Warden's Vengeance Page 40

  She still had a job to do.

  “Let’s GO!” she yelled at the crew, not caring how they interpreted the order.

  But then the banging, which she had tuned out as background noise, rose in a crescendo.

  And with a screech of rending metal, the doors burst open.

  A swarm of blasphemous creations surged onto the bridge, their weapons dripping crimson. Muscle and flesh, bone and steel, the Transgressors powered forward in a mindless fury.

  The first two officers died in the chairs.

  Two more managed to draw handguns before they were disembowelled, their blood spraying across the deck as far as the command chair.

  Àurea barely had time to reach for her flails before they were on her, jaws snapping, blades stabbing, the hate in their eyes more intense than any sane person could endure.

  Her armour saved her from the first rush. Generations old, its smooth black plates repulsed their weapons, turning aside knives, claws, and things for which she had no name.

  She recovered quickly, her flails slicing into their bodies, cutting the monsters down as fast as they came at her.

  The rest of the crew were not so lucky. One by one they died, their pitiful weapons counting for nothing against an enemy that felt no pain.

  Only Ensign Lantz and the comm officer, both closest to her when the doors came down, lived through the initial assault. Both cowered behind her as her spinning flails slashed out, carving a path through the grotesque creatures. At least a score fell to her flashing blades, before a scream sounded behind her.

  She glanced back in reflex; Ensign Lantz had just been spitted by the talons of a Transgressor that had got around behind her. The comm officer fell to the ground, arms raised uselessly to protect himself—

  As Àurea realised her mistake. She was off-balance, her attention diverted. The chains spun on, but hit nothing; her targets slipped aside, striking at her with a speed borne of rage.

  She fell back, her armour taking the brunt of the blows, but a line of fire stitched across her shoulder whilst another penetrated her thigh. She cried out as she fell, landing atop the terrified comm officer, as the nightmares leapt in for the kill.

  And died.

  A tremendous roar split the air, and great gouts of flame wreathed their maimed bodies. Skin flared and bubbled, flesh melted, and the whole world turned bright with the heat of their destruction.

  As the waft of superheated air dissipated, Àurea sat up and looked for threats.

  There were none. The entire bridge had been cleansed, dozens of mangled bodies lying where they’d fallen.

  And it was all the work of one person.

  Her mother was propped against the command chair, a gigantic flamethrower in her grasp. A Transgressor’s arm and half its ruined torso were still grafted to the weapon, hideous proof of its origin.

  Àurea forced herself to her feet, leaping over the burning bodies in spite of the pain stabbing through her thigh.

  She caught her mother as she dropped the giant weapon, sinking to the deck with a sigh of relief.

  The flames still burned close so she dragged Sera away, the weight of her armour requiring a monumental effort to shift. Àurea roared with pain and effort, managing to haul Sera into the relative safety of the blood-streaked comms console.

  Only then did she dare to look down.

  And blanched.

  She couldn’t believe her mother had managed to walk back to the bridge.

  Her armour was shredded. Deep rents showed where weapons had penetrated, biting into the vulnerable flesh inside. So much blood coated the suit, it was impossible to tell how much of it was hers. A lot, Àurea guessed.

  But her face was the worst part. The fire that had engulfed her had taken her hair, burning one side of her face so badly that the skin was blackened and cracking. Her left eye was gone; a blade had passed right through it, leaving tears of blood trickling down her ruined features.

  Àurea touched her mask self-consciously. “You’re just like me now, Mum,” she said, cradling her mother’s head.

  “Ohhh… Àurea.” Her mother’s good eye gazed up at her serenely. “You always did care too much… about your looks.”

  Àurea almost laughed. “I’ll get you one to match! But you’ll be okay though, right?”

  Her mother’s gaze didn’t waver. “Àurea… you are my heart. You always were.” Her voice became a whisper, the pain of her injuries bleeding over into her expression. “I was heartless... when I lost you. But now you’re here. And my heart is overflowing.” She paused to take a shuddering breath. “Àurea. My… one regret was… not being there for you. To save you. But you… saved yourself. I’m so proud of you! I can finally die… without regret.” She smiled through the pain, one last moment of clear intention. “Take care of Ana. She’s the best of… all of us.”

  And she was gone.

  32

  For several long minutes after Loader departed, Tris waded through bodies.

  The prostrate forms carpeted the corridors — hundreds of them, all stretched out amidst a litter of fallen weaponry.

  Some were unconscious; others stared up at Tris, eyes brimming with hatred.

  It was more than a little eerie.

  All the soldiers wore striking red and black armour emblazoned on both shoulders with what looked like a candelabra; Tris didn’t want to get close enough to know for sure. It seemed like an appropriate symbol for the army of a Church, not that he could ever claim to understand their faith.

  Kyra had mentioned how the effects of the weapon kept her completely paralysed, until Àurea had been able to reverse it with the device Kreon now carried. Tris was repeating that nugget of information to himself over and over, every time he stepped across a downed soldier. They all seemed seriously pissed off; if they all came around at once, he really didn’t want to be here.

  They turned another corner, Kreon in the lead. Tris assumed the Warden was following the same map that Loader had downloaded; their route was twisting and turning quite a bit.

  Another Church soldier, this one with black stripes across his shoulder-emblems, glared daggers at Tris as he passed. Tris returned the look almost apologetically. He shivered a little, and not because of the temperature; he felt way more vulnerable with Loader gone. There was something about having an indestructible robot by your side that he’d found very comforting. It was surprising how quickly he’d gotten used to it.

  Eventually, the guards thinned out.

  “We should be underneath the main audience chambers,” Kreon announced. “We need to find a way up.”

  Kyra, still scanning the way ahead with her pulse rifle raised, grunted her agreement.

  Tris turned to check the passage behind them. He’d been doing so frequently as they progressed through the labyrinth; none of them knew how far the effects of the pinecone had travelled, and it seemed logical to Tris that any guards not affected would be legging it this way at top speed.

  “This should suffice,” Kreon said. He’d stopped opposite a pair of doors, with an unlabelled control panel next to them. “This lift should allow us to reach the upper levels of the Temple.”

  “The guards up there might be a bit more lively,” Tris said.

  “Indeed. However, we have another problem. The building schematic I am following is incomplete. I imagine Loader planned on obtaining more accurate information as we required it. That will have to become our priority — unless we intend to start at Level One and work our way upwards.”

  He touched the control panel, and it lit up with a row of garbled characters.

  “It’s asking for authorisation,” Tris translated.

  Kyra spared him a questioning glance. “You read Lemurian as well? Shit, Tris! You should be teaching me how to read.”

  Tris shrugged. “I guess my dad could. He was one of them, after all.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t happen to know any security codes, did he?”

  Tris gave her a f
lat look.

  Kreon was staring back down the corridor in the direction they’d come. “We may have to locate a guard with sufficient clearance.”

  Kyra made a face. “Please tell me it’s not a retinal scan. I like these gloves.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tris said. “Before we resort to emergency eye surgery, shall I try asking Loader?”

  “No chance,” she flapped a dismissive hand. “He’ll be in orbit by now.”

  “Might as well give it a go.” Tris reached out with his mind, casting his thoughts through acres of cold stone chambers and steel-lined docking bays. The Mount was huge; he could sense hundreds of people inside it, and hundreds — or maybe thousands — immediately outside. Anger was the prevailing emotion, and rather than get caught up in it he swept his thoughts upwards, towards the stars.

  Loader? Are you there?

  When he encountered the talos’ mind it felt oddly cool and smooth, much like his new body.

  Tristan. Please inform Lord Anakreon that his daughter is safe. His psychic talent is too weak for me to reach from this distance.

  Great! I’ll let him know she’s okay. Can you reach Kyra?

  I cannot. My knowledge of such matters is limited, but I believe your capacity for the Gift extends far beyond the human average.

  Oh! Also good to know. Look, we’re trying to get upstairs in the Temple. Can you help us out?

  I will rejoin you at the earliest opportunity, but I have already uploaded security clearance for the Temple Mount to Kreon’s transceiver. It should allow you to move around freely.

  That’s awesome! Good luck up there!

  Invincible sentient robots make our own luck.

  Tris broke contact, glad that Loader had retained his sense of humour through his transformation. “Kreon, guess what? Àurea’s okay. Loader managed to save her ship.”

  The Warden digested this news, some of the tension in his face easing. “Then he has earned my gratitude a thousand times over. Is he able to operate the lift remotely?”

  “He says you can. You’ve got codes in your transceiver.”

  Kreon stared off into space for a moment, as he always did when communicating with his embedded device.

  And the lift doors swished open, revealing an empty car.

  “Apparently, he is correct.”

  Kyra waved them all into the car, then ducked in after them. “That changes things.”

  “Indeed.”

  The doors slid shut and the lift ascended rapidly.

  “I have instructed the car to stop at what appears to be the most secure location in the Temple. Logically, the Keepers of the Faith should reside within that area.”

  Kyra directed a long-suffering look at him. “Most. Secure. Location. Damn Kreon, you really know how to throw a party.”

  “Isn’t there like, some secret back way we can sneak in by?” Tris asked.

  Kreon gave him the stink-eye. “Would you like me to transfer the map to your transceiver for a more thorough analysis?”

  Tris chose not to answer, as the lift slowed to a halt.

  “Better get a grip on your little pointy thing old man,” Kyra said, readying her pulse rifle.

  “I see no reason why it wouldn’t function adequately from within this car,” Kreon said, producing the pinecone. He peered briefly at a series of tiny dials on the base of the thing, then pointed it at the doors. “There.”

  Tris looked at Kyra. She shrugged. He hadn’t heard or seen anything to confirm the weapon had worked, and she seemed equally doubtful.

  Sods’s Law, he thought. Works perfectly for ten-thousand years, then runs out of batteries right when we need it.

  Kreon gave a nod, and the lift doors slid open.

  On a slumber party.

  Evidently their use of the lift had triggered some kind of alarm; a full squad of soldiers had been assembled to greet them on their arrival. The blast from the mysterious weapon had been both silent and invisible, but it had done its work nonetheless.

  Kyra stepped out, sweeping the lobby with her rifle. Tris followed, making a more careful examination of the incapacitated guards. Their uniforms differed for starters; silver shoulder pads and detailing, with an altogether more decorative look to their armour. He didn’t doubt it was every bit as effective, though; he felt incredibly grateful to Àurea for giving them a weapon that bypassed it completely.

  Kreon must have been consulting his map again. “That way,” he said, pointing to the wider of the three corridors that opened off the lobby.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth when heavy steel doors dropped from the ceiling, slamming into place across all three entrances. The floor vibrated with the impact.

  “Goodbye element of surprise, it was nice knowing you,” Kyra said, approaching the corridor Kreon had indicated. She swapped her gun for her swords, and attacked the huge partition. It took her longer than usual, and when the cut section of the blast door fell inwards, she leapt back out of its path. An immense slab of steel hit the floor with a sound like thunder; it had to be close to a foot thick.

  “Holy shit!” Tris said.

  “Yeah,” Kyra agreed. “Let’s hope we don’t have to cut through too many of those.”

  Tris was looking straight down the corridor when an identical door descended at the far end, sealing it off. “That was your fault,” he accused her.

  “Yeah? Think of it like a present. From me. So go and open it.”

  Taking his glaive from his waist, Tris led the way into the corridor. He eyed his blade dubiously; it didn’t look as long as the last door had been thick. This was going to be messy.

  They’d made it about a quarter of the way towards the door when a ping from behind stopped them in their tracks. Tris spun to see the lift doors opening again — on a car filled with soldiers.

  He just had time to register that these troops had come from beyond the range of the pinecone, when the first laser blasts sizzled past him. He stepped behind Kreon reflexively, as another pair of bolts scattered off the Warden’s Aegis.

  Kyra had flattened herself against the wall, returning fire with her pulse rifle.

  She’s unprotected! Tris realised. Kyra get behind—

  But before he could finish that thought, the ground shook so hard he fell to his knees.

  The elevator car vanished, plunging out of sight as a colossal roar hit him like a tidal wave. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling, and a great tongue of fire rolled up the elevator shaft and belched out of the doors. The last remaining soldier from the full squad that had arrived threw himself prone, as the fireball burst above him.

  Tris staggered to his feet, locking eyes with the man, who did the same—

  At which point, Kyra shot him in the head.

  The force of the blast flung the unlucky solder backwards, and he disappeared down the lift shaft.

  “That worked well,” Kyra said, shouldering her rifle.

  Kreon gave her a hard stare. “The Mairugar, I presume?”

  “You can thank me later.”

  “I’ll thank you once I’m certain that the building we’re in is not about to collapse on our heads.”

  Kyra looked up, then held her free hand out to catch a few motes of dust. “I’d say we’ll live.”

  Kreon’s stare didn’t let up. “We must work on our communication.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him, and he sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful you were clever enough to devise a timer.”

  “She dropped it into a bowl of bodily fluids,” Tris corrected him. “It wasn’t really an exact science.”

  Kyra offered them both a mocking bow. “You know what they say: one man’s waste is another man’s weapon.”

  Tris blinked at her. “Literally no-one says that.”

  “I just did. Are you going deaf?”

  Kreon interrupted them by tapping his staff on the floor. “We still have a rather large obstacle to remove, if one of you could spare a moment?”

/>   Tris jogged up to the door and went to work. Even with the Kharash knife it was no small feat; he had to carve chunks out of the flat surface just so he could get the blade through it. Eventually he managed to chop his way through, pushing a more human-sized chunk of metal out into what appeared to be a wide foyer.

  He ducked his head out through the hole — then sprang back, as a pair of energy bolts sizzled into the door.

  “Big robot things!” he yelled, jerking his thumb towards the opening. “Like that exo-armour we used on Homeguard!”

  “Unpiloted though,” Kyra added.

  Tris used his Gift to confirm it; though he could sense living minds above and below them, there were none nearby.

  “Too large to enter?” Kreon gestured at the doorway Tris had cut.

  “Definitely,” he said.

  And then the door began to raise.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Kyra moaned. Then she turned to face the wall of the corridor, studying it. She drew her swords and slashed — and a sizeable section of plating fell away, revealing the internal structure of the wall. “Should have thought of this earlier,” she said, going to work. She quickly cut her way through the wall, into some kind of mechanical space beyond. Tris ducked in after her, leaving Kreon to face the robots.

  He always was a big fan of sacrifice, Tris thought, justifying it.

  Kyra ducked under a wide metal duct and swung her swords at the wall on the far side. More confident now, she was through it in moments, and Tris leapt out behind her.

  They’d reached the same foyer, which seemed to be a junction for several similar corridors, all of which were sealed off. They were now behind the two hulking machines, which towered almost to the ceiling. In the time their short cut had taken, the huge blast door had retracted over halfway. Both robots stood poised to charge through as soon as it went high enough.

  But Tris was never going to let that happen.