“We are receiving a transmission,” Askarra replied.
The viewscreen lit up with a picture of the Vanguard’s bridge. An elderly man with a shiny steel bowl for a scalp was staring at them in earnest. Sparks flew and smoke drifted, but the crew at their consoles behind him looked unharmed.
“Kreon? Is that you? Thank the Old Gods! We’re being overrun.”
“Fear not old friend, we stand ready to assist you. What is your tactical situation?” Kreon could feel the tension on the bridge of both ships. Behind him, Tristan and Eleanor were no doubt concerned that he was about to commit the Folly to a battle it was ill-prepared for.
“It’s bad, Kreon. They’ve boarded us, dozens of them. There’s fighting in the corridors, but you know how that goes. My marines… I’ve no idea how many are left. We’ve sealed off the bridge, but it won’t hold. The Vanguard is lost — we need to evacuate, but with all the ships still out there…”
Suddenly, a shimmer on a screen to his right caught Kreon’s eye. He glanced at it—
To see a bubble of space-time blurring into existence.
And out of it shot a veritable horde of mottled green and grey nestships.
A scream of rage bordering on ecstasy swept through his mind, strong enough to make him clutch his console for support. Behind him, he heard Tristan gasp in pain.
On the forward screen, Lord Balentine’s face went pale as he studied his own displays. “Gods, Kreon… there’s more of them. We can’t survive this.”
“I would not be so sure of that,” Kreon told him, permitting a grin to slide onto his face. “These ones are with us.”
12
Tris had seen several large-scale space battles from a distance, but somehow he’d managed to avoid being in most of them.
This was different. He stared at the viewscreen, eyes wide as dinner plates, as the Siszar nestships streamed around the Folly on all sides.
The Empress’s yell of triumph still echoed in his head; the scream of primal delight had nearly knocked him off his feet.
Kreon was coordinating with his friend on the other ship, and Tris listened with half an ear while he studied the scene through every viewscreen. It was insane. Swarms of ships streaked past, faster than the eye could follow. How they kept track of who was who he had no idea, but when opposing ships came together the violence was staggering.
There was no exchange of laser-fire. No missiles, rockets or bombs that Tris could see. Instead, the opposing nestships simply flung themselves right at each other. Each individual craft was larger than Kreon’s battered mining shuttle; their long, trailing arms curled forwards over the bulbous fuselage, and the ships smashed into and grappled with each other. It was like watching living creatures wrestle, but on a massive scale; bit by bit, one of the ships would gain the upper hand, crushing its opponent or ripping great chunks out of its hull. Liquids or gases would spurt out like blood from an artery, and the victor would move in for the kill, tearing its victim to pieces like a ravenous wolf.
It was both fascinating and terrifying.
“Tristan.” Kreon’s voice snapped with authority. “Balentine and his command staff are cut off. I intend to effect a rescue. The Folly is too tempting a target, so we will use the shuttle.”
“Lord Anakreon,” Askarra chimed in. “The shuttle is not a combat vessel. The odds of it surviving to reach the Vanguard are too small. I cannot authorise this course of action.”
“It’s okay ma’am,” Ella said, her tone casual. “I know you’ve examined my records. I’ll fly.”
“Your piloting scores are exceptional, however—”
“Mum!” Tris shouted. “Don’t worry! I’ll get the Empress to organise an escort.”
“Tristan, I am programmed to protect you against all threats—”
“Then try and keep this place in one piece, so we’ve got somewhere to come back to.”
He was already following Kreon and Ella through the doorway; at least his mum hadn’t decided to lock them in.
Empress? he reached out tentatively. Are you there?
TRISTAN! Her reply was exultant. You wish to join the battle? We will feast on entrails together!
I… no, thank-you. I appreciate the offer, but we have to rescue some friends on the human vessel. Can you protect our shuttle on the way over?
YES! I will shred anything that comes close! I will paint your shuttle black with the blood of our enemies!
“She says yes,” he translated for the others.
Their lift had reached the docking bay, and Kreon was already leading the way to the shuttle. Tris wished the Warden hadn’t been quite as distracted back on Helicon Prime; while Kyra had quite blatantly helped herself to the finest shuttle in the temple, Kreon was still flying around in the same piece of crap they’d acquired from the Pit.
Still, if anyone could make this hunk of junk dance, it was Ella. He decided to strap himself in nice and tight before they took off. He jogged a few steps to catch up with her. For her diminutive size, she had a hell of a stride on her.
“Hey, you don’t seem too worried,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Oh! That’s good news then.”
“I’ve been in my share of rotten situations, Tris. You know what never helps?”
“What’s that?”
“Worrying.”
He had to concede that point. “So, in your expert opinion, are we all going to die in the next five minutes?”
“Not a chance.” The look she shot him was pure wickedness. “Or I’d have much better plans for those five minutes.”
The shuttle exited the Folly’s docking bay fast enough to leave scorch marks.
Tris, thoroughly strapped in to the nav console behind Ella, instantly regretted the spongy blocks of meat he’d gobbled down in lieu of breakfast. He clung tight to his console in spite of both the webbing securing him to the seat, and the shuttle’s woefully inadequate inertial dampeners. Ella zigged and zagged the shuttle through all three dimensions, performing every manoeuvre at what Tris would reasonably call break-neck speed.
He felt the Empress approach on a sickening wave of bloodlust, and she roared past to discourage pursuit. Ella was calm and collected as she piloted, her gaze darting back and forth between her console and the viewscreen.
Nestships veered in and she ducked beneath them, vectoring off towards a larger group. These she dodged around, and Tris saw an image on their aft viewscreen of the two formations slamming into each other like American football players. He craned his neck to watch. This close, the Siszar vessels seemed even bigger, just one of them more than capable of tearing their shuttle to shreds. Then the image spun, which meant Ella was spinning; she took them down at an angle that evaded a trio of nestships headed for the Folly.
As the powerful shape of the Vanguard grew before them, Tris noticed dozens of the bloated nestships fastened to its hull, their tentacles splayed out as though gripping it.
“Boarders,” Kreon confirmed from the co-pilot’s seat. “The ships secrete an acid which burns a hole in the hull. That’s how the Siszar prefer to attack; swarms of them mob a vessel, latching onto every part of it and forcing their way inside. It means you encounter them singly, or in small groups, but it also means they come from every direction. I am fortunate enough never to have encountered a Siszar boarding party, but I have read reports about their effectiveness.”
“Oh hell,” Ella muttered.
Tris snapped his attention back to the main viewscreen. They were on final approach to the Vanguard’s bridge — but a knot of alien ships were veering in from above, perfectly mirrored by a second clutch below.
“Shit!” Tris grabbed a pistol from his thigh, as it was all he could reach. “Will they board us?”
“Not sure,” Ella said. “Brace for impact!”
And then something huge hurtled by, clipping the shuttle like an asteroid. Tris felt a familiar surge of excitement as the Empress’s ship slammed into the approach
ing group, scattering them like ninepins. Two of her ship’s five arms remained fastened on a pair of enemy craft; the mighty pinions rippled, and she swung the ships together like cymbals. They hit and rebounded from each other, great cracks spreading across their surface, but the Empress wasn’t done. The tips of her arms forced their way in, penetrating the scaly walls of both ships. She must have curled her ship’s arms inside the other vessels, as when she pulled them free it tore both ships in half. Viscous liquids boiled off into space, and the desiccated bodies of their occupants drifted out, still writhing as they died.
I have killed again! the Empress boomed. These pale worms are scarce worth eating!
Tris glanced at the other viewscreen. The second threatening group had turned tail and fled from the Empress at top speed. He almost laughed in relief; had it been a cartoon, they would have left Siszar-shaped holes in the nearest fence.
Thanks for the help, he sent out.
Young men, she sang, still radiating delight. There is nothing easier to kill!
Docking with the Vanguard was achieved via the emergency airlock on the cruiser’s bridge. Up close, Tris was staggered by the size of the ship; fully as long as the Folly was wide, it cut a lean, dagger-shaped silhouette. Or it would have done, were it not encrusted with nestships like giant barnacles.
The shuttle’s boarding tube had a magnetic shield around it, but Tris felt horrendously exposed in the few seconds it took to cross between ships. Ella flitted through behind him, choosing to take her chances on the embattled bridge versus twiddling her thumbs on the shuttle.
“Anakreon!” The old man from the comm-call strode towards them enthusiastically. He wore a trailing white tunic like a medieval knight’s surcoat, though on his gaunt frame the effect was more priest than warrior. The steel cap made up the whole back of his head though, presumably the result of an extreme injury. Tris thought the guy might stop and bow, but instead he gathered the Warden into a bear hug. “Never have I been so glad to see that disfigured monstrosity you call a face!”
Kreon, for a wonder, actually returned the hug. “Balentine. Still scrawny, I see. You must have parasites.”
The gaunt man broke the hug, gesturing towards the pressure doors separating the bridge from the rest of the ship. “What I’ve got is a Siszar infestation. But I didn’t realise they were contagious! Where’d you get yours?”
“A long story,” Kreon told him. “And time is short.”
“Yes! We’ll get as many out as we can, eh? I was watching you on the way over. Your pilot is amazing.”
Tris noticed Ella blushing, and wondered again if someone like her could really be flustered by a compliment, or if she was just so used to subterfuge that she was acting all the time. He rubbed her arm, regardless — no harm in showing he was grateful that she got him there alive.
“What is the situation with the boarders?” Kreon asked, all business again. “How are the marines managing?”
“Poorly, I’m afraid,” Balentine admitted. “They took us completely by surprise. We came here to make peace. I still don’t understand why they’re attacking us!”
Kreon grunted. “Making war is how you make peace with the Siszar. Still, an unprovoked attack is concerning. I was led to believe that our presence had been requested by the remaining elders… I wonder if the balance of power has shifted?”
The ship trembled, as though from an impact. “More, sir,” one of the console operators called. “Engineering.”
“Huh,” Balentine replied. “They’ll have a long enough walk to reach us.” He turned back to Kreon. “We should start the evacuation. We can compare notes once my people are off this wreckage.”
Tris took stock, and for the first time noticed how many people were in here. Beyond the encircling group that had welcomed them aboard were more than just the bridge crew; ranks of people lined the walls, huddled together out of the way in alcoves and doorways.
Balentine must have noticed him looking. “There’s more in my ready room, through those doors,” he pointed. “Seventy-six all told. We managed to get most of the civilians in here before the boarding started. I started out with over three-hundred marines as well, though I think we’re down to the last few handfuls scattered throughout the ship.”
“It’s a problem,” Kreon said. “Our shuttle is rated for less than twenty. Life support won’t be an issue on such a short hop, and we can ram the hold, standing room only, but we’ll never get them all out in one trip.”
Balentine nodded gravely. “I understand. Take as many as you can. I will stay and defend the second group until you return.”
Kreon glanced at Ella.
“I can make an extra run,” she said. She looked at Tris. “If you wouldn’t mind arranging some cover?”
“The Empress will be ecstatic. Literally.”
“In that case, get to it,” Kreon said. He made a sweeping gesture at Balentine, and the skinny Warden began beckoning members of the crowd. The metal dome of his head reflected the faces around him in a most disconcerting way.
Tris felt Ella’s fingers on his, and glanced down as she squeezed his hand.
“Promise me you’ll stay alive,” she breathed into his ear.
By the time he looked up she was gone, threading her way through the growing crowd on her way to warm up the shuttle.
He hated watching her walk away. Especially when the situation was this dangerous. At least she won’t be worrying about it…
Which meant he had a job to do.
I have another request, he sent to the Empress.
Be quick, little one, she replied. I am running out of things to kill!
That’s great! Our shuttle is making two more trips, to the Folly and back again. Can you keep the, ah, enemy, from getting to them?
Enemy? She sounded amused, and the sudden waft of mental stench confirmed it. These are but spoiled children. They prey on humans because they can find none weaker of our own kind.
Oh. Okay then. He didn’t want to delve into the rights and wrongs of killing children at this particular moment.
He activated his comm and sent a message to Ella. “I’ve arranged for the Empress to provide some cover.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she purred. “Makes a change from you stealing them all.”
Tris was suddenly very conscious that Kreon was hearing this as well. Ella knew that too, damn it! She’d waited until she was safely away before messing with him.
“Ah, right, so the passengers are coming your way now.”
“I’ve opened my bay,” she replied. “Now fill me up.”
Tris felt a blush of his own coming on.
Luckily, Kreon had more important things on his mind. He was staring fixedly at a screen which showed a scene of carnage; scattered limbs, bodies torn apart. Tris followed his gaze, and blanched; hand-to-hand combat with the Siszar was bound to be messy.
“This,” the Warden said, stabbing a gloved finger at the screen, “is not good. Balentine! How many of your marines remained standing at last count?”
“Less than fifty,” the older man called back from the far side of the bridge. “But that was some time ago. I fear their numbers may have dwindled further.”
The ship trembled again. Tris was getting used to the repeated impacts, but a message from the Empress gave him a new perspective on the situation.
They are fleeing inside, she said, as though this made perfect sense to her. The ones who remain out here seek a greater chance of glory killing your humans.
Those impacts are more boarders?
They flee from my consort and I.
They… Consort? Never mind. These are like children, right?
Immature males, she scoffed. Barely worth ten humans apiece.
Ten? Can they fight?
The stench assailed him again. They are male! Fighting is all they can do.
Tris looked up to find Kreon staring at him. “Um, I think we’re going to have another problem,” he said.
; “Indeed,” the Warden replied. “The last defensive position is about to be overrun. The Siszar will tear through these doors and kill everyone on the bridge in a fraction of the time it takes Eleanor to return from the Folly.”
“Oh… crap. So what are you saying?”
“I am saying that we have work to do, you and I.” He reached back and pulled the grav-staff from its magnetic clips. “These people need more time. I propose that we buy them some.”
Balentine materialised next to them. A pistol was in his hand, and his face was grave. “I will accompany you.”
Kreon’s eyes glittered. “No,” he said. “You will not.”
They left a crestfallen Lord Balentine on the bridge, and made their way through the heavy blast doors that protected it. The foyer outside the bridge had already seen some fighting. Great splatters of black blood stained the walls, and the body of a Siszar male sprawled on the deck, several large holes burned in him by a high-powered energy weapon.
Two marines in full powered armour crouched behind hard-points at the far end of the corridor. Both turned to look as the blast door hissed open; both acknowledged their reinforcements with a nod, then put their attention back on the junction they were defending.
Sealing the doors shut behind them, Kreon took a few paces forward and planted himself on the left hand side of the corridor. It was mercifully narrow; designed that way, Tris guessed, for just such a reason. He matched the Warden’s position on the right. Between them they could reach both walls.
“You don’t think we could have used him?” Tris asked, once they were settled.
“Balentine?” Kreon replied. “No. But he is a good friend, and very talented at what he does.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a librarian.”
“Ah.”
Taking his cue from Kreon, he’d pulled his glaive out and extended the handle to its maximum length. Now armed with a six-foot long bladed quarterstaff, he felt a lot more confident about his chances.
Warden's Fate Page 15
