Tris batted at his hair and face, extinguishing any burning bits. Kyra’s colour-changing hair didn’t seem to have been damaged; Kreon of course was bald.
“Loader,” Tris said, choking as smoke filled his mouth. “Can we…?”
Kreon shook his head, beckoning them out into cleaner air. Tris wanted to scream until he was hoarse and beat the ground in rage, but he knew that Sera would be close behind them. Assuming she survived the explosion.
Her armour will have protected her, Kyra confirmed.
I’ll kill her.
Kyra looked at him, and Tris was surprised to see tears streaking her face. Get in line.
They ran then, dodging through the trees, quiet in their own minds. Tris’ breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his throat thick with the taste of smoke. They’d escaped the fire largely unscathed, and so far there had been no sign of pursuit.
“The cave is just up ahead,” Kreon said, his pace not slowing.
“I hope this ship of yours is worth it,” Kyra panted. “Shit, I hope it even works.”
“She was perfectly operational when I stored her here,” Kreon replied.
Tris didn’t have enough breath to spare for conversation, so he devoted himself to running. If the ship didn’t start, they were all going to end up like Loader.
When they broke through the final stretch of trees, the mouth of the cave yawned ahead of them. Tris stopped to breathe and hung his head, sweat pouring off him. “This… is it… right?” he panted.
“Indeed,” Kreon said, his tone flat. The Warden didn’t seem out of breath, but defeat was etched in his posture. Tris felt a stab of guilt; he’d been so focussed on his own grief, he hadn’t even thought how hard this would hit the others. Kreon was hardly one to bare his emotions, but it was clear the Warden and the talos had been close for a long time.
Crossing a strip of open ground they approached the cave. Darkness prevailed inside, giving no indication of how deep it went.
“I will activate the running lights to guide our way,” Kreon said. “Allow me a few seconds. The command codes are amongst the oldest data I have stored.” He glanced off to one side, something Tris had seen him do when accessing his implanted transceiver. Although the thought of having such a device embedded in his abdomen made him queasy, there was no denying its usefulness.
Kyra unslung the rifle from her back, so Tris did the same. Sera could still be out there, only minutes behind them. With those jet boots she could spring from the forest at any moment, striking with very little warning. He turned to face the trees, rifle raised—
—As an ear-splitting roar shook the air. From somewhere above them a sleek spaceship dived into view, massive thrusters kicking up a cloud of dust beneath it. Before Tris could move, the ship came to a hover directly in front of him. A hatch below the nose popped open and a multi-barrelled gun jutted out, aiming right at him.
“Don’t move!” The command issued from unseen speakers, electronically filtered and robotic.
Tris froze, his woefully inadequate rifle pointing at the ship. Beside him, Kyra swore. He risked turning his head a fraction — just enough to see Kreon turning slowly to face the ship, arms spread as though to show he was unarmed.
“DOWN!” the pilot demanded, “NOW!” The ship’s laser barrels depressed a touch as though to emphasise their targeting.
Tris raised his hands instinctively, as though he’d been caught by the cops. He saw that Kyra had done the same — a rare gesture of surrender for one who always fought to the bitter end.
“Kyra?” Tris stage-whispered. “What do we do?”
Already unarmed, she was slowly lowering herself to her knees. “Get down,” she hissed back. “That’s an antipersonnel blaster. Even Kreon’s shield won’t save him from that.”
From the corner of his eye, Tris saw the Warden was also sinking to his knees. His grav-staff lay in the dirt beside him; the Warden had dropped it far enough away as to be out of immediate reach.
The barrels on the blaster began to spin.
Oh hell, Tris thought. After all that, they got us anyway.
The ship edged closer, the blare of its engines echoing back from the sheer rock face. Looking towards it as he dropped to his knees, Tris thought he could see the silhouette of the pilot peering through the viewscreen. He reached in for the man’s thoughts, finding an anger to match his own.
This man had also lost friends today.
Thoughts of revenge consumed his mind…
And he only wanted them to kneel so they couldn’t dodge his fire.
He was going to shoot them no matter what they did.
“Guys…” Tris began. The gun began to screech as the barrels became a blur. Tris winced, bracing himself for the burst of laser fire—
“DOWN!” Kreon yelled, and Tris threw himself flat.
And in a rush of turbulence, something shot past overhead.
Whatever it was, the mystery object hit the merc’s ship dead on — and carried straight on through. The impact was phenomenal. A deafening wave of sound washed over Tris as the entire front of the ship crumpled in on itself. The projectile tore a gaping hole big enough to drive a car through, and the ship just disintegrated. A series of massive explosions blossomed from the back and sides — presumably stored ammunition going up — and then the whole thing swung ponderously on its jets, arcing almost lazily to the ground.
The crash caused a miniature earthquake, and Tris was glad he was already lying down. Kreon’s warning had come just in time — a fountain of burning debris plumed from the crashed ship, raining down like deadly hailstones.
“BACK!” the Warden cried, and Tris scrambled to his feet, following Kyra into the shadow of the cave mouth. They barely made it to safety when something vital detonated, and the buckled hull of the ship erupted in a gigantic fireball. Even from this distance Tris felt the heat lick against his face and hands, though his jumpsuit shielded the rest of him. Kyra swatted at her arms, trying to extinguish embers; Kreon, who was closest to the blast, still had his back to it. His battered trench coat bore the brunt, parts of it glowing for a second, but the violence of the heatwave was deflected in a bright flash by the Aegis gem he wore.
As the air cooled, Tris gulped down a lungful. His throat felt scorched, and he was pretty sure his eyebrows had gone the way of the exploding spaceship. “Jesus Kreon, what was that?”
Kyra put a hand out to steady the old man, as he took a limping step towards them. “Just so you know, this is absolutely the last time today you’re getting me set on fire,” she told him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, a strange note in his voice. It took Tris a second to place it. Pride…? The Warden was clearly hurting, both physically and emotionally, yet from his mind Tris sensed a savage satisfaction.
Kreon lurched a step closer, then brushed at yet another new pattern of burn holes in his sleeve. “So you see,” he continued, “Wayfinder is not only still operational, she has considerable life left in her.”
“No shit!” Tris agreed, with feeling.
“It merely took me a few seconds longer to identify the command codes for the weapons.”
Kyra was shaking her head in disbelief. “Weapons?”
“Indeed. Wayfinder has undergone extensive upgrades compared to the factory model.”
“You’re not kidding! Sydon’s Name, Kreon! You fitted railguns?”
The Warden shrugged. “Amongst other things.”
7
Dusting the debris off their jumpsuits, they continued on into the deep shadow of the cave. The massive weight of rock above them exuded cold, stealing the heat from the air as well as the light. As they moved further into the gloom, Kreon produced a futuristic flashlight and began to play its beam around.
“How far does it go?” Tris asked him.
“Not substantially further than this,” the Warden replied. “I ensured the ship was concealed from above, for precisely this eventuality.” He swept his torch b
eam around, the cone of light coming to rest on a metallic surface in the distance. In almost reverential silence, he led them towards the object. He kept his light trained on it as it grew; Tris noticed the ground underfoot was smooth here rather than cave-like, almost as though it had been melted. Finally, Kreon stopped before a wall of dark metal. Panel lines stood out in the narrow beam of light, but more details were impossible to discern. He stepped forwards, tugging the glove from one hand and placing his ragged palm against the metal. “Ahhh! Wayfinder. After all these years.”
Kyra sighed dramatically. “So that’s why you’ve re-named every ship we’ve stolen? After this piece of wreckage?”
Kreon turned to face her. “We do not steal ships, Kyra. We commandeer them. And this ‘wreckage’ is in excellent condition.”
“Oh yeah?” she fired back. “So where did you get it?”
Kreon glowered at her. “I stole it.”
The interior of the ship was meticulously clean, as Tris could have predicted. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell at all — he’d expected damp, mould perhaps or rust — some direct evidence of ageing. Apparently Kreon was right; Phoenixes were weather-tight, at least.
“Like what you’ve done with the place,” Kyra said. She was squinting into various chambers as they passed and wrinkling her nose up. “Definitely needs a woman’s touch.”
Kreon ignored her sarcasm, leading them straight to the cockpit. “It is functional. Soft furnishings were never much to my taste.”
“Yeah, well. Not all of us have got asses made of metal. If we’re going to be flying in this tub, I’m going to insist we invest in some cushions.”
The cockpit was roomy enough for all of them, with two seats facing forward and one to each side — a configuration Tris had seen plenty of times already. He strapped himself into the gunner’s seat without asking, sending a silent apology to Blas for having usurped the big man’s position. Surprisingly, Kreon dropped into the pilot’s seat. Kyra’s remarks must have convinced him not to let her loose on his precious ship.
The engines roared to life, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. A series of ominous groans came from somewhere behind them, the ship’s hull complaining about its rude awakening. Kyra glanced back at Tris and raised a disparaging eyebrow.
Then Kreon took hold of the control stems and they burst from the cave like a bat out of hell.
Tris gripped the edge of his console as the g-forces strove to push him off his chair. Kreon wrenched their nose up and drove hard for the sky. They shot up over the top of the forest and he levelled off just as abruptly, skimming the tops of the taller trees. He jinked them left and right, the ship responding like a horse stung by a fly. Kreon leaned into the control stems, causing the deck to tilt as they veered one way then the other.
When he looked across at Kyra, his face was alive with an emotion Tris had never seen there before. Was that excitement? No… delight! The old man was loving this.
Kyra was less impressed. “Get this scrapheap out of here before Sera shows up!” she scolded him.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I will risk her wrath long enough to recover a few vital artefacts.”
Kyra cursed under her breath, but started playing with her console, narrowing her eyes at the unfamiliar interface. “We’re less than five minutes from the crash site.”
From this height, the trail of smoke was plainly visible. Kreon dove Wayfinder directly towards it, not taking the time to scout the area. Tris craned his neck as they passed the stripe of burning forest, but couldn’t tell whether Sera’s fighter was still there or not.
The debris of their shuttle stretched a good way into the distance. Amongst the wreckage lay any number of Kreon’s treasures, though how many had survived the crash remained to be seen. It would be a week’s worth to sift through everything; Tris fervently hoped they wouldn’t end up doing it whilst dodging a hail of bullets.
No landing with the Warden at the helm was ever as smooth as Kyra’s efforts, so Tris clung on to his armrests and tried not to clench his jaw. They touched down with a crunch that shuddered throughout the ship, but that appeared to be the worst of it. Kyra didn’t even take the piss out of him for it; she was scanning the viewscreens intently, watching for any sign of Sera’s forces.
“Tristan.” Kreon beckoned as he stood. “The Planet Forge is down there. I need you to help me lift it.”
Tris unstrapped and followed the Warden back to the main hatch. The ramp was already descending; no-one needed reminding that they were here on borrowed time. Tris jogged down the ramp, turning full-circle when he reached the ground. There was no sign of approaching enemies, though that could change at any minute. “How many items are we collecting?”
Kreon was already climbing into the ruined shuttle’s cargo bay. “Two,” he called back.
Tris hurried to catch him up.
The Planet Forge lay exactly where they’d left it; exactly where Loader had positioned it just a few hours ago. Before all this began. Before…
Tris thrust that thought out of his mind and stooped to take one end of the huge crate. Hauling stuff like this around was just one of the things he’d never even thanked the talos for. Loader had never complained about being taken for granted; Tris wondered briefly if he’d cared.
The case was enormously heavy. Tris surprised himself by being able to lift his end at all; letting Kyra kick his ass on a daily basis was definitely improving his muscles. The Warden lifted his end more easily, having the unfair advantage of at least two mechanical limbs. Between them they man-handled the thing out of the cargo hatch, across the scorched ground, and up into Wayfinder’s cargo bay.
As they re-entered the cockpit Kyra gave an exaggerated sigh. “Great! Can we go home now?”
“Not yet,” Kreon replied. “I would like to push our luck a little further.”
He took the controls and lifted off, swinging the ship around to point back the way they’d come.
“Uh, that’s the direction Sera should be in,” Tris pointed out.
“Precisely.”
It took less than a minute by air to cover the distance they’d been running across for hours. The forest fire had mostly burned itself out, thin streamers of smoke curling up from the charred vegetation as they landed beside it. Sera’s fighter was long gone, though Tris couldn’t help checking and re-checking the camera feeds in every direction.
“I’ll be outside,” Kreon announced, striding from the cockpit.
Tris exchanged glances with Kyra. “Is he looking for her body? Sera must have survived, or who would have moved the fighter?”
Kyra didn’t turn from the screens she was scrutinising. “Maybe he dropped something. Or maybe she did.”
They maintained a watchful silence for the next few minutes. Tris could practically feel the tension in the cockpit ratcheting up with every heartbeat they spent on the ground.
“Sydon’s Name!” Kyra cursed at last. “Did he stop to take a leak?”
“Not at all,” the Warden replied, startling them with his sudden appearance in the passageway behind them. He limped in, carrying a glowing cylinder the size of a Coke can which he passed to Tris. “Take good care of that for me,” he said, before dropping into the pilot’s seat. “Now, I believe someone requested that we return home?”
“Please,” Kyra said with feeling.
“Very well. Next stop: the Folly.”
“Ah, Kreon,” Tris started. “Not to be ungrateful or anything, but what the hell is this thing? I mean, it’s warm. It’s not going to blow up is it?”
Kreon fed power to the drives and hauled on the control stems, his touch a good bit rougher than Kyra’s would have been. “I am unsure of that,” he said over his shoulder, as he pivoted the ship to point directly up. “It seems unlikely, but you would have to ask to be certain.”
“Ask?” Tris glanced around the cockpit, then down at the alien-looking device in his lap. Tiny points of light swirled inside the thing like fir
eflies in a jar. “Ask who?”
Kreon hit the thrusters and Wayfinder blasted upwards, shaking with the stress of its passage through the atmosphere. “Ask Loader,” he replied. “That structure you are holding? That’s him.”
* * *
They made the journey back to the Folly in high spirits.
They’d just survived one of the most dangerous situations Tris could imagine, and he didn’t even need to feel guilty about living through it. There was no sign of pursuit for the time being, and the firepower of their growing armada made Tris feel more than a little invincible.
We made it!
Even Loader had survived… after a fashion.
Kreon had never been in doubt — not that he would have admitted it if he was.
The Warden regaled them with the tale of how he’d first found Loader’s remains, a metal casing so old it crumbled to dust at a touch, yet the Sentience Containment Unit, as he called it, was still intact.
“It had lain there so long that geological forces would have crushed it, were it not for its imperviousness,” he explained. “The outer form you knew as Loader was merely an industrial talos I commandeered for that purpose. Though it underwent significant modifications over the last century, the choice of housing was not deliberate; it was merely the closest thing I had to hand. But his core processor — the incandescent structure I recovered from the battlefield? By my reckoning, it is older by far than the entire human race. Long before we evolved from more primitive lifeforms, Loader’s people ruled this galaxy. And for much of the time from that day to this, he lay trapped within the planetoid he’d been exploring. Had his solar collectors not been deployed on the surface, his core would long since have shut down. It was those panels that led me to his original body, crushed in a fissure deep below the surface. And so, when Sera’s thermal charge destroyed Loader’s housing, I was certain his Sentience Containment Unit would survive. As it has since time immemorial. It is my belief that Loader is the oldest form of life in this galaxy by several orders of magnitude.”
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