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

by Tony James Slater

  “Okay, sorry I brought it up.” Tris was quiet for a moment. “Out of interest, why can’t you hack them?”

  Alek groaned. “I work with Ring code. Viktor’s basically an AI now, and he’s not from Esper. He’s using a language I’ve never seen before, and can’t even read. He might be making it up himself for all I know.”

  “Ah. That makes sense.” Tris stared at the floor for a minute, while his brain conjured up ever more ambitious scenarios. One of the little cleaning droids trundled past, giving his boots an accidental buffing. It bleeped an apology and shifted aim, heading back the way it had come. Tris followed it with his eyes, and the germ of an idea started to take root.

  Nah… that’s ridiculous.

  But then, the same could be said for this whole damn mission. And ridiculous or not, it might work…

  He snapped his fingers a couple of times to get Alek’s attention, and jabbed a finger towards the cleaning bot. “Can you hack those?”

  * * *

  It took a while to figure out the logistics, but the arrival of the welding spiders cinched the deal. Tris busied himself placing explosives around the machine’s housing, and by the time Jen and Father Macca came out from their meal it was nearly done. An epic trail of different sized robots streamed into the room, like animals queuing up for Noah’s Ark. Under Alek’s watchful eye they reassembled into groups, moving in formation according to the commands he tapped into his tablet. His focus was complete, to the point where Tris reckoned a gunfight could take place right behind him without him noticing. Jen gaped at the sight, and Father Macca went even paler. The kids thought it was great fun, and immediately began trying to dodge in between the machines.

  While Alek worked, Tris explained the gist of the plan to his horrified audience. He expected some push-back, at least from the man in charge of this precious relic, but in the end all he got was quiet resignation. He had to admit, watching the whirlwind of activity, that it didn’t look like they had much choice in the matter.

  A few minutes later, Alek declared himself satisfied. Over a hundred small maintenance bots had managed to lift the ancient generator between them, while dozens of the pint-size cleaners scooted beneath it. The combined might of scores of robotic appliances was enough to manoeuvre the massive machine — Tris and Alek simply walked along in front of it, with Father Macca and Jen off to one side and the children dancing in circles in front of them.

  It was a fairly odd procession, but after seeing the Hall of Martyrs Tris didn’t think anything would be weird again.

  Alek had a schematic of this section floating above his tablet’s display, and he beckoned his sister over to look at it. “See? We have to take this route,” he tapped a path traced in red. “This is probably how they got this thing in here in the first place. These guys were too primitive to alter the internal structure, so it’s essentially the same.”

  The wrinkles on Jen’s brow deepened. “We can’t get it onto the ship, though. Not unless you want to drop it out of an airlock and try to catch it in the cargo bay.”

  “Pfft! Why would we do that? The Laugarren Section is right next-door.”

  “I thought it was sealed off? Specifically to stop the Ring-dwellers wandering around over there?”

  “Of course. But I can always unseal it. And even if I couldn’t, Tris has a knife that can cut through anything.”

  Proceeding at a steady pace, they made it most of the way across the room and almost to the wide main entrance when a posse of bald-headed men poured in to bar the way. All skinny, and all bearing the same horrible skin mutilations, they filled the entrance in a wall of toga-clad fanatics. Tris could feel the outrage and zeal pouring off them; presumably that marked them as ‘the Faithful’. The one called First stood in the front row, his spear planted defiantly, but it was a middle-aged man with blocky inserts like square blisters all over his face that stepped forward to speak.

  “This travesty cannot be allowed,” he said, his voice echoing around the huge chamber. “These surface-dwellers have come here as enemies of the Faith, and now we find them engaged in theft? How can you be a part of this, old man?”

  Father Macca, who to be fair was still a bit gobsmacked at seeing his sacred engine drifting across the floor on a cushion of cleaners, did his best to recover his poise. “These are matters which you cannot understand, Leader,” he said. “I lived through the Conflagration. I will not tolerate your lies anymore.”

  “Deceiver!” Leader accused him. “How can you not understand, after all these years? The tales you grew up with were a gross distortion of the truth. The Old Faith failed us. Our ancestors entrusted our destiny to the Mothers, and we were led astray. History has always taught us that women are weak, and lack the conviction to stay the course.” He thumped his spear on the floor to punctuate his speech, and each time he did it the massed ranks of the Faithful responded in the same way. None of them, Tris noticed, were women.

  “The last of the Mothers took it upon herself to choose a Saviour, and she tried to pass off the events of her generation as the Great Conflagration of prophecy. Oh, feeble flesh! Oh weakness! The Mothers never had the strength of their convictions. They pretended to believe, while all the time manipulating events to ensure that their version of the prophecy came to pass.”

  Tris had been expecting this confrontation. It was inevitable; there was no way he could spirit away a machine which these people had worshipped, and haul it clear across their domain right under their noses. He wasn’t worried; even with these odds, he knew he could fight his way out. The Aegis, now back in his own neck, wouldn’t protect him from their spears, but he was pretty sure they didn’t have a clue how to swing them. The trouble was, he didn’t want their blood on his hands. They were misguided, but not evil. He just had to convince them not to stand in his way, before he ran out of options.

  Misunderstood, that’s what they are. I just need to understand them. To show them that this isn’t about religions, or prophecies. It’s just a regular old problem that we need to solve… before Viktor brings about the end of the world.

  The irony wasn’t lost on him.

  He stepped forward, bringing himself within easy spear-thrust of Leader. “This Saviour you’re talking about. That’s Kyra, right?”

  Leader hissed. “Do not say her name!”

  Tris held his palms up. “Okay, fair enough. But I know her. And you’re right — she wasn’t following any kind of prophecy. She’s just a regular person… well, she’s slightly more dangerous than the average.”

  Leader cackled with glee. “You admit it, then! Do you also admit that the Conflagration of old was but a precursor? A fraud, sold to us by those of your kind who used our beliefs to bend us to your will?”

  “Ahh…” Tris wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that one. Throwing Kyra under the bus had earned him some credibility, but he’d need more than that to stop this from becoming a bloodbath. “Sorry, what’s the Conflagration again? I’m a little rusty.”

  Leader’s face contorted in suspicion. “How can you not know of the Conflagration? Are you not from the surface-world?”

  “No, not me. I’m from Earth.”

  A murmur ran around the Faithful, quickly stifled by a glance from Leader. “Earth? What do you mean by that?”

  “You know, the planet your ancestors came from, thousands of years ago? My civilisation grew up there after your people left. We’re not quite ready to colonise the galaxy yet, but I was chosen from amongst them to become a Warden. That’s why I’m here: my job is to protect humanity, wherever it may roam.”

  Doubt and surprise warred on Leader’s face. This was clearly not something he’d expected to hear. “Fine words,” he snarled. “But can you prove them?”

  “No, not really. I can see that you don’t believe me. But I can also see that you’re scared.”

  “Scared? You come into my habitat, and desecrate my temples? It is you who should be scared.” Leader pounded the floor with his spe
ar, then levelled the blade at Tris. Filaments ran from it to a little box halfway down the weapon’s haft. It would probably deliver a mean electric shock, or something worse, to augment its cutting power.

  Tris still wasn’t terribly concerned. He kept his muscles loose, ready to react. Adrenaline was filtering into his system as he saw the tipping point approaching. Whatever came out of his mouth in the next few seconds would either pave the way to a peaceful victory, or doom these people to a nasty death on the end of his glaive.

  Speaking, unfortunately, had never been his forte.

  Crap. Why does it never come down to a game of Mario Kart? He took a deep breath. What would Kyra say?

  Well, that one was easy enough to answer. And it usually worked for her, so… why not?

  He kept his face neutral, but laced his words with venom. “You’re scared, Leader, because you know deep down inside that I will murder you, and every single person in this room, if it helps me to accomplish my goal. Now I’m tired of this bullshit posturing.” Keeping his eyes fixed on his opponents, he slid the knife from its thigh-sheath. “I’m giving you ten seconds to make your mind up. Get out of my way, or I’ll be carrying that machine over your headless corpse.”

  He lifted his knife, twisting it for emphasis… then quick as a flash, he struck. He leaned in just enough to extend his reach, slicing effortlessly through the blade of Leader’s spear. The cut section fell to the deck with a clang, startling the front rank of the Faithful. Leader hadn’t even moved — he just stared at his broken spear blade, his expression registering shock.

  Tris gave him a few seconds, and let his gaze travel across the Faithful.

  When Leader recovered, his voice was subdued. “The Sacred Engine… where are you taking it?”

  “I need to borrow it.” Tris dropped the menacing act, but kept the threat in his body language. “Actually, that’s not quite true. I’m going to blow it up. Hell, if you guys are looking for a conflagration, you should stick around. When this puppy goes up, it’ll be the biggest fireball this planet has ever seen.”

  “You’re going to cause a Conflagration?” First called out from the front row.

  Tris glanced at him. “Yes, First, I am.” He turned the Gift on the Faithful, and realised that their names literally denoted their positions in the pecking order. “Second, Third, Fifth…” he made eye contact with each young man in turn. “And all you Scribes and Makers… I don’t want to kill you, any more than I want to kill Leader. But this is going to happen, whether you want it to or not. I’ve been sent here with a mission, and I didn’t come all this way just to go home empty-handed.”

  He paused to judge their reactions. It seemed like he was getting through to them; either the speech, or more likely the display of knife-work, had convinced them to tone down their belligerence.

  “You can help me, if you want,” he offered. “You are all Faithful warriors. First, you held a spear before you could walk. And you, Seventh, used one to support you when your illness stopped you walking. All you ever wanted was to make your father proud. Twelfth, you sharpen your blade every single night, though you pray you’ll never have to use it. I can’t promise you a path to paradise, but there’s a pretty good chance there’s going to be a fight before this is over. Anyone who fancies lending a spear is welcome to pitch in.”

  There was silence, as the Faithful considered his words.

  “He reads our thoughts,” Seventh hissed.

  “He controls the servants of the steel serpent,” Third added.

  “He can lead us to the Conflagration!” someone at the back called out.

  Leader turned as though to reprimand the speaker, but his own face was clouded with doubt. “Are you really from the ancestor’s homeworld?” he asked Tris.

  “I am. I even have a Portal on my ship that leads back there. But I don’t expect you to believe that.”

  “What… what is it like?”

  Tris raised his sore shoulder, feeling a twinge. “Kind of like Esper. Except most of the forests are gone, and there’s billions of people living there now. You can barely swing a cat.”

  Leader’s brow furrowed. “What’s a cat?”

  “Ahh… tell you what, if we live through today, I’ll show you a picture.”

  The man’s expression was thunder-struck. “You have knowledge of the ancients… and you have travelled here from their home, on a mission to bring about a great and fiery destruction. A powerful warrior, from beyond the stars…” He spun to face the Faithful, and stamped his broken spear on the deck. “This is the time we have been waiting for,” he announced. “My brothers, we have found the true Chosen One! Our prophecy is about to be fulfilled. The Conflagration is at hand!”

  The crowd went wild. Shrieks and whoops, the pounding of feet and the drumming of spear-butts.

  Tris opened his mouth to deny everything, then thought better of it. Time was a luxury they didn’t have much of; spending it in theological debate would waste more than just breath. The look on Alek’s face was resignation; he’d been through something like this before, obviously, though last time he seemed to have emerged with a death sentence. I wonder whose fault that was?

  Alek muttered a single word under his breath, directed at their new allies; “Idiots.”

  That wasn’t strictly true, but their ignorance was profound. A shred of guilt niggled Tris for using that against them, but he hadn’t done it intentionally. They were free to believe whatever they wanted to; he’d learned on the doorstep of his house in Bristol that arguing with religious fanatics was nigh-on impossible.

  The Faithful were stirring now, moving aside to form ranks that stretched off down the corridor. They planted their spears like a guard of honour, and began to thump them against the deck in unison.

  Jen shook her head in something akin to disbelief. “You’re just like her,” she muttered.

  Tris assumed she meant Kyra — though whether it was intended as a compliment or not, he couldn’t tell.

  Either, way, he’d take it.

  He caught Alek’s eye. “Right then! Let’s go blow some shit up.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  With the Sacred Engine droning in his ears, Tris was practically deaf by the time they reached the edge of the Ring-dwellers’ world. An immense wall of steel divided this section from the next one over, with several human-sized doors set either side of an entrance big enough to fly Jen’s shuttle through.

  The flock of cleaner-bots ground to a halt, and Alek turned his tablet to face Tris. “The Laugarren Section,” he said, waving at the wireframe diagram it was showing. Jen came over to study it too, leaving Father Macca and Leader to glower at each other. The rest of the Faithful had formed an escort around the generator, chanting lines from their scripture that Tris didn’t have time to listen to.

  “The auto-factories are in the centre,” Alek explained, “with food production on the far side. We need to cross the waste recycling region and plant this thing as far away from here as possible. Then we retreat, and I’ll seal the doors behind us.”

  “Will we be safe in here?” Tris asked.

  Alek gave him the look he reserved for exceptionally stupid questions. “We’re detonating a thousand-year-old fusion reactor in the middle of a space station. So no. It won’t be ‘safe’ anywhere.”

  Tris took a moment to consider this, then beckoned Father Macca over. The old man came slowly, the events of today already having taken a toll on him.

  “How many people live up here? Is this everyone?”

  The old man’s good eye turned towards the mob of spear-carriers. “All thirty-eight of the Faithful are present. There are five women still living here, who refused to leave their husbands, and the four children in my care.” He scowled at the kids, who’d been trailing the group despite being told to stay behind.

  “Jen? How many does the shuttle hold?”

  “Not that many.” Gnarled hands ran through silver hair. “We could fit the women and children, in case
something goes wrong. Maybe half of these guys in the cargo hold, if we take it real slow.”

  “That’ll have to do,” he told her. “You get started on that, while we plant the bomb.”

  A glimmer of defiance came into Jen’s eyes. “Oh, I see! Gone native, have you? Trying to get me out of the way because I’m a weak and feeble woman?”

  “No,” Tris said, “but I am keen to protect our most valuable asset. You’re the only one who can fly that ship. Without you, we’re all stranded up here.”

  She made a face. “Point taken. I’ll see who I can round up. Come along,” she chivvied the children, all of whom pulled long faces and began to moan.

  The little girl stamped her foot. “But I want to see the Conflagration!”

  “You can watch it out of the window, dear.”

  “What’s a window?”

  With Jen herding the children away, and a very rough plan in place, Tris gave Alek the nod. The coder tapped his tablet… and with a series of colossal clunks, the great doors began to open.

  “You know, we’re going to look pretty silly if there’s no robot factories over there,” Tris said, raising his voice over the squeal of the giant doors grinding open. “What are the chances that Viktor commandeered a different section?”

  “None,” Alek shouted back. He raised a finger, pointing straight ahead. “Unless they’ve been walking for a really long time.”

  Tris followed his gaze — to see a phalanx of naked men marching towards them. He goggled at the sight. Like Action Man dolls, they had no genitalia; sculpted steel plates stretched from their thighs to their waists, presumably to save on the amount of fake skin that was required. The rest of them looked completely human, apart from one tiny detail; the smirk on every single face was Viktor’s.

  “Ohhh shit! This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  It was hard to tell how many robots were in the pack, but they were too close already. Viktor must have dispatched them as soon as he figured out that the Ring had visitors…