Warden's Vengeance

by Tony James Slater

  “ALI refuses to do anything until we recover Loader. If such a thing is possible, Gerian is the man who can find him.”

  Both women nodded in agreement.

  “I believe he is also concealing knowledge about the Black Ships; knowledge which I have dedicated myself to discovering.”

  “Tristan also has unresolved issues with Gerian,” Àurea pointed out. “Are we waiting for him?”

  Kreon met her questioning gaze. “We are not. Because Gerian is a plague on the galaxy. He is responsible for your torture, and the annihilation of your resistance. Deploying his pet monstrosities against a civilian population… no man deserves to live after sanctioning such a thing.”

  “You mean to kill him, then.” Sera’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “I mean to find him first. Àurea’s network can assist with that. Then I intend to pry this information from him, using whatever methods are required. After that, assuming he survives the interrogation, I will execute him for his crimes and leave his body to rot.”

  “That’s why you’re excluding Tristan, and keeping him busy on Earth.” There was a note of accusation in Àurea’s voice, but that was nothing new.

  “And that’s why you want us to keep this from Askarra,” Sera added. She didn’t sound as affronted by it as her daughter.

  He glanced at her. “You agree with me then? On this course of action?”

  The smile Sera gave him had a touch of madness to it. “How could I not? This man raised his hands against our child. Against my daughter. For that alone, I will tear him apart a piece at a time.”

  Àurea was shaking her head slowly. “My babysitter would complement me on having the most deranged parents I could wish for. Amazingly though, I agree with you. This is unprecedented!” Her eyes twinkled with the implied joke. “Gerian must pay for what he has done — not just to the people that sheltered with me, but to every man, woman and child living in Lemurian space. His web of informers and psychics force people to live in fear; even thinking the wrong thing can lead to re-education, or worse. The Ingumend have long sought a way to eliminate Gerian, but his position and his unique talents have always protected him. But we three could succeed where others have failed. And through sheer good fortune… I know where to find him.”

  With ALI on their side, Wayfinder set course for Obsidia, a world Kreon had never even heard of. The central planet in a cluster known as the Seven Systems, it was where Àurea’s most recent intelligence reports placed Gerian. The Assessor-General maintained a house there, and tended to visit it whenever his duties allowed. Although the Ingumend’s main bases had all been destroyed, their network of agents and sleeper-cells remained partially intact. Àurea had transferred her database off the Pit’s mainframe before destroying the vast computer with a built-in failsafe. Gerian’s choice in using Transgressors to massacre her people had to cost him dearly in the currency he loved most; information.

  Survivors of the other bases would face his Assessors though, and none of their secrets would stay that way for long.

  Thus, it was a race against time to reach the Seven Systems, and exploit their resources while they still had them. Wayfinder’s powerful grav-drive had them there in half a day; an impressive burst of speed for a ship of its size, but still glacially slow given the shelf-life of their intelligence.

  Leaving Wayfinder in a small asteroid belt well beyond Obsidia’s orbit, they took one of the Pit’s old transport craft down to the planet in search of their contact.

  The resource in question was a middle-aged woman in charge of a major Entertainers Guild on Obsidia. According to Àurea, the Ingumend had been cultivating her for a while — not that she’d needed much in the way of cultivation. She happily transmitted a clearance-to-land permit which cited their borrowed shuttle as a courier vessel.

  They landed on the roof of her building, settling the old, battered shuttle next to a row of sleek, gleaming silver ones. No-one made a joke about looking out of place; for the two Lantian Wardens and the most wanted criminal in the Lemurian Empire, it was a little too close to home.

  Iruna, the lady in question, met them herself. An elegant-looking woman in a glittersilk kimono, Kreon would have placed her in her early forties. That meant nothing to someone in her position of course; the Lemurians had access to all the same life-extending technology the Lantians had. With a proud face and long blonde hair piled atop her head in a profusion of silver chains and pins, she looked every inch the wealthy matriarch.

  Which is precisely what she was; she ran the most exclusive whorehouse in the Seven Systems.

  “Iruna,” Àurea greeted her as they came down the shuttle’s ramp. “It’s been too long.”

  “It has, my child. You’re lucky I’m still here!”

  “Why?” They clasped hands. “Has there been… trouble?”

  “There is always trouble. Life would be so boring without it!”

  She guided them inside, and down several levels in a turbolift.

  When the doors opened, Kreon was taken aback. The foyer they entered, and the corridors leading off it, were artfully clad in pale purple tiles that sparkled with an inner light. Plants were everywhere, glistening green leaves and multi-hued flowers growing out of niches built into the walls. Their delicate fragrance perfumed the air. The floor was soft and spongy — carpet he realised, like he might find on Earth, only black as the depths of space.

  Iruna led them a short distance to her office, which was itself a haven of sumptuous luxury. Pillowed divans and padded armchairs were scattered around the expansive room; one entire wall was a holographic forest, with lush green foliage waving gently in a simulated breeze.

  Kreon wasn’t sure what he’d expected from such a place, but it wasn’t this. Austere training rooms perhaps, long drab corridors with cells for the girls; perhaps a pleasant reception room or two for clients, but this… it was gorgeous.

  “I see you appreciate the place,” Iruna said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

  “The decor is unexpectedly… tasteful, for a whorehouse,” Kreon said, unaccustomed to such niceties.

  Àurea cleared her throat. “Forgive my father,” she said. “Good taste is not part of his repertoire. And neither is tact, apparently.”

  It occurred to Kreon that his comment could be construed as insulting. Normally he had zero interest in such petty concerns, but their plan hinged upon this woman’s continued cooperation. “I apologise for my manner of speaking,” he said. “My daughter is correct; an appreciation of the finer things in life is generally denied me.”

  Iruna laughed, a delicate, musical sound. “Of course, My Lord! You are far more used to life-and-death struggles than to fine carpets and drapery! And so you should be. You need make no apologies to me.” She held up a small metal cylinder with a single flashing light on the top. Raising a finger to her lips she placed the object on the desk, watching the light until it turned solid. “We can talk now,” she explained. “But I only dare block the Shrine for a short while, so we must be brief. Welcome, Lord Anakreon, and my thanks for aiding us in this venture.”

  That caused Kreon to raise an eyebrow. As far as he was concerned, this was his plan they were enacting. Not that such a detail mattered; this woman could tell herself whatever she wanted, so long as she agreed to help.

  “These Shrines,” he said. “They are even more widespread than when I last visited Lemurian space.”

  Iruna nodded. “One in every home. One in every room, in an establishment like this! We never know if they’re listening or not. It makes plotting a murder such tiresome work.”

  Kreon glanced at the Shrine reflexively. A simple bronze plate carved with glyphs, it was set into the wall like a fancy decoration. He’d seen dozens of them back during the Frontier negotiations, of all different designs and sizes. That was when he’d first started relying on the Kharash pendant to use the Gift; it was the only way he’d been able talk to Mikeltaz in private.

  “Several of my girls have visi
ted Gerian’s house,” Iruna continued, “and between us we have pieced together a basic layout of the levels between the air-dock and his private quarters. However, we have very little data to go on. It’s quite possible that the room he receives my girls in is not the room he actually sleeps in. This is why we haven’t risked a mission on our own; none of my staff are fighters. Even if they committed to a one-way mission, there is no guarantee they would even find Gerian. And I cannot send an assassin when he is expecting a visit; his psychic talents are far too powerful to hide from. He would know the girl’s intentions before she got off the shuttle. Which brings us back to you.” She made eye contact with Sera first, then Kreon. “Ingumen assures me that you are able to hold off Gerian’s guards long enough to find the man, and that you have ways of dealing with his other abilities.”

  Kreon inclined his head. “That is correct.” Reaching inside his trench coat he removed the pendant given to Tris by his father. The one that, for some unfathomable reason, completely blocked the psychic talent of anyone wearing it, turning them into a black hole to the Gift.

  “We can deal with Gerian, My Lady,” Sera confirmed. She used what Kreon called her ‘council voice’, that unique blend of arrogance and respect that had won her so many supporters in the First Circle. “However, we will require some form of disguise.” Sera wore only her mechanical undersuit; her bulky armour had remained in the shuttle, too conspicuous even for a meeting with allies.

  Iruna’s melodic laugh came again. “An understatement if ever there was one! Gerian prefers his women to be young and beautiful; even a blind guard would be hard-pushed to mistake this one for his master’s type!” She waved a hand at Kreon.

  She had a good point, the Warden admitted.

  There was a soft knock at the door. Iruna pushed a button on her desk that unlocked it, and a beautiful young woman entered. Her black hair was intricately curled and styled, and she wore the revealing scarf-cum-dress that Kyra had been tricked into wearing the first time they’d met Gerian. She carried a bulging holdall that she opened, revealing piles of multi-coloured silk and several long, heavy cloaks.

  “This is your pilot, Miren,” Iruna introduced her. “Fortunately, we will not be arriving by the air-dock. Some time ago, following a series of storms, I managed to convince Gerian’s steward to let my girls come and go via his private docking bay. I also negotiated for them to be allowed to arrive dressed for the weather, rather than for ‘action’, so to speak.” Iruna smiled, but there was an edge to it. “I’ve been building towards this for a long time. We have precisely one shot at it. I sincerely hope you will not mess it up.”

  Sera spoke for them again. “You have my word, My Lady. After what Gerian has done, I will tear that place apart with my bare hands if necessary.”

  Iruna clapped, a sound with vaguely mocking connotations. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I will, however, be sending Miren in with you. Her face will help get you inside. Once there, she has orders to stay until the job is completed. I will give the door codes to her alone, and only she will be able to pilot the shuttle. I trust you will not abandon her?”

  Kreon was far from happy with this. Nevertheless, he glanced at the girl and nodded. “If you are determined that she accompany us, I will endeavour to keep her in one piece.”

  Miren looked defiant — but Kreon knew nothing about her. If she collapsed into hysterics at the first sign of violence, they would be in trouble.

  Particularly if she was their only escape route…

  He stewed in silence as Iruna detailed the rest of her plan. As Gerian was a regular customer, she had a clearance code which allowed her shuttles to access his building. The disguises she supplied would hopefully convince anyone monitoring the vid-feeds that they were the genuine article. For the few employees they encountered face-to-face, Miren wore a ring that injected a fast-acting hallucinogen. The guards’ vital signs were constantly monitored by the house computer, she explained, so keeping them awake and lucid would prevent an alarm being triggered.

  “And the rest is up to you.” Her gaze was focussed on Kreon.

  Time for tact, he reminded himself. “Your plan is well-conceived, My Lady.” He straightened the ruin of his trench coat. “We will execute it, or we will die trying.”

  Iruna gazed at him for a second, then sank back into a lavender-coloured armchair. “I suppose that will have to do. But I see you escaped your own execution. I can only hope you won’t be the cause of mine.”

  For the infiltration of Gerian’s building they ’stole’ one of the sleek silver shuttles docked on the roof. Unarmed and unarmoured, to Kreon it felt somewhat akin to traveling in a soap bubble. The veracity of his disguise was yet another cause for concern; even the floor-length robe and elaborate veiled headdress he wore did little to conceal his bulky, semi-mechanical form.

  “You make a beautiful whore,” Sera told him, as the shuttle climbed into Obsidia’s wispy clouds.

  It was only with supreme effort of will that he resisted a truly scathing retort.

  Instead, he focussed his attention on the mission. Specifically, on one of its more concerning loose ends. “Iruna knows your true identity,” he said to Àurea.

  “She was kind to me…” Àurea admitted. “When I worked here.”

  “You worked—” Kreon spluttered, his mind reeling.

  From the corner of his eye he noticed Sera’s expression turning deadly.

  “It was my choice,” Àurea said. “Part of my training for the Ingumend. I was already one of their top agents, already in love with the Ingumen that came before me. He and I… well. He offered me this assignment, as an opportunity to gain a greater appreciation of what we were fighting for. Iruna was his contact, an old flame of his — I never fully established their history. Iruna took me in and set me up as one of her girls. I didn’t do much entertaining, though. The mask put most clients off.”

  Kreon was aghast, but tried to claw back his mental focus. “Iruna is of concern to me,” he managed. “If this woman knows as much as you suggest, we would do well to remove her from the equation.”

  It was Àurea’s turn to look shocked. “Murder Iruna? Are you mad?”

  “Not unless it becomes necessary. I mean we should put some thought into her extraction, following this mission. She will be implicated by association; if Gerian survives, he will be sure to investigate her connection to us.”

  The look Àurea directed at him was fiery. “Then our answer is simple; Gerian must not survive. Besides, Iruna has her own ways and means. The scan-proof crates she gave us are top-of-the-line.” Then she wrinkled her nose and held her hand up, obscuring his face. “I can’t take you seriously in that dress.”

  “This matter bears consideration,” Kreon argued. “I—”

  “She’s right,” Sera interrupted him. “Lord Anakreon, your posture is most unbecoming. Might I suggest that you adjust yourself.”

  “What?” Kreon growled. “What the hell are you—?”

  Sera was struggling to suppress a smile. “Close your legs, you slut.”

  Àurea sniggered.

  “This is not a laughing matter,” Kreon protested.

  “Correct,” Sera agreed. “If you distract us, you could negatively impact the mission. So be a good little whore and get in the box.”

  Outnumbered, Kreon complied.

  Two of the scanner-blocking crates had been installed in the shuttle’s minute cargo bay. According to Àurea, Iruna had invested heavily in them, using them to smuggle older girls out of the system. In yet another damning indictment of Lemurian society, the life expectancy of an Entertainer was inextricably bound to their career. Not only could a girl be Committed to the Church without explanation, once she grew too old to appeal to her clients she would almost certainly vanish. Years of faithfully servicing the high and mighty left the girls with more intimate knowledge than their clients were comfortable with. Hence, most were rewarded not with wealth or gratitude, but with a job from which they
never returned.

  Àurea explained that it was a fact of life for the girls; not talked about except in horrified whispers amongst the adolescents. Iruna, having been fortunate enough to avoid such a fate when she took over management of the Guild, did what she could for her wards. She smuggled them off-world in scan-proof crates and the Ingumend helped them disappear. Only a few could be saved this way; too many would arouse suspicion.

  Àurea and her mother climbed into the second box as Kreon occupied the first. Having used the technology to evade detection once before, Kreon was reasonably confident they would reach their destination. Beyond that, this mission was an open book; almost anything could happen.

  He had his staff, a Kharash knife and a brace of potent laser pistols in case it came to a fight.

  One the one hand, a man like Gerian would demand the best when it came to his guards; on the other, it was likely that his home had never been even remotely threatened before. Complacency was a factor that played heavily in their favour; it was, however, not one they could rely on. Crunching their options, Kreon felt certain a firefight would ensue at some point. With both Sera and Àurea in harm’s way, and neither of them able to wear armour, it would fall to him to protect them all.

  Fortunately, he had the Aegis; one arcane forcefield device between all of them. He hoped it would be enough.

  Kreon ground his teeth. Despite the haze of uncertainty which shrouded this mission, two things were non-negotiable: that Gerian would pay for his crimes, and — after what Àurea had just admitted — that he would suffer mightily in the process.

  Find him. Interrogate him. Kill him.

  It was the kind of simplicity that Kreon appreciated in a mission.

  8

  None of the hundred problems Kreon envisaged occurred during their voyage.

  By the time a sharp tap informed him it was time to get out of the crate, he was wound up tighter than a sensor coil.