Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1)

by Tony James Slater

  Tris tossed the backpack to Alek. “You’re on bomb duty. Stick one just inside the doorway. Can you do that?”

  “Pfft! Of course.” A note of pride came into the coder’s voice. “This bit I have done before.”

  The first black-clad forms were rounding the corner as Tris and Alek darted from the room. A few shots sizzled past them, but they were out of sight past the next junction before more firepower could be brought to bear. They raced past Lukas; he was retreating steadily, facing back the way they’d come. At the first sign of armour he unleashed a torrent of laser fire; the limp girl dangling from his shoulder barely seemed to bother him.

  Sadly, their attackers had no fear of being shot. They came on at speed, and it took a concerted effort from both Tris and Lukas to cause enough damage to put them down. More figures advanced behind the fallen rank, and a hail of fire turned the air in front of Lukas incandescent.

  “How long does this last?” he yelled, cycling his powerpack with an efficiency born of experience.

  “Till you die, I guess,” Tris responded.

  “That’s comforting.”

  Tris glanced back and caught Alek’s eye. “Now!”

  The coder fumbled for his detonator and clicked it.

  The explosion tore through the crew quarters, obliterating everything in its path. The noise was deafening; a fireball came roaring up the corridor to lick around the Aegis forcefield.

  Lukas staggered back, sweat pouring off him from the super-heated air. Tris, further back, had escaped the worst of it. He gave Alek a thumbs up. “Get the next one ready!”

  “Let’s stand a bit further away next time,” Lukas added.

  They didn’t wait to see what would emerge from the conflagration; it wasn’t hard to guess that some of their attackers had survived. It was a race now — except they still had a fairly significant chore to take care of…

  And a barge the size of a football stadium to destroy.

  “Alek, we need to find the main reactor!”

  A brandished tablet was the only response. Evidently, Alek was on the case.

  Tris turned to Lukas, who was jogging along just behind him. “You should carry on, when we stop to plant the bombs,” he panted. “Get the girl to safety, and we’ll catch you up.”

  “Not going to happen, mate,” Lukas said, still not winded despite having a princess slung over his shoulder. “Besides, I have no idea where we’re going.”

  That, Tris realised, was a very good point. He didn’t know either. He’d been planning on making contact with Kyra, and coordinating their escape plan. Finally able to stop dodging gunfire for a few heartbeats, he reached out to her… to be met with a sense of shock and horror so profound that he withdrew immediately.

  Damn. Still not a good time. Man, I hope she’s okay…

  There was precisely nothing he could do about it.

  “Alek!” he called, as they turned another corner. “Bombs!”

  Tris promised them that the next explosion would be more controlled. The brief respite had given him time to hone his strategy, and this time he chose a short stretch of corridor that dog-legged around some part of the ship’s internal structure. Lukas and Alek pressed on, while he stayed behind with the detonator. There was no doubt that they were still being pursued — the robots were heavy, and the sound of their approach was like the rumble of an avalanche.

  He peeked around the corner for the longest minute of his life, drawing back as soon as he caught sight of them. Then he counted to five in his head, allowing them to fill the blast zone — and hit the button.

  Nothing happened.

  Shit! He mashed his thumb onto the detonator again, with no effect. Shit, shit, shit! It suddenly dawned on him; They’re not dumb! The machines had not only survived his last booby trap, they’d learned from it. He couldn’t risk looking out, but his mistake was obvious; he’d given them enough time to spot and disarm the explosives. They’d be on him in seconds, in numbers he couldn’t hope to repel.

  Bending down, he snatched up the one bomb he’d kept with him. He’d planned to cover his retreat with it, mangling this stretch of corridor so badly that it would take time to clear. Now he had only one choice left, and it wasn’t a good one. He dropped the old remote, pulling the pre-synced unit off the bomb’s rectangular case. Stepping back, he wound up his good arm like a baseball pitcher and flung the brick as hard as he could. It sailed around the corner — but instead of bouncing off the wall and travelling further, its magnetic clamps kicked in and it stuck fast. SHIT!

  He was out of time. Heavy boots pounded the deck, rushing towards him. Tris turned and bolted down the corridor, but he couldn’t wait — not this time. Gritting his teeth as he ran, he put his head down and pushed the button.

  Behind him, the detonation was like a star being born.

  The blast wave picked him up and threw him down the corridor. He slammed into the wall at the far end, narrowly getting his arms up to take the impact. He crashed to the deck and curled up into a ball, as roaring flames danced around him. With a shriek, the roof came free and tilted down; a rain of debris pelted him, some clanging off the wall above him before clattering down onto his armour. His suit, designed to regulate extremes of temperature, began to smoulder. Another shriek; Tris curled tighter, and felt the deck tremble with the impact of something heavy.

  Go! he told himself. Get up, and get the hell out of here!

  He was lucky to still be breathing — even if the air scorched his throat on the way in and out. He was battered and bruised all over, but it didn’t feel like anything had gotten through his armour. There were cuts and nicks on his face and neck, but that was unavoidable; he frikkin’ hated wearing helmets.

  He unwound from his position on the floor, and stared around him in disbelief. The world he inhabited had been transformed. Where once it had been smooth and silver, now it was blackened and scarred. The ceiling had caved in behind him, and the deck rose to meet it in places, undulating like a frozen wave. Great shards of metal were embedded in the walls, and cables dangled lazily from holes torn in the roof, sending out the odd shower of sparks. Fat grey flakes drifted lazily through the air; it looked — quite literally — like a bomb-site.

  It took him a few steps to stop shaking, and to cure his legs of their rubberiness. He leaned on the wall for support and burned his hand. Bloody hell! That was a big one. He wiped ash and sweat off his face as he lurched along, gaining speed with every step. My blast must have set off the disabled bombs, too! Wow… So much for the controlled explosion.

  Ahead, the damage was minimal; just the odd panel had popped free from the walls, and something that looked like stress-fractures webbed a support column he passed. Oops! It’s a good job we were planning on wrecking this joint. I’d hate to see the repair bill.

  “Tris!” The relief in Lukas’ voice was moving. “We felt the blast. Are you okay?”

  He was guarding an open doorway; two big steel doors had rolled back to reveal a wide chamber filled with displays and blinking lights. Great tubes ran up the walls, and Alek was tapping away at one of many computer consoles.

  “I’m learning a few things about demolition,” Tris told him, finally able to catch his breath.

  “You did good,” Lukas said, eyeing him as though looking for a safe place to deliver one of those congratulatory slaps. “Charges are laid. It’s time to go.”

  “We can’t. I had a problem back there.” Tris jerked a thumb. “Those frikkin’ robots found my bombs and disarmed them before I could detonate. If we just leave this here, by the time we’ve reached safe distance…” he turned his palms up. They were slick with blood and caked in dirt.

  Lukas had gone very still. “What are you saying? One of us should stay?”

  Tris shook his head. “No way. But there’s got to be something else we can do. Alek?” he called. “This is a reactor, right? Does it have coolant?”

  “It’s a monitoring station,” the coder corrected him. “T
here’s four of them on the barge. The reactor is huge. Coolant runs through all those pipes.” He pointed up at the roof, and Tris traced the pipes to where they took a ninety-degree turn and ran down the far wall, vanishing through the deck.

  “What happens if I cut them? Will the whole thing overheat?”

  Alek shrugged. “Maybe. If they fire the big guns again.”

  Tris cracked a grin. “I reckon we can convince them to shoot at us. Whoever’s in charge of this tub is going to be mighty pissed off when we blast our way out of here.” He pulled his staff free, and carefully extended it to its maximum length. Three metres was as far as it went, but the ceilings were much lower in the crew part of the barge, and that was enough to reach. “You should probably get out,” he said to the others. “This isn’t really an exact science.”

  Lukas gave him a despairing look. “You spend way too much time with Kyra,” he said. “It’s not healthy.”

  Tris waited until the room was clear, and edged to the entrance threshold. He poised himself, ready to spring back as soon at the cut was made; he lined his blade up with the furthest pipe he could reach, and wondered what would come gushing out of it.

  Only one way to find out.

  He stretched up, holding the blade steady, then sliced its impossibly-sharp tip across the entire row of pipes. White gas sprayed from the cuts, as Tris leapt back through the doors. But one pipe had been cut deeper than the others; the white stuff jetted out, engulfing a different series of pipes on the far side of the room. Those pipes frosted over instantly, then shattered with a delicate tinkle. A thick brown fume gushed out to mingle with the white; there was a crack and a flash, and suddenly the roof was wreathed in flame. It was hypnotising. As Tris looked on, displays flickered and died, gauges popped like overheated bulbs, and a whole bevvy of alarms began to sound. Fire raced up another pipe, cracking it apart as it went before tearing a hole in the roof to continue.

  He backed out, letting the heavy steel doors slide shut in front of him. At least they were still working.

  Lukas had stationed himself a short distance away, his rifle trained on the corridor Tris had emerged from. “All good?” he asked.

  “Um…” Tris screwed his face up. “I’m not going to lie. It didn’t go exactly as planned.”

  An explosion from the monitoring room punctuated his words, the force of the blast causing the doors to belly out. The whole ship seemed to shudder, as though noticing that something was deeply wrong inside it.

  Lukas closed his eyes briefly, before adjusting the girl on his shoulder. His face was a picture of resignation. “Run?” he asked.

  “Sounds about right,” Tris said.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kyra stared at the man in front of her, and tried to work out what the hell was going on.

  She couldn’t get any kind of a read on him, but he was wearing Viktor’s face sure enough. At her feet lay the ruined machine that had been impersonating him — but why?

  If he wanted to see me surprised, he could have just shown up in his underpants.

  But the malicious sneer on that face was unmistakable; she’d never forget it as long as she lived. This was Viktor… and he seemed awfully pleased with himself.

  “You’ll die just as easily,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. This was messing with her head, damn it! Not just the robot, but the frustration of not being able to see Viktor’s thoughts. Of all the tricks he could have pulled, that was by far the most effective.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said, with a tiny shrug. He slung the rifle from his back and stooped to collect the sword dropped by his doppelgänger. “You have a reputation for lethality, and you certainly do live up to it.”

  “So what?” Kyra snarled. “You dragged me all the way out here to proposition me? I’ve got things to do, you know. We can’t all waste our lives oppressing people for shits and giggles.”

  As she spoke, the second man began to move. He strolled casually towards them, his rifle all but forgotten at his side. He stopped next to Viktor, and put his hands on his helmet.

  And something twisted in Kyra’s stomach. Oh hell no…

  The helmet came away, and Kyra felt sick. Viktor’s twisted face grinned at her from both of them.

  “So you see,” the second man began, “ I brought you here to thank you, for all that you’ve done for us.”

  That last word sent a shiver down Kyra’s spine. Us… how many is ‘us’?

  She flexed her fingers; they’d been clutching her sword hilts so tightly they were cramping. I need to finish this fast. Two of these assholes I can turn into confetti, but I really don’t want to hang around if it’s about to become a crowd scene.

  As if they were reading her mind, both versions of Viktor began to stalk her, moving in opposite directions. She couldn’t watch them both at once; without the Gift, it was down to reflexes. The one with the rifle bothered her the most. She turned to track him…

  And had a revelation. What’s the matter with me? Why am I letting these guys get under my skin? I’m not eighteen anymore! Viktor might have scared me back then, but after the shit I’ve seen? Hell, I’d fight an army of Viktors instead of that frikkin’ Priestess.

  Which was good news, because an army of Viktors was seeming more likely by the minute.

  Time to end this.

  She shook her swords, the blades rippling as if in their own private breeze. She was still turning to follow the rifle-armed Viktor, but was about to loose sight of his twin. That just wasn’t happening. She moved her feet, setting up an ancient pose so ingrained in her psyche that she could do it in her sleep. Her body turned side-on, one arm swept back and bent slightly…

  And she struck. Both blades flowed like quicksilver, darting off in opposite directions. One behind, one in front, they curved out in search of targets. She barely registered the bite as both struck home; she was focussed on the dance now, her moves fluid as she spun on the spot. The blades swished through the air, arcing over her to exchange positions. She was now looking the other way; the sight that greeted her was of Viktor falling, both legs cut from beneath him. Her second blade came down, catching his torso before it struck the ground and neatly bisecting it. She spun again, and viewed the damage her backhand had done; the first blow had taken Viktor’s rifle, and the second, his head. Just for good measure she brought both blades back around, chopping what was left of him into ever smaller portions. The remains crackled and smoked; another machine, as she’d been expecting, to match the smouldering wreckage behind her.

  “Is that it?” she called, wondering if there was anyone left to hear her. “That’s three of you sick fucks I’ve put out of their misery. You got a robot dog you’d like to send out next, or a bunny rabbit?”

  A large viewscreen flickered to life at the back of the room, and Viktor’s face appeared on it. Kyra let her swords go straight, and turned to face him. “What now? Aren’t you getting bored yet? I know I am. Please just get your flesh-and-blood ass out here so I can turn it inside out.”

  “Oh, Kyra!” The giant Viktor-face looked to heaven, as though asking god what to do with her. “You still haven’t figured it out, have you? You’ve already won. My physical body died more than half a century ago, when you tricked me into taking your sister out past the Ring. Oh, you must have hated her! Or perhaps you just hated me so much that you were willing to sacrifice your own sister to kill me? Either way, I have to say — bravo. Not bad for a skinny little slip of a girl. How old were you? Fifteen?”

  “Eighteen,” she growled. “Though I was only fourteen when you had that bastard scalp me.”

  Viktor mugged a thoughtful face. “Oh yes! Brax, wasn’t it? I do miss him. He was so enthusiastic about his job.”

  Kyra flipped the hair out of her eyes. She’d left it a defiant rainbow, but she was starting to think she should have gone with black. “Why are you here, Viktor? Why Esper? Why now? Haven’t you got enough sick little fetishes to keep you occupied in your old
age?”

  On screen, Viktor frowned. “I credited you with a lot more intelligence than you’re displaying,” he said. “Always the same with pretty girls. All fluff and no substance.”

  Kyra didn’t rise to it. She was still trying to figure out what all this meant. Was he stalling? Playing for time? If so, why? He’d had weeks to lay this trap. Surely he hadn’t run out of henchmen and was having to bus them in last-minute? This doesn’t add up.

  “Esper is a lovely, place, don’t you think?” Viktor continued. “Obviously you don’t appreciate it, or you wouldn’t have left. But I could get used to a planet like this. Blue skies, pristine forests… and the endless resources of that Ring, just sitting up there waiting to be used. You know, it’s criminal how little advantage your people take of it. They really have no idea how lucky they are. It took me decades to build the Revenants into a competent fighting force; decades more to carve out our reputation. And all that time, do you know what I really wanted?”

  He paused, as though he actually expected her to answer that. “More,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “More ships, more weapons… more men.”

  Kyra was getting irritated. “There’s bars you can try,” she pointed out.

  He ignored that. “You killed me, Kyra. And in doing so, you set me free. When my agents scoured the wreckage, they found what was left of my body. Most importantly, they found my head — and the memory engram I’d spent a small fortune on.” He tapped his forehead. “Wise investment if you’re in a dangerous line of work,” he added. “You should get one.”

  “No, I plan on staying alive for the foreseeable,” she said. “Unless you bore me to death. So look — if you’re not coming out to play, then I’m going home. And when I say ‘home’, what I mean is I’m going back to my city, where I’m going to chop every one of your hired thugs into dog food. Is that okay with you?”