LotS/The Story/A Masterful Stratagem/The Escape
The Escape
"If you're thinking of visiting Sian, don't."
-- Vagrant's Guide to the Cosmos (revised edition, published after the Centurian invasion)
"He's dead," you say. "I'm on my way back."
A barrage of joy greets the pronouncement. Then you emerge from the gallery, and realize that it's a little premature.
Two Centurians are at the far end of the corridor, crouching over a couple of artfully butchered bodies.
You fire twice, adding fresh corpses atop the old ones. But it's too late. Alarms are blaring, filling the air with their angry insistence.
"Ragnar!" You yell his name as you run, winding your way along the corridors. "Break the bars! Break them!"
You come into the prison passage in time to see the Niflung hurling them aside -- along with the not inconsiderable chunks of the floor and ceiling which are still attached to them.
The Emperor steps over the remaining debris.
"Run," you say. "Secret passage."
He nods, and joins the others as they sprint. You bring up the rear, falling into place to protect him -- to help him if he slows or stumbles. But he's fit and fast in spite of his years, and manages to match their pace.
So close... You have to make it...
Fist of the Emperor
"Enemies!" Ragnar shouts the word aloud, abandoning his implant.
Given that his next action is to barge into a group of Centurians, scattering them in all directions, that seems fair enough. The time for stealth is over.
Talia's pistols and Telemachus' blaster spring to life in mid-run, ensuring that none of the fallen soldiers will rise again.
But more of the Collective's guards have gathered ahead of you, in the larger chamber into which the room containing the entrance to the secret passage opens. Red laser fire zaps towards you. However, most are brandishing melee weapons. It occurs to you that they don't want to kill the Emperor -- to forever lose their hostage. They can't risk him being slain in the crossfire. Yet even so, it would only take one stray shot...
"Stay behind me, Your Majesty," you say, as your companions spread out to engage them.
"No."
The word is so utterly unexpected that you don't even register its meaning until the Emperor springs towards the nearest Centurian -- moving with impossible, inconceivable speed and grace. If the soldier has orders to recapture the prisoner, he abandons them in his panic. He raises his rifle in shaking hands and unleashes a blast of laser fire.
The Emperor's hand rises, suffused with a faint glow, and the beam simply stops against his flesh. Then he lunges forward, his other hand leading the way like the tip of a lance, its fingers curling into a fist.
Armor cracks like the shell of an egg. The Centurian flies across the room as though blasted by a powerful explosion instead of a punch -- dark blood gushing from his mouth. When he lands, he lies still.
More Haste, Less Speeder
"You're psionic!" Ragnar says.
You crowd into the little chamber, leaving Centurian bodies littering the ground behind you. In a moment you're moving through the secret passage, the blaring noise growing quieter as you place more of its shadowy length between yourselves and the alarms.
No one other than the Niflung would be so indecorous as to question the Sian Emperor, but you can sense the curiosity radiating from those around you -- reflecting your own.
"My ancestors called it chi," he replies. "It's the nexus around which my Imperial Fist style is built."
A contemplative look appears on Ragnar's face. If you get out of this alive, you expect that he'll later ask you where he can get hold of some chi.
The darkness of the gardens wraps you in a cooling embrace as you rush into the wet night air.
Your gaze sweeps across the dead trees and devastated flower beds. There's no sign of any enemies. If they don't know about the passage, you still have the advantage...
"Captain!" Wu Tenchu's voice is almost a shout. Even the stoic mandarin in his distant vantage place feels the dire urgency of the situation. The Emperor's escape, perhaps the fate of the entire war, hangs in the balance. "There are Centurians approaching from the eastern part of the gardens. I've intercepted their communications. It's a hover speeder unit."
"Silence them," you say. "We'll do the rest."
You all slow your pace. There's no way you'll outrun speeders. And you'll need your energy to fight with. But every cloud has a silver lining, and a plan is already percolating in your mind.
You're near the lake when the long, slender vehicles appear -- each carrying two Centurians on its back. Weapons fire from their pistols pulses in the night.
Hover Speeder Havoc
"Secure the vehicles," you say. "Don't destroy them unless you have to. Ragnar -- I'm looking at you."
"Heh."
"Well, carjacking isn't generally my crime of choice," Lupin says, "but I'll see what I can do..."
The next moment he's atop one of the speeders, its former occupants rolling on the ground. Talia jumps into its other seat, and hitches a ride just long enough for the thief to swerve close to another of the vehicles. Then she fires twice, springs into the second speeder's now vacant driver position before it can crash, and swings back round to pick up a passenger.
The Niflung, perhaps heeding your previous admonition, jumps onto the speeder which hurtles towards him instead of blowing it up with a stream of machinegun fire. He drives his axe through the surprised driver's helmet, allowing Kess -- fresh from launching the passenger off the back with a flying kick -- to clamber to the controls.
With the murderous precision you've come to expect from your friends, your plan comes to fruition.
"There are more speeders," Wu Tenchu says. "I believe they may intercept you on the way to the landing pad."
"Understood. Lu Bu," you say, "take the Emperor."
The ruler of the Sian Empire seems to balk for a moment at the thought of entrusting his life to a robot, until Illaria speaks out from Lu Bu's electronic mouth -- urging his compliance. He climbs into the rear seat.
"Don't stop for anything," you say. "We'll keep them off you."
"With me?" Telemachus asks, pulling his hover speeder to a stop next to you.
"Sure. Just don't make this payback for Drekchester."
You climb into the passenger seat, wait just a moment to make sure the rest of your companions are safely ensconced on their vehicles and in motion, then signal for the prince to get moving.
The vehicles are a godsend. Now you don't have to go around the lake...
In a few minutes the hover speeders are skimming across it, throwing up banks of spray on either side of their agile frames. You're still above the water when you catch sight of the enemy vehicles Master Wu warned you about.
"Get me close enough to shoot," you say.
The Empire's Finest
Larger firearms are difficult to wield effectively on the back of hover speeders. Thus a speeder-to-speeder battle usually becomes a close-range exchange of pistol fire -- each gunner using one hand for stability and the other to take potshots.
Unless you're Talia, who thinks nothing of standing upright on the back of a vehicle and firing both weapons from that precarious position.
Between your three firearms the speeder crews who sought to intercept you fare no better than their predecessors. One by one their bodies and vehicles splash into the lake, and you continue your exodus on the grass beyond.
It's as you crest the imperial gardens' wall -- soaring just over it, high enough to avoid the explosives arrayed on top but too low to trigger the anti-ship security measures -- that you see the dark shapes of enemy aircraft in the distant skies.
"Move it!" you yell, though the words are superfluous. Everyone's already making for the ship, pushing the speeders for all they're worth.
Lupin and Talia, you and Telemachus bring up the rear -- having held back to secure the escape. Your companions are already on board when you arrive, leap off your vehicles, and run for the invisible entrance. Slamming into the side of a spaceship during training exercises is a wonderful incentive to remember whereabouts the entry point is. Thus you all disappear inside without mishap.
The nearest of the aircraft descend at the same moment, their gunfire raking the tarmac as the hatch closes behind you.
There's a shudder. The world rocks around you as shots burst against the hull.
The Silver Shadow is already rising by the time you drop into the pilot's seat. Under the circumstances, Talia hasn't stood on ceremony.
"We've lost cloaking, captain."
"Great... Strap yourselves in, everyone."
The gunships fall away behind and below you. Helicopters aren't exactly built to chase spacecraft. But the red blips you see on the scanner... Those are a different story.
Bright blasts of weapons fire lance through the air as you climb towards the periphery of Sian's atmosphere, and break free into the void beyond. Space, a tantalizing infinity of potential escape routes, stretches before you. But it isn't untenanted...
"Centurian war ships," Talia says. "A whole fleet of them."
The alert has gone out. The predators are gathering.
"What's the plan?" she asks.
"Survive long enough to hit hyperspace."
"I like it."
???
Networks of laser fire crisscross the black heavens, grids of death and destruction. Swarms of fighter ships swim after you, weapons blazing. Great silver clouds of tiny drone ships surge like immense schools of minnows -- turning space into a seascape. Warships and cruisers loom towards you, their immense bulk promising annihilation.
But none of that matters. Your hyperspace engines are powered up.
The cheer which rings through the cabin when the galaxy blurs through the window seems to last for an eternity. Even the Emperor lends his voice to it. And millions upon millions of miles distant, aboard a TALOS cruiser, Wilex, Wu Tenchu, and Princess Illaria celebrate a victory which no others onboard even know exists yet.
"Everything's ready," the Chief Assembler says.
"Looking good, Wilex," Talia says.
On the monitor his face widens into a grin. His dress uniform is indeed rather more resplendent than the simple, functional garb you usually see him wearing.
"We'll be docking in a few minutes," you say.
The Princess has prepared quite the event to mark her father's freedom. The ceremonial chamber on Wilex's cruiser will play host to the Emperor's return and his reunion with his daughter -- an event which will be broadcast across human space to hearten the Sian Empire's subjects and allies, and grind the spirits of the Centurians further into the dirt.
Everyone will know that the Emperor once again sits in command of the empire, that nothing stands between you and Sian's liberation any longer.
Crowds of servants mob you on the floor of the hanger the moment you step from the Silver Shadow. Some try to foist fancy clothing on you. Others offer to apply makeup. You're ruminating on your options when Wu Tenchu appears and waves them all away.
The mandarin bows low before the Emperor, and the two exchange words of happy friendship. But even at the height of his ecstasy, the cunning and calculating mandarin has advice for the coming event. He suggests that you and your companions remain in your current attire -- though he can't quite conceal his unfavorable glance at Ragnar's bare chest -- to convey to those watching the broadcast that you're warriors fresh from the battlefield, as it were. To play up the heroism of the empire's children and allies.
There's something to this, so you follow Master Wu's suggestion.
Lupin comes to your side as the Emperor is plied with a choice of appropriate hats for the occasion, and Wu Tenchu departs to take up his position in the hall.
"It's been fun, my dear, but I'm afraid I'll have to bow out. My face, ruggedly handsome though it may be, is hardly suitable for splashing across an interstellar broadcast."
"And I should do the same," Kess says. "The Princess was kind enough to arrange pardons for me. But even so, it isn't the occasion for people to see a notorious assassin."
You can offer no argument. So you make your farewells, telling both of them just how grateful you are for their aid -- and promising the empire's support if ever they need it, knowing that the Princess and her father will gladly honor such a vow under the circumstances.
So when you're finally led towards the ceremony hall it's your old companions who follow in the Emperor's wake alongside you.
"Thank you."
Illaria's soft voice, little more than a whisper, tingles in your ear. A smile crosses your face.
Then you're at the double doors.
"Showtime, captain," Talia murmurs. Her eyes sparkle.
The doors part, separating to reveal the trappings of celebration and victory. Sian Guardsmen line one side of the hall, their crisp white uniforms pristine and shining. Opposite them are TALOS robots, their bodies beautifully engineered and adorned. The warriors of two nations, two powers -- two allies now bound together by the deepest of ties.
At the far end of the chamber, beneath a spectacular artwork formed of cogs and gears, are Wilex and Wu Tenchu -- side by side, each man draped in his finery.
Princess Illaria stands before them, dressed in a fabulous white gown that echoes her beauty and radiates the magnificence of the ancient empire she was born to lead.
She turns. And it's you that her shining eyes fall upon first -- you she first favors with the gentle warmth of her smile.
Then her gaze travels to the face of her father, the man she must have feared she would never see again.
The Emperor moves towards her, and she comes to him in turn. When they meet in the middle of the hall there's no prim and proper bow, no display of centuries-old protocol. Instead they throw their arms around each other. Not ruler and heir, Emperor and Princess, but father and daughter.
The two of them turn as though with the force of their embrace. Orbiting worlds rotating by the might of their shared gravitation pulls. The Emperor comes to face you over her shoulder, bliss written upon his aged features.
Then his eyes... tremble.
A strange shudder fills each of them, as though his very eyeballs are warring against themselves. When the trembling stops, they're bright red. The bliss sloughs from his face, leaving only... malice... in its wake.
The voice of a dead woman resounds in your mind.
"No! Stay away from him! Stay away-"
You dash forward. The Emperor speaks.
"Councilor Dule sends his regards."
The universe slows. You're running. The Emperor's arm is moving. The Princess' body is tensing. And you know you won't make it. You'll never make it. Fate is sweeping it all away...
His fist thunders into her, striking her face with the force of bloodline and chi, destiny and doom. There's... redness. An explosion of redness. A shower of blood and...
Her body falls. It lies full length upon the floor, alongside the wreckage of her skull.
There are shouts, and screams. You hear them. They register in your ears, become part of a tapestry of subconscious thought. But you don't move. Can't move. Your eyes see only redness.
Commotion all around you. Trained pilot's instincts drink it in, assess and evaluate. Sian Guardsmen, staring in horror. Weapons in their hands, half-raised. The Princess... But the Emperor. Oaths have been sworn. They can't act. Not against him. Even Master Wu stands in indecision, frozen like you. Statues watching the apocalypse.
The TALOS robots turn to Wilex, waiting for commands. What can he do? What should he do? He orders them to restrain the Emperor. They try. One by one their shattered bodies fly against the wall -- smashed by the Imperial Fist. A guardsman tries as well. Redness.
Laser fire. One of them has raised his rifle, oath be damned. The Emperor's hand flashes up to intercept the beam. He leaps and lunges. Redness.
Your companions move.
"Captain!" Talia cries.
Your eyes are still on her. Redness, eternal redness.
Lu Bu leaps at the Emperor. His metal fist is parried. A low, cutting kick hits the robot -- breaking his legs, scattered metal bouncing across the floor. Not even time for his body to fall. A punch. Torso flies across the room, raining machinery. Slams against the wall. Falls to the floor. He screams in powerless rage, unable to act. Just like you.
The Niflung charges, war cry bellowing. Powerful body. A Heracles of a man. But his snatching arms meet empty air. His fist the same. The Emperor's fares better. Huge form hurtles through the air, smashing two robots beneath its bulk. He tries to rise. There's a whir. Broken cybernetics. Roars. Then splutters.
Talia's pistols... Never miss. Laser after laser. All perfect. All meet his hands. Come to nothing. The Emperor strikes. She tries to slip away. Glancing blow. Enough to shatter ribs, send her tumbling across the floor.
Illaria... Redness.
Telemachus is behind the Emperor. Cunning boy. He swings his chainsaw. Silent laser blade. Silent but sensed. The Emperor's foot drives down. Hits his knee. Metal breaks. So does bone. The prince shrieks. That's what does it.
It's a child's cry, the scream of little boy. Maturity, intelligence, courage -- all eclipsed by pain. He falls on the floor. The Emperor crouches, raises his fist.
You draw your pistol. Fire.
Open palm blocks the beam. You knew it would. Doesn't matter. Distraction. Bring him away from the boy...
Evil eyes glare at you, wicked face smiles. You walk towards him, toss the gun aside. Useless.
He comes towards you as well. The prince is forgotten. You and the Emperor. No one else...
His eyes widen. He doesn't understand. You don't understand. It doesn't matter.
She's on the ground. Redness.
The Emperor strikes, a lunging cobra. You parry. You punch. His nose breaks.
He kicks. Your knee rises, blocks the blow. Boot flashes up and catches him under the jaw. Blood bursts from his mouth, a fresh torrent from his nose. Imperial blood. Her blood...
"You..." he says.
The word is a splutter. Almost lost. Meaningless anyway. No... Not meaningless. He understands. You understand. Psionic powers. Chi. Ancestors. Blue dragon.
He punches. You block. Your knee in his groin, elbow in the side of his face. More blood. A flurry of blows, blasting him, breaking him. He staggers. Can barely stand.
His eyes shudder. They tremble. There's a flicker. He's still in there... The Emperor. He can be saved, psychic brainwashing reversed. There's still a chance... Save him, save the empire...
You look past him, to the headless body in red and white. No... No redemption.
Your eyes meet his. He reads death there. So do you.
You raise your fist. No mercy, no redemption. There's a tremor inside you, in your bones. No... Not bones. Blood. In your blood. It's singing, calling, crying, screaming. Yes... It was always in your blood.
"Kasan," you whisper. Strange word. But your blood answers.
Your fist glows. His eyes widen.
You punch. Imperial Fist. Chi. Ancestor. Blue dragon. Orange eyes. Blood. Yours, his. Hers.
His ribs shatter. Blood and smashed organs rupture from his back. It's like a cannon's exit wound.
He falls. In the end you all fall...
You stare into the void. Vast blackness, like the abyss. Like the inside of your soul. No... The void has stars and light. You have none. Not anymore.
The bottle is warm against your lips. The alcohol burns softly. It's the same bottle. The one you shared.
With that memory come others. All the little victories you won, each one filling you with damnable pride, making you think you were a hero -- that glory and triumph would always dog your steps. You thought you were invincible, the best. But you were outsmarted, outthought, overcome by superior strategy.
Councilor Dule... He knew what you would do, what you would plan when he sent you the vid of the Emperor in his cell. Of course a woman like you would think to save him, would be so arrogant as to attempt the impossible. And he let you, offering just enough resistance not to raise your suspicions.
Psychic brainwashing... Turning the Emperor into a weapon, a way to eliminate both him and the Princess in a single stroke... Dark genius, against which you were a mere victim. No... You weren't the victim. She was. Your role is worse. Much worse. Because of you, your failure...
You set the bottle down on the little table. There's only so much it can do.
Instead you pick up the heavier object beside it, press its mouth against the underside of your jaw. The bottle was warm. This is cold, like the grave. Like the void. Like her body.
Your finger crawls onto the trigger. You stare into the void. Into failure.
The door behind you slides open.
"Get out!"
There's no reply. Just footsteps and the rustling of robes.
"There's something you must see." Master Wu's voice.
You turn, ready to blaze with anger, to curse him, to demand that he leave you. The words die when you see him.
He's still wearing the same clothes from before, soaked and stained with blood. Imperial blood. Ruined finery, crumpled and torn. His face is pale, like that of a corpse. His cheeks are sunken, his eyes red. The dignified certainty of the mandarin, of the Emperor's chief advisor, is gone. Only a broken man remains. Just like the broken woman who sits before him.
He holds something out to you. You take it without looking. But its unexpected feel and texture make you look down at it. It's a piece of paper.
"She wrote this after you rescued her from Hyperia, and left it in my care. I was to give it to you, if... Read it. Whatever else you may do, read it first."
Wu Tenchu drifts from the chamber. The door slides closed behind him, shielding you from his grief and him from yours. Shutting out the world once more.
Thick, fragrant writing paper. Beautiful calligraphy dances across it, the effortless elegance of one raised and taught to nurture such talent. It's her hand.
You read.
[Name],
You saved me again, like you always do.
But we both know how close I came to dying on the Zenith, and then on Drekchester, on Hyperia. Anything could have happened to me. I should have known that already, when I chose to take part in the attack. All it takes is one blast, one bullet, and it could all be over.
We live dangerous lives. You know that more than anyone. And if something happens to me, if I'm ever taken again, or if I don't survive, I need to know that the Sian Empire will be safe. Our people must have someone to guide them, to lead them. To protect them.
That's why I intend to leave a formal document with Master Wu. It states that if I can no longer carry out my duties, and if my father cannot carry out his, you will be named Imperial Jian. You'll be given full command over all imperial forces and subjects, and have the authority to act in my family's stead until Sian is liberated.
There's no one in the galaxy I'd sooner entrust with such a duty.
Illaria
You stare at the missive until the words swirl and blur. Imperial Jian...
That's how much she trusted you, how highly she thought of you. And you repaid her by watching as she died.
You move to cast the letter aside, to toss away the words and honor which you're unworthy of. Yet somehow you can't.
She wanted you to liberate the empire. To protect its people. Duty stares at you from each stroke of her pen.
But that was before... Before you caused her death by falling into Dule's trap, before you killed the Emperor and broke the empire's spirit -- allowing the whole of human space to witness its darkest day.
You raise your pistol, feel your hand tense around it. Peace... Eternal peace. Punishment and retribution for your crimes, and then endless serenity -- away from the anger and anguish.
The paper in one hand, the gun in the other. Each feels heavy in your grasp. Life or death. Duty or justice. Peace or suffering. Oblivion or the unknown.
You have a choice to make.