Federation Year 333

“They have hostages,” the marshal said.

“How many?” Saketa asked.

“Three.”

The man looked out over the thickening crowds down below on the streets.

“Baseline human,” he added, trying and only half-succeeding in covering up his anxiety. “That isn’t helping matters at all.”

“No,” she said, taking in the tension. “It is not.”

There was no hint of any deliberate organisation; these were just everyday people stricken with fear and anger, and yet the general flow was quickly becoming apparent: ‘Normal’ humans on one side of the street and a collection of mankind’s various offshoots on the other.

Standing in the middle of the stairs with the marshal and two of his men, Saketa looked upwards, at the squat, unremarkable building. It was some sort of official bureaucracy service; she couldn’t understand the local script over the door.

“What do they have?” she asked.

“Carbines,” Marshal Geno replied. “And I understand a couple have big machetes. They’re demanding a ship, and I don’t have one to give them. Not after the spaceport...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, only for a moment. Up close, one could easily tell that the man wore several days’ worth of fatigue like a jumpsuit made of lead. But with him and his officers being virtually the only thing keeping some sort of stability he of course had to look stable himself.

“Look... I have two officers guarding the back entrance,” he said to her, stepping a bit closer to keep their conversation private. “These two...” he indicated the nearby ones, “... and those,” he said, meaning the two attempting to keep the gathering crowd under control. “I can’t pull in any more. I can’t even afford to maintain this for more than a few minutes. I need to go in and stop this, but fatalities will...”

“I will handle it, Marshal,” she assured him.

“If half of what I hear about you Wardens is true, then-”

“I will handle it,” she repeated to the ragged-looking man.

“We’re sending someone in to talk!” one of the officers said into a comm. “She’s alone!”

“No tricks!” said an angry voice on the other end, echoing faintly out through the doors as well.

Saketa adjusted her poncho and walked up the stairs. The crowd was growing more restless by the moment. She gazed over it, then out over the wider city and its damaged skyline, neighbourhoods without electricity, and the odd plume of black smoke. As the door neared and she got higher up, she spared a glance towards the plain between the two mountain ranges.

Fifteen days. Just fifteen days ago the planet of Hammurri had been a quiet enough backwater with a bit of a reputation for ethnic inequities. Now it seemed ready to tear itself apart, and the plain was a desolation.

“Who is there?!” demanded the same voice from the comm, now shouting out through the door.

“I am coming in to talk,” she called back. “Be calm.”

“You BETTER keep your damn hands up!” he shouted with the fury of desperation.

“Certainly,” she replied calmly.

On the doorstep she took a moment to centre herself, seeking strength and a clear head. There was great unrest on this planet; she felt it in her bones, in her spirit. But there was, as always, calm if she looked for it.

She held her palms up and strode through the door.

There were five of them: shabbily-dressed Tasdori, three men and two women. All had the thick, rough skin and beady, deep-set eyes of their people, supposedly designed for enduring a rough homeworld. Their victims were kneeling, bowed, with carbines pointed at the back of their heads. The other two guns were already pointed her way.

“You’re not local!” said the seeming leader of the group, a young man in a hooded jacket. “And you’re not a cop!”

“True,” Saketa said evenly. “But I am here to talk.”

“Talk?” he repeated contemptuously. “I told the marshal what I want! I want out of this mess!”

“What do you have under there?” one of the women asked, waving her carbine at the shape under Saketa’s poncho.

“My blades. Now-”

“Blades?” The woman snorted. “We have blades too.” She indicated the machete on her own hip. “You came here to sword-fight us to death?”

“Ideally, no,” Saketa said. “Things are quite tense enough. For the sake of this city and your own people, please st-”

“Screw our people,” the leader said. “Screw everything. You go back out there and tell that marshal to start working fast, or we’ll throw out a head!”

There was a faint moan from one of the hostages, silenced with a rough shove from a gun muzzle.

Saketa touched her poncho and threw it open. Underneath was the tightly fitting, identifying suit of a Kalero Warden: Black, slightly glossy, with red markings. The sight of it had the expected effect on the leader, and she gazed sternly into his eyes.

“Stand down,” she said slowly. “All of you. You can neither escape nor win.”

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The leader hesitated, glanced sideways at his female partner, and then recovered his belligerence. It seemed to have more to do with sensitive pride than courage.

“Anyone can put on a suit!” he said, and pulled the trigger.

The gun didn’t work, yielding to Saketa’s will. He tried again, with a look of panic, a moment before Saketa rushed him. She drew on power, gaining speed and strength, and drove the heel of her hand into his jaw. The young man fell like a dropped puppet and the other four all pulled their triggers, eliciting nothing but useless clicks.

Saketa twirled towards the woman who had spoken, and kicked out with one of her long legs. The Tasdori’s instep shattered and she fell with a throaty scream. One of the remaining men and the other woman came at her with angry cries, hefting their guns like clubs. The weapons were rather short, compact, and awkward for the task, but on the other hand the wielders were long-limbed in their own right.

Time moved rather languidly to her perception, and she sidestepped the first strike easily enough, deflected the weapon with one hand, then drove the other into his hip with a cracking sound. The woman’s strike came a bit closer, but not close enough, and Saketa stepped back just far enough to send a kick into her ribs. There was yet another crack, but the stun-eyed Tasdori stayed on her feet for a moment and so Saketa finished by sweeping her legs out from under her.

By now the final man had given up on carbine and drawn that other machete. Saketa left her blades resting in their sheaths, and dodged a slash done with only the faintest hint of experience.

“Show me, worm!” the man shouted. “Show m-”

She evaded his next slash, stepped, and drove her palm into his face. The man fell on his side and a stomp finished the whole thing definitively.

“MARSHAL! YOU MAY ENTER!” Saketa shouted towards the door, before stepping on a carbine the woman with the broken instep was reaching for.

“No,” she told the sneering criminal, and picked the weapon up.

Saketa turned to the hostages, still kneeling in a state of bewilderment and terror.

“You are safe,” she told them softly, just to drive the fact home. “You were safe the moment I entered.”

Marshal Geno led his officers in a charge through the door, pistols drawn and voices angry. One of the men tried to move but Geno fired a shot into the floor next to his head, and that was the last hint of resistance. Saketa examined the carbine as the criminals were cuffed and gathered into a moaning, unsteady bundle up by one of the walls.

For being such petty crooks they’d been rather well equipped. The guns were simple, but powerful and rugged. And more notably, they were brand new, with nary a scuff or fleck of dirt to be seen. Saketa had been seeing a lot just like this recently.

“Warden?” said one of the officers, and held her hand out after a moment of hesitation.

Saketa handed her the carbine, and the officer added it to the others slung over her shoulder.

The noise of the crowd was now growing, as was Saketa’s sense of disorder in the atmosphere. One officer stayed behind with the victims, leaving six to lead out five criminals, two of whom needed considerable help to walk. There was no one left to manage the crowd, and its fury kicked into top gear as the group came into sight.

Saketa followed behind while Geno led the procession, one hand on the Tasdori leader’s upper arm and the other gesticulating at the wild people down below, shouting demands to calm and disperse.

It was all an ugly and frightening sight. Some were simply shouting insults at the criminals. Some were shouting for an execution on the spot. Some were using the opportunity to shout bigoted tirades, citing this whole thing as proof. And yet others were simply shouting at the other half of the crowd, ignoring the supposed reason they were gathered here.

It was the fear. The fear and uncertainty that these recent days had put into people, finding an outlet in rage and handy targets.

“I said separate!” the marshal shouted hoarsely, his own rage born of exhaustion. But in spite of his efforts things only escalated as the group neared the bottom of the stairs and a nearby police vehicle. The two opposing sides were now fully arranged, and on the front line there were the first few shoves, spreading further rage on both sides like ripples in a pond.

Saketa decided that things were only going to get worse, and hurried down the steps, the poncho blowing behind her like a cape.

“Marshal, allow me,” she said as she passed the man, and he voiced no objections.

Saketa reached within as she focused on the escalating mess before her. This would take great precision, like writing calligraphy with a chainsaw. But that was where training came in. She had earned her suit and her sword, and now put a hand on the latter for aid.

It was there for her, as always, offering a solid anchor amidst the cosmic forces her mind now tapped into. She reached into the universe, found where opposing energies met, and thrust her palm out.

The wave of force hit several hundred people all at once like an invisible tsunami, throwing everyone a metre or two into the air.

The intersection before the official hall fell utterly silent for a breath or two, before a few scattered groans and confused questions could be heard from here and there. Saketa drew her sword and dragged the edge along the concrete beneath her feet as she finished the descent, drawing sparks as she left an unbroken gouge in her wake. It drew attention to her as people somewhat recovered their senses. And more importantly, it drew attention to her suit.

“That is enough!” she shouted once she was roughly at the centre of the battle lines. “Part or be parted! Go to your homes, tend to your families!”

She stopped and turned in a slow circle, taking in an ocean of confused, shocked people, most of them prone, some shakily getting to their feet.

The silence was broken by the pained grunts of the hostage-takers as the officers forced them down to the street. Saketa turned to face them. The group had of course seen what just transpired, and Saketa generally found that in this part of the galaxy people didn’t fully believe in a Warden’s abilities until witnessing them. Most looked slightly afraid, including the officers, but Geno gave her an appreciative nod in passing.

They reached the police vehicle without trouble and began bundling their prisoners inside, although Geno stepped aside to react to something coming in through his ear piece. There were plenty of fires for this unfortunate man to put out and Saketa paid him no more heed, focusing instead on casting a glare out over the two mobs.

The message seemed to have hit home and most were awkwardly shuffling off. The whole thing had been witnessed by an additional number of people who had simply stood on the sidelines, and she knew word would be out within the hour; all would know a Warden was around. Including her quarry.

“Warden...” Geno said and walked over to her, again getting close enough for a private conversation. “I just got word. That man you are looking for... he may be at Fiki-Oko 29.”

“Oh,” she said. “Good. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he said and put an appreciative hand on her shoulder. “I wish I could repay you somehow, but I can’t even send a couple of officers to accompany you.”

“That is fine, Marshal,” she replied and covered the hand with her own. “No need for help. I wish I could offer more of my own, but this man... there is simply too much at stake.”

“I suspect Wardens do not bother with pickpockets,” he replied.

“I doubt we will meet again, Marshal,” she said. “But take care. This city needs you.”

“I will do my best,” he said, and again squeezed his baggy, bloodshot eyes shut. “That is all I can do. But this war... I never thought it would reach us here.”

“It...”

Saketa stopped herself. She wouldn’t lie, but there was simply no need to share her thoughts with him. Or her memories. She had seen Volkan Vol’s war in full; what the man left in his wake. And what had reached this planet was little more than an echo.

She settled for patting his shoulder, painfully aware of the columns of smoke.

“Best of luck. And thank you again.”

Geno nodded. He had no more time to waste and hurried to join his officers. Saketa resolved to stay a few minutes more, to be sure the crowd was dispersed and chastened. Then... then she would get back to her true goal.