Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  “Oh Tris,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes, “thanks for that. I needed a chuckle.”

  “I was serious,” he protested.

  “I know you were.” She took a hand off the controls long enough to pat his knee. “But you have no idea. The Wardens like to think they’re important, but really they’re just like wandering policemen. The sector governors and other politicians control the galaxy. And we — by which I mean, the Priesthood — control the politicians.”

  ***

  Askarra welcomed them back to the Folly in person. Her hologram was waiting in the docking bay, alongside Kov and the last few villagers. Tris breathed a sigh of relief when he saw them; he’d been a bit concerned they would refuse to leave. Not that he couldn’t house a few extra people, but their path from here took them directly into harm’s way. From Demios’ planet to a world filled with psychotic Siszar, there was no destination in their future that Tris was looking forward to. He was almost tempted to offload the Vanguard’s survivors, but most of them seemed quite at home on the Folly. They were the crew of a combat ship, and must have seen plenty of engagements in their time. The remaining marines had offered to stay with the villagers and continue their training, which Kreon had accepted as a noble gesture. Tris promised he’d be back to pick them up. If none of them survived the attack on Demios, Askarra could still at least attempt a rescue, and if the Folly was destroyed, well, they were better off on the planet anyway.

  Tris shivered in the cool air of the docking bay; his skin was covered in a layer of condensation from his time inside the nestship. At least, he hoped it was condensation. A shower was high on his list of priorities.

  Kyra strode in to join them, and cast a critical eye over Nightshade’s hull. “You better not have damaged my ship, old man.”

  Kreon drew himself up to his full height. “Might I remind you that only I as a Warden of the First Circle, have the authority to commandeer a vessel.”

  Kyra just crossed her arms, fixing him with a stare of her own.

  “Your ship is fine,” he relented.

  “There better not be any blood on my seats.”

  “I don’t bleed.”

  “Not your blood! You’ve been knee-deep in dead aliens for the past twenty-four hours. I’ve already got to scrub Lukas’ guts off my sofa. Not to mention the dinosaur stain in the cargo hold.”

  Kreon looked at Tris and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Tris spread his hands. “I got nothing.”

  Kreon turned the eyebrow on Kyra. “Could it be that you are missing Loader?”

  “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I also miss his ability to chop enemies into fish-bait… but man, that talos could get entrails out of anything.” She looked glumly at her combat boots, which had once sported accents in pink glitter spray-paint. They were now so thoroughly encrusted with black filth it looked like she’d been wading through a swamp. “They used to sparkle,” she said.

  Kreon left a pause for her to finish mourning. “In other news,” he announced, “Tristan has devised an extremely dubious plan to slay Demios. We have acquired a modified Siszar vessel, and I urgently need to contact Oktavius to ensure that Earth has not been reduced to rubble while we were occupied.”

  Kyra recruited Tris with a glance. “Are you hearing this? How can we work for a man with such skewed priorities?”

  ***

  Tris thanked Kov profusely for the food he’d provided, and for not trying to kill them all on sight. He couldn’t help but feel guilty for the devastation he’d brought to the village. With a renewed promise to help free Kov’s people, Tris let Kyra lead them onto her shuttle for the ride home.

  Kreon had asked him to help brief Oktavius, so a shower would have to wait.

  Alone in the corridor outside the docking bay, he finally got the chance to put his arms around Ella. With everything going on, they hadn’t had a lot of time together — and the inside of the Siszar nestship hadn’t really lent itself to displays of affection.

  “I love you,” he told her, not wanting their embrace to end.

  “I love you too,” she replied, clinging to him even tighter.

  The fact that she could probably squeeze him to death with her enhanced muscles never entered his mind.

  Well, maybe once.

  “So, Oktavius,” she said, as they resumed their trip to the bridge.

  Tris followed her into the elevator. “I don’t know how happy he’s going to be with this plan of ours. Not that he’s ever happy about our plans.”

  “Flatter him,” she said, snaking an arm around Tris’ waist. “Men love to be flattered.”

  “Old men, you mean!”

  “No,” she replied. “Just men.”

  The doors slid open on the bridge, and Ella immediately released him. She drifted into her customary position just out of camera-range; Tris wasn’t sure if Oktavius even knew she was on board.

  Huh. Probably just how she likes it.

  With Lord Balentine hovering in the wings, Kreon initiated the call. The Folly’s main viewscreen switched to the Wardens’ insignia of trident-and-circles.

  Seven rings and a trident. I probably should have spotted that earlier.

  But he gave himself a pass. After all, it had been a busy few months.

  It was a short while before Oktavius answered. When he did, the screen resolved into a view of him on a ship’s bridge much like the Folly’s. His pinched face and the beginnings of a scraggly white beard topped an unusual outfit for him. Instead of robes, he was clad in a suit of powered armour that featured golden sculptures sprouting from its pauldrons.

  Tris let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

  Inevitably, Kreon expressed his relief in a pointed comment. “Busy defending Earth from destruction, I trust?”

  “Kreon!” Oktavius’ tone was as sharp as it had ever been, but tinged with nervous tension. “I’ve been waiting for your call. The whole damn navy has been waiting for your call! We’ve taken up positions surrounding Earth, but even with the sector fleet out here, we’re spread way too thin. Have you any more information for us? If we could only know which direction the attack is coming from, we’d be able to concentrate our forces.”

  Kreon beckoned Tris and Balentine to stand either side of him, and addressed Oktavius with more gravitas than usual. “My Lord, I have reached a series of conclusions which have direct implications for your defence. However, I am unable to pinpoint the location of our assailant.”

  Oktavius glanced around, as though noticing the bridge officers around him for the first time. He dismissed them just as quickly. “You can speak plainly, Kreon. If we don’t stop this attack, we’re all going to be out of a job.”

  “Very well. We cannot predict where the attack will come from, but we are working to assemble the pieces of this puzzle.”

  Clearly under a lot of stress, the High Warden wasn’t in the mood for generalities. Scowling at them all — saving a particularly meaningful one for Lord Balentine, whom he presumably thought would be a stabilising influence — he peppered Kreon with questions.

  “And you’re sure this threat is real? How accurate are your calculations? That model you sent me — didn’t it come from an ancient Lemurian database? What’s your margin of error? Could you be off by a few days, or a few decades?”

  Kreon let him run out of words before offering a reply. “The model was extremely precise. However, it merely predicted the window within which a strike may take place. We have gained a greater understanding of the nature of this enemy, which may serve to illuminate the difficulties we face.”

  He turned to Tris, and gestured for him to explain.

  Ah, crap. I should have known he’d do this. Ah well, I guess it was my theory originally…

  “My Lord,” Tris said, surprising himself with the sudden formality. “They’re not ships. I’ve seen this thing first-hand, and I’ve seen the Siszar images of the attack on their homeworld. It’s all one creature, an
d it’s beyond massive. What we think of as ships, are really just its arms — tentacles, if you like. This thing is far too big to leave its own dimension anymore, so it’s reaching through to ours, sort of groping around, trying to find a victim. In the days before the attack here, they were spotted further out, sort of writhing around as though they were searching for something.”

  On screen, Oktavius’ pallid flesh had gone even paler. “One creature, you say? How is that possible?”

  Tris spread his hands apologetically. “I don’t know. We’re pretty sure there were more once, but they were forced to eat each other in the time when their dimension didn’t connect to ours. It makes sense that if that happened, there would only be one left. And that it would be seriously hungry.”

  Oktavius worked his mouth, as though he was literally chewing over this news. “But how can we fight something like that?” he asked. “If this is true, then the most powerful weapons in our arsenal would be like pinpricks to it! If we can only attack its limbs, how can we do enough damage to stop it?”

  “We cannot,” Kreon said, taking control of the conversation once more. “Data from my talos corroborates Tristan’s account, and my research supports it. This thing is a single entity, and it will be drawn to the Portal on Earth, as it was drawn to the Portals on other worlds.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tris interrupted him. “Surely the Black Ships… that thing, can’t be reaching halfway across the universe for my dad’s little Portal? If so, can’t we just, um, dismantle it?” He came perilously close to saying ‘destroy it’, before remembering that his friend Mark was still living in the house on top of it.

  “No, Tris,” Kreon said, turning away from Oktavius. “The Portal Mikelatz created is not the monster’s target. There is another Portal, an ancient one, on the island our ancestors colonised. That is why we chose it as our home, after our escape from the Lemurians. It now lies far beneath the ocean, a victim of the terrible weapons we unleashed on the world. But there it remains, a tear in the fabric that divides our dimensions, and the Devourer — to use a term I believe the Kharash employed — will seek it out the way a hand gropes towards an itch.”

  Tris was stunned. It had never occurred to him, but now it made perfect sense. Of course there’s a Portal on Earth! The homeworld of every race had one. That’s how our creators, whoever they were, picked the planets to seed us on. But who built the Portals? Not the Kharash… Maybe Loader’s people?

  It was too much for him to work through straight away. Reluctantly, he wrenched his attention back to what Kreon was saying.

  “…Demios’ presence has complicated the situation substantially. We are forced to remove him from the equation before we can proceed.”

  “Sydon’s Name!” Oktavius hissed. “Is there nothing that man can’t ruin?”

  “We are moving against him immediately, following a strategy devised by Tristan. Assuming he has no more forbidden technology to deploy against us, we have a strong probability of success.”

  “But the Black Ships!” Oktavius protested. “When they strike, it won’t matter what the hell Demios is up to.”

  “It will matter if he kills us before we can complete our investigations,” Kreon replied, his tone frosty. “We are making every effort to come up with a solution, but we must face the possibility that Earth will be lost.”

  “No…” Some of the fight seemed to go out of Oktavius. “You can’t believe that, Kreon.”

  “My crew and I are using every resource at our disposal to tackle this problem,” Kreon told him, “but as yet we have drawn a blank. We do, however, have access to a Portal. Once this matter with Demios is settled, we will make a concerted effort to enter the Devourer’s dimension. Once there, perhaps we can obtain some information which will aid in our defence. If not…” he trailed off, his meaning clear.

  But something he’d said had given Tris an idea. Just the tiniest spark of an idea, but it grew into a flame as he turned it this way and that. And it’s not like we’ve got a whole heap of options…

  “There is a chance,” he blurted out. He regretted it instantly. “I mean, if there’s a way we can stop this thing, we’ll… we’ll do our best,” he amended.

  Oktavius regarded him for a second, then turned his attention back to Kreon. “Keep me updated,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’ll watch for any appearances further out, and use that to triangulate our positions. I have chunks of two more sector fleets en route; if we can bring enough weaponry to bear at one place, perhaps we can force it to withdraw.”

  “Perhaps you can,” Kreon said. “I will pray it is so.”

  Oktavius raised a wry smile. “Praying, Kreon? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Kreon smiled back, but there was no humour in it. “If there is ever a time, this is it. Farewell Oktavius, and may the strength of Atlas be upon you.”

  Oktavius’ lip quirked in a ghost of amusement. “And on you, old friend. I have a feeling you’ll need it.” His eyes flicked sideways, acknowledging Lord Balentine, then he ended the transmission.

  Tris let out a long, slow breath. “Well, that went well.”

  Kreon turned to him. “Indeed. And now, you can elaborate on that urgent thought you came so close to sharing.”

  Tris looked at Lord Balentine, finding him also intrigued.

  Damn! Didn’t realise I’d been that obvious.

  “Okay… I didn’t want to just blurt it out without thinking it through first.”

  Kreon’s expression become one of mock-incredulity. “Can it be? After all this time, have you finally developed common sense?”

  Tris gave him the stink-eye. “I don’t have to tell you, you know.”

  “Indeed you do,” Kreon retorted. “Not only because you are my apprentice, and I am your master, but because you quite simply cannot restrain yourself.”

  “Goddammit! Alright. So, the Kharash created my pendant, and they were also at war with the Black Ships. So we’re guessing that it might have been a weapon, against their madness at least.”

  Balentine gave a polite cough. “Interesting. However, the name ‘Kharash’ means ‘Craftsmen’. Our records indicate that they were a peaceful race. The devices we use as weapons were not designed as such.”

  “Well maybe they were multi-functional? Such clever people, surely they could Swiss-army-knife their gadgets?”

  Kreon traded a critical glance with Lord Balentine. “You are reaching, Tris.”

  “I know. Maybe.” Tris ran a hand through his stubbly hair, trying to contain a sudden rush of nervous excitement. “But what about this: our Kharash weapons? My glaive and your staff? What if they worked against the Black Ships? We’ve never been able to test them, but now we know where they’ll appear.”

  “Again, this is largely conjecture. Even if our weapons could damage these things, we have no way to equip them on a large enough scale to make a difference.”

  “True, true.” Tris was getting excited now, and let the enthusiasm take him over. “But what is it that the Black Ships do?”

  Kreon glared at him. “I presume you are going somewhere with this?”

  “Yes! Humour me, please.”

  “The Black Ships,” Kreon intoned, his voice frosty. “Also known as the Tide of Darkness, the Black Ones, or Devourers of Light. Now theorised to be the extruded appendages of one larger being, they are able to penetrate the walls between dimensions, crossing over from their own to seek sustenance in ours.”

  “And what else?”

  The temperature of Kreon’s stare dropped a few more degrees. “They strike one planet at a time, and wipe out all life on the surface.”

  “Exactly! And don’t we have a Kharash-made device that does pretty much the same thing? I’d give you a hint, but I can’t remember your name for it.”

  “Agorregimundu…” Kreon said, suddenly thoughtful. “The Planet Forge.” He rocked back on his heels, and rubbed the scars on his forehead. “Yes… there is potential in that. If the ‘s
hips’ are, as we now suspect, a single gigantic entity… anything affecting the main portion of the creature would extend to the whole. Well done, Tristan.”

  Tris tried his best not to look smug. It was a losing battle. Coming from Kreon, praise of this calibre was rare indeed. “So shall we call Oktavius back and tell him?”

  Kreon gave that a moment’s consideration. “No,” he decided. “I will not do anything which may prejudice his defence. We still have a great many hurdles to overcome, and the outcome of this scheme is far from assured. We would be attempting to use an alien device, the precise parameters of which have never been tested, to combat an extra-dimensional entity whose physiology is completely unknown. The scope for error in this scenario is, as you may be able to grasp, rather large.”

  “So, don’t count your chickens,” Tris surmised. “Gotcha.”

  “And should we fail in our mission, it is imperative that Oktavius remains stalwart in his.”

  “Will that help?” Tris asked.

  “Probably not. But incredible feats can be achieved by those who believe they have no other option. Even Oktavius might prove useful for something, given the right motivation. Will he be able to defeat this leviathan?” He turned his head slowly from side to side. “Not a chance.” He looked down again, as though thinking something through.

  When he looked up again, the expression on his face was one Tris had never seen there before.

  Honesty.

  And gratitude.

  “In truth, I had no hope myself until a few minutes ago. This enemy is unlike anything I have ever faced, and I was afraid it would prove impossible to overcome. But what you have given us is our last, desperate chance. I will examine my research, and see if it supports this strategy.” He cracked the barest of smiles, and a measure of sardonic humour returned to his eyes. “If it succeeds, you will have personally saved the entire galaxy. And if it fails, Earth will be destroyed and all life as we know it will cease to exist.” He reached out and gave Tris’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “No pressure.”