His glaive was still in his hand; he extended it to full length for better leverage, and threw himself towards the massive machines.
He felt the subtle kiss of Kyra’s mind on his, as she read his intentions. It made them the perfect double-act — him tackling the closest opponent, her using the Arranozapar’s greater reach to attack the furthest one.
Both robots were down in seconds, their sturdy legs cut from under them. Tris leapt aside as the heavy pilot’s cab crashed to the floor, then stepped in to sever its weapon arms. Just like that, another threat was defeated. He was beginning to feel like they could manage without Loader after all.
“Interesting,” Kreon said, stepping out into the chamber and eyeing their handiwork. “These suits were designed for pilots. Perhaps they were taken out by the Erresonador before they could reach their duty station?”
He was still studying the wrecked exo-armour when the door he had just entered through dropped like a stone, the impact hard enough to make the dismembered machines bounce.
Kreon glanced around, clearly startled.
And a series of nozzles dropped down from the ceiling with a click. There was a hiss, and a fine mist sprayed out, quickly filling the air above them.
“Gas!” Kyra was the first to react. “Fire suppression!”
Tris grabbed for his helmet, pulling it on as the others did the same. Just in time — the whole lobby was engulfed in the stuff, which he guessed was poisonous. “Everyone okay?” he asked, his helmet comm transmitting to the others.
“Yeah, but this shit is getting old,” Kyra came back.
There was a disembodied clunk, and squinting through the fog Tris could make out the damaged robot struggling to move. With no legs and no weapons, it wasn’t much of a threat, but still it kept trying, sending showers of sparks into the air as it ground against the deck.
Then one of the sparks seemed to catch in mid-air, igniting the gas. A cloud of fire billowed out instantly, blazing around Tris before he could react.
“DOWN!” yelled Kyra, and Tris threw himself to the floor.
His head was roasting inside his helmet, sweat pouring off his forehead as the air inside it hit oven-like temperatures. He fought the urge to rip it off, knowing that his thin gloves would most likely melt as soon as he touched it. Instead he concentrated on getting his breathing under control, relishing the feeling of cool air being pumped into his mask from the tanks built into the armour.
The gas was much thinner down here. Craning his neck he could see Kreon and Kyra, lying on the floor to either side of him. The Warden looked furious; Kyra, when she saw him looking, stuck her tongue out.
“Don’t tell me that was part of the fire-suppression system,” he joked.
“It is worse,” Kreon growled. “These are not standard anti-intruder systems. I believe the Temple computer system has identified us as a threat, and is actively working against us.”
“That doesn’t sound like great news.” Tris looked up as best he could; the air above them was no longer burning, though it shimmered with heat-haze.
“It’s not,” Kyra said, climbing cautiously to her feet. “You can’t fight a building! If you’re inside it when it’s trying to kill you, it’s generally going to win.”
“Why isn’t it just blasting us with lasers then?” he countered.
“Not every corridor will be lined with defences,” Kreon said, getting up. “There is no need. But there will most certainly be a narthex of some description, protecting the entrance to the Keepers’ residence.”
“Oh crap.” Tris got up, but left his helmet on. “Like that little lobby on Atalia, with all the guns on the walls?”
“Precisely. They are commonly installed as a last line of defence before the chambers used by high-ranking officials. I imagine the Lemurians are much like us in that regard.”
“So there’s no way around it?”
“None,” Kreon confirmed. “That is their most pertinent design feature.”
Tris was about to ask if they could cut their way in from the floor above when a hatch opened in the wall a few feet away.
The others turned to look too — as an army of spider-like robots swarmed out from the ductwork, skittering towards them on multi-jointed legs.
Tris grabbed his glaive, as the nearest spider ignited a blowtorch on the end of one of its limbs and lunged at him. He ducked away from the blast of heat and sliced the thing in two, but already another pair had taken its place.
The floor shook as Kreon used his grav-staff to smash one of the robots, but more were spilling from the hatch every second. One ran up the wall next to Tris, shocking him with its agility.
“Shit!” he cried out. “They can climb!”
Kyra’s mind was a study in focus, so he didn’t intrude to ask for suggestions. Luckily the spiders seemed built for maintenance rather than combat; their weaponry consisted of pincers, saws and torches rather than laser cannons and missiles. He swatted another one off the wall with the butt of his staff, slicing it in half as the blade came around. He heard Kreon swear, and caught a glimpse from the Warden’s mind of one of the spiders boring into his shin with a drill bit. Kreon stomped on the thing with his mechanical leg, obviously no worse off for the damage, and Tris turned his attention back to his own adversaries. Though fast-moving, their short range was their downfall. Even approaching him in groups, he could chop several of them to pieces in one stroke. Were it not for the crazy alien technology in his Kharash knife, it would have been a different story.
“Is that the last of them?” Kyra asked, sounding breathless.
“I think so,” Tris panted. The floor of the foyer was littered with mechanical debris, as dozens of the miniature robots twitched and fizzled.
“Ugh!” said Kyra. “I fucking hate spiders.”
“I don’t mind them, actually,” Tris said, taking the rare opportunity to mess with her. “I could get one as a pet when we get back to the Folly.”
“And I could cook it and serve it to you,” Kyra retorted. “Along with your testicles.”
Damn it! Tris conceded defeat on that one.
“The presence of hostile maintenance bots confirms my suspicions,” Kreon said.
Kyra kicked one of the robot corpses away from her. “Yup. Plus, if the computer knows we’re here, and it really doesn’t want us to be, you can bet it’s funnelling every warm body in the Mount up here right now.”
Tris cast around with the Gift as she said it, feeling for other minds nearby. Again, he felt no-one in motion on their level; it seemed like the pinecone-thing’s blast had flattened the entire population, at least for now.
“So, we come back to the same issue,” Kreon said, dusting himself off. “We are here. The Keepers of the Faith reside somewhere nearby. But we have neither their precise location, nor the ability to reach them.”
“I could start knocking on doors,” Kyra suggested.
“We could start chopping down doors,” Tris countered. “Mind you, we’ve done a fair bit of that, and it never seems to get us anywhere.”
Kyra popped off her helmet and ran a hand through her hair. Her face was a sheen of sweat. Tris did the same, mopping his forehead with both gloves. Only Kreon seemed relatively unaffected. Tris knew the Warden didn’t bleed much; perhaps he was also unable to sweat.
“Kind of wish I’d kept that explosive now,” Kyra said.
“To what purpose?” Kreon demanded. “I am making a new rule.” He eyed Tris, including him by association. “You are not authorised to detonate any structure inside which we are currently located. Am I clear?”
Kyra sighed theatrically. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” She levelled a stern finger at Kreon. “You’re really cramping my style with all these rules, y’know.”
33
Tris was starting to get frustrated. Kyra could joke all she wanted, but the truth was that every second they wasted in here made it less likely that they’d get out alive. The fleet above was in ruins, if Loader
’s assessment was accurate, which meant the success of the Ingumend revolution fell squarely onto their shoulders. He hadn’t been present at the tactical meeting on Oracle, but he guessed Àurea’s captains would attempt to bomb the Temple Mount at the earliest opportunity.
Whether any of them survived long enough was moot; from seeing the inside, he could tell it would not be destroyed by conventional means. The neighbouring Tower of Justice had survived Wayfinder’s railguns, only being brought down eventually by a surprise attack from the Siszar.
The Siszar… he wasted a few seconds wondering if the Empress of the River of Silver Flashes and her followers would swoop in at the last minute, saving the day as they had so many times before. He hoped so; for giant psychic starfish, the aliens seemed to have excellent timing.
But it wasn’t something he could count on. Àurea’s reports had mentioned battles throughout Lemurian space, and Tris had a feeling at least some of that was exaggerated. The last time he’d seen the Empress, she’d had a handful of ships in tow; unless something really dramatic had happened to increase her popularity, it was unlikely she was taking on half the Empire.
And even if she did show up, they were back to Kreon’s least-favourite solution again: blowing up the Temple with them inside.
Either they had to find the Keepers of the Faith, and end this, or they had to find a way out.
His desire for vengeance was ebbing by the minute. He wanted justice for all the innocent people he’d known that had been slaughtered by the Church, but it suddenly occurred to him just how optimistic they’d been. Àurea’s last-ditch assault on Helicon Prime was the result of decades of intent, a desperate last-chance gamble spurred on by the ferocious purges conducted by the Church. It was do or die, and she’d been all-in since long before they’d met.
But he was here with Kreon, on a completely different mission that had somehow been hijacked by the Ingumend rebellion. Kreon had once explained to him that the Wardens were a force for justice in the galaxy, operating a bit like sheriffs in an old western. But riding into the Lemurian Empire and throwing down with their entire war machine had never been on their mission statement. Kreon had gotten involved because of his daughter, and the debt he felt he owed her for not figuring out she’d been alive all these years. Or something… Tris wasn’t into personal politics.
But he’d be pretty pissed off if they got him killed.
He brushed at strange stains on his armour, only to find the toughened surface had melted. He could still move okay, but he wouldn’t trust the suit to stop a blaster bolt anymore.
Damn it! Several minutes had passed since the mechanical spiders had attacked, and he could just feel that the building’s computer was working on something new. More spiders he could handle, but what if it could make the walls close in like the trash compactor on Star Wars?
It would already have done that, he told himself.
But he couldn’t help wondering what it was going to throw at them next.
Much as he hated to admit it, he knew they were in trouble. It was one thing to charge in, all blaster-bolts and bravado. But this had to be one of the most heavily defended buildings in the galaxy. Even though the Portal had let them bypass the outer defences, it was always going to take a miracle for the three of them to storm the Temple on their own.
Luckily, he had a miracle on speed-dial.
And whilst he didn’t want to endanger anyone in Àurea’s fleet, he felt their situation merited a bit of assistance.
Loader? he reached out. Sorry to disturb you mate, but we could use a little help here.
Fear not, Tristan. I am on my way. Please do not move.
Why?
I would prefer not to crush you when I land.
“Everyone freeze!” Tris called out. “Don’t move!”
Kyra turned to him, a sarcastic comment on her lips, when the ceiling above them shook.
All three of their heads snapped up to look.
Another tremor shook the ceiling, as though something heavy was pounding on it from above.
“That wasn’t me,” Kyra murmured.
Another impact, louder this time; the whole room trembled in its wake, chips of stone falling from the ceiling.
Less than a second later, the roof fell in.
Tris flinched back, arm up for protection as his armour was pelted with chunks of masonry.
Then it stopped, and he peered out from beneath his hand.
Loader was drifting gracefully down through a hole he’d smashed in the ceiling.
Brushing the dust and stone chips off himself, Tris crunched through the rubble to meet him. As Loader touched down, Tris peered up; the hole above him was repeated again in the ceiling above, and again in the one above that. He couldn’t count how many floors the talos had busted through to reach them, but a coin-sized sliver of daylight was visible at the top.
“You require assistance?” Loader drawled.
Tris was sure he could detect a trace of smugness in his delivery.
You’re enjoying this! he accused.
I was created to serve. The pleasure I take is commensurate with the level of help I can provide.
Fair enough.
“We’ve made it as far as we can,” Kreon told the talos, “and so far the loss of life has been minimal. But the Temple computer is fighting back. I fear it will prevent us from reaching the Keepers of the Faith.”
Loader scanned the chamber and stalked towards a control panel behind one of the ruined robots. “Your timing is impeccable,” he drawled. “Ingumend propaganda has led to a planet-wide uprising. The vast majority of the Temple Guard have been redeployed externally to defend the perimeter.”
“Excellent,” Kreon said, though his tone was less than optimistic. “Now all we need to defeat are the domestic appliances.”
Loader tore the control panel off the wall with one clawed hand, probing the cable-filled cavity behind it with the other. Tris spotted several thin filaments snaking out of apertures in his gem-like forearms to bury themselves in the mass of wires. “Ah yes,” the talos intoned. “The artificial intelligence in charge of this facility has designated you a high-priority target. Perhaps I can convince it to reclassify you.”
“I hear boots, coming fast,” Kyra said. “Yup — guards, at least ten of them. And they’re not happy. Kreon, you still got that resonatory-thing?”
The Warden dug the pinecone from his armour and held it up. All the fins had closed tight around the core, leaving the cone-shaped device smooth. He swore. “It is possible that our last use has drained it. The controls are archaic, but I believe I had it set to maximum power.”
Kyra muttered a curse, and dropped to one knee with her rifle trained on the opposite door.
“Which way do we need to go?” Tris asked of anyone that was listening.
“The Sacristy is where the Keepers of the Faith can be found,” Loader rumbled. “It lies beyond the large door behind you. I will attempt to open it for you.”
The door in question rose a few feet, grinding up slowly, then shivered to a halt.
“The computer remains unconvinced of the legitimacy of our actions. Please wait — ALI is negotiating with her counterpart on your behalf.”
“Is there a narf… um, room-that-shoots-you, down there?”
“The Security Corridor fulfils the same purpose. It is the only way in or out of the Sacristy.”
“Crap! So if I step in there, I’ll be—”
“Incinerated,” Loader confirmed. “Please wait… Success! Tristan, you have been granted safe passage into the Sacristy.”
As if acknowledging that fact, the heavy door continued its rise into the ceiling.
Opposite them, however, the far door was also rising.
“Go!” Kreon said, gesturing at Tris. “We can take care of the troops.”
“Says the guy who’s bulletproof,” Kyra muttered.
Tris looked up at the stem he now thought of as Loader’s head. “Are you coming
?”
“Negative. I am monitoring multiple distress calls from the remaining Ingumend fleet, including their flagship. Several are too damaged to maintain control, or have insufficient crew remaining to fly them. Tenacity in particular is entering the atmosphere with no-one at the helm.”
Kreon grabbed the talos’ arm. “Tenacity? That’s Àurea’s ship.”
“I will make her my priority,” Loader promised. “ALI has copied herself into the mainframe to continue negotiations.”
And with that, he strode to the middle of the chamber and took off, angling up through the holes he’d made on the way in.
Tris stared after him, until a laser blast from the far corridor sizzled into the wall beside him.
“Go!” Kreon urged, as he and Kyra opened up with their rifles.
Tris didn’t need telling a third time.
He wasn’t completely convinced the Security Corridor wouldn’t kill him, but staying outside it certainly would. He could saunter, or he could leg it.
No contest!
He sprinted into the corridor and raced along it, expecting at any moment to feel the stab of a laser blast between his shoulder blades.
Nothing happened.
He reached the door at the far end, an impressive slab of burnished black steel — as it rose smoothly in front of him, inviting him in.
Saves me cutting a hole in it.
He jogged through — into a different world.
The room was smaller than he expected, but exquisitely appointed. Polished wooden floorboards gave way to a thick carpet the colour of spilled wine. It was much darker in here, low-ceilinged and intimate. Rich wood panelled the walls he could see, disappearing off into the gloom. He could make out alcoves and niches, curtains and drapes, and one vast, circular table dominating the centre of the space.
Keeping his rifle raised, he swept left to right in search of targets.
Nothing.
He was about to move deeper when an eerily familiar voice issued from the shadows ahead of him. “So, you’ve made it this far.”
Tris did a double-take.
Gerian…?
It couldn’t be.
Warden's Vengeance Page 41
