Slave Empire III - The Shrike (10 page)

Marcon said,
“This might be a clue, sir. I’ve been comparing vidpics of the
previous crystal ship with this one, and they’re not the same.”

“They’re
not?”

“No, sir. This
ship is larger and significantly brighter. One interesting thing,
however, is that it’s in exactly the same place as the last one was
when it vanished, to within a few hundred metres.”

“That doesn’t
really help. Is there any way to contact it?”

Marcon checked
the holograms. “Apparently they communicate telepathically, but
only with those they choose.”

“So we can’t
contact it. We have to wait for it to contact us?”

“Yes, sir.
According to the files Rayne gave us, it will only communicate with
a person who has the right sort of mind. It scans the people around
it and chooses one, or not, if it doesn’t find what it’s looking
for.”

“What kind of
mind?” Tallyn asked.

“I would guess,
an empath, sir.”

“And how many
empaths are listed in your database?”

Marcon touched
the sensor pad and read the information that scrolled up in the
gloom. “None.”

“Just as I
thought.” Tallyn clasped his hands behind him and gazed at the
crystalline entity. “So all we can do is wait and see what it does,
then decide what we’ll do about it.”

“Respectfully,
sir, if that’s an Envoy, there’s not much we can do about it.”

“Then we’d
better pray it’s not.”

Tarke looked up
from his scribe pad as Vidan rushed into his office, irritated by
the interruption that had broken his concentration just when he had
been on the brink of solving a complex problem of shipping rights
with a neighbouring territory. The scribe pad was filled with
information he had downloaded from the station’s database, which he
had just sorted into some a comprehensible order. Vidan’s flushed
face and bright eyes made Tarke tilt his head as the Atlantean
struggled to catch his breath, wondering why Vidan had chosen to
run here instead of using the vidlink. Vidan sank onto the chair on
the other side of the desk, gasping.

“You should
exercise, Vidan. A lap or two around the dome each morning will do
wonders for your wind,” Tarke advised.

Vidan shook his
head. “I had to tell you in person.”

“So you could
see my reaction, I suppose.”

“We’ve had
news. An Atlantean communication.”

Tarke sat back.
“Well, spit it out.”

“The Crystal
Ship’s returned.”

Tarke stared at
the panting man. “The same one?”

“They’re not
sure. It appeared near Atlan two hours ago, in the same place it
was before.”

“And?”

“It’s just
sitting there. It hasn’t done anything. It’s as if it’s waiting for
something... or someone.”

Tarke pushed
the scribe pad away, his calculations forgotten.

Vidan went on,
“The Atlanteans are in an uproar. They don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll bet. What
are they doing?”

“Waiting to see
what it does.”

Tarke jumped up
and headed for the door. “If it had an Envoy, it would be moving
towards Atlan, preparing to attack.”

Vidan hurried
after him. “You think it’s the same one?”

“I certainly
hope so. It has to be.”

“What are you
going to do?”

Tarke turned a
corner. “Get me some ships, as many as you can muster. I’m going to
Atlan.”

“That’s
dangerous. You’re not at your most popular with them since you
attacked Vengeance.”

“I’ve never
been popular with them.”

Vidan trotted
after him down another long corridor, starting to pant again.
“You’re going to take Rayne?”

“It’s her only
chance.”

“You don’t know
it can help her.”

“But it might.
You knew I’d do this. Why else were you so excited about it?”

Vidan gave up
trying to keep up with the Shrike’s long strides and watched him
march away down the corridor to Rayne’s apartment.

Tarke entered
the quiet, church-like atmosphere of his wife’s room. Only the soft
hum of the ozone machine and the beeping of her monitor broke the
silence. The attendant who sat beside the bed rose to her feet,
clearly surprised by his unscheduled visit. He ignored her and went
to the bed to gaze down at Rayne. A simple silken gown clothed her,
its whiteness offsetting the slight golden tint the special lights
had given her skin.

Tarke had
insisted that her dignity be preserved, so no tubes were used in
her care. She spent several hours each day floating in a nutrient
bath, and her prone existence had not affected her much. An
especially designed neural net monitored her bodily functions and
regulated them, and an attendant was always on hand. He bent and
disconnected the neural net, removing the silver mesh headgear,
then scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. The attendant
gaped at him as he strode to the door, probably convinced that he
had finally taken leave of his senses.

When Tarke
entered the hangar where Scimarin was berthed, many people had
gathered to see him go.

Vidan hurried
over to trot beside him, looking worried. “You should have ordered
a litter for her.”

“Why, do you
think I can’t carry her?”

“No... It’s
just strange.”

Tarke glanced
down at his wife, whose hair flowed over his arm, her cheek resting
against his chest. He stopped at Scimarin’s door and turned to the
Atlantean. “I really don’t care if it looks silly.”

Vidan shook his
head. “Not silly. You look... Never mind. Just go. And good
luck.”

Tarke entered
the ship and went to the cabin to place Rayne on the bed before
making his way to the bridge. He waited while the people filed out
of the hangar, and an alarm brayed as the dome doors rolled open.
Scimarin drifted aloft on her anti-gravity, passing through the
dome doors, then switched to repellers and shot up through the
planet’s thin atmosphere. Five ships waited in orbit, three
cruisers and two battleships. He set course for Atlan and ordered
Scimarin to make maximum speed, leaving his escort to catch up.

Tarke did not
want to waste any time, afraid the Crystal Ship would give up and
leave, taking Rayne’s last hope with it. Scimarin’s acceleration
was so powerful that the inertial compensators could not completely
counteract it, and he was aware of a slight pressure pushing him
back in his seat. While the ship was still accelerating, he rose
and went to the cabin to sit beside Rayne and take her hands,
leaning close.

“Scrysalza has
returned,” he murmured. “It’s going to help you. If anyone can,
it’s the Ship. We have hope again.”

The trip to
Atlan took seven hours, and by the time he reached it, his escort
was almost an hour behind. Still, the time was good. He had known
the journey to take as long as ten hours. Space was smiling, as the
old pioneers used to say. The fates had been kind, and he had
fallen through a fold. Because of its speed, the ship started
decelerating half an hour from Atlan, and the compensators could
not completely eliminate the tug of false gravity. Such high-energy
manoeuvres put a tremendous strain on the ship’s hull, and it made
occasional pinging, twanging noises as he paced the short corridor
between the bridge and the cabin.

When at last
the energy shell dispersed, he gazed at the immense, beautiful
alien ship that hung in space near Atlan’s pearly orb, strobing the
blackness with light. Whereas before he had looked upon it with
dread, now hope fought to blossom in his sceptical heart as
Scimarin drifted towards it. He had to cling to this last bit of
hope; without it despair would claim him. He had made a lot of
promises to Rayne while she slept, and he intended to keep them.
Within moments the space line chimed, and Scimarin informed him
that the Atlanteans were demanding to speak to him.

He waved it
away. “I’ve got nothing to say to them. If they don’t know why I’m
here they’re stupider than I thought, and if they try to stop me
they’ll be sorry.”

Tarke willed
the crystalline entity to send its beam of thought to probe his
mind. He had lowered his mental shields, ready to welcome the
alien’s enquiring touch and offer it the friendship for which he
knew it searched. Scrysalza had been Rayne’s friend more than his,
but he had touched the Crystal Ship’s mind too, and, although their
encounter had been brief, he knew it intimately.

“Come on,
Scrysalza. Talk to me.” Tarke’s impatience grew as he waited for
the searching beacon of thought.

“What if this
ship is not the same one?” Scimarin asked.

“Then we’re all
in a lot of trouble, because as far as I know, Scrysalza’s the only
one that doesn’t have an Envoy anymore. But if this ship had an
Envoy, it would be moving towards the planet.”

“Perhaps this
Envoy is using a different tactic.”

He shook his
head. “Scimarin, you’re not being very encouraging. Didn’t I
programme any optimism into you?”

“As little as
you possess.”

“Well, keep it
to yourself.”

Tarke sensed
the beam of thought in the instant before it touched him, and
welcomed it. It started to pass, hesitated, and lingered, sampling
his thoughts. Evidently it liked what it found, or perhaps it
recognised him, for the contact strengthened, probing the ship for
other minds. He knew it had touched Rayne’s when it recoiled, and
sensed its horror as it vanished.

“No!
Scrysalza!” he jumped up. “It’s Rayne! She needs your help, come
back!” He thumped the console.

“An Atlantean
ship is moving closer,” Scimarin warned.

“Then they’ll
get a nasty surprise when my escort arrives.” He glared at the
Crystal Ship. “It’s got to come back. It must! Come on, Scrysalza,
think! Whose mind would be filled with such horror?”

Tarke cursed,
remembering the Ship’s gentle nature and its fear of suffering,
which had made it the Envoy’s slave. He knew what it was to dread
pain, and understood the Ship’s aversion to touching a mind that
echoed with the Envoy’s power. It must have returned to find Rayne,
however, so once it realised it had touched her mind, surely it
would want to help, if it could? Unless it could not, he reminded
himself, his hope dwindling with each passing minute. If that was
the case, the Ship would leave. He willed it to remember her; to
realise it could, and should, help the tiny creature who had helped
it eight years ago.

As Tarke stared
at the alien entity that filled the screens with awesome
brilliance, he became aware that the light from it was changing
subtly. It no longer slashed aimlessly through space, but formed
long streamers that reached towards his ship. The light brightened
to form a bridge between them, creeping over Scimarin’s hull like
ragged streamers of glowing mist.

Brilliance
engulfed him in a blinding flash, followed by a shock of absolute
cold. He experienced a slipping, sinking sensation, as if space and
time had opened and allowed him to fall through.

The cold and
light vanished, and he squinted and blinked as spots danced on his
retinas. He sat on soft green moss in one of the ship’s gargantuan
air chambers, surrounded by a bizarre landscape he remembered well.
Rayne lay a few metres away, and he went over to check on her. He
settled beside her and gazed at the weird growths that populated
this fantasy land, the mist dewing his skin with moisture.
Scrysalza’s breath moaned through distant tunnels and tubes,
bringing strange scents into the chamber on the warm breezes that
stirred the air.

Tarke waited
for the touch of the alien’s mind. It came after a few moments, at
first a shy brush, imparting gentle greetings, which he returned.
It flitted away and returned, a delicate thought filled with
concern and sorrow.

I came to
speak to my friend,
the ship thought,
but she is not here
anymore
.

Tarke closed
his eyes and concentrated, aware that he had not been able to
communicate with the ship as well as Rayne had.
She’s here,
he told it,
but she’s ill. She needs your help
.

She is
gone,
the ship mourned
, swallowed by the place where the
Envoy once slept. His dark place is somewhere I have never dared to
go. Why did she go there?

Tarke bowed his
head and told it how she had hidden there to keep his secret from
his enemies.

The ship
sampled his mind again, exploring his memories and emotions with
psychic probes, astonished and concerned by what it found. He hid
nothing from it, fearing that if he did it would suspect duplicity.
It shied away from his worst memories, sending its vast sympathy
into him like a soothing salve.

Help
her,
he begged.
Heal her
.

Scrysalza
hesitated, then said,
I will try, but I make no promises. She
has used the power of the Envoy to hide from your enemies, and it
has overwhelmed her. Her mind is an open door, a sucking pit into
which she has fallen. It all depends on how far she has gone, and
whether she wants to return. When she flung open the Envoy’s doors,
she must have known the danger. How many fell in there with
her?

Tarke answered,
only one, as far as I know
.

Scrysalza gave
a mental shudder and said,
it is dangerous to touch her mind
now, even for me.

Tarke begged it
to try, showing it the deep feelings he had for the girl in the
hope that this would help to persuade it.

Being an
androgynous entity, Scrysalza had no concept of marriage. It used a
budding system to reproduce, releasing millions of crystal seeds
into space, only a few of which would grow into adults. Its nebula
was thick with seeds, it said, and sent him an image of a vast
drifting cloud of sparkling crystal flakes, like a diamond storm.
His abandonment of Rayne after the Envoy’s defeat confused it, and
it recalled the girl’s pain when he had.