Warden's Vengeance

by Tony James Slater

  As Wayfinder’s destination alarm warbled, Tris took a deep, calming breath.

  This was it; do or die time.

  They dropped back into normal space with a shiver, and Tris devoted himself to the sensor readings.

  But when the news came, it was ALI that delivered it.

  “I have detected Loader’s presence,” the AI announced, her musical tone a sharp contrast to the seriousness of the situation. “I have extrapolated his co-ordinates.”

  A graphic appeared on the main viewscreen, small circles representing the planets in a solar system.

  “ALI, which system is this?” Kreon asked.

  A small green rectangle appeared on the display, just beneath the circle denoting Loader’s position.

  “I have provided our location relative to the signal. However, the image is not to scale.”

  Tris was confused. “So, what are we looking at? Is that the moon right in front of us?”

  “Affirmative,” ALI replied. “Loader’s signal is being transmitted from the centre of it.”

  There was a moment of silence, while that sank in.

  “They’re already here,” Kreon breathed. “We’re too late.”

  And suddenly, their desperately-formed plan seemed like no plan at all.

  25

  On the Lemurian Warship Tenacity, Àurea sat on the bed in her temporary quarters and wept.

  So many times in the last few weeks she’d thought about losing Ana; every time they parted lately, there was a chance it would be for the last time.

  She thought she’d become inured to it over her years as leader of the Ingumend. Her missions were always ultra-high risk, conducted in utmost secrecy, taking her away from the Pit for days or even weeks at a time. But always before, the thought of Ana safe at home had been a comfort; the spur that drove her on, even through impossible odds.

  It hadn’t been pleasant.

  Part of her identity as Ingumen required her to act a certain way. Her job was to send a message to the sadistic minions that maintained the Church’s iron grip on its subjects. They were people that spoke only the language of fear, and she’d been taught to converse in kind. Not for nothing, the ancient resistance had picked the sinister figure of Ingumen as their avatar. The God of Nightmares… what pantheon was complete without one?

  In her guise as the fearsome deity, she had personally infiltrated the homes and residences of scores of high-ranking church officials. Every one of them she had killed in their sleep, save the few she’d been forced to chase through their lavish accommodations. Their bodies she had brutally butchered, leaving no calling card beyond the terrible manner of their deaths. In this way she had sought to instil fear in her enemies; the same fear they brought daily to the hearts and minds of the people they oppressed.

  As jobs go, it was neither the prettiest, nor the safest.

  But she was good at it.

  And yet, in the blink of an eye all that had changed.

  Now she was no longer a thing of nightmares, a silent assassin striking from the cloak of night.

  Now she was the war leader of a powerful armada; Admiral of the Fleet, and General of the Army.

  What little army they had…

  Still, it would be enough.

  It had to be.

  Because if it wasn’t, then all that sneaking around — all those long nights of murder and butchery, all the blood-soaked dreams that tormented her sleep — all of it would be for nothing.

  And she would never see her daughter again.

  Her mother was waiting for her on Tenacity’s bridge.

  Every member of the crew looked up as she walked in; they regarded her with something like awe. As the near mythical leader that had inspired all of them, she supposed that should be expected. But after spending the last few hours crying in her bunk, she’d never felt less deserving of it.

  This crew was similar in appearance to the group staffing the late Captain Eudon’s bridge, although substantially more experienced. A mix of young and old, male and female, they’d come from all walks of life to join the Ingumend. No two wore the same outfit; the Ingumend had always had more pressing concerns than fine tailoring and matching uniforms.

  Most of these people had escaped persecution or imprisonment. Some had fought their way free, whilst others had simply fled. Those gathered here had some kind of useful training from their previous lives; flight technicians, delivery drivers, even a few fighter pilots that had defected from the Church. That such vastly different paths would converge here, on the command deck of a mighty warship, was clearly an example of Fate working inexorably. The old Gods were on their side…

  For whatever that’s worth.

  Steeling herself, lest such fears work their way into her expression, she approached her mother.

  The legend of Lady Serafine had loomed large over Àurea’s childhood. Her mother’s reputation was enough to silence a room when she walked into it; not with fear (or not entirely); but with respect. She was a powerful warrior, a skilled diplomat, and a beacon of light in a galaxy sliding ever further towards anarchy. Sera had never talked about her glory. Her past, a matter of instant recognition to the most powerful people in office, had remained a closed book to Àurea. She knew her mother only as a kind, yet iron-willed individual, who was both relentless and resourceful when it came to raising her daughter.

  Àurea prayed she would bring all those qualities to bear in the battle ahead.

  “Mother,” she said, inclining her head. She’d made the decision to give Sera command over their preparations; her mother’s experience in every aspect of large-scale space battles vastly exceeded her own. When the lasers started flying, the Ingumend would follow only Àurea, but she was counting on her mother’s steady presence to advise her and guide her.

  “Àurea. Did you get some rest?”

  “Yes mother,” she lied.

  “Good. We’re still several hours out, so there’s time for you to prepare.”

  “I am as prepared as I can be,”

  Sera moved closer to her, the whine of servomotors accompanying her every movement. She was wearing her heaviest suit of battle armour, the same massive framework of white plates and potent weaponry that she’d worn during her rescue mission in the Tower of Justice. Every inch of the armour bore evidence of that battle; scorch marks, shrapnel damage, dents, cracks and gouges. Àurea hadn’t been conscious, so she had no recollection of the battle itself. She only knew that, at the last possible moment, when all had seemed lost, her mother had arrived from the other side of the galaxy, appearing as if by magic to stay the execution of her only daughter.

  Àurea had never gotten around to asking her how.

  Sera looked her up and down, taking in the comfy flight suit and the pistol at her waist. “I’d prefer it if you wore something a little more appropriate, child.” She waved at the empty chair in the centre of the bridge. “Captain Nikolau is not pleased by our presence. It’s only natural; to him it must feel as though we are usurping his command. But men in such a position can become unstable. And what do you know of his crew? Close to two-hundred souls on a vessel this size. If only one of them were an undercover agent of the Church, you could find yourself with a knife in your back. Make no mistake; you’re at war now, and the rules have changed. As a resistance fighter, your strength was in stealth and secrecy, and your absolute trust in those who shared your cause. But you’ve traded those advantages for all the vulnerabilities of a large-scale military force. You have adopted the tactics of your enemy; it’s only wise to assume that they will try to adopt yours.”

  Àurea nodded mutely. To anyone else, she would have laughed off such concerns, and dared any would-be assassin on the crew to take their best shot.

  But her mother had lived and breathed combat her entire life. There was no-one else in the galaxy who’s advice she would take more seriously right now.

  “I have my armour with me,” she admitted.

  “Good. I recommend y
ou wear it.”

  When next she appeared, she was fully armed and clad in the exquisite black armour she’d inherited along with the role of Ingumen. Her powered flails were coiled on their cleats at her waist, and a high-powered pulse rifle was snapped to magnetic fixings on her back. She carried the fearsome helmet though; whilst also state-of-the-art, wearing it in the confines of the bridge felt somehow out of place. For years it had been her identity; she never allowed herself to be seen without it. Right up until her televised execution, the vast majority of her followers still thought she was a man. She wasn’t afraid they’d respect her less as a woman, it was simply part of the subterfuge — continuing the lineage of Ingumen, unbroken since the formation of his resistance many hundreds of years ago.

  Now though, as they came within striking distance of realising that ancient warrior’s dream of freedom, she felt her people would react better to her as a person. She was one of them; scarred but alive, vulnerable yet powerful, a human and a survivor. Theatrics wouldn’t inspire her soldiers at this stage; they deserved to see the face of the person they might be asked to die for.

  Her mother cast an approving glance at the outfit. “Better.”

  Àurea looked around for the captain, but his chair was still empty. “If you honestly think Nikolau would prefer us to be elsewhere, why don’t we return to the Folly and run the battle from there?”

  Sera shook her head. “Eleanor Fitzgerald — the assassin — was an employee of mine, but we had our differences. I think she would prefer it if I were elsewhere during this engagement.”

  “Wow. Disagreements with a Priestess? You’ll have to tell me about that someday.”

  Sera sighed. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you. These last few days have been such a whirlwind, I hardly feel like we’ve had time to catch up at all.”

  Àurea edged closer to her, revelling in this new experience; being able to relate to her mother as an adult. As an equal. “We’ve got time now.” She glanced around at the crew, but they were devoted to their work. None of them would dare bother the mighty Ingumen with a lowly status report.

  “Perhaps it is time,” Sera said, her face betraying weariness. “Your father and I… we separated. A long time ago.”

  Àurea gaped. Her parents had always had a volatile relationship, but she knew they cared deeply for each other. Or had. “Was it me?” she asked, the words coming out small and squeaky.

  Sera chuckled softly. “Oh no, child! It was most definitely him.” Her eyes turned distant. “We disagreed on… everything, actually. But mostly on work. You’ll remember he’s a staunch Traditionalist? Shortly after your… disappearance, I became the Warden of Earth. You father wanted the job badly; he loves that stinking place. But I grew to hate it, penned up for years inside that draughty stone fortress. Forced to watch, endlessly watch, while the humans down there tried their damnedest to wipe themselves out.” She closed her eyes. “It was torturous.”

  “So you split up over politics?” Àurea could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  “Amongst other things. Events may have spiralled out of control at that point. We found ourselves on opposing sides. Your father, he was…” she closed her eyes again, and a shadow of pain slid across her face. “Your father was on the right side. And I was on the wrong one. I made mistakes, Àurea. I stand by them; my motivations were sound, even if my… methodology was crude. But I do regret them.” She took a deep breath, as though struggling with emotions she didn’t want to reveal. “I’ve lived with regret for a long time. What’s one more? But now… now I want to make it right.”

  Àurea mulled all that over. Her mother had been deliberately sparing with the details, she could tell; that in itself was cause for concern. Obviously there had been some major transgression that she was hoping to atone for. “How will you do that?” she prompted.

  When Sera looked at her, a sheen of wetness made her eyes sparkle unnaturally bright. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

  Àurea looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Her relationship with her mother had been close, but not that close. The daughter of warriors, raising her own daughter in the same tradition, there had always been a respectful distance between them. They’d loved each other, and been courteous with each other. But baring their emotions had never been common in their family.

  Sera cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Perhaps this was not the best time to unburden myself.”

  “No, mother, I appreciate your honesty,” Àurea said. “But this feud with father? How serious was it?”

  “It was serious enough.”

  “And you fought?”

  “We fought.”

  “So… I’m sorry to have to ask this, but whose side are you on now?”

  Sera smiled at her, and it was like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. “I’m on your side, Àurea. I always have been. Family is more important to me than any grand notions of allegiance to mysterious causes. Seeing Ana has brought that home to me more powerfully than ever. She’s a miracle! And every bit as precocious as you were at her age.”

  Àurea snorted her agreement. “And father?”

  “He is usually on his own side. But for now, our intentions are aligned.”

  It wasn’t exactly the answer Àurea was hoping for, but she supposed it would have to do.

  They spent the next few hours in a briefing room, going over their strategy.

  A large number of reports had come in about a fleet of Siszar ships wreaking havoc throughout the Empire, attacking Church strongholds across dozens of stations and planets. The Church had redirected substantial forces to counter these assaults, leaving the defence of the core worlds spread even thinner. Whilst Àurea had no direct way to substantiate the reports, the sheer volume of them pointed to a degree of corroboration. Evidently Tristan’s alien friends had gathered a lot of support from their compatriots back home, and their miniature crusade was turning into an invasion. It was probably something she’d have to worry about once she’d taken control of Helicon Prime, and the corrupt government of the Church had fallen. But that still seemed so far away, a dream bordering on the impossible.

  One step at a time, she reminded herself.

  Much as she hated to admit it, the Folly was key to her plans. It was more than a little galling that after over a decade of struggle, carefully recruiting and training her forces, and going to great lengths to acquire weapons and ships, she would be relying on a Lantian-crewed battle station lent to her by her father’s teenage apprentice.

  But she wasn’t going to turn it down.

  She needed all the help she could get.

  Another twelve ships had joined them after the meeting on Oracle had been abandoned. She’d lingered a few more hours after her father left in his old Phoenix, hoping for further reinforcements, but none had come.

  Her fleet now comprised some seventy-odd ships, including a healthy mix of larger vessels, like the warship she was currently on, mid-sized frigates and destroyers, and smaller support craft. They had precisely one wing of starfighters between them, but the Church had never deployed fighters in large numbers either. Fear was their principal weapon, and they preferred ships that exemplified it. The Sanctuary battle stations would be the deadliest opponents on the field. Àurea’s intelligence reports confirmed that only one of them remained in orbit around Helicon Prime. Prime worlds were typically protected by two of the giant battle stations, allowing them to cover one hemisphere each, but the Folly had reduced one of them to a cloud of debris on their last visit. Àurea’s biggest fear was that another Sanctuary would be brought in to replace the destroyed one, but so far her information seemed to suggest it hadn’t. Between the resurgent uprising and the Siszar attacks, the Church’s forces were engaged on multiple fronts. If the Ingumend could take the defenders by surprise and use the Folly’s mega-laser to eliminate the opposing Sanctuary, they had a real shot at this.

  If, if, if…

  Àurea hated deali
ng in uncertainties.

  But such was life in the Lemurian Empire.

  You’d think I’d have grown used to it by now.

  As the countdown to real-space commenced, Àurea was back on the bridge, her mother at her side.

  She’d left the command chair to Nikolau, preferring to stand; if she could avoid ruffling the man’s feathers, that would be a benefit to all of them. He was a proud man, and dedicated to his crew. His body was no longer military-hard, and a haggard look to his face suggested his drinking was getting worse, but of all her captains he alone had led a large naval vessel into combat. Against the Lantians… Yet another reason her mother was an unwelcome influence on his bridge.

  Àurea resisted the urge to pace; that would only betray her nervousness to the crew. Normally before a battle she prided herself on maintaining an aura of calm efficiency, but this would be unlike any battle she had ever fought.

  And unlike any she would ever fight again.

  Because win or lose, the Ingumend revolution ended today.

  They would de-throne the Keepers of the Faith, break their tyrannical grip on the citizens of Lemuria, and bring an end to their oppressive brand of religion for good.

  And if they failed, there wouldn’t be enough left of them to try again.

  “Are the messages ready?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” replied one of the bridge crew, a severe-looking lady with a boyish haircut. “All cued up and ready to broadcast on every frequency as soon as we hit real-space.”

  Àurea nodded to herself, ticking off another item on her mental checklist. Within seconds of their arrival over Helicon Prime, the citizens of the planet below would be deluged with pre-recorded propaganda, imploring them to rise up and throw off the yoke of their oppressors. Similar messages had worked wonders on other planets recently, with entire systems uniting to overthrow Church garrisons, ransack confessional Institutions, and dismantle all kinds of religious bureaucracy. The Keepers would be expecting this tactic, and would block as many signals as they could. But with every ship in Àurea’s fleet poised to deliver the messages right across the spectrum, flooding the local airwaves, it would be impossible to stop them all.