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

by Tony James Slater

  And the screen they were staring so intently at flared brilliant white — and died.

  FORTY-FIVE

  The death of the stolen barge was so dramatic that it nearly took Kyra’s ship down with it.

  She couldn’t help wincing as great tongues of flame leapt skyward, bathing the Ark in super-heated gases. Hull plates burned and melted; in the command centre, consoles spat sparks, or flared and went dead. But it was a massive ship, and even the damage it had sustained from the barge’s great cannons hadn’t brought it down.

  Yet.

  Viktor’s barge was a different story. Kyra searched to find a monitor that was still working, so she could watch as that vast superstructure tore itself apart. The energy of the blast all but vaporised the centre section, sending two huge chunks tumbling groundward. She watched with mounting horror as the biggest one ploughed into the edge of her city, obliterating the outer wall and burying a whole district beneath megatons of fire-blackened steel.

  Oops! My bad.

  Tris gave her a stricken glance. People had just died down there; probably a lot of people. The city had been taking heavy fire, causing most of its citizens to flee into the forest, but there would always be some who thought they were safer at home.

  Nothing we could have done, he pointed out, doing his best to rationalise. He was a sweet kid; he’d never fully appreciated just how broken she was. She resisted the urge to pat him like a puppy, and studied the screen for evidence of the battle that was still raging down there. This wasn’t over — not while the few people she did care about were still in harm’s way.

  “How soon can we land this crate?” She wasn’t sure which station to direct her question to. Which was the helm? And who was in charge? The man she would have asked lay dying, or possibly dead; she felt only the tiniest spark of life in him, so deep and dwindling so fast that she knew he’d never reach the ground.

  Shit… sorry Mac. Give my regards to your grandmother.

  Raiding his memories in search of his name had revealed this connection; the canny old woman, long dead now, who had helped to raise him in strict accordance with her beliefs. One last surprise from Mother Macca. Sending her grandson to meet her was a shitty way of saying thank-you, but that tended to happen when people did Kyra favours. One more reason for her to keep her distance.

  She scanned the row of cheap wigs manning the consoles. No answer had come to her, so she tried again. “Down,” she made an emphatic gesture with both hands. “Land as close as we can without squashing anyone.”

  In reply, she got an odd sense of resistance from the crew. A push-back against her last command, coupled with indignation bordering on outrage…

  They don’t want to land. They’re not going back.

  She should have figured that out sooner. The apocalypse-loving freaks had been planning for a one-way trip. Whatever twisted shard of prophecy had inspired them to help her, she was now seeing the flip-side. They’re expecting me to go with them! Well… this is awkward.

  There was no way that could happen. For starters, she seriously doubted that the ship was still space-worthy. Maybe there was something in that? They’re welcome to toddle off and commit suicide in the depths of space, but I’ve got shit to do.

  “We need repairs,” she suggested. “You’ve got to set down and fix this bucket or we’ll never make it out of the atmosphere.”

  She felt their reluctance, but it warred with their pragmatism; they’d spent a long time preparing for this, and delays meant nothing when the journey was the goal.

  “We could try to set down on the far side of the city,” a young woman said, with no trace of enthusiasm. “Most of our manoeuvring jets have been destroyed, so we’ll need to use main thrust to do it.”

  Kyra cursed under her breath. That was a difficult and risky manoeuvre, even more so for an untested and heavily-damaged ship. I wonder how the ancestors landed this thing? Not like this, that’s for sure. Did these guys even fix the landing systems, if they weren’t planning on using them?

  By the time they’d nursed the stricken ship down, and she’d figured out a way off it and clear across the city, the fight below would be well and truly over.

  Tris must have been doing some eavesdropping at last. They’d rather carry on? He was appalled. That’s the downside of letting crazy people drive your spaceship…

  She had to agree with that one. “There must be another way down. Escape pods maybe?”

  A strange smile came over Tris’ face. “I’ve got a faster way.” He grabbed his groin. “You want some of this?”

  She turned to scowl at him — and noticed the wide, metallic belt he was wearing. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Seriously?”

  “Why not? I’ve done it a bunch of times now. I saw the settings Lukas used when he dropped with Jenna.”

  “I’m a lot heavier than Jenna.”

  “But I’m a lot lighter than Lukas. I’m sure it evens out.”

  She muttered a curse. He was right, it certainly was a quicker way down. But how quick? An image of them both hitting the ground at terminal velocity sprang to mind. She loved everything about flying, but falling was a different story.

  On the other hand…

  People were dying down there. And she had the power to stop it.

  Goddamnit! Hanging out with Tris is making me too damn noble. “Okay, I’m in. What do I need to do?”

  “Well, Lukas threw Jenna over his shoulder…”

  “Never gonna happen.”

  “Then I guess you just hang on tight?”

  “Oh great. This is going to end well.”

  The speech she gave to the Ark’s crew — which was quite possibly a farewell speech — was a masterpiece of brevity. “Thanks for everything, guys,” she said, “it’s been a blast. I’ll catch you on the flip-side.”

  Did they understand that she was leaving? She wasn’t sure.

  Luckily, none of them tried to stop her.

  Now that she knew this was a spaceship, the layout made more sense. A short corridor led to an airlock; Tris piled inside after her, and she closed the inner hatch. Opening the outer one would expose them to the rushing wind, but wouldn’t yank them out the same way opening it in vacuum would.

  Tris activated the belt, wincing as it dug into his waist. “Let’s make it quick,” he said, “I want to land while I can still feel my legs.”

  Rolling her shoulders to loosen them, she stepped closer to Tris and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Tighter,” he advised her.

  “Don’t push it.”

  He snaked an arm around her ribs, pulling her against him, while keeping his free hand on the belt’s controls. She palmed the door open button, and the background hum of machinery was swallowed by a roar as Esper’s atmosphere reached in to claw at them.

  She clutched him tighter still, as a wave of anxiety washed over her.

  He gave her a pat on the back in response, which had the fortunate side-effect of instantly translating her fear into anger. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this!” she yelled above the noise.

  Poised to jump, Tris put his head next to hers and breathed in her ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Nessie.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh, you are so deAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa——”

  The trip down was pretty much the single most terrifying experience of her entire life.

  Kyra wasn’t big on trust. Putting her life so completely in someone else’s hands was not something she did often. Or at all.

  The wind rushing past her tore at her clothes, whipping her hair around and stealing the breath from her lungs. She fought the urge to scream — and carried on fighting it, over and over, all the way to the ground.

  But the worst part was the smug grin on Tris’ face when he actually managed to land them without breaking anything.

  “Ugh!” she pushed him away. “Thank Sydon that’s over.”

  He looked a little crestfallen at that, and she felt bad — he had just r
isked his own life to help her out. Risked hers, too, but he’d managed to solve a tricky problem.

  “I’m just glad to be off that damn ship,” she added. “The whole wig thing was starting to creep me out.”

  Tris looked like he had something to say about that, but then thought better of it.

  Whatever. At least this shit can’t get any weirder.

  Lukas must have spotted their descent, as he came running over to join them. His armour was scorched and scarred, and he moved with a slight lurch, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

  “Where’s Jen?” she asked him. “And my mother?”

  “I think Jen escaped with Alek, but your mother has been leading the charge ever since you left. She’s got some serious moves on her. Nice jump by the way.” He knocked a knuckle against Tris’ grav-belt. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” Tris said, “I’m starting to get the hang of it.”

  “Yeah… but you want some advice?” He opened the panel on the front of the belt and pushed a stud. A tiny light glowed red in response. “Check the battery level next time. It’s on less than ten percent.”

  The ground outside the city walls had become a nightmarish hellscape of mangled bodies and burning debris. As far as Kyra could tell, most of the actual fighting was over; a line of grey uniformed soldiers were moving through the battlefield, stopping every now and then to pour laser fire into any robots still twitching. The shattered carcasses of tanks and other vehicles were strewn all over the place, attesting to the ferocity of the fight, and blackened steel corpses lay fizzing and sparking amongst them.

  Ella sauntered over, hips swaying more than was strictly necessary, and gave Tris a peck on the cheek. “Hey sweetie! How was your afternoon?”

  “Not bad. Found a big spaceship, then jumped out of it. How about you?”

  She tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear. “Fun! I got to play with some toys that I haven’t used in decades.”

  Kyra snorted. If anyone had gadgets designed to take on robots, it would be Ella. Kyra herself had scoured Laugarren’s armoury for EMP devices, but like most vaguely exotic weapons they just weren’t produced here. Luckily, she’d found a decent supply of regular grenades, and was seriously considering a return trip to stock up before they left.

  “Are we done yet?” Lukas asked, echoing her thoughts. He rubbed a shoulder. “I’m hoping at least one massage parlour survived that.” He waved a hand at the ruins of the royal city; Viktor’s bombardment had torched so much of the place, it was hard to imagine how it could ever be rebuilt.

  “Not quite yet,” she said. “We brought down the barge, but Viktor could still be in there somewhere. We need to find whatever mainframe he’s been running on and make damn sure it’s out of commission.”

  She started towards the section of barge that had landed on the city. It towered over the nearby buildings, most of which had been buried in rubble. Tris, Lukas and Ella all followed her without question. She couldn’t help thinking that this was the tight-knit team of professionals that Kreon had always dreamed of creating. He’d tried many times, but one simple fact had always defeated him; people in his employ died too quickly.

  They approached the foot of the wreckage, stepping around massive stone blocks that had tumbled from the city’s outer wall. She was studying the hull, looking for a good place to cut their way in, when she noticed a section of it suddenly bulge outwards.

  What the hell? Her hand came up, signalling the others to stop — and the bulge expanded, as though the armour was being struck from the inside. Oh… that can’t be good.

  And then the bulge split open like a piece of ripe fruit, giant hands gripping the edges and bending them wider. A huge figure forced its way out of the hole, tearing through the buckled hull plates like foil.

  Sydon’s Name! The figure leapt from the barge, hitting the ground less than twenty metres away, and she felt the tremor of it’s impact.

  Not its. His.

  Because this was Viktor. Despite the size, she knew it instantly.

  And as he came closer, she did more than that — she recognised him.

  The mercenary’s human face gazed down at her from behind a tiny window. It was oddly distorted, like a piece of skin stretched across a frame. His real face! A tingle ran down her spine, and her palms began to sweat. She knew that Viktor had transcended the destruction of his ship, but that had happened long ago. He’d hinted during their last meeting that it had been a long road to recovery — and now she saw exactly what that meant. This robot was far more physically imposing, but it looked more homemade somehow; welds and rivets could be seen, and instead of a smooth outer shell it was a piecemeal of mismatched parts and protrusions. The whole thing was covered with a lattice of narrow brown strips… Kyra didn’t need to ask what that was all about. Viktor wasn’t trying to make a fashion statement. Those strips were made from the worm-hide material that her swords couldn’t cut through, and the pattern of bars wrapped around every piece of the robot’s armour.

  Tris started forward, staff in hand.

  “No,” she said, waving him away. She unfurled the Arranozapar from her waist. “This is my fight.”

  Tris gave ground reluctantly, and she sensed the others doing the same. That was good; the last thing she needed was one of their deaths on her conscience. She’d killed enough people already today. She’d rather die than lose someone she actually cared about.

  The huge machine stomped closer.

  Lights glimmered behind that hideous face, giving the impression of a gleam in Viktor’s long-dead eye. “Just like old times, eh Kyra?” His voice boomed from hidden speakers. “You and me, in a fight to the finish. The way it always should have been.”

  “Really?” Kyra circled him, trying to plan her attack. “You should have just come to me first. It would have saved a lot of hassle.”

  Viktor’s face couldn’t grin, or leer, which was disturbing; it remained fixed and impassive, regardless of the words coming out of his voice synthesiser. “I told you once that war was my business. That hasn’t changed.” Pistons fired as he spread those heavy arms. “But this? This is more like a hobby.”

  Countless innocent deaths. The destruction of her home… A frikkin’ hobby? He was trying to goad her.

  “Well, they do say you should die doing something you love.” She settled into her stance, Arranozapar held loosely in both hands. This was it; winner takes all. If Viktor could kill her, Tris and Ella stood no chance. That would leave him essentially unopposed, to begin his entire operation again from scratch…

  Over my dead body.

  Which was pretty much his entire point.

  “I’m bored already,” she called out. “Are you hoping that if you stand there long enough, I’ll just die of old age?”

  By way of response, he attacked. He surged towards her, metal limbs blurring, and she danced back just in time. Her swords scythed in, but every blow met with those blasted strips. She sheared off a corner here and there, but couldn’t get through to cause real damage.

  She backed away, ceding ground as she searched frantically for a way in. She needed to keep him at arm’s length; even a glancing blow from one of those fists would crush her skull like an egg. But he knew this too, and he pushed forward. She sprang back, ducking his swings, and circled away —but he was ready for her, turning to face her as she swung her swords at his legs. The blades wouldn’t bite, their edges defeated by the worm-hide. She had no choice but to retreat again, turning and leaping over chunks of masonry into the ruins of her once-beautiful city.

  He was right behind her.

  She felt the swish of air as a blow missed her by inches — without the Gift to keep tabs on him, she was blind to his movements as soon as she turned her back.

  Duck! Tris yelled in her mind, and she did just in time as a fist the size of an ammo crate cleaved the space where her head had just been.

  She threw herself forward, t
ucking and rolling as best she could. Sharp corners and shards of debris jabbed into her back, causing numerous small injuries that she had no time to analyse.

  The crunch of steel feet on stone gave her a rough clue of how close Viktor was, but Tris could still see the giant robot; she tuned into his thoughts, grabbing the images as they hit his brain. Viktor was only two steps behind her, his powerful legs making short work of the rubble.

  Splitting her focus like this was dangerous, especially as the slightest trip or stumble could spell disaster. But using Tris’ eyes to keep track of her pursuer helped her gauge her moves more accurately.

  I need some breathing room, damn it!

  This far from the crash-site, a few walls were still standing. She sliced one as she passed, angling the cut to bring the top section crashing down on Viktor. The heavy stone blocks had more effect than any of her attacks so far, pounding into the steel body and knocking him off balance.

  I’m going about this the wrong way! If he’s Arranozapar-proof, why the hell am I still using them?

  She slapped a hand to her waist, wrapping one sword around it as fast as she dared. Then she fumbled for the grenades that she’d picked up in Laugarren. Six of them were magnetised to different points on her outfit; she grabbed the nearest one, priming and tossing it in a single motion. She ducked behind the stump of a column as the explosion pelted it with shards of debris. She was up and moving again a second later though, and just in time — Viktor’s carapace was scorched and battered in places, but his arm lashed out, smashing the column and showering her with chips of stone.

  We’re coming! Tris sent to her, obviously recognising her distress.

  No! she sent back, though she doubted he’d listen.

  The sound of laser blasts reached her ears, and she glanced around to see a pair of grey-clad Laugarrens taking aim at Viktor. He sprang towards them, moving impossibly fast for something that size, and slammed his fists down on top of them. The poor bastards were effectively juiced, but the distraction gave Kyra the opportunity she needed. Stowing her second sword, she ripped every grenade she had left off their attachment points and flung the lot in one big double-handful.