Tris looked at Kyra. “He could have another whole army of those bloody machines! We only got away because the reactor blew. No way he’s going to let us pull that stunt again.”
Kyra had gone pale — as had Jenofa. It was like the two of them had just figured something out at the same time… and neither of them was looking forward to sharing it.
“It won’t be that bad,” Lukas said, stifling a yawn. “Can’t we just ignore him? We got the princess out, so we don’t need to go snooping around his house this time.”
“It’s not that,” Kyra said, and for a second she sounded as old as Jen. “It’s the Ring. That’s what he’s been using to make those things. That’s why he came back here. Esper is the only place he can build himself a private army… one he won’t need to feed, or pay, or worry about their loyalty…”
“The city’s been on heavy rations for weeks,” Jen added, lifting her gaze to the world above. “All supplies except basic food have been restricted. We all thought the commander was building another one of his ridiculous fortifications… but this makes sense.” Her gnarled fingers reached across the table to grip Kyra’s. “Your sister used her Master Key to start up a new section of the Ring just for us. Not long after you left — it was one of the first votes the new council took. If the commander is letting Viktor use almost all our resources, he must be building a lot of those things.”
“And now the commander’s got the Master Key,” Tris pointed out. He was fully awake now; crises tended to have that effect on him.
“Viktor wants it.” Kyra’s gaze travelled around the table. “And now we know why. It’s not just free food and guns to him anymore. Not even free battleships, though I’m sure he’ll get around to that. If he gets his hands on that key, he can activate the entire Ring. He could churn out thousands of talos… maybe millions. And worse, he can sit here behind the Ring’s defences for as long as he wants, while he builds up an army that no-one can stand against. What’s a few years to him, once he’s purged Esper of its pesky human population? What’s a decade? He could build a force big enough to challenge the sector fleets, wipe out the Wardens, and take control of the entire galaxy.”
Tris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There has to be a way to stop it! Surely the Ring can’t grant that kind of power to any bugger with his hands on the buttons? Whoever built that thing must have been clever enough to know that something like this could happen.”
Kyra’s answer was deadpan. “They did. Our ancestors built a self destruct mechanism into the Ring, in case it ever fell into the wrong hands.”
“Great!”
“But we need the Master Key to use it.”
“Ah. Crap.”
Lukas had been quiet so far, but he’d been following the conversation in between yawns. “Can we stop him building these robots? Or at least slow him down? That could buy us enough time to find him and finish him off. Can we tell which bit is making them, and blow it up?”
Kyra pushed her hands through her hair while she thought that through. “Alek could tell us where,” she said, “but we can’t even get up there without a ship. The hover car’s atmos-only, and the Harrespil is a ruin. We could try stealing a ship…”
A strange look came over Jen’s face, and she cracked a smile. “No need for that. I’ve got a ship that might do the job…”
THIRTY-ONE
It was too big a problem to solve with a snap decision.
Jen offered them the chance to sleep on it; she now had some quarters available for guests. Tris was sorely tempted, until he figured out why this accommodation was suddenly available. The thought of hot-bedding with someone who’d just died in the fighting kind of diminished its appeal.
Kyra was adamant they press on. Despite dark circles around her eyes, a fire had been lit inside of her. The death of her sister and the loss of the Master Key had both taken their toll; he sensed her veering from guilt-laced agony to murderous rage. She kept this inner turmoil hidden behind a mask of grim determination, but Tris knew her well enough to see the cracks forming.
Taking a short break, he strolled up and down the main corridor. Bodies wrapped in blood-stained sheets lined both walls, a grim reminder of the dangers these people faced.
Jen had lived through several of these purges, and had a depressing theory about them. The commander knew that he had enemies, and the Resistance gave them somewhere to go. Providing he culled it from time to time, keeping its numbers in check, it was far less of a threat to his power than having his enemies scattered throughout the city. Aldur’s father had been killed in the first of them, when the Resistance was still more overt and political, and Jen had survived ever since — raising her son in the darkness, always on the look-out for the next attack.
It must have been a terrifying way to live, and Tris felt awful that he hadn’t stayed to fight with them. Still, the few lives he might have been able to save wouldn’t have changed much. At least Aldur had survived, and had been sent back up to the surface to keep an eye on things. What they really needed was to do something more dramatic — to take the fight to the Lord High Commander, in his glittering tower. That was a tall order though, and Tris could already feel himself flagging. He hurt everywhere, most of all across the front of his neck and shoulder. His joints were stiff and his muscles tired, and numerous cuts and bruises clamoured for attention. The burn on his hand hurt when he made a fist. Luckily, the cracked ribs only bothered him when he breathed…
He’d decided not to mention it. No point in looking like a cry-baby.
So when Jen found him a few minutes later, with an injection designed to accelerate his healing and help to control the pain, he tried to protest. Surely her people had the greater need?
Luckily, medical supplies were the one thing she wasn’t short on.
Able-bodied fighters, on the other hand, were suddenly in demand.
They reconvened around the same table. Tris was relieved to see that even Lukas showed signs of Jen’s ministrations; the gash on his forehead had been glued shut, and numerous other small wounds gleamed fresh and pink. Tris wriggled in his seat. There was now a band around his ribs, fastened tight enough to make breathing hard work. His cuts had been cleaned, and the cocktail of drugs Jen had shot him with had him feeling like he might actually survive this night.
Last of all, the old woman produced a small dish on which she placed six bright green capsules. Tris prodded one with a finger; they each had a tiny lightning flash emblem on one side.
Kyra gave her a reproving glance. “Stim-pills? Now those are illegal. You’ve become a criminal in your old age.”
Jen ignored the jibe, pushing the dish towards her. “I do what I can with the tools I’ve got. If you’re not going to sleep, these will keep you going for a few more hours. One each now, and one for later.”
Tris grabbed one, dry swallowing it before Kyra could tell him not to.
“Hey! Be careful,” she warned him. “The side-effects include acting like a dickhead, and you do enough of that already.”
They ate a hasty meal, cobbled together from the supplies on hand. The restrictions in the city above had percolated down to the underground, and they’d been carefully hoarding what food they had. Tris tried not to think about how many fewer mouths they now had to feed, and devoted himself to devouring everything Jen offered. Hot soup made with protein paste and biscuits that could only have come from ration packs, they tasted better than steak pie and chips from an old English pub. Lukas showed his appreciation too, eating his own portion plus everything that Alek and Kyra left behind. He looked noticeably slimmer when viewed front-on, and Tris wondered how much muscle-mass he’d lost to the Aegis. It was easy to get carried away with the feeling of invulnerability it gave you, but as with all things in life, there was a price.
Once they’d finished eating, a last council of war was convened. Tris was glad to leave Kyra in charge of their strategy, especially as it was the fate of her world that hung in the balance
. They’d come here with a fairly straightforward set of priorities, though it would be a hell of a job actually achieving them. Now they had yet another option on the table… and neither the time, nor the manpower, to do everything.
“Okay,” said Kyra, “this is where we stand. The commander most likely has the Master Key by now — but he can’t use it. It’s still coded to Vinni, right?” she glanced at Alek for confirmation, and he nodded. “I’ve got to assume that Viktor is still out there. He’s too crafty to place all his eggs in one basket. He wants the key, but the commander has to know that giving it to him is suicide. Viktor not only has easy access to Vinni, he quite clearly wants to wipe the whole lot of us off this planet. That gives us some time, but not much — once Viktor knows the key is here, he’ll come and get it. And he won’t take no for an answer.”
She looked around the table, making eye-contact with each of them in turn.
Probably checking we’re still awake, Tris mused. He could already feel the stim-pill starting to take effect; a tingling all over his skin, and a sudden urge to get up and do something. He fiddled with the second pill, stashed in a pocket. Two of these in my system and I could wrestle the Hulk… I bet they’ve got a savage come-down.
“So,” Kyra continued, “here it is. We’re going to arm ourselves to the teeth, go up to the Ring and smash whatever gear Viktor’s got churning out new toys. After that, we take this city apart one brick at a time until we find my niece. Anyone still alive by that point gets to find Viktor and shove a grenade up his mainframe. Any comments?”
Jen raised her hand. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but my armoury is empty. We don’t get hold of many weapons, and we used everything we had yesterday. I might be able to scrounge up a few rifles, but nothing that would put a dent in the Ring.”
Kyra clenched her fists on the table, and looked like she was about to lose the plot. “Right,” she said, after fuming quietly for a few seconds, “we’ll do it the old fashioned way. Sharp swords and pointy sticks. But you need to get your hands on some firepower, because when we get back we’ll be wanting to do some serious damage.”
Jen chuckled, a most unexpected sound. “You remind me of a little girl I knew. All she ever wanted was more guns!” She shook her head. “Some things never change, eh? I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Clutching the chunky rifle he’d carried since the Harrespil, Tris edged along a narrow walkway. Sweat soaked his suit and dripped off his brow; climbing back up from the depths of the Underground had been significantly harder than getting down there. The route had twisted and turned, involving ladders and catwalks and crawl-spaces where ancient pipes creaked and groaned above them. Eventually they’d reached a more civilised level — one floor below what had once been the main living and working quarters for the entire population of Laugarren.
Tris had been on high alert the entire time, and his Gift had helped them to avoid a couple of patrols. Other Resistance fighters haunted the depths too, keeping a watchful eye on the various ways in and out. Tris sensed a few of them, and could tell that every one of them was exhausted both emotionally and physically. Just being part of their group took a hefty toll; not only were they living under constant threat and deprivation, they got to spend their days contemplating the futility of their actions. How could any of them ever hope to prevail against the Lord High Commander and his legion of loyalists? Their enemies had all the weapons and equipment, the food and training… they literally had the high ground. Being a rebel down here wasn’t cool — it was a one-way ticket to misery and death.
We might have to do something about that, when we get back. He knew that Kyra’s plans for rescuing Tarri would entail violence. Maybe what she really needed was to get the people of Laugarren on her side? There had to be enough folks living in fear here to make a sizeable army. And like Jen had said, in Laugarren everyone was a soldier.
He pondered this for a while, as the old woman led them through a hidden exit into a poorly-lit corridor. She was a marvel; she’d made the trip up from the bowels of the city without stopping, and was looking stronger and more alert the closer they got to the surface. She moved confidently through the old base now, pausing only to listen for approaching enemies.
The place was in a poor state of repair, with cables dangling from the ceiling and most of the lights dead. Shadows pooled around bulkheads, and a thick layer of dust and grime coated every surface.
“The old hangar bay,” Jen said into the silence. She was taking them down another short corridor, where the smell of mildew hung in the air. The doors at the end were frozen half-open — Tris remembered them from the way down, and suddenly realised where they were.
The room beyond the doors was massive. A vast gulf of empty space, big enough to house a dozen 747s parked side-by-side. The top of the walls vanished into gloom far above, where tiny pinpricks of light betrayed their proximity to the outside world.
The hangar was empty, except for a single decrepit old shuttle, sitting forlornly in one corner. Piles of spare parts lay around it, slowly rusting into oblivion, while the ship itself seemed to have been stripped of anything useful long ago.
Jen swept one arm towards it in a theatrical gesture. “There she is,” she said, pride and irony warring in her voice. “A Trident Assault Vessel. Though I’m afraid its assaulting days are over.”
Tris stared at the shuttle, not quite sure she was being serious. “That flies? It looks like it hasn’t moved in decades.”
“It hasn’t,” Jen confirmed. “Not since everyone migrated topside. But I’ve been looking after the old girl, every now and then. She was a sturdy little ship back in the day, and fast as all hell.” She raised bushy white eyebrows at Kyra. “You remember?”
Kyra snorted. “I remember you’d never even sat in the cockpit before taking me up that first time. But the other pilot was too drunk to stand up straight, so we didn’t have much choice.”
“We did alright,” Jen said, sounding wistful.
“Yeah. We killed a lot of people. Does that ever bother you?”
“It used to,” Jen admitted. “But then I had my Aldur, and it seemed like… oh, I don’t know. A second chance? I figure that if we put more good into this world than we do evil, at least we end up with a positive balance. I raised Aldur to be a good guy. He’s my contribution.”
Kyra eyed her suspiciously. “You’re a philosopher now?”
Jen smirked. “Some of us get wiser with age… and some of us just get better at causing trouble.”
“And you really think that boy tips the scales for you?”
“Try it,” Jen beamed at her. “You might find it does the same thing for you.”
Tris was feeling a bit awkward, witnessing all of this. The old woman didn’t seem to care who was listening, but he was embarrassed on Kyra’s behalf. Not that she’d have cared one way or the other. He rubbed his hands together, hoping to break the spell and get them all back on the same page. “I guess you can fly anything,” he said to Kyra, “even if it’s mostly composed of rust. Looks like you get to prove it.”
The look that she turned on him held none of its usual mischief. Indecision clouded her eyes, and his stomach clenched in response. Not a good sign.
She shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t leave Tarri. I know I should… but I can’t. I won’t.” There was defiance in her face now, as though she was talking herself into something. “I’m sorry, Tris. If something happens to her while we’re up there fighting… I can’t let that happen. You understand?”
Tris shrugged. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop; he couldn’t remember the last time she’d apologised to him, but it generally didn’t bode well.
“We still need to stop Viktor from churning out enough robots to bury us.” She poked him in the chest. “So that’s going to be your job.”
Tris opened his mouth and closed it again. Oh, shit. I should have seen this coming.
“Take Alek,” she
continued. “He’ll show you which bits to smash. Normally I’d tell you to be careful, but right now I don’t give a shit. Burn the whole fucking thing to the ground if you have to — just stop those machines.”
Lukas moved to stand beside her, and his body language made it clear that he was going with her. Hardly surprising — not only did Tris suspect that the big man had feelings for Kyra, there was also his protectiveness towards the girls.
Damn it! Out of all the bad-ass ex-super soldiers in the galaxy, we had to end up with the one who prefers babysitting. Tris’ head was whirling, as it sometimes did in times of stress. All the reasons why this was a ridiculous assignment looped through his brain, bumping into each other and creating new reasons. I don’t know anything about the Ring. I don’t know anything about their tech! I can’t defend Alek against whatever’s up there, not on my own. Hell, I can’t do any of this shit on my own!
And that’s when he realised just how limiting his beliefs had become. He’d blossomed under Kreon’s tutelage, surviving ordeal after insane ordeal, even as he railed against the Warden for throwing him into them. Tough love… but it had worked. He’d grown in confidence as well as ability, even starting to consider himself an equal member of the team. But Kreon was gone. Kyra wasn’t like that — she didn’t expect Tris to do any more than show up and follow her lead. And it was easy to do that… even though she made no claim towards being his master. She was a friend, and he was helping her out. But she was also a powerful and independent warrior, who did what she thought best and left others to follow along or pick up the pieces. Now, suddenly, she was asking him to become a leader — and for some reason, that prospect scared him shitless.
But I was about to be Invested as a Warden! I was expecting to do stuff like this. I was even going to ask Oktavius to let me hire Kyra…
Embers of Esper: A Sci Fi Adventure (Warden's Legacy Book 1) Page 26