Warden: A Novel

by Gregg Vann

  She leaned in to help Barent push the heavy sarcophagus aside, and as it slid across the floor they saw the darkened stairway hidden beneath it. They gave the pedestal one final shove, and the base of it cleared the opening leading deeper underground.

  “Are you armed?” Barent asked Tana.

  She smirked, pulling a pistol out of her backpack and throwing the safety off.

  Barent nodded his approval, and then the founder of the Wardens pointed his own pair of weapons straight ahead and began moving down the steps.

  “Stay behind me,” he ordered. “Just in case it’s a trap.”

  Tana started to inform Barent that she didn’t need his protection, but then thought better of it and just silently trailed down after him. He was the Great Betrayer, after all, and accustomed to bossing people around. Did she really expect him to act any differently with her?

  She grinned as they descended further underground; the expression lost in darkness as the light above them faded in the distance.

  So he’s handsome, heroic, and chivalrous?

  Oh, you’re in trouble, Tana.

  Big trouble.

  And then they both disappeared into the black.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Collective

  The door opened abruptly and one of the Collective’s junior representatives rushed into Minister Golen’s office. The leader of the Collective, and by extension, all of Le’sant, noted the anxious look on the man’s face. He suspected that Jacob was bringing news he didn’t want to hear, but Golen put the document he was reading away and stood up from his chair, placing his hands down flat on the desk in front of him.

  “You’re in early today,” Golen remarked. It was only 4:30 in the morning, and still dark outside.

  “Yes, Minister. I was called in by one of my assistants.”

  Golen himself had arrived at the Ministry building around three—to read the minutes from the Collective Assembly meeting he’d missed the prior evening, and to make a list of potential enemies in this latest iteration of the five-hundred-year-old governing body. He’d expected problems from the powerless members from the Outland and the Common Ring, but a few Middle District rabble-rousers had surfaced to join them in their moaning. Golen intended to teach those troublemakers their place in the greater scheme of things, and explain to them just how tenuous that place could be.

  “Well, what is it, Jacob?” he said impatiently.

  “The informant we placed with the editors of the Vade Mecum copied this message sent to the Wardens. It makes an astounding claim, Minister.”

  Golen motioned Jacob forward and he handed over the report. As he began skimming through the document for any hint of importance, Golen absentmindedly read a few snippets from the message out loud.

  “New algorithm…errata lines…decoded the dying words of Corporal Ennis. See attachment…” Minister Golen was starting to lose his patience; he was a busy man, with much to do.

  Why is Jacob wasting my time with this nonsense? he asked himself.

  And then he saw it.

  The Final Testament of Caol Ennis

  The Vade Mecum: Chapter 104. Verse 11

  Original Version:

  (Errata) elll ardens

  Nt Ileum

  Rent siva

  Lee eeps

  Ey O Sus

  Decoded Entry:

  (Revised) Tell the Wardens.

  Didn’t kill him.

  Barent lives.

  He only sleeps.

  Cryo-suspension.

  “I want General Malves in here now,” Golen said coldly, not looking up from the document.

  “Yes, sir. I saw him entering the building at the same time I did.”

  “Now!” Golen barked, and then his head snapped up to give his subordinate a withering look.

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Jacob ran out of the room Golen fell back into his chair, glancing out through the large window to the right of his desk. His office was directly across the street from the Tomb of the Great Betrayer, and because it was still dark outside, the monument was lit up like a beacon, marking the exact center of the Central District.

  It would only take Golen a few minutes to walk over there and confirm whether or not this insane message from the past was true, but an unannounced visit by the Minister of the Collective just didn’t happen—not without raising suspicions that something truly untoward was going on. Had he known about this yesterday, before Golen attended the ceremony at Barent’s tomb, maybe he could have made up some official reason to go inside it, discrediting all of this nonsense himself. But as things stood now, the military would have to do it.

  And how could it really be true, anyway? Golen thought. That was five hundred years ago. Barent can’t possibly still be alive. Those were just the fevered last words of a dying man.

  General Malves strolled into the office—interrupting his reverie—and Le’sant’s highest-ranking soldier noticed the worried look on Golen’s face at once.

  “What is it, Minister?”

  Golen handed him the message and Malves smiled as he read it. “This is impossible, of course. Even if Ennis lied about Barent’s death—and there were many who saw his corpse—the Betrayer would still be long gone by now, even with cryo. It’s been over five hundred years…”

  “I agree with your assessment completely, General. But something inside me is screaming that we need to be sure. The Wardens have this information as well, and will no doubt try to exploit it for all it’s worth. I’m sure they’ll make it seem as if we’re hiding something, so we have to open up the sarcophagus and document the fact that Barent is truly dead. We may need that proof later—to counter the Wardens if they attempt to make something out of this.”

  Malves gave Golen a grave look. “This can’t be done lightly, Minister. If the people ever found out that we opened up Barent’s tomb, we would have a riot on our hands. I may command an army fifty thousand strong, but there are over a million people living in Le’sant. How many of them would I have to kill before order was restored?”

  “Your heavily-armed troops against that rabble?” Golen scoffed. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, General Malves. But there’s no reason to take any chances either. Contact your men at the tomb and get it done quickly, before the city awakes. And let them know that they’ll forfeit their lives if they ever tell a soul.”

  Malves nodded, and then he withdrew a secured comm device from his jacket to issue the necessary orders. He directed the soldiers stationed at the tomb to execute Golen’s wishes to the letter, but when he gave them clearance to open up Barent’s sarcophagus, and obtain proof that he was really dead, they made General Malves confirm the order twice—just to be sure they’d heard it correctly.

  “They understand their instructions,” Malves said, switching off the comm channel. “And the consequences of not following them exactly. They’re going inside now.”

  Golen looked out the window again and saw the increased activity at the tomb. The lights had brightened appreciably, and the tower guards were now focusing their attention toward the interior of the elaborate structure.

  Ten minutes later Malves’ comm unit beeped loudly, and he shared an expectant look with Golen before answering it. The general spoke with the person on the other end in rapid, clipped tones, and then he switched the device off again and slowly placed it back in his pocket. He looked over at Golen but the minister found his expression unreadable. Even more frustrating was the fact that Malves remained totally silent—as if he were desperately combing through his mind for the right words, but what he’d just learned defied all attempts at explanation.

  “Well?” Golen snapped.

  “He’s gone, Minister. They found Barent’s coffin open. And he was gone.”

  “You mean his body’s been taken?” Golen said.

  “No, Minister.” Malves looked Golen in the eyes—still struggling to process the information. “I mean there was an active cryo-chamber inside the
coffin. And my men found fresh DNA samples, confirmed to be Barent’s. He is alive. They also discovered a secret passageway hidden beneath the pedestal, and they’re exploring it now.”

  Minister Golen looked away and his gaze drifted toward the window again. He noticed the ceremonial flag of the Wardens flying high above the tomb, depicting two hands clasped together in friendship against a backdrop of the Citadel. One wore the glove of a colonial guard, tattered and bloody, while a broken shackle dangled from the wrist of the second, representing a freed prisoner. The image was steeped in history and symbolism, but as the flag flapped lazily in the light breeze Golen believed it existed solely to mock him.

  “The Wardens,” he hissed. “They received this information before we did.”

  “I’ll locate Major Kline immediately,” Malves said.

  “It had to be them, General. Find out what Kline knows and then kill him. Kill everyone involved…anyone who might possibly know that Barent is alive.”

  Golen slammed his fist down hard on the desk and some of the papers resting on it slid to the floor. Those earlier problems that had seemed so pressing were now easily ignored—eclipsed by a genuine threat to Golen’s power, and to that of the Collective as well.

  “Find the Great Betrayer, General Malves. And find him quickly, or it will be the end of us all.”

  “I will,” Malves replied decisively. He spun around to leave, but then stopped his march toward the door and turned back. “Minister, did you mean kill everyone who knows about this?”

  Golen realized who he was referring to and frowned. “Yes, General. Everyone.”

  He would miss Jacob, but what could be done?

  Malves nodded his understanding and left the room.

  Golen leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands, vigorously rubbing his eyes. He knew the people worshipped the very memory of Sergeant Barent, and his presence in the city would create chaos. But more importantly, Golen understood what it meant for the Collective to have him alive.

  Like every minister before him, Golen had read the founding documents—the public ones and the secret ones. The Collective was directly responsible for Barent’s death, or attempted murder, as it now appeared. And the fact he was still alive meant that Barent probably knew it. He would want revenge, and with the entire population of Le’sant on his side, he would get it.

  Barent…alive, Golen thought to himself. It’s almost beyond comprehension.

  He knew it to be true, of course. The evidence didn’t lie. But Golen simply couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

  The Great Betrayer.

  The hero of the Pardon War.

  Is alive…

  CHAPTER NINE

  Escape

  The tunnel beneath the tomb was nearly pitch black and oppressively hot, but as their pupils dilated fully—working hard to collect what little illumination there was in the confined space—Barent and Tana were able to see well enough to keep pressing forward, albeit slowly. Fortunately, there was only the one narrow passageway leading down through the rock, making it impossible to get lost.

  The same geothermal energy sources that provided Le’sant with unlimited power—the main reason the ship had landed on this spot in the first place—also made burrowing beneath the surface here problematic. Tana knew it must have been very difficult to arrange for this tunnel to be dug out during construction of the tomb, and probably even harder to keep it a secret. The dangerous nature of the work involved would have only added to the problem. Even now, five hundred years later, the best equipment couldn’t detect every pressure point and underground cavity. And if you accidentally punctured one of those chambers—filled with hot gases under immense pressure—you would boil to death in your mining suit before you even realized what killed you.

  “Corporal Ennis must have been well-connected to get this done,” Tana said. “And extremely devoted to you.”

  “Not just me,” Barent replied. “We were all devoted to each other, thief.” Then he paused, looking back over his shoulder to correct himself. “Forgive me, Tana.”

  Before she had a chance to reply, Barent turned around again and continued his trek through the tunnel. “I’m afraid that old habits die hard,” he explained. “I often referred to the prisoners based on their crimes, even as I fought right alongside them during the war. But I no longer considered them criminals.”

  Barent ducked his head to avoid a low section of ceiling and then slowed his pace. “It’s odd…referring to those times as the distant past. For me it was only yesterday, and I mean that quite literally.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Tana said.

  “No,” he replied. “You really can’t.”

  She detected a shift in Barent’s voice—his tone becoming much harsher. “But despite what I chose to call them,” he continued, “a prisoner did his or her time and that was the end of it. They paid for the crimes they committed as justice demanded, and were then allowed to rejoin society. Did that punishment make them better people, or stop them from committing more crimes in the future? Who knows? But by our own laws they’d earned a chance to prove that it did. We had no right to take that opportunity away from them, and certainly not to deny freedom to their innocent children—just because of who their parents were.”

  Barent came to an abrupt halt and spun around to face her, and even in the dim, almost nonexistent light, Tana saw the anger on his face.

  “We’d become the very thing that condemned those poor bastards to forced labor in the first place…criminals.”

  Barent took a deep breath in through his nose and Tana got the impression he was trying to calm himself. When he spoke again, some of the sharp edge was gone from Barent’s voice, but not all of it.

  “The prisoners on the Le’sant slept through the entire lifespans of everyone they knew back on Earth,” he said, “just for the chance to bust their asses building another world—one they’d never get to live on themselves. That was the shitty deal they took, and even when things went wrong—horribly wrong—the convicts fulfilled their end of the bargain. We’re the ones who broke the agreement, not them.”

  Tana’s heart was racing as Barent turned back around to continue leading them through the roughly hewn passageway.

  Well, he’s every bit as intense as the histories portrayed him to be. That’s for damn sure.

  Tana sensed the tunnel beginning to slope back up toward the surface as they moved forward, and then saw Barent hold up a closed fist before coming to an abrupt halt.

  Tana stumbled right into him.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s not your fault,” Barent replied. “I can’t expect you to know military hand signals from five centuries ago.”

  “I will know next time.”

  Barent nodded. “There’s a faint white outline up ahead. Take a look.”

  He leaned off to one side so Tana could see the tiny thread of light as well, and she noted that it was in the perfect shape of a circle. Whatever it was, Tana knew it had to be man-made.

  “It looks like a hatch,” she guessed. “Or maybe a door of some kind.”

  “A hatch, most likely,” Barent said. “The tunnel ends right at it, so we have no choice but to go through.”

  “I wish we had some idea about what was on the other side,” Tana said warily.

  “As do I,” Barent agreed. “But there’s only one way to find out. Wait here while I try to open it.”

  “I’m not some helpless waif,” Tana protested.

  “I never said you were,” Barent replied. “I just want you to stay back and cover me while I check it out.”

  He stepped forward to examine the hatch, searching for markings or other clues about what lay beyond it. As he did so, Barent addressed Tana in a calm and level voice.

  “You know, I’ve always been pretty good at judging people. And during my time among the prisoners, I got even better at it. Some of them appeared harmless, but were actually brutal and sadistic killers
, and the grizzled, scar-faced hard-assess doing their best to intimidate everyone were often weak in a fight—frequently ending up dead. When I look at you, Tana, I can tell that you’ve killed before. I know you’re dangerous. But even beyond my intuition, common sense says you’d have to be pretty damn good if the Wardens chose you to infiltrate a heavily guarded compound and set me free. So you can relax, thief, I know just how proficient you are.”

  And then Sergeant Barent turned around and gave her a wry smirk.

  “But just remember, I’m still in charge.”

  Tana readied a response, but realized it wasn’t necessary. It seemed that Sergeant Barent really did understand her, or at the very least, acknowledged her capabilities. And the thief jab had come out as a good-natured tease, not an insult. But as to whether or not he should be the one in charge…

  Well, he certainly has more experience than I do. That’s for damn sure.

  Barent turned his attention back to the hatch, leaning in close as he attempted to peer through the sliver of light surrounding it. But it was no use; he couldn’t see anything beyond it. He eventually gave up and placed his ear against the metal, listening closely for a few moments in hopes of gleaning clues from noises on the other side. When that proved fruitless as well, Barent decided there was nothing left to do but just go ahead and push it open, and hope they didn’t find any enemies waiting there to ambush them.

  The hatch resisted Barent’s first attempt, but then he found a tiny release latch on the bottom and depressed it. He heard a muffled pop as it cracked partially open, and then the light framing the outer edges started to grow brighter—almost incandescent in brilliance. Barent froze as a strong wind rushed into the tunnel, slicing through the gap he’d created with a shrill and deafening howl. He observed a blurred flash of motion on the other side of the hatch—filling his view—and then the noise and light rapidly subsided. Barent threw the hatch the rest of the way open and found himself in Le’sant’s underground subway system, watching as the tail end of the train that just flew by disappeared into the dark tunnel ahead.