Warden: A Novel (38 page)

Barent reached up with one of his manacled hands and rubbed his chin, frowning at Malves before he spoke. “You try really hard to sound like Golen, General, but you and I both know that you don’t agree with his policies. I saw your face when he ordered you to kill the Warden’s families. You were horrified at the thought. Face it. You aren’t like him. And if I had to guess, I’d venture that you haven’t even issued that order.”

The general’s eyebrows rose slowly, and a look of surprise replaced the amused expression he’d worn since first entering the room. “The histories say you were very perceptive, Sergeant Barent. In fact, some of the testaments your contemporaries left in the Vade suggested you had an uncanny ability to read people.”

“Well, we all have our gifts,” Barent replied sardonically.

Malves reached into his coat and withdrew an old book from an inside pocket, throwing it down on the table in front of Barent.

“Did you really believe all of this nonsense you advocated during the Pardon War, Sergeant? These quaint notions of equality and fairness? Or were you just trying to seize power for yourself as some of the founding members of the Collective suspected?”

Barent picked the book up to examine it, discovering it was a smaller version of the one Tana had removed from her apartment when they were escaping the city—a collection of his writings and speeches from the war.

“I meant every single word of it, Malves. And those
quaint
concepts you refer to are ancient, ideas that mankind has struggled to implement for countless generations.”

“And you thought that here, on this distant planet, in
this
environment, that you could actually make them work?”

“I thought… I
think
it’s worth a try.”

“You’re not even trained in politics, Sergeant Barent. How could you, of all people, think you could apply these ideas successfully, when so many learned statesmen before you tried and failed?”

“Ah,” Barent replied. “Because I have a very different perspective, General Malves. And it’s one you should be able to appreciate yourself. I may not be trained in politics, but I do know war. And on the battlefield, when a fellow soldier needs your help, you don't condemn or penalize him for his weaknesses, saying he should be faster, or a better fighter. You
help
him, without question. If he isn't fast enough, you grab his shirt and pull him forward as you advance. If his aim isn't as good as yours, you help him take out his assigned targets, working together to get the job done. And if he runs out of ammo, you give him some of yours—so you both have what you
need
to continue the fight. You don’t ask him where he was born, or what his political affiliations are. Or question how much money he has, or who his parents are—you support him, unconditionally, as a fellow soldier…as a fellow
human being.
We don’t discriminate in the military; soldiers work together as a matter of survival. We treat everyone equally, and I believe a government should do no less for its citizens. You of all people should get that, General.”

Malves pulled one of the chairs out and sat down at the table, carefully considering Barent’s words. “I’ve always wondered, Sergeant, and the histories are unclear.
Why
?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you do it…start the Pardon War? Why do you
care
so much? According to the records, you had no family left. Your application for the assignment to Torvus didn’t even list a next-of-kin. Everyone you ever cared about died back on Earth, so why were you so willing to fight and die for people you didn’t even know on this planet?”

Barent leaned back in the chair and rested his hands in his lap. The metal frame on the bulky restraints dug into his thighs, but the sensation was far less painful than the memories Malves’ words had stirred in his mind.

“That is exactly why, General. I lived in a small nation, one constantly at war with its much larger neighbor. A few powerful countries helped us keep our enemy at bay, but only because it suited their own needs. The enemy of my enemy…you understand. But as alliances continued to shift across the globe, so did our odds of survival. And as the wars on Earth expanded, eventually escalating to involve every country on the planet, many of the governments and armies began combining to form a few true superpowers.”

Barent paused to look at Malves, noting the general’s rapt attention. He appreciated how the man must have felt. How often do you get a history lesson from a living fossil?

“With the entire planet at war,” Barent continued, “the destruction that followed was almost indescribable. And when Earth’s resources became so strained that even the global death toll from famine and war couldn’t compensate, the major powers all got together and declared a truce. And they accomplished it by dividing up the remaining smaller nations among themselves. My country—in its most recent iteration as an autonomous region inside another nation—was bargained away like it was nothing. My people treated as if they were little more than pawns, trapped in a game of chess between giants. So we decided to fight back.”

“And that was when you lost your family?” Malves asked.

“Yes,” Barent replied. And despite the unpleasant memories, still vivid in his mind, his voice remained strong. “We were quickly defeated…overrun and absorbed. In less than a week, my entire country ceased to exist. And so did everyone I knew.” Barent’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling and his voice softened. “The irony is that I ended up being safer at the front than my family was back at home. I was only wounded—captured during our final stand—but the city where I lived was completely leveled by the enemy, killing everyone.”

Barent looked back down again, scooting forward in the chair and placing his hands flat on the table. “That was the final war, General Malves. The last one that
could
happen. Every person on the planet, every square inch of land, had been consolidated into one of the three remaining powers. But those mega-nations knew the solution was only a temporary measure—at best—because the same pressures would arise again in the future. They understood that the next war could obliterate the planet, rendering it lifeless, so they each began their own colonization program in earnest. All three nations had extensive resources under their control, and plenty of manpower to devote to the effort; and they collectively sent out thousands of probes across the galaxy, searching for suitable planets. They also started constructing the massive colony ships, and devised the selection processes necessary to determine who would fly on them. I had plenty of combat experience, and the new government had seen fit to issue a general amnesty for all soldiers who’d fought against them in the war, so I signed on to become a colonial guard without a second thought.”

“So you fight because—”

“Because I will not stand by and watch the strong prey on the weak. And I refuse to ignore the type of oppression that leads to indiscriminate slaughter—the kind that cost me everything I had back on Earth. I will never allow that hell to unfold a second time, General Malves. Not if it’s within my power to stop it.”

“But on Torvus you were insulated from all of those problems, Sergeant Barent. You were a guard.
You
had the privilege. And the power.”

“Yes, Malves, and I abused that authority. I’m no saint; I never have been. But I try to do what’s right. And I believe there are other people in the world who feel the same way—people who want to make things better. I also happen to think that you’re one of them, General.”

Malves shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and then he cleared his throat and stood up from the table. He turned his back to Barent. “Maybe at one time, Sergeant. When I was a much younger man, perhaps. But not anymore. I’ve done too many unconscionable things over the years. It’s far too late for my redemption…if that’s what you were thinking.”

“It’s never too late to do what’s right, General Malves.”

“It is for me, I’m afraid.”

The general’s shoulders stiffened and he stood up a straight, his voice turning sharp. “Do you want to hear something interesting, Sergeant Barent? I’m descended from the colonists, not the prisoners. All of us are to one degree or another, of course. But there’s a genetic test to determine how much residual climate treatment you have in your family lin—”

“I’m aware of it,” Barent interrupted him.

Malves looked back over his shoulder and Barent saw the confusion on his face.

“The Wardens tested me when we first met at the breakdown facility,” Barent explained. “To see if I was really…myself.”

“Ah, I see. Then you’ll also understand that the test can determine your original ancestry among the First Ones. And it matters, Sergeant Barent. I can be a general in the army, but I can
never
be a representative of the Collective. Only those originally descended from the prisoners may directly participate in the government.”

“You’re joking,” Barent said.

“I’m not.”

“And you still support them?”

“As I said, it’s gone too far now.”

General Malves turned back around and Barent saw the look of resignation on his face. He appeared to be a man trapped on a path he hadn’t chosen for himself—one that was impossible to escape from. So over the years, Malves had become determined to see it through to the end.

“You’re right, Sergeant Barent. I haven’t issued the order to have those families killed. And I won’t. I’ll explain to Minister Golen that it would undermine the confidence our own troops have in the government—that it would set a bad precedent, and my soldiers would be concerned about it happening to their own families in the future. Golen won’t like it, but he’ll have no choice but to agree. He may be a ruthless authoritarian, but Minister Golen knows he needs the support of the army.”

General Malves reached down and picked the book up off the table, stuffing it back into his pocket. “I can save the Warden’s families, Sergeant Barent. I can do that much, at least. But there is no way to save you. You have to understand that.”

“What I
understand
is that the Collective can’t let me live if they wish to remain in power.”

But that sure as hell doesn’t mean that I’m just going to sit here and let them kill me,
Barent thought.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, broken when the door burst open and a Collective soldier rushed into the room. Malves appeared ready to berate him for the interruption, but when he saw the man’s face he knew something serious had happened.

“General, the response unit you sent to the Outland has been overrun. They’re all dead. The Wardens blasted down a section of the outer wall when our forces arrived, and soldiers began rushing into the southern part of the city by the thousands. Our troops didn’t stand a chance.”

“Soldiers?” Malves asked. “What soldiers? From where?”

“Unknown, sir. But they were last seen massing near the border with the Middle District. We counted several thousand of them in that section of the Common Ring—not counting the downtrodden fighting at their side. And even more soldiers appeared to be joining them by the minute. But they sabotaged the monitoring equipment in that section of the city, General, so we have no idea how large the invading force actually is.”

The soldier’s voice faltered. “Sir…we think they may have already entered the Middle District.”

“Mobilize all three divisions,” General Malves snapped, his voice laced with anger and confusion. “I want that hole sealed, and whoever those people are dead. Tell the division commanders that I’m on my way to lead the assault personally. And when you’ve finished relaying those orders, get Barent moved to a more secure facility.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, and then he ran from the room.

General Malves spun around and glared at Barent. He wanted to pull every bit of information he could out of the Warden—to find out where those troops had come from, and what Barent’s plans were. But there simply wasn’t time. Not if the enemy was—quite literally—at the gate.

“You and I will resume this talk when I return,” Malves told him, and then he stormed out of the room.

The attack is underway,
Barent thought to himself.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here.

But how?

As his frustration continued to build, the door opened up again and three Collective soldiers filed into the room. One of them went straight to the cabinet and removed Barent’s pistols, while the other two came around to his side of the table and pulled Barent up by his arms.

“The Great Betrayer, huh?” the soldier standing at the cabinet remarked. “He looks like some kind of freak to me.”

“All of our ancestors looked like this, Brek,” one of the others replied.

“Yours, maybe. Not mine.”

They brought Barent around to the front of the room and Brek shoved him forward, sending the Warden sailing through the doorway and stumbling into the corridor beyond. The three soldiers followed him out, and as the trio led Barent down the hall, he noticed dozens of other soldiers running past them—headed off in both directions with a great sense of urgency. The entire complex appeared to be in action now, and it was a sure sign that the Olin and Exiles were working together as planned—and that their assault had scared the shit out of the Collective. The thought made Barent smile, and Brek reached out and punched him in the face.

“What the fuck are you smiling about, prisoner? As I hear it, you’re not long for this world.”

“That’s funny,” Barent told him. “Because the moment you hit me, I thought the same thing about you.”

The two men briefly exchanged threatening looks, and then another of the soldiers pulled Barent forward so the group could resume its trek down the corridor. When they reached the lift at the far end of it, the door opened up automatically, and all four stepped inside. Barent ended up standing in the center, surrounded closely by his three Collective guards, and then the door slid closed again. One of the soldiers punched a command in on the grayscale panel and the lift began traveling down.

It’s now or never,
Barent thought to himself.
Wherever we’re going will probably have even more soldiers. But what can I do?