Warden's Vengeance

by Tony James Slater

  It was repugnant.

  “They’re not even self-aware,” Kyra said, her voice heavy with disgust. “They were made this way — grown in a lab, to sit at these desks and monitor this — whatever it is.”

  Tris nodded his agreement; he didn’t trust himself to open his mouth in case something other than words came out.

  “They are monitoring the feed from Shrines all over the Empire,” Loader drawled.

  Tris startled; he hadn’t heard him come in. For an eight-foot tall glass statue, he was remarkably light on his feet.

  “But why?” Tris asked, finally trusting himself to speak.

  “Control,” the talos explained. “The Keepers of the Faith require an army to monitor billions of citizens. One would assumed they discovered it simpler to create them rather than to recruit them from the same populace they sought to police.”

  Kyra was shaking her head. “This is… this is just… we can’t leave this.”

  Loader gave an oddly musical sound, which Tris interpreted as a sigh. “You are correct. However, I would prefer not to be involved. Even though this could be viewed as a mercy, I do not wish to end lives on such an enormous scale.”

  Tris looked around, letting his eyes search out the farthest reaches of the room. The rows of booths extended off into the distance, becoming tiny before they reached the far wall. “There must be hundreds of them…”

  “One hundred and eighty-four thousand, spread across ten levels,” Loader said. “According to my schematics, we are on the third level from the top.”

  Tris gaped. “What are we going to do? No way we’ve got time to shoot them all.”

  Kyra reached behind her and brought out a glass cylinder. Safely stored inside it, a small round vial swirled with purplish liquid.

  “Mairugar?” Tris was horrified. “I left all mine in the tomb. I think Kreon did, too.”

  “I kept one as a memento,” she said. “And because in my line of work, you never know when you’ll have to blow some shit up.”

  “I dunno…” Tris eyed the metallic liquid. “One ball of that stuff destroyed Homeguard. The blast was like ten miles wide.”

  “Being underground should contain it a lot more than being in space. But don’t worry, I’m not going to fling it at the floor and run.” She stood back, eying the booth. “Here, hold this,” she said, flipping the capsule to Tris.

  He made a strangled sound and reached for it — only to realise it was still in her hand.

  Kyra shook her head. “Nice reflexes. But as if I’d trust you with this.” She moved the hand containing the explosive over to Loader. “Here, Sparkles. Don’t drop it unless you want to be buried beneath a building. Again.”

  Loader took the Mairugar without comment, and Kyra switched back to her swords. She sliced through the wall of the cubicle, exposing the full nature of the horror inside. Working quickly, she trimmed off a roughly square section of the metal partition and held it up to Loader. “Here, punch this for me.”

  She braced the sheet with both hands, while a blow from the talos’ crystalline arm drove a deep dent into it. “Great.” She took the Mairugar back from loader and placed it into the makeshift bowl. Then she examined the confusion of cables running into the spindly body.

  The thing hadn’t even registered their presence.

  “Hm. This one looks promising.” Collecting her swords, she made one quick slash, severing a thick pipe. A foul-smelling liquid spilled out; Kyra nudged her bowl underneath it with one foot, letting it fill until it overflowed. The deadly capsule of explosive stayed stubbornly at the bottom. Tiny wisps of steam drifted up from the surface. “Yup, that should do it,” she said. “The acid should work slow enough to give us time to get clear.”

  Tris wrinkled his brow. “They’re feeding them acid? How did you know?”

  “That wasn’t the inlet pipe, kid.”

  “Oh? Urgh!”

  “Says the boy who nearly spewed on my boots two minutes ago. There’s a cleaning fee for that, by the way.”

  Tris ignored her. “So how long have we got?”

  Kyra wrapped her swords back around her waist and mugged a thoughtful expression. “Well if you take the acidity level of the liquid and divide it by the toughness of that container, you get roughly how-the-fuck-would-I-know?” She tapped him on the forehead hard enough to leave a mark. “I just dropped high explosives into a bucket of piss, Tris. My suggestion? Get the fuck out of here asap.”

  Tris paused long enough to roll his eyes at her; he felt he’d earned the right. “You swear a lot when you’re upset, you know,” he said.

  Then he took her advice and moved with purpose.

  All three of them were sprinting when they reached Kreon.

  “Interesting side trip?” he enquired sardonically. “You realise we’re on a schedule here?”

  “We are now,” Kyra told him. “I just dropped one of those little baubles you gave me. I figure we’ve got about fifteen minutes before this whole place comes down around our ears.”

  Kreon stared at her for a few seconds, his mouth working silently. “You kept Mairugar?” he said finally. “And you’ve used it? Here, while we are still inside?”

  “I know! Crazy, right? If you paid me by the hour, I might think these things through more thoroughly.”

  Kreon muttered a swear word.

  “The tunnel to the Temple is up ahead,” Loader said helpfully. “We should reach it on foot in less than three minutes.”

  Kreon glared around the group. “Never work with women and children,” he said. He looked up at Loader. “Or animals.” Then he was off, covering the distance in great bounds of his mechanical leg.

  Tris looked at Kyra, and she smirked at him.

  And they ran like the hells were opening under them.

  The transition from the Tower of Justice to the Temple Mount was marked by a blast door of impressive proportions. Kreon pulled the staff from his back and palmed the top to activate it, then swung at the door with all his might. Tris held his ears to muffle the deafening crunch and the screech of buckling metal, but the door stayed in place. Kreon’s blow had turned the thing concave, but it still held fast to its frame.

  “Allow me,” Loader said, striding towards it. Putting both sets of claws against the door he pushed, using no apparent effort. Tris waited for him to give up, but with a sound like a car-crusher, the door tore free and collapsed inwards.

  A short scream of pain told them at least one guard had been stationed inside. Loader backed up, sudden regret pouring off him.

  “Hey Kreon,” Tris said, “have we got time for that speech about necessary darkness?”

  “We’ve got time for my version,” Kyra responded.

  “Barely an hour has passed, and I have used my new form to kill,” Loader’s rumble managed to sound anguished.

  There was a flicker of motion from down the corridor, and a pair of laser blasts flashed past between them. Ignoring the threat, Kreon reached out to place one hand on Loader’s carapace. “I am sorry, old friend. I would not ask this of you were it not absolutely vital. You can refrain from killing, of course — but will you be our shield?”

  The translucent body straightened. “That request I can grant.” He strode forwards down the corridor, flashes of laser fire slamming into him. As before they made no impression; the fibres buried beneath that impervious blue skin flared to life, drinking in the energy that washed over him.

  “A significant improvement on his previous incarnation,” Kreon said.

  “I like him like this,” Kyra agreed. “He brings out my eyes.”

  Tris sniped with his rifle as they advanced behind Loader. The number of defenders had increased, judging by the rate of fire reflecting from the roof and walls. Kreon kept ahead of them, for which Tris was grateful; the Warden’s Aegis was an equally powerful shield, deflecting the odd shot that ricocheted past the talos.

  Defenders are massing, Loader sent out, his booming telepathy still startlin
g Tris.

  Hold them there, Kreon replied, his gem-given Gift so feeble by comparison it was like a whisper.

  How many will we have to slaughter? Tris couldn’t keep his own reservations from colouring the thought. He’d known they’d be fighting their way in here, but putting packed corridors of men to the sword just because they were employed by the Church didn’t seem right.

  Kreon took pity on him. If we are fortunate, none of this group will die.

  From a hatch in his thigh armour, the Warden produced the miniature pinecone Àurea had given him. Tris couldn’t remember the name of it, but he knew how potent the device’s effects were. Can you use it? he asked.

  We are about to find out.

  Moving ahead, Tris saw that Loader had frozen in place, his arms spread wide to block the corridor. Soldiers in striking black and red armour were attacking him with knives and rifle butts, some even risking point-blank shots from their pistols. The talos was keeping his promise to himself, not even moving to avoid doing damage with his powerful limbs.

  But then one of the soldiers caught sight of Kreon and called out. The rest of his troop responded quickly, ducking beneath the robot’s arms to charge down the corridor. Their rifles blazed, and Kreon’s Aegis flared in response. Tris fired in controlled bursts, amazed by the power of the pulse rifle as it hurled its targets backwards, their armour smouldering.

  Kyra advanced in sync, firing down the other side of the corridor.

  Like Moses parting a sea of fire, Tris thought. Which leaves us shooting fish in a barrel.

  But then a shot glanced off his shoulder armour, the impact spinning him around. The smell of burning plastic reached his nostrils as he crowded closer to Kyra.

  Any time, Kreon!

  I’m trying! It is a delicate instrument. The Warden was hunched over, studying the dials on the back of the device.

  One of these bastards hits my hair and I’ll redefine ‘delicate’ for you, Kyra threatened.

  I have it!

  Kreon stretched out his arm and pointed. An invisible wave shot out from him, noticeable only by its effect as it scythed their attackers.

  To a man they dropped, like marionettes with their strings cut. In the space between heartbeats, they went from a charging mass of heavily-armed fury to a narcolepsy convention. Tris felt a moment of giddiness, as though he’d been caught by the weapon’s backwash, and the deck tilted under him. But the sensation passed, leaving him with a ringing in his ears and legs that felt decidedly rubbery.

  “Holy crap!” he said to Kreon, as he ventured out from the Warden’s shadow. “Do we get to keep this thing?”

  Kreon favoured him with sly grin. “I am considering commandeering it. However, it does belong to my daughter.”

  “I’ll buy it off her,” Tris said, with feeling. “I mean, look at this! Does it run out of… um, whatever it takes? Bullets?”

  Kreon shrugged. “It predates my people’s departure from Earth, making it over ten-thousand years old. So I would assume not.”

  Kyra had gone as far as Loader, and was peering around the next corner. “Maybe she plugs it in at night,” she suggested as she jogged back.

  “Did the effects travel on ahead?” Kreon asked her.

  Kyra shook her head in disbelief. “It did ‘em all, as far as I can tell. I’d guess the other levels are still full of bad guys, but it looks like this one’s clear.”

  Tris whistled.

  Loader returned to their position, stepping around the prostrate forms. Most had their eyes open, Tris noticed, which was extremely unnerving. But he’d heard from Kyra about how she’d witnessed their entire prison break whilst immobilised by a device just like this one. The thought made him rub unconsciously at his chest, where there had recently been a large hole.

  “I have hacked into the communications system,” Loader announced, no trace of his earlier distress showing in his voice. “Church buildings are shielded from outside signals, but the comm station in the Temple is monitoring transmissions between the Ingumend ships in orbit.”

  Kreon’s eyes blazed with interest. “What is their status? How fares the battle?”

  “Badly. Their ships are outnumbered and they are falling prey to systematic boarding actions by the Church.”

  “Sydon’s Name!” Kreon cursed. “And we’re stuck down here, unable to lift a finger to help them!”

  “I will attend to them, if I may? I believe my presence will result in far greater benefit up there. I may even be able to prevent loss of life, rather than facilitating it.”

  “Do what you think best, my friend,” Kreon told him. “And with my gratitude.”

  Loader turned to go.

  “And Loader?”

  The talos looked back at him.

  “Please save my daughter.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Tris followed Loader back down the corridor as far as the junction. A pair of doors lay just beyond, and Loader wasted no time in tearing them free and setting them down amidst the sea of bodies. Revealed beyond was the darkened void of an elevator shaft. “This leads directly to the surface,” he drawled.

  “But there’s no car,” Tris pointed out.

  “I do not need one.” The talos stepped into the bottomless shaft like he was stepping onto solid ground; his transition from walking to hovering was seamless. “Good luck on your mission, Tristan,” he said. “I hope we will meet again.”

  “We will,” Tris promised. “I hope you don’t… you know. Have to kill too many people.”

  “I have recently re-evaluated that parameter, in light of certain facts,” the talos admitted.

  “What? How do you mean?”

  “I was unsure whether or not to tell you.” Loader looked past Tris, to where the others were standing. “But the Church forces facing Àurea’s fleet have unleashed Transgressors as boarding parties. In doing so they have crossed all lines of acceptable behaviour, even for a government that thrives on fear. I will have no qualms in taking action to prevent their continued use of such tactics.”

  Tris looked back, to see that Kreon’s face had gone white. Kyra’s mouth was fixed in a line, her eyes bright with anger.

  “Good,” said Tris, the word sounding woefully inadequate in his ears. “Please help our friends. Don’t let them die.”

  “Do not forget, they are formidable fighters in their own right,” Loader reminded him. “But I will endeavour to aid them in any way I can.” And rising silently up the shaft, he disappeared from view.

  Tris turned to face the others, fear rising to choke him. “Transgressors? Shit Kreon, what do we do?”

  The Warden stared after Loader for a long moment, before seeming to collect himself. “We do exactly what we came here to do,” he replied. “We find the bastards in charge of all this madness, and we make them pay for every single life they’ve taken.”

  Kyra cracked her knuckles, the thin gloves doing nothing to cushion the sound. “You know, that sounds like it’ll take an awfully long time. Can’t we just kill them and be done with it? I’ve got places to be.”

  Kreon raised an eyebrow at her. “The last time you said that, I heard that a department store burned down.”

  Kyra shrugged at him. “What do you want me to say? A girl’s got to have a little fun now and then.”

  31

  Àurea stared at the bridge doors in horror.

  Only moments ago, they had closed behind her mother, swallowing the legendary warrior whole.

  Perhaps forever.

  The battle she was headed towards was one entire armies would flee from, yet she was alone; more than anything, Àurea wished she could go with her.

  Because that’s what I do, as well!

  Unfortunately, her fight was here.

  Because with her mother gone, and the captain of the ship catatonic with despair, she was the only hope the Ingumend fleet had of surviving this encounter.

  Even then, it was a slim hope.

  She tore he
r eyes away from the doors and refocused them on the main viewscreen. A series of smaller monitors running below it would allow her to keep tabs on her mother’s progress, but for now she had bigger fish to fry.

  Or rather, bigger fish to avoid getting fried by.

  “Helm! Straight for the gap where that cruiser is burning. Weapons! Kill anything that gets close. Ignore the larger ships and concentrate on keeping those skiffs off our hull. Comms! I want the Folly to rejoin us and help punch through to the planet. Get every ship that’s left and un-boarded formed up behind us — at least some of us will get through!”

  Fighters flashed past the nose of her warship — renamed Tenacity by its captain when he defected from the Lemurian Navy. The man himself would play no further part in this battle, but the warship was still operating, albeit heavily damaged.

  “Whose fighters are those?” Àurea snapped.

  “Our ma’am,” a young woman replied. “Still hunting boarding craft.”

  “Any Church fighters deployed yet?”

  “Some protecting the cruisers, but not venturing out to engage us.”

  Which made sense, in a brutally efficient kind of way. Why bother protecting the simple boarding skiffs when they were full of mindless, expendable monsters? Starfighters were expensive, their highly-trained pilots even more so; far better to lose a few hundred Transgressors and their auto-piloted skiffs. They could always make more of both.

  The big guns on the nearest cruisers had opened up now, targeting Àurea’s fleet indiscriminately. Those gunners cared nothing for the lives of their boarding squads — why would they? So the Ingumend ships were being hammered from the inside as well as the out.

  Tenacity trembled as missiles exploded too close for comfort, the intercept systems overtaxed. Laser blasts rained down on their shields in such volume that they flared and went out, only to be raised again seconds later by her determined engineering team. All the damage they’d sustained had occurred in similar unprotected moments; such was the torrent of enemy fire that some was bound to slip through.