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

by Tony James Slater

  The commander gave a whimper, and tried to tilt his head further away from the blade. The thickness of his mattress defeated him, however; sitting on the floor, his tousled hair only reached halfway up it.

  She glanced back at the door, as a dull thudding came from the far side. The guards were trying to smash their way in… to what was probably the most heavily fortified room on the planet. Ha! Good luck. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her. His paunch wobbled as he panted, his trembling chin making his goatee flap.

  “Now, I’m not going to lie. You’re not getting out of this. But there’s two ways you can go, depending on how cooperative you’re feeling. One is nice and quick; I can’t promise you won’t feel anything, because I’ve never had my head cut off. But the other way — the uncooperative way… well, let’s just say that when those idiots finally bust their way in here, what’s left of you will still be screaming in agony. You understand? I will cut slices off you, starting with your toes and working my way up. And in case you think I’m not that kind of girl…” She dipped the blade quickly, opening a gash across his thigh.

  He cried out, folding double over the wound. Kyra narrowly avoided killing him by accident, wrenching her sword out of the way before he impaled himself.

  Ugh! This is sick. He’s too feeble to be worth bothering with. Even taking revenge for Issi suddenly seemed pointless. She had no desire to watch this pathetic individual squeal and grovel and piss himself. Causing pain didn’t hold the same appeal that it once had — not when her target was as feeble as this. And perhaps not ever? Damn… how’s a girl meant to have fun? I guess I’ll just have to steal more shit. Whatever this strange evolution was, it was already starting to get on her nerves.

  She used her free hand to push the commander upright, and snapped her fingers in his face until she got his attention.

  “Look, I’ve made a decision to become a better person.” She frowned at that, and thought better of it. “No, I’ve made a decision to become a nicer person. Because the galaxy has enough assholes in it — there’s no point me adding to the tally. In fact, what I’d really like to do is remove one of them. So if you’ll kindly tell me what you’ve done with the Master Key, I’ll be on my way.”

  The commander merely glared at her, but she didn’t need a physical tell; as soon as she’d mentioned the key, its hiding place had popped into his mind. The good news was that he hadn’t given it to Viktor; the bad news was that he’d concealed it in the armrest of his throne, in his audience chamber atop the tower.

  Ah… bugger. Guess we’ll have to storm the tower after all.

  Although, with the commander out of the picture, there was at least a chance that more doors would open.

  I’m sure we can work something out. “Lord High Commander whatever-your-name-is, for the crimes of choosing such a ridiculous title — along with treason, mass-murder, regicide, and other stuff that I can’t remember the names for, I hereby sentence you to death. Do you have anything to say?”

  His eyes searched her face, as though looking for any hint of reprieve. “I… I just… I wanted to make things better.”

  “Yeah.” Kyra nodded in agreement. “You and me both.”

  And she let the blade fall.

  There was nothing she could do about the guards. As with so many of his friends and enemies, the commander had condemned them. There was no point trying to convince them to let her leave amicably, so she simply opened the door and killed them all as they fell into the room.

  Another squad were on their way down in the elevator, pumped full of righteous zeal; she sidestepped that particular course, slipping back into the break room and escaping into the run-down labyrinth. She was close to an exit that she vaguely remembered from her youth, and she headed that way rather than retracing her steps through the entire complex.

  The comm-device buzzed in her pocket. She’d ignored several calls during her interrogation, which probably hadn’t been very comforting for her friends on the surface. When it buzzed again she answered it, bracing herself for an explosion of swearing on the other end.

  Aldur, however, wasn’t a slave to his temper. “Kyra? Thank the stars you’re there! I thought you’d been killed.”

  “Don’t you know anything about me?” she teased. “I can’t be killed.”

  “Yeah, well the rest of us can. We’ve reached the plaza outside the barracks, and there’s a line of shock troops here in full armour. We’ve gathered a lot more people, but none of them are armed.”

  Kyra’s brow furrowed. “Why not? I thought they were all soldiers?”

  “They are, but they’re not allowed to take their weapons home. They’re all kept securely at their duty stations — it was one of the commander’s first changes.”

  She spat a string of curses and broke into a jog. Her plan relied on the morality of the shock troops — a dubious bunch at best — and on her assumption that they’d be reluctant to open fire on a crowd composed of their former friends and relatives. But that was a hell of a gamble, and she’d been hoping that a healthy display of firepower would encourage them to mind their manners. “Listen, if they start shooting you take cover, you hear? Let the rabble scatter, and get your ass somewhere safe. We can find another way to end this, but you won’t live to see it if you try fighting those assholes.”

  Aldur’s voice was now an octave higher than it had been outside the prison, and was rising further up the scale as he continued to describe the events he was witnessing. “There were a few shots fired just now, but I don’t think anyone was hit. The shock troops are shooting over our heads when we get too close.”

  Really? That was good news. Maybe there was hope for them yet. “I’m counting on that,” she said. “Every one of those guys has people they care about in that crowd. All the loyalty in the world won’t make them open fire on their brothers and sisters. But try not to antagonise them too much!”

  She’d been concentrating on the handful of guards that were pursuing her, but now she shifted focus and reached out towards Aldur. Being on the comm with him helped, in a weird way; she was startled to find the crowd right above her, and was able to separate him out by listening to him speak at the same time.

  Aha! There you are. A bundle of nervous energy surrounded by a roiling maelstrom of emotions that made her head hurt even at this distance.

  Keeping one eye on her own route, she watched from Aldur’s perspective as the line of mirrored visors backed away every time the crowd surged. They held their rifles ready, but seemed reluctant to fire into the mass of people. Scanning troopers’ minds at random, she found them horrified at the dilemma now facing them. A few were close to breaking, whilst others steeled themselves for violence.

  A fight broke out on one of the flanks, as a small group of ex-prisoners armed with sticks attacked a trooper. They were quickly surrounded and beaten down, the troopers using shock-sticks before hauling their own man back into line. Bodies lay on the floor, twitching; the crowd bayed for blood, and some of the troopers levelled their guns.

  Shit! The temperature had hit boiling point. The whole mob was a powder-keg just waiting for a spark. She pounded along the corridor, heading for the exit she’d used last time she was here, but it was too far. She’d have to cut her way out; more time that she didn’t have.

  “Aldur,” she yelled into the comm, “listen to me. You’ll have to get out there. We need you standing between them and us. Half your group were in prison, and they’re mighty pissed off about it. You’ve got to put yourself in front of them before they turn this into a riot.”

  Over the comm, she heard him swallow. But she was also in his head, and she marvelled at how he squelched his fear. He set off through the crowd, which had grown into a flood of grey-clad citizens. He was jostled from all sides, but kept his footing, and broke out into a narrow strip of no-man’s land strewn with debris. A stone whined past his ear and he flinched, but it bounced harmlessly off the armour of the trooper in front of hi
m.

  A carved stone fountain blocked his path; a wide, low plinth with a sculpture known as The Soldier’s Sacrifice atop it. No water flowed, and obeying some desperate impulse he stepped up onto it. He spread his hands and took a deep breath.

  Way to go kid, Kyra urged him. She was nearing her destination, but had to pull her focus back to check for enemies in her way. Two men guarded the exit, which was apparently still in use; the walls and lighting were in much better repair in this part of the bunker, suggesting it had been restored at some point.

  Ah well. Casualties of war.

  She was on them before they knew what was happening, and she didn’t have time for subtlety. She hardly broke stride, dealing with them both one-handed, before slicing through the lock and booting the door open. A wide staircase lay beyond it, the upper half bathed in sunlight. She’d lost track of time underground, but it can’t have been too long. The extra vitality the stim-pill lent her was starting to fade, inevitably deserting her when she needed it the most. The other was tucked away in her pocket, but had a feeling she might be needing it later. It was still early morning, and she had a busy day planned.

  So close now… She broke out into fresh air, and set off towards the barracks at a dead run.

  Aldur was doing an incredible job. Rather than appealing to the shock troops, who may well have silenced him just to prove a point, he’d turned his back on their lines and addressed the mob. Calling for calm, he’d spoken about the need for change, and about the long-standing tradition of Laugarrens to obey their command structure. “But as with anything we follow blindly, it is open to abuse,” he said, his voice still high but getting louder as the crowd’s support fed back into his confidence. “Abuse of power must be answered for, and only by coming together can we make this happen. We have to send a signal up the chain of command — that we will tolerate this no longer!”

  The crowd was punctuating his sentences with a yell, but his speech was working; instead of a swirling mass of angry individuals, he’d managed to unite them into a single group. Tempers were still frayed, and his words spoke to the injustice he shared with his countrymen — but for now, they were listening rather than fighting.

  And that gave Kyra the time she needed to enter the fray.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she called to Aldur, as she jogged down the gap between the two forces. She gave a mental command to her hair, turning it back into a more crowd-pleasing rainbow.

  Catcalls sprang up at once, as some of the more volatile people in the front rows caught sight of her. “Witch!” “Traitor!”

  Instead of ignoring them, she leapt up next to Aldur and turned to face the crowd. “Oh really? Most of you weren’t even born the last time I was here, and if it hadn’t been for my little rebellion you never would have been. But the good news is, I’m back. And I heard you were having some leadership issues, so I decided to lend a hand.”

  She held up the grisly trophy she’d been carrying ever since the commander’s bedroom. His lustrous hair, tangled in her fingers, was coated in some kind of perfumed oil; she’d nearly dropped him a couple of times on the way out.

  The severed head, its eyes still wide with fear, brought an instant hush.

  “It’s not true!” someone yelled, and a ripple of agreement spread through the shocked citizens. “It’s a fake!”

  Kyra gave the head a shake, causing a few spots of blood to drip from the neck. “Sorry folks, that’s all you get. I left most of it on the floor of his sealed underground bunker.” She turned to let the troops behind her get a good look at their commander. “That’s where he was hiding, by the way, after ordering you fine gentlemen to slaughter your friends and families…” she gave them a few seconds to admire her handiwork, before turning back to the crowd. The few voices of dissent had been silenced; she could sense the impact of her display spreading through the mob, throwing more than a few of the minds around her into shock.

  She wasn’t sure what to do next. This was as far as her plan went. She’d seized control, and for a very limited time, she had a window of opportunity. With a few well-placed words, this crowd would be hers.

  Sydon’s sake! I hate giving speeches.

  She drew a long, slow breath, while the people in front of her struggled to process what they were witnessing. Some were shuffling uneasily in place, and she sensed her window closing.

  Ugh! Come on, Kyra. Something stirring. Think inspiration. Think triumph. Think salvation…

  She lifted the commander’s head a little higher, placing her free hand on his jaw, and opened it in time to her words. “I’m sorry,” she said, doing a rather poor impersonation of him, “I’ve been a very bad man. I didn’t mean to make your lives miserable. I’m just an asshole.”

  The silence that greeted her attempt at puppetry was profound.

  Oh-oh. Too soon? Maybe these guys really can’t take a joke.

  But she was kind of committed now. Or else she should be. Hm… Double or nothing?

  “I really am sorry,” she said, still operating the commander’s mouth. Then she squished his lips into a pout. “Kiss and make up?”

  The first sniggers stared close by, radiating out like ripples in a pond. Pretty soon there were open guffaws, some even coming from the shock troops behind her. Tears of relief streamed down several faces, and the noise built rapidly as several hundred people began talking at once.

  Kyra glanced around for Aldur, noticing that he’d got down off the fountain and left the entire stage to her. The reason for that was pretty obvious; his face had turned a dangerous shade of green, and he looked like he was about to lose his breakfast.

  “Oh, come on,” she ribbed him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl make a severed head talk before?”

  He took several gasping breaths, and a few more steps away. “You’re… you’re not…” He seemed unable to complete that sentence.

  She hid the commander’s remains behind her leg, beckoning Aldur back with her free hand. “Seriously, get up here! These are your people, not mine. You need to seize this opportunity, and use it to make those changes you were so passionate about.”

  For a moment he looked like he would refuse, but then he straightened up and squared his shoulders. He climbed back onto the fountain, though he made sure to stay as far away from Kyra as he could.

  The great throng was restless now; people were milling about, arguing with one another and gesturing wildly.

  “What do I say to them?” Aldur asked her.

  Kyra shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’ve given you a head start.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Aldur’s speech would probably go down in history as the moment Laugarren’s fortunes changed. Kyra stood beside him as he ranted on about the atrocities the Lord High Commander had committed, and the kind of civilisation they could all build together now that he was gone.

  “But it won’t make any difference,” one ex-prisoner shouted. “The rest of his inner circle are just as bad. They’ll take over where he left off, and it’ll be worse than ever.”

  “You think they’ll just let this go?” someone else chimed in. “They’ll punish everyone here.”

  Aldur glanced at Kyra, clearly paralysed by this. He’d spoken from the heart, but he was no strategist. He was honest and he was in earnest, but he hadn’t come to this party with answers written on a flash card.

  That’s my fault, she realised. I probably should have told him how all this ends. She had a habit of keeping her plans to herself, mostly because she tended to change them on the fly — or flat-out make them up as she went. But this next part would require a degree of cooperation, and it was only fair that she let him in on it.

  And while I’m at it, I might as well tell the rest of them. “You’re right, all of you,” she shouted, her unfamiliar accent cutting through the buzz of conversation. “The Lord High Commander is only part of the problem. There’s a whole bunch of evil bastards sitting up there in that tower, and they’d like nothing
better than to put you all back in your places.”

  She sensed the anger her words caused, flaring up not only in the mob in front of her but also in the silent rows opposite them. “Laugarren citizens should have the same rights and privileges as every other Esperian. Including the right to tell their leaders what they think of them!”

  Cries of “Yeah!” and “She’s right!” rang out, and defiant fists punched the air.

  “Say what you want, but the court won’t listen,” a young woman shouted. “They’ll kill every single one of us just for being here.”

  A sizeable chunk of the crowd muttered in agreement, their eyes downcast as the potential consequences began to sink in.

  Kyra could hardly keep the grin off her face. She’d played this perfectly. “So what you’re saying is, the commander’s court are every bit as corrupt and self-serving as he was?”

  Another chorus of cries in the affirmative

  She freed a single Arranozapar from her waist, and rolled it around her wrist so that the blade made a pretty pattern. A satisfying swish accompanied the move, and sunlight glinted off the ancient weapon. “Then let’s go and teach them a lesson, too. Who’s coming?”

  * * *

  Half the population of Laugarren swept through the streets towards the tower.

  Kyra strode in front of them, Aldur on one side and Lukas on the other. She still carried the commander’s head in case she needed to prove her point; in her other hand, the Arranozapar glittered dangerously.

  Aldur clutched his rifle like a comforter, and the leading edge of the crowd was similarly armed. Lukas stood head and shoulders above everyone else, his steel-clad frame inspiring confidence in those around him. But it was the presence of the shock troops marching alongside their brethren, their mirrored visors cast aside, that really made the difference. Over a hundred of the heavily armed soldiers had joined the press of humanity now surging towards their reckoning. Still more were joining as they went, casting off their helmets to reveal their identities as they carried their rifles in support of the people.