Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  He is my consort! Is he not magnificent?

  He’s, uh… yeah… very impressive. Tris was still too shell-shocked for casual conversation.

  Of all my suitors, he is the most promising, she crowed. He is bathing in the vital fluids of lesser males! If he survives this day, I will let him fertilise my ovum!

  The Empress herself came in to assist with the clean-up, having confirmed to Tris that no more nestships remained in space to threaten their evacuation. It blew his mind how rapidly the tables had turned; from arriving on the scene to find the cruiser nearly crippled, less than half an hour had passed. The space battle had been the polar opposite of the boarding action, with the Empress’s followers mopping up the attacking Siszar despite being significantly outnumbered. She had shared the image of insects flitting around her, by way of an analogy.

  She was rather full of herself these days, he noted.

  Ella, when he finally got to see her, was overjoyed that he’d kept his promise. They didn’t have time to waste though, with an unknown number of Siszar still prowling through the ship. It took four of them to drag Kreon onto the bridge — whereupon his eyes fluttered open, and he sat up under his own power.

  “Did I miss anything?” he asked, blinking at his rescuers.

  “Not really,” Tris told him.

  They managed to cram the rest of the survivors onto the shuttle, but Tris hung back. Kreon had roused himself enough to stand, and had refused all suggestions of medical attention. Lord Balentine stayed with them, determined to be the last man out.

  “It’s the Empress,” Tris told the two Wardens. “She’s still fighting, but she suddenly went quiet.”

  “Quiet?” Kreon asked. “You believe she has fallen?”

  “No, I can still sense her. It’s just, she’s been radiating like an aura of… I dunno, bloodlust I guess, like the fighting and killing is a drug and she’s as high as a kite. But then suddenly she closed down, went all watchful and… suspicious.”

  “She may be in trouble. It’s possible the enemy still outnumbers her substantially. You say there were two?”

  “Her consort is fighting as well, but he’s a long way off. I can’t really communicate with him. He’s still alive though,” he added.

  Kreon considered this, rubbing a hand over his scarred forehead. “Without the Empress, we have no possibility of traversing Siszar space. Our deal will be over, and hostilities between our races may well erupt again. And any knowledge they may have gleaned about the Black Ships will be lost to us.”

  “Also,” Tris pointed out, “she’s our friend.”

  Kreon turned a steely gaze on him. “Indeed.”

  “So we’re going to help her?”

  “We are,” the Warden confirmed. “As soon as I discover where I left my staff.”

  Tris found the Empress by following his mental connection with her. They moved through the ship with extreme caution, well aware that homicidal aliens could be lurking around every corner. Tris had described the consort’s entrance, but even such a devastating assault couldn’t clear the whole ship. It was simply too big, with too many rooms and levels and passageways. Had enough marines survived, they could probably have gone deck to deck and swept the entire place clean given enough time. As it was, the handful of humans left alive stood zero chance of reclaiming the vessel. Though essentially undamaged — not counting the dozens of dinner-plate-sized hull breaches — the Vanguard was finished. All that remained was to check on the Empress, and locate a handful of survivors that had barricaded themselves in engineering.

  Relying on the Gift to achieve both goals, Tris led them on their hunt. Creeping through the aftermath of battle after battle, he started to get an inkling of what it must have been like for the crew. Nestships landing everywhere, giant aliens coming at them from all directions, groups cut off from each other, standing back to back until their friends died behind them…

  Horrific.

  The survivors would be having nightmares for the rest of their lives.

  As for Tris, if he never had to fight another Siszar, he’d be a happy man.

  “She’s down there,” he stage-whispered to the Wardens. Balentine had tagged along, armed with the rifle Tris had discarded as useless.

  “Are you aware of her surroundings?” Kreon asked.

  “She was alone a moment ago, just prowling through the ship. I got the impression she was following a scent.”

  “And now?”

  “I think she’s found it.”

  “Very well.” Kreon came forward to join him, the grav-staff gripped firmly.

  Tris nodded at it. “For future reference, is that how you’re meant to hold it?”

  “No,” the Warden replied. “For future reference, you are not meant to hold it.”

  Tris decided not to challenge that wisdom. Hitting that armoured beast had been dumb luck, and he knew it. He could just have easily busted a hole in the hull and killed everyone.

  “Let’s go,” Kreon said.

  They stepped around the corner in unison, weapons raised.

  The Empress was bigger than Tris remembered. Perhaps it was a trick of perspective, but in the close confines of the corridor she looked very nearly as big as her consort. She didn’t move to acknowledge them, remaining frozen in place. Tris nodded to Kreon and they advanced, a nervous-looking Balentine bringing up the rear.

  Empress? Tris tried. Can we help you?

  Her focus had been absolute, Tris knew. Now it was like she broke from a trance, suddenly becoming aware of the humans sneaking up behind her.

  Tristan. It is good that you are here. There is someone I would like you to meet. She twitched her arms, moving aside just enough for him to see past her. A short distance ahead, a large group of Siszar huddled together in a mass, blocking the corridor. Standing in front of them, his limbs stained with black ichor, was another, slightly larger specimen. Tris wasn’t adept at reading alien body language, but the male’s pose seemed more like submission than threat.

  It’s their leader? he asked, as the answer dawned on him.

  It is, she confirmed. But more than that. He is my son.

  Your…? Oh. Wow. Is he okay?

  He is wounded, but not badly.

  Tris wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Did you know he was here?

  Of course not! I have spawned many thousands of offspring. Very few survive to adolescence. This one I have never met before.

  But you’re sure it’s him, right?

  I would recognise my offspring anywhere. All mothers know their children’s scent.

  Tris caught both Wardens staring at him, and quickly translated.

  “I caught the gist,” Kreon said, tapping the neckline of his armour where his own pendant would be nestled.

  Tris remembered his discovery of the previous night, but this wasn’t really the time to get into it.

  He looks strong, he told the Empress, not wanting to lose the thread of their conversation.

  By way of a reply, she seemed to reach out with her mind to envelop his. It was a shock at first, like having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown over his brain — but then the link stabilised, and he could feel her all around him. It was like an out-of-body experience, only he felt like he was in her body. His senses were sharper, and blood roared in his ears — not his, he realised, but that of the three puny humans quivering behind him. Behind her…

  It was a singularly odd experience.

  Now you can hear him, she explained.

  And without trying, Tris found he could. He was eavesdropping on the private conversation between mother and son, understanding the shape of their thoughts even though such a thing was way beyond the limits of his Gift.

  They know me as the Striped One from the Middle Deeps, the male said.

  An unblooded name, his mother replied. Are you not blooded?

  In this battle. I killed many humans.

  Ha! The Empress’s thoughts dripped scorn. Humans are barely wor
th killing! You were wounded?

  Not by a human.

  Tris saw the image of the Empress’s consort barrelling past, dishing out blows to everyone in reach.

  You are lucky to be alive, the Empress chided him. These others — why do they follow you?

  The male seemed to puff up at that, as though a measure of his pride had been restored. They follow me because I follow the Skinless One. We have all pledged ourselves to his cause.

  Cause? The Empress seemed amused. What cause is worthy of such dedication?

  We will all be equal under him.

  At this range, the stench of her laughter was overpowering. Tris recoiled from it, or tried to, but his mind was still joined to the Empress in a way he didn’t understand.

  She noticed him struggling though, and it only made her laugh harder. I do not know which species has the more ridiculous ideas! Humans with their ‘love’, or my own son with this ‘equality’.

  Tris considered offering an opinion, but didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He couldn’t help wondering about this ‘Skinless’ character. A Siszar deity perhaps? The son had imbued the word with a mix of fear and respect, whereas his mother’s reaction had been one of puzzlement and disgust. Being able to read the Siszar emotions was a fantastic advantage, he realised. He wondered if it would last once this peculiar form of sharing was over.

  His answer came more suddenly than he’d expected. With a wrench of will, the Empress cast off their link and left Tris dazed to be back in his own body. His human senses seemed so dull by comparison; he could barely smell his own body odour, much less the blood in his veins. Something else she’d been able to smell, he now knew; their health. It explained why she’d always preferred to deal with either him or Kyra; to her delicate scent glands, Kreon stank like a decaying corpse.

  Whilst Tris was readjusting, the Empress was on the move.

  Powerful legs propelled her down the corridor, pushing off the deck and the ceiling alternately. The limbs that weren’t walking reached out, stretching towards her son. Embrace me! she commanded, and Tris was thrilled to find he understood her son’s response.

  I do not fear you mother, he said.

  He moved towards her, his own limbs reaching out, and when they met they entwined. Pod-like body to pod-like body, the two huge aliens wrapped their free arms around each other in a hug. The Empress was much larger, engulfing her son to the point where little of him could be seen from Tris’ perspective. Sinews in her back rippled as she held him to her, the tips of her limbs quivering as she pulled him in tight.

  There was an audible pop, followed by a crunching sound, and the Empress released her grip.

  Her son’s body slid to the ground, broken and lifeless. Tris stared at the inert form, confused by what had just happened, when the Empress’s mental roar hit him like a tidal wave.

  This was ‘He Who Challenged The Empress!’ she declared, with the force of a hurricane. He dared to accept my challenge, and has paid the price!

  From the assembled Siszar, Tris felt a haze of agreement tinged with awe.

  You, his followers, may consume his flesh before you leave this place, she continued. But my challenge is still open, if any of you possess the courage!

  When a pair of heartbeats passed with no obvious takers, she broadcast her contempt and turned her back on the squirming males.

  Turning her attention to Tris, she made a softer version of contact this time. We must go, she told him.

  Even knowing how violent their species was, Tris was aghast. You… you killed him?

  I have given him a glorious death, she agreed. And far greater renown than he would have achieved on his own. I generally try not to show favouritism, but… two great limbs twitched in an approximation of a shrug. Children! You do what you can.

  14

  With Lord Balentine and the last of his survivors safely transferred to the Folly, Tris was properly reunited with Ella.

  The assassin played it cool in company, standing next to him with just her fingers lightly touching his.

  It was enough.

  With everything he’d been through in the last few hours, Tris wasn’t sure he was capable of anything more vigorous. In his mind’s eye he kept seeing the Empress crushing the life from her son; someone she had acknowledged, and spoken fairly to… He couldn’t help but wonder if the same fate was in store for him one day. How well did he really know her? Not at all, was the obvious answer to that one. Her species’ mindset was so completely different to his own, he couldn’t rule out that she’d kill him on a whim one day, convinced she was doing him a favour…

  It was a worry.

  Especially seeing as she was his staunchest ally in the mission to come.

  Speaking of missions, Kreon had assigned him to look after the new additions to their crew. The somewhat traumatised civilians had been housed on two of the Folly’s residential levels and left to their own devices for now, but Tris knew he’d have to do the rounds soon, talking to each of them and figuring out how best to use their skills.

  The Vanguard had been a ridiculously crew-intensive ship, requiring gunners, navigation officers, comms and signals officers, maintenance crew, engineers, whole groups of people to monitor the various sensor suites, and then the stores-people, chefs, pilots, deck hands… the list went on and on.

  Frankly, Tris felt rather smug that the Folly was able to fly by herself, operate and maintain all her own systems, repair herself, fight, navigate — and still find time to be judgemental about his girlfriend. He was a complete convert to the AI movement, if there was such a thing. Although, given the trouble they’d gotten into with Loader’s partner ALI at the Wayfinder’s helm, he could definitely see the need for caution.

  Regardless, they now had a substantial population on board, all of whom would need organising, feeding, and generally preparing for what lay ahead.

  He hoped they wouldn’t be a liability.

  Of the Vanguard’s compliment of three-hundred and sixty marines — six detachments of sixty men apiece — only eight remained.

  Although scores of Siszar had also perished, Tris knew from the Empress that the attacking force had consisted entirely of juvenile, ‘unblooded’ males — that is, ones that had never made a kill amongst their own species. If this was how the lowest pecking order in Siszar society fought… Ouch. Tris was seriously glad that the war hadn’t spread as far as Earth.

  Hopefully it was over for good…

  Though I guess that depends on the outcome of this mission.

  He couldn’t help but think, it had been an inauspicious start.

  Tris joined Kreon and Lord Balentine on the bridge for a debriefing. The Empress and her entourage had disembarked from the stricken cruiser, followed shortly afterwards by a handful of remaining invaders. With this latest crisis over, the Empress was keen to get moving again, and she’d been reminding Tris of this with annoying regularity.

  We have delayed too long already, she chastised him, as her nestship swung past the Folly in a lazy arc. She who is now eldest amongst my people is extremely volatile. We must return to present our answers before one disaster becomes many.

  Tris agreed with her completely. But there was one last task that simply couldn’t wait, and Kreon had assembled them all to take part in it.

  Probably for moral support, Tris mused.

  They were placing a call to High Warden Oktavius.

  On the main viewscreen, a trident against seven concentric rings replaced footage of the Folly’s repair bots zipping around the Vanguard. Every space-capable talos they had was out there, stripping the cruiser for parts as fast as their thrusters would carry them.

  Oktavius answered the call immediately, proving that he’d been expecting them.

  “Lord Balentine,” he said, the worry-lines on his narrow forehead smoothing in relief. “So good to see you in one piece.”

  “Likewise, My Lord,” Balentine replied, “though I came disturbingly close to being in
several. This attack, Oktavius! What provoked them? Certainly not I. My ship and my crew were locked down tighter than a Siszar’s sphincter. There was no reason for this — none at all! And now they’re all gone, and I’m left to carry out a diplomatic mission with this ancient windbag—” he gestured at Kreon, “and a ten-year-old boy for a bodyguard! No offence,” he said, tilting his head at Tris.

  “None taken,” Tris said easily. “But we think the Siszar attacked on the orders of a new leader, someone the Empress of the River of Silver Flashes is not familiar with. As she’s our only expert, we’re pretty much in the dark until we reach their territory. What we do know is, there’s a power-vacuum at the top of their society right now, so it’s quite likely that new leaders will emerge.”

  Oktavius regarded him with interest. “Excellent report,” he said at last. “Your master could learn a thing or two from you.” He turned his gaze to Kreon, and for once the lines of disapproval around his mouth seemed absent. “Well done, Kreon. I’ll concede you this one. How bad is the damage?”

  Kreon spread his hands. “The ship is a total loss. I’ve rescued some eighty-odd civilians, including Lord Balentine’s diplomatic staff. From here, we have little choice but to proceed as planned. Though I suspect this attack is not an isolated event, and that our welcome in Siszar space will be considerably less ardent than we anticipated.”

  On the viewscreen, Oktavius nodded. “It was always the risk. And for what it’s worth Kreon, I’m sorry that it had to be you. I know we’ve had our differences, but I trust you — probably more than any of the remaining First Circle. Your skills are so valuable now, and I hate to waste them. But if anyone can get through to the Siszar, I imagine it is you.” He blinked, as though shocked at how free he’d been with his praise. “With the help of Lord Balentine of course,” he added. “I strongly recommend you let him do the talking.”

  Balentine cleared his throat, forestalling any retort from Kreon. “As you wish, my Lord,” he said, inclining his head.

  “Oktavius,” Kreon said, his voice cold but even. “There is more.”