Warden's Vengeance

by Tony James Slater

  The inside was full. On top was a brown cardboard document wallet, labelled, ‘House deeds’ in felt pen. His heart skipped a beat — it was his dad’s handwriting for sure. He traced the swirling ’s’ with his finger, then plucked the folder out of the box.

  And gasped.

  Stacks of £50 notes filled the entire box, perfectly arranged with hardly a centimetre of space.

  One million pounds… it was smaller than he’d expected. Whilst still being unbelievably, mind-bogglingly real.

  He stared at the money while is heart pounded in his chest. It was crazy — this stuff was of no more use to him on a spaceship than his laser rifle was on Bristol high street.

  And yet…

  The spell it wove over him was fascinating.

  Tris fought the urge to slap himself. If there were cameras in here, that wouldn’t look good.

  Were there cameras in here? Surely not…

  He pulled out enough stacks of cash to fill the small backpack he’d brought from home. Walking around with a bag literally filled with money didn’t seem like the greatest idea, but at least Kyra was with him. Between them they could handle anyone who showed too much interest.

  He finished stuffing bundles of notes into his bag. He hadn’t even taken a quarter of what was in there, but it was all he could fit.

  Pfft! 200k should buy every sleeping bag, camping stove and tin of tuna for ten miles in every direction!

  And from the look of the base’s storerooms, they might not even need it.

  He was about to shut the box when he noticed something else at the bottom, where it had lain hidden under the neatly-stacked money.

  Another flat folder, not thick enough to hold more than a sheet or two of paper. Another letter?

  He pulled the folder out and opened it.

  And felt his stomach twist in apprehension.

  A wafer-thin device the size of his thumbnail sat there, glinting dully.

  It looked like a bit like a high-tech SD card…

  But not one that had been made on Earth.

  His pulse quickened. This was something his father had left for him. Something he wanted Tris to have. In spite of all his warnings…

  In case of his death.

  Licking suddenly-dry lips, he lifted the thing up to the light.

  Shit, there better not be any cameras…

  It was a computer chip. At least, that was as close as he could call it. A narrow sliver of metal, with what could be circuitry of some kind embossed on both sides.

  He studied it a second longer, then glanced around guiltily and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Kyra would know what to do with it.

  He closed the box and went to the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The concierge was waiting patiently a bit further down the corridor, and came straight away to return the box to its hole in the wall.

  On the way out Tris walked like a robot, his mind on what he had just found. The vast pile of cash in his backpack suddenly seemed insignificant.

  Which it was, he reminded himself.

  He was a warrior now.

  The sunlight was still bright outside, and he squinted around him as he came down the limestone steps.

  Kyra was nowhere to be seen.

  Crap.

  “Kyra?” he yelled — before remembering he had a more esoteric form of communication.

  Kyra? Where are you?

  I’m here, I’m here!

  No, you’re not. I’m here. You’re… wherever you are. He caught a flash of something as she passed it — a bright red square with white numbers on it. Kyra are you… shopping?

  No! Okay, maybe a little. But I’ll be back before you know it.

  Bloody hell! I should have known. He peered in through the window of the shop opposite, but it was a futile gesture. I’ve got something to show you. Something important.

  I don’t need to know about your private medical issues.

  Kyra! I’m serious.

  Okay, okay. I’m nearly done, honest.

  Well, while you’re off enjoying yourself, I’ve got two-hundred grand burning a hole in my pocket! I’m going to… he glanced up and down the street for inspiration.

  Nothing obvious presented itself.

  I’m going to buy a burger.

  Oooh! Get me one while you’re at it?

  I’ll buy you one, but if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m eating it.

  His mouth suddenly watering, he headed towards the golden arches of McDonald’s.

  He was happily munching his way through his second Big Mac when Kyra arrived.

  She plonked down three big bags next to the table and sat down facing him. “Whew! That was intense. And I thought fighting Transgressors was hard! So.” Her eyes fell on the boxed burger in front of her. “That for me?”

  “No.”

  “You gonna stop me eating it?” She opened the burger and tore into it. “Mmmm! Earth food is sooo good!”

  “I’m not sure this actually qualifies as food. I think there’s more nutrition in the box.”

  She took another huge bite. “You eat the boxes then, and I’ll take the burgers.”

  They munched on in silence for a few minutes, emptying the tray of food.

  “Right, so,” Kyra said, cracking her knuckles. “What’s this thing you’ve got to show me?

  Tris dug in his pocket, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Kyra. The tiny device was tricky to extricate, but he got hold of it eventually. He pulled it out and placed it on the tray.

  Kyra looked down. “Oh, holy shit!”

  “What? What is it?”

  Kyra gazed at the device, studying it while she slurped on Tris’ milkshake. He was so intent, he barely noticed the theft.

  “Kyra? What is it?”

  “I have no idea,” she said finally.

  “Bullshit!”

  The look she gave him was thoughtful. “Okay hotshot. Tell me what you think it is, and I’ll let you know if you get close.”

  He scowled at her, but decided to play along. “It’s… a storage device? Like out of a camera?”

  She nodded.

  “Bank records?” he hazarded.

  She shook her head.

  “Kyra, come on!”

  In response, she slurped the rest of his milkshake until it was gone. “Alright. I’ll tell you what it is on one condition. You’ve got to promise me that you’ll wait to show Kreon this before you do anything with it.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with it even if I wanted to.”

  “That’s not a promise.”

  There was something in the way she said it — a serious edge to her voice that was rare for Kyra.

  “Fair enough.” He held his hand up in Scout’s Honour. Not that he’d ever been a Scout. “I promise.”

  “To do what?”

  “To ask Kreon before I try to use this thing. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “So what is it?”

  “It’s a memory engram. Since you found it with your dad’s stuff, I’d say it was his.”

  “You mean like…” Tris’ mind groped for the words.

  “Like, a complete record of all his memories, right up until the time he made it. Presumably around the same time he wrote you that letter.”

  “Woah.” Tris sat back, stunned. Already his mind was reeling with the possibilities.

  Kyra deftly plucked the tiny square of metal off the tray and held it up for closer inspection. “Yeah, these little bad-boys can hold an entire lifetime of memories. At least a hundred years. They cost an absolute fortune.” She turned it over in her fingers, then held it out to him. “And you’ve got ketchup on it.”

  As they made their way back to his house, all Tris could think about was the engram.

  He’d been more careful with it this time, wrapping it in a napkin before stuffing it back in his pocket. Dad’s memories… all of them.

  If he could look at them somehow…

  He could see hi
mself as a kid.

  See his mum, even, before they’d lost her.

  See all the secrets his dad had hidden from him…

  See everything.

  “Can any computer play this thing,” he asked Kyra.

  She gave him a sharp look. “We are not going back to that base. You’ll wait until Kreon can advise you on the safest way to open that thing, and until he’s had a look himself, ideally.”

  “What? No way! I didn’t agree to that.”

  “Tris, there could be anything on there. There might be stuff you’re not ready for.”

  Tris didn’t bother answering her. He knew the Folly’s computer was capable of opening a memory engram — it was the same gadget that allowed his mother to effectively inhabit the place.

  If he could restore his father in the same way… talk to him, ask advice, ask about… well, anything.

  It would be like he never left.

  They reached the house to find chaos. Mark was frying eggs in the kitchen — a lot of eggs, in three different pans — whilst Lemurian refugees in scorched and ragged clothes sat and stood in every available patch of space. They filled the hallway, causing Tris and Kyra to jostle their way through. They lined the stairs all the way up, and Tris could hear chatter and banging coming from the bedrooms.

  “Mark? What happened?”

  Mark glanced up from his pans, looking immensely relieved to see Tris. “Dunno, mate! Some bald bloke showed up and said he was ‘bringing the rest’. I thought he was talking about your role-playing group, but then this happened.” He waved a hand at their postage-stamp of a garden, which was also crammed with people. “Neighbours are gonna think we’re having a rave.”

  Kyra tugged on Tris’ shirt, pulling him aside for a chat. “So much for stealth,” she said. “We’ve got to get these people out of here now. Kreon must have had his reasons, which means our timetable just got pushed up.”

  Tris scanned the crowd glumly, as Mark began to dish up eggs. “Oh well. Guess we won’t be doing any more shopping then.”

  Kyra pushed him to arm’s length and fixed him with a glare. “Tris, I like you and I consider you a friend, but I will kill you if you say that again.”

  Ana and her babysitter had arrived in this batch. “Lukas is in charge,” the girl explained, when Tris found her munching bananas in the basement.

  “Where is he?”

  She waved a banana skin in the air vaguely. “He’s around.”

  It wasn’t the most helpful of conversations.

  He didn’t have to look far though; as he emerged from the basement Kyra was coming down the stairs, berating Lukas as she went.

  “I can’t believe you were sleeping!”

  “I can’t believe you woke me up,” he countered.

  “These people are depending on you!”

  “No, they’re depending on you. I’m just their leader.”

  “And leading is so easy you can do it with your eyes closed?”

  “I lead by example. It’s been a tough day. I think everyone should get some rest.”

  By the time they’d reached the bottom of the crowded staircase Kyra looked ready to stab him.

  At least he’d found something to wear, though the stretchy black material clung tightly to his muscles, doing absolutely nothing to disguise the body underneath.

  Tris waved them over. “Hey, I’ve got Ana down here.”

  Kyra shot Lukas yet another black look at that.

  “What? Girl needed a bit of personal space. She hates it when I watch her eat.”

  “Okay,” Tris said, holding a hand up to stave off impending violence. “We should start moving people out. Are we sure we’ve got everyone?” He directed the question at Lukas.

  The babysitter raised both hands to indicate the overpopulated hallway. “Looks like a full house to me.”

  Kyra bit her tongue over some expletive she’d obviously thought better of. “Okay hero, I’m afraid we’re adding to your busy schedule. You’re the leader. You’re going to have to actually lead them somewhere.”

  Lukas grinned at her. “No problem. I’ll be right behind you.”

  They had little choice but to take the refugees out in one massive group. It was bound to turn a few heads, what with their dishevelled appearance and outlandish clothes, but at least Bristol had a fairly strong ‘alternative’ scene. If anyone noticed, they’d probably just think there was a convention going on.

  Once the street was lined with milling refugees, a sort of stunned awe settled over most of them. More than a few were turning in circles, taking in the dubious 1960s architecture and the impossibly blue sky.

  Lukas stretched and let out a colossal yawn. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. “Nice planet you got here. I could get used to this.”

  “Don’t,” Kyra snapped. “We’re on the clock. Have you done a head count?”

  He didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Last time I checked, everybody had one. If someone grows an extra one, they’ll probably let us know.”

  Kyra hissed at him and stalked off to the back of the group.

  “That chick takes herself way too seriously,” Lukas commented.

  “Probably don’t say that to her though,” Tris warned him.

  He laughed. “Yeah, I’d hate to think she was annoyed with me.” He scanned the group and levelled a finger at Ana. “There’s my little hellcat. Take it easy, Tess.” And he strolled off towards his charge.

  “I’m… Tris,” Tris murmured, pointlessly.

  When they finally got moving Tris led the way, with Mark walking next to him. Tris had been torn between opening up to his best friend with the truth, or concocting some elaborate lie that would keep him safely ignorant. That decision seemed to have taken out of his hands by the arrival in his basement of nearly two-hundred interplanetary refugees. No amount of invention could account for the endless stream of people that must have poured up from downstairs, so Tris admitted that they’d been imported from another planet. Mark took that nugget in his stride, so Tris decided not to hold back.

  “Go on, then. Ask me anything.”

  Mark scratched his head as they walked, deep in thought. “I guess I just want to know… what’s it like out there, really?”

  “It’s… well to be honest, it’s exactly like Star Wars.”

  Mark whistled. “So, you’re struggling against an evil galactic empire?”

  “No, not that part.”

  “So are you, like, smugglers then?”

  “No, more of… well, I’m just a student to be honest.”

  “Oh. But there’s talking robots, right?”

  “Well… we kind of had one, but he got a bit… buried. And smart robots are illegal.”

  “Seriously? What about the Force, then. Is all that true?”

  “Ahhh… no, not really.”

  “So no Jedi Knights?”

  “No.”

  “But you’ve got a light-sabre, right?”

  “Goddamnit!”

  7

  Kreon stood with Sera in the Wayfinder’s main docking bay, watching the arrival of their daughter’s shuttle.

  Àurea was the last to arrive, having proved predictably resistant to his summons.

  But she was a vital component of his current plan, and he was mindful that any subsequent requirements should be framed as requests.

  “Very well father,” she growled, clanging down the shuttle’s ramp in her Ingumen boots, “I am here as per your orders. Now are you going to tell me what this is about, or will I have to beat it out of you?”

  She’d removed the rest of her armour following the battle in the Pit, presumably to have it cleaned. One hardly inspired the devotion and sacrifice of thousands whilst dripping with bodily fluids.

  Kreon let her come, waiting until she stood in front him before answering. “You have my gratitude, child, for humouring me.”

  Àurea’s eyes narrowed. “Mother? What’s this about?”

  Ser
a threw her arms up, servos whirring — she’d opted to retain her armour, gore-splattered as it was.

  Perhaps she still considered Wayfinder to be enemy territory?

  “Ask your father,” she said, “he never tells me anything.”

  Àurea turned her attention back to him. “Well, father? Here we are, the three of us huddled together in the corner of a docking bay like criminals. Would you care to elaborate on your reason for summoning us?”

  Kreon cleared his throat. “I have determined a strategy which will enable us to accomplish several objectives at once. However, your assistance will be instrumental, so I thought it best to… run it by you.”

  Now both women were staring at him suspiciously.

  Kreon permitted himself a grin.

  Àurea exchanged a glance with her mother. “This sounds complicated. Would we be more comfortable discussing it in the crew lounge?”

  “No. We are alone in here,” Kreon said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Wayfinder’s docking bay contains cameras, but no audio pick-ups.”

  Àurea’s expression said she caught his meaning — and like most things he did, it annoyed her. “If you wish to keep this conversation private from ALI, we could have conducted it aboard the Folly. All three of us were there only minutes ago.”

  “Indeed,” Kreon agreed. “However, once you have agreed to the plan I will inform ALI of our intentions. Askarra, on the other hand, could react negatively to my proposition.”

  That really focussed their attention.

  Kreon was a master conspirator, and knew well how to capture an ally’s interest. The lure to hook them; the promise of revelations to entice, and the appeal to the appropriate emotions once their psychological state had been suitably tuned.

  By he required no such artifice today.

  It was rare indeed that Kreon appealed to someone’s better nature; plans based on such weakness inherited the flaws of their foundations. The appeal he was about to make targeted a far more savage instinct.

  “I mean to find Gerian.”

  Àurea and Sera exchanged glances again, but didn’t look surprised.