Warden

by Natalie Grey

  “Damn,” Barnabas said succinctly.

  Jotun image by Eric Quigley

  7

  The alarms blared to life, and Tafa looked anxiously at the door. “What do you think that is?”

  “Clearly,” Jeltor intoned, “we’re under attack.”

  Tafa gave him an unfriendly look. She and Jeltor were the only two surviving members of a raid on a passenger ship. The mercenary captain, a Shrillexian named Drakuz, had graciously offered to enslave them rather than leaving them to die in the wreckage.

  Actually, he’d told them they could be mercenaries if they wanted to. Then he’d laughed himself sick.

  Tafa hated him.

  She knew she was scrawny. She didn’t need it pointed out. She was an artist, not a laborer. She was Yofu, and it wasn’t like the Yofu made very good soldiers. She had sometimes wondered if that was why her cousin’s family was so involved in the munitions business—they wanted to take soldiers’ money since they couldn’t be soldiers themselves.

  Tafa had thought that was a stupid idea, but now they were billionaires, and she was a slave on a mercenary base. Maybe there was something to doing things their way.

  Jeltor, a Jotun male, looked down on everyone else and liked to make a big deal of how nice his power suit was. He was also, Tafa had learned, incredibly vain. Insulting his appearance was one of the few ways she could get back at him when he was snide.

  It wasn’t even difficult to do. Jotuns were purple blobs with wavy arms and two very bulbous eyes. Jeltor’s body looked like a clump of jelly that was about to burst and spill every which way. For all she knew he was a supermodel by Jotun standards, but he was prickly enough about it that she couldn’t resist sliding in little insults.

  “You’ll have to be careful,” she said innocently. “You wouldn’t want the stress and fighting to ruin your looks.”

  His power-suited chest wheezed as he looked at her, then stomped off to the corner to sulk.

  Tafa sneered at him, but her heart was pounding far too fast. Someone was attacking the base.

  What if they just assumed everyone here was part of the syndicate and killed them?

  “What’s going on?” Uleq strode into the rooms with his silvery hair still sopping wet and plastered to his neck.

  Crallus didn’t mention that. Torcellans were notoriously vain about their hair, and this particular Torcellan was notoriously fond of murder. Crallus wasn’t going to die because he’d looked at someone’s hair the wrong way.

  He brought up the video feeds from the lowest level. “The alert was pressed here, on the maintenance level. Two patrols are down, and they are presently fighting in the recreation room. I’ve blockaded the doors up to the first and second levels and have reinforcements stationed at intervals.”

  Uleq cast an annoyed glance at the screen, where two figures wreaked havoc in a room full of mercenaries.

  “How did they get in?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Crallus shook his head. “But that seems to be all of them, and I have the ones on the second level readying rocket launchers.” He hesitated. “I’ve written off the ones on the maintenance level.”

  There wasn’t any evidence in Uleq expression to suggest he cared in any way who lived or died. He brought up the second set of surveillance cameras on the outside of the station and drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited.

  Both males could see immediately what had happened. The Shinigami, not the Jil, was attached securely to the garbage dump at the end of the base.

  The Torcellan slammed his fingers down repeatedly on the keys, sending commands to the gun turrets.

  “Why aren’t they firing?” he snarled.

  Crallus only shook his head. He didn’t know, but he had a very bad feeling about this. Barnabas clearly knew not only where the base was, but he also knew its layout. He’d avoided the traps at the main launchpad, and he must have found some way to shut off the security feeds and the defense systems.

  He was still trying to figure out what to do when Uleq grabbed a communications device Crallus hadn’t seen before. “Captains to your ships,” he ordered curtly. “There is a ship docked at the end of the base. Keep it pinned down.” He switched off the device and jerked his head at Crallus. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Crallus followed him out into the hallway, turning his head briefly as he heard an animal yell and the sound of something breaking.

  Uleq gave him a look. “Where do you think? We’re leaving. They must have gotten into the servers at the other base.” He cursed, low and fluently, in his own language. “There’s no way they’ve found the main Yennai base, though, so that’s where we’re going.”

  “If we go back without the ship—” Crallus began nervously.

  Uleq cut him off with a bitter laugh. “We don’t need to worry. My father and sister will be glad to see me fail. They like to gloat. They’ll give me orders, then forget about me again while they keep trying to turn themselves into Torcellan royalty.” His lip curled. “And then they’ll be dead,” he whispered to himself.

  “Update,” Shinigami reported to Barnabas and Gar. “Uleq has sent a fuck-ton of ships to pin me down.”

  “How many exactly is a fuck-ton?” Barnabas brought the butt of his pistol down on a mercenary’s head and nodded in satisfaction as the soldier dropped like a stone. To be fair, the soldiers hadn’t run, but they also weren’t very good at this.

  As far as Barnabas could tell, they mostly showed up at their targets and overran their enemies in a large group. Most of their enemies would be at about the same skill level, and the rest would run.

  They had no Plan B.

  Unfortunate for them, but not really his problem. He was just the messenger, so to speak. And his message was that they were terrible at their jobs and were consequently going to die.

  “There are eighteen of them,: Shinigami explained. “So not really a fuck-ton, just enough to be annoying.”

  “Only you would say that about eighteen ships.” Barnabas took a moment to watch Gar clothesline a mercenary with a rifle and snickered slightly before he came back to the topic at hand. “Ah, right. Fuck-ton of ships. Can you get out of there? We can hold on here.”

  “They’re trying to override the holds I placed on the system. Right now I’m in a dead zone regarding the turrets. They never anticipated needing to shoot at their garbage compactor apparently, which seems like an oversight. But the point is, as soon as I lift off I’ll have eighteen ships and all the turrets to deal with.”

  “Hmm.” Barnabas spun, unsheathed his knives, and charged into the middle of a group of mercenaries who were massing to take Gar down. They dropped one by one, screaming.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m trying to get the turrets back online, so I can take the ships out with their own weapons. I always did like poetic deaths.”

  “Mmm. Be careful, and tell me if you need help.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re still relatively squishy and don’t take missiles to the face well. You handle the mercenaries, I’ll handle the ships.”

  “Good call.” Barnabas took down the last assailant on his side. Gar had three opponents left, all with their weapons drawn.

  “You take the one on the far left!” Barnabas flipped up both Jean Dukes Specials and took out the other two with simultaneous shots. Gar’s gun went off a scant half-second later.

  He looked at Barnabas with a grimace. “You took out a lot more than me.”

  “Practice,” Barnabas replied. “You’ll get there.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gar agreed glumly. Barnabas started laughing, and the Luvendi got a prickly look on his face. “What? What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just, uh...” Barnabas bit his lip. “You look like something out of a horror movie. You’re covered in blood.”

  “I was fighting,” Gar argued. He frowned at Barnabas. “Why are you not covered in blood?”

  “Where you stab people is imp
ortant,” Barnabas pointed out.

  “Fuck!” Shinigami’s voice echoed through both Barnabas and Gar’s implants.

  “Problem?” Barnabas’ hand went to his pistols.

  “They’re lifting off! I’m guessing it’s Uleq, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to reach them. I’m trying to turn the turrets on, but by the time I get them pointed at the ship, they’re going to be gone.” The rough snarl of her voice sounded supremely frustrated. “I’ve launched pucks, but there’s something in their cloaking signal that’s confusing the little buggers. I figure their own turrets might have a better chance, but—“

  “Focus on getting a trace on that ship,” Barnabas instructed. “We can find them wherever they go. We can get wherever they go. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worrying. I’m an AI. It’s literally—"

  “Impossible for you to be illogical, yes. You’ve mentioned. I’m just, uh…reassuring Gar.” Barnabas shook his head confidentially at Gar, who stifled his laughter. They would just have to hope that Shinigami was too busy fighting off mercenary ships to look through their eyes.

  “Oh. Right.” As Barnabas had expected, she didn’t bother to check up on them. “Yeah, it’s going to be okay, Gar.”

  “Thank you,” Gar replied solemnly. He hadn’t gotten the hang of speaking through the throat mic yet, so his reply was audible.

  “And all of this gives me an idea,” Barnabas murmured. “Come with me.”

  He climbed the stairs two at a time and opened the door slightly to peek out. He slammed it shut and jumped to the side the next moment as several bullets pierced it.

  “Yep, that’s what I thought. Shinigami, can you get me into their intercom systems? Bonus if it can be broadcast to the ships as well.”

  Fight off a fleet, Shinigami. Trace the ship, Shinigami. Get me into their intercom systems, Shinigami. Wash the dishes, Shinigami. Her mental voice clearly reflected her disgust.

  There’s a dishwasher on board, and that doesn’t count as you washing the dishes.

  Hmph. Nevertheless, she added, you’re good to go on the intercoms. I’ll just route your words through me. Doing all the heavy lifting. Again. As usual.

  Barnabas ignored her.

  “Attention, mercenaries of Crallus’ syndicate. Crallus has ordered you to fight us. Meanwhile, he has left the base with Uleq. We can go about the rest of this one of two ways. Either you lay down your weapons and meet me on peaceful terms, or we’ll kill all of you. I would prefer not to massacre you all, but as the bodies of your friends downstairs will show, I won’t stand by while people shoot at me. End broadcast.”

  There was a pause.

  “Twelve of the ships have stopped shooting,” Shinigami reported. “I’m trying to get into their security feeds to see what’s going on. Oh, yep. They feel betrayed.”

  “They’re not wrong to,” Barnabas pointed out. “Can you do something for me? Yes, before you say anything, I know. Another thing for Shinigami to do. You’re so overworked. But this time you get to make things blow up.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Make an example of the ships that didn’t stop shooting at you.”

  “Oh, hell yeah. One sec. Yep. Yep, that’s the good shit. Just look at those beauties.”

  Gar frowned in consternation.

  “I’ll bet you thought you were missing quality conversations before you had the implant,” Barnabas remarked.

  Gar snorted with laughter.

  “Let’s see how you behave when you get missile launchers. Oh, yeah. Gorgeous. Lots of explosions. I’ll play the holo for you when you get back. Do you want to let the rest leave?”

  “One moment. Broadcast my voice again.”

  “Okay, you’re good to go.”

  “Members of Crallus’ syndicate.” Barnabas kept his mental tone light and pleasant. “At the conclusion of my last message, twelve ships stopped firing on the Shinigami and six continued. Those six ships are now debris, and their crews are dead. The other twelve are still floating. I trust the implications of this are clear. For those of you who want to survive today, I have the following instructions: all twelve ships will land, and all mercenaries who want to survive will go to the landing bays. The captains will come to see me, and I will explain my terms. Any ship that lifts off will be shot down. Any mercenaries who fight will be killed. I will meet you in Crallus’ office in half an hour. End broadcast.”

  “That’s a tight timeline,” Shinigami commented.

  “Good. Make it tight enough, and they’ll focus on that instead of making trouble.”

  “You’d be a diabolical parent. I’m just saying.”

  “Having met Alexis and Gabriel, I am quite content with my life as it is.”

  “We’ll see. By the way, the mercenaries are clearing out, except for a handful, and I’m reading two life signs in an out-of-the-way room with locked doors.”

  Barnabas’ eyes narrowed. “I’m going to go check that out. Come on, Gar.” He pushed the door open, directed five shots at the mercenaries who reached for their guns, and strode through the hallways, shaking his head.

  “Why is it that the ones who want to fight are always the stupid ones?” he asked conversationally.

  Gar had no answer.

  At the locked room, Barnabas paused and looked over his shoulder in amusement as the captains yelled for people to get out of the way, they needed to get to Crallus’ office.

  They’re panicking, he commented to Shinigami.

  Couldn’t have happened to a nicer group of people, I tell you. They scratched my paint. Make them pay.

  Will do. Barnabas opened the door and stared at the two occupants. One appeared to be a jellyfish wearing a robotic suit, and the other was a Yofu. She held her hands high and looked completely terrified by Gar’s blood-drenched form.

  “Don’t shoot!” she begged. “We’re captives! I’m Tafa Boreir, and this is—”

  “Boreir?” Barnabas asked delicately. “As in, a relation of Mustafee Boreir?”

  “He hates me, and the feeling’s mutual,” Tafa replied at once.

  A quick scan of her mind showed only hatred for Mustafee, but Barnabas wasn’t willing to trust her yet. This would require more in-depth questioning, and he did not yet have time for that.

  “You’d better hope you’re not lying,” he told her. “Because I killed him about a week ago, and I’ve been dismantling the Boreir Group ever since.” He looked the two of them over and noticed the restraints on both the robotic suit and the Yofu’s neck. She also had bruises, and marks where there had been manacles.

  “You two will accompany me to Crallus’ office,” Barnabas announced. “We’ll see what they have to say about your presence, and I’ll decide what to do from there.”

  8

  The captains stood in awkward silence as Barnabas sat behind the desk, Gar at one shoulder and the two prisoners off to one side.

  The captains no doubt thought that Barnabas sat in silence as a power move. In reality, he was reading their minds one by one. He saw greed. He saw apathy. And more than once, he saw families with children.

  If it had been all the captains, Barnabas knew he would have seen more anger and blind rage. These, however, were the ones who acknowledged Crallus’ betrayal. They were willing to see reason when faced with a force stronger than them.

  He closed his eyes slightly and tried to focus on all of them and none of them at once.

  “Here are my conditions.” His voice was not loud, but there was no compromise in it. “When you leave this place, you leave behind all ties to this syndicate and to the Yennai Corporation. Any equipment and any weapons Crallus has given you will be left here.

  “You are released from any debt of honor to your fallen comrades, beginning with Jutkelon and the others who came to Devon. They chose to support slavery and the murder of innocents. You lose no honor by refusing to take up their fight. Let it be.

  “You may continue as mercenaries, but you may
not protect those whose business was forbidden by the edicts of the former Etheric Empire. In the future, you will be bound by the laws of the Federation, and you will use your best efforts to avoid all dealings that are not only illegal but also immoral.

  “Do not go back to Devon. Do not speak of Devon. From this day forth, if anyone asks you about the planet, you will claim to know nothing. Do you understand?”

  He looked at each of them and felt their cautious acceptance.

  Mostly. One of them, at the end of the line, was already thinking of revenge against Barnabas. He planned to tell everyone he met about Devon.

  “You may think that I will not know if you violate the terms of this agreement,” Barnabas continued. He did not look at that captain specifically. “But I assure you that I will. And I will find you, and you will pay. Today I am giving you a chance to redeem yourselves. Do you understand?”

  They nodded. They understood. Even the captain at the end of the line understood. Barnabas stood and went around the desk to stand in front of him.

  “Your first thought was to tell everyone about Devon as a means of revenge,” he observed. He smiled at the look on the alien’s face. “Oh, yes, I know that. You were smart enough not to keep fighting when you were clearly outmatched, but you never had any intentions of meeting my demands, did you?”

  The other captains looked on in silence, and the Shrillexian drew his lips back in a snarl.

  “You are prey, and you will die as prey.”

  Barnabas laughed before he could stop himself. “I see.”

  “A predator doesn’t talk. A predator doesn’t make demands. A predator kills. And if you aren’t a predator, you’re prey.” The Shrillexian gave Barnabas a cold smile.

  Then he gave a gasp as Barnabas’ hand closed around his throat and Barnabas forced his thoughts into the alien’s head.

  I am no one’s prey. I am a Vigilante. I offer redemption to those who have the potential to seek it. His eyes glowed red as he stared the alien down. You do not.