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

by Tony James Slater

  It wasn’t the most comforting thought. Luckily, she was distracted by Aldur walking up to her, cradling his rifle. His expression had become a mask; it was pretty obvious that, whilst he pushed himself to be a warrior, he was a gentle soul at heart.

  “I hardly dare to ask,” he said, “but what’s next? I’m guessing this doesn’t end here.”

  The sky was slowly brightening as she chewed over her answer to that. “I’m thinking that the commander’s tower is still too heavily defended, and I can’t risk turning Tarri into a hostage if we hit the hospital.” She ran a hand through her hair, and was slightly disgusted to find something red and gribbly in it. Shaking it off her hand surreptitiously, she fixed Aldur with a serious look. “Now it’s your turn. Half these people don’t know who I am, and the other half seem to think I’m a monster.” The icky thing was still stuck to her fingers, and she had to shake more vigorously to dislodge it. “Ugh! I fucking hate entrails!”

  Aldur raised his eyebrows at her, but she ignored the implication.

  “The point is, your people need you. You’ve got to show them that you’re not afraid — even if you’re practically crapping yourself. This is a lot to ask, but I want you to lead this mob towards the barracks. I don’t want you to hide; I want you to make as much noise as you can. If you’ve got any cool Resistance slogans, now’s the time to break them out.”

  He muttered to himself, as though not quite able to believe what was happening.

  She put her clean hand on his shoulder for encouragement. “The people will come out to join you. This is the best opportunity they’ll get to make a change — your job is to make sure they take it. Go slow, keep building the crowd, and grab as many of your underground buddies as you can find to join in.”

  Aldur looked anxious, but then that stony mask fell again. “I can do that,” he said. “But what happens when we reach the barracks? I’ve never led a force in battle.”

  Lukas strode back from the perimeter, his armour whining. “Don’t worry, mate. I’ve had a few goes at it.”

  Kyra gave the armoured giant a slap on the arm, instantly regretting it when she nearly broke her hand. “Keep them safe,” she said, through clenched teeth.

  “Where are you going? Hot date?”

  She massaged her aching hand. “You could say that. I’m going to meet the Lord High Commander.”

  Aldur gaped at her. “Are you out of your mind? As soon as they hear what’s happening, they’ll lock him up tight in that tower. They’ll fill the place with guards. Even if you could get in, there’s no way you’d make it to the top.”

  She wafted smoke out of her face. “Really? I’m thinking, no way a guy that paranoid gets locked down at the top of a tower. The single biggest target for miles around, that could be obliterated in a single shot by anyone clever enough to steal a ship?”

  Realisation dawned on Aldur. “You think they’ll take him somewhere else. Somewhere… underground?”

  She nodded. “A man like that can’t sleep at night without ten metres of permacrete above his head. I’d say that lift of his goes down as well as up, and he’s got a reinforced safe room built near what used to be the command centre. It fits geographically, as far as I can tell.”

  Even Lukas looked impressed with her logic. “And you don’t want me down there,” he said, gesturing to his armour.

  “Nope. Too much crawling. I do this kind of thing better on my own, anyway.”

  “What… kind of thing?” Aldur asked, suspicion in his voice.

  She let a wicked grin spread across her face. “I’m going to sneak into his bedroom, and murder him in his sleep.” A stray memory clicked, and she laughed before she could stop herself.

  Both Lukas and Aldur turned astonished looks on her.

  “It’s all good,” she told them. “It just reminds me of my childhood.”

  After a few moments of stunned silence, Aldur dug into his pocket and held something out to her. “Comm unit,” he explained. “You don’t have an ID chip so you can’t use it for much, but it’s linked directly to mine.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in comms? Aren’t you worried about your transmissions being intercepted?”

  He pressed the device into her hands. “Something tells me that once this starts, that won’t matter much.”

  She swapped the comm chip for the short-ranged transmitter, handing that to him. “Now you boys can talk to each other too,” she pointed out. “Keep each other company.”

  Aldur glowered, but Lukas looked amused.

  “And take care of yourselves,” she added, as fresh guilt stabbed her. She’d promised Jen that she’d look after Aldur, but this was the only path she could see that led to victory. The people here needed a leader to rally behind — not a foreigner who their history books called a traitor. Her own task was even more vital; no uprising would succeed while the Lord High Commander was pulling his strings. She’d just have to rely on Lukas to keep her promise… Luckily enough, babysitting was his speciality.

  She gave them both a last glance, before making her way back into the prison. She descended the stairs, entered the ruined bathroom, and made her way out into the confusion of mechanical spaces that lay beyond it. There would certainly be easier ways to access the old bunker complex, but secrecy was now her ally. Lukas could joke all he wanted about her flashy dress-sense — she paused at this point to turn her hair black with just a hint of red — but she was a born infiltrator. She could move through the underground like a ghost, and no wall or door could stop her. She toyed with the idea of stealing a shock trooper’s uniform, mostly for the anonymity offered by those mirrored helmets. That wasn’t really her style, though; the whole point of this was proving that she could reach the Lord High Commander no matter what he did, or how deep he tried to bury himself. Impersonating his guards would only cheapen the effect.

  Reaching an area she recognised from all those years ago, she drew a bead on the mob above. Such a roiling cluster of emotions was impossible to separate at this range, but it helped her reorientate herself in the maze of passageways.

  She had a fair distance to cover and only the vaguest idea of the right direction, but hopefully the Gift would guide her. Once she got close enough, she’d sense the commander’s guards. Maybe even the man himself… I bet he’s having some messed-up dreams, if I had the time to study them.

  She’d settle for confirmation of his plans, and any knowledge he had of Viktor’s whereabouts. The Master Key was also a major concern; the biggest danger was that he’d already given it to Viktor. But surely he wouldn’t? Viktor’s not a mind-reader, and keeping secrets is the commander’s number one hobby. Or perhaps number two, after sentencing people to death. He must know that giving Viktor the power to wipe us all out at the push of a button is a bad move… Then again, Viktor can be awfully persuasive. Damn, I hope I’m not too late.

  She picked up speed, jogging along the rust-stained corridors and leaving plumes of dust in her wake. She could tell there was no-one in the immediate vicinity, so making good time was more important than staying hidden.

  She skirted the hangar bay, not sure if the massive doors were still open or not. It was way too much open ground to cross, and snipers up above could make life really difficult for her.

  She was still meandering through the decrepit tunnels that comprised the old base when the familiar bleep of a comm-chip reached her ears. She snatched it off her belt and held it up, wishing she had her old wrist-console back instead.

  “Kyra, do you copy?” Aldur sounded tense.

  “I’ve got you. What’s up?”

  “We’ve taken Twelfth Square, and we’re about to move on.”

  “Okay… where the hell is Twelfth Square?”

  “It’s at the junction of Twelfth Street and Prime.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, not that he could see it. “Okay, forget it. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “The crowd is definitely
growing. We’ve got a few scuffles happening, but sheer weight of numbers seems to be keeping the commander’s loyalists at bay. At least three squads of shock troops are shadowing us, but it looks like they’re waiting for orders before they start shooting.”

  That was about the best news she could hope for, under the circumstances.

  “You’re doing great, just carry on,” she told him. “But let me know if something bad happens.” She cut the signal and flicked the comm chip’s settings to vibrate-only, before stuffing it into a pocket. The last thing she needed was it going off when she was trying to sneak up behind someone.

  She could sense people ahead of her now, a healthy number without being ridiculous. It made sense that the commander would keep his hidden bunker need-to-know, and try to balance his need for security with his need for secrecy. The number of door guards didn’t really concern her; she wasn’t going to use the door. A grim mood wrapped her like a blanket as she drew inexorably closer. The soldier-citizens of Laugarren might not be to blame for their jobs or their actions, but the Lord High Commander certainly was. He’d brought Viktor back to Esper, and he’d ordered his troops to scour the underground. He’d planted a robot amongst the first round of escapees, and been responsible for the deaths of every warrior that Jen lost.

  Kyra didn’t give a shit about any of that. Laugarren was Laugarren, and their internal politics, however messed up, were none of her business.

  But he’d also killed Issi.

  And for that he was going to pay.

  The only crimp in her plan revealed itself shortly afterwards.

  Having the Gift made locating her targets child’s play — but it was useless when it came to geography. After losing valuable time trying to get around to the far side of the commander’s secure bunker-within-a-bunker, she started to realise why he’d picked that location. Either this was the extreme edge of the underground complex, or else he’d had all the rooms and corridors surrounding him filled with concrete. That did kind of make sense, given his suspicious nature. But it left her with a conundrum; the only way in, as far as she could tell, was through the door.

  I don’t mind chopping holes in walls, but I’m not a frikkin’ miner. This shit is ridiculous.

  She’d hit solid material deeper than she could cut through in every location she’d tried. Except the obvious one…

  Frustrated, she worked her way back towards the guards. She’d counted twelve minds in all, each with distinctly different personalities. They all had two things in common; they were all thoroughly unpleasant individuals, and they were all bored shitless. News of the excitement going on above had some of them frustrated and others quietly glad they weren’t involved. The riot, as it was being called on their comm channels, had come as a surprise to everyone.

  Two of the guards clearly considered themselves a notch above the rest. She figured that made them the door-wards, which meant they were lucky enough to be her first targets. She gritted her teeth as she made the next cut, using the barest tip of one blade. Without knowing the layout of the area, she had no way of knowing if she’d be stepping out into plain sight. She’d know if she was spotted, but that didn’t help her much; she still had to go out there, unless she gave up the chance of bringing justice to the commander.

  Tris would be handy to have around right now, she mused. Being blaster-proof wasn’t the only thing he was good for, but it was really useful under certain circumstances. Plus, using him as a human shield never got old. It was something about the contradiction; he was still so young and naive… and likely to soil himself given the right motivation. She lived to find that motivation. Yeah… she was going to miss him. But it was pretty obvious that he’d never spread his wings while she was around. She needed to make a clean break, before he got so dependant on having her around that he lost the ability to grow. He had the potential to be twice the Warden Kreon was — maybe even rivalling his father in terms of sheer ability. But he’d never get to use it if he kept tagging along after her. Wardens needed vision… and what Kyra needed was a holiday.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Luck was with her. She emerged into a small room with no decor and minimal furniture. Tablets and empty drinking cups lay messily on a table, with two benches to sit on. A basic kitchenette filled one wall, and a darkened holoscreen the other. A break room for the guards? It seemed to fit the bill. Which probably meant they’d be coming back at some point. Or they would have been… she was about to upset their schedule.

  She put her hand on the door handle. It was an interesting anachronism; most of the doors she’d encountered in the city above were the automatic sliding type.

  Here we go. She took a deep breath, and gave her sword arm a shake to loosen it. I’ll make it quick, she promised the guards, then silently cursed this new sensitivity she was developing. What’s next? Holding hands and singing songs?

  She pulled the door open and stepped smoothly into the corridor.

  The guards reacted with admirable speed, swinging their rifles up to target her — but it was too late. A single Arranozapar flashed out, claiming both lives regardless of their armour. Decapitation was her favoured technique, because it stopped them from yelling out; their gear made more than enough noise though, clattering on the deck as their bodies crumpled. Both men had been bare-headed, probably to prevent the kind of impersonation she’d considered. Their faces stared back reproachfully from twin pools of blood, like grisly reminders of the pact she’d made.

  The space between the two headless corpses was occupied by a single door with a keypad next to it; beyond, the Lord High Commander cowered, wondering what the hell was happening to the city he ruled. There was hatred in those thoughts, along with a good deal of fear; he’d been living with the threat of rebellion for his entire tenure, and had devoted every resource he could to maintaining his grip on power.

  And what did it achieve? she asked herself, as she probed his mind for the door’s access code. A population that were desperate to be free of him. No-one he could trust. Sleeping in a sealed bunker buried ten floors beneath the earth…

  Tyrants were a phenomenon she would never be able to understand. Is power really worth having, if everyone beneath you wants you dead? What would you really do with it, anyway? Besides amassing a truly awesome shoe collection, of course.

  She heard a yell behind her, and finished tapping the code in just in time. She wrenched the door open and dived through it as a pair of blaster bolts streaked by overhead.

  She landed inside a sumptuous circular bedroom, with lush cream carpet on the floor and fake stone columns pretending to hold the ceiling up.

  The commander was standing before her, wearing gold-accented pyjamas. He was also clutching a pistol, so Kyra rolled to her feet and used her momentum to throw herself at him. They went down in a tangled heap, the pistol bouncing away, and she managed to deliver a satisfying elbow to his solar plexus as he groped towards it. The commander wheezed, his breath laced with alcohol, and Kyra recoiled from it with her eyes watering. She spun back to face the door, hooking it with one foot, and slammed it shut just as a pack of panting guards reached the other side.

  She quickly scanned the minds of the men out there. None of them knew the entry code — only the dead door-wards had been trusted with that information. Panic now ruled their thoughts, as they considered the various punishments that would be heaped on them for failing in their duties. It was educational, if only for understanding the depths of depravity that Laugarren’s commander had sunk to. If the images in his guards’ minds were anything to go by, he had a fondness for watching his enemies being skinned.

  She turned back to the flabby, pyjama-clad figure, who was still squirming on the floor and trying to suck down a breath. “Oh come on! I didn’t hit you that hard.”

  He struggled to his knees, gasping, and lunged for the pistol.

  Kyra pulled a sword from her waist and lashed out, slicing the pistol in half. The commander’s fingers closed around its gri
p and he raised it, before realising he’d left the business end of it on the carpet. He stared at the bit he was holding in confusion, until Kyra slapped it out of his hand. “We need to have a little chat,” she told him.

  He sagged back against an enormous bed, his pyjamas practically camouflaging him against its gold-accented sheets. “It wasn’t me,” he moaned, “I didn’t want to kill you! It was Viktor. He made me put you in prison. He made me—”

  “Kill my sister?” Kyra had her blade pointed at him now, keeping it short but twisting it so that its impossibly-sharp edge caught the light. “Is that what he told you to do?”

  “What? N— no, I didn’t—”

  “Oh, but you did. You sent your soldiers into the forest, and you attacked Issi’s base. A member of Esper’s royal family; the sister of the queen herself.”

  “N— no,” he stammered. “They were spies! They were harbouring fugitives. They supplied weapons to the underground! They deserved to—”

  “Careful.” The tip of Kyra’s blade came to rest between the commander’s eyeballs, so close that he went cross-eyed from looking at it. “Before you tell me what my sister deserved, I think you should understand the depth of your mistake.” She moved the blade microscopically, forcing his eyes to try following it. “You invited Viktor here. I can see it in your thoughts. Even now, you refuse to admit that he played you — that he is anything more than a willing business partner.” She tutted. “That’s mistake number one. Then, you fed him information which allowed him to attack the palace and kidnap the crown princess. I’d call that mistake number two, except that Jenna is my niece, and I take things like that very personally. So let’s just call that mistakes two through ten.”