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

by Tony James Slater

  It took a good half hour to reach the tower, as Kyra wanted them to arrive en masse and in good shape. It actually helped her cause to let the tower’s occupants see them coming; the longer those guards stared out at this seething mass of humanity, the more likely they were to surrender without a fight.

  When the mob spilled out from the cover of the buildings and entered the wide plaza in front of the tower, Kyra slowed even further. There were two distinct possibilities here; either the guards on duty would recognise their chance to end all this suffering, and refuse to open fire — or those terrible gun turrets would spring to life, mowing down the crowd like seed-crops.

  In which case, she would have just seconds to escape with her own life. Dying for a noble cause was something she’d made her peace with shortly after joining Kreon’s crew… but dying in Laugarren? Screw that!

  She advanced cautiously, holding the commander’s head out in front of her like a talisman.

  The guards watching the camera feeds had to recognise it; they might have already heard something from their comrades in the bunker, though she suspected that news like that would hit the top of the tower before it filtered downwards.

  She could feel the eyes on her as she crossed the vast expanse of permacrete, placing one boot at a time. Her skin prickled, and she stretched out with the Gift to identify the men with their fingers on the triggers. Come on… you wouldn’t shoot a girl, would you? She sensed a now familiar mixture of desperation and hope, as everyone below a certain pay-grade re-evaluated their loyalty to those above it. Indecision ruled the tower, paralysing most of the minds she came into contact with.

  And step after step, Kyra and her teammates closed in on the entrance.

  To their credit, the citizen-soldiers of Laugarren followed them, striding bravely into the kill-zone around the tower. They were a horde now, their numbers beyond count as buildings all over the city emptied out.

  The amount of plaza in front of Kyra shrank with every heartbeat. She couldn’t ever remember feeling this exposed. All it took was one trigger-happy asshole up there to freak out, and this would flip from revolution to massacre in the blink of an eye. Anti-personnel turrets gleamed from every flat surface; they could reduce this crowd to a fine red mist at the flick of a switch.

  Of course, then there’d be no-one left to rule over…

  Closer and closer… she kept her gait even, her expression fixed.

  The edge of the tower’s shadow fell across her, and the temperature dropped by five degrees. She fought the urge to shiver… so close!

  And then she reached the door. Lukas made an elaborate ‘after you’ gesture, and she stepped forward.

  And to her immense relief, the door slid open.

  It was much quieter inside the tower. Nothing had really changed, although the attitude of the guards doing security had mellowed a fair bit. Kyra read the fear in their minds, and knew how scared they were of the mob. They were well aware of how this looked; it would be hard to convince anyone that they weren’t the commander’s lackeys.

  Ten of them in full black body armour stood behind their consoles with their hands raised.

  Kyra breezed in, pausing at the spot where she’d been cuffed on her previous visit. The same guard was on duty — not that she’d have recognised his face, but the brace on his nose was a dead giveaway.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Back to work already? I thought they’d give you a few days off for that.”

  He refused to meet her gaze, studying his boots as he mumbled a reply. “S’mostly healed. Still hurts like crap, but they don’t give us a choice…”

  Kyra tapped his leg with her sword, sliding it up the outside of his body. “No choice, eh? I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. I think you just enjoy your job too much.”

  A sudden stench assailed her nostrils, and she saw a dark patch spreading from his crotch.

  “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. The Lord High Commander made me do it.”

  She tried to find some sympathy for him, but failed. The people flooding in through the doors behind her represented the downtrodden majority. They were the real losers in this messed-up society. Some, like Jen and Alek, refused to bow down, and risked their lives to oppose the status quo. And inevitably, at the opposite end of the scale, bullies like this security guard thrived.

  Kyra moved the point of her sword to just under his chin, raising it to make him look her in the eye. “So, if the commander ordered me to gut you like a fish, right here in front of all these people… I suppose I’d have to obey him. Right?”

  “What? The commander would never…” his eyes flicked towards the elevators.

  So they don’t know. Interesting…

  She’d kept the head dangling at her side since entering. Now she lifted it up above desk-height, drawing gasps of shock from everyone in the lobby. She brought the commander’s lips close to her ear. “What’s that, Your Lord Highness? You want me to do what?”

  The burly guard began to shake, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “B… B.. But…”

  Kyra held his gaze for another second, then lowered her sword. “Nah, he’s not worth it.” She turned to walk past him. Then, as his shoulders sagged with relief, she slammed her elbow into his face. His nose gave a sickening crunch, the brace popping off, and he cried out in pain. He staggered back, trying to catch the blood that poured out.

  “Just so you know, I did that of my own free will. And damn, it felt good!”

  As before, she approached the elevators. She didn’t know if the tower had stairs, and she really didn’t want to find out. The doors slid open, this time revealing only two uniformed guards. Lukas stomped inside, and both men shrank back from him. Satisfied that they posed no real threat, Kyra wrapped her sword around her waist and stood aside to let Aldur enter. The crowd was spilling through the security area now, so she waved another handful of people in to join them — one young woman in the armour of the shock troops, and a couple of men she recognised from the prison break. Having independent witnesses to verify what happened next would be important, she figured — for the Laugarrens, anyway. Her own agenda was a bit different, though she planned on keeping that to herself.

  Might as well restore some sanity to this place while I’m at it. Assuming there was any to begin with.

  The lift doors slid shut, and she held the commander’s head up next to her own. “Penthouse, please,” she said, working his jaw.

  As the lift accelerated upwards, Lukas made an impassioned plea. “Kyra, please stop doing that.”

  Aldur groaned his agreement, whilst keeping his eyes averted.

  “Awww!” she pouted at them. “Don’t be scared. He’s armless.”

  Word of the morning’s events had obviously preceded them.

  When the lift arrived at the top of the tower, the doors opened onto an empty corridor. Only the door-ward remained at his post, shuffling from foot to foot as the leaders of the coup approached him.

  “The, ah, court is ready to receive you,” he said, pushing the huge wooden doors open without being asked.

  Lukas thrust a hand out, stopping Kyra before she crossed the threshold. “Let me,” he said, tapping his armour. “These people might not be too happy to see you.”

  She took a step back, conceding to his logic for once, and lifted the hand still tangled in the commander’s filthy hair. “You don’t want me to go in head first…?”

  Lukas scowled at her, then barged through the doors.

  She gave it a beat, then followed him in, to find the great stone hall very different from her last visit. Small windows high up near the vaulted ceiling had been opened, allowing thick shafts of sunlight to penetrate the shadows. No musicians strummed in the corner, and the air was heavy with stale incense. Only a handful of courtiers were in attendance, skulking around the edges of the room where a few techs still manned their consoles.

  In front of the dais stood a cluster of men in uniform — Captain Iker, f
lanked by four soldiers from his squad. He looked on disdainfully as Lukas planted himself off to one side, clearing the way for Kyra.

  “Ah, the Deceiver returns.” Iker’s silver-chased uniform was rumpled, suggesting he’d been woken up and then rushed here following the news.

  Kyra came to a halt just inside the doors, waiting while the mixed bag of rebels filtered in behind her. She could sense that more were on their way up in a second elevator; Aldur had stayed outside to coordinate them, which seemed like the best use of his talents right now.

  “I wish I could say I was happy to see you,” she told the captain, “but I’ve a hunch you’re trying to make my life more difficult.” She could read his contempt for her, overlaid with a smouldering ambition.

  Iker sneered. “I am here to ensure an orderly transition of power. I have a detachment of troops stationed on the lower floors of this tower, ready to disperse the mob on my signal.”

  “This mob?” Kyra jerked her thumb at the growing throng of people entering the chamber.

  Iker’s glare was glacial. “There is no need for any unpleasantness. As the senior ranking officer, I am prepared to assume command of the city in our leader’s absence.”

  “Absence? He’s right here.” Kyra tossed the severed head towards him.

  Iker caught it reflexively, and stared in horror at the macabre trophy. Then with a muttered oath, he let it fall. “This is treason,” he snarled. “I will not bow down to tyranny.”

  “Funny,” Kyra said, uncoiling her swords, “I thought that’s what you’ve been doing all along.” She held the Arranozapar up, so that the light from the chandeliers caught their blades. “Remember these? Would you like to see what they can do?” And without waiting for an answer, she sent both swords scything out. The soldiers either side of him flinched back, but too late; she sliced their rifles neatly in half, leaving them holding useless chunks of metal. The two men examined their ruined weapons, then exchanged nervous glances with their still-armed squad mates.

  Captain Iker, however, was not so easily cowed. “You think that removing me will grant you power? You know nothing of our ways. Command will fall to the next in line, and the next after him. We will never bow to a traitor from Lehen. Your people have persecuted mine since the dawning of time. Every rank, from the highest officer down to the lowest cadet, will fight to the death before we surrender to your control!”

  Kyra feigned a yawn. “Fair enough.” And with grace born of long practice, she struck. A single Arranozapar extended rapidly, bridging the gap between them in the blink of an eye. The captain shrieked as the blade pierced his chest, his guards reacting far too slowly to save him.

  The armed revolutionaries behind Kyra snapped their weapons up, training them on Iker’s men.

  “Captain Iker,” Kyra said, keeping him pinned in place, “you detained a royal princess of Esper against her will. Two of them, actually, though I’m not sure I still qualify. You’ve maintained the commander’s oppressive regime, causing the people of this city untold suffering. And worst of all — you’ve pissed me off.”

  Iker fell to his knees, slumping forward over her blade. She kept it there, transfixing him, turning his death into a spectacle. “Your sentence is to make a horrible mess of this lovely marble floor.”

  He gurgled in response, blood soaking his uniform and starting to pool around his knees.

  She turned to face the stunned courtiers. “What’s a girl got to do to earn some respect around here?” She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “Just out of interest, who is the next in line?”

  After a few seconds, a shaky hand went up.

  “And you are?”

  “Captain Murtus, ma’am.” The speaker’s uniform bore the same silver accents as Iker’s, though the man wearing them didn’t seem nearly as sure of himself.

  Iker was still writhing and moaning on the end of her sword as Kyra locked eyes with his successor. “So tell me, Captain Murtus, are you in the mood for a fight?”

  FORTY-ONE

  As group after group of revolutionaries arrived via the elevator, the throne room became increasingly crowded. The men and women of the commander’s court were surrounded, outnumbered, and subdued by what they’d just witnessed.

  Kyra didn’t have a clue what to do with them. There would definitely be some fanatics amongst the top ranks, as well as those with dangerous aspirations of their own. At some point, whoever took over would have to root them out and deal with them — but that wasn’t her job. Right now, there was only one thing in this room that she cared about…

  Stepping over Captain Iker’s sprawled corpse, she approached the throne. It was an impressive piece of furniture, though the faux-fur trimmings did nothing for her. Sleek black metal made up most of it, with control panels embedded in both armrests. Along with, she hoped, a secret compartment or two. “Don’t mind me,” she said to the court, as she sat down on the hallowed seat. “Ooh! Comfy.” She wriggled into the cushioning. “I could get used to this.” She turned her attention to the armrests, locating the hidden switch she’d seen in the commander’s mind. A tiny hatch popped open… and there, nestled in a velvet-lined niche, lay the Master Key.

  Thank Sydon for that. Such a tiny little thing… and so much drama over it.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she could shred the damn thing into metal filings right here and now, before it caused any more problems. It was a tempting proposition, and she felt an almost overpowering urge to do exactly that. But it would be impossible to undo, and she had a feeling that Queen Vinni wouldn’t be too happy about it. The Master Key did have some beneficial uses — for starters, there was no way to activate the rest of the Ring without it, leaving three quarters of the ancient megastructure permanently in the dark.

  The courtiers were still watching her, though the presence of guns trained on them by the ever-increasing mob encouraged them to remain silent.

  Kyra held up the Master Key to draw their attention. “You see this? Hard to believe, I know, but this little thing was going to get everyone in this city killed. Your precious commander sold you out. There’s a rather unpleasant man out there, and he wants this thing very badly. If he ever gets his hands on it, he’ll use it to wipe all life from the surface of Esper… and then he’ll get started on the rest of the galaxy.” She leapt up off the throne and pocketed the key. “So you should be grateful that I’m taking it off your hands.”

  She glanced around for Aldur, trying to decide if she should make some kind of formal proclamation about him. It would carry precious little weight, but at least he was a local. One of Iker’s statements rang true; she’d face resistance from every level of the military if she started ordering them about. Commander Aldur would have a veneer of legitimacy, at least until something more permanent could be organised. The crowd was growing restless again, now that the theatrics were over. Keeping them under control for any length of time would be a struggle; she needed something for them to do. Luckily, she had an idea about that.

  Before she could voice it, one of the men sitting at the consoles cleared his throat. “Um… sorry to disturb you ma’am, but there’s a shuttle approaching the city. The trajectory suggests that it’s come down from orbit.”

  Kyra felt a surge of hope — something that was in short supply right now, despite her recent victory. “Hail them,” she told the operator.

  “I’ve tried, but there’s no response,” he said, his tone apologetic. “It looks like they intend to skirt the city and land in the forest.”

  Jen? Kyra wondered. Or Viktor?

  It was a toss-up. But at least she had the Master Key now; if a horde of robots came stomping out of that shuttle, she could always go with her earlier plan and shred the thing.

  Aldur had finally joined the party, slipping in next to Lukas. “Uh, Kyra?” he called.

  She scanned the sea of faces. “Yeah?”

  “Mom’s shuttle has no comms gear. But I might be able to reach Uncle Alek on my tablet.”<
br />
  Kyra winced. Not the most heroic sentence to come out of someone’s mouth. Damn kid, if I’m going to sell you to this lot as the next commander, we’ve got some work to do. “Give it a try,” she told him, and cracked her knuckles one at a time while he worked.

  The voice that answered Aldur’s call was muffled, as though he had something over his mouth. “Yes?”

  “Uncle Alek! We’ve taken the commander’s tower. You can land on the roof if you want.”

  There was a few seconds of silence. “Is this a trick?” the words came back faint and indistinct.

  Kyra face-palmed. It was her second-most common reaction to Alek — right after wanting to strangle him. “I’ll show you a trick,” she called, striding through the crowd towards Aldur. “How about my boot disappearing up your ass?”

  “Kyra? Is that you?”

  “No, it’s that other rainbow-haired princess you know. Is your sister still with you?”

  “Of course she is. I can’t fly this thing.”

  Kyra leaned over the tablet, appearing on the screen upside-down. “Great. Tell her I’ve got a job for her.”

  * * *

  She waited alone for the shuttle, braving ferocious winds atop the Lord High Commander’s private landing pad. The view was impressive, though it could hardly be called beautiful; the entirety of Laugarren spread out below her, block after block of drab grey boxes. They’d even made the city square. It was as though the designers had done everything they could to distance themselves from the graceful curves and pale stone of Lehen, constructing its antithesis just to prove their point.