Warden Page 4

  “I’m just saying that your armor doesn’t inspire confidence. Who’d rather be dressed in leather plating than badass plate armor? Bethany Anne’s suit is bangin’.”

  “You know, I spent centuries of my life without ever suspecting I would hear an AI use that phrase.” Barnabas looked contemplatively into space. “It was a simpler time.” He sighed. “And it’s not like I’m actually wearing leather. It’s entirely aesthetic.”

  “Says the ginger.”

  “I like this hair color! And you should be focusing on flying the ship.”

  “Mmhmm.” She gave an eerily good impression of his interjection from a few moments earlier and projected dozens more avatars around the room. “Unlike a human, I can be in two places at once.”

  “Well, that’s just unsettling.” Barnabas gazed around.

  All the avatars vanished, to the sound of Shinigami’s laughter. “Mmhmm,” Shinigami repeated, her voice echoing out of a nearby speaker.

  “I’m here!” Gar jogged into the Pod bay.

  “Oh, good. I—” Barnabas turned to him, and his eyebrows went up. They’d had the chance to secure some basic armor for Gar when he was last on High Tortuga, making use of some of the production facilities on the main continent. He hadn’t told Gar about it at the time, since he didn’t know how long it would be until he was comfortable having the Luvendi in combat.

  Frankly, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with it now.

  To be fair, Gar did look well-protected. His sparring recently had been impressive. He displayed good reflexes and a solid amount of force behind his strikes, given that he’d only started a few weeks ago. Still…

  This is risky, Barnabas told Shinigami.

  Yes, I know. You should go into the base alone.

  You agree? Barnabas raised his eyebrows at one of the cameras.

  Of course. You’re a lone wolf. You do your best work alone. Only you can save the day.

  You’re mocking me, aren’t you?

  Barnabas, hero of the downtrodden, savior of the really bored crew on his ship.

  I GET IT. Thank you.

  He’s going to have his first battle sometime.

  Maybe not a whole base full of mercenaries, though.

  You don’t do small plans. It’s going to be something like this.

  Well played. Barnabas sighed and smiled at Gar. “How does the armor feel?”

  “Heavy,” Gar responded without hesitation “It’s weird. I’m not tired of wearing it, but I feel like I should be because I never used to carry any heavy things. You know?”

  “Sure.” Barnabas nodded. “Now, you’re clear on the plan?”

  “'Let you go first,” Gar confirmed. “I know. Believe me, I’m not going to go running off.”

  “Good.” Barnabas swayed a little as the ship swerved. “Everything going well, Shinigami?”

  “Oh, yes, just following in this ship’s blind spot. I’m getting everything I can out of their systems. Oh, this is so good. They still haven’t noticed me. One sec…” There was the shudder as a missile was released, and a moment later Shinigami laughed. “Yeah, they just never saw me at all. Pulled up, got all their information and their money, and now the ship is dust.”

  “Their money?” Barnabas asked.

  “Well, sure. Under the maritime law—”

  “We’re not under maritime law.” With a sigh, Barnabas turned back to Gar. “Now, remember to keep breathing. I think that applies to your physiology as well. The urge to start spraying bullets everywhere will be quite high. Don’t do that. Keep breathing, pick small tasks like taking down one person, stay aware of your surroundings—”

  Gar’s eyes started to glaze over.

  “And stay behind me,” Barnabas concluded. “Battle is chaotic. There’s really no way to understand that or prepare for it until you’ve seen it.”

  Gar now looked faintly queasy. “Maybe I should sit this one out.”

  “No,” Barnabas replied firmly.

  “Who am I kidding?” Gar looked around like a caged animal. “I’m a Luvendi. I started learning kung fu a month ago. Aren’t you supposed to train for years?”

  “In kung fu, yes. However, you have guns, and your aim is good. And your body has been enhanced. Also, what you’ve been learning has not been kung fu. Those movies aren’t very…accurate.”

  Gar looked so crestfallen that Barnabas could have kicked himself.

  I’m an asshole, aren’t I?

  You said it, not me. While you’re at it, you should also tell him Santa isn’t real.

  Oh, God.

  “The themes of the stories are realistic,” Barnabas added hastily. “Honor and loyalty. The fight scenes are just, uh…stylized. Yeah. To highlight the, uh…greater themes of the, uh…metaphorical implications of the piece.”

  “Oh.” Gar nodded. He looked a little confused.

  I’m just going to hope he doesn’t ask me to explain that.

  You should have gone into academia or politics.

  He isn’t sad anymore, though.

  You’re really reaching, you know that?

  The ship swerved again, and a few moments later, Shinigami’s voice came over the speakers, sounding very pleased with herself. “That was the last of the patrol ships, and we’re coming in for a landing now.”

  “And they haven’t spotted us?”

  “No. We’re emitting the signal for the Jil. As far as they know, that ship is still patrolling.”

  “And what are they going to think when it docks at the garbage chute?”

  “Way ahead of you, I turned those turrets off. None of the surveillance on this side is working. And, yes, the video feeds are being looped, so no one’s going to notice.”

  Barnabas made a non-committal noise. In his experience, it was only so long until someone did notice, then all hell would break loose.

  “As long as you’re sure you’ll be okay if they turn back on,” was all he said, however. There was no need to scare Gar.

  “Those piddly little things? Of course.” She sounded offended that he’d even asked.

  “Well, knock yourself out.” Then, “This way, Gar. We’re going to— Oh, my God, I’m going to be sick.” As the door to the garbage dump opened, Barnabas pressed a hand over his mouth. “No one needs an upgraded sense of smell, I swear.”

  “We probably should have rigged gas masks,” Shinigami remarked.

  “Probably,” Barnabas managed. “Ugh. Okay, let’s get this over with before I think better of it all and let Shinigami use a nuke.”

  6

  Gar and Barnabas crept over piles of garbage. Stations were generally built to minimize waste, so the massive bay wasn’t even close to full.

  It stunk to high heaven, however.

  “This isn’t so bad,” Gar whispered to Barnabas.

  “I wish I were dead,” Barnabas grumped. He wore a look of resignation. “I don’t know how I survived old Europe. This is a nightmare.”

  “It’s only smells,” Gar asserted. He wrinkled his flat nose at Barnabas.

  “This from the Luvendi who threw a mug of tea across the room the other day.”

  “It was vile.”

  “It was chamomile. Who doesn’t like chamomile?” Barnabas reached the door at the edge of the room and kicked a few pieces of unidentifiable detritus away from it. “At least we don’t need to climb the garbage chute. That would be worse. Shinigami, do you have the codes?”

  “Still working on it. Everything maintenance-related is on a much more secure server. I suppose that makes sense if I think about it. Sabotage must be a common way of destroying stations.”

  “It preserves the structure so that other people can just take over,” Gar agreed. “Sometimes rival clans on Luvendan would do that—sabotage the air filtration systems or something and kill everyone in a tower, then fix the systems and take it for their own.”

  “No movies, no music, and everyone spends their time meditating unless they’re busy committing mass
murder.” Barnabas snorted. “Remind me again why you left?”

  Gar grinned at him. “All of us who leave ask ourselves that, and meanwhile, our families are writing to us, ‘Come home! Why do you want to be out in the universe, anyway? Where could be better than Luvendan?’” He shook his head, wide-eyed. “Everywhere. The answer is ‘everywhere.’ Try convincing them of that, though.”

  Barnabas chuckled softly, then looked around when the door clicked.

  “You’re good to go,” Shinigami told them. “It looks like you have four soldiers on their way right now. They’ll probably directly intercept your path if you go straight, coming from the left two hallways above. And there are two more in the immediate vicinity. Not sure if they’re patrolling or if they’re actually maintenance workers.”

  “I guess we’ll see.” Barnabas eased the door open and slipped into the hallway, motioning for Gar to come after him. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. “Let me handle this, and then once you’ve seen it happen, you can join in on the next one.”

  Gar nodded. He was suddenly drenched in sweat. Barnabas’ description of combat had terrified him. He wasn’t good with chaos; no Luvendi were. Chaos was just another chance to get injured.

  There was a reason they spent so much time idle.

  He clenched his hands into fists and followed, however. He could feel the new, stronger muscles moving below the skin. He was not too weak to move around in his armor. He was not too weak to strike with his hands and feet. He had guns, too, and he was good with them. Barnabas had said he had a natural talent.

  He could do this.

  What kept him here, however, wasn’t his belief in himself. It was his shame that he might leave Barnabas to do this alone. Gar could not expect his allies to go into danger while he sat on the ship in relative comfort and safety. That would be wrong.

  Ahead of him, Barnabas walked quickly and lightly down the hallway. A few paces from the turnoff point Shinigami had indicated he held a hand up to stop Gar. Shinigami had been correct. The soldiers were coming toward them, and the way they clanked as they moved told Barnabas that they were in fact soldiers.

  “Like I know how to fix an intake valve,” one of them was complaining. “I don’t. We should have brought actual mechanics with us.”

  “We had to run quickly,” one of the others countered.

  “Yeah, that doesn’t sit right either. We fight people who come after us, right? We’re soldiers, but we’re just turning tail and running? I don’t like that. Anyway, what’s the use of a base if no one knows how to use it? You panic and run, and when you get out here you realize no one brought mechanics? That should be part of the plan.”

  Barnabas nodded to himself. This seemed like a sensible complaint.

  In agreement or not, he launched himself around the corner with his knives drawn. Someone devoted to fighting their way out of things, especially someone who was already frustrated about being cooped up here, was not going to walk away from this whole thing without a fight.

  He reminded himself of Shinigami’s words: there’s no saving everyone.

  These mercenaries had shown that they gladly supported slave traders, and Barnabas knew they’d kill him without a second thought. He owed them nothing.

  He caught the first in the throat with his knives and the mercenary, a Torcellan female, went over backward with wide, surprised eyes.

  No guns. He didn’t want anyone to know they were here yet, and it was hard to hide the sound of a Jean Dukes Special.

  One of the others, perhaps the complainer, raised his weapon to fire, more out of instinct than anything else. His jaw hung open.

  He never got the chance to squeeze the trigger. Barnabas’ hand shot out, and he wrenched the gun away. The mercenary stumbled forward as Barnabas bent the barrel of the rifle and proceeded to club the male over the head. The male went down in a heap.

  One of the remaining two drew in his breath to yell for help, and Barnabas crushed his throat. He was a Hieto, which meant that the throat had thick skin that would have resisted most combatants.

  Barnabas, however, was not “most combatants.” The Hieto fell with a wheeze and went still, and Barnabas turned to the last mercenary with a grave look.

  “You knew this would be your end,” he stated simply, having read the female Torcellan’s thoughts. She had gone to her friend, who now lay dead on the floor. Both had enjoyed a life that would make decent people shudder—killing, stealing, enslaving.

  They had called it ‘the good life,’ and they had told each other that they were probably going to die young.

  Barnabas met her eyes and felt a sense of calm come over him. Some deaths were unjustified.

  Hers had been earned.

  “I judge you,” he declared and drove the knife into her eye. She fell without a sound.

  Gar, who had been watching, stood behind Barnabas with his mouth open. There had been some chaos, yes, but all of it had been contained within Barnabas. To the naked eye, what had occurred here had taken place in a mere few seconds.

  Gar was still staring in shock when he heard Shinigami’s warning through his implant.

  “The other two are behind you!”

  It was too late. There was the click of a gun, and Gar spun to see a Shrillexian with his gun pointed directly at Gar’s head.

  With his gun up, the Shrillexian started to laugh. He lowered the weapon and elbowed his patrol partner in the side, still laughing.

  “A Luvendi in armor! Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?”

  Barnabas walked up next to Gar. “You see what he’s doing here? Lowering the weapon, laughing, talking with his compatriots? Never do that.”

  Gar didn’t even glance at Barnabas. His chest rose and fell faster now, and he could hear the steady beat of blood in his ears. “Shut up,” he ground out.

  Barnabas fell silent and his eyebrows shot up in surprise, but then he realized Gar wasn’t talking to him. The Shrillexian, meanwhile, laughed even harder. His companion, a Brakalon, began to chuckle as well. He swung his big head from side to side in mirth.

  “A Luvendi in armor. Heh heh, that’s a good joke.”

  “I said, shut up,” Gar snarled.

  “He wants us to shut up!” The Shrillexian fought for breath. “He might spit on us if we don’t!”

  He was still laughing when Gar’s hand closed around his throat. Gar dragged him close with a hiss, and the Shrillexian’s face met Gar’s other fist—hard. The punch shattered the front of the Shillexian’s skull, and the laughter trailed off in a gurgle.

  Whoa, Shinigami exclaimed in Barnabas’ head.

  “Whoa” is right. Don’t worry, I’ll take the Brakalon if I need to. Gar might—WHOA.

  Gar launched himself at the Brakalon and lashed out with nearly surgical precision. His hands and feet found joints, internal organs, and painful pressure points. The Brakalon howled as he doubled over, clutching his face, and Gar brought a knee up with lethal speed to bash into his skull.

  The Brakalon collapsed, and his chest no longer moved.

  Gar turned to Barnabas with wide eyes and a dawning smile on his face. “That felt great,” the Luvendi exclaimed. He was heaving for air, but his voice was full of satisfaction. “All those years of them thinking they were better than me because they could fight and I couldn’t. Well, now I can.”

  Is it possible we made a mistake? Barnabas asked Shinigami privately.

  Hellllll no. We made a great choice. This is going to be fantastic.

  So, definitely a mistake, then.

  Barnabas nodded. “That was well done. Good job going for the Brakalon before he stopped laughing.”

  “Yeah!” Gar looked around. “Where’s the next group? I want to do that again!”

  Shinigami, see if you can find some data on manic traits in Luvendi. Barnabas held up a hand in caution. “Stay on point,” he advised. “When you start seeking out fights to have fun, you get blinded to the true purpose of fighting, which is to
achieve an external goal.”

  “Oh.” Gar looked a bit ashamed. “Right. Uh…right.” But his eyes scanned the area as if he might find some other enemies lurking. “Well, let’s go clear out this base and find Crallus and Uleq.”

  “Good focus. Check your weapons, make sure everything’s still secure. Good? Come on, then. They’re up two flights of stairs from here, and at the back of the base from where we landed.”

  They headed off, Gar still bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  He felt like he was walking on air. The feeling he had gotten when his strikes landed had been exhilarating, and the fact that he had been able to win a fight with speed and training was something he was sure would never get old.

  And he was actually helping! He loved that. Before, when Barnabas completed any number of missions, Gar’d had to wait on the Shinigami, feeling miserable and useless. He couldn’t pilot, he couldn’t pull information up nearly as fast as Shinigami could, and he hadn’t been able to fight—until now.

  For the first time, he really felt like he was part of the team.

  He hummed happily to himself as he walked. He wasn’t sure what the tune was; maybe one of the songs that played during the movies he’d seen. He’d begun to appreciate music these days. Maybe other species were onto something with that.

  He just felt incredibly benevolent toward the whole universe right now.

  He was still humming when they came to what the schematics said was the stairwell, and instead discovered a post-construction addition to the base. The stairwell was a good twenty yards away, and between them and it…

  There must have been two dozen mercenaries, all with their weapons slung across their backs or leaning back in their chairs. They were playing cards and laughing with one another, and they turned toward the door as it opened.

  A human and a Luvendi. It was clear from a single glance that Barnabas and Gar didn’t belong.

  Barnabas had his gun out and was firing even as one of the mercenaries ran for the alarm button. The shot blew him backward, but not before he’d punched the thing. The alarms wailed.