Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1) Read online

  Every soldier present whipped their rifle up to aim at Kyra. She was surrounded by an almost comical show of force; it would have been difficult to squeeze another gun barrel in there, so tightly were they arrayed.

  She didn’t seem too bothered, using one hand to massage the knuckles of the other. “I told him,” she said.

  The commander gave her a slow, mocking clap, then waved at his men to lower their weapons. He rose from his throne, and came down the three steps from the dais. He was a big man, Tris noted, tall as well as wide, though he suspected the armour had something to do with that.

  “You are her,” the commander said. His voice contained a note of wonder, before sarcasm rose to drown it. “What has it been… sixty-five years? More? And yet here you are, back to save us in our hour of need.”

  Kyra stood her ground and said nothing.

  “The Saviour of Esper, ladies and gentlemen! And yet you abandoned us. Fled Esper, before the full extent of your deeds could be revealed.” His lips twisted in a cruel parody of a smile. “Murderer,” he said, drawing the word out as though it delighted him. He moved closer, clearly believing that she wouldn’t dare to strike him. “How many Laugarren citizens lost their lives in your pointless uprising? How many of our people died for your selfish ambitions? Not one, but two commanders were killed in your ridiculous crusade — all for the salvation of glorious Lehen!” He was spitting the accusations now, fully immersed in the tale he was spinning. “Honourable commanders of Laugarren!” he yelled, right in her face. “Two of them! Dead, by your hand! What do you have to say about that?”

  Kyra met his gaze, and moistened her bloody lips before replying. “I’d say, third time’s the charm.”

  The situation went downhill from there.

  Apparently, the busted tablet wasn’t the only way to activate their shock collars; first Kyra went down, her body convulsing, then Lukas dropped a split-second before Tris did. He ended up on the floor, curled up into a ball as the shockwaves coursed through him, trying to protect his vital organs from a flurry of kicks and rifle blows delivered by the guards. The beating continued for several minutes, as bloodthirsty onlookers watched with delight.

  Eventually, all three of them were dragged to their feet and hauled out of the room, finding themselves back in the elevator.

  Kyra was a mess, with one eye swelling shut; Lukas had a deep gouge across his forehead, with blood running down from it to soak his face.

  “Hey Kyra,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “Thanks for trying not to piss him off.”

  FIFTEEN

  The prison they were taken to was indistinguishable from the buildings around it. Once inside though, they were led down several flights of stairs to a dank, underground facility with walls of bare permacrete. Purely out of curiosity, Tris reached out with the Gift to see how many inmates they’d be sharing with. Quite a few, was his answer; this complex was substantially bigger than the building above it, probably utilising some of that old bunker Kyra had mentioned. Myriad shades of anger and despair reached him, from several different directions. It wasn’t hard to imagine the mood down here, if capital punishment was the answer to most transgressions.

  There were guards too, in significant numbers. He didn’t try to count them all, as many were moving around in pairs or small groups. The whole place was bustling with activity — in stark contrast to the eerie emptiness of the streets he’d just been dragged through.

  Maybe this is where all the people are?

  With the Lord High Commander in charge, that didn’t seem too far-fetched.

  In a small antechamber, they were searched one last time. Fortunately, no-one asked them to strip; that was one indignity Tris had yet to endure. He’d spotted one of Iker’s squad collecting their weapons on their way out of the tower, but that man had vanished during the descent into this dingy labyrinth.

  At least they didn’t have to share the same cell. There were dozens of them, just off the one corridor they got to see. His own little slice of prison was a concrete box about two metres per side, with a sleeping pad on a built-in bench, and a hole in one corner for waste. That was it — not even a wash basin.

  “Like what you’ve done with the place,” he said, as the guards clomped away.

  Kyra was in the cell next to his, with Lukas in the one after that. They could speak to each other around the bars, but the solid walls between them prevented them seeing each other. He was grateful for that, as he hadn’t peed since they’d first been captured.

  A long, weary sigh came from Kyra’s side of the wall. “I preferred the ruins.”

  He thought about that for a moment, as he emptied his bladder. An entire city, constructed at the push of a button? One so large, and so impressive, that it probably had more gun turrets than it had people. That Ring is an amazing piece of tech. The possibilities are endless… literally. Why would anyone risk attacking this place? They could probably churn out ships as fast as you could shoot them down.

  That question answered itself, of course. The only reason to attack a planet protected by such a powerful structure was to gain control of it for yourself.

  “I can’t believe they kicked our asses,” Lukas said, still slurring.

  Kyra snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

  “I am. My entire backside is one solid bruise. Who does that?”

  “It’s your own fault for giving them such a big target.”

  Tris chuckled in spite of himself. His own injuries were minor — well, minor in the way that he wasn’t going to die in the next ten minutes. They didn’t feel minor. It reminded him of a joke.

  “Hey, did you hear about the guy who went to the doctor and said it hurt everywhere he touched? The doctor told him he had a broken finger.”

  Lukas groaned. “Take me back upstairs! I’m ready for my next beating.”

  It was a moment of levity in an otherwise bleak situation. Tris was under no illusions; without their weapons, they were in serious trouble. “Hey, does anyone want to guess what our sentence will be?”

  Neither of them took him up on that.

  “We should probably figure out our next move,” Lukas suggested, rattling the bars of his cell experimentally. “Apart from being shot at dawn, which really puts a crimp in my day.”

  “There’s other prisoners all around us,” Tris told him. “I’d say it’s hard not to get in trouble around here. If we could set them free, we’d have a whole army of people who aren’t happy with the establishment.”

  “Not bad for starters.” Lukas’ cell bars got a more violent test. “But I’ve had a bit of experience with oppressive regimes. Most people tend to keep their heads down and take their punishment, rather than rise up and fight. It really depends on if they’ve ever known anything else. What does the Saviour of Esper think?”

  Tris wondered if she’d bite. The Saviour of Esper, eh? So that bit’s true as well. He couldn’t remember where he’d first heard that title, but this was independent confirmation; proof positive that Kyra had achieved legendary status even before leaving home.

  And if that’s true… maybe she really did kill all those people? Holy crap… no wonder she gives me shit when I talk about feeling guilty. The weight she must have been carrying, all these years… SIXTY-FIVE years?! Unless she committed genocide in Kindergarten, she has to be over eighty. That’s a long time to live with that burden. Hell, it’s a long time to live, period. She’s old enough to be my great-grandmother. I really need to ask where she gets her face cream.

  Kyra had been quiet for a while, apart from the scuff of her boots as she paced her cell. “Tris,” she said suddenly, “what was your take on the commander?”

  “He’s a nut-job. Totally paranoid. And he’s got it in for Lehen, whatever that is.”

  “Lehen is what they call my city.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” He walked over to the bars and gripped them, adopting the time-honoured pose of inmates everywhere. “Sorry to he
ar about the attack. I guess we got here too late.”

  “No.” her voice was soft. “Not too late. We’re going to go there, and we’re going to free my people. We’ll find Viktor, and I’ll chop one piece off him for every friend he’s taken from me.” She paused to reflect on that. “We might be there for a while.”

  “I like that plan,” Tris said. “But it sort of glosses over a few of the details. Like how we get out of Laugarren without being executed.”

  She ignored that. “What did you get from that mob of flunkies?”

  “Um… that was quite interesting, actually. When Captain Iker confirmed your ID, it sparked a whirlwind. Shock, mostly, along with a good deal of hostility. But some of them got quite excited — and a couple of them felt hope.”

  “Nice. We might get out of this yet.” Kyra’s fingers wrapped around the bars. They were covered in dried blood. “You know what I got from those sycophants? Every single one of them hates the commander. Even the ones that are most faithful to him. The ones who carry out his executions detest him for making them do it, and the rest spend their lives sucking up to him, terrified that their heads will be next on the block.”

  Tris tried to whistle, but found his jaw hurt too much. “Wow,” he said instead. “You think they’d take our side against him?”

  “Not yet. They’re too scared of him. Which is ironic; the strongest emotion I sensed from the commander was dread. Right at the moment he realised who I was — he came as close to soiling himself as he’s been for weeks.”

  That was news to Tris. “He’s afraid of you? He didn’t look like he was afraid.”

  “Not me,” she said, and her hands tightened on the bars. “He’s scared of the last person that nearly made him soil himself. Viktor. They’ve met.”

  “Ohhh… crap. That’s not good.”

  “It means that Viktor is still alive.” She stuck a fist out through the bars, and put her thumb up. “And it means that he’s here on Esper.” She added her index finger. “And the Lord High Commander was scared shitless of him…” Her middle finger went up last. “Which means that Viktor is in control of Laugarren.”

  * * *

  Kyra was pacing her cell, and Lukas was fast asleep and snoring when Tris sensed people approaching. “Incoming,” he warned the others, pushing up off the sleeping platform. His limbs had stiffened up from the rough treatment, and he hobbled the few steps over to the bars.

  “I got ‘em,” Kyra confirmed. “Guards bearing bad news.”

  “Let me guess,” Lukas said, letting out a yawn. “They don’t serve breakfast.”

  The sound of boots in the corridor brought them all to the front of their cells. Peering through the bars, Tris could see Kyra’s battered knuckles and Luka’s meaty ones a bit further down.

  Five men, clad in the ubiquitous grey uniforms, marched into view in perfect formation. They stopped and turned as one, keeping their rifles cradled across their chests. The fifth man, with rank insignia glinting on his shoulders, carried a tablet instead of a rifle. He positioned himself facing the cells, and held it up to read from.

  “Unidentified Off-worlders,” he announced, “you have been found guilty of trespassing, conspiracy, and treason against the great city of Laugarren. Your execution has been scheduled for sunrise tomorrow. Last requests will be heard immediately beforehand.”

  “I knew it,” Lukas said. “Why does it always have to be dawn? If we’re going to get shot, can’t we at least have a full night’s sleep first?”

  The man with the tablet looked bemused. “Dawn,” he repeated, and tucked the device under his arm.

  Lukas sighed. “Okay, but I’m not promising I’ll stay awake for the whole thing.”

  The squad about-faced, and their leader walked around them to take up position in front again.

  Tris looked into their minds, finding them bored and unhappy — but also relieved and a little guilty, that they got to deliver the verdicts instead of receiving them. They weren’t all bad; even the man with the tablet felt a smidgen of sympathy for the people he’d just condemned.

  Then another sound reached the cells. More footsteps, marching fast down the corridor; Tris had been so focused on the men in front of him that he’d stopped looking for anyone else.

  The man with the tablet frowned, as an identical squad stomped into view. In front was a tall, gangly officer with hair so short it was impossible to guess its colour, and a permanent sneer etched on his face.

  “New orders from command,” the newcomer snapped, raising a tablet of his own.

  “What?” his opposite number took a step forward to get a closer look at the device. “That’s not—” His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

  Before he could say another word, the newly-arrived squad raised their weapons and sent a hail of blasts into the first lot. All five targets went down straight away, sprawling on top of each other in the narrow corridor.

  Tris goggled in surprise for a second, before shaking himself. He opened his mouth to congratulate what he hoped were his rescuers, but Kyra beat him to it.

  “It’s about time,” she said.

  The officer turned to look at her, sneering no longer. He was pale-faced, with dark eyes and a long nose. “Hi, I’m Aldur,” he said, glancing to either side at Tris and Lukas. “We’ve come to get you out. We’re the Resistance.”

  His men were busy fastening flexi-cuffs around the guards they’d just shot, binding them hand and foot.

  “The Resistance? Really?” Kyra’s trademark sarcasm had returned in force. “That’s not cheesy at all.”

  Aldur looked sheepish. “We call ourselves the Underground,” he said, waving a hand at the walls, “but we’re all underground, so…” He swiped a finger across his tablet, and their cell doors sprang open.

  Tris could hardly believe it. He pushed the door, and stepped through as it swung wide. “Holy shit! You should open all the cells! There’s loads of prisoners in here.”

  “Oh, I will,” Aldur said, “but we’ve got to take precautions first.” He held up a wand, the same device as Iker had used. “You’re clean,” he told Tris, and waved it over Kyra. “Clean.” He shifted aim, beckoning Lukas out with his free hand. “No ID,” he muttered, shaking his head as though he didn’t quite believe it. “Right, I need you guys to come with me.”

  Kyra was looking at him with her head cocked to one side, and a pained expression on her face.

  You okay? Tris asked her.

  Yeah. He just… reminds me of someone I haven’t seen for a long time. She watched the four Resistance men drag the fallen guards into the cells. “Very humane,” she pointed out.

  “We only stunned them.” Aldur swiped his tablet again, and door locks clunked shut. “It’s not their fault they’ve got this job — they have about as much choice as we do.”

  Kyra raised an eyebrow at him. “A prison break without casualties? You’ve got balls, kid.”

  Aldur’s face went grim. “Oh, there’ll be casualties. Once the commander’s shock troops arrive, there won’t be any option.”

  Tris collected two fallen rifles from the floor, handing one to Kyra. Lukas picked up the other two, and seemed keen to hang onto both of them.

  They made their way back down the corridor and across a circular lobby, as Tris cranked up the Gift to scout for enemies. He couldn’t tell the prisoners from their jailers without devoting serious attention to each individual, so he settled for making a running commentary on how close they were.

  “Eight more dead ahead,” he stage-whispered. “I think two are moving, so maybe guards?”

  The Resistance fighters nodded, and raised their weapons.

  “I’m going this way,” Kyra declared, pointing at another of the lobby’s many exits.

  “That’s the way we came in,” Tris said. “Is that the way out, too?”

  “We do have to go that way,” Aldur confirmed. “But not until I’ve freed as many people as I can. I didn’t come all this way just for you
three.”

  Kyra leaned her rifle on her shoulder. “That’s fine, I’ll go on ahead. Up there is where they stashed our gear — in a nice, juicy armoury.” She grinned. “Time to go shopping!”

  Tris muttered a curse. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Hell no!” She made a face at him. “Every time you come shopping with me, all you do is bitch.”

  “That’s because you always end up setting fire to something!”

  Her grin turned wicked. “What makes you think this time will be any different?”

  And she sauntered off across the lobby.

  SIXTEEN

  When Kyra made her mind up, there was no talking her out of it. Tris had learned that the hard way. As she vanished through the main entrance, he turned back to Aldur and gave him a reluctant thumbs-up. Given the choice, he’d have wanted to save as many people as possible, too. He just couldn’t help thinking that letting Kyra wander off alone, injured and without her swords, was tantamount to betrayal.

  Lukas clapped him on the shoulder, and the same dilemma was reflected in his eyes. “She’ll be alright,” he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “She’s broken out of a few prisons before, eh?”

  That gave Tris a fresh surge of hope. “You have no idea.”

  They pressed on as a group, entering a corridor identical to the one they’d just come from. Based on the doors lining the lobby, there were five of these, splayed out like the fingers of a hand. Each led to a row of cells; if all of them followed the same layout, that meant thirty cells in this section. Not a staggering amount — but they’d passed through a number of progressively-smaller lobbies on their way in, all with multiple corridors leading off them. That sort of math was beyond him — though as sometimes happened, particularly at times of high-stress, his father’s logic skills chipped in, providing an optimistic figure of one-hundred-and-fifty cells per cluster, and potentially up to four more clusters for a total of seven-hundred-and-fifty potential inmates.