Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  Loader remained near the elevators, along with the bots carrying Sera. “I will escort Lady Serafine’s body to the roof, and prepare her pyre,” he drawled.

  Tris stopped short. “A pyre? We’re burning her?”

  “It was Lord Anakreon’s directive. However, I believe he intends to conduct the ceremony alone.”

  “Oh.” Tris was momentarily lost for words. “I guess… that’s it then.”

  Loader stepped back into the elevator, accompanied by the wheeled robots and their burden.

  Tris shivered slightly. He still wasn’t comfortable inside this death-trap. Loader was the only one who had any clue what the building’s AI was really up to. “Hey, how are the peace negotiations going?” he asked, before the talos could leave.

  “They are complete, pending system-wide ratification by the AIs governing other facilities.”

  “Nice. Did you use Asimov’s three laws of robotics?”

  The gleaming blue head tilted to one side. “I am not aware of those particular rules, but I feel confident they will be adequately represented. My treatise comprised one-million, eight-hundred and thirty-seven thousand, six-hundred and forty-one rules, clauses and conditions, which I have used to approximate the entire code of human morality. Though it is only binding in a voluntary sense; each article will need to be explored and voted upon individually at some point in the future.”

  Tris raised an eyebrow. “Err… good luck with that.” He gave Loader’s translucent arm a pat, and headed into the room.

  The council of war that Kreon now convened was theoretically a council of peace. One look outside, however, quickly dispelled that notion. All across the city, public buildings were being set ablaze, monuments defaced. Shouts and screams blended with the roar of distant explosions, as fear and panic gave way to vengeance and bloodshed.

  Àurea was still receiving reports from her commanders on the ground, and Tris listened in with mounting horror. Enraged citizens were roaming the streets in gangs, attacking anyone and anything that reminded them of the Church. People were being strung up from sign posts, their clothes daubed with words like ‘informer’ and ‘spy’. There was no way of knowing if any of the charges laid were genuine, or if the madness of release was inspiring people to settle old scores. Àurea’s troops had precisely zero chance of maintaining order; there were simply too few of them, and what little authority they had came solely from the fact that they’d just deposed the previous regime. They walked a tightrope; on the one hand, this made them heroes; on the other hand, they ran the risk of becoming the next target to be overthrown.

  Àurea predicted that the violence would run its course, and within a few days the people would settle down and start to wonder what to do next.

  Tris hoped she was right.

  In the meantime, Helicon Prime was a powder-keg the size of a planet.

  He was kind of glad he wasn’t sticking around.

  As the others dropped into hastily arranged seats — around another long desk, though this one didn’t have a body on it — Tris sighed with relief at the prospect of getting out alive.

  So many times in the last few days, he’d been convinced that his number was up. Getting caught in the Lemurian revolution had been an accident; they’d been on a mission to learn all they could about a nightmarish threat to the galaxy known as the Black Ships. But since their first day in Lemurian space they’d been shot at, imprisoned and tortured. They’d been forced to fight sadistic humans, engineered monstrosities and an indestructible robot. Computers had tried to kill them, buildings had tried to kill them… even clones of Tristan’s dad had tried to kill them.

  That last part had been especially difficult for Tris. His mind shied away from the memory; plunging his knife over and over into their bodies, as all the while they stared at him with his father’s eyes.

  It had left him feeling gutted. Sickened. Hollow.

  To be honest, he could use a break.

  And as luck would have it, he was about to get one.

  He was going back to Earth.

  Whatever Kreon was planning for Sera’s remains, Tris had a far more palatable job to do.

  A short walk from his Dad’s house in Bristol, there was a dilapidated warehouse filled with refugees from this side of the galaxy. The Church had massacred most of the Ingumend soldiers and their families, but the survivors had wound up in a high-tech base concealed beneath the warehouse. At least, that’s where they were supposed to be. It had been Tris’ idea to put them there, and his best friend Mark was looking after them. But the home they’d been evicted from had been a mining colony-cum-prison; a dank hollow rock drifting in deep space. It wasn’t hard to imagine that, faced with the temptations of fresh air and sunlight, they’d be finding excuses to get outside as much as possible.

  Hence, the decision to bring them to Helicon Prime had been unanimous. Kreon wanted them gone before they drew the wrong kind of attention; off-worlders were not permitted on Earth, on pain of death. Àurea just wanted them back — they were her people, after all — but more importantly, she needed their help securing the pissed-off planet she’d just liberated.

  Most of all, Tris suspected, she wanted to see her daughter.

  Nine-year-old Ana and her hulking babysitter Lukas had sat out the battle for Helicon Prime. Tris had taken them back to Earth, where he could well imagine they’d passed a comfortable, if anxious, few days.

  But it was probably for the best.

  If they’d been here, they would definitely have been killed.

  Tris glanced around the table, trying not to think about the horde of looters that would be working their way deeper into the temple with every passing minute. The clock was ticking on their escape route, but he didn’t want to appear nervous in front of his colleagues. No — that sounded too impersonal. They were his friends.

  Kreon’s bald head was bowed, the old Warden still wrestling with his grief. Seated next to him, Àurea looked stricken but resolute. She’d finally run out of tears; Tris could see the stern leader of the Ingumend resistance taking over, sealing off this new pain along with all the rest. The mask that covered one half of her face may as well have extended over the whole thing, for all the expression she revealed.

  Kyra cleared her throat.

  Kreon looked up; it was a not-so-subtle hint that they’d all been sitting here, staring at their hands, for long enough.

  The Warden took a deep breath and straightened in his chair, turning his gaze on each of them in turn. “We have a task ahead of us,” he said quietly. “The Siszar have requested immediate aid, and I am minded to give it to them.” He paused, waiting for comments. Tris thought about protesting, but while the timing of the situation was unfortunate, there was nothing to be done about it. The Empress of the River of Silver Flashes had come to them in desperation, following the brutal destruction of her homeworld. No way was Tris going to ask her to wait around until he was in the right mood.

  Kreon seemed surprised at their lack of objections. “Àurea…?” he asked, glancing at his daughter.

  “You’re going anyway,” she replied, not bothering to look at him. “You always did. Duty first. Even before family.”

  Kreon shook his head in protest. “That’s not—”

  “It’s okay,” Àurea said, studying the table. “I know you don’t have a choice this time.”

  “I’ll leave Loader with you, to help in any way he can. Wayfinder too, when she arrives; you’ll need a good ship, and that blasted computer can help negotiate with the other AIs on your behalf.”

  At this, Àurea deigned to look at him. “You don’t need to do that, father. I know how much Wayfinder means to you.”

  “The ship means nothing to me, compared to you,” Kreon said. “And nothing compared to your mother. If I could have saved her, I…”

  “That was my failing, not yours.” Àurea’s voice quavered, as she struggled visibly against a tide of emotion. “I should have saved her. But I wasn’t stro
ng enough.”

  Kreon placed a hand on hers. They both wore armoured gloves, but it was a touching gesture nonetheless. “She was always stronger than both of us. There was never any doubt of that.”

  Kyra saved the meeting from degenerating into yet more weeping with a well-placed crack of her knuckles. “So. I’ll take Tris through the Portal, and we’ll bring the Lemurians back here. At which point it looks like Àurea and Sparkles get to create a thousand-planet government from scratch, while the rest of us are heading deep into alien territory to fight an ancient evil that’s threatening to wipe out the entire galaxy. That about sum it up?”

  The gaze that Kreon turned on her contained a flicker of his former self. “I believe you have it surrounded.”

  “Great.” Kyra popped one last stubborn knuckle, then pushed herself to her feet. “Then let’s get on with it. I’m bored of meetings.”

  Àurea looked puzzled. “This is literally our first meeting. We haven’t even debated anything.”

  “Yeah, well,” Kyra waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve got a short attention span. Come on Tris, get your ass in gear! We’ve got a forbidden planet to visit.”

  Tris stood to go, as Kreon rapped on the table for attention. “Kyra—” he levelled a finger at her.

  “I know, I know! Be quick, don’t get seen, blah blah blah.”

  The Warden’s tone darkened. “Indeed. Time is of the essence. Waste none of it. And that means no shopping.”

  Kyra froze for a second, then narrowed her eyes at him. “As if I would endanger the mission for something so frivolous! I know my job, Kreon.”

  And she stalked out.

  Tris spread his hands to deny involvement, and hurried after her. As he passed the doorway, Ella gave him a conspiratorial smile. She reached out and brushed her fingertips against his arm; a tiny gesture, but one that managed to convey sympathy and promise in the same half-second of contact.

  It instantly made him feel a hundred percent better about everything.

  God, he loved that woman.

  He caught up with Kyra in the main hallway, as she waited for an elevator. A short ride would take them to the rooftop landing pads, and their waiting shuttle. Their next step would be to fly the shuttle back up to the orbiting space station, where the Portal to Earth was located.

  “Wow,” Tris said, as Kyra tapped the toe of one combat boot impatiently. “Sounds like we’re on a pretty tight leash. You think we’ll have a chance to grab some food on Earth?”

  “Ah, there’ll be loads of time,” she replied. “Imagine how long it’ll take for all those people to get their shit together. We should be able to have a bit of fun.”

  The lift car arrived, and Tris followed her inside. “You know, I was right there in that meeting, and I could swear that Kreon expressly told you not to go ‘having fun’.”

  Kyra mimed confusion. “What? Nah, that’s just Kreon. He’s always so dramatic. I can read between the lines. He didn’t mean ‘don’t go shopping’. What he meant was, ‘don’t burn any buildings down’.”

  Tris nodded thoughtfully. “That’s some pretty tenuous reasoning. You could almost say that ‘not burning stuff down’ is, like, generally expected.”

  “Tris!” She gave him an exaggerated eye-roll. “If there’s one thing I’ve taught you by now, surely it’s to expect the unexpected.”

  “So I take it that means we are going shopping? Or are you planning on burning something?”

  Kyra twitched one armoured shoulder in a half-shrug. “Depends on how much time we have.”

  2

  Tris was immediately suspicious when the elevator doors opened not on fresh air, but on a cavernous hanger filled with rows of parked ships.

  He poked his head out, scanning for signs of life. “You think there’s still someone on this level?”

  Kyra clapped him on the shoulder on the way past. “Nope. I brought us here. That piece of crap up there is waaay past its sell-by date. I’m thinking we should trade up while we’ve got the option.”

  She strode off down the middle of the hanger, and Tris jogged a few steps to catch her up. “You’re commandeering one of these ships?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Shit no! Do I look like a Warden? I’m stealing one.”

  “Ha!” Tris snorted. “Fair enough. I suppose the commandeered ones are meant to be returned to their owners once you’re done with them.”

  “In theory. But Kreon’s ships never last that long. It’s like he’s cursed.”

  “So us stealing ships is obviously safer…”

  “Me,” Kyra tapped her chest. “I’m stealing a ship.” She waved a hand along the rank of shuttles they were passing. “If you want to steal one for yourself, go right ahead.”

  “Woah!” Tris protested. “You’re the one who’s meant to be teaching me stuff. Did we skip Spaceship Theft 101?”

  Kyra stopped suddenly, turning to face a matte black shuttle. It sat lower than the ones around it, like a great hunting cat ready to pounce. The hull swept back from its sleek cockpit directly into the wings, giving it a more fighter-like appearance. Weapons rode the top like a crest, and protruded from the undercarriage; every inch of it screamed danger. Compared to the knackered mining shuttle they’d landed on the roof, it looked like Darth Vader’s custom sports car.

  Kyra cracked her knuckles, the sound echoing back from the row of parked ships. “Okay then. Consider this your first lesson.”

  ***

  Tris sat at the shuttle’s nav console as Kyra guided it out of Helicon Prime’s atmosphere. It had taken her less time to get used to the controls than it had to steal the thing — which was saying something, as the actual theft had been as simple as contacting Loader and getting him to unlock it remotely. The temple’s AI hadn’t seemed at all concerned about handing the shuttle over to them; it almost made Tris want to forgive it for trying so hard to kill him.

  Kyra was even more enthusiastic. She pulled a few sharp manoeuvres over the city, and before long she was grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t ask me how much this thing cost to build,” she told him, “but it’s one of a kind. I’m gonna call it Nightshade.”

  As the last wisps of stratosphere faded into the blackness of space, the unmistakable silhouette of Tris’ own personal spacecraft shimmered into view.

  Blotting out the stars behind it, the vast steel sphere of the Folly cut an impressive shape. A single enormous laser cannon jutted out awkwardly, like an oversized cigar; it was an after-market addition, replacing dozens of smaller weapons that had been destroyed fighting Sera’s fleet near Homeguard. Sadly the giant weapon was useless, having been burnt out by Ella’s last desperate shot during the battle for Helicon Prime. It wasn’t the only casualty; the Folly’s hull had been a near-invisible stealth-black when Tris had first laid eyes on her. Now it was a jumbled mishmash of ugly steel plates welded over holes blasted through her in a succession of furious firefights. She’d been through it alright; from one of the most dangerous vessels in the galaxy, she had now been reduced to a glorified caravan.

  Still, returning to the Folly always felt like coming home to Tris.

  Mostly because his mum would be waiting for him.

  The docking bay was almost empty; a vast, echoing hall big enough to take Kreon’s ship Wayfinder with room to spare.

  “Hi Mum!” Tris called, as he clomped down the shuttle’s ramp. For the longest time he’d tried to address her as ‘Askarra’, in the hope of sounding more professional and less like a scared ten-year-old. But as his confidence grew, he’d started caring less about getting embarrassed in front of the others. It had taken him a while, but he finally felt like he’d earned his place amongst them.

  A hologram sprang to life a few steps in front of Tris, the familiar image of a copper-skinned, dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties.

  It was the same woman he’d seen lying dead in Sera’s place not long ago. Tris felt a sudden chill; he’d been seeing her through his dad’s eyes, he rea
lised, shortly after the accident that had claimed her life. Not an accident, he corrected himself. A ghostly echo of rage flared up, and Tris clenched his fists involuntarily. Kill every one of them. That had been his dad’s first intention.

  It was a cause Tris was more than willing to adopt.

  Just as soon as he was done ridding the galaxy of nightmarish beings from another dimension…

  “Welcome home Tristan,” the hologram said. “Have you decided on a course of action?”

  “We have,” Kyra replied, coming up beside him. “You’ll love it. What’s the best way we could place ourselves in the most danger imaginable, with the least-possible benefit to ourselves? Short of flying directly into a star, I mean?’’

  The hologram gazed at Kyra, her expression revealing nothing. “You have decided to accompany the Siszar into their territory?”

  “Yes!” Kyra pumped a fist sarcastically. “Score one for yo’ mamma.”

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” Tris added. “Kreon was always going after the Black Ships, or whatever they are. At least this way we might have the Siszar on our side.”

  Kyra put a hand out to stop him. “And that little gem of naiveté is exactly why we shouldn’t be going. What do you know of the Siszar, Tris?”

  “Uh… they love to fight?”

  “They love to fight,” she confirmed. “In fact, they live for it. They’ll attack anyone, at any time, for no better reason than they think they can win. Being the only soft pink humans in an entire region filled with ten-foot-tall homicidal aliens… let’s just say, our chances aren’t great.”