Warden: A Novel

by Gregg Vann

  “Let’s go,” he told Vane.

  “But Sergeant Dura said to stay here and watch your back, sir.”

  “My back is about to move further into this firefight and kill some Collective soldiers, Corporal. So if you want to cover it, you’d better get your ass ready to move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Shots rang out as Barent jogged off, running a short distance to take up position behind a huge pile of iron shavings. He leaned out to lay down some cover fire so Vane could join him, and the Warden made it across without any difficulty, crouching down beside him. As Barent peeked around the side of the pile he saw Dura and two other Wardens trying to make their way forward, moving toward a group of ten others bunched together about fifteen meters out ahead of them. The Collective were firing at both units with a withering ferocity, making it impossible for Dura to safely reach the larger group of Wardens.

  “Lean out from the other side of this pile,” Barent ordered Vane, “and unload on the commandos pinning Sergeant Dura down. I’ll do the same from this end. With so many targets, the Collective will have to split their attention. That should give Dura a chance to advance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vane replied, and then he shuffled over to begin hammering at the enemy positions.

  Barent sent out a healthy barrage as well, and when Dura understood what they were trying to accomplish, he renewed his own assault—as did the larger team of Wardens he was trying to join. The chaos and misdirection worked, and Barent observed Dura’s unit successfully make their way forward to meet up with the others.

  “Nice work, Vane,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Barent looked up through the giant hole in the ceiling, spotting the armored grills of dozens of personnel carriers parked on the periphery. He felt certain that there were many other vehicles out beyond them—and more Collective soldiers stationed outside in the yards, waiting for their chance to attack. But now that they’d lost the element of surprise, trying to enter through the breach in the roof was becoming suicidal.

  But that’s not the only way in, is it? Barent thought to himself.

  And he knew immediately what he had to do.

  “We need to set up a kill zone in the stairwell, Corporal Vane. The Collective will probably send the rest of their troops down that way. Assuming they haven’t started doing so already.”

  Vane followed Barent’s gaze up through the roof and saw the APCs. “Yes, sir. I do believe that you’re right.”

  “Lay down some cover fire and then fall in behind me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barent rolled out from behind the pile and sprinted off in the direction of the table he’d been seated at when the attack first began—now just a few pieces of shattered plastic, the larger of which were perforated with bullet holes. The shooting tapered off for a moment as Barent darted behind a large smelting bucket resting on its side—not far from the first set of steps leading up from the factory floor. He noticed the wide mouth of the rust-colored container had partially collapsed, and there were deep cracks running down the full length of it, from the opening all the way down to its rounded base. The bucket appeared to have fallen from the ceiling’s pulley system ages ago, partially breaking apart as it struck the ground.

  Bullets bounced harmlessly off the thick walls of the container as Barent settled in behind it, sending loud chimes throughout the building in a fractured and unintentional melody. Then the shooting abruptly stopped, and Barent felt the metal against his back beginning to heat up. It didn’t take him long to realize that one of the commandos had trained his plasma rifle on the bucket and was trying to burn through it.

  Barent pushed his head around the corner and swiftly located the soldier with the rifle. Then he scooted back over to the other side of the bucket for a better shot at him. He leaned out and sent a round through the commando’s upper torso, right at the base of his neck, and then Barent ducked back again as a hail of bullets sailed his way. With the enemy troops concentrating all of their attention on him now, Barent yelled out for Vane to make a run for it. The Warden rapidly wove his way across the factory floor—dashing from cover to cover—and then slid in behind the bucket to join him. Vane took a moment to catch his breath.

  “I really wish we had some explosives,” he said. “But they’re all the way on the other side of the building.”

  “They would definitely come in handy right now,” Barent agreed. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to do things the hard way.” He holstered his pistols and pulled the plasma rifle from his back. “The soldiers pinning us down are all tucked up behind that elevated trough running down the center of the factory. The roof above their position is still intact, so I’m going to melt away some of the brackets holding the bucket rails to the ceiling. That should send the overhead tracks right down on top of them.” Barent checked the power level on his rifle, confirming it was fully charged. “If this works, I’ll lay down some suppressive fire as they scramble out of the way. I want you to bolt directly for the stairwell, and once you’re in position, cover me as I make my own way across.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get ready,” Barent said.

  “I’m good to go. And, sir…”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t get yourself killed. I’m supposed to be protecting you, remember?”

  Barent smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

  Barent backed away from the bucket until he had a clear shot at the ceiling, and then he unleashed several tightly spaced plasma blasts. His aim was true, and as the damaged attachments fell away, the heavy weight of the rail system shifted—transferring the entire burden to the few remaining bolts and brackets in that section. The ceiling buckled, and large chunks of steel began falling to the ground, followed by the tremendous screech of ripping metal as a ten-meter section of the railing tore away from the roof. It crashed to the floor in a thunderous impact, sending debris and a cloud of age-old dust flying everywhere.

  “Go!” Barent shouted, and then he briefly stepped out from behind the bucket to take down two exposed commandos—stumbling into the open as they tried to escape the falling debris.

  Vane made it up the first set of stairs in seconds, ducking back behind a partition wall on the same landing where Barent had first met Sergeant Dura. Directly across from him was the second set leading up to the surface, and Vane reached out with one hand to signal it was clear. Barent stopped firing and threw the plasma rifle over his shoulder, readying himself to run, and then Vane leaned out and began shooting at the Collective commandos from his more advantageous position above them.

  Barent saw his chance and took it.

  He leapt out from behind the bucket, and almost immediately, enemy fire from several different positions tried to strike him down. There were small firefights taking place all over the factory floor now, and it was impossible to tell where the bullets were coming from. But the Wardens silenced a good many of the Collective shooters as soon as they popped up. Unfortunately, Corporal Vane and the other Wardens couldn’t suppress every enemy position, and bullets pelted the ground all around Barent as he flew across the floor and up the steps. They struck the partition wall in an impressive bombardment as he lunged in behind it.

  “That is as close as I’d like to come to being killed today,” he said to Vane.

  “I’d have to agree with you, sir.”

  Barent spun back around and looked up the stairwell leading to the surface, reaching for his pistols as soon as he spotted the unit of Collective commandos hiding there. They were crouched down right across the landing from them—not three meters away—just past where the wall enclosed both sides of the stairwell. The commandos were blocked from the view of the Wardens down on the factory floor, but surely Vane had seen them.

  Unless…

  Barent felt a gun barrel between his shoulder blades.

  “Shhhh,” Corporal Vane said. “Don’t say a word. And don’t move your hands.”
/>
  The commandos on the other side of the landing had their guns trained on Barent as well, and though he already had his hands on his pistols, there was nothing he could do. No one was that fast. He felt Vane tug at the plasma rifle on his back, and heard a snap as he detached the power unit from it.

  “Hand me your pistols over your right shoulder,” Vane said. “One at a time.”

  “You’re a Warden,” Barent said, disgust and disappointment dripping from his voice.

  “Yeah,” Vane replied. “But I’ve been promised more. Much more.”

  As Barent withdrew the first pistol from his holster, he saw the commandos’ trigger fingers tighten. So he moved slowly, very slowly, giving them no excuse to shoot. He pinched the handle between two fingers and passed the gun back to Vane, and then went through the same careful procedure with his second weapon. As Vane yanked the last pistol from Barent’s grip, he yelled over to the Collective troops.

  “Get ready. I’m going to push him across to you.”

  The gunfire directed at the landing trickled away as an emergency order went out, instructing all Collective soldiers to avoid targeting the enemy near the stairs. Then Barent felt Vane’s shoe on his back as the traitor kicked him forward, launching him across the landing toward the waiting commandos. One of them leaned out to grab Barent by the arm, and then pulled him back behind the wall.

  The commando spun Barent back around in time to see Vane crossing the gap behind him—both stolen pistols tucked neatly into his vest. But just before he made the wall, a shot rang out from the factory floor, striking Vane in the neck, and spraying a misty red cloud of blood through the air. Barent looked down toward the source of the bullet as Vane collapsed, seeing Sergeant Dura duck back behind a support pillar. He must have realized what was happening and took Vane out. Before Barent was pulled further up the steps and out of sight, he observed the Collective troops force Dura’s team into a defensive position again.

  And he knew there would be no help coming from the Wardens.

  Two commandos rushed past him to grab Vane’s body, dragging it up the stairwell behind them as the unit retreated to the surface. The sound of the fighting below faded somewhat as they reached the top of the steps, and Barent staggered to regain his footing as the commandos pushed him away to stand on his own. He looked over toward the snowcraft and saw a middle-aged man in uniform staring back at him. His rank was spelled out clearly on his clothing, but he also had a bearing of authority about him—one that spoke to his importance even more than the uniform. As he approached, the commandos trained their guns on Barent’s chest.

  He got the message.

  “Sergeant Barent,” the man said. “Or do you prefer the Great Betrayer? My name is General Malves.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, General,” Barent replied, his voice equal parts scorn and disdain.

  “Oh, I very much doubt that,” Malves replied. “But we will get to know each other quite well by the time I’ve finished interrogating you.” Malves turned to one of the commandos. “Take him to the Ministry building under heavy guard. And then get more men out here to finish off these Wardens.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. He stripped the plasma rifle off Barent’s back and then gestured at Vane’s body. “And what about him?”

  “Get rid of the corpse. But bring Barent’s pistols back with you. I think Minister Golen would be very interested to see them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Malves turned his attention back to Barent. “I’ll be joining you shortly, Sergeant. Just as soon as we’ve finished cleaning out this rat’s nest.”

  Malves made a dismissive wave and the commandos ushered Barent out of the building, pushing him toward a waiting vehicle parked just outside. Several Collective soldiers passed by them on their way into the structure, heading down to join the other troops fighting against the Wardens. One of them shot Barent a look of contempt as he jogged by—as if the Warden was just another low-life criminal they’d scraped off the street somewhere—and then two commandos threw Barent into the back of the transport and hopped in after him.

  As they sped off toward the city gate, the last sounds of battle disappeared completely—the war over for Sergeant Barent before it had even begun.

  Because the Great Betrayer was finally making his return to the Citadel…

  But not in any way that he’d ever imagined.

  * * *

  The fighting subsided just long enough for the Wardens to realize what had happened.

  “Fuck!” Dura yelled, and then he kicked the antiquated machine in front of him. “They got Barent.”

  “What are we going to do, Sergeant?” one of the Wardens asked.

  Dura looked up through the hole in the ceiling and saw a small vehicle whisk by—followed closely by two Collective APCs. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, he knew that Barent was already gone. Seconds later, four more troop carriers pulled up, and Dura heard the sound of orders going out as the newly arrived soldiers swarmed across the yards.

  “We need to get the hell out of here,” Dura told his unit. “Mitte, you and Salos go grab the explosives. The rest of you come with me to help evacuate who we can. Then we’ll hide in the Outland until we can come up with a plan to rescue Barent. But we have to split up in case they use DNA scanners to try to find us. So stay on the move, and don’t trust anybody.”

  Bullets struck near their position and a couple of the Wardens leaned out to return fire. Dura continued speaking as the pair worked to hold the Collective forces back.

  “We’ll get everyone out through the ventilation tunnels leading up to the surface,” he said. “And then hide yourselves well; I’ll join up with you later.”

  “Where are you going, sir?” Salos asked him.

  “To get some help,” Dura replied. “So we can free Barent. This isn’t over yet.”

  “Help?” Mitte repeated. “Help from who, Sergeant?”

  “I’ve been told that it’s a very long story,” Dura replied. “And I haven’t even heard it myself yet.”

  The Wardens gave Dura a puzzled look as he leaned out to shoot at the Collective troops, drawing ever closer.

  “Just remember your orders,” he barked. “Now move out. Go!”

  As the Wardens rushed to put his plan into action, Dura heard the sound of more Collective soldiers coming down the steps…a lot of them. Then drop-lines began falling through the ceiling again, signaling the arrival of more commandos from above.

  The enemy were coming at the Wardens from every direction now, and Dura doubted that any of them would live out the next hour—let alone long enough to rescue Sergeant Barent.

  No, Dura thought to himself. By tonight, the Great Betrayer might be the only Warden left alive.

  But he knew the Collective would never let Barent live.

  They couldn’t.

  Sergeant Dura checked his ammo once more.

  And then he ran out to join the fight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Lies

  Tana was uneasy.

  The caravan of Olin and Exiles warriors had shown up several hours earlier, and were in the process of setting up two huge camps just outside the hideout. But despite the chaos brought on by their arrival, and it was extraordinary, that wasn’t what was bothering her.

  Barent should have been back by now.

  Tana knew something had happened to him. She felt it. She wasn’t accustomed to caring for someone like this; she hadn’t for some time. And it was this part of it—the worry—that Tana could do without.

  Maybe he’s just busy making plans with the Wardens, she thought, trying to convince herself that everything was fine. There’s no need to panic—not yet. But still…

  Barent should have been back by now.

  Tana continued on with her work, cycling power units through the few charging stations she was able to scrounge up in the hideout. She was snapping them into the plasma rifles lined up against the wall as soon as th
ey were ready, and then distributing the guns to the Olin, a few at a time.

  The Exiles had refused the weapons outright, stating they preferred their own style of combat. In their view, knives were deadly enough. And the only power source they required was a strong arm. But the Olin had been less reluctant to try out the new weapons. In fact, they had been very keen on adopting them.

  At least they aren’t fighting over the guns, Tana mused, thankful that the Exiles hadn’t been interested in the limited supply.

  Once all of the plasma rifles were ready, Tana intended to give the Olin a quick lesson in their use. She was by no means an expert herself, but still knew far more about the weapons than the Olin did. Tana understood that a plasma rifle in untrained hands could take out just as many allies as enemies—maybe more, since your friends were usually closer—so she meant to have the Olin practice as much as possible before employing the weapons against the Collective.

  How the hell did I end up in this situation? she asked herself. I was just some nameless thief, one of thousands in the city. And now, I’m training an army at the side of the Great Betrayer.

  Tana shook her head, marveling at the absurdity of it all, and then slapped a fully charged battery into the stock of one of the rifles. She placed a depleted power unit into the empty slot on the charging station, and then stepped over to stack the readied weapon along the wall with the others. Tana turned around at the sound of the hideout door swinging open.

  It was S’to.

  “Tana Neng,” he growled.

  His tone never really changed, she noticed. Always hovering somewhere just between human and animal. The large Exile was standing motionless in the doorway, staring at Tana with a ferocity that practically dared her to show weakness.

  But that was to be expected.

  There had been a few tense moments when the caravan first arrived at the hideout and Barent hadn’t returned yet, but his instructions to the Exiles had been unequivocal. And even if they hadn’t been, S’to recognized Tana’s importance to the Alpha, and he understood what crossing her might bring when Barent returned. So while far from being subservient to her, S’to was following Tana’s directions—for now. But she knew the potential for violent rebellion lurked just below the surface. And in every encounter she’d had with S’to since his arrival, he’d made no effort whatsoever to conceal it.