Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  “Demios?” Tris quipped. “Or Kreon?”

  But her eyes said she wasn’t joking, and he reminded himself to stay alert. Demios had got the drop on them in every encounter they’d had. It was only through a combination of blind luck and extraordinary circumstances that any of them were still around to tangle with him.

  “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “You too?”

  She smiled, and gestured at the array of equipment fastened to her. “Does this look careful enough?”

  He chuckled. At least she didn’t ask if it made her bum looked big.

  With that release of tension, he was finally ready.

  Kreon was already at the hatch, pulling himself through the short tube that led outside. With a last look at Ella, Tris joined him. Splitting up was his least favourite part of the plan, but they needed to use every trick in the book if they were to have a chance of pulling this off. Even now, Kyra was on her way into the atmosphere in Nightshade. The Empress was following at a discreet distance; she was going to time her arrival to cause maximum disruption. Hopefully, the craft they had just landed in would be quickly forgotten when more obvious targets presented themselves.

  “Opening the hatch,” Kreon hissed back.

  “Ready,” Tris confirmed, worming his way into the tube. The heavy armour barely fit, making this a real chore, but he’d be glad of it once the shooting started.

  Ahead of him, Kreon pulled himself out and disappeared from view. Tris reached the circular opening and peered out, seeing scattered rocks and more of the huge crates unloaded from the cruiser. Hauling on the rim of the hatch, he managed to get his torso out. He let himself hang there, upside down for a moment, until gravity took over and dragged him the rest of the way out.

  He landed on his back with a crunch. Fortunately, a kind of scrubby grass covered this area — not that it did much to break his fall. Next time, I’m going to try that feet-first, he promised himself.

  Kreon was crouched low behind a nearby boulder. As Tris sat up he could see crates the size of sea containers, interspersed with pallets of machine parts and stacks of tools. Plenty of cover; they should be able to stay hidden right up to the compound.

  He sent a silent message of gratitude to Ella for putting them down in such a perfect location. For the millionth time, he wished he could talk to her via the Gift. As it was, he couldn’t even sense her. The torrent of hatred that poured off their captive would have drowned her out anyway. Even outside the ship, he was struggling to hear anything past the noise.

  Somewhere up there, Kyra must be starting her approach. Focussing all his concentration on her, he managed to catch a glimpse of her tactical display, and shared a flicker of surprise at the empty space around the planet. He grinned as their connection broke; their prisoner might be driving him mad, but she’d sent Demios’ entire swarm scurrying for cover.

  Shame we can’t just wheel her along in front of us.

  And speaking of in front of them… he took a few steps closer to Kreon. Every bit of distance he gained from the enraged alien made it easier to think, like stepping away from a roaring bonfire to feel the cold air.

  Let’s see if I can find Demios…

  But before he could start looking, he felt a flash of intent.

  He didn’t even have time to shout a warning.

  The sides of two crates facing them slid up, revealing groups of armed men with their weapons already trained on him. He heard a shout from behind him, and turned to see red-armoured soldiers pouring around the nestship from both sides.

  They were surrounded before they could move. Tris looked around slowly. There had to be forty rifle barrels pointed at him.

  Kreon might be able to handle that much heat, but I haven’t got a chance.

  His shoulders slumped dejectedly. All this way… in bastard heavy armour… just to get pinched as soon as we hit the ground. Not fair.

  Kreon stood, moving back from the rock. Another cadre of guards followed him as he retreated, their guns raised. He shot Tris a furious glance; evidently he was just as surprised by this.

  The soldiers quickly ringed them around, staying just outside striking distance.

  Tris had a rifle and a pistol, as well as his glaive, but they might as well be back on the Folly for all the good they were.

  Kreon’s grav-staff was already in his hands, but even a weapon that potent had its limits.

  Shit! What do we do?

  Belatedly, he realised that Kreon couldn’t hear him. Not only was the frenzied Siszar still drowning out all rational thought, but Kreon had left his Gift-giving pendant back on the Folly. Confronting Demios was no job for a psychic.

  “Check the ship,” one of the soldiers snapped.

  Two of his men broke ranks, turning to the nestship which sat just behind them. One trained his rifle on the open hatch, whilst the other yanked a pair of grenades from his armour and tossed them inside.

  For a second nothing happened; then a blast of heat and sound burst from the hatch, followed by a ten-foot tongue of flame.

  “Ship’s clear,” the soldier reported.

  And the torrent of rage from the captive Siszar became a torrent of pain…

  And then silence.

  31

  Tristan’s mind was numb.

  He’d seen the flames coming out of the nestship with his own eyes, but he couldn’t quite believe it.

  She can’t be gone. Ella can’t be gone.

  He desperately ran through the options, trying to come up with a scenario where that blast didn’t incinerate her along with the captive Siszar.

  Maybe she hid in the cockpit?

  But there was no door… the interior of the nestship was open-plan, with only those fleshy flaps folding in to screen off the rear portion.

  No way those would withstand a blast like that.

  He strained his Gift, trying to pick up a trace of her, but came up empty.

  It doesn’t mean anything. I could never sense her anyway.

  It wasn’t the most comforting of thoughts, but it was all he had.

  Please, please don’t let her be gone. Not now. Not like this…

  As missions went, it wasn’t the most fortuitous start.

  As Tris was led away, he was finally able to make contact with Kyra.

  They’ve caught us, he told her, struggling to keep the panic from his thoughts.

  He sensed her rolling her eyes. Already? You’ve only been there five minutes!

  They were waiting for us.

  Huh. Really? You sure they didn’t just smell you coming?

  Kyra…

  I know, I know! I’m working on it. But I’ve got a few issues myself.

  As if on cue, three crimson fighters screamed past overhead. Tris didn’t need a tactical console to tell him where they were headed.

  Incoming, he warned.

  No shit!

  Tris looked through her eyes, and saw the trio of fighters spreading out as they approached.

  You do you for a bit, she said, giving his mind a shove. I’ve gotta do me.

  And the last image he got was of the ground, as she threw Nightshade into a full-burn nose dive.

  “Kyra’s in a dogfight,” he told Kreon. He expected a yell of “Quiet!” or a poke in the back with a rifle barrel, but their guards seemed content to let them talk.

  Because they know it won’t do us any good.

  “She is an excellent pilot,” Kreon reminded him, sounding remarkably composed.

  “She’ll have to be,” Tris said, as two more fighters streaked through the sky above them.

  The soldiers led them around the side of the crate-walled enclosure, taking them towards the same entrance they’d used the last time.

  They have to be taking us to Demios.

  It was the only thing that made sense. Otherwise, the sheer amount of firepower these guys were lugging could have executed them on the spot.

  That thought gave him some hope. If the ex-Warden had one weakness
, it was his arrogance. Their goal all along had been to get close enough to challenge him. If he was going to help them out with that, maybe there was still a chance.

  Then again… He’s tricky, Ella’s words came back to him.

  Not that he’d needed her to tell him that, but still…

  There’s more to this than meets the eye.

  Their guards set a brisk pace. Tris scuffed his feet, letting his weariness show, while he tried to run through escape scenarios. The guards had taken their weapons, but it hadn’t been a strip-search. He was willing to bet Kreon had a surprise or two left up his sleeve. For himself, he had nothing except his pendant — and the armour of course, which would at least withstand a few shots.

  Enough to reach Demios? Maybe.

  Enough to end him…?

  Now that was the six-million-dollar question.

  And Tris didn’t need the Gift to know the same thought was running through Kreon’s mind.

  A moment later, he was aware of the Empress starting her approach. Fresh from her victory on the breeding world, she oozed confidence and strength. Her followers swirled around her, their thoughts a background hum that he could hear from orbit. They were vastly outnumbered, but each one of them was worth several of Demios’ scrawny servants.

  But will they fight? It was an odd thing to wonder about the Siszar. But the truth was, Demios had built his army by allowing the strongest amongst them to challenge him. Wiping their champions out one after another had earned him his place, and successfully dissuaded his new subjects from trying to oust him.

  If Demios kills one of us, the Empress might well lose her followers.

  But that was a moot point. Whether it happened or not, he was depressingly sure of one thing:

  They won’t fight with us. They’ll watch the challenge to see who wins.

  That was their way.

  Not because they had honour, or anything stupid like that; because they were selfish. And because they were smart.

  They’ll watch for weaknesses — his and mine — the better to challenge the victor…

  Which meant there was no help coming from that quarter.

  He just had to hope that Demios’ Siszar felt the same way.

  Hundreds of the aliens surrounded them now, joining the human escort like they were tagging along with a parade. Occasionally one would lunge closer, but Demios’ troops were well drilled; a few converging laser blasts soon convinced their target not to try anything.

  They reached the far corner of the compound, and turned towards the entrance. More of the crimson-armoured soldiers joined them, forming an impenetrable phalanx. It put Tris in mind of Loader, in his earlier incarnation; the talos’ combat blades would have turned such a tight press of men into confetti. But Loader had hated killing people. Tris would never ask him to do that kind of thing again.

  Still, if he was here…

  He sighed. There was a lot to be said for having an indestructible robot sidekick.

  The gap in the wall of crates grew closer.

  Which meant Demios himself drew closer.

  Tris rolled his shoulders with a crack, and cast furtive glances at the guards around him.

  Which one has my glaive? They all look the same, damn it!

  When the moment came — if the moment came — he was determined to be ready.

  After all, this was my idea. He made a face. Sorry guys…

  And then they reached the gap, and their escort turned into it. The inside of the compound, what little of it Tris could see between his captors, hadn’t changed. Scrubby ground. Dozens of adolescent Siszar males lining the walls.

  And Demios, grinning down at them from his platform.

  Only this time, the armour he was wearing was gigantic.

  Tris drew a sharp breath. Demios was encased within a robotic suit that added at least two feet to his height. Huge mechanical arms, their thick plates painted red, ended in claw-like hands that looked capable of tearing a Siszar’s limbs off. Multi-barrelled guns projected from his shoulders; another pair hung from brackets beneath his forearms.

  Holy shit! What the fuck is that thing?

  Only the traitor’s face was visible, a visor between those hulking shoulders cranked open as though he wanted to see his captives with his own eyes.

  Probably can’t believe how stupid we were…

  And it suddenly occurred to Tris that he had been stupid. Expecting Demios to sit around and wait for them to invent a scheme, as though convinced of his own immortality like a comic-book villain.

  When the one thing they did know about him was that he was a master-schemer.

  He lured us in. Showed us what he wanted us to see. He knew that he could beat us, no matter what we came up with.

  And staring up at that steel-clad engine of destruction, Tris knew he could never beat it. Not without his glaive… He eyed the formidable-looking Gatling guns.

  And not without a damn good head start.

  “Welcome, friends!” Demios crowed.

  The guards fanned out, but kept their weapons raised.

  Up on the dais, the armoured behemoth spread its arms. “Nice to see you back so soon. To what do I owe the honour?”

  Sarcasm dripped from his words, but Tris ignored it. He was done being goaded by this asshole. Clever or not, Demios had brought them to exactly where they wanted to be, and he had no way of knowing what they’d learned. The Empress had reached the same landing zone they’d used before, and was spilling from her nestship. He couldn’t read the minds of the Siszar around him, but he could read their mood; bloodthirsty expectation saturated this crowd, as they congregated ever more thickly.

  They’re here to witness a challenge, he thought. And Demios, ever the showman, might just be tempted to give them one.

  Not that that was a massive help. Somehow, he doubted Demios could be convinced to give him his weapons back before he fought.

  No rules, damn it! Not like I expected him to fight fair, but this takes the piss.

  He reached out for Kyra, finding her still alive but still a hundred percent focussed on staying that way. She was far away, and fighting for her life. He didn’t dare send her an update, for fear of distracting her.

  But the Empress was approaching, and a ripple of recognition ran through the crowd outside. They had to know that she’d destroyed an army of their brethren. Did that count for anything? Was she a celebrity now? And if so, would that help her, or just make her a more desirable target?

  Demios leapt down from his platform, the impact making the ground shake. He moved a couple of strides closer, moving more easily than Tris did in his crappy armour.

  “So, Kreon! You’ve come to challenge me yourself, have you? Can’t hide behind that rainbow-headed whore anymore?” Demios reached for a device fastened to the collar of his armour and gave it an affectionate pat. “Your little toy here would give her quite the headache. Sorry, my little toy. All kinds of things I’ve found, you know. I’m rather enjoying figuring out what they all do. With this one I can kill every Gifted individual I come across. Just imagine what I’ll be able to do with the rest! This is going to be a very interesting year for me, Kreon. It’s such a shame you can’t stick around to watch.”

  Kreon said nothing — merely glared. But the look, which had at times made Tris’ toes curl, did nothing to intimidate Demios.

  “Playing the strong, silent type are we? Never mind. I long suspected your claims of the Gift were just more of your trickery. It seems I was right.” He waved a hand at a cluster of men stood off to one side, wearing the crimson armour of his soldiers but without helmets. Many of them looked pudgy or old; clearly not top-of-the-line combat troops. “I’m almost disappointed. My little cabal here tells me you have no talent whatsoever.”

  Again, Kreon said nothing — and Tris realised that the men Demios was talking about had to be psychics.

  Shit! No wonder he knew we were coming. Tris bit his lip, wanting to kick himself. I should have known. He
has to communicate with the Siszar somehow. It makes sense he’d hire Gifted interpreters

  But only Demios would hire six of them.

  Ignoring them, Tris looked into the traitor’s mind, hoping to find something to use. All he got was smug satisfaction, floating on an endless sea of malice. Demios was more than just a power-hungry nut-job; he was a sick, twisted sadist, who tormented his victims for fun…

  And he was just getting started.

  “Are you going to challenge me, Kreon?” He sounded bored now, but there was a vicious edge to his tone. “I’ve waited a long time to carve you up. What do you say? One last sparring match, for old times’ sake?”

  Kreon just glared up at him, saying nothing.

  And he won’t say anything, Tris realised. Because this is my fight!

  The horror of it hit him head on. Kreon was sticking to the plan. Which was to get close enough to Demios for Tris to challenge him. Regardless of whether Kreon stood a chance against Demios, the whole point of this encounter was to discover one thing; whether the pendant worked like he thought it did. There was no point in Kreon throwing his life away. Not until they knew that, anyway.

  And with a sinking feeling, Tris recognised his choices.

  There were precisely two.

  Say nothing… and die anyway. Or challenge Demios.

  It was no choice at all.

  This is for Ella, he told himself. And stepped forward.

  “Demios, you piece of shit! Stop picking on old men. If you want a fight, I’m right here. Unless you want to pee your armour and slink off back to Daddy.”

  Demios turned to look at him, confusion lining his face. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?”

  “Oh, right!” Tris let a mirthless chuckle slip out. “I can see how you’d forget. Let me see, I’ve fucked up every plan you’ve had since the first time I met you. I’ve escaped from you… I dunno, honestly I’ve lost count. I’m the reason you’re not sitting in the High Warden’s chair right now.” He snapped his fingers — which did nothing on account of his gloves, but the gesture was still satisfying. “And I’m pretty sure I shot you once. Right? That had to hurt.”