Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship Page 3

  “You’re following?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you stop them taking me?”

  You did not call for help. I only knew of your abduction when your biorhythms moved away.

  “Why can’t you use the transfer Net to get me out of here?”

  They have you in an oscillating force field, which disperses a locator beam, and you are fastened to a metallic table. What do you want me to do?

  She considered. “Nothing, for now. Let’s see if anyone answers your signal, but if no one comes before we reach the Drayconar world I want you to fight this ship. If they get me on their planet they’ll kill me, so it doesn’t matter if you jeopardise my life in the battle if there’s a chance you might save me.”

  It would be simpler to use the transfer Net once you’re on the surface. They cannot keep you in a force field all the time.

  “You won’t get close enough without them detecting you, if they haven’t already.”

  I do not think they have. I am beyond their repeller range.

  “Good. If our communications are cut off, just do as I said.”

  I will.

  Tarke opened his eyes and stared at the bulkhead above him, wondering what had woken him. The faint beep of the communications’ alarm pierced his receding drowsiness. He yawned and knuckled his eyes, then rubbed his face. The alarm’s insistent beeping prodded him into sitting up, and he ran a hand through his short hair. The lingering effect of the sleep inducer made him groggy, and he shook his head to clear it.

  “What is it, Scimarin?”

  Sleep did not come easily to him, and when he set the inducer for eight hours, the ship knew better than to drag him from it without good reason.

  “I apologise for waking you, but I’m receiving a distress signal from Shadowen.”

  He groaned. “What does he say?”

  “Draycons have taken the girl. He’s following them at a distance. They have not detected him yet.”

  “Where is he?”

  “On route to Amranon from Mansure.”

  Tarke rubbed his eyes again. “That’s a long way from here. Has he sent a message to Atlan?”

  “He’s broadcasting a general distress signal. Anyone picking it up should respond.”

  “Good. The Atlanteans are much closer than we are.” He rose and went into the bathroom to splash his face, returning refreshed and fully awake. After pulling on a clean shirt, he went to the bridge and flopped onto the chair. Scimarin orbited one of his smaller stations, two of his cruisers alongside. He had just completed a raid on a slave ship and rescued a hundred and twenty slaves. As he often did, he had opted to sleep on board, forgoing his station’s society. Rayne’s predicament niggled him, making him frown at the star-sprinkled scenery. He had no wish to become involved in a conflict between Atlan and Draycon, but the human girl’s plight bothered him for some reason.

  “Contact Shadowen.”

  A few seconds later, a space line screen slid from its slot in front of him, showing the empty pilot’s seat on Shadowen’s bridge.

  “Shadowen, what’s the situation?”

  “Rayne is aboard the Draycon ship, Norvar. According to her biorhythms, she’s unharmed, but she’s being held in an oscillating force field.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “They kidnapped her on Mansure. They must have rendered her unconscious somehow, for she did not call for help. When I detected the movement of her bio link, I followed and tracked it to the Draycon ship.”

  Tarke rubbed his chin. “What was she doing on Mansure?”

  “Socialising, I think.”

  “Typical. How far is Norvar from Amranon?”

  “About seven hours, at their current speed. Norvar is a slow ship.”

  Tarke’s eyes flicked to the scrolling holograms. “Scimarin; how long to Amranon?”

  “Nine hours.”

  “Shadowen, have the Atlanteans responded to your signal?”

  “Not yet.”

  The Shrike rubbed his chin again. “Scimarin, have I got any ships within seven hours of Amranon?”

  “Only four. Two cruisers, six hours away, a scout four hours away, and a battleship six and a half hours away.”

  Tarke ran his hand over his face in a gesture of weariness and frustration. Sending ships to Amranon would spark hostilities he did not want, especially if Atlan did not join the fight. He was pretty sure they would, but if he pre-empted them and saved the human girl before they arrived, they might well remain neutral, which would leave him to handle the Draycons’ reprisals alone. That would cost lives and ships, neither of which he was willing to sacrifice, yet something told him he should go after her.

  Why, he did not know, and the foolish urge bothered him. Four ships, discounting the scout, would be sufficient to quickly cripple Norvar, but she was so close to Amranon that others would soon be sent to help her. Provided they could rescue the girl and get away before more Draycon ships arrived, casualties and damages should be minimal. Again he wondered at the powerful urge to go to Rayne’s aid; risking his people’s lives for the sake of one girl did not make sense.

  He sighed. “Scimarin, order the two cruisers and the battleship to go to Shadowen’s aid. Have them stop Norvar and demand that they surrender the girl, make it seem like a slave raid. They won’t, of course, but it will confuse them and buy some time.

  “If they try to continue to Amranon, engage them and try to break their Net link so the force shield will collapse and Shadowen can transfer her out. Signal the two cruisers with me to follow, and go to Amranon. Then get me another five heavy ships and send them after us. Shadowen, we’re on our way.”

  Tallyn frowned at Marcon, who gazed back with flat, expressionless eyes. Vengeance escorted a pair of slow ore freighters from the mining planetoid Orifon Three, a tedious duty all commanders hated, and Tallyn was no exception. The information Marcon had just imparted was a welcome distraction, but also disturbing. Distress calls in space were rare, and usually proved to be pirate attacks, which meant that by the time help arrived, the culprits were long gone.

  “What ship?”

  “Says the ship’s name is Shadowen, but won’t give any other form of identification.”

  “What’s their problem?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  Tallyn raised his eyebrows. “Call them and ask for details.”

  Marcon placed his hand on the sensor pad, closing his eyes as he spoke and listened through his implant. When he opened them again, his expression made the commander’s frown deepen.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Rayne. The Draycons have her.”

  Tallyn said, “Contact Atlan and tell them.” As Marcon replaced his hand on the sensor pad, Tallyn addressed another officer. “Tell the convoy we’re leaving. Order Sunray to follow us and set course for...” He looked at Marcon as the lieutenant opened his eyes. “Where is she?”

  “On route to Amranon, aboard Norvar. Why didn’t we know her ship’s name?”

  “She never told us. I thought she went to Mansure with Rawn and Mergan aboard Butef.”

  “She did.”

  Tallyn leant on the console. “How long to Mansure?”

  “Five hours.”

  “When can Atlan get ships there?”

  Marcon touched a crystal and consulted a hologram. “The nearest ship is a cruiser in the Porthus Belt, Hood, two hours from Mansure, but, if Norvar is in flight, it won’t catch them before they reach Amranon.”

  “Neither will we.” Tallyn straightened. “It’s pointless threatening the Draycons with reprisals; they’ll be expecting it. Better to have the element of surprise on our side, such as it is. They’ll detect us long before we arrive, anyway, but they won’t know why we’re there, although they’ll probably guess.”

  “May I suggest that we assess the situation when we get there, Commander?”

  Tallyn nodded. “I want all the data you have on the current Draycon fleet, the political situation on Amranon an
d the allegiances of the various captains. Perhaps we can turn them against each other.”

  Norvar’s captain hissed with annoyance as the communication crystal buzzed, dragging his attention from the triumphant speech he was composing for his return to Amranon. He swore and activated it, showing his teeth aggressively to the officer who appeared on the screen. The officer raised his scaly crest in a reciprocal gesture of aggression, inflating his throat sacks to deepen his hissing speech.

  “The pilot has detected two ships ahead, on a converging course, Captain.”

  Envar snorted and glared. “So? They’re probably from Amranon.”

  “They don’t answer our hails.”

  “You’re probably on the wrong frequency. Try another. And tell that pilot I’ll yank out his wires if he disturbs me again. I’m busy!”

  The crystal screen went dark, and Envar returned to his speech writing with a grunt of irritation. In the preferred way of the Draycon priesthood, he impressed the swirls and lines of writing into a malleable clay tablet with a sharp stick. Clay tablets and sticks were in short supply aboard a ship, and only the captain was allowed such privileges. Writing in the time honoured way was an almost religious rite, precious in space.

  Despite their vast empire, Draycons were unhappy aboard ships, and those who took on this onerous duty were well paid. Common crewmen were pressganged from the streets, but officers were seduced with money. For this reason, mutiny sometimes happened aboard Draycon ships, though it rarely succeeded. The short tempers and frequent spats between officers were due to their dislike for their situation. Draycon males were uneasy in each other’s company, a legacy of age old territorial instincts. The lack of females made their cohabitation possible, but not comfortable, and fights were not uncommon.

  Envar disliked the first officer more than most. Not only was he younger and larger, he also possessed the blood-red eyes females coveted. Envar outranked him because of his experience, but he could see the time coming when he would have to fight the youngster, and his captaincy would be threatened. Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts, he read the words he had written, disliked them and started again. He was halfway down the tablet when the crystal buzzed again, and he glared at the first officer’s handsome visage.

  “What is it now?”

  “Those two ships you told me to ignore, Captain. They have demanded our surrender. I thought I should tell you. They belong to the Shrike; two cruisers, big enough to defeat us.”

  Envar put down the tablet, hiding his dismay behind a rigid expression he hoped was fierce. Unable to cope so quickly with the greater problem, he concentrated on the lesser one. “I didn’t tell you to ignore the ships. I said you were probably on the wrong frequency when you tried to hail them.”

  “We’re on the right frequency now. Do you wish to surrender?”

  “No, I don’t wish to surrender!” Envar jumped up. “No Draycon ship has ever surrendered! What in Purdor’s green haven is the Shrike doing here, and why is he interfering in Draycon business?”

  “I would guess it has something to do with the human girl.”

  “You smug adolescent! Of course it has! What else could it be?”

  “Well, you asked...”

  Envar’s throat sacks swelled with rage. Only his training prevented him from sprinting to the bridge, grabbing his rival by his throat and trying to throttle the life out of him. “Get me the Shrike on a line, immediately!”

  “The Shrike is not aboard either of the cruisers.”

  “I don’t care! Find him!” Envar broke the connection with a well-aimed blow that smashed the crystal. He flopped down, breathed hard and nursed his aching hand. After a moment of contemplation, he rose and headed for the ship’s control centre.

  Tarke picked up his mask and pressed it to the edge of the reinforced skullcap that covered the rest of his head, and it sealed with a click. The mask not only hid his identity, it served as armour and filtered noxious gasses from the atmosphere through miniature scrubbers in the air vents on its sides. The catches on its edges were keyed to his DNA and fingerprints, and could only be released by pressing his index fingers to the tiny sensor pads. The automatic light filters in the one-way lenses over his eyes adjusted to the gloom, improving his vision, and he affixed the throat guard that hid his neck. The insistent chiming of the space line screen tried to hurry him, but he took his time, ensuring everything was in its proper place. Pulling on his gloves, he gave the ship permission to answer the call.

  The greying commander of one of his cruisers appeared, an Erdorian with a classically mournful expression. Commander Pra’tar was one of his older and more experienced officers. She curved her down-turned mouth into a semblance of an unnatural smile. To Erdorians, smiles were not a normal expression, and they used them in the most inappropriate situations.

  “Sir, I have confronted Norvar, and she has dropped out of the Net, although she is still linked. She has refused to surrender, of course, and her captain is demanding communications with you.”

  “Of course,” Tarke replied. “Has the battleship arrived yet?”

  “She is a few minutes away.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Starlight.”

  Tarke nodded. “Good, Commander Erdan is a competent man.”

  “Sir.”

  “Link me with Norvar, only the captain.”

  Pra’tar’s sad visage faded, and a Draycon’s grey, scaly face filled the screen. The alien’s crest was raised and his throat sacks swollen with rage.

  “Shrike, what is the meaning of your ships’ actions?”

  Tarke leant back and folded his hands. “You have something I want: a human girl. She is a rare commodity, and extremely valuable. I have a buyer who’ll pay handsomely for her, and an assurance that he plans a slow and painful death for her. He likes wiping out species.”

  The Draycon’s expression became smug. “So, you want the girl.”

  “I’ll pay well for her. The reason she’s so valuable is she’s the last of her kind, as I’m sure you know.”

  The Draycon glanced to the side, his expression calculating. “How much?”

  “Shall we say two hundred thousand regals as an opening offer?”

  “Five hundred, cash.”

  “Well now, that’s a lot. I’ll have to consult my client. I can offer three hundred, cash, now.”

  The Draycon’s grey skin flushed purple with greed as his crest rippled and his throat sacks deflated. Tarke watched him wrestle with it, knowing that the only thing stronger than religious fervour amongst Draycons was greed. Four several seconds, the captain remained undecided, then growled, “I’ll think about it.”

  Tarke shook his head. “My offer expires in about ten minutes. I have to have an answer by then.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “I don’t want to have to negotiate with your priesthood, and you’re close to Amranon. They might send ships to see why you’ve stopped.”

  The Draycon looked cunning. “They’ll believe what I tell them.”

  “Unless they find the girl, in which case your lies will anger them.”

  “True.” The Draycon’s lips twisted, and his eyes darted sideways again. “One of your battleships has arrived. Do you intend to steal her?”

  “If necessary. You see, I’ve already agreed to sell her to my client. If I don’t get her, it would be embarrassing. I dislike being embarrassed; it tends to put me in a bad temper. I’m on my way with another eight ships, so I recommend that you close the deal.”

  “You would pit yourself against the might of the Drayconar Empire for one ugly human girl?”

  “No. For a very lucrative deal. It’s what I do, and, at the last count, I believe the might of the Drayconar Empire outweighed mine by a mere twelve ships.”

  The Draycon’s crest rose. “I don’t believe you would enter into a war with us for the sake of a deal.”

  “Maybe not. But I’ll certainly do a lot of damage to your ship, and your pries
ts won’t be any more eager than you are to engage me in war. Remember, you have more to lose; more vulnerable worlds. And I don’t have the Atlanteans’ foolish notions of fair play. A war with me would cost you dearly, so I don’t see why you’re so reluctant to part with one ugly human girl. After all, you must have snatched her to sell, and you won’t get a better offer.”

  Norvar’s captain appeared confused. “Then you don’t know who she is?”

  “She’s the last human female, that’s all I care about. My client wants her. A special order, so make up your mind.”

  The Draycon glanced sideways once more, and his eyes widened, then he faced the screen again. “An Atlantean cruiser has just dropped out of the Net. I must -”

  “Captain, the Atlanteans saved her from her world. They’ll want her back. Right now, ships will be converging on you. I recommend you close the deal with me and transfer her to one of my ships. I’ll deal with the Atlanteans.”

  Norvar’s captain looked undecided, and, if he had been capable of it, he might have started to sweat. Instead, his skin paled, and he broke the connection. Tarke cursed as Pra’tar’s semi-transparent image appeared again. She was speaking to someone beside her, and broke off to face the screen.

  Tarke said, “I understand Starlight has arrived.”

  She nodded. “So have the Atlanteans. A cruiser called Hood. Shall I tap into their communications?”

  “No need. I know what will be said. The Atlanteans will demand the girl, the Draycons will refuse, and a standoff will result. All that remains to be seen is whether the Draycons decide to sell her to me or fight the Atlanteans. We’ll wait, for now. I’ll be there in...” He consulted a hologram. “Less than three hours.”

  “The Atlanteans will send more ships, sir. It won’t be safe.”

  “Commander, please don’t be concerned for me. If you and my other commanders had their way, you’d keep me stored in a vat on Ramia Four and take me out once a month for airing. I’ve survived this far, so let’s not start giving me advice now.”