Warden: A Novel (20 page)

“Again,” he called out. Then he lowered his blades and gave the woman a meaningful look. “Your turn, Julnev.”

“Yes, Renik.”

She took her place in the center this time and the other three readied to attack her. But the tent flap opened before they could begin, and an Olin Barent judged to be a guard leaned out, calling over to the man leading the practice.

“Renik! Lusani wishes to see you.”

They could hear him instructing the others to continue on in his absence, and then Renik sheathed his blades and approached the tent, giving Barent and Tana an inquisitive look before going inside.

As he disappeared behind the canvas, Tana said, “He’s a good fighter.”

“They all appear to be,” Barent agreed.

A moment later, the flap opened up again and the guard told them to come inside. They passed by Calif and Draly as they were leaving the tent, but their expressions provided few clues as to the type of welcome they should expect.

Barent spotted a long table at the back of the room, with four people huddled around it closely. When he got nearer, he saw that the Olin were carefully examining the items they’d confiscated at Calif and Draly’s house. The group appeared interested in everything on the table, but Barent’s plasma rifle and Tana’s book were drawing the most attention.

Barent hadn’t realized that Tana brought the book with them when they left the hideout, and he thought it an odd thing to carry around—especially in these circumstances. But she’d chosen it over all of her other possessions when they fled Le’sant, so maybe he shouldn’t have been
that
surprised.

“Everyone out,” a woman standing at the back of the table stated tiredly. Then added, “Not you, Renik.”

Barent noted that she was older than most of the Olin they’d encountered so far, but certainly not elderly. And only a tiny bit of grey streaked through her black, shoulder-length hair. When she strode around to the front of the table Barent recognized the same fluid movements the other Olin possessed. And despite her age, he knew the woman was every bit the fighter Renik was…that they
all
appeared to be. After the others left the tent she introduced herself.

“My name is Lusani,” she announced, the authority in her voice unmistakable. “I understand that you claim to be from the
Le’sant
.”

“We
are
from the
Le’sant
,” Barent replied amiably. “May I assume that you’re the leader of the Olin?”

“I am in matters such as this,” she replied. “My direct ancestor was the captain of the
Olin
, and it has been my privilege to lead—like my father, and his father before him. Some think this direct transition of power is outdated, but it has served our people well over the years.”

Lusani glanced over at Renik, as if daring him to say something. But his face remained stoic.

“I see,” Barent replied. And he did. The subtle exchange between the two Olin told him Lusani might be in charge, but her power wasn’t absolute…or unchallenged.

“There are those,” she continued, “like Renik here, who think no one should be in power. And others, who would have us fight for leadership like the Exiles do—ascending to a position of authority based on who is the better killer. But we are not animals, like them. The
Olin
’s captain led our people to survival when all hope appeared lost, and he groomed his son to do the same. In time, my father passed that same wisdom down to me. Isn’t it better to have leaders
trained
to lead, rather than those based on their ability to kill?”

The question was clearly rhetorical because Lusani didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she leaned forward to pick Tana’s book up off the table. “
The Treatises of the Great Betrayer
,” she read aloud. “What an interesting title. What’s it about?”

Tana started to speak but Barent stopped her. He thought it best to downplay the importance of the book—to avoid any potential friction that might arise from ideological differences. There seemed to be enough political instability among the Olin already.

“It’s part of the historical record of ancient Le’sant,” Barent explained. “From the time of the landing…and the founding of the colony.”

“Interesting,” Lusani said. She tossed the book over to Renik. “You love reading the old books in the town library, have a look at this one and let me know if you find anything useful.” Then she waved her hand dismissively. “You can go now, Renik. And make sure we’re not disturbed.”

Renik flipped through a few pages of the book and then looked back up, nodding at Lusani before walking out. Barent noted there was deference in the gesture, but not much.

“He fancies himself a bit of a scholar-warrior,” Lusani said. “After the power was depleted, our ancestors reduced everything they could to writing, making actual paper books for succeeding generations. Our library is full of them, not to mention the centuries’ worth of hand-written entries to the Vade.”

Lusani’s expression softened to one of amusement. “I believe Renik spends almost as much time in that library as he does practicing with his blades. I truly believe he would live there if he could.”

“I’m surprised the Olin still keep the Vade,” Tana said. “It must be difficult to write everything out by hand.”

“It is. But I think the Vade will endure long after we’re all dead and gone. Now please, have a seat.”

Lusani gestured toward two chairs near the sidewall of the tent, and then she leaned back against the table, reaching over to pick up the plasma rifle. As Barent and Tana sat down, she switched the weapon on and gazed at the lighted barrel in disbelief.

“This is astonishing. You two really are from the
Le’sant
, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Tana replied. “We really are.”

“You don’t seem to be as skeptical as the others,” Barent pointed out.

“Ah, that’s because I have a secret,” Lusani said. She powered the rifle down and placed it back on the table. Then Lusani clasped her hands together in front of herself and smiled. “I have actually
seen
Le’sant.”

Barent sat up in the chair. “How?”

“When I was a small child I went out on a caribou hunt with my father. Our party set up camp right at the edge of the crater, in an area we seldom frequented because the hunting was often poor. The weather was mild that evening. In fact, it was one of the clearest nights I’ve ever seen on this planet. Everyone was bedding down to get up early for the hunt, but I wanted to go out and explore the crater’s rim. My father forbade it. He said there were too many Exiles around—that was another reason we didn’t hunt there often.”

Lusani stopped recounting the story and her face hardened, as if mentioning the Exiles had triggered a bad memory. But she quickly overcame whatever caused the discomfort and continued.

“I rarely defied my father but on that night I did, sneaking out of the tent after everyone else was asleep to peer down into the great crater. I was hiking near the outermost edge when I saw it…far off in the distance. A twinkling city of lights.”

“Didn’t you tell anyone?” Tana asked.

“Ha! If you knew my father you would already have your answer. I couldn’t, or he would know that I’d snuck out. And besides, it wasn’t long before the weather changed again and I couldn’t see it anymore. I wasn’t sure what I’d witnessed at the time, but as I grew older, and learned about the history of our forefathers, I knew it had to be the
Le’sant
. I’ve gone back to that spot many times since I took my place as head of the Olin, and I’ve tried to find it again and again. But I haven’t seen Le’sant since. Over the years, I even began to doubt whether or not it really happened. But now, here you are…”

Lusani looked down at the plasma rifle again. “And you have access to
power
.”

“And the Olin have food,” Barent said. “A supply that far exceeds your needs from what we’ve seen, and certainly a greater abundance and selection than anything available in Le’sant. I think a bargain might be struck between our two societies, Lusani. An agreement that will benefit us both.”

Lusani walked over to stand in front of Barent and he saw a change in her features. The storyteller was gone, and the Olin leader had returned. “And are you in a position to make such a bargain?”

“I might be,” he replied. “With your help.”

Lusani pulled a chair from underneath the table and sat down across from him.

“Do continue,” she said, leaning forward to stare at Barent’s face.

“You have my full attention.”

“This is it,” Sergeant Dura told the assembled Wardens. “Anyone not here by now probably didn’t make it.”

He looked out among the faces of the men and women scattered throughout the large underground hideaway—leaning up against dilapidated industrial equipment, or sitting on crates of long-abandoned materials. Most had barely survived the Collective’s attempt to eradicate them, yet every single Warden looked resolute and ready for action. If anything, the attempted assassinations had tempered their long-standing distrust of the Collective into one the strongest motivational sources known to mankind.

Anger.

Some argued that love was what drove people the hardest, that
it
was the most powerful emotion human beings could harness. But Sergeant Dura wasn’t one of them. He understood the power of hatred—believed in it. In fact, the feeling was coursing through his chest at that very moment, urging him to head straight for the Collective Assembly and get the vengeance he so desperately craved. But Dura was a professional, and he understood that there were many paths to retribution.

He intended to take one that hurt his enemy the most.

The surviving Wardens were gathered together in an old breakdown and assembly facility, originally used to help transform the
Le’sant
from a starship into a city. It was a largely unknown remnant from the colony’s earlier days—lost to all except architectural historians and the Wardens. It was also outside the city wall, and that kept the Collective DNA scanners from tracking their location.

With their original purpose long fulfilled, the old yards had lain abandoned for centuries. But now, the collection of fenced-in areas on the surface, and the underground facilities spread out beneath them, served as the last place of refuge for the remaining Wardens—some two hundred of them total—all gathered together to escape the ongoing purge of their order.

And to plot their response to it.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Major Kline’s heart attack was a complete fabrication,” Dura said, speaking so loudly that his voice reverberated off the walls of the sizeable underground factory. “It was murder. As were the deaths of the two Wardens in the Common Ring.”

He paused as the anger welled up inside him, and Dura fought to keep the emotion from seeping into his voice. But it was impossible.

“We also know that many of our fellow Wardens were dragged from their homes…some even killed in front of their families. I promise you that we
will
get justice for those murders,” Dura said forcefully. “We’ll make the Collective pay dearly for every single one of them.”

He worked hard to regain his composure, and then Dura’s eyes snapped alert. In the span of an instant, his tone changed completely—from one of barely controlled rage, to a calm efficiency that masked his underlying feelings.

As a soldier, Sergeant Dura was accustomed to reigning in his emotions…mostly. But he was well aware of his reputation as a hothead. When Major Kline had been the senior Warden Dura could afford that luxury. But not anymore. His troops needed him levelheaded and rational, despite the violent thoughts of revenge soaring through his mind.

“I believe that whatever brought this down on us began with the murder of Major Kline,” he said to the Wardens. “I also think it had something to do with the events at the Tomb of the Great Betrayer.”

Sergeant Dura scanned the room and saw that everyone’s attention was razor-focused on his next words.

“The intelligence I’ve managed to collect confirms that someone did break into the tomb and open the sarcophagus; that much is certain. And as for the rumors… My sources in the military say there
was
a cryo-chamber inside the coffin.”

The Wardens may have been highly trained professionals—prepared for almost any eventuality—but a few of them still gasped audibly in surprise.

“Vane,” Dura stated sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“I had Corporal Vane go out among the downtrodden in disguise,” Dura said. “And ordered him to interview some of the witnesses to the firefight that reportedly occurred between the military and Sergeant Barent. Tell them what you found out, Corporal.”

Vane stood up from where he was crouched next to a wooden crate, and then he hopped up on top of it so everyone could see him.

“It’s all true,” he said. “Everything we’ve heard is
true.
Multiple witnesses saw the fight, and they all described the Great Betrayer perfectly. His size and skin color made it easy to identify him, but the downtrodden also saw his face—a face they knew all too well. It was definitely Sergeant Barent.”

The Wardens began talking among themselves excitedly, and the low rumble of their voices grew louder by the second.

“Quiet down!” Dura yelled out.

The conversations ceased abruptly, and the Wardens gave him their full attention.

“There is something else,” Dura said. “A survivor in the hospital…one that actually
spoke
with Sergeant Barent. There can no longer be any doubt. The Great Betrayer is alive.”

“So what do we do now, Sergeant?” a Warden at the back of the room yelled out. “Where is he?”

“The witnesses say that Barent and an unknown woman left the city, travelling out into the wasteland in the middle of a brewing storm.”

“Then he’s dead,” another Warden said matter-of-factly.

“This is Sergeant Barent we’re talking about,” Dura countered. “During the Pardon War he
lived
outside the city; his forces launched attacks against the guards and colonists from out there. I believe he is still very much alive, and I also think he means to take on the Collective. It’s one of the reasons we were targeted in the first place: to remove as many supporters as possible from the Great Betrayer.”