Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  But she seemed to take a perverse delight in making his life more complicated.

  “What have you done?” he asked, keeping his tone civil for his granddaughter’s sake.

  Kyra met his gaze with a smirk. “I brought you two homeless people,” she said, giving the woman’s restraints a jiggle for emphasis. “And…” she held up a plastic shopping bag she’d been carrying in her other hand. “Glitter spray paint! For your armour! You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Kreon opened his mouth, then closed it. He reminded himself not to curse in front of Ana, though he felt sure she’d heard worse growing up on a base full of soldiers. “Kyra. Who are these… people?”

  “That’s the fun part,” she told him. “They used to live on Earth. Now they live wherever you want them to.” She gestured with her bag-hand towards the man that Lukas was propping up. “We don’t have a name for that one yet, but he seems harmless. This one’s called Tina, and she—”

  Kyra froze.

  And in a blur of motion, the woman called Tina leapt forward. The restraints fell away, obviously deactivated earlier, as she launched herself towards her target.

  Which was Ella.

  A knife materialised in the homeless woman’s hand, scything towards the assassin’s face.

  Somehow Ella was ready for it.

  Sidestepping the attack, she flung one arm out almost as an afterthought.

  Tina landed on the deck, the knife still gripped in her hand. The other hand went to her throat — where bright red blood was bubbling from a wound that had blossomed like magic. She struggled to stand, then fell back to her knees; a second later she collapsed, gurgling, in a puddle of her own blood.

  She was dead before Kreon had even figured out what had happened.

  “The Priesthood,” Ella said dismissively. She glanced down at the body, then shook her head slowly. “I knew they’d be sending people after me. But I didn’t realise they’d be sending amateurs.”

  4

  Tris gaped like an idiot.

  It had all happened so fast.

  One second they’d been quietly shepherding refugees through the Portal — the next there was a dead girl lying on the floor in an expanding puddle of blood. Not ten feet away…

  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his girlfriend kill an enemy, but it was by far the most surprising.

  No-one even had a chance to scream.

  The look of horror on Kyra’s face said it all. Somehow they’d been tricked into bringing an assassin right into their midst — within steps of her target. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be suspicious of the two random strangers who’d wandered into their top secret base. His first thought had been to run to Kreon for help, despite knowing that it was precisely the kind of problem he should have figured out for himself. He’d been hiding from the responsibility, passing the buck… or trying to. And it had nearly cost Ella her life.

  Not that she’d seemed to notice.

  She wiped a few flecks of blood off her cheek and smiled at him self-consciously. As always, his heart pounded a little faster, and his knees felt rubbery. Although that could have something to do with the killing he’d just witnessed. Adrenaline was suddenly pulsing through him, too late to do anything but make his hands shake.

  Damn it! Every time I think I’ve earned my place on this crew… Kreon’s going to be furious.

  But at least Ella was okay.

  As for Tina’s companion, the shock of seeing her die right in front of him seemed to have sobered him up momentarily. He stared at the mess with eyes like saucers, his mouth hanging open. Tris used the Gift to peer inside the man’s mind, and found the swirling confusion had frozen solid with fear. He was convinced that he was next.

  “The scruffy one’s okay,” Kyra confirmed, her voice snapping defensively.

  Ella nodded demurely. “I know. We don’t take men. They’re too fragile.”

  The refugees milled around uncertainly, as more of their number came through the Portal behind them. The transition was deeply unsettling, as Tris knew all too well. This new horror, following so closely on the heels of the other, clearly had them all on edge. Only Àurea’s presence saved them from panic. Ana clung to her mother, the poor child scared but stubbornly defiant. Tris’ heart went out to her. She’d witnessed so much violence and trauma lately, it was amazing she wasn’t curled up in a ball, sobbing. She was coping remarkably well, given that she was only nine.

  “Lukas!” Àurea clapped her hands together above her head, bringing the big man to her side. “Get these people to their rooms. We’ll start taking them down to the surface tomorrow, as soon as we’ve found somewhere safe.”

  Ella gave Tris a cheeky wink, as though to confirm she wasn’t blaming him. It seemed a bit out of place under the circumstances, but he returned a shaky thumbs-up. Then she was off into the throng, marshalling the crowd of refugees like she’d been with them all along.

  Adaptable girl. Amongst other things.

  He shook his head at the mess she’d left behind.

  He hadn’t even seen what weapon she’d used.

  ***

  Leaving the others to coordinate the hundreds of new arrivals, Tris steeled himself for the return trip through the Portal. He’d left Mark on the other side, with strict instructions to unload and then return the minivan they’d borrowed from the underground base. Tris had told him privately that he should feel free to use the van anytime he needed to, but to keep that on the DL just in case. Now he needed to go back and check the house, before returning with the ‘cargo’ that Lukas had loaded into the van. It was a single huge suitcase, which the big man had declared was ‘essential’ to their continued survival. Tris had a sneaking suspicion he’d either a) stolen a ton of gear from the base, or b) gone shopping.

  He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  The case was bastard heavy though. Depressingly, back at the base Lukas had lifted it as though it weighed nothing. He’d even carried it up multiple flights of stairs. Tris glared at the thing, then stretched before tackling it. Lukas weighed twice what he did; there was no point in trying to compete with him in the lifting-heavy-objects stakes. At least Tris was a warrior. Lukas had managed to snooze his way through every major engagement by claiming babysitter duty. It wasn’t like Ana needed him, either; according to Mark, all Lukas had done for the last couple of days was watch cartoons and eat M&Ms by the bucket-load.

  In fact…

  Tris stooped down and fiddled with the catch on the suitcase. It wasn’t locked; a simple click and it came undone, allowing him to wrestle the thing onto its side and zip it open.

  I fucking knew it!

  Fully half the case was filled with family-sized bags of M&Ms. They were packed around a far more serious-looking case made of metal, that had to contain stuff from Sera’s armoury.

  Strike two!

  And yet, he couldn’t really fault the guy. Given a spare few hours, he’d have loved to take a stroll through that base’s equipment stores. Who knows what kind of goodies were locked away down there? It’s not like Sera would be needing them anytime soon…

  Anyway. I’ve got a job to do.

  And do it he would, although he was going to give Lukas plenty of shit for forcing him to lug half an aisle’s worth of chocolate to the other side of the galaxy.

  Arriving back in the Folly’s hanger was a relief. Not only had he survived the ordeal of traversing dimensions yet again, he’d also arrived in a futuristic utopia, at least as far as his arms were concerned. “Askarra, can you get a loader to take this?”

  “Certainly Tristan. Welcome home, by the way.”

  Tris eyed the cleaning bots still busy mopping up the blood from his last arrival. The body, thankfully, had been removed.

  Yeah. Welcome home alright.

  Rather than seeking out Ella, who would still be helping relocate people, or Kyra, who was probably doing something important, Tris decided to find Lukas. There were benefits to hanging out with a w
ork-shy babysitter; it was a sure-fire way to avoid discovering other chores that needed his attention.

  Or so he thought. And yet, Askarra directed him to the medical wing, where he found Lukas overseeing treatment of the homeless man they’d inadvertently collected on Earth. The man was unconscious, with the medical talos poised over him to monitor his vital signs. He was wearing a baggy white overall, which presumably meant his street clothes had been taken off for a wash. Or incineration.

  Tris had toyed with the idea of yelling, ‘Think fast!’ and lobbing a bag of M&Ms at Lukas, but that didn’t seem like such a good plan when there was genuine medical stuff going on. Instead, he walked up and pressed the bag of sweets into the big man’s chest. “These were bought with my money,” he said. “So technically they’re mine.”

  Lukas turned his attention away from the console he was using to look Tris up and down. “That seems fair. I’ll arm wrestle you for them.”

  Tris decided to let that one slide. “So where do you want ‘em? Which room are you shacked up in?”

  “Uh, none of them,” Lukas said, looking back at his console. “You know who built the Sanctuary ships, right? This medical facility?” he waved a hand around the place. “They always make them the same. It’s like being back in the… place… where I worked. It’s freaking me out a bit.”

  “Oh.” Tris was taken aback. He never though he’d hear anyone complain about living aboard an invincible, impregnable space station. “You can always crash at my place if you want? My dad had the cabin set up way nicer than a regular room.”

  “No thanks, I’m all good.”

  “What, are you sleeping here? In the hospital?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lukas told him.

  It suddenly occurred to Tris that perhaps the big man really was shacked up, and didn’t want Tris to know who with. “Okay then. Your case is still in the docking bay. Askarra will have it moved wherever you need, just ask.”

  And he left to go in search of Ella.

  Because some urges were impossible to ignore.

  He found her on the bridge, reporting to Kreon on the state of the refugees. The Warden didn’t seem thrilled with the delay; Tris knew all too well that the Siszar outside were getting impatient. The Empress had been in touch with him twice to express the urgency of the situation, and he had no doubt that Kyra had received the same psychic ear-bashing. Even Kreon, with the limited Gift granted to him by his pendant, would be feeling the pressure.

  “Any more bad news?” Tris asked as he approached. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he wished he could stuff them back in. He was joking of course, but making light of their situation wasn’t terribly tactful. After all, Kreon had burned his wife’s body just a few hours ago.

  “I spoke with Oktavius,” the Warden said. There was no trace of bitterness in his voice; he just sounded exasperated. Conversations with the High Warden tended to do that to him. “He sends his regards.”

  Tris raised an eyebrow. “He mentioned me? What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that we have single-handedly brought an end to the war that has consumed our people since before we left Earth.”

  “Ah. How did he take it?”

  “I am not convinced that he believed me.”

  “Well, that was a tad melodramatic.”

  It was Kreon’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Tris endured the withering glare in silence.

  “Oktavius has informed me that the war with the Siszar is also at an end. For reasons unknown — to him, at any rate — they have retreated from all sectors where our military was engaged with them. He was comparatively jubilant. Until I explained the reason.”

  Tris grimaced. Kreon’s people, the Lantians, had been losing badly in their war with the massive aliens. Any reprieve would have been considered a blessing — except one which boded even worse for humanity. “He approved this mission then?”

  Kreon snorted. “He had little choice. We are here, and the Empress is growing more insistent by the hour. He did manage to throw one complication our way; we are to meet with another vessel outside Siszar space, and take on some additional personnel.”

  “Reinforcements?” The thought of getting some help raised Tris’ spirits a little.

  “Diplomats.” Kreon all but spat the word. “For some reason, the impotent windbag believes my expertise is lacking in that area.”

  ***

  It was late in the evening, local time, before Tris got Ella alone in his room.

  They snuggled together under the blankets, not speaking, and let the stresses of the day sink into the pillows.

  Then Ella rolled on top of him and kissed him hungrily.

  “You want something, do you?” he asked.

  “I want everything!” She was more aggressive than usual, biting his lips and leaning on his shoulders, pressing him into the mattress. He had decided to avoid mentioning the scuffle earlier, as what could possibly be more of a buzzkill? But part of him wondered if that’s what it took to get an assassin off. Wondered… and worried.

  There was still so much about Ella that he didn’t know.

  He pushed her back gently, not wanting her to stop completely, but giving them some space to talk. “Is it true, then?” he asked her. “Like they say in movies? That killing someone makes you horny?”

  “Ha! Saints, no!” She propped herself up on one elbow so she could look him in the eye. As always, the openness and vulnerability in that gaze melted his heart. “It’s just… things like that remind me of why I’m in this situation. What I’ve got to lose…” She reached up and traced his cheek with a fingertip. “And it reminds me to make the most of the time we’ve got.”

  “We’ve got all the time in the world,” he told her, sliding his hand along that provocatively-poised hip.

  “No,” she whispered sadly, “we don’t.”

  And before he could argue, she pulled herself back on top of him and pressed her mouth on his.

  ***

  In his dream Tris was running and fighting — when he felt a flash of pain so visceral he came awake with a cry.

  The bedroom was dark and silent, but the ghost of that pain lingered in his mind. He sat bolt upright, flinging back the covers. “There’s something wrong,” he said. “It’s Kyra.”

  To her credit, Ella made no complaint. She rolled off the bed and was mostly dressed again before Tris had even found his jeans. She opened the door and went to check the corridor while he struggled into his t-shirt, but he made sure to snag his glaive before he left the room.

  No way he was getting caught without it. Not after the last time.

  There was no sign of alarm in the corridors. The lights were dimmed for night-time, each one brightening as they approached and fading into gloom behind them. Tris led the way cautiously, stretching out with the Gift to confirm that no-one else was moving around them. Kyra wasn’t responding to his attempts to reach her, but he could sense her mind — burning with rage and murderous intent.

  Which probably wasn’t good news.

  Ella was checking each doorway and junction as they went, a short-bladed knife in each hand. After a few minutes he gave up trying to talk to Kyra, and picked up the pace instead. Ella seemed to sense the shift in him, because she abandoned her scouting to jog next to him.

  “Where is she?”

  “Docking bay, as far as I can tell.”

  “Is she alone?”

  “For now.”

  Ella’s knives had disappeared when she started running — to where, Tris could only guess. The skin-tight catsuit she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  By the time they reached the right level, several floors down, Tris was panting heavily. Ella’s cheeks were flushed, but beyond that she seemed unaffected by the effort. They’d taken the emergency stairs rather than use an elevator; apparently assassins disapproved of small metal boxes.

  She ducked her head out to check the coast was clear, and Tris clomped alon
g behind her as she made for the docking bay.

  They heard Kyra long before they saw her. A steady stream of cursing in several languages flowed from the doorway, accompanied by the sound of her boots stomping around.

  Tris’ first thought was Lukas. He’d seen the big lug wind Kyra up before, but never like this. The anger radiating off her was making his head throb.

  “She still alone?” Ella asked.

  “Can’t tell.” He massaged his temples with his free hand. “She’s going supernova in there.”

  The knives came back out — this time Tris did see where they came from, tiny sheathes sewn into the wrists of her catsuit. He clutched his glaive, squeezing the handle to extend it to sword-length. They paused outside the doorway to trade a nod of readiness.

  Ella sprang through first. Tris followed—

  To find the docking bay empty.

  “Wha—?” He quested out — only to get his answer from a far more mundane source.

  The engines on Kyra’s shuttle Nightshade screeched into life, going from cold to lift-off so abruptly that the landing skids scraped the deck. Tris threw a hand up for protection — useless reflex, as he wasn’t close enough to be at risk — and watched as Kyra tore through the bay at full-tilt. The doors were sliding open, the only ones on the Folly still capable of such a feat, but they weren’t moving fast enough. Nightshade ploughed towards them, and Tris winced in anticipation of the impact. But at the last possible second, Kyra threw the shuttle hard over onto its right wing. The tip of it was scant inches from the deck, the shuttle far wider than it was tall, but the manoeuvre — which by rights should have been impossible in gravity — paid off. Nightshade slipped between the docking bay doors, coming close enough to both of them that a metre either way would have spelled disaster. Once outside, the shuttle righted itself, and Tris was treated to the flare of its main drives lighting up. Nightshade blazed away like a comet, leaving the fire of her departure burned into Tris’ retinas.