They made it out of the crate-compound in the same formation, the stand-off holding as they retreated to their ship. Demios made no attempt to follow. He’d said his piece, Tris reasoned, as his clouded mind began to clear. His army is going to follow us wherever we go.
As far as he could tell, there was nothing they could do to stop that.
Starting to get his bearings, he realised just how precarious their situation was.
They’d escaped from the compound, but it was a decent hike back to the ship. The Empress’s followers were subdued, having seen the mightiest amongst them cut down so effortlessly. Now the endless swarm of smaller Siszar were keeping pace with them, some scuttling on ahead to surround them.
Tris had been concerned for Ella when she’d elected to stay behind; having her separated from him by such a long stretch of hostile ground was far from ideal. Now though, as he saw Nightshade lift off and swing towards them, he was incredibly grateful to her.
Still, it was a long way off.
As the shuttle approached at high speed, Tris could feel the alien eyes on him. “They’re coming,” he murmured, sensing flashes of intent throughout the crowd.
The words were barely out of his mouth when a knot of young Siszar threw themselves atop one of the Empress’s followers, dragging her to the ground. More leapt forward, adding themselves to the pile, as a roar from the far side of the crowd announced a similar attack over there.
Not to be outdone, the Empress herself surged towards the green-skins, but they danced back out of her path. Tris saw their game a second before it happened; by drawing her away from her group, they managed to surround her, cutting her off.
Lions on the Serengeti, the thought flashed through his mind. But the Siszar were lone-wolves, not pack hunters. Not normally, anyway.
The Empress, recognising her predicament, let out a bestial roar. But instead of trying to retreat, attacking the enemies behind her, she flung herself at her nearest adversaries. Tris saw her go down in a tangle of limbs, and knew he had to do something. Even with his brain running at half-function, he could see the disaster unfolding right in front of him.
His glaive was still in his hands; he’d almost forgotten it in the onslaught of Demios’ weapon.
“Kyra!” he shouted, as he extended the thing fully. It was a pain not to be able to send her his intentions in a thought; he just had to hope she would follow his lead.
Sprinting between two of the Empress’s followers, he lunged at the closest juvenile. It wasn’t expecting him; with all its attention focussed on its elders, Tris’ unprovoked attack sliced clear through the two limbs it was standing on. As the Siszar crashed to the ground he followed up with a thrust that skewered its pod-like body, sending a jet of black ichor arcing into the sky.
Recovering the glaive he made to attack the next-in-line — but his allies beat him to it.
Three large females crashed into the wall of younger males like battering rams, their heavy limbs smashing left and right. Not daring to get in the way, Tris peered frantically into the churning mob, looking for the Empress. In the blur of scaly limbs and bodies, it was impossible to separate one individual from another. But the fight was over in seconds; the smaller aliens fled, leaving several of their number torn and crumpled on the ground.
The Empress slouched back into formation, bleeding from several nasty gouges. From her mind, Tris felt only a wave of savage satisfaction at having taken some measure of revenge.
Kyra called out to him, and he looked around for her. Nightshade was on the ground, and she was standing by the ramp, both sword blades stained black. “Time to go,” she said, then pulled a face at the fluids dripping off him. “and you’d better be looking for a towel to sit on.”
As Nightshade’s ramp retracted and the hatch sealed shut behind him, Tris knew a moment of guilt. The Empress and her followers were still out there; they had ships of their own to reach, and not all of them were going to make it.
He strapped into the cockpit as Ella lifted off, deftly swinging the shuttle around to put distance between them and the grounded cruiser.
“Will they shoot at us?” he asked, eyeing a view of the ship’s iceberg-like flank.
“Not unless he wants to incinerate his entire army,” Ella said, nodding towards the display. “Capital-scale turbolasers can’t fire in atmosphere this thick. Not without setting it on fire.”
The memory of Kreon ordering just such an attack rose unbidden, but he thrust it aside. He was far more concerned about what was happening on the ground. One of the smaller monitors was displaying scenes of organised chaos. The Empress’s followers, perhaps realising they’d been herded like scared prey animals, were lashing out at any youngsters that came close. The mass of males were starting to keep their distance, prowling after the larger aliens but no longer challenging them directly. As the nestships lifted off one after another, relief washed over Tris. If they’d been forced to buy his escape with their lives, he’d never have forgiven himself.
As the nestships formed up around them, Ella gunned the drives and headed for space. “How was Demios?” she asked.
“A pain in the arse,” Kyra supplied.
Tris popped off his helmet and gave his forehead a rub. “He’s powerful, too,” he added. “Much as I hate to admit it. Kreon, what the hell was that thing he used?”
The Warden had taken a back seat opposite Tris, allowing Kyra to play co-pilot. He also removed his helmet; the face beneath it was ashen.
“It is Arimalgea,” he said. “The Psychic Lance. Any mind that is open to the Gift will be torn apart by it.”
Tris hadn’t expected such a potted answer. “What? You’ve seen one before then?”
“I have seen that one before. As far as I am aware, it is the only one in existence. And until recently, it was item five-hundred and ninety-seven in my storehouse.”
“Oh… crap. He found it…”
“Indeed. Demios is cunning, and an opportunist. It appears I am not the only one to have agents trawling the debris around Saturn for lost trinkets.”
As they made it out of the atmosphere, a handful of the smaller Siszar vessels were keeping pace on either side of them. More were ahead, and more behind; were it not for the protective shield of mottled green nestships swirling around them, Tris could tell they’d have no chance of escape.
“The problem this presents,” Kreon continued, “is that our talents are turned against us. Kyra is more than a match for Demios in combat, but her Gift precludes a challenge. Likewise for yourself, though I would hesitate to pit you against him directly.”
“I can take him,” Tris said — but the words sounded childish even to his ears.
“Possibly,” Kreon agreed. “Were it not for the Gift. I could challenge him myself; I have no natural aptitude for the Gift. Without my pendant, his weapon should have no effect on me.”
“And… you can take him, right? Physically, I mean?”
Kreon was silent for a moment. “His skill at arms is not to be underestimated. And we must consider the possibility of him employing additional exotic weaponry.” He sighed. “Sera could have challenged him and won, without question. For myself… I am unsure.”
Lukas didn’t seem too flustered by the battle. Strapped into a spare seat at the back of the cockpit, he’d already dug out a handful of candy from somewhere. “I’m not psychic,” he muttered. “I can take him.”
Kyra swivelled in her seat to face him. “Yeah, right. You just want to wear his skin.” Seeing Tris’ reaction, she waggled a hand at him. “Don’t ask,” she added.
He thought perhaps that was a good idea.
When Tris felt the brush of the Empress’s mind against his, he was profoundly grateful. Her followers had kept them safe long enough to spool up the grav-drive; they were only moments from jumping back towards the Folly. That it had taken so long for her to recover solved a mystery about Demios’ weapon. Clearly the stronger a person’s talent for the Gift, the worse its
effects were for them. Kreon had suffered less than Kyra; the Empress and her followers had been hammered. They’d also lost their only means of communication in the attack, nearly leading to them being overwhelmed. The young Siszar in Demios’ faction must have been much weaker in the Gift as well as physically.
Ella tapped her console and the bubble of distorted gravity swallowed them whole.
Tris let out a long breath, feeling the tension drain into his boots.
That had been close; too close.
And not all of them had made it…
I am so sorry about your consort, he sent to the Empress, not knowing how else to start. He was very brave.
Only the smallest hint of sorrow tinged her reply. He was strong, she agreed, but not very clever. He would never have survived the mating process.
Oh! Tris was taken aback by the callous dismissal. The giant alien had a knack for surprising him with the quirks of her culture. So, you’re okay then?
I am strong, and healing rapidly, she responded. Thanks in part to your actions. I am grateful for your assistance.
I just… I saw you go down, and I…
You should not endanger yourself on my behalf. Your wounds do not heal as mine do.
I know, but I couldn’t let you die! I was terrified.
He sensed her exasperation. Men! You are so emotionally fragile.
I’m trying to toughen him up, Kyra chipped in, but kids these days! They don’t make ‘em like they used to.
Tris was so glad to hear her voice in his head again that he didn’t mention the eavesdropping.
The Empress turned her attention to Kyra. The boy will prove more resilient once he matures.
Kyra snorted. Ha! If he ever matures…
Quite so, the Empress lamented. But you must be patient with him. We were all male once.
With Nightshade speeding safely through distorted space, Ella turned her seat to face them. Kreon was already scowling at something on a portable display; Lukas appeared to have fallen asleep.
“Lovely to see you again, Tris,” she said, her smile bright enough to strip him of all other concerns.
He grinned back at her, feeling more than a little foolish for doing so.
“Now,” she continued, looking at Kyra, “I have some news for you.”
Kyra went still. “Yeah?”
“Evie has resurfaced. I checked the network while you were chatting with Demios. She logged on less than twenty-four hours ago.”
Kyra’s face darkened. “Where?” she growled.
“Here. The node she accessed was inside Siszar space.”
Kyra’s eyes went wide, then narrowed again. “She’s coming back to Demios?”
Ella gave a delicate shrug. “Not counting side contracts, he’s still listed as her employer.”
For a second Tris thought Kyra would demand they turn the ship around. He could see the emotions flickering across her face; rage, then sorrow, then guilt. “I’ll kill her,” she said finally, “but I’ll get ready first. Chasing after assassins on their own terms is a health hazard.”
“She’ll be ready too,” Ella said softly. “We don’t know how not to be.”
It was a short trip back to where they’d left the Folly. As they dropped back into real-space, Tris studied the viewscreens nervously. When they’d left her, the Folly had been intact, and home to seventy-five of the Vanguard’s crew, plus eight marines. But with Demios’ threats ringing in his mind, he was half expecting to see a field of debris surrounded by floating bodies, and an endless swarm of Siszar sweeping past, snapping them up.
Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.
Ella relinquished the controls, allowing Askarra to bring the shuttle in automatically. It was safer that way, as most of the docking bay was taken up with a huge chunk of ex-spaceship. Dozens of small talos and maintenance bots zipped back and forth, exploring and unloading the wreck.
The AI brought Nightshade to a precise landing next to Kreon’s ruined mining shuttle.
That piece of junk is on borrowed time, Tris thought. Then again, what ship wasn’t, once Kreon laid his eyes on it?
Kyra unstrapped from her seat and gave Lukas a savage dig on the way past.
The big man didn’t flinch; he opened his eyes once she was out of the cockpit, and grinned. “Made it back in one piece then! This calls for a celebration. Drink?”
Tris stretched, and politely declined. He had more important things on his mind.
Specifically, what the hell are we going to do now?
Balentine was removing his rubbery environment suit and stowing it in the shuttle. The old man had faired well on the ground, Tris thought, though probably outside his comfort zone. The rifle he’d been carrying had remained clasped in his grip the whole way home. The tragedy of it was, his job was over; Lord Balentine and his remaining crew should be headed home for a much-needed break. Instead, they were trapped here in Siszar space with dwindling food supplies and death lurking around every corner. Some of them had loved ones back home, presumably. Not that there was anything he could do about it. He couldn’t even think of a way to save the people on the breeding world, who doubtless were providing much of the food for Demios’ new army.
Kreon had lectured him before on prioritising his goals, and how to recognise which burdens lay beyond him. But he couldn’t help it. No matter how cynical he got, seeing people suffer and just ignoring it was something he would never be able to do.
Lord Balentine was more receptive to Lukas’ advances. The old Warden looked in need of a drink. Tris envied them their lack of responsibility. How the hell did I end up making decisions?
Ella linked arms playfully with him as they crossed the docking bay, but they parted ways with a kiss at the elevator. She’d been doing rounds of the Vanguard survivors in his stead, and preferred not to be involved in command decisions. It was a pity; Tris felt like she had a lot to offer, but her tendency to stay in the shadows was proving hard to break.
On the bridge, Kreon paced up and down while Kyra sprawled in the command chair, one combat boot dangling over the armrest.
Finally, Kreon stopped and faced them. “We have strategy to discuss,” he said.
Kyra rolled her eyes at him. “Oh goody.”
That earned her a glare. “I would appreciate it if one of you could bring the Empress in on our debate,” he said.
“Done.” Tris felt he had the closest connection to the giant alien, for better or for worse. We’re planning our next move, he sent out to her. I think Kreon would like some advice.
I will say what I can, but I must leave you soon.
What? Tris was shocked. What do you mean?
You are not safe whilst I am here. Any of my people may find me easily, and through me they will find you.
Tris knew that was true. But still… If you leave, we’ll be unprotected!
If I stay, the same may also become true, she warned. After the confrontation on that planet, my reputation is diminished. Who am I, that I dare not challenge this Skinless worm?
But that’s not fair! Tris protested. Surely they can see he cheated? Demios is using an illegal alien weapon he stole from Kreon. That has to be against the rules.
Rules? She seemed bemused by the concept. There are no rules! Only kill, or be killed. I did neither, and so my followers are restless. I must give them a battle soon, or I will be fending off challenges myself.
If you stay, there will definitely be a battle, Tris pointed out.
If I stay, neither of us will survive it.
Tris was stunned by her analysis. He’d thought that their escape from Demios had proven their superiority — that it should at least have earned them a moment’s peace from the rebel Siszar. But the images she showed him quickly dispelled that notion. She could see their forces massing as bright sparks on the web of psychic energy, just as they could see hers. It was impossible to truly hide, he realised, when everyone in both camps was plugged in to the same network 24/7.
He looked up to find the others staring at him. Obviously his connection to that enticing energy had gone deeper again, causing him to miss something in the real world.
“The Empress is leaving,” he said, by way of explanation. “I tried to convince her to stay, but the others will find her wherever she goes. I think she wants to pick a place and stage a pitched battle.”
Kreon nodded. “A wise tactic. It does, however, limit our own options somewhat.”
“She thinks we should hide.”
“Indeed?” Kreon’s tone was speculative. “I fear the time for caution has already elapsed. We must visit the homeworld that was destroyed here. If there is a Portal there, we need to take an excursion through it. It is vital that we learn something to inform the defence of Earth.”
Tris snorted. “By ‘we’, I’m guessing you mean me.”
“Your life’s work is upon you, Tristan,” he said, without a trace of irony. “This is the sacrifice you are called upon to make.”
Tris sighed theatrically. “Yeah, yeah. The ‘cause’, save the galaxy, all that crap. You really need a new spiel.”
Something alarms you? the Empress asked.
Just something Kreon wants me to do, he told her. He wants us to visit your planet, the one that was destroyed by the Black Ships, to see if we can access the Portal.
The urgency of her response hit him like a tidal wave. You cannot! That world is contaminated! Even the eldest amongst us will not dare. My people, the ones that survived in the deepest places, are infected with a malady we call the Taint. They are insane with rage, much as the humans we have encountered together. But they are many, many times more dangerous in this state than any human.
Tris cursed under his breath. It hadn’t even occurred to him, but now it made perfect sense. He’d seen non-Gifted survivors on Arixia, and fought against the frenzied telepaths on Admiral Benin’s derelict battleship. But every single member of the Siszar race was strongly psychic; it went without saying that any survivors would have been driven mad.
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