A huge Siszar female had been splayed out across the rearmost bulkhead, her limbs stretched to maximum extent. Each was bound with a series of clamps, growing smaller as the limbs narrowed, pinning her to the wall. Esoteric equipment surrounded her on all sides; human technology, all black metal and hard edges. Tris gazed in morbid fascination at the array of tubes and wires snaking out of the Siszar’s body. Different coloured fluids pumped along some of them, causing them to jiggle like they were trying to break free.
But the captive Siszar was not struggling. Her torpor was complete; she didn’t even twitch as the Empress came in, despite the obvious threat.
“They’re keeping her alive, and in a constant state of psychosis,” Ella explained from behind them. “It’s barbaric. But it makes the other Siszar ships give this one a wide birth, and stops them noticing any irregularities.”
She was powerful, the Empress told Tris, and even older than I.
So what do we do? We can’t leave her like this.
I will devour her, the Empress agreed. A glorious end, though not one she would have chosen.
Tris backed away, and turned to Ella. “You don’t want to watch this,” he said, ushering her out. “Trust me.”
But Ella stood her ground, and flung a hand up to catch the Empress’s attention. “Wait!” she said. “Hear me out. I know this looks horrid, but there’s a chance we can use this ship. If Demios is expecting us, he’ll never let us reach him alive. With this, we could sneak in amongst his followers. That must be how the Priestesses came here, under cover of the swarm.”
Tris baulked at the idea. “This is inhumane. No living creature deserves that.”
“I agree. And as soon as we land, the Empress can put her out of her misery. Tris, the Priesthood has a few of these ships, but not many. She’s probably been like that for a very long time. Decades, maybe generations. A few more days won’t make much difference.”
Tris wasn’t sure about that, but it was a moot point; the only vote that counted belonged to the Empress. He could feel her reliving the horror of torture on Admiral Benin’s battleship as she studied the restraints holding the prisoner.
He took a deep breath, before putting Ella’s suggestion to her as delicately as possible.
Her reaction wasn’t quite as volatile as he’d expected. If Tris had seen a human strung up like that, it would have overridden every other impulse with a desperate urge to save them. The Siszar, apparently, were more pragmatic.
I will devour her when you reach the Skinless One’s world?
Yes! Absolutely.
That is an ideal solution. My stomachs are bloated. I fed so recently, I would struggle to consume her all.
And there’s that, Tris agreed. He cast a sad eye over the equipment that kept the Siszar drugged. Do you think she would appreciate what we’re doing? he asked the Empress. Her sacrifice will help us to bring down this threat to your whole society.
Sacrifice? It was clear from her question that the word held a very different meaning for her.
Luckily, it was a word Tris had contemplated quite a lot since meeting Kreon. It’s when one person gives up something — like their life — for the good of others.
The Empress turned this concept around, examining it like a jewel from all different angles. You humans, are very strange, she concluded. And far more stupid than I was led to believe.
Tris had to concede her that. From the point of view of the individual, sacrifice was an extremely unappealing prospect. Unfortunately, it was something he’d be hearing a lot more about once this feud with Demios was done and dusted.
“One thing at a time,” he muttered to himself. It was like a computer game; you had to knock off the big boss at the end of each level before you could advance.
Except of course, in computer games you had unlimited lives.
Tris was painfully aware that he only had one.
And the next boss was the granddaddy of them all.
Demios… with the one-shot psychic kill. God, I hope I’m right about this.
You have a way to defeat him? The Empress’s interest was piqued.
I think so. But there are no guarantees.
There is one guarantee, she corrected him. You will kill him, or he will kill you.
Tell me about it.
It was a rhetorical suggestion of course, but the Empress chose to take it at face value.
This will be an exceptionally difficult challenge. The Skinless One is larger than you. He is stronger, older and vastly more powerful. She seemed to reflect on that for a few seconds. You should be glad he is not female.
***
Leaving Ella to figure out if she could actually fly the nestship, Tris accompanied the Empress back to her own vessel. The similarities were obvious, but the two ships were subtly different in size, shape, and the mottled tones of their skin-like hulls. The Empress boarded through an irising aperture not much bigger than the hatch on the infiltration vehicle, and she rose slowly into the sky as he carried on towards the village.
Kreon was waiting for him by the gates, along with Lord Balentine. Neither of them looked like they’d had much sleep.
Tris greeted them both with a wide grin, shaking hands enthusiastically with Balentine and clapping Kreon on the shoulder. “I thought you were dead,” he said, fighting the urge to wrap the Warden in a bear hug. “When I saw the shuttle go up…”
“Indeed. Presumably this explains your sudden urge to explore the forest unsupported, and add yourself to the casualty roll.”
Tris spread his hands in apology. “It was Kyra. I knew she was out there, with Evie. You weren’t there when she attacked us on the Folly… that girl is serious trouble. At least, she was.”
Kreon nodded his agreement. “And how is Kyra? I am concerned about her. Recent events have taken a heavy toll on her.”
“Ah, she’s fine. She gave me a pep-talk.”
Kreon made a face. “Then perhaps it is you who deserves my sympathy.”
“I won’t lie. It was brutal. But there’s nothing like her shit to put my shit in perspective.”
“You are even beginning to sound like her,” Kreon observed. “You must be wary of allowing her examples to colour your personal strategy. Kyra is a vastly more experienced operator than you. Lord Balentine here was just remarking how reckless your behaviour has been of late.”
Balentine shot him daggers. “What I said was, you remind me of a certain Lord Anakreon at a young age.”
Kreon’s expression remained flat. “Indeed. Hardly a compliment.”
Tris wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. “Well, if you’re a fan of reckless ideas, you’re going to love what Ella and I are cooking up. We’ve got a way to take on Demios.”
Kreon raised an eyebrow. “I am not sure I want to know. But I have a feeling you will tell me regardless.”
“Indeed!” Tris loved throwing that word back at him. “It’s easy — we’re going to assassinate him. You know, with Ella being an assassin and all that.”
The stare Kreon fixed him with was intense, but it was Balentine who sounded the first note of caution.
“Lord Demios was a Warden of the First Circle,” he reminded Tris. “He’s not an easy target. That army of his will make it hard to get close to him, and I don’t need to remind you that he’s experienced in dealing with assassins.”
They walked back into the village, as Tris explained the discovery of the Native Infiltration Vehicle. A communal fire-pit near the longhouse was in use, and the smell of roasting meat drew them over to it. Tris took a clay plate that was offered to him, and let the cook serve him a sizzling steak. Sitting on an empty weapons crate, he dug in. To his ration-bar-abused taste buds the meat was indescribably delicious; rich and juicy and burnt crispy in places. It wasn’t a flavour he could put a name to, but he’d never had a sophisticated palette. Meat was meat, and this stuff was good. For a few minutes he devoted himself to his food, letting the simple pleasure of eating drown out all other though
ts and woes. The fire crackled enticingly, giving off enough warmth to counter the slight breeze. He wasn’t really dressed for sitting around a camp fire all night, but then he wasn’t appropriately dressed for any part of his life these days. Kreon had effectively banned him from leaving the ship without a full suit of armour on, and with good reason. Just because he hadn’t been shot recently didn’t mean it was any less likely.
Probably should have taken another trip to the armoury before coming back down.
Still, as he stretched his denim-clad legs out towards the fire, chewed on his mouthful of steak and looked up at the stars, the atmosphere was so rustic it was almost wholesome.
Except that this planet was a death trap.
How long before the next hunt comes through here? he asked the Empress, not straining to reach her even as her ship achieved orbit.
There will be a substantial delay, she replied, as though he was asking to be part of one. The Elder who controlled this world is gone. Eventually another will claim it, but there is an abundance of such territories following the loss of our homeworld.
They don’t all have humans on them, do they?
The smell of her amusement nearly put him off his meat. Not at all. Humans are rare out here. Even properly cultivated, they are hard to keep alive.
Tris noticed both Kreon and Balentine watching him. They’d brought their food to a crate opposite him, and looked like they were waiting for an explanation.
“I was asking the Empress about these people,” he said, waving his hand at the villagers on the next crate over. “A lot of them will want to come with us when we leave, but they should be safe here for a while. If they can stockpile more food for the journey, once we kill Demios we can come back for them. For all of them.”
Kreon sliced his meat with a combat knife. “And how do you propose we kill him? The weapon he wields works on Gifted individuals, which rules out a challenge from both yourself and Kyra. Whilst Ella’s skills are doubtless impressive, I am not convinced she can beat him in open combat. Our greater mission grows more urgent by the day; I dare not risk the fate of the entire galaxy on her abilities alone.”
“You won’t,” Tris said. “I’ll do it.”
Kreon put down the piece of meat he’d just speared. His eyes sparkled with interest. “There is something you have not yet told us,” he guessed.
Tris nodded. Putting his plate aside, he reached into the neck of his t-shirt. He pulled out the pendant, twisting it in his fingers so the firelight reflected from the gem’s facets. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about this,” he said.
“You believed it to be broken following your foray into the Black Ships’ dimension?” Kreon leaned closer, studying the gem and Tris with equal intensity.
Tris let the pendant dangle outside his shirt. “Yeah, but here’s the thing. You thought it was broken from the start, because it blocks the Gift — or it used to. I thought maybe its batteries had gone flat after I went through the Portal. But I’ve been seeing some of my dad’s memories lately, and they gave me an idea.” He licked his lips. This is it. From here on, it’s all guesswork.
“Dad felt the same way after his first trip through the Portal. Before he went in, it worked like yours does, as a kind of booster. He thought he’d worn it out fending off the madness. It was only later that he realised it had started blocking the Gift — sort of like switching polarities.” He looked back and forth between the two Wardens, to check they were following him.
“So what if it was designed that way? To protect its wearer against the Black Ships madness? I think it flicks over to block the Gift when it senses an attack. That’s what happened to Dad, and that’s why he didn’t go crazy.” He pointed at Kreon. “You said yourself that the only difference between his two trips through the Portal was me. I think the key part of that is this pendant. He still didn’t realise it had protected him the first time, so he gave it to me before he left.”
As Tris finished, his audience sat in contemplative silence.
Kreon was the first to speak. “You could be right,” he admitted. “Has the gem altered its function again? Is that what accounts for the increase in your Gift-strength?”
“Ah, most of it, yeah,” Tris lied.
“Interesting. Then it is quite possible that it will do so again, once the influence of the Black Ships’ dimension is brought to bear.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“And you found evidence to back this up in your father’s memories?”
“Enough to piece it together. It’s the only way it makes sense.”
Kreon rubbed a hand over his bald scalp. “In which case, it would allow you to enter the Portal once again.”
“Yeah… I was afraid you’d say that.”
Kreon’s face softened for a moment. “Tris, if we are to achieve our goal, and prevent the Black Ships from extinguishing all life as we know it, another venture through the Portal is inevitable. However, I am minded to go myself this time; without my own Kharash pendant, I have no natural talent for the Gift.”
The sudden reprieve surprised Tris. Not that he’d let Kreon go through the Portal alone of course, but it would be nice to have some company. “If it works like I think it does, as soon as we enter that dimension it’ll switch to blocking mode and I’ll be safe. Well, safe from the madness, anyway.”
“That could indeed be the case. However, I will not endanger you without a greater degree of certainty. I have no wish to escort you through the Portal, only to be forced to execute you on the far side.”
Tris put on a mock-serious face. “Thanks, Kreon. That means a lot.”
“It means nothing, if we cannot test your theory under controlled conditions.”
Tris sat up a bit straighter, and looked the Warden in the eye. “That’s where Demios comes in. If I challenge him, and his psychic doodah doesn’t kill me, then we’ll know the pendant works.”
Lord Balentine’s jaw fell open, but Kreon’s gaze was unwavering. “If it does not work, you will die in screaming agony as your soul is torn apart.”
Tris waved that away with a flippancy he didn’t feel. “Meh. I was just thinking back to all your lectures on sacrifice, and it’s been a while, so… y’know.”
Kreon stared at him in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, Tris thought he heard the Warden’s voice crack. “Under normal circumstances, I would reprimand you for idiocy. However, our situation warrants more extreme measures. I am assuming that Ella will accompany you on this mission?”
Tris nodded, swallowing hard. Did I really just convince Kreon to let me tackle Demios on my own? What the hell is wrong with me!
“So be it.” Kreon stood, gathering the shredded remnants of his trench coat around himself. “I will accompany you as well. If the three of us together cannot finish Demios, then perhaps the galaxy will be better off without us.”
29
The loss of the old mining shuttle had left them in a logistic tangle. The loss of the Vanguard’s pilot was a shame as well; he’d been sound asleep inside the shuttle when it blew, and pieces of him had been found all over the village. Tris had the horrible thought that some of him might have ended up on the barbecue he’d just eaten.
In the end, Kreon and Balentine flew Nightshade back up to the Folly. Ella shadowed them, trying out the captured nestship for the first time. Tris went with her, keeping a mental line open to the Empress in case they ran into difficulties. As far as he could tell, the raging insanity which poured from the captive female was intended to keep other Siszar ships away; the only downside he could see was if they came across another equally powerful female, and she was in the mood for a fight.
Or an equally powerful male who was in the mood for a shag…
Then we’d be screwed. Quite literally.
It was extremely disconcerting, sitting next to Ella inside an alien spaceship. Everywhere he looked, gelatinous membranes oozed; the floor in the pod-shaped cockpit was disturbingly s
pongy. The ship slurped, cracked and gurgled as it flew, the sounds coming continuously from all sides. Tris did his best to ignore them.
It wasn’t the smoothest ride.
There were no inertial dampeners; from conversations with the Empress Tris knew their ships were normally filled with a viscous, pressure-regulating fluid. The Siszar piloted by inserting all five limb-tips into a series of control orifices, which meant they also didn’t feel the need for chairs.
Luckily, the Priesthood had bypassed those systems in favour of fresh air and human-style consoles, bolted awkwardly into place. This allowed Ella the same manoeuvring and navigational abilities as a regular shuttle, although getting the hang of using them was taking some time. “It’s like flying a dead giraffe,” she complained, as the ship lurched from side to side.
“Have you ever seen a giraffe?” Tris asked, hoping a chat would calm both their nerves.
“In London zoo,” she replied. “Me and Evie snuck in when we were, what, eight years old? She pretended to have this really bad cough, and no-one would come near us to ask for tickets. I wanted to steal a penguin.”
“Ha! Did you?”
She flashed him a smile. “No. They looked too happy where they were. Plus they were all slippery, and really heavy.”
The image of the girl she must have been at that age rose up in his mind. Just like him, she’d been kidnaped from Earth and thrust into this life. Only her trip had involved five decades of torture.
“Do you miss Evie?”
“Course I do. How could I not?” She busied herself with the controls for a moment, managing the smoothest turn so far. “I’ll see her again soon though,” she added softly. “The Priesthood isn’t going to stop coming after me, Tris. They’ll win in the end, you know. They always do.”
Tris wasn’t having any of that. “Then after we’re done with Demios and the Black Ships, maybe we should get them next.”
Her laughter filled the cockpit, a deliciously musical sound against the constant gurgling from the nestship.
Warden's Fate Page 35