Warden's Fate

by Tony James Slater

  Demios’ face was like a thundercloud. “Ah yes,” he said, scorn lacing every syllable. “You’re the pesky little child who follows Kreon everywhere. You know, I’d warn you about the old man’s intentions, but I just can’t be bothered.” He raised a massive arm, servos whirring, and pointed a clawed finger at Tris. “If you want to die first, that’s fine with me. It’ll give your master something to watch before I rip his internal organs out.”

  Demios nodded to his guards, and they moved a few steps further away.

  Interestingly, they hadn’t bothered to restrain either of their captives. Both Tris and Kreon were left facing Demios, as though he didn’t really care one way or the other.

  Tris felt the greasy touch of an unwelcome mind, and knew the six men in the corner were probing his defences.

  “Interesting…” Demios sounded thoughtful. “According to these gentlemen, you are very strongly Gifted. So that’s your grand plan, is it? But are you strong enough to beat me? Now that’s the question, isn’t it?” He flexed his massive arms. “Let’s find out.”

  Tris flicked his eyes around, but there was no cover. No-one to help. He knew the Empress was still outside the compound, squaring up against a horde of male Siszar; he hadn’t heard from Kyra. Only Kreon was with him, close enough that they were essentially standing together… and they were much too far from Demios to charge him.

  With no other option Tris braced himself, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut—

  As Demios struck.

  The power of his blast was entirely mental, but Tris felt it like the blow of a sledgehammer. He staggered back, reeling…

  But alive! The psychic shockwave arced around him, and he saw many of the surrounding Siszar tremble as it washed up against them. That effect alone had been enough to break Tris’ head last time; it had been several minutes before he’d even been able to think clearly.

  Not so this time. It was like a wall had flipped down in front of him, deflecting the blast the way concrete deflects a fire hose.

  And just like that, every trace Gift-sense vanished from his mind.

  It worked! The thought echoed around inside his skull, trapped there by the power of the pendant.

  Tris straightened, glaring defiantly at Demios. The ex-Warden had left the little window in his armour open, obviously preferring to watch his kills unimpeded. Tris saw the surprise register on his face, widening eyes that were narrowed vindictively.

  “Now that is interesting,” Demios said, visibly relaxing his efforts. “I was wrong. This is your grand plan. You’ve found another little toy, haven’t you? I should have known. Lord Anakreon, master of trickery! Well done.” He raised his clawed hands and applauded, the slow claps ringing out like metallic gunshots. “You win. I surrender.” He turned as though to walk away, but stepped back up onto his dais instead. “Oh, wait! I have a better idea.” He turned to face them again, and made a shooing motion to the guards either side of them.

  The men backed off, leaving more space around their prisoners.

  Tris exchanged a furtive glance with Kreon. This did not bode well.

  “I wondered if you’d like to see another project of mine,” Demios continued. Next to his dais stood a crate big enough to fit a small car. He gestured towards it, and the side facing them dropped to the ground with a clang.

  Pandora’s Box. Tris stared into the depths of it, his brain churning with the possibilities.

  There was a screech of metal on metal, and something moved in the shadows.

  Tris took a step back.

  And something big and silver trundled out of the crate. Something at once terrifying, yet disturbingly familiar.

  Rolling on heavy treads, a two metre-wide steel cube gleamed in the sunlight.

  Tris felt the blood drain from his face.

  His mind flashed back to their murder trial on Atalia, where Demios had been the accuser. For evidence, Evie had used a remote control…

  To wheel out Loader.

  Which is exactly what had just happened.

  Except where Loader had been battered and scarred from a century of following Kreon around the galaxy, this talos was brand-spanking new. Fresh from the factory…

  And twice as big.

  He didn’t need to ask if it had the same modifications; a chilling clang reverberated around the enclosure, as twin hatches in the talos’ side armour opened up. Slender poles extended from each, tilting forwards and upwards, their blades unfurling like a pair of razor-sharp umbrellas.

  Tris swallowed, his throat gone dry. He’d seen this play before, but always as a spectator.

  The blades began to whine, spinning faster and faster until two shimmering circles of steel was all he could see.

  “One of your best toys ever,” Demios said, and Tris wrenched his gaze away from the whirling death in front of him. “Of course, I made a few refinements myself. The original model was hopelessly underpowered. Tiny! If you’re going to do something like this, you may as well do it right.”

  He spread his mechanical arms, claws extended, and a deafening din of crashes and clangs came from all around them.

  Tris whipped his head around, trying to see what was happening behind the crowd of encircling Siszar. Plumes of dust rose, and the aliens themselves seemed agitated.

  And then Tris realised why.

  My God…

  The walls of the compound were made of crates. And every single one of them was now open. He watched in horror as a giant silver loader emerged from each one. There were too many to count. He caught Kreon’s eye as they both turned frantically, looking for any chance of escape. The expression on the Warden’s face said it all.

  Up on the dais, Demios seemed mightily pleased with their reactions. “And why waste all that time on development just to have one?” He tapped the side of his armour, near where his temple would be. “Economies of scale, Kreon! It’s cheaper to build them by the hundred. And they’re nice to have around. Not for me, you understand — but it helps the men sleep at night, when they’re surrounded by ten-thousand Siszar.”

  A cold sweat soaked Tris inside his bulky suit. He was no stranger to this moment; he’d been dodging death on a daily basis ever since Kreon abducted him from Earth.

  But even by his usual standards, this was messed up.

  Of all the ways he could go, being diced into dog food was about the worst.

  The aliens were scrambling out of the machines’ path, under no illusions that Demios cared enough to save them. Most managed to filter between those lethal blades, though some climbed the now empty walls of crates.

  The ring of loaders advanced slowly. Clearly Demios was enjoying this.

  Tris took another step back, racking his brains for anything resembling a plan.

  A plan? To fight a hundred Loaders? Yeah, right.

  Kyra! he sent out a desperate plea. Get out of here! He knew she couldn’t hear him; the dampening effect of the pendant was absolute. And Ella! Not that she’d been able to hear him even when his pendant wasn’t blocking the Gift. Please, please, if you’re still alive… get away, while you still can.

  Because they couldn’t fight this.

  None of them could.

  Even the Empress and her followers would be shredded in seconds.

  Don’t come in here! he warned her, then again remembered he was Gift-blind.

  Shit… He continued to give ground, backing away until he was side by side with Kreon.

  He didn’t dare look at the Warden’s face. He knew what he would see there; the same mixture of frustration and hopelessness that he felt himself.

  How the hell did we screw this up so badly?

  All those grand schemes — saving Kov’s people, saving the Earth, saving the entire galaxy…

  And we couldn’t even kill one man.

  As assassinations go, it hadn’t been a great success.

  32

  Tris wasn’t sure what made him look up.

  But he did — just a
s a slender figure in a black bodysuit summited the far wall.

  His eyes went wide.

  Standing atop a crate that had previously held one of the murderous loaders, Ella quickly appraised the situation.

  Alive! And looking dangerous…

  He couldn’t make out her face, but he’d have sworn she was smiling as she plucked a grenade from her thigh, then tossed it in one hand and caught it again.

  Is she… showing off?

  Then she wound up like a baseball pitcher, and threw the thing as far as her genetically-enhanced muscles could manage.

  The grenade sailed through the air towards the nearest loader, but pinged off the top of the machine and rolled to the ground in front of Tris.

  What the hell? He stared down at the bomb, slack-jawed, as a light on its top blinked faster and faster.

  “Get down!” he yelled to Kreon, and threw himself away from the thing.

  But with a beep and a click, the bomb failed to detonate.

  Tris scrambled back to his feet, noting that Kreon hadn’t taken his advice. Luckily, or else the Warden would also be struggling to get upright, as the loaders bore down on him…

  Or… not?

  The nearest of the nightmare machines was frozen in place, not six feet from where Tris stood. Its blades had stopped too — not just lost power, but locked up solid, with enough force to half tear them from the arms that wielded them. A brief burst of fireworks came from the loader’s open hatches, and a faint wisp of smoke curled up from its shiny metal casing.

  Tris turned a slow circle, surveying a battlefield gone suddenly quiet. Every loader he saw was in the same boat; frozen in time, their lethal blades spitting sparks. It was like someone had thrown all their power switches, all at once.

  Which of course, she had.

  EMP grenade? Tris hazarded. Guess that’s another reason why robots don’t fight.

  On the dais, Demios also regarded the scene. Tris looked up at him in time to see his lip curl in contempt. If the loss of his robot army bothered him, he didn’t show it. His eyes fixed on Tris, and without further comment his own weapons began to spin. Evidently his armour was better shielded than the loaders, as its arms came up smoothly. The underslung barrels became a blur, and Tris realised his situation hadn’t improved nearly as much as he’d thought.

  He tensed for a spring, gauging the distance to the nearest talos.

  Too far. I should have been running instead of gawping.

  Luckily, Kreon reacted faster. One great stride put him squarely in front of Tris — just as Demios unloaded with everything he had.

  The torrent of fire was incredible.

  The heat of it hit Tris in the face like the blast from an oven.

  But that was all that hit him.

  The Aegis gem embedded in Kreon’s neck produced an impenetrable forcefield, deflecting enough raw energy to cook them both a hundred times over. The Warden leaned into the attack, meeting Demios’ fire with his own will of iron. Tris flinched back from it, still unable to believe he was safe when a storm of lethal energy boiled the air only a few feet in front of him.

  Demios let up for a second, clearly perplexed by his weapons’ ineffectiveness.

  Kreon was ready, managing two strides forward before the bolts came at him again.

  It was a stand-off, Tris realised; the sheer violence of the assault was taking all of Kreon’s strength to resist. Whilst the Aegis deflected the killing energy, some of that momentum had to be transferred to the wielder. And Demios had enough firepower to keep them at bay for as long as he needed.

  Ella!

  Tris noticed her silhouette leaping gracefully from the wall. She must have been following the situation, and figured they were pinned down. Please Ella, he begged her silently. Please don’t do anything stupid! I can’t lose you again.

  Not that ‘stupid’ was in her playbook.

  Sacrifice, however, most certainly was.

  She’d get on well with Kreon, if they ever talked.

  Ella landed amidst the chaos surrounding the defunct loaders, and was immediately set upon by the soldiers in crimson. He couldn’t spare much attention to follow her progress, as Kreon was trying to force his way forward. Tris had never experienced such a firestorm, and wasn’t convinced the Aegis could handle it for long. Maybe Kreon was having the same doubts? He pushed himself onwards, one step at a time, and Tris stayed close behind him.

  But we’re unarmed! Even if we get close enough, what are we meant to use? Harsh language?

  Demios seemed to recognise this at the same moment, as he let up on the firing. He flexed those powerful arms, each more than capable of ripping them both in half.

  Tris ducked out from behind Kreon long enough to shoot Demios a glare. The ex-Warden showed no sign of concern; his face was alive with sadistic glee.

  His eyes met Tris’, then narrowed and flicked away.

  Towards Ella…

  And those mighty cannons span up again, as Demios stretched out his hand.

  “NO!” The shout tore from Tris’ throat, but it had no chance of reaching Ella. Caught up in her own battle, she was a sitting duck for that kind of firepower.

  Especially as Demios didn’t seem to care who he killed.

  The weapon blazed, carving a line of ruin towards Ella, obliterating everything in its path.

  And rage welled up inside Tris, strong enough to choke him.

  His hand came up of its own accord, yanking the pendant from his collar and flinging it to the ground.

  A hundred minds slammed into his head, a maelstrom of madness and confusion swirling around him.

  But he only wanted one of them.

  Demios, a towering pillar of malice and bloodlust, was easy to spot.

  Tris reached for that mind, his hand stretching out unconsciously to mirror the Gift.

  He took a hold of that mind, wrapping it with fingers built of his own pain and anger.

  And he squeezed.

  The sensation was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Something ripped loose inside of him, some piece of his psyche torn away forever.

  He didn’t care one bit.

  Demios had left the window in his armour open. His expression was one of murderous delight, as the recoil of his blasters shook the massive suit. Laser blasts reflected in his eyes, bringing sharp highlights and deep shadows to his face…

  Right up until his head exploded.

  Tris was staring right at him when it happened.

  Gore sprayed from the window, splattering the platform several feet in front of him.

  The shooting stopped, the blur of his guns resolving into individual barrels as they slowed.

  The sudden silence was deafening.

  The massive robotic suit ground to a halt. It stayed there, upright and listing slightly, while a steady stream of blood ran down the front of it.

  Tris looked at what he’d done, relieved and disgusted in equal measure. “Wow,” he muttered, remembering Balentine’s words. “It really did make a mess.”

  Ella emerged from hiding, a stunned look on her face.

  The guards she’d been fighting had been mown down by Demios’ onslaught.

  She looked over at Tris, her mouth agape; it hadn’t taken her long to figure out what had happened.

  And now I’m back to being a freak again, Tris thought. But a live one.

  Realisation hit the rest of the compound a split second later. Demios’ troops stared in horror at their boss, with the first to recover already raising their weapons towards Tris and Kreon. The trend spread, encouraged by shouts of command, and suddenly the compound was alive with crimson-armoured warriors, all training their guns on Tris. From the front, Kreon’s Aegis would protect him, but Demios had stationed guards all around the perimeter of his compound. Rifles flanked Tris on all sides. Sweat beaded on the soldier’s faces, and fingers tightened on their triggers. As soon as they opened up, it would be a firing squad.

  And that was when the Siszar
struck.

  Swarming over the crate-walls, the adolescent males flung themselves at the troops.

  It was like watching the tide roll up the beach. Physically unimpressive when compared to the Empress’s followers, most were still over two metres tall. The soldiers barely had time to turn before the wave broke on them, knocking them to the ground and tumbling them beneath its ferocity.

  Screams erupted, as the young Siszar released their pent-up savagery. A handful of laser blasts burned into the aliens, but did nothing to blunt their murderous rampage.

  Tris looked for Ella, finding her as she vaulted down from one of the defunct loaders. She landed lightly, a slim black blade in each hand, and launched herself at the last soldier separating her from Tris. She killed the man cleanly, one sword piercing the armpit of his armour as he raised his rifle to shoot her.

  The avalanche of Siszar had engulfed almost the entire contingent of soldiers. The handful still guarding Tris and Kreon were the only ones left. All were now facing outwards, blasting away at any Siszar who came close.

  Ella dispatched them one after another with alarming ease. Parrying whatever they aimed at her with one sword, she swapped the other for Kreon’s Kharash knife. No amount of fancy armour could withstand that thing, allowing her to stab the men right through their polished crimson chest-plates. It was a dance of death, and Tris couldn’t take his eyes off her. When it was over, she crouched down near the body of her last victim, rummaging around until she found Tris’ glaive. Then she strolled casually over to him, holding it out like a tool she’d borrowed.

  “Sorry I let you twist for so long. It’s like a zoo out there.”

  “Thank God you’re alive! I was so worried! When they threw those bombs in I—”

  “Awww, hush! I wasn’t even inside by that point. I heard them surrounding you, climbed up our prisoner, and cut my way out of the roof.” She waggled Kreon’s knife for emphasis. “This thing is marvellous. I wonder if he’ll let me keep it?”

  Pushing the blade aside, Tris wrapped his arms around her. She hadn’t mentioned Demios’ rather messy demise, so he figured that could wait until later. But the hug only lasted for a heartbeat, before she pushed him firmly away. Her meaning was clear; business first.