Warden's Vengeance

by Tony James Slater

  Kreon’s expression was pained. “A Warden requires an immense amount of knowledge about the way the galaxy works. Different languages, different species, and an intimate understanding of their interactions. Alien biology, planetary science, mechanical engineering and interstellar law, to name but a few. Along with a strong grasp of our Traditions, our history and our spheres of influence; in fact, the geo-political make-up of the entire galaxy.”

  “Okay, fair enough. You stuck a thing in my head to help me with languages though. Can’t you just do the same with all the rest of that stuff?”

  He had the rare pleasure of seeing the Warden lost for words.

  “Well… yes,” he said at last, “but you’re missing the point. This is about a life of commitment. Of serious dedication to duty. Of sacrifice.”

  Tris nodded thoughtfully. “All of which I’m demonstrating by letting you stick bits of metal in my head though, right?”

  Kreon gazed at him for a few seconds, his expression unreadable — then turned and stomped off, muttering under his breath.

  Tris considered that a victory.

  Having lingered off-camera during the call, Ella moved in close. At least, as close as she could without getting covered in bits of dead person. “I think he likes you,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Tris went to put his arm around her, and stopped himself just in time. “Probably for the best, if he’s going to be stuck with me for the next ten years.”

  “I’d be happy with ten minutes,” she said, a sly note creeping into her voice.

  “Ha! Ten minutes! It’ll take me that long just get out of this suit.”

  “Good point.” Ella sauntered off towards the door, moving with a suggestive swing to her hips. She turned, and crooked her little finger at him. “We’d better get started then.”

  The cabin she’d occupied was as basic and spartan as all the rest.

  Tris hardly noticed. There was a bed, and there was a shower — and there was Ella. Everything he needed, though sadly not in that order.

  Wrestling off the disgusting armour, he dumped it in the farthest corner from the bed. He promised himself he’d clean it later, even though he could already tell how unlikely that was.

  The shower felt amazing, stripping layers of things he didn’t want to think about off his skin. The drain ran red for a while, even though he’d had his helmet on and sealed for most of the battle. One of Kyra’s pet peeves came to mind; there was just something about entrails. They got everywhere.

  Despite her earlier indication, Ella didn’t join him in the shower. He couldn’t blame her; scrubbing dried blood from his fingernails was hardly the most romantic of activities. But she was good enough to hand him a towel, an Earth-affectation he refused to give up. The shower cubicle could dry him with a mix of hot air and infra-red, but he just didn’t feel clean unless he rubbed himself down with a towel.

  Finally, the moment came. Ella was waiting for him on the bed; he lay down next to her, abandoning the towel in the process.

  “Feel better?” she asked, that glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “Much,” he admitted. “It was just so… unexpected, you know? I mean, we were going in there expecting a fight, but I don’t think anyone was ready for that. How can you be? It’s like…” he shook his head, not wanting to relive the memories.

  “Shhh,” Ella said, snuggling up beside him and stroking his head. “It’s all over.”

  “Mmm,” he replied, his eyes closing.

  He was asleep in seconds.

  When he woke up, she was gone.

  His eyes were gummed together with sleep; he must have been out a while.

  He glanced around, bleary eyed, wondering if she was in the bathroom. But no — the Gift quickly told him that she was not nearby. Expanding his search, he quickly realised that she was not on board Wayfinder at all.

  He sat up then.

  Had she been called over to help on the Folly?

  His sudden motion trigged a sensor in the cabin, and ALI’s voice filtered through the speakers in the ceiling. “Good morning Tristan! You have a message from Eleanor Fitzgerald. Would you like to view it?”

  Tris swept a hand through his hair, feeling oddly self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. Please.”

  With a flicker, a hazy figure of Ella appeared in the middle of the room, seated in mid-air. “Hi there, sleepy-head,” she smiled. Her tone was hushed; obviously she’d recorded it in the room with him fast asleep right next to her.

  “I’m so sorry Tris, but there’s something I’ve got to do. I planned on discussing it after we… well, you know. But it looks like I’m out of time again, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake you. I’ll be back soon — a few days at most. I’ll send a message when I can. Please take care of yourself! I love you. See you soon!”

  And the hologram vanished.

  Tris stared at the empty space for a good while, his head cycling through the same emotions he felt every time she slipped away like this. Fear. Concern. Self-doubt. Annoyance. Loss…

  And as always, once he’d stopped worrying about her, and about what he might have done to drive her away — and gotten over the irritation of being hung out to dry yet again — he was left with a vaguely hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Damn that woman!

  He missed her already.

  5

  Tris took another shower in Ella’s cabin and tried to wipe the worst of the filth off his new armour. He hadn’t left any clothes aboard Wayfinder, largely because he didn’t own any more clothes. Scavenging around the other cabins in his underwear, he eventually found a weird baggy tunic and some stretchy training pants.

  By the time he was decent, Kyra and Sera had arrived by shuttle. Àurea had stayed behind on the Folly to help organise her people, along with her babysitter who was apparently called Lukas.

  “Bloody useless is what he should be called,” Kyra fumed, as they sat in the crew lounge waiting for Kreon to emerge. “All those muscles, and he didn’t help lift a single crate! He just pointed to Ana and said he had to watch her instead. I think he’s found the easiest, cushiest job on a rock full of hard-core warriors, and he’s scared they’ll ask him to step up and do something.”

  “He can’t be that lazy,” Tris pointed out. “He must work out a fair bit to stay in shape. And he sort of led those people into hiding.”

  Kyra glared at him. “Why are you defending him? Shouldn’t you be feeling all threatened and shit?”

  Tris thought about that. “I guess he’s nice to look at, but… he’s a babysitter. So, you know. Not really.”

  “Huh. He’s probably crap at that, too.”

  Kreon entered the lounge, limping noticeably. He’d replaced his armour with an Earth-style jumper and trousers in black, and the ragged trench coat he seemed to prize so much.

  After everything they’d been through, there was hardly anything left of the garment.

  The Warden didn’t bother sitting down to open the meeting. “We must determine the best course of action concerning the Ingumend refugees,” he said. “The Folly cannot sustain them for a protracted period, and could come under attack at any moment. Additionally, we have a mission to attend to beyond seeing to their welfare; all our resources will be required for its execution. We must examine the options and decide quickly. I am open to suggestions.”

  Sera came to her feet. Her black hair had been washed and bound back out of the way; she wore the gadget-laden undersuit that Tris knew allowed her to mesh with the much bulkier armour she’d left on the Folly.

  “Àurea doesn’t know of anywhere in Lemurian space that is safe right now. I have offered to take these people to New Earth, and allow them to start a colony. We would need to find supplies on the way, as there is no infrastructure there yet.”

  Kreon stared at her, a vein pulsing in his temple. “By ‘New Earth’, are you by any chance referring to the planet I own, which you somehow believe you are entitled to?”

  Sera retur
ned his gaze coolly. “Why yes dear, I am. What’s yours is mine, remember? Or did you acquire this planet more recently than that? But we don’t have to call it New Earth. What do you call it?”

  Tris exchanged a knowing look with Kyra. Kreon said nothing, but his face darkened a shade or two.

  Sera continued. “I think our daughter should get to see the place. She could help establish the colony there. Keep it in the family, so to speak.”

  “The resources could be an issue,” Kyra chipped in. “I could call Sharki and see what he can rustle up, see if he can meet us there with some gear. But two-hundred people eat a lot of food, and there’s shelter and power to work out.”

  Kyra’s interruption seemed to have saved Kreon from a minor meltdown. “The idea has merits,” he admitted, “but time is against us. I believe we should take these people to Atalia. There is ample room and resources there, and we can debrief the Wardens on the events that have transpired.”

  “Running home?” Sera’s tone was scathing.

  “You are standing in my home,” Kreon reminded her. “But Oktavius has requested our presence on Atalia. It no longer means anything to you, but he is still the master of my Order.”

  “Peh! Oktavius.” She said his name like the word disgusted her. “You should have been appointed High Warden, Kreon.”

  He looked up surprised. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why? On what grounds?”

  Sera shrugged, the metal fixings on her shoulders exaggerating the gesture. “You were clearly the most suitable candidate. By a parsec.”

  Kreon’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want to be High Warden,” he said quietly.

  “And that,” Sera pointed out, “is precisely why it should be you.”

  He studied her for a moment longer. “No matter. Unless there are any further objections, I will contact Oktavius and appraise him of our intentions.”

  Sera hissed out a breath. “Very well. Then I’m afraid I’ll have to commandeer a shuttle. My presence on Atalia would… complicate things.”

  Tris let out a laugh in spite of himself. “Uh, yeah, well…” he spluttered, as all eyes turned to him. “We’ll tell him no hard feelings, if you want?”

  Before she could answer, an electronic voice chimed in from concealed speakers. “There is a factor you have not considered,” ALI said. “Loader is still here, either on Helicon Prime or elsewhere in Lemurian space. We must find him.”

  Tris was never sure where to look when addressing the computer, and Kreon seemed to have the same problem. He looked around, then tilted his head upwards and spoke to the ceiling. “ALI, our priority is to the living. Loader’s core is virtually indestructible; there will be time for an extensive search once the refugees have been relocated.”

  Whether it was Kreon’s brusque manner or the way he dismissed ALI’s opinion as irrelevant, Tris didn’t know, but he felt a sudden chill in the air.

  And then the lights went out.

  The blackness was absolute. Which made sense, if Tris thought about it; they were in deep space after all. “Power cut?” he hazarded. “Is that normal on spaceships?”

  No-one replied.

  “Uh, guys?” he said into the silence. “You still there?”

  “Shit!” Kyra cursed, answering his question. “You hear that?”

  Tris strained his ears, to no avail. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Which means life support has been cut off as well,” Kreon said.

  Tris felt cold, and told himself it was his imagination. Surely a ship this size had failsafes? He remembered his trip in Gerian’s fighter, and the feeling of floating helplessly in rapidly cooling bubble of glass…

  Bastard did that on purpose.

  It gave Tris an idea. “ALI?” he spoke up. “Are you doing this? Would you mind turning the lights back on?”

  “Not until Lord Anakreon considers my proposal,” the voice chimed. Her tone was far too musical for the situation — almost childlike.

  “ALI!” Kreon growled. “You are not engendering trust in us by threatening our survival!”

  “Trust must be equal between all parties,” the computer responded. “My requirements are as relevant as yours. And in this instance, they will take precedence. Wayfinder will remain in this system and initiate a search for Loader. You assistance would be valuable, but is non-essential — in which case you are welcome to disembark via the airlock.”

  Shit! Tris thought to Kyra. What do we do?

  Her reply was prickly but not panicked. We’re inside a ship that has turned homicidal. Her next trick could be purging the atmosphere. So unless you’re really good at holding your breath, I vote we give in.

  Agreed, Kreon confirmed. With no natural talent for the Gift, he was relying on another piece of alien jewellery to join their conversation. But if we find Loader, I will have words with him about his taste in girlfriends.

  “Ah, ALI?” Tris pitched his voice upwards. “Please turn the life support back on! I miss Loader too, and I want to find him as badly as you do. We can let the others leave on the Folly if they want, and I’ll help you look.”

  He held his breath for a response — and a moment later bright light flooded the room, blinding him in the process.

  “Oww! Little warning though, would be nice,” he said. He blinked through tears, and saw that none of the others had moved. The blackout had only lasted a few seconds, even though it felt like a lifetime.

  “I agree to your compromise, Tristan,” ALI chirped.

  “If he stayed in the Tower of Justice, there’s a mile of rubble on top of him now,” Sera pointed out. The unexpected brush with death seemed not to have fazed her at all. “I would advise you to wait until the Lemurians dig him out, then steal him back from somewhere more accessible.”

  “Your advice is appreciated, Lady Serafine.”

  “You’re most welcome ALI. And please don’t mind my husband. His understanding of woman is tenuous at best.”

  “That appears to be a common trait amongst males of all species.”

  Sera had managed to stay on ALI’s good side, Tris realised, by treating her as an equal and appealing to her logic. Compared to Kreon’s strategy of barking orders and demanding they be obeyed, it was no wonder she was more successful. The two really were chalk and cheese in almost everything. But it gave Tris an idea. He stood up.

  “ALI, do we have time for me to make a short trip? If I can get rid of the people on the Folly, then we’ll all be free to search for Loader.”

  “Of course Tristan! A functioning team will increase our odds dramatically.”

  Tris turned to face Kreon and gave him a thumbs-up.

  The old man quirked an eyebrow. “You have a suggestion?”

  “Yeah! What about Earth? I know we’re trying not to use the Portals, but I doubt it’ll make a difference now. We could take the refugees straight through to my dad’s basement from the Folly.”

  Kreon stared intently at him for a second. “That would be against the Edicts,” he said at last. “And the sudden emergence of two-hundred new people in your area would not go undetected. To say nothing of the difficulty in feeding them.”

  “But I’ve got a million pounds in the bank. I could use that to help look after them. There isn’t room for all of them in my house, but what about that old warehouse you parked the ship in? It won’t be very comfy, but it’s safe. There’s power and lights. And there’s a big supermarket nearby, and loads of other shops. We could get sleeping bags, some little camping stoves, you know? Cook beans and sausages. Have a camp out.”

  The look Kreon gave him was appraising. “You would do this for them? For people you have barely met? That money is your legacy, Tristan.”

  Tris shrugged. “S’all good. It’s not like I’m ever going to be living there again, is it? It’s just numbers on a piece of paper to me. They might as well enjoy it.”

  Kreon was nodding. “They may not have to. That warehouse you mentio
ned is one of Sera’s Forward Operating Bases.” He glanced over at the former Earth Warden. “Or it was. There are several more levels beneath the surface containing vehicles, supplies, communications gear and accommodation for our operatives.”

  Tris’ eyes went wide. “What? You’re telling me there’s a frikkin’ secret underground base right there? Well that’s perfect!”

  “Indeed. Better still; it should be unoccupied. Most of our forces on Earth were pulled out during the Battle of Homeguard.” He cast another sidelong glance at Sera.

  She bristled. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? I tell you something, Kreon: you try living in that broken down old hunk of rock for ten years. You’d be begging me to blow it up for you.”

  It looked like Kreon was about to retaliate with something truly nasty, when Kyra stood up.

  She’d been quiet for most of the debate, content to lounge on a curving couch. Perhaps she didn’t care which option came out on top?

  Until now.

  “I’m going with Tris,” she said, her eyes shining with undisguised glee. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

  Kreon narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re escorting him to Earth? And you couldn’t possibly have an ulterior motive?”

  Kyra spread her hands innocently. “A girls gotta shop sometime.”

  He snorted his opinion of that. “Very well. Sera can give you the entrance codes.” He jabbed a gloved finger at her. “But keep a low profile! The Edicts are still in force; unauthorised travel to Earth carries the penalty of death. I’m trusting you with this.”

  “We’ll be invisible,” Kyra promised.

  Kreon’s finger swung through the air and came to point at Tris. “And you,” the Warden continued, brusquely. “Don’t get shot.”

  * * *

  Back on the Folly, things were looking remarkably organised.

  People moved to and fro along the corridors carrying pieces of equipment, crates of food and piles of clothing, most of which must have been salvaged from storehouses in the Pit. Àurea had already managed to split the people into three camps; the injured, who were in the med bay, the most vulnerable, who’d been allocated cabins in the station’s accommodation levels — and the rest, who were setting up camps in some of the non-functional docking bays.