordlessly, and she took it the same way. By the time she’d finished putting it on, Kyra was back. Her eyes were narrow, her jaw clenched — this was a face Tris recognised. This was a face she wore a lot.

  It was the face of vengeance.

  Lukas noticed it, too. “I’ll carry her,” he said, “if you’d like.”

  Kyra nodded, and strode from the room. Tris gave her a respectful head start before following; he knew Lukas wouldn’t need any help lifting Issi. What he did need — what they all needed — was a break. Some respite from this endless cascade of disasters. But they weren’t going to get it. He could sense the rage swirling around Kyra, blacker than the smoke; she was fixed on her course now, no matter what it took. He wasn’t about to plead exhaustion. Not when Lukas was coming up behind him, bearing the body of her younger sister…

  Kyra would end this, he was sure of it. And judging by the state of her psyche, it was going to be messy.

  They made it back out of the Harrespil, and headed towards the hover car. From the outside, it looked like a wreck; armour plates were buckled or missing completely, great dents cratered the roof, and the once sleek exterior was riddled with burn marks and shell holes. It was a testimony to the vehicle’s rugged design that it appeared undamaged from the inside.

  The ramp was still down. Kyra stalked up it, and a second later Tris heard Alek’s tortured cry. “No! No, she can’t be!”

  He tried to summon empathy as he entered the car, but it was a struggle; Kyra’s fury was like a hurricane in his mind, beating all other emotions into submission. By the time he thought to close his Gift to her, anger was coursing through him, replacing his sorrow with a thirst for violence.

  Alek was slumped forward, his head in his hands, as Kyra gunned the engine and lifted off.

  Lukas laid Issi next to Jenna, and sat gazing down at the two stricken women. Thin trails of moisture stained his cheeks; even after everything he’d been through, he still wept for this stranger.

  He’s a better man than me, Tris realised. All the things he must have seen and done in his life, and his compassion is still intact. He must still feel it — this anger, this overwhelming need to hurt someone. But he’s in control. He can turn it off.

  That was on the long list of skills that Tris still had to master.

  Instead of taking them back up, Kyra dropped to ground level. She coasted around the vicinity, peering out of the cockpit at the signs of struggle. It was pretty obvious that Laugarren shock troops had been behind the attack. Most of their dead had been removed from the area, leaving discarded bits of gear and the odd body deemed not worth recovering. It must have been a furious fight, with the Harrespil’s defenders unleashing their entire arsenal from above — tree trunks were splintered, and large swathes of undergrowth had been turned to charcoal. Whatever early warning system Issi had put in place had clearly been compromised. Secrecy had been vital to their security. Tris couldn’t help wondering if this was yet another example of the Lord High Commander’s duplicity.

  Did we bring a spy here? Is this our fault?

  There was nothing to be gained by tugging on that thread.

  After a last sweep of the battlefield, Kyra called Alek up to the cockpit. He went reluctantly, and strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat. Tris was slowly managing to calm down, narrowing the psychic link between his mind and Kyra’s to almost nothing. He listened to the quiet conversation going on between her and Alek; the coder was agreeing to show them the way to the nearest village, and Kyra was offering her condolences. It suddenly occurred to Tris that, on top of losing Issi, both of Alek’s daughters were now in critical condition. He was doing incredibly well, keeping it together this long.

  Lukas had apparently cried himself to sleep. Tris couldn’t blame him; the effects of the Aegis could be savage, draining vitality straight out of its user by some weird-assed alien mechanism. He’d used it so much that he’d gotten used to the hollow, gnawing sensation in his stomach, the leaden limbs and the crippling fatigue that came after relying on it during a protracted firefight. He wondered if there’d be any food available in this village — or if it had been attacked too, yet more collateral damage in this pointless war.

  The Lord High Commander is our problem. He’s got to go. There’s no point taking out Viktor, and then leaving that crazy bastard free to do whatever he wants.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out what Kyra’s next move would be; even without access to her thoughts, it was pretty obvious. There was a chance that Jenna would recover, given time and proper care, but Tarri was still at the mercy of her Laugarren captors. There was no way of knowing if she’d woken up following her surgery, or if the doctors had been too late to save her. But if she was alive, she’d be better off staying unconscious. Once the Lord High Commander got his hooks into her…

  Yeah. The next step was a no-brainer. It was, however, more than a little daunting.

  Attack Laugarren. A city so heavily fortified that most full-sized armies wouldn’t dare touch it. It’s a bloody good job that we have a back door… unless that’s been discovered as well.

  He pondered this, and rubbed his injured shoulder as the hover car swung between the trees. They came out onto a flattened track and
turned to follow it. It wasn’t long before the signs of civilisation began to appear either side of them. Small buildings, connected by platforms and walkways, varied in height from a few metres off the ground to the dizzying heights that the Harrespil occupied. Tris had been expecting a sort of Robin Hood vibe, but the platforms were smooth like polished concrete, and lights twinkled in the gathering gloom. Evening was falling, and it was already much darker beneath the forest canopy than the sky above had suggested. This morning I woke up to sirens in the Underground…

  It was hard to believe that it was still the same day.

  Under Alek’s guidance, Kyra rose through the air to find a landing platform strung between two enormous trees. A few other hover cars were already parked up there, though none of them was anything like the size of Issi’s beloved tank. Of course, none of them were shot to shit-balls, either.

  They touched down, and by the time they disembarked a crowd had already formed around them. Tris risked opening up the Gift again, just enough to get a read on these people. Fear and flashes of anger ran through the mob, but the prevailing emotions were concern and sympathy. They were dressed quite smartly for such a rural group, in stylish, colourful clothes that varied enormously from person to person. It was quite a relief to see people who weren’t dressed in military uniforms — but then a whoop from Alek drew his attention to a cluster of men in the now-familiar green and brown camouflage.