Warden's Vengeance Page 27

  Must. Do. Better.

  He tried again.

  “Look, your sister is safe, okay? And we’re safe. A few weeks from now, none of us will even remember this happened. We’ll be in the middle of our next great adventure, and Evie will be off doing… whatever she does. When the others accept they’re not in any danger from her, they’ll come around.”

  Ella’s sobs had stopped completely, and she leaned over, sliding down Tris’ chest until her head was in his lap. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless. “But that won’t happen. I made Evie promise not to hurt you. No power in the universe could convince her not to kill Kyra; not once she’s accepted a contract. Assassins live by their reputations; I could no more ask a wave not to break. I’m sorry, Tris. I feel like I’m being torn in two. Evie will never stop coming after Kyra until one of them is dead.”

  21

  Tris sat on his bed, staring mutely at the wall. His hand continued mechanically stroking Ella’s hair, but his head was light years away.

  On Kyra.

  What the hell do I do?

  He couldn’t tell her. That would be asking for trouble, and he had enough of that already. If Kyra actively tried to attack Ella, there was sod all he could do. Getting in between the two most lethal people he’d ever met was bound to end badly.

  But they were also the two most important people in his life. More than anything, he wanted them to be friends. He desperately wanted everything to go back to the way it had been…

  Huh. No chance.

  Whatever mess resulted from this, he was going to have to try and fix it. He just didn’t have a clue how.

  Well, there was one way. The simple maths of the situation made it obvious: either Kyra, or Evie, must die.

  And since he was rather fond of Kyra, that left precisely one option.

  But killing Evie was the kind of challenge you’d set a demi-god; so far beyond his own paltry abilities that even thinking about it was laughable.

  Killing her in a way that didn’t completely and forever alienate Ella…

  Impossible.

  He was saved from his spiralling heartache by the appearance of Askarra’s hologram in its familiar pose.

  “We are approaching the planet of Oracle,” the hologram announced. “The others are waiting on the bridge to observe the situation as it unfolds.”

  “Yeah.” Tris gave her a weary thumbs-up. “I’ll be there.”

  The hologram vanished.

  Is it my imagination? Or is Mum being short with me too?”

  It spoke volumes that she’d been the one to call for him.

  Sighing, he extricated himself from beneath Ella. She hardly moved, transferring her head to the patch of bed where he’d been sitting. “Sorry,” he said. “I should go in case they need me. You’re okay… staying here?”

  Her eyes were open, staring into space, but her head moved in the barest of nods.

  “I love you,” he said, hoping it would spur more of a reaction from her.

  She shifted her eyes to focus on him, and blinked back a tear. “I love you too,” she whispered.

  It wasn’t exactly the flash of life he’d hoped for, but it was something. He reached out and tousled her hair, before picking up the heavy pulse rifle he’d been keeping in his quarters ever since Evie attacked. The door slid open for him, and he stepped through. It was only after it swished shut behind him that he realised: if all went according to plan, he wouldn’t see Ella again until after he’d been through the Portal…

  Assuming he survived the experience.

  He almost turned back, wanting to hold her one last time — but that would mean explanations. She hadn’t been there for Kreon’s master-stroke of manipulation, and he hadn’t found time to tell her about it afterwards.

  Better not start now. She’s got enough to worry about.

  Shouldering the rifle, he headed for the bridge.

  He also had plenty to worry about.

  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, talking to the walls.

  “Not at all Tristan,” the computer came back. She sounded more human, as she always did when she spoke to him alone.

  “Then why the hell is this happening?”

  “It is partly my fault,” she said.

  Tris was taken aback. “What? Why?”

  “Because I allowed Ella to rescue her sister, of course. Ella may have command privileges, but she could not release Evelyn from the brig without my permission.”

  “But why?”

  “Because her assessment was correct. Given the choice, neither Kreon nor Kyra would have let Evie leave. From their perspective it makes no logical sense. You would have been forced to decide between directly defying them, and allowing them to execute her. Either outcome would have been extremely traumatic for you, and could have lost you the protection of one or more of your guardians. Fortunately, Ella was prepared to incur their ill-will. She has survived worse. It was an imperfect solution, but the best available.” The electronic voice softened. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

  “It’s okay. There was nothing else you could have done.”

  “Not true. Had I considered this situation in advance, I would have killed her.”

  Tris wasn’t sure what to say to that. He sometimes forgot that she, too, had been an assassin.

  When he reached the bridge, Kreon, Kyra, Sera and Àurea were all there. Presumably Lukas was looking after Ana; Sera had probably made plans for the child’s escape already. Like Ella, she prepared for every eventuality.

  “Hi folks!” he said, projecting a cheeriness he didn’t feel. “What’s going on?”

  Kreon eyed him for a few seconds before responding. “We are about to disengage the grav-drive. If the Keepers of the Faith have stationed any ships in the vicinity, we will know soon enough.” He held his hand out abruptly, something dangling from it.

  Tris recognised his dad’s Gift-blocking pendant and took it, slipping it on over his head. It was comforting to have the old jewel back where it belonged, as well as disturbingly appropriate; if ever there was a time he needed to keep his thoughts to himself, it was now.

  “Hey, is that Loader?” he pointed to the rucksack by Kreon’s feet; the bulge in it was suspiciously rectangular, and the top flap was open revealing a glint of metal.

  “I am here,” the talos replied, in a bass rumble close to his original voice.

  “You’re fixed?”

  “My housing and speech synthesiser have been repaired, and ALI insisted I instal a long-range locator beacon coded only to her. She believes it will keep me out of trouble.”

  “We made a bargain,” the Warden explained. “I am hopeful he will be able to regulate some of her more inappropriate impulses.”

  Tris wondered if there was a veiled message for him in there.

  “How’s your head?” Kyra asked.

  Tris was tongue-tied for a second. He hadn’t expected such a civil question — or such a civil tone — from her.

  “Ah, you know, it feels like some muscle-bound moron stuck a scalpel in it,” he tried.

  She snorted — a sound that was at least half a laugh.

  Tris pasted a contrite look on his face. Kyra could be erratic; there was a chance she was already in a better mood. “So, look, I know you’d feel better with Ella behind bars. But I promise you she’s on our side. She feels terrible about it.”

  Kyra rolled her eyes at him. “You’re an idiot. But you can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

  Tris released the breath he’d been holding. “Thanks, Kyra.”

  “Unless you’re an assassin, and choosing who you fall in love with is part of your training,” she added.

  “Hey!”

  She winked at him. “Just putting it out there.”

  Neither Sera nor her daughter passed comment; they both had their attention focussed exclusively on the main viewscreen. Currently it showed only a swirl of static, but a row of flashing characters in the top rig
ht corner were counting down to their return to normal space.

  At least, he assumed that’s what they did. He’d seen them plenty of times, but nothing in here was written in English; he still couldn’t read them.

  “Be ready,” Sera cautioned. She was wearing full battle armour, as was Àurea. Kreon had the tattered remains of his trench coat on again; presumably his wife and daughter had saved it for him following their disastrous raid on Gerian’s compound. Kyra wore the partially-armoured jumpsuit he’d seen her in before, but had accessorised it with a hot pink tank-top. Her hair was a vibrant rainbow; she’d been leaving it that way much more often, he noticed, perhaps caring less about concealing her identity now that everyone seemed to know who she was.

  All in all, Tris felt spectacularly underdressed in his jeans and t-shirt. “Are we expecting a fight?” he asked, of no-one in particular.

  “Always expect a fight,” Sera said, without looking away from the viewscreen. “You’ll live longer.”

  It was her first direct piece of advice to him. Ironically. He wasn’t quite sure how to take it.

  The slight tremor that signalled their return to real space ran through the deck. The viewscreens along the bridge flickered, then blossomed to life with an infinity of stars. Tris knew all too well that this was the most vulnerable moment any ship could experience; that split-second of their arrival, with all sensors blind, into a potentially dangerous combat situation.

  When the hell did I learn that?

  “Two ships,” Sera announced, as the tactical overlay spread across the main viewscreen. “Lemurian destroyers. Heavily armed. Weapons already locked on us.”

  “Shields up!” Tris yelled, directing his voice at the ceiling. “Do we have missiles?”

  “Wait!” Àurea said, her fingers flying over the nearest console. “I’m transmitting our rendezvous code.”

  “I have firing solutions prepared for both vessels,” Askarra chimed. “They are approaching optimal firing range.”

  “Two more have rounded the planet.” Sera’s voice was matter-of-fact. Her cool under fire was legendary, Tris remembered.

  “Ignore them,” he barked. “Immobilise the first two, target engines only, and prepare countermeasures on my mark.”

  “NO!” Àurea yelled.

  Tris spun to look at her.

  “They’re friendlies,” she said, waving as though she was trying to get the computer’s attention.

  “Are you certain?” Askarra asked.

  “Yes! They replied with the other half of the code sequence. These are the people we are here to meet.”

  “How old is the code?” Tris asked her. “How many people have access to it? Do you have any way of knowing if it’s been compromised?”

  For an answer, Àurea gave him a funny look. “I’m… confirming that now,” she said, turning back to her console. “It’s a full match, and the captain of the ship is hailing us.”

  “Let’s see what he’s got,” Tris said, waving at the viewscreen. “Restrict visual transmission.”

  The computer’s chime sounded as the viewscreen lit up with the picture of a middle-aged man in a console chair. Thinning silver hair topped a face deeply lined by the stresses of command. Behind him a row of consoles were being operated by a mixture of people; young and old, men and women, all dressed in an assortment of casual clothing.

  “That’s Captain Eudon,” Àurea said, relief in her voice. “I know him. We’ve run missions together.”

  “You’re certain?” Tris stared hard at the screen, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “I am.” Àurea pointed. “Those two boys behind him are his sons. They used to pick on Ana.”

  “Very well.” Tris reached for the command console, tapping in the order to stand down the weapons. “Transmit visual.”

  On the screen, the older man roused a crooked smile. “My Lady Ingumen, welcome! So nice to see you in one piece. You’ve given up on the helmet, I see?”

  “There seemed little point, following the broadcast of my execution,” Àurea replied.

  “Ha ha! Yes, a nice little piece of theatre. I must admit, at first I was taken in.”

  Her tone was casual. “You could have been next in line for that helmet.”

  The old man considered for a few seconds. “Yeah, I thought about it. Semekos was running things for a while, but then…” he winced.

  “I heard he died on Presebal.”

  “Everyone died on Presebal. The bastards didn’t even take prisoners.”

  “I’m sorry, Eudon. I know you had family there.”

  “My brother, yeah. He was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve—” His face darkened. “You know they used Transgressors?”

  Àurea pressed one hand to the mask that covered the ruined half of her face. “It was the same at the Pit. We arrived in time to save my daughter, but over ninety percent of the population was lost.”

  “Lost…” the captain sounded bitter now. “Torn to pieces more like! Poor bastards.” Then he seemed to collect himself. “But we’ll make it right, won’t we? We’ll get those sons-of-bitches and we’ll make ‘em sorry!”

  “We will,” Àurea promised him. “You have my word.”

  “Great!” The captain sat back in his chair, that crooked grin resurfacing. “I’ll take your word, but I’d settle for that fancy ship you’re on. I heard you’d got your hands on a Sanctuary, but I’d love to know how.”

  She smiled back at him. “It’s a long story. We can talk about it while we wait for the others to convene.”

  The captain looked at something off-screen. “Speaking of which…”

  An alarm trilled, and Tris keyed the viewscreen over to tactical. This time the outlook was from the rear of the Folly, showing a trio of mid-size gunships approaching rapidly. A second trio followed the first at a sensible distance, and as Tris spread his fingers for magnification, two more groups followed them. “It’s an armada,” he breathed.

  “It’s my armada,” Àurea said, and there was no mistaking the note of pride in her voice. “Gathered from every corner of the Empire… the last survivors of the Ingumend.”

  Tris cycled through the scanner readouts, from mid-range to long; every one of them showed multiple contacts. “I thought we were arriving early, to scout the area?”

  Àurea turned to him, the mask half-obscuring her grin. “It looks as though everyone else had the same idea.”

  * * *

  With the surface of Oracle an uninhabitable wasteland, Tris joined the others in donning heavy vac-suits for their trip to the surface. Sera was the exception; the massive suit of armour she’d worn to their rescue on Helicon Prime contained its own breathing apparatus, so she wore that. Àurea had suggested the lobby of the abandoned temple building as the best place to meet in person, and her mother was determined to secure the surrounding area herself.

  By the time they’d suited up, over forty ships of different sizes had assembled in orbit around the planet. Tris caught Kyra looking at him funny as they walked through the docking bay towards a shuttle.

  “What?” he asked her.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you’ve been in a take-charge mood lately, but that was something else.”

  “What?” Tris protested. “Askarra only listens to me. It’s just quicker if I tell her myself, instead of waiting for you guys to tell me first.”

  “Oh, I get it. That was you using your ‘efficient’ voice.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

  “You’re operating consoles now, too? I haven’t seen you practicing.”

  He shrugged. “Beginner’s luck?”

  “Hm. You,” she said, levelling a finger, “need your head examined.”

  As the shuttle cleared the docking bay, Tris gaped at the fleet that had grown up around them. The drive trails of dozens of shuttles could be seen, as the commanders of every major ship headed down to the surface. “I thought the Ingumend were all w
iped out!”

  “Most were,” Àurea said, her suit’s intercom adding a metallic twang to her words. “But Gerian’s purge drove hundreds more to join our ranks. The Ingumend survive because we fight for the common people; there has always been widespread sympathy for our cause. In some ways, the use of such heavy-handed tactics has only made us stronger. But the lost experience is impossible to replace. Now we have ships aplenty, but in trained combat personnel we are sadly lacking.”

  Kyra put them down in the same wide courtyard as on their last visit. She took a few seconds to grab her helmet and fit it before popping the hatch. Flying in the bulky suits was even worse than fighting in them, she’d told him, but Tris was glad of the upgraded protection. From what he remembered of Oracle, it was a damn inhospitable place.

  As they trooped down the ramp, Tris craned his neck to look up at the sky. Without an atmosphere, the lights and engines of the approaching shuttles were bright against the blackness of space. He started to count them, but gave up when he reached the wide steps that led up to the temple. The huge bronze doors hung askew, mostly unchanged from their previous visit. A few more burn marks and stone fragments attested to the limited success of their last firefight; it had been over pretty quick, Tris remembered, when they’d seen how many soldiers Gerian had brought to bear.

  Now, with the architect of their downfall dead, the impressive number of ships massing above them gave Tris new confidence. Sure, attacking a planet like Helicon Prime would be dangerous, but through sheer strength of numbers he started to think they could pull it off. If only Askarra didn’t have to be right in the middle of it all…

  Sera excused herself to patrol the vicinity, setting off alone towards the nearest ruins.

  The others accompanied Tris as he crunched up the steps and into the lobby, noting the damage to one of the doors he’d done with a grenade.