Warden's Fury

by Tony James Slater

  Tris was so surprised he didn’t realise it was happening for a second. He pulled away, taking a step back. “Sorry! I’m not, ah… you know, I didn’t…”

  “Shhh! It’s okay,” she said, matching his movement. The smile she gave him was sultry and wicked, ripe with promise. “It’s allowed.”

  And she planted her lips on his again.

  Tris let her kiss him while his brain tried to catch up with what was happening. Ella’s face flashed through his mind, every bit as delicate but infused with a desperate longing.

  “No!” This time he pushed her away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lead you on. I’ve got someone…”

  Ella left, a traitorous thought reminded him. He swallowed it. “There’s a girl…”

  “Shhh!” She stepped close to him again, laying a finger on his lips. “She doesn’t need to know! No-one does…”

  And she was moving against him, slender arms encircling him as her thighs pressed his.

  And then he had it. Honey Trap! Words from a 1970’s spy movie. Possibly the most blatant honey trap in the history of ever. Tris put his hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her firmly away. Then he took a long step backwards, just to be on the safe side. He could feel his arousal, and didn’t trust himself to stay strong in the face of such overwhelming temptation.

  “Please stop,” he said, looking around for signs of recording devices. “Tell your masters they can do what they want, but I’ve no interest in you.”

  The change that came over her was dramatic. The blood drained from her face; for a second Tris through she might faint. “No,” she whispered, “please. Please, please don’t — I’ll do anything.” She started towards him again, hands raised, seeking his body. Tris took another step back and she faltered, her gaze pleading with him. “Please,” she said again — and Tris caught an undercurrent of fear in her tone.

  Shit! What did I say? Her expression was no longer that of a seductive temptress, but rather a scared girl. What does she think I’m going to do to her?

  Tris cleared his throat and cast another futile glance around for hidden cameras. “Look, I’m really sorry, but there’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all. I’m new here and I don’t know your customs at all. I didn’t mean to insult you. Honestly, you’ve got nothing to fear from me.”

  Tears were streaming down her face but she made no effort to dry them. Her breath was starting to come in hitches; the poor girl was terrified.

  “I don’t know what I said,” Tris tried again, “but I didn’t mean it. Honest!” The urge to give her a hug was overwhelming. He dared a step back toward her, still marvelling at the sudden switch.

  An act? He didn’t think so.

  “You won’t?” she sobbed. “Won’t… tell?”

  “What? No, of course not!” He spread his arms and folded her into a comforting embrace. Her body was trembling now, as the flurry of emotions ran their course.

  She’s afraid of being embarrassed? At striking out? Jeez, maybe I am rich! Still, she could have tried to get to know me a bit first…

  The girl relaxed a bit in his arms. It was at that point he realised he didn’t even know her name.

  “Let’s start over,” he suggested. “I’m Tris.”

  She looked up, all nervous smile and watery eyes. “I’m Naria.”

  “Great! Naria, I really appreciate you showing me this library. But I really ought to get back to my friends.”

  At this her arms tightened around him. “No! Please! You have to stay! If you go, they’ll know.”

  “Know what?” Tris was getting more confused by the minute. “Naria, what are you so afraid of?”

  She clung to him as her eyes sought out his, beseeching. “If you leave too early, they’ll know I didn’t satisfy you.”

  “Satisfy me?”

  “I’m an entertainer! Don’t you understand? I’m good, I’m really, really good, I promise. But if they find out I disappointed a man like you, I—”

  “Like me? How d’you mean?”

  “Important! You’re the guest of honour. I’m to please you. I’m yours for the party.”

  Tris opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “Please don’t tell your uncle you didn’t want me. I’ll do anything.”

  “I just want you to calm down,” Tris told her, finding his voice again. “I won’t tell anyone anything. I really appreciate the offer, but there’s a girl who… we’re kind of together. It’s complicated, but she’s the reason why I don’t want to be ‘satisfied’. It’s nothing you’ve done wrong.”

  “That won’t matter.” Her words were thick with dread. “I’m third tier, but that won’t stop them. If they think I’ve failed to please you, I’ll be Committed.”

  “Committed? Like, declared insane?”

  She shook her head. “Committed to the Church.”

  Tris decided it would be best not to delve further. “Well okay. Let’s just stay in here for a bit and relax. I’m in no hurry to get back to that party. We’ll wait until you think the time’s right, and you can tell them whatever you want.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “They won’t question me about it will they?”

  This brought a shaky smile from her. “Of course not. No-one would question you.”

  Tris settled into an armchair, while Naria sank onto a wide daybed. There was no prize for guessing what she’d previously had planned for that piece of furniture. Tris wondered if it had been used much before.

  “So. While we’re waiting I might as well ask. Do you know anything about the Black Ships?”

  Her brow furrowed. “You mean like the Black Ones? The ones that made the Gods go away?”

  “Yes!” Tris leaned forward, suddenly enthused. “That could be the same thing. What do you know about them?”

  Now Naria looked confused. “It’s a parable. You know, a religious story? They’re metaphors. For things we need to learn, virtues to aspire to and so on.”

  “Ah,” Tris nodded. Not much help there. “So what happened in that parable?”

  “Um… we’re not really allowed to talk about it. It’s old, you know?”

  Tris summoned the most encouraging smile he could. “I won’t tell a soul!”

  The girl relented. “Okay, but it’s nothing special. Just the usual nonsense, really. The Gods supposedly left Earth to fight the Black Ones, and when they return in triumph, they’ll reward us for being faithful.”

  “Do the Black Ones come back?”

  “No, silly! The Gods will vanquish them. Or I suppose that’s what they’ve been doing for the last ten thousand years. Have they stopped teaching that on Earth?”

  Tris had to chuckle. “Yeah, we’ve moved on a bit. So when do they come back? The Gods, I mean?”

  Naria bit a fingernail. She seemed younger with every passing minute — Tris now placed her around fifteen. “Dunno. But when they do, your Lantian friends are gonna get it. We held the faith while they ran away to worship other Gods. They’ll probably get eaten if the Black Ones do come back.”

  They spent the next half hour chatting about life on their respective homeworlds, and bit by bit Tris teased out a deeply unpleasant truth about the Lemurian empire. Naria was a prisoner of her blood; whilst comparatively pure, it gave her just enough rank to be allowed to service the upper echelons of society. She’d been groomed for this role from an early age (though Tris was quietly relieved to find she was considerably older than he was). Her position was considered a privilege, and one which could be snatched away at any moment; the spectre of the Church loomed large over her every waking moment. Her comparatively high status was a double-edged sword; access to nobles of the highest rank came with constant scrutiny, and mistakes were punished harshly. Girls simply disappeared, Committed to the Church or worse — though from the look on her face as she described it, Naria could think of few fates more terrifying.

  By the time she decreed it safe to leave, Tris was furious. That someone so fragile could be forced to do what
she did, and so callously — it made his blood boil. He made up his mind to confront Gerian about it. That smooth-talking bastard owed him answers, and this time he wasn’t going to freeze up like a rabbit in headlights. So what if the man looked like his dad? Even twin brothers could wind up very different people. Tris was sure his dad would never countenance such an abhorrent and oppressive system. Maybe that was why he found himself a deep-cover assignment in Lantian space? Maybe he preferred it over there?

  Whatever. Tris resolved that he was going to find Gerian and slap that smug smile right off his face.

  Kreon could harp on about diplomacy all he wanted, but there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

  Bollocks to diplomacy.

  After they emerged from the stone panel, he indulged her with a last kiss — for appearances’ sake, he told himself — and watched her glide away.

  Then he turned on his heel and strode smack-bang into Kyra.

  “Been looking for you,” she said, a note of accusation in her voice. “Didn’t realise you were having so much fun.”

  “What? No, it’s not like that,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Sure! They say that’s the best way to get over an ex — get under the next one!”

  His fists clenched involuntarily. “Don’t you ever—”

  “Hey.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Cool it. Don’t let them see you’re mad. I doubt it would end well for your little girlfriend.”

  For a reply, Tris glared at her.

  “Relax,” she told him. “I know you’re not dumb enough to cross Eleanor. That gal would slice you to ribbons. But you think you’ve got problems? Look what they’ve dressed me as.” With a flick of the wrist she indicated her outfit — which suddenly made a lot more sense.

  “Ohhh…”

  “Yeah. I’ve had six people try to avail themselves of my services so far.”

  Tris peered back over her shoulder. “I don’t see any blood. Where’d you hide the bodies?”

  The grin she turned on him was wolfish. “I have talents.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Kyra turned to scan the crowd. “I caught up with Kreon earlier, but he’s close to meltdown. Says this whole thing is a waste of time. I’m starting to agree with him.”

  Tris listened to the surge of the music, at times a haunting siren-song then swelling to a thunderous crescendo. Bodies swam through the air above the dance floor, drifting and spinning as the beat picked up tempo. Exotic smells and dazzling colours made a combined assault on his senses.

  “We’ll never find him in all this.”

  “Don’t need to,” Kyra said, pointing over his shoulder. “Speak of the devil…”

  Tris turned to see Kreon stomping towards them, tearing off his poncho as he came.

  The Warden wasn’t even trying to disguise his mood. “Beast of the Border?” he spat. “Did you know they’ve turned me into a cartoon? They’re showing it in one of the anterooms! Children whose parents died at my hand are laughing along at a show designed to make a mockery of the entire war! It’s unconscionable. These miserable bastards floating around here haven’t a clue what it’s like. The closest anyone in this room will come to a combat engagement is when I put my steel foot up their arses!”

  Kyra regarded him cooly. “Feel better?”

  Kreon straightened, smoothing his scarred jumpsuit, and tossed the poncho onto the floor. “Indeed.”

  “Great,” said Tris. “So if we’re all in agreement, can we please get the hell out of here? I want to find Gerian. I’ve got a few choice words for that smarmy piece of shit.”

  Kreon eyed him cooly, then strode towards the exit. “I wish you luck. He refuses to speak to me.”

  “Oh really?” Tris growled, turning to follow him. “Well he’s going to listen to me. There’s a small human rights violation I feel compelled to mention.”

  “She was small all right,” Kyra quipped.

  “What are you in such a good mood for?” Tris rounded on her.

  “Gotta look on the bright side.” She linked arms with him, pulling him along. “They can shove this hooker-outfit up their drive nozzles — but I’m keeping the shoes.”

  As dramatic exits go, it was a bit of an anticlimax. They approached a pair of stylishly-armoured guards at the door they’d entered by, and moments later were being escorted back to Gerian’s private shuttle. The guards left them in a kind of lounge adjoining the cabins they’d used on the way here.

  “Never thought I’d say this,” Tris confided to Kreon, “but I wish we could watch Loader chop that entire party into fish-bait.”

  “On this occasion, that desire may be justified,” the Warden agreed.

  “Ahh, Loader,” Kyra said from behind them. “I never thought I’d miss it, but turning a room full of bad guys into mincemeat was a comforting back-up plan.”

  “Indeed,” Kreon replied. “However, even before his incapacitation Loader had requested an exclusion from all combat engagements.”

  This came as a surprise to Tris. “What? Why? What was he afraid of?”

  Kreon took a frustrated breath. “Losing his humanity.”

  “Oh.” Tris had suspected the talos was conflicted over his recent bouts of mass-murder, but Loader had never really confided in him.

  “Nice of you to indulge him though,” Kyra said. “Not that it makes much difference now.”

  Kreon’s eyes went hard. “Unfortunately, I was forced to decline his request. I intended to keep him in reserve for the duration of this mission. In the event that our position here became untenable, I designed an exit strategy.”

  “Good to know,” Tris said. “Are you going to share it with us?”

  A bitter smile twisted the Warden’s lips. “Loader was our exit strategy.”

  14

  With the anger at Naria’s predicament still roiling through him, Tris decided to check Gerian’s office. None of them had seen him at the party once the introduction was over, and it seemed as logical a place as any to find him.

  The job of Magistrate sounded like it came with a lot of paperwork.

  “You’re welcome to come with me,” Tris said, as Kreon lowered himself into an upholstered armchair.

  “Unwise,” Kreon decided. “Not only is he unlikely to listen to my opinion, my presence will undermine your own attempts at diplomacy.” The Warden’s fingers flexed in his gloves as though preparing to strangle someone. “Also, if he ignores me directly one more time, there is a strong possibility that I will execute him on the spot.”

  Tris wagged a finger. “You know, stuff like that is how you became the ‘Beast of the Border’.”

  Kyra sprawled on a couch. “Yeah Tris, best you talk to that slime-weasel.” She extended one leg, admiring the shoe. A sort of slipper with a low heel, it was encrusted with red and silver crystals that twinkled in the artificial light. “I’d cut his balls off.”

  Tris turned his finger on her. “Aren’t you meant to be some kind of saviour?”

  She twirled her ankle, sending reflected sparkles dancing across Kreon’s scarred scalp. “I have impulse control issues.”

  Tris knew there was no point in trying to get anything more out of either of them, but for once he didn’t care. There was one bloke around here who had all the answers — and Tris was about to pay him a little visit.

  “Hey Tris!” Kyra called at his retreating back. “Be cool, alright? You’ll only get one shot at this. Don’t go all teenage angst on him. And try not to babble like an idiot.”

  “And mention the Oracle,” Kreon added. “It is imperative that you obtain permission to visit her. Otherwise this entire mission is for naught, and the galaxy may well be devoured by the Black Ships.”

  Tris turned back to face them. “You know, you guys suck at pep talks.”

  The corridor leading up to Gerian’s office was lined with plush cream carpet. Whilst most of the walls betrayed their steel origins, a few metres to either side of his door w
as panelled in rich brown wood. The door itself was more of the same; intriguingly carved with heavy brass handles, and completely out of place on a spaceship. Seeing no obvious doorbell, he knocked.

  “Enter!” boomed Gerian’s voice from within.

  This is it, Tris thought. Showtime.

  And he twisted the handle.

  Gerian sat inside, behind an immense wooden desk. The same material clad the walls to waist-height, where there was a dado rail. Pictures hung on the walls; a real log fire roared in the hearth to one side. Like the library Naria had taken him to, it was a faithful reproduction of an equivalent office on Earth. A bit old-fashioned for his tastes, but the kind of room a rich lawyer might inhabit. The only things out of place were the viewscreen built into the desk and one of those ubiquitous golden shrine-things set into the wall.

  As he walked in, Gerian looked up and delivered a hundred-watt smile.

  “Ah, Tristan! You enjoyed the party? You’ve come to discuss your inheritance, I imagine. There are considerable legal issues to untangle, but I should be able to assist you in—”

  “No.” Tris folded his arms and scowled at the man behind the desk. It was hard to look at that familiar face, especially with anger, but again he reminded himself; This ‘thing’ is NOT my dad!

  It was extremely satisfying to see him experience a moment of discomfort.

  “Then perhaps you’d care to arrange a visit to the Seven Systems region? I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Tris stared at him, unmoving. “And do the citizens of these ‘Seven Systems’ also live in constant fear?”

  Gerian blinked at him. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow.”

  “I had an insight today into how you people do things, and it’s disgusting!” Tris had planned on staying calm, at least in the beginning, but already he could feel his temper slipping. “Those young men and women at the party — those boys and girls that you exploit. Too terrified to say anything for fear of reprisals from your Church? How fucked up is that? Don’t people have rights here? Freedom to speak without being persecuted? Or is the entire Lemurian Empire still stuck in the Dark Ages?” He stopped to breathe. He was already losing his cool, which probably wasn’t the best way of handling this.