Once through a pair of tall wooden gates they began to move cautiously, combing the night for nearby threats. Mercifully, the sounds of the Empress’ followers consuming their rivals was mostly quite distant. Mostly…
After Kreon’s group split off, working their way around the walls in the opposite direction, Tris reached out for the Empress for some reassurance. We’re looking for our wounded, he explained.
You are hungry?
No! We want to help them. Heal them. Bury the dead, if we get the chance, but that will probably have to wait until morning.
Why wait? My followers will be occupied with their feasting for some time.
Well… Tris shied away from the images she presented as proof. We need the light really, to see what we’re doing.
You cannot see in the night? She seemed genuinely surprised. No wonder your people are so easy to ambush.
We can see with artificial light, Tris protested.
As you eat artificial food, and fight with artificial weapons. For a species that has conquered the stars, you are… she groped for a meaning.
Resourceful? Tris supplied.
Inept, she concluded.
Tris didn’t bother to defend himself. He shielded his thoughts, and concentrated on the task at hand. Because something had occurred to him — the germ of an idea… and he wasn’t ready to share it with the Empress just yet.
They made it most of the way around their side of the walls, having found precisely zero villagers alive. The scenes of their death were too grisly for Tris to dwell on, though he had a feeling he’d be seeing them again when he tried to sleep. Inevitably, the Siszar had proved more resilient, and he was forced to dispatch several of them with swift stabs from his glaive. Each time he did it, he imagined that instead of putting an alien out of its misery, he was thrusting his blade into Demios. That traitor was the real villain here; without his interference, none of this would be necessary. Tris still couldn’t understand what he hoped to gain from all of this. Sure, he had power, but to what end? It was obvious that Demios had no interest in the Black Ships, and believed he would be able to survive the coming apocalypse. But how? And why? Or did he think, as Oktavius once had, that it was all a made-up story? If so, he was in for a rude awakening…
Not that the Black Ships would get him. Oh no.
Tris had decided to claim that honour for himself.
Sickened by what they’d witnessed outside the walls, the villagers were a subdued bunch once they got back inside. Tris left them to their own devices and went in search of Ella, when the unmistakable roar of Nightshade’s thrusters sounded overhead.
He followed the ship’s progress, watching it land rather hesitantly beyond the wall. He tapped his comm, hoping the Folly would now be in range, and was rewarded with a brief crackle of static. After being made to appreciate just how vulnerable he was without a ship to retreat to, Askarra’s electronic monotone was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.
“I have returned to my previous location,” she reported.
“It’s so good to hear your voice again,” he said.
Her tone softened a bit at this. “You too, Tris.”
“Who’s flying Nightshade?”
“I considered piloting it remotely, but one of the crew recovered from the Vanguard is listed as the ship’s pilot. He is more than qualified to operate a shuttle. I didn’t think Kyra would mind.”
Tris chuckled, feeling the stress ebb out of him. “Yeah, so long as he’s wiped his feet.”
On that note, he decided to find Kreon instead. His reunion with Ella would be sweeter, but he had pressing matters to discuss with the Empress — and for once, he actually wanted the Warden there to eavesdrop. For moral support…
Because he was about to do something monumentally stupid.
The idea had been building in his mind, he realised, and he’d been waiting for all the pieces to click into place. Now, the intricate scheme had revealed itself to him in all its glory, and as far as he could tell, it was perfect. Too perfect, which was a worry; certainly Kreon would be more than willing to poke a few holes in it.
But if he could pull this off…?
It was a big ‘if’.
And there were an awful lot of things that could go wrong with it.
Starting with this conversation.
He met the two Wardens as they came back in from their excursion. The villagers behind them were carrying a pair of stick-built stretchers, each with a wounded man on; evidently they’d had better luck than Tris when it came to finding survivors.
Both Kreon and Balentine seemed to be in a comparatively good mood, which Tris took as an omen. He would need as much support as he could get on this, and he’d be asking for a lot.
Come to think of it, he was starting to behave very much like a Warden himself.
He considered that another good sign.
“Kreon! I’m going to ask the Empress to come in here for a meeting. Is that okay with you?”
Beckoning Lord Balentine to accompany the wounded, Kreon strode over. He was using his grav-staff like a walking stick, but seemed more tired than injured. “We should meet with her beyond the walls,” he said. “Her presence amidst these people would antagonise them needlessly, and they have much to do.”
“Fair enough,” Tris agreed. “I’ll get her to include you, and maybe Kyra, too.”
Kreon cranked an eyebrow. “Indeed? You have something critical to share?”
“I have… a plan.”
Kreon’s gaze didn’t waver. “Am I going to appreciate this plan?”
“I doubt it. It’s not yours.”
Kreon laughed, then — a harsh, rusty sound that Tris hadn’t heard in a long time. The Warden’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and Tris realised he’d been missing this side of Kreon. Dour old bastard that he was, his sense of humour had never been in doubt — even if Tris was normally on the receiving end of it.
“Very well,” Kreon said. “Keep your secrets. I am eager to see what new piece of brilliance your mind has conjured up.”
Responding to Tris’ request, the Empress arrived outside the gates.
The shuttle pilot must have seen her coming and changed his mind about getting out, because Nightshade’s ramp, which was extending, suddenly reversed its course and clanked back into the ship.
Tris smiled at that, as he strolled out to meet the Empress. Thank-you for coming.
I had to make sure you were not being eaten, she pointed out.
Thank-you for that, as well.
My followers must be left to feed, she carried on, but as soon as they are done, I will convince them to leave. We will await you beyond the atmosphere.
Sounds great, Tris said. But we need to talk strategy.
He felt her interest grow dramatically. You have come up with a battle plan?
Tris gave his hand a shake. Kind of. He reached out to Kreon and Kyra, finding them both following the conversation. You guys trust me? he asked them.
Not as far as I can throw you, Kyra came back straight away. But then, I can throw you quite far because you’re built like a child.
Though tempted to ask her if child-tossing had been an approved entertainment for royalty on her planet, he decided to let that one go. He had bigger fish to fry.
I trust you, Tristan, Kreon confirmed. However, I refer you to one of my original instructions: your brain and your mouth are to be used in series, not in parallel.
Not quite the unanimous support he’d hoped for, but he was reasonably sure Kyra was joking.
Okay then. Here goes.
He addressed the Empress. I have a question. With that Skein thing… can the Elder hear me? Like, if I wanted to talk to her?
The Empress rippled the arms she wasn’t standing on, which Tris had come to recognise as the Siszar equivalent of a shrug. If I choose to make it known. If she chooses to listen.
Tris licked his lips. I think she’ll listen. Because I have an offer to make her. I will
rid her of the thorn in her side — this ‘Skinless One’ that she is so afraid of!
The Empress hissed her displeasure. It is not wise to use such language! Have you not been in her presence? One so powerful as she fears nothing.
Tris took that under advisement. He’d seen the Empress’s consort die, and he knew what Demios’ weapon was capable of. The Elder didn’t come forth from her palace because she didn’t have to — but she didn’t challenge Demios, because she didn’t want to die.
Be that as it may, I have a deal to offer her. I will kill the Skinless One, and remove his threat to your society. In return, I have one condition: the humans on all the Breeding Worlds will go free, forever! After this deed is done, my people will send vessels to collect these humans, and you will use your influence to ensure that they can leave your territory unmolested.
The Empress was positively quivering with agitation, a state Tris had never seen her in. Was this how she expressed fear? You go too far Tristan, she warned. The Elder is the most powerful being alive! Were she to revoke her protection, and insist on your death, even I could not prevent my followers from carrying out her wishes.
Tris took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Thinking of the ancient Siszar as a remote (albeit terrifying) opponent was one thing; remembering just how many of the giant aliens were feasting only a few metres away was another. He didn’t know whether he should be expecting a response soon, or if it took days for information to flow back and forth along the Skein…
Above all, he hoped that he’d done the right thing.
And he hoped it wasn’t about to get him killed.
She speaks! The Empress’s mind thrummed with tension.
Tris swallowed nervously. What does she say?
Then a dark and terrible presence inserted itself into their awareness, smooth and insidious like a spider in a web. Tris could feel the warmth leeching out of him, but when the Elder spoke, he heard not the venom he anticipated but something approaching fascination. You are nothing to me, she purred. Your feeble species means nothing to me. Take them if you will. I care not.
And she was gone. Tris gasped; he felt weak at the knees from the sheer intensity of her presence.
The Elder drew upon our strength to send such a message, the Empress explained. She sounded more than a little ruffled herself. You will need to replenish your energy as soon as possible.
I will, Tris promised, keeping himself upright by strength of will. I didn’t know the Skein worked like that.
Normally, it does not. I think that is why she was intrigued.
Tris felt a grin breaking out beyond his power to stop it. She agreed though! She agreed to my terms!
In her own way, the Empress pointed out. But such a thing between you and her is not as it would be amongst members of your own species. You would be wise to act soon, lest she grow bored and change her mind.
“Moving against Demios is a dangerous undertaking,” Kreon said. “There is no guarantee that any of us would survive such a battle.”
The decomposing one is correct, the Empress added. The Skinless One has collected many more young males than you see here. This was but a small portion of his following.
“Also,” Kreon said, “our objective in this region has nothing to do with Demios, and even less to do with liberating the oppressed. Much as I wish we could save these people, we cannot afford to jeopardise our mission. Have you forgotten the holocaust which draws closer to Earth even as we speak?”
Again, he speaks the truth, the Empress agreed. These… entities you call the Black Ships must be stopped, before all life suffers the fate of my homeworld.
Do you know what they are? Tris asked her, hoping for a brief insight.
I will show you.
And a stream of images flooded his mind. With a shock he realised he was looking at the attack on the Siszar homeworld, from a great distance away. The perspective kept shifting, as though flicking between different observers.
Those closest were driven mad almost instantly, she confirmed. Only those furthest away were unaffected.
Incredible! Kreon exclaimed. Piggy-backing on Tris’ Gift, the Warden was getting his first ever experience of the Skein in action.
Starting with live-streaming an event which no human alive had ever seen.
You see how their appendages reach out? The Empress shuffled the images, presenting another sequence which took place further away from the planet. Only the pointed prows of the Black Ships were visible, sliding into this dimension through whatever barrier separated them. As they grew, they changed formation, moving together and apart; then, upon reaching a length impossible to calculate, they began to flex. Bending in the centre, they swept the area slowly, before straightening again and pressing on towards their target.
This was only one of several appearances, in the days before the attack.
Tris felt his spider-sense tingling. There was something in what she’d just said. They didn’t attack straight away?
It appears as though they were searching for our homeworld. See!
She showed them another image, in which shorter lengths of the ships twisted this way and that, barely visible against the blackness of space.
Another view of their appendages.
Why do you say appendages? Tris asked her.
She sent a picture of one of her own tentacles, superimposed on the largest of the Black Ships.
And the final piece clicked into place.
Tris was so excited he lost concentration, and his connection to the Skein faded. He found himself back in his body, covered in sweat and sagging with exhaustion.
Kreon gasped beside him from the same rude awakening. Being mostly mechanical he was far more stable, but still his breath came in short pants.
Tris put an arm out, steadying himself against the Warden’s shoulder.
And in spite of it all, he found himself grinning. “Kreon man, I hate to break it to you, but those aren’t ships!”
“Indeed.” The Warden ran a gloved hand over his scalp. “The data I have been studying could support your theory. What we know as the Black Ships were both small and numerous when they caused Loader’s race to take shelter in artificial bodies. At subsequent points in recorded history, they have emerged as significantly larger, but also fewer in number; most recently the Lemurian Annals of the Gods mention the Black Ones as vast, terrifying creatures against which even the Kharash had no defence. The dimensional orrery shows aeon-long stretches when the Black Ships’ dimension does not align favourably with any others. It is entirely possible that, much like the Siszar, they consume one another when no alternate food source is available. Accepting this hypothesis, it is also possible that following such a vast span of years, only one of the creatures still remains, swollen to such immense size that it can no longer cross over into our dimension entirely, but merely reaches out through the walls in search of prey.”
“I knew it,” Tris said. “And you know what that means? If there’s only one of them, then perhaps we can kill it.”
24
Kyra watched the scenes play out with dwindling interest. So, not a whole bunch of huge inter-dimensional nasties — instead we’ve got one super-massive one? Great. As revelations go, it’d hadn’t exactly blown her mind. Now when someone had a revelation about how to kill the damn thing — then she’d be all ears.
Still, she had to hand it to Tris. The kid had balls. Actually, he’d always had balls, he’d just been too shy to… throw them around?
Ugh! Horrible mixed metaphor.
Meanwhile, she had a banging headache and felt like she’d been given a colonic irrigation by laser blast.
And more importantly, she was covered in entrails.
Again.
“What I wouldn’t give for two hours in a relaxing steam bath,” she muttered. She looked down at her outfit. Ruined.
She hung her head in a mixture of exhaustion and despair. I just want to be pretty for one Gods-damned day! Is that too
much to ask?
Clearly, it was.
She took a calming breath. It doesn’t matter. It’s only stuff.
Plus, she still had a couple of outfits stashed away in her quarters on the Folly, courtesy of their last jaunt to Earth. Although, given the attrition rate for clothing around here, she wasn’t sure if she dared unpack them.
She sighed. Saving the galaxy was fun for a while, but it got old. Specifically, it got old every time she was knee-deep in alien intestines…
Huh. Maybe after this, I should get a real job.
Leaving Tris and Kreon to quibble over the finer points of their vision, she strode in the direction of her shuttle. Nightshade had just landed; a sleek, deadly-looking vehicle that she was determined to keep nice. Meh. I guess this job does have its perks, she reminded herself.
No-one had ever questioned her right to ownership of the shuttle, despite the fact it was probably worth more than most ships ten times its size. It had everything; super-efficient grav-drive, fantastic manoeuvrability, plenty of weaponry and four large staterooms with real beds.
All it really needed was a spa chamber and she’d be good to go.
It didn’t seem terribly likely that she’d be able to commandeer one of those, but she was keeping her eyes open just in case.
Lukas was also headed towards the shuttle, she noticed. She could have jogged to catch him up, but that seemed like a lot of work.
“Hey!” she yelled instead. “You go touching my ship, I better not see fingerprints!”
Lukas looked back at her, then stopped to wait. “You don’t want it too shiny,” he said when she reached him. “Trust me, you do not want to see what you look like right now.”
She punched him playfully. But not too playfully; men like him needed to know where the line was, and how close they were to crossing it.
“Ow!” he rubbed his arm.
“Baby,” she countered. “I thought you’d have talked one of the locals into giving you a massage by now.”
He fell in beside her as she carried on towards the shuttle. “Hey, the night is yet young.”
Warden's Fate Page 29
