Warden's Vengeance Page 5

  “There’s…” he began. “There’s a kill-code?”

  “Hardwired into their brain stems, as a safeguard in case they are ever employed against the Church.”

  “And… you know it?”

  “Of course! Lord Anakreon, you forget — under my previous designation, I controlled the facility that manufactured them.”

  * * *

  Tris sat on a pile of bodies, helmet off, his head in his heads.

  It had been one hell of a morning.

  His initial bravo had morphed into abject terror within the first minute of engagement; after that, he’d been operating on adrenaline and reflex. It worried him more than a little, but he was afraid to admit it to Kreon. The Warden had appeared unflappable throughout the encounter. Sera, too, seemed to have weathered the storm without wetting herself.

  Kyra had admitted to being tired, but she’d been fighting alone for most of the battle, out in front where the evil things had surrounded her.

  Still, these people were borderline superheroes.

  Tris was just thrilled to be alive.

  And being scared was only natural, right?

  He was hard-pushed to think of any other sane reaction to… this. He prodded one of the bodies with the toe of his boot, startling himself when some metal component on it snapped shut with a clang.

  After that, he decided sitting on the living weapons, recently deceased or not, was a bad idea.

  He didn’t have long, anyway.

  “We need to investigate the tunnels,” Àurea said, striding over. “There could still be some of my people hiding out in there.”

  Tris looked around dubiously. The bodies of Transgressors blanketed the ground, covering all signs of the human population they’d exterminated. “There were so many,” he found himself mumbling. “How could anyone survive against that?”

  He looked up at Àurea, suddenly self-conscious. He’d spoken callously, without thinking; the lives he was so casually dismissing were the lives of her friends…

  And her daughter.

  “Sorry,” he said, plucking his helmet from the ground and putting it on. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Àurea led the way, choosing one of the tunnels the fresh group of Transgressors had come from. “There are blast doors at intervals down here,” she explained. “There is a chance that anyone who made it far enough could still be alive behind them.”

  Kreon and Kyra fanned out to either side, keeping watch on the mouths of any side-tunnels they passed. Sera clanked along behind them, a walking arsenal and bulwark against attack from the rear.

  They passed dozens of corpses, both human and Transgressor. After a while, the number of humans dwindled to none; Tris guessed that anyone still alive by this point was capable of looking after themselves.

  Assuming there was anyone.

  Rounding a corner, they came across a scene from a charnel house. Several bodies were sprawled around, but all were burned so badly it was impossible to tell what they’d been. The very rock itself was scorched and blackened, heat still radiating back from it like the door to a furnace.

  The fire damage ran right up to where the tunnel terminated in a heavy slab of pitted and blistered metal.

  “This is it,” Àurea said. “Be ready. If any of my people made it inside, it is possible that Transgressors did as well.”

  Tris nodded, squeezing his staff to lengthen it. Like Kreon, he’d been forced to remove his gloves before the fight in order to use his weapon. Now his hands were coated in a disgusting combination of blood and other foul liquids — there hadn’t been a chance to wash them.

  “Ready,” he said.

  Àurea stepped over to a tiny control panel and entered a code.

  With a reluctant clunk, the door lock disengaged. A crack appeared, revealing darkness beyond; then the door began to grind slowly back into the wall, almost as though it didn’t want to be opened.

  Smoke trickled out of the doorway, bringing an acrid smell with it.

  And in the murky dimness, something moved.

  “Guys…” Tris hissed.

  And in a blur of motion, something big hurtled through the doorway to land amongst them.

  “YAAAAAAAHHH!”

  It was a man. He planted himself in a combat stance, muscular arms raised, a broad-bladed knife in each hand. He tucked his chin in and squinted around at them, his eyes obviously still adjusting to the light. His pants were torn and his tunic had burned away, revealing rippling abdominals and powerful pecs. His coppery skin was slick with sweat, stained with soot, and covered in cuts and burns.

  Tris had backed off automatically, keeping his guard up. He knew that Kyra was doing the same on the stranger’s far side.

  Then a much smaller figure shot out of the opening, crashing into Àurea and wrapping her bottom half in a fierce hug. “Mama! They said you were dead!”

  Àurea pulled her helmet off and tossed it to Tris. Her armoured gauntlets came off next, abandoned on the floor as she pulled her daughter close. The young girl buried her head against the unyielding armour and started sobbing, while her mother stoked her filthy blonde locks.

  When Àurea looked up again there were tears in her eyes, but her expression was jubilant.

  “Mother? Father? This is my daughter, Ana.”

  Kreon had turned to stone at the sight of his granddaughter but Sera came forward, beaming with such joy that Tris could almost forget the implacable killing machine he’d witnessed.

  “Ana! Look at me, darling. I’m your Grand-mama!”

  Tris watched them, feeling suddenly awkward.

  “And that?” Kyra gestured with a sword at the muscular stranger, who now looked quite bewildered.

  Àurea glanced up briefly. One hand came up in a dismissive swipe, and she turned her attention back to her daughter. “Oh, that’s the babysitter,” she said.

  * * *

  Over a hundred of the Pit’s inhabitants had taken refuge behind the blast door.

  Over the next hour, Tris helped scour the rest of the tunnels in search of more.

  By the time they were done, they’d gathered a total of two-hundred and seventeen survivors. Some were support staff — Tris was thrilled to see the two cute nurses he’d met during his convalescence were amongst them — and the rest were family members of the brave resistance fighters.

  All of whom were dead.

  Àurea retreated to her quarters in a state of shock.

  “Two-hundred and seventeen… there were almost three-thousand people living on this base! I can’t believe they’re all… gone. Just like that.”

  Tris wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or not; he’d followed her in there because he was still carrying her Ingumen helmet and the gauntlets he’d rescued.

  “At least we saved some of them,” he said.

  She glanced up, noticing he was there. “Yes, thank-you Tristan. Please could you excuse me? I have a large number of important contacts to make.”

  “Oh, yeah! Here, I’ll just leave this…” he glanced around, and placed the helmet on a shelf.

  He felt terrible for her, but knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better.

  He wandered back out into the Atrium taking in the full horror of the battlefield once more.

  The stink of death mingled with smoke in the air to make his lungs itch.

  There’s no saving this place. He knew it instinctively. Even if the base could be salvaged, and the hundreds upon hundreds of bodies removed, the armies of the Church could return at any time. Whatever Àurea’s people decided to do after this, remaining in the Pit was not an option. They had to get out, and the had to do so as quickly as possible.

  Tris rubbed his face, not caring about the mess that made.

  Finally feeling like he had time to breathe, he placed a quick comm-call to Ella. Wayfinder was close enough to pick up the signal from his suit, though he got the feeling she couldn’t hear him very well. Ella was thrilled and delighted to hea
r from him, as well as sympathetic and more than a little guilty. It was too much emotional turmoil for Tris to sort through; mostly, he just wanted to lie down.

  With her, ideally.

  But he decided not to say that over an open comm channel.

  Over by the smouldering trees he found Kyra organising the survivors. One of the nurses began triage, sorting out what injuries they had that were treatable. The other one went to fetch whatever medical supplies she could glean from the hospital ward, with the world’s most formidable babysitter along for protection. Àurea’s daughter, though newly reunited with her mother, trailed after him.

  Two more Siszar craft screeched in for a landing, causing everyone in the Atrium to jam their hands over their ears. The squid-like ships must have threaded their way in through the remains of the main docking bay, entering the Atrium through the giant hole blasted by the Church’s forces. As they touched down on the scorched grass Tris strolled over, hoping one of them was the Empress.

  I am here, she responded instantly. Her leathery body uncoiled from a hexagonal aperture in the side of her ship, and she pulled herself out to tower over him.

  Though massive, she was shorter than the males had been, and smaller all over. One could never accuse the Siszar of being delicate, but she somehow managed to convey a certain poise and grace in her movements.

  Men are such brutes, she said, agreeing with the judgement underlying his thoughts.

  I’m sorry for your loss, Tris told her, the image of the big male dying right in front of him swimming to the front of his mind.

  And I am sorry for yours. I am here to gather the dead.

  Tris knew he didn’t need to point the way, but he did it anyway. The Empress slouched off, her walking motion over open ground closest to that of a spider.

  Tris stayed clear until she’d dragged the one body over to the remains of the other. Miraculously, the third of the Siszar males had survived the battle. Its wounds were horrendous; missing chunks of all five limbs, it had lain curled up in a ball beneath its ship while Tris and the others had been searching for survivors.

  Now the injured warrior unfurled, and forced itself upright. Using the two limbs that retained part of their tips, it managed a human-style walk towards the bodies of its fallen friends. Kyra came over to add her condolences, and the strange group stood staring down at the pile of dead aliens.

  An odd pressure like a headache began to build behind Tristan’s eyes, accompanied by a strong smell like vinegar.

  He is trying to communicate with you, the Empress explained, flapping a limb at the wounded Siszar. He does not know the… shape, of human thoughts. But he would like you to know that you fought bravely, for one so insignificant.

  Right, yeah. Tris studied the ground, embarrassed. Can you tell him his friend saved my life?

  This male was his brother. He believes he was honoured to fight alongside you. He hopes that your own death will be as triumphant.

  Ahhh… thanks?

  The pressure behind Tristan’s eyes was building. He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing his eyebrows, when the pressure vanished and a low, guttural growl entered his head.

  Eeeeeaaaatttt….

  Tris blinked, then looked up at the Empress for confirmation.

  He offers you the honour of eating his brothers body, she explained.

  Tris opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced at Kyra, to find her smirking.

  Ah, I’m okay, thank-you. I, ah, just ate…

  It is a rare honour, the Empress pointed out. Tris could tell she was excited by the prospect. You should not refuse!

  EEatttt…

  Ah… can I refuse?

  The Empress seemed taken aback. Of course! But he will kill you.

  Oh. Then I guess… Tris’ stomach squirmed at the prospect. But there’s… so much of… it.

  She reached out and fastened a tentacle around something inside the Siszar body. She pulled it free with a sickly tearing sound, and presented it to him with a squelch.

  You need only eat a small amount. We will consume the rest.

  Tris looked at the thing she was offering. It was purple and dripping.

  Kyra also fought well, Tris pointed out.

  As I would have expected, the Empress replied.

  “Nice try Tris,” Kyra said. “Now go on, eat your greens.”

  “It’s not green,” he protested. “How do you know this isn’t poisonous?”

  “We’ve got two nurses on standby. Cute nurses, I believe you once called them.”

  Tris took the purple thing in his hand. It was revolting. And it was warm.

  EEaaatttt…

  He closed his eyes and stuffed it in, biting off a big mouthful. It was salty and gelatinous… he suppressed his gag reflex just in time.

  Congratulations, Tristan! You have eaten of the fallen. You are now deemed fit to breed.

  The injured Siszar gave a roar of approval.

  He promises to eat you himself, when your time comes, the Empress elaborated.

  Tris chewed slowly, trying to keep the disgust off his face. It didn’t help that Kyra was quietly wetting herself behind him. Please don’t let him eat me while I’m trying to breed, he begged the Empress.

  The stink of rotten flesh that did her for laughter assailed his nostrils. Of course not! He will wait until you are dead.

  Tris wasn’t sure whether that was comforting or not. He swallowed, resisting the urge to pinch his nose as he did so.

  EEEEAAAATTTTT! The voice boomed in his head.

  But… I’ve eaten…? Tris pleaded.

  The Empress took pity on him. He is excited because now it is our turn. Her mind shied away from his for a second, as though embarrassed. You might want to look away.

  And quivering with anticipation, the two of them fell ravenously onto the bodies of their comrades, tearing them apart.

  The nurse and her entourage returned, their arms laden with blankets and medical supplies. Kreon and Sera arrived at the same time; evidently they’d been checking out the transport options.

  “There are ships enough for all of us,” Kreon announced without preamble. Kyra turned to listen, and Tris noticed Àurea emerging from the tunnel that led to her quarters.

  “They are not long-range vessels, however. For the time being, until we can determine a course of action, we must evacuate these people to the Folly.”

  Tris eyed the crowd under the trees dubiously. “Will they all fit?”

  “Not for an extended voyage,” Kreon said. “But time is of the essence. If the Keepers of the Faith or their agents ascertain what has occurred here, they will endeavour to re-take this place immediately.”

  Àurea strode up to them, her face indicating she was the bearer of more bad news.

  “They’re gone,” she said, simply. “All of them. All the bases I had direct links to… Everyone is dead. The entire resistance is gone.”

  There was on odd note in her voice; Tris realised she was struggling to hold back tears.

  “It was inevitable,” Kreon told her.

  “No! This was my fault. We weren’t set up for this. All our operatives are compartmentalised, but with the uprising imminent I’ve been bringing in the families of our soldiers, anyone who was afraid of reprisals if things went wrong. I gave the authorisation to allow civilians into our bases. And when those bastard Assessors tore their locations from my head, I killed them all.”

  She sounded very close to losing control. Sera moved closer and put an armoured arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

  If Tris had expected sympathy and compassion, he would have been disappointed.

  “The Church may have won this round,” Sera said, her voice low and laced with menace, “but we will take our revenge. Every person responsible for this will die screaming in agony, I promise you. Hold firm to that and do not doubt it.”

  When Àurea looked up again, the fire was back in her eyes. She nodded to each of them in turn, then studied the gr
oup beneath the trees. “My people,” she said. “We must get them to safety first.”

  “Indeed.” Kreon stepped forward. “Your mother and I have conducted an inventory of the remaining shuttlecraft. There is sufficient capacity to ferry everyone here directly to the Folly.”

  “Then that is our first course of action,” Àurea confirmed. “Where is Ana?” She glanced around the circle again, then looked over at the trees. Her face changed abruptly, a wide smile breaking out. “There’s my girl!” She waved at the babysitter, who was helping to tend wounds. Ana was sitting on his knee folding bandages; he plucked her off and set her on her feet, wiping his hands on the remains of his trousers as he led the girl over. His chest was marginally cleaner; it looked like Ana had been scrubbing at him with bandage material.

  “That is one big babysitter,” Tris muttered as he passed.

  “Did he not manage to find a shirt yet?” Kyra answered him.

  “One that fits?” he scoffed.

  Whereas Blas had been impossibly huge, this bloke seemed almost normal — he had the kind of physique Tris had only seen in fitness magazines, on adverts that promised ‘maximum muscle gain’.

  Whatever he was using, it was working.

  Sera and Kreon were focussed on Ana, as she ran up and threw herself into her mother’s arms.

  Tris smiled; it was impossible not to get swept up in the child’s unashamed glee.

  “Mamma, I’m helping people just like you!”

  Àurea held tight to her, stroking her hair. Even Tris could tell it desperately needed a wash.

  “Helping people is good, Ana. Now I want you to meet some people.” Her finger hovered in the air, pointing towards Sera. “You already know Grandmamma…” the finger swivelled, pointing a Kreon. “And this is your Grandpa.”

  Tris stifled a snigger. The idea of Kreon as anything but a stern, arrogant dictator was hard to swallow.

  Kreon ignored him, striding over to loom above the child. “Greetings… Ana, is it?” He patted the girl’s cheek awkwardly. “She is beautiful,” he admitted. “Like her mother.”