Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship Page 15

“Will you promise to give it to me?”

  “If I can.” He paused, and she sensed him studying her. “You’re a courageous girl; you deserve whatever you want. I’m flattered you want something from me. Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “To see your face.”

  Tarke jumped up, turning away. “That again. Why is it so damned important to you?”

  “Why is it so damned important for you to hide it from me?”

  “Not just from you, Rayne. It’s a matter of life and death. I’ve told you why.”

  “Because of your enemies.” She stood up and touched his sleeve, and he faced her. “If I survive this, who do you think will dare to try to steal my memories, and if I don’t, it won’t matter, will it?”

  “My enemies won’t care who, or what, you are.”

  “Nor will they know what I’ve seen.”

  He went over to the translucent wall and leant against it. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter why. It’s what I want.”

  “You could be Tallyn’s spy.”

  “You could die fighting the Envoy, or I could. Nothing is certain. You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you I’m not going to betray you.”

  He faced her. “You don’t give up, do you? All right, if you survive the battle, I’ll give you what you want. But if you are Tallyn’s spy, I’ll see to it that you don’t outlive me. My people will hunt you down, and nowhere will be safe from them. If Tallyn knew what I look like, he’d redouble his efforts to catch me, since then decoys won’t fool him again.

  “At the moment he’s discouraged by the fact that he’s executed six men who were innocent of my crimes. What’s more, he’d tell my enemies, knowing full well that if they knew my secret, they’d hunt me down. Right now, they respect and fear me, but that would all change if they knew.”

  “If they knew what?”

  Tarke snorted and walked to the far side of the chamber. “I guess you’ll find out, after the battle.”

  “Tell me now.”

  “No. You’ll have to survive the battle if you want to learn my secret.”

  She frowned. “So you’re hoping I won’t, then you won’t have to keep your promise. And if I do, will you break it?”

  He turned to her again, his hands clasped behind his back. “Is that what you really think of me? Do you think I would break a promise?”

  She looked down, ashamed. “No, I don’t think so. But you are a liar.”

  “Touché.” Tarke approached her and gripped her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “I want you to survive it, stupid, that’s why I’m making this promise. If it will make you cling to life a little harder, it will have served its purpose.”

  She stared at him, surprised. He released her and went back to the transparent wall.

  “It will certainly help,” she murmured.

  “Good. Then it’s worth it.”

  The possible implications of his remark stunned her, and joy expanded within her like a bright, warm bubble. Until now she had not realised how much she longed for his friendship and affection, but this was better than her wildest dreams. The warmth spread through her in a glad tide, filling the empty corners of her heart, the ache of unfulfilled dreams she had not known existed until now.

  Had her life thus far been truly so pointless, she wondered, or did it just seem so when compared to what she might have with him? Did he really mean what he had just said? Had he intended it to be taken this way, or was she reading into it what she longed for? Could there be another explanation for his words? The nagging doubt refused to be ignored, a penchant for pessimism that clamoured to be heard, shouting from the corner of her mind. Its cries broke through her bubble and laid their awful truths on her raw emotions, robbing her of her joy.

  “You think I’m more likely win if I have something to look forward to, don’t you?” she asked. “You want me to live so you will too.”

  “Something like that. Did you think it was some bloody stupid romantic reason?”

  “No. I know better than to expect that from you.”

  “Good. Then you won’t ever be disappointed.”

  Rayne turned her back on him and sat down next the wall, nursing her wounded pride and crushed hope. Scrysalza’s mind brushed hers, concerned and puzzled by her depression. The Ship understood affection and emotional bonds, but not rejection. Rayne tried to explain the complicated human emotions involved, but they were difficult to describe. Even as she thought that, she realised, with a pang of sadness, that Tarke was not human. Maybe Antians did not have the same kind of feelings, and he might never return hers. The Ship, sensing her need to be alone, left her to ponder the situation. She drew up her knees and rested her chin on them, closing her eyes.

  When she woke, Tarke sat with his back to the transparent wall, his sword resting across his knees. He raised his head when she stood up and approached him.

  “Is there anything left in your flask?”

  He nodded and pulled it out, handing it to her. It was as full as it had been when she had drunk from it last time, and she emptied all but a last few mouthfuls before giving it back.

  “You have the rest.”

  “I’m okay.” He tucked it away again.

  Rayne squatted next to him, studying the scars on her palms. “I think it’s time to do this thing, before we get weak from hunger.”

  Tarke rose to his feet, stretching with a groan, then slid the sword into its scabbard and strapped the fighting blade to his left arm. When he was ready, he waited while she stood irresolute in the tunnel entrance, dreading what lay ahead, but knowing she must face it. It was hard to start a fight she knew would cause her a great deal of pain and might result in her death.

  The Envoy was still dormant, and the temptation to leave him alone for as long as possible was strong. Let him start the next confrontation, a cowardly part of her insisted. Why instigate a fresh bout of suffering before it was necessary? The Envoy could wait indefinitely, however. He had a food supply. The longer she delayed, the greater his advantage grew. Spurred by this thought, she walked down the tunnel to the massive cavern and stopped in the entrance, surprised.

  The chamber was once again filled with females, which covered the floor to the shores of the red sea and beyond. The Envoy basked in the healthy, seething glow of millions of blood beasts. The scene was as it had been before the battle. Rayne sensed that certain things had changed, however, and the gentle brush of the Ship’s mind whispered a warning as it passed.

  She glanced at Tarke. “He’s not as stupid as I thought. He’s not going to let me near him again without a fight. If I can’t touch him, I can’t hurt him, and he’s figured that out. Until I reach him, he can control the ship completely. He’ll force it to attack us.”

  He nodded. “And these are his females, presumably. They don’t look like they can do any harm, just impede our progress.”

  Rayne stepped forward, intending to push through the females.

  Tarke caught her arm. “Wait. Don’t touch them. I think he’s using them as a warning system. The moment you disturb them, it will wake him up.”

  “But we have to get through them.”

  “If we can do it without alarming them, we might reach him before he wakes up.”

  “But...” She gazed at the torpid females. “How?”

  “With extreme care. We have to try, at least. Come on.”

  Tarke stepped over a parasite, into the space beyond it. He cast around for another opening, this time forced to jump over two females into a clear area. Rayne followed, trying to emulate him. She waved her arms to keep her balance when she could not move her feet for fear of kicking a slumbering female. For a time they made good progress, albeit not directly towards the Envoy.

  When Tarke could not find a space, he pushed the females gently aside. Once one squealed when Rayne stepped on its foot, but the yelp went unnoticed. They followed a circuitous route, but drew closer to the Envoy. Scrysalza found the adventure exciti
ng, and shared its childish delight with Rayne. If Tarke wondered about her silly smile, he did not bother to enquire as to the reason for it.

  The Ship treated the danger as a game, but its dread of the coming conflict was as raw and strong as Rayne’s. Until the Envoy woke, however, it enjoyed the thrill of their sneaking up on him with every bit as much enthusiasm as a six-year-old for a game of hide and seek. Probably it, of the three of them, would suffer the most, and she wished it could be different. She would need the Ship’s pain, however; it was to be her greatest tool, creating her only weapon.

  Rayne wished a few laser shots could have ended the slug-like behemoth’s torpid, sadistic life. Tarke beckoned to her. He stood only a few metres from the Envoy, and she moved towards him, trying to hurry. She had almost reached him when a female lurched into her path and she tripped over it, falling into the throng. The females squealed like irate pigs, crawling over her with sticky tentacle hands as they milled. Tarke reached her in a stride and seized her arm, hauled her to her feet and dragged her towards the Envoy. She stumbled over the females, and Tarke clasped her waist, holding her up. The Envoy writhed, raising feelers and tendrils.

  Tarke picked her up and hurled her at the alien. Rayne thudded against his greasy hide, bruising her elbows, and tried to hang on. Tarke landed beside her with far more grace, and they slid down the smooth skin. A tentacle rose to lash at them, hitting Tarke in the back. He grunted and drew his sword, raising it as he turned to face the next attack. A tendril whipped overhead, missing him by centimetres. He stabbed the fighting blade into the Envoy, stopping his descent, and grabbed Rayne as she slid past.

  “Hold on to me,” he said.

  Rayne wound her arms around his neck, and he released her waist, freeing his sword arm to repel the next attack. A feeding tube rose and curled towards them, its toothy maw sucking air. Tarke stabbed it, and it flinched away, sinking back into the glowing fluid. Another tentacle made an abortive foray in their direction, but veered off when Tarke raised the sword. He twisted, searching for danger. Above them, the Envoy’s feelers curled to watch them.

  “Very clever,” Rayne said. “This beast’s learning fast. He couldn’t prevent us from reaching him, but if he doesn’t do anything to hurt me, I can’t do anything to him. It’s a stalemate.”

  “I can hurt him.” Tarke raised his head, facing the top of the monster. “I’ll bet he won’t be happy about losing a few feelers.”

  “I’m surprised he has the willpower. The temptation must be strong, and all his instincts crave my pain. I think once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, but he’s determined not to start anything. He knows he’ll lose if he does.”

  Tarke turned towards her. “Can you climb up? Crawl over me, and I’ll give you a push.”

  She peered upwards. “Do you think we can?”

  “He’ll either try to stop us, which might make him fall into the pain trap, as you want, or he’ll let us, in which case I’m going to cut off as many of his feelers as I can. If he won’t start anything, we’ve got to goad him.”

  Rayne nodded and pulled herself up, using him as a handhold, then a foothold as she got higher. He pushed her up with little regard for the niceties of her anatomy, but did it with such complete disinterest that she could not accuse him of ungentlemanly behaviour. She clung to the smooth skin while he climbed up beside her, using the fighting blade to gain purchase, then repeated the process.

  The Envoy rolled, sending huge waves crashing to shore and washing dozens of females into the sea. Tarke stabbed the sword into him and hung onto it and Rayne. The parasite stopped rolling and lashed them with his tendrils, landing a few blows before Tarke could pull the sword free and fight back, using the fighting blade for purchase. After he lopped off the ends of three tendrils, the Envoy seemed to give up.

  Tarke waited, ready for another attack. “He’s up to something.”

  Rayne’s legs smarted from a painful blow. “He doesn’t want us up there. It’s a sensitive area.”

  “Obviously. Come on.”

  Tarke pulled her up beside him, then boosted her ahead. As he pushed her up, his right hand occupied with that task, his left anchoring him to the beast, a tentacle snaked up the Envoy’s flank and fastened onto his leg, yanked downwards and tore the fighting blade free. Tarke twisted as he fell, cutting the tendril before he hit the seething ocean. Rayne clung to the Envoy’s skin for only a moment longer, then followed him down, wailing. As she plunged into the mass of blood beasts, he surfaced nearby and reached down to help her up. She coughed and spluttered, clinging to him as she dashed the fluid from her eyes. He shook his head, fluid steaming from under the mask, and she wondered how he could see when he could not wipe his eyes. It did not seem to bother him, however. He tilted his head upwards, buoyed by the blood beasts.

  “Well, that wasn’t such a good idea. He’s learnt to strike at me. I can’t hurt him like you can.”

  “Let’s get to shore before he decides to drown us.”

  They struggled to shore, and the Envoy let them go. On dry flesh once more, Rayne wrung fluid from her hair. “There’s got to be a way to goad him. We’ve got to make him hurt me, or the Ship.”

  Tarke turned his head to scan the surrounds, and Rayne followed suit, her nerves on edge. The females had fled, leaving trails of slime, and their absence made the chamber seem brighter.

  Even so, the soldiers that oozed from the walls escaped her notice until Tarke said, “I don’t think he’s going to let us do that. Look.”

  “No, it’s not him. I’d sense Scrysalza’s pain. It’s the Ship.”

  “Good thing, too,” he observed. “They’re different now, just as I thought they’d be.”

  Jointed crystal armour sheathed the soldiers, and long spines protruded from their heads, like horns. The numbers grew, gathering next to the walls in a silent, restive army.

  Rayne said, “The Ship’s mounting an all-out attack, but what if the Envoy turns some of them against us?”

  “To do that, he’ll have to hurt it. Come on.”

  Tarke took her arm and strode towards the Envoy, helping her to keep her footing on the slime. She was fascinated by the effortless way in which the Ship manufactured a seemingly endless supply of soldiers to defend itself. The army swelled to thousands, filling the shore in a packed mass as the females had done. As she and Tarke approached the Envoy’s beached forepart, a tendril lashed at them, narrowly missing Tarke, who ducked. Clearly the Envoy did not want her anywhere near him, and would do his utmost to beat her off. Neither would the ship attack until she was ready, so all they had to do was reach him. The Envoy had other plans, however, and struck first.

  Scrysalza’s musical bellow of pain fluted through its many tubes and tunnels. Its mental anguish seared Rayne’s still-raw mind. She staggered, hanging onto Tarke, and the soldiers raced after them. Her legs buckled, and she would have fallen if not for his support.

  He hauled her forward. “Run!”

  Several tentacles emerged from the sea and snaked towards them, whipping around Tarke’s arms and legs. He went down with a grunt, slashing with the sword and fighting blade. Rayne tried to help him, but the Envoy dragged him away, lashing out at her with a tendril to stop her following. Tarke struggled in the thick coils, dropped the sword and yanked a dagger from his belt to hack at the tendrils. He cut a few, but more snaked out to replace them while Rayne hesitated and the soldiers rushed towards them.

  He twisted to yell, “Come here! You have to touch him!”

  Scrysalza’s pain suffused her, unused, mocking her cowardice and hesitation. The soldiers would kill her without reprisal, and they would all be doomed. With a sob, she ran towards him, determined to reach him. A tendril swung at her, and she ducked, but another hit her from the side, sending her sprawling. She gasped and writhed for a moment, then crawled towards Tarke. Another tendril, or perhaps the same one, hit her again, sending her sliding towards the sea. She clawed at the silky flesh, stopping herself b
efore she fell in.

  The soldiers were almost upon her now, and the Ship’s pain beat at her. With a desperate effort, she flung herself at Tarke, slithering across the floor to collide with him. Masses of severed tentacles lay around him, and he hacked at those that held him. She grasped a tendril just as the soldiers reached them, and the Envoy’s pleasure flooded into her. The psychic struggle overwhelmed her, and she convulsed, her eyes rolling back. The tentacle she gripped tried to jerk free, but she hung on, and was dragged towards the Envoy’s forepart.

  Chapter Ten

  Tarke sat up as the tentacles fell away, smashing the fighting blade into the chest of the first soldier to reach him. The crystal armour shattered, and the soldier sank into the Ship’s flesh. Others raced past to attack the Envoy, the Ship regaining control of them as the Envoy writhed in pain. Tarke clubbed down two more soldiers, then looked for Rayne, who was close to the Envoy, almost within reach of his tube mouths again. Tarke spun, smashed a soldier down and grabbed his sword before sprinting after her. He fell to his knees as he reached her and slashed a tube mouth, which recoiled, then took her arm and tried to drag her away.

  Several hostile soldiers galloped up, forcing him to defend himself. The crystal armour turned aside his sword, compelling him to smash them with the fighting blade and his fist. The brittle armour shattered easily, but he did not want to face the next generation of improved soldiers. They kept coming in an endless stream, manufactured in seconds by the walls, and he had no idea how many soldiers he smashed down, for there was no pile of dead by which to gauge his success.

  The combined pain-pleasure of the three combatants now locked in telepathic battle hammered on his mental shields with astounding force. Rayne arched in a seizure, her lips pulled back in a fearsome grimace, her hands locked around the Envoy’s tentacle. Now that the psychic conflict was rejoined, the deadly circle closed, and he was the only one outside it. Hundreds of soldiers crawled over the Envoy, injecting their venom, but some staggered and fell off as the two powerful telepathic entities vied for control of them.