Warden's Fury

by Tony James Slater

  And that was what really grated. Enneas. That piece of shit had fooled them all.

  Fooled me.

  Dying cleanly in a fair fight was too good for the back-stabbing arse-rag. She’d have taken him apart a piece at a time…

  No. That’s not me anymore. She shook herself to clear the ugly memories that rose unbidden. I’m just upset because he killed Tris. And if that shit he pumped into his chest does any good, he might just have saved Tris’ life, too.

  The handful of prison guards between the bridge and Transgressions were still out cold. That didn’t stop Ingumen’s troops from taking their revenge; every enemy she passed had their throat freshly slit. Taking no chances didn’t really cover it; it was straight murder, as cruel and callous as it came. But she hadn’t lived these people’s lives. Judging by what she’d seen so far, a week in the Lemurian Empire would have her stabbing anything that moved.

  Still, it rankled, and she was glad to arrive at the cell block and start decanting prisoners.

  Forty-seven of them… But Ingumen had brought an impressive force to the party. By this point his men outnumbered the sleeping prisoners. It was a simple task to find and fit the grav-shackles, made even easier by Kreon tearing the doors off the cells one after another. The Ingumend gave him a bit more respect after that, Kyra noticed.

  Their formidable leader pitched in too, though he eyed the Warden suspiciously. “This lack of resistance concerns me,” he observed, as the prisoners’ limp forms floated past him.

  Kyra could read between the lines. He was doubting them again, and who could blame him? The ruse Gerian had sold them on was bizarrely elaborate.

  “ALI has decommissioned the Security Bridge,” Loader piped up, “and closed every blast door between here and the barracks. Only she now has the power to open them.” Even in monotone, the talos managed to sound proud.

  “That machine—” Ingumen stabbed a steel-clad finger at Kreon’s backpack, “it has control of the entire Institution?”

  Kreon adjusted the cables that led from the backpack as though they pained him. “Indeed.”

  “Then it can order the complex to self destruct!”

  There was a few seconds of silence, punctuated only by the tread of boots down the cell block.

  “Negative,” Loader droned. “ALI must come with us. It is part of our agreement.”

  “This prison is a blight!” Ingumen’s anger resurfaced. “Destroying it is our express purpose! Many of my warriors have died today, for this cause alone!”

  Kreon faced the figure, his composure unruffled. “I understand,” the Warden said, his tone solemn. “And rest assured, those lives were not lost in vain. This place harbours an evil that cannot be allowed to endure. They have taken from you and they have taken from me. And for that reason before any others, I will destroy this prison — and every living thing inside it.”

  21

  The landing bay guard was exactly where they’d left him — flat on his back in a slowly coagulating pool of blood. After what they’d discovered in Transgressions, Kyra didn’t feel nearly as bad about it.

  She beckoned the men pushing the prisoners to go in first, and couldn’t help wondering if they’d all fit. Wayfinder was a good-sized ship, but she’d be packed to bursting with all this lot on board. As for where they were going to take them… hopefully their mysterious leader had some idea about that.

  Right now he seemed to be more concerned with taking roll-call. Rather than entering the landing bay, he was standing aside to check his men as they filed in. Kyra let Kreon lead them inside, and hung back to keep an eye on the enigmatic figure.

  The last group arrived, pushing their floating comrades. Ingumen’s hideous helmet tilted towards the floor as he finished his count; Kyra could recognise grief even through layers of armour and illusion. He’d obviously lost more than he’d bargained for.

  A shout went up, followed seconds later by a volley of blaster fire, gouging chunks from the walls and sending a shower of sparks across the hallway.

  Ingumen glanced down the corridor, where the sound of frantic gunfire now broke the silence, and turned to Kyra. “Get them on the ship,” he said, unlimbering his exotic weapons. “I will discourage our pursuers.”

  And he was gone, leaving a trail of images behind him. Kyra reached for her swords, grateful they were curled around her waist once more — but then she stopped. Ingumen had shown himself more than capable. Her own fighting style was similarly flamboyant; in the claustrophobic corridors they’d only get in each other’s way.

  Her decision was confirmed when the four soldiers of the rearguard came sprinting back, not bothering to stop and return fire. Apparently, their mysterious leader liked to do his thing solo.

  She could understand that.

  She ducked inside the landing bay, stepping carefully over the puddle of blood. Kreon was attempting to organise the rabble, but gave up and stomped over as the screams and explosions of the battle filtered through the doorway.

  Shit! Kyra remembered her precision in cutting that door open — she’d left as little damage as possible, slicing only the locking mechanism.

  Which means we can’t shut it.

  Loader would have had the thing welded tight in no time; useful as he’d proven in his diminutive state, she’d far rather have had him back to normal and fully operational. She’d lost count of the number of times his shields alone had saved her from getting barbecued.

  She waved a hand at the ruined lock. “Kreon! Can you do something with this?”

  The words were no sooner out of her mouth when Ingumen leapt through the doorway, leaving a blur of motion behind him as he skidded to a stop. “Their scouts are down, but a more substantial force approaches,” he reported.

  Kyra swung the door shut, but it hung ajar as soon as she let go. Already she could hear the tromp of booted feet beating the deck not far away.

  Ingumen took one look at the door, then opened a hatch in his armour. From it he produced the golden cone, its fins bristling like the leaves of some alien plant. He studied the base for a few seconds, making minute adjustments to controls only he could see. Then he stepped over to the door and pointed the cone at the top corner. At first nothing happened, but then Kyra saw the heavy steel ripple as though liquid. It drooped, contacting the frame and forming an ugly knot of melted metal. Satisfied, Ingumen repeated the process at three other points along the door’s opening edge.

  Kyra watched with fascination. “Gotta get me one of those,” she murmured when he was done.

  Ingumen held the device up for a second, letting her admire it. “There is only one,” he said.

  With the door blocked at least temporarily, they headed over to the Wayfinder. The magnetic system powering the grav-shackles only extended a few metres into the cavern, so the resistance fighters were shouldering a prisoner apiece and carrying them towards the ship.

  Kreon used his transceiver to lower the boarding ramp, and held a hasty conference at the foot of it. “The attackers outside the prison,” he started. “What was the plan for extracting them?”

  Ingumen was gazing at the rows of parked ships, clearly staggered by the quantity of them. “I have no such plan,” he said, his deep voice booming in the vast cavern. “Those outside are not of our concern. We have—”

  “They’re fighting for the same damn cause,” Kyra cut in. “They may have been duped into this, but they’ve put their lives on the line to save these prisoners. They deserve any help we can give them.”

  Ingumen turned on her. “And precisely what assistance do you believe we can render? They are cut off and surrounded by enemy troops; by now their numbers will have dwindled dramatically. They cannot sustain their assault, and neither can they withdraw. Their plan was ill-conceived, and they should not have followed it. I would help them if it were an option, but exchanging the lives of my trained warriors for theirs is a poor trade.”

  Kyra bit back a sarcastic reply and addressed Kreon instea
d. “Wayfinder can hold a few more, right? I didn’t see any sign of air support. Once we’re out of here we could drop down and grab as many as we could?”

  Kreon pondered that for a few seconds. “My intention is to save as many people as possible, but already these—” he gestured at the prisoners being carried past them up the ramp, “—will stretch our capacity. Ingumen, what of our destination? Will be be making planetfall again before leaving this planet?”

  They all glanced back as an explosion shook the door. Any moment now the prison guards would start to cut their way in.

  Ingumen shook his head. “It is too dangerous. The Sanctuary ships in orbit would be able to locate us, and our escape route would be closed.”

  “Then we have no choice, Kyra. Wayfinder’s life support will not sustain so many for a protracted voyage. We would be saving them only to watch them suffocate — right alongside us.”

  The sounds of heavy impacts from the door grew louder.

  Kyra glanced around, starting to feel desperate. Quite why it mattered so much she couldn’t put her finger on, but damned if she was going to let those poor sods outside get massacred for no reason. “Then what about these other ships? I could hot-wire at least one of them…” It was a stupid suggestion. There wasn’t nearly enough time, and she knew it. She watched two of the soldiers struggling to haul a heavy prisoner up the ramp between them. “Ingumen, can any of your guys help? You must have a few ex-cons in your outfit.”

  Before he could reply, Loader’s electronic drawl came from over Kreon’s shoulder.

  “ALI informs me that all impounded ships have their command codes stored on the central computer. If you have need of them, they are at your disposal.”

  And the running lights of the small freighter next to them blinked on. A second later, the cavern resonated with the bass thrum of its drives coming online. Lights winked from the next ship over, and the next; the whine of atmosphere jets rose above a sudden cacophony of engine growls, as every ship in the front row started up simultaneously.

  “Ha ha!” Kyra spun in a circle, throwing her hands up as the surrounding ships bathed her in lamplight. “Enough capacity for you now old man?” She punched Ingumen on the arm, bruising her knuckles in the process. “Come on! Surely some of your guys can fly.”

  They took eight ships in total.

  The pair of light freighters parked next to Wayfinder were ideal for their needs; capacious and thick-skinned. But as the Ingumend pilots raced through the cavern, every whoop of delight told Kyra they’d just added another vessel to their flotilla. In truth, it pained her to leave so many perfectly good ships behind — it wasn’t every day she got to steal hundreds of millions of credits’ worth of hardware and still feel like she was doing the right thing.

  She caught Kreon’s eye as she entered the Wayfinder’s cockpit and threw him a cheeky grin. Then without asking she dropped into the pilot’s seat. She could practically feel the old man tense behind her, but it was too late; and anyway, she could see only one good way out of this place, and Kreon was definitely not the man to get them there.

  The human-sized door at the front of the cavern was buckling now, as sustained heavy fired was brought to bear. A glowing circle appeared in the centre of it, rapidly expanding outwards towards the edges. With a final flare the glow died — and into the cavern poured a host of black-armoured troops. It took them only seconds to understand the situation, and Wayfinder’s canopy was suddenly awash with laser light. One of the other ships returned fire, anti-personnel guns blasting, but the angle was wrong and other ships were in the way. Through the hole melted in the doorway Kyra saw the ominous shape of a heavy laser cannon being hauled towards them. If that thing got set up it would tear holes in every hull it fired at, turning a space-based escape into an impossible dream.

  “Your boy is in the med-bay,” Ingumen reported, striding into the cockpit. The resistance leader had decreed he would come with them, even though he now had a veritable fleet of ships to choose from. Kyra hoped it was because he planned on using his formidable combat skills to help them rescue whatever was left of the resistance outside.

  She flipped a series of old-school switches whilst studying the holo display to see what effect they had. Wayfinder was practically a fossil, albeit a pristine one — from a line of ships that hadn’t been manufactured since before her grandparents were born. She tried to ignore the staccato drumming of energy blasts on the hull and focus on what she was looking at. The lack of automation was a good thing and a bad thing; it gave her much more control over the ship’s shape in flight, allowing the kind of microscopic adjustments that split the men from the boys in high-speed combat flying. She groaned inwardly; the downside being she was going to have to work at it. Flying this tub wasn’t the kind of thing you did with one eye closed and your feet up on the console.

  “Got it!” she yelled, as she found the last of the relays she was looking for. Mapping it to a holo-control, she cracked her knuckles. She’d done as much prep as she could; the other pilots should have their ships ready to fly by now. Anyone who didn’t was about to become very lonely.

  She checked her preflight; the ramp was up, the engines growling, the hold full of prisoners and Ingumend soldiers.

  Too bad we couldn’t steal a bunch of guns while we were at it.

  She fired up the manoeuvring jets and eased Wayfinder off her landing gear. Peering through the haze of laser blasts bouncing off the canopy she got them oriented towards the door. The ship handled delicately, and with no automatic correction she had to be careful not to oversteer. Other ships were rising behind her, their pilots eager to be off. Neither of the freighters would be vulnerable to small-arms fire, but the rest she wasn’t sure about.

  “The exit shaft is behind us,” Ingumen reminded her.

  “You wanna drive?” she yelled back at him.

  The heavy cannons — a matching pair of them — would be online any moment. A team of guards were dragging power cables towards a junction box in the wall.

  “Kyra,” Kreon warned.

  “I know!”

  “You’re running the drives too hot,” he added.

  “Am not! I need the power.”

  She scoured the control console, looking for anything that had been grafted on. Pretty much all the controls had been altered or replaced at some point or other; hardly surprising on a ship two centuries past its sell-by date.

  Of course! She wanted to kick herself. Holographics themselves were an add-on, only becoming more fashionable as extensive automation took over. Flicking through the displays she found the icon for weapons control and stabbed it. The menu that sprang up in response was a surprise; Kreon had been holding out on her. Wayfinder was equipped with an impressive array of weaponry, none of which would have come as standard.

  Pulse cannons, scrambler array, programmable missile pods, tractor beams…

  The ship was an arsenal.

  But only one of them mattered now.

  There! Under the rather innocuous acronym ‘ECCO’, for ‘Electromagnetic Coil Conductor Ordnance’.

  Or railguns, to you and me.

  Kyra! Kreon’s mind conveyed horror. Watch out for the—

  And with both hands on the control stem, she squeezed the trigger.

  Two massive hunks of super-hard metal alloy spat out of the barrels strapped to the Wayfinder’s upper hull. The recoil — probably what Kreon had been trying to warn her about — slammed the ship back with a violence that gave her whiplash. She’d been ready for it though. Not my first rodeo, she reflected, as she brought the manoeuvring jets back from critical.

  The effect of the rail guns, even at close range, was impressive.

  The thick steel wall of the landing bay in front of them simply ceased to exist.

  As did the corridor beyond it; the massive projectile’s insane velocity obliterated everything in its path. A sudden backdraft buffeted Wayfinder as the pressures equalised, and the air outside the prison rushed
in. Kyra was ready for this too — she’d had plenty of experience with that wind lately. The troops on the ground were a different story. The few that were still standing were flung from their feet, thrown around like rag-dolls in a hurricane.

  Kyra made a conscious effort to unclench her teeth as the controls stabilised. “I do believe that’s our exit,” she said.

  Without waiting for a response she hit the thrusters, blasting them out a little faster than was necessary. “Woah!” Wayfinder’s throttle was hair-trigger sensitive, and the ship responded with an impatience that matched its owner. Upgraded drives, too, she noted.

  From Kreon she felt only a savage note of pride.

  With the close confines of the landing bay behind them, Kyra squelched their forward momentum and nosed the ship upwards. Their only route out lay directly up the massive mine shaft, through an insane obstacle course of maintenance gantries, supporting struts and high-tensile cables. And looming above them, nestled dead centre of the whole tangled mess like a spider in its web, was the tower.

  One for the road? she asked Kreon.

  Absolutely.

  So she toggled the weapon selector for pulse cannons, flicked it to full-auto, and let rip.

  The damage was staggering. Against a heavily-armoured, fully-shielded warship fifty kilometres away in deep space, Wayfinder’s pulse cannons would have been next to useless. But fired point-blank at the unshielded, terrestrial-grade steel construction of the tower, it was devastating. Great holes were blasted clear through the superstructure, then a massive explosion tore the bottom half of the tower to shreds. Chunks of burning metal and mechanical components rained down on Wayfinder, bouncing off her toughened hull with clangs and crunches. Kyra winced a little, and tried not to see Kreon’s expression. Still, it was crazy to be sentimental about a ship you took into combat situations on a daily basis.