Inside, Tris was sitting propped up in a hospital bed, a bowl of something resembling fruit on his lap. This room at least made an attempt towards respectability; the walls were smooth and white, and the inevitable sick-room scent of antiseptic stung Kyra’s nose.
Tristan’s eyes lit up when he saw them. “Hey! Great to see you guys!”
Kyra thought about trying to play it cool, but gave in and smiled wide enough to make her jaw ache. “Tris! Sydon’s Name, you gave us a scare.”
“Oh yeah! Sorry about that.” He fished in the bowl on his lap and held out something small and round. “Want a grape?”
Kreon stomped forwards and placed his hands on his hips. “Your recovery is progressing?”
Tris looked perplexed for a moment — Kreon’s tone carried none of the warmth he must have been expecting. “Oh, ah, not bad, yeah. Seems like that gunk Enneas put into me kept my organs in place long enough for the machines to do their job. Since then I’ve just been dozing, really.” He popped the grape into his mouth and chewed once. “How about you? You sleep well?”
“Why?” Kreon turned to Kyra, his hands upturned like claws. “Why do people keep asking me that?”
Kyra took over the conversation. “We’re glad you’re okay, Tris. Kreon is too, he’s just feeling a bit… confined.”
The Warden snorted his opinion of that.
“So, how do you feel?”
Tris shrugged. “Meh. Not bad, really. Bit sore where the… you know.”
“Where the blaster bolt melted a hole in your chest?”
“Yeah, that.”
Kreon snorted again. “You were fortunate in the extreme, boy. His blast fell where your armour was strongest, and a significant portion of the energy will have been absorbed by it. From this point on, you are never to leave the ship without it.”
“Fair enough.” Tris popped another grape in his mouth, and scratched his head while he chewed. “Except my armour’s got a big hole in it. I should probably buy a decent set — if I get some kind of allowance on this job? For a minute there I thought I’d end up owning those Seven Systems, but I reckon I’ve been disinherited.”
Kreon smiled at the hint. “Kyra has recently come into some funds,” he jerked a thumb at her. “Given her concern for your wellbeing, I feel confident she will make an investment.”
Both nurses had been occupying themselves with diagnostic displays. Now one came over to check the vitals transmitter on Tristan’s chest. A console in the corner gave a warning bleep as she removed the device. “Okay, he’s free to go for now. He should be able to walk short distances, but he’ll need to sleep here for the next few nights so we can monitor him. Most of the internal damage has been repaired, but it’s vital that he takes it easy.”
“You hear that?” Kyra arched an eyebrow at Tris. “Doctor’s orders — no more getting shot!”
Tris grinned at her and swung his legs off the bed. “I can only promise to try.”
The flimsy robe he wore was ill-suited to the rest of the complex, so Kyra took Kreon outside to wait while Tris changed. When he emerged, he was wearing a cast-off jumpsuit two sizes too big.
Got to keep the boots though, she noted. She was pretty pissed off that the fancy heels she’d worn to the party had been left on Berasko Station.
Their blonde guide was waiting for them. She gave Tris a perfunctory nod, then turned to lead them off.
Tris walked gingerly beside Kyra, one hand massaging the new tissue in his chest.
“How long have you been here?” Kreon asked him.
“I dunno, like a day and a half maybe? They brought me over here from the Wayfinder so I wouldn’t get lonely.”
Kreon’s ears pricked up. “Wayfinder is here?”
“I think so. I was pretty out of it when we got here, so I don’t remember where we parked.”
“The same holds true for all of us,” Kreon said, his tone darkening. “Ingumen saw fit to turn that infernal device on us.”
“Ah, yeah. He told me about that. I was on a bunch of pain meds anyway, so he just upped the dose and I slept through our arrival. Don’t be too hard on him. They’re pretty serious about secrecy around here. After what we just went through, I can’t say I blame them.
“There was no need to incapacitate us involuntarily,” Kreon argued. “If our actions did not prove us trustworthy, then nothing ever could.”
“True enough,” Tris nodded, “but I think these guys have got a lot more to lose than us. Have you seen this place yet?”
“Only the cells.”
Tris turned to look at Kyra. “Oh man, are you guys in for a treat!”
The corridor opened out up ahead, and the light grew brighter as they got closer. The murmur of voices reached Kyra’s ears, along with a fragrance so out of place it took her a few moments to identify it: Green. Plants or trees, or…
Both! Kreon had reached the opening first, and stood spell-bound by what he was seeing.
Kyra stepped up beside him and let her eyes drink in the sight.
Before them lay a vast open area, clearly artificial yet bathed in natural light. Earth-like trees with purplish leaves grew here and there, breaking up the space into wide plazas and sheltered groves. At the centre was a small forest, and surrounding it all titanic walls soared skyward. Carved straight from the living stone, the cavern had to be half a mile across. Kyra winced as her mind exploded with conversation. They’d passed a few people on their way through the maze of passages, mostly dressed in civilian garb. But here in this space, hundreds of people wandered; some striding purposefully, some sauntering slowly. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, small groups trained with close combat weapons or just worked out; after the sparsity of the last few weeks, it was a veritable onslaught of humanity.
She quickly squelched her Gift, which she’d been stretching to maximum sensitivity ever since she found her cell door open. That the rock of this structure could hide so many people from her, even at such a short distance, was a revelation. It was the perfect place for a secret rebel base.
No wonder they’re so cagey about its location.
“We are still underground,” Kreon observed, squinting upwards.
“We’re in what’s left of an old city, built millennia ago by a race of unknown aliens,” the blonde woman said. “When our people first found this place, they turned it into a shrine to these new gods. Later, when the Keepers of the Faith convened, one of their first acts was to denounce all other religions and demolish their temples. But this one they kept, and made it their prison. Countless innocents were tortured to death here during the purges; they say the walls here ran red with blood.”
Kyra suppressed a shudder. The more she heard about the Keepers of the Faith, the less she liked them.
She hadn’t been overly fond to start off with.
“You captured it?”
The woman shook her head. “That was centuries ago. We don’t know what happened to make them abandon this place — records of any sort are hard to come by here — but my best guess is a riot. The prisoners got out of control, and someone opened the space doors to kill the lot of them. After that, maybe it wasn’t worth saving.”
“Doors?” Kreon was still gazing upwards. “The doors are up there?”
“Big enough to take a light cruiser,” she replied. “The shaft collapsed above it at some point, and we’ve never had the equipment to re-open it. So we installed the broad-spectrum lighting array instead.” Kyra felt a wave of frustration from her. “We call it the Atrium. People here like it, but it takes a lot of power to run.”
“I like it,” Tris declared. “It reminds me of home.”
The guide gave him an odd look. “Yeah, well. For most of us here, we can never go home. This is all we’ve got. So we take real good care of it.”
Kyra heard the implied threat in her voice, and didn’t need to ask what she meant.
At Tristan’s request, instead of cutting across the middle of the cavern they followed the tow
ering cliffs as they curved around. The rock that formed them was pale as marble and smooth as glass, as though carefully polished. That was impossible of course, but whatever those ancient aliens had used to melt or bore this hole it was tech Kyra had never seen. The stone was a marvel itself; shot through with veins of iridescent silver that seemed to writhe in the light, twisting this way and that across the rock as though alive. This close to the edge the purple-leaved trees formed an avenue, their interwoven branches casting dapples of light on the path beneath them.
I could stay here awhile, Kyra mused. I guess the booze wasn’t that bad. All I need is a hot bath and a decent-sized shopping mall.
All too soon they reached the far side of the Atrium, and turned into another crudely-carved tunnel.
“Ingumen’s rooms are just up ahead,” the guide informed them.
A few more steps brought them to a kind of lobby, where a pair of plas-moulded chairs awaited visitors. There was only one door.
“No guards?” Kyra said.
The guide scoffed. “You’ve seen Ingumen fight?”
“Point taken.”
“Very well. Ingumen has asked for you be debriefed individually. Tristan’s name is first on the list.”
“What?” Kreon barked. “There will be no such arrangement. We are not like you, treacherous and back-stabbing, to be played off one against the other! I have no time and even less patience for Ingumen’s idiotic games. He will see us all together, or not at all.”
The guide’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t trust us? Too bad! You’re going in there, and you’re doing it one at a time. I’ve got my orders and I will execute them precisely. Don’t make me make you.”
Kreon took a heavy step towards her and spread his arms. “You are welcome to try,” he snarled.
With a muttered curse, Kyra slid in between them. “Kreon! Simmer down. If they wanted us dead, they’d have murdered us in our sleep.” She shot a glance at the other woman. “Like they did to all those prison guards, remember? We’re on the same side. They just do things a bit differently here.”
“I’ll go,” Tris cut in, before Kreon could retaliate. “He wants to see me first. I’ve got no problem with that.”
With a last glare at Kreon, the guide strode to the door and pressed her palm to the pad. When it lit up and chimed, she pushed the door open. Tris went in and closed it behind them.
Kyra let out the breath she’d been holding. Kreon locked eyes with her, but said nothing.
It could be a trap, his thought came through.
Insulated again from the press of people in the Atrium, Kyra quested out with the Gift. Tris still didn’t register. Damn it! I’ve got to get him to take that pendant off.
We must be ready to fight our way free, Kreon added. Did you see anything to suggest where the Wayfinder is stored?
Not a clue, she admitted, but I honestly don’t think these are bad people. We should give them a chance.
Kreon’s mental tone said he wasn’t convinced. Sera wasn’t always a bad person. People change, and these Lemurians appear to change on a whim.
Look, I know you’re still sore about being knocked out with that gadget. I’ll get him to say sorry when it’s my turn to go in.
I have no use for an apology! Kreon’s thoughts dripped scorn. I need to do what we came here to do — visit the Oracle. And I need Ingumen to stop double-crossing us long enough to lead us to her.
They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, a deadlock broken when the pad by the door chimed again.
“The Warden goes last,” said the guide.
Kyra sighed. I’ll send you a postcard, she told Kreon.
Be careful.
When am I not?
On the far side of the door, Kyra found herself in a narrow hallway. The first thing she noticed was a niche containing Ingumen’s armour. The ferocious beast-helmet looked far less intimidating when it was switched off and hanging on a rack with the rest of the armour. She cast an eye over it as she passed, liking what she saw. It was thick stuff, a custom job fitted perfectly to its user. Must cost a fortune. And weigh a fair bit, too.
The hallway curved back around towards the Atrium, sloping up as it went, and Kyra had an inkling of what awaited. She wasn’t disappointed; as she came into the first room the entire far wall was transparent, offering a sweeping view across the open space. Trees waved in an artificial breeze, and below them the ordinary citizens of the base came and went in peace.
It was beguiling — but not nearly as interesting as the person who stood in front of it.
A woman.
Tall, with an impressively muscular physique, the woman wore a close-fitting mask that covered the left side of her face. Shoulder-length black hair flowed loosely around the collar of a tight black jumpsuit. She wasn’t beautiful — far from it — but she exuded an aura of strength and confidence.
“Ingumen?” Kyra glanced over at Tris, who was leaning back against the window with a big grin on his face.
The woman came forward, her arm extended. “Kylimnestra, welcome. You have my sincere gratitude for your part in the rescue. I want you to know that it was you who convinced me to alter our plan. There are sixty-three people in this base who would not be alive now if you had not.”
Kyra took the offered forearm and gripped it. “You’re welcome, of course. But what is it with you people, knowing everything about everybody? And keeping your own secrets sealed tighter than an airlock door? It might work as a power-play, but it’s crap for earning people’s trust.”
She’d expected Ingumen to show at least a hint of anger; had counted on it actually, to help her get a read on the woman. But Ingumen’s psychic blocking was as good as it got, and she didn’t rise to the bait.
“Trust is a commodity in scarce supply here. But I understand, and you have my apologies. Would you prefer me to call you Kyra from now on?”
“Yeah. And you are Ingumen, right?”
“Indeed I am. Although if honesty is something you treasure, then you should know that is not my name. It’s a title, an honorific if you will; I am the latest in a long line of people to wear that mantle. Ingumen was a figure from our original pantheon.”
Kyra raised an eyebrow. “A god, eh? What was he the god of?”
“Nightmares.”
“Ohh-kaay. Am I going to learn your real name?”
A faint smile flickered across the right side of Ingumen’s features. “Perhaps. Tell me — what do you make of your leader?”
“Kreon?”
“Yes. What kind of man is he?”
Kyra looked at Tris again, but he was no help, still grinning like an idiot. “Kreon is… difficult at times. He’s not a fan of people betraying him. If you’re straight with him, he’ll be straight with you, and he’s a handy guy to have around. But if you pull any more tricks… he’s pretty pissed off at the moment. I can’t promise he won’t make trouble.”
That hint of a smile again. “I can handle him. So you believe him to be of honest character? Do you think he will aid us in our cause?”
Kyra took a deep breath before replying. “He’ll help where he can, but we’ve got a mission ourselves. He wants to see the Or—” she caught herself just in time. “Um, this holy person. He should probably explain it himself. But he hates oppression. Fights it wherever he finds it. I think he’d be willing to help, in exchange for you helping us.”
Ingumen nodded slowly. “That seems fair. Do you like him?”
The question caught Kyra by surprise. “What? Kreon? He’s… ah… yeah, I guess so. He’s a moody old bastard, but I trust him with my life.”
Ingumen pulled a remote from her pocket and pressed a button; Kyra heard the faint chime of the door.
They waited in silence, as the sound of Kreon’s heavy footfalls echoed up the curving hallway.
Ingumen seemed anxious for a second, switching her weight from one leg to the other and back, before turning to stare out at the Atrium.
Kreon stomped around the corner, still scowling, and stopped when he saw Kyra. His gaze travelled around the room, noting Tris, and coming to rest on Ingumen’s back. Kyra watched him, wanting to see his reaction as the resistance leader turned around.
It wasn’t quite what she expected.
The Warden’s face, contorted with anger, went slowly slack. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open. A tremor like a convulsion ran through his body; Kyra saw his knees buckle, and thought for a second he was going to collapse. An inarticulate cry escaped his lips. “Arrrr…”
Fearing the worst, Kyra snapped her attention back to Ingumen, expecting to see her brandishing the golden device again.
But she wasn’t. She was smiling that faint smile — and staring back at Kreon, as two thin streaks of tears ran down her cheeks.
“Hello father,” she said.
24
Tris hated being excluded, but he had to concede that Kreon needed some time alone with his daughter.
Back from the dead, eh?
There was a lot of that going around. He rubbed his chest, where the synthetic flesh itched around the edges. The discharge report from Wayfinder’s medical talos had been read out to him by the cuter of the two nurses (the translation implant that allowed him to understand what they said sadly didn’t extend to reading). According to that document, his survival had been near-miraculous. The spray-foam or whatever he’d been filled with had been a big part of it, but Gerian’s Erresonador had also contributed. Its paralysing effect had been similar to a medically-induced coma, slowing every process of his body to a level that barely registered on instruments. Take away either of those things, and he’d be dead.
Take away my armour… Tris shuddered. He’d seen the melted chest-piece that had been cut off him. The whole thing had been slagged, suggesting a bunch of the shot’s energy had splashed against it. Maybe the close range had saved him too, the beam less focussed an inch from the muzzle?
Whatever. If he still needed to believe in God after all this, there was his proof.
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