Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship (25 page)

The horror of
their predicament made Rayne’s stomach knot. Turning to the wall
beside her, she placed her hands upon it and tried to send her mind
into it. The stone prevented her from reaching the living flesh
beyond, and after a few moments she realised that it was hopeless.
A healer’s power could not penetrate inanimate matter as thick and
dense as the diamond that sheathed the chamber.

She looked at
Tarke. “We’re trapped anyway, even while the Ship’s alive. I can’t
reach the flesh through the stone. From the outside I could open
the stone, but it doesn’t work this way.”

“
Then only the Ship can release us.”

“
I’ll try to call it back. Maybe it can still hear
me.”

“
Don’t bother. I already told it about our problem; it just
remains to be seen whether or not it cares enough about us to help
us.” He leant closer. “And you damned near followed it into the
peaceful zone, you bloody fool. If I hadn’t pulled you away, you’d
be dead now.”

“
Did I? I thought I was dreaming. It seemed so tempting to
leave all the tiredness and pain behind, like the Ship was
doing.”

“
There’s nothing tempting about death, in my opinion. It’s
only an escape when life’s unbearable, and I wouldn’t describe your
life as that. You’ve got nothing to escape from but a few aches and
pains.”

She sighed. “I
know. I just fell asleep, that’s all.”

Tarke snorted
and turned away. She remembered the sweet seduction of the soft
arms of oblivion. Her tiredness had pushed her into them, for they
were deeper than sleep and offered endless rest. Scrysalza had
invited her to join it; the Ship had already spanned the gap
between life and death, so large was its sentience that it was able
to, dying in stages as it seeped away. That was why it took so long
for a crystal ship to die. It had to release the masses of energy
that formed its mind. It did this slowly, in streams, as gently as
it did everything else.

At the moment,
its mind’s energy was still passing outwards through its flesh, and
she hoped it was not too late for it to return. If it was, she and
Tarke would probably die in here, unless a way could be found to
release them. Men with high-tech tools might be able to burrow
their way in eventually, but probably not before they died of
thirst. She had allowed exhaustion to overwhelm her, fallen asleep
while talking to the Ship, and almost drifted away with it. It had
not been a conscious choice, just a moment of weakness, and now
Tarke thought she was an idiot.

“
I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Tarke let his
head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. She wondered what
he was thinking, wishing, for the umpteenth time, that she could
see his face. His expressions would at least give her some insight
into his emotions, since he did not reveal much with his words or
actions. He might have been concerned for her, but then again, he
might only have been thinking of his survival. Perhaps she could
find out more while they waited.

“
It’s nice to know you’re concerned about me.”

He turned his
head towards her. “Am I? You would have slipped away into peaceful
oblivion. I would have died of thirst in here.”

She gritted
her teeth to stem the hot words that leapt onto her tongue. “We
still might.”

“
True.”

“
When will you keep your promise?”

“
When I decide to.”

“
What, in about five hundred years’ time?” she
demanded.

“
Maybe.”

“
That’s not good enough. You said when the Envoy was dead, and
he is.”

“
And he’ll still be, in five hundred years’ time.”

She leant
closer. “If I can figure out how to get it off, will you let
me?”

“
No. Why don’t you go to sleep? I thought you were
tired.”

Rayne sighed,
her eyelids drooping at the mention of sleep. Her exhaustion was so
profound that even their dire situation could not keep her alert.
Her mind was raw, her psychic energy utterly depleted, and her head
seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool. She fought the lethargy,
gazing at him with deep disappointment, then yawned. Turning away,
she curled up next to the wall and pillowed her cheek on her arms.
Almost as soon as her eyes closed, she was swept into sleep’s
gentle embrace.

Chapter Twelve

Tarke studied
the seamless diamond walls with growing despondency. He had walked
around the chamber twice, searching for a flaw, but had found none.
Not that he had really expected to; it had been a vague hope,
nothing more. He could not blame the girl for their predicament; he
had urged her to tunnel into this room, and they would not have
been able to enter it any other way, as it turned out. They might
have been able to contact Scrysalza’s fading sentience from the
outside, however, which would have been a lot safer.

For two hours
now, nothing had changed. The blood beasts still sent a vague pink
glow into the chamber, making him hope the Ship still clung to
life, if only to release them from this prison. Then again, if it
had been able to, surely it would have done so by now. Perhaps it
needed to gather power, and was occupied with this. He sighed and
scratched the mask’s hood, the dried fluid making his scalp itch.
If he got out of this, he was going to have a long hot bath back on
Scimarin.

A soft swish
made him swing around as something fell from the roof and landed in
the centre of the chamber. He went over to see what it was. A
length of blue ganglion lay on the floor, its severed end bubbling
as if it had been seared through with a laser. He looked up at
where it must have hung from the roof, intruding into Scrysalza’s
brain like a cancerous growth, controlling it with pain. Why had it
dropped off now? Was the Envoy’s flesh rotting so quickly?

A whisper of
telepathic joy touched his mind. The walls were coming alive with
light, filling with bright sparkles at an incredible speed,
becoming a mass of shimmering, multi-coloured brilliance. The Ship
had returned, and its energy flooded back into the chamber. Already
he could sense the static charge rising in the air. Streams of
sparkling energy swirled around the room, the beginnings of the
vast, powerful mind that would soon fill it. His disquiet grew as
the implications became horrible conclusions.

“
Oh, shit.”

Tarke ran to
the sleeping girl, slipping on the glassy floor. Skidding to a
stop, he fell to his knees and shook her. She opened her eyes with
a groan, then gasped and sat up, looking around in confusion.
Realisation dawned on her sleep-fogged mind, and she grinned.

“
It’s alive!”

“
Yes, and it’s going to kill us if it doesn’t let us
out.”

“
Oh.” Her smile faded, and her eyes glazed as she communed
with the Ship.

Already the
light around them was difficult to look at, its hard brilliance
stabbing Tarke’s eyes. His hair rose under the hood, itching like
crazy. Static discharges snapped and crackled from the roof as the
air filled with more and more power.

Rayne called
to the Ship, finding it preoccupied. It had returned from the brink
of oblivion, at great cost to itself, and some pain, but now that
it was back, it rejoiced. It revelled in its newfound freedom, and
its power surged back into it, reviving it. Its link with the first
dimension fed it vast amounts of energy, replacing that which it
had lost in the third dimension, and the rest, which it had shed
prior to its near death.

Scrysalza
filled itself again, and enjoyed the resurgence. Gone was its
apathy and resignation; now it was glad to be alive. She tried to
get it to stay still long enough to explain their predicament, but
it gambolled around her mind like a frolicsome foal testing
unsteady legs. For several minutes she despaired of getting through
to it, then her insistence made it pause long enough for her to ask
it to release them.

Scrysalza was
surprised and amused, assuring her that they were in no danger. It
would be hours before the energy levels within its brain became
dangerous. Also, it had not forgotten its friends; after all, that
was why it had returned. It needed to gather a little more power
before it could move them, it explained, and she slumped with
relief.

Rayne became
aware of the sparkling maelstrom in which she now stood. A blizzard
of glittering motes of fire whirled around them, and she had never
seen anything so beautiful. Static discharges illuminated the storm
with sporadic flashes of blue or green, and the light from the
diamond walls was almost blinding.

“
It’s going to move us soon,” she said, sensing the storm
twitch at her words.

Tarke nodded,
and then light enveloped her, forcing her to shut her eyes. The hot
brilliance faded, and she staggered a little in a far weaker
gravity. Shaking her head to clear the dancing spots from her eyes,
she squinted and peered around. Tarke appeared less affected than
her, and she guessed that the mask’s tinted visor filtered out the
more dangerous light. She sat on the ground and rubbed her
eyes.

They were in
the bizarre fantasy land of one of Scrysalza’s air chambers. The
scenery was the sort of thing a child might dream up, with frothy
green moss and weird growths sprouting from a landscape that
travelled up the walls. Mist hid the distances, and warm winds blew
from nearby tunnels, carrying musty scents of damp and rot. Vapour
settled on Tarke, dewing his clothes with tiny pearls of water.
Rayne stood up and pulled off the shirt he had given her.

He held out
his hand for the garment. “Where are we now?”

“
In one of its breathing chambers.” She held the shirt behind
her back. “You look better in what you’re wearing.”

Tarke glanced
down at his form-hugging tunic, which revealed every well-defined
contour of his torso. “This is underwear.”

Rayne giggled
at his indignant tone, her mood buoyant, her worries vanished with
the danger. The last of her aches and pains had healed in her
sleep, which had also lessened her fatigue, and the Ship’s
miraculous recovery lifted her spirits. A nagging emptiness still
plagued her, but she was becoming used to it, and the touch of the
Ship’s mind had infected her with its child-like delight. Most of
all, she was aware that her time with the Shrike was running out,
and soon they would go their separate ways. In a desperate bid to
forget that, she dared to flirt with him.

“
You’re a prude,” she said. “Don’t you want to wash off this
dried gunk? There’s a lake further up this chamber, full of clean
water.”

“
I prefer the privacy of my ship, and hot water.”

“
You’ve got a thing about privacy, don’t you? Scrysalza is
still gathering its power. I doubt it’s going to send us back to
our ships until it has. In the meantime, we might as well enjoy
this place. There may be no food, but we can drink the water, and I
can heal your wounds.” She motioned to the dried blood on his
trousers.

“
I’m okay, and I’m sure the Ship will send us back if we ask
it to.”

“
I’m in no hurry. Are you going to ask it?”

“
If I must,” he said.

“
Then I’ll ask it not to. I was its friend before you. Who do
you think it’s going to listen to?”

“
You’re being silly.”

“
And you’re being a grump.” She walked away, gaily waving his
shirt.

Tarke followed
her after a moment. Two flashes of light nearby made her jump, and
she turned to find his sword and the fighting blade lying on the
moss. Scrysalza was cleaning house, it seemed, and she did not
doubt that its clean-up crews were even now dissecting the Envoy’s
remains while its soldiers dispatched the females. Tarke picked up
the weapons, sheathed his sword and hung the fighting blade over
his shoulder by its straps.

Rayne sat
beside a clear, sparkling lake and scooped up handfuls to slake her
thirst. He squatted nearby and did the same, studying the weird
scenery. In the distance, a strange, crab-like creature trundled
along the wall, a bunch of something brown in its claws.

She said, “I’m
going to have a bath. Care to join me?”

“
No. I’ll just have my shirt back.”

She flung the
garment into the lake. “Fetch!” The shirt sank, and he jumped up
when she started to undo her suit. She giggled at his reaction.
“Are you going to watch?”

“
No.” Tarke spun on his heel and walked away.

Rayne watched
him leave with regret and puzzlement, longing to run after him. She
wanted a bath quite desperately, however, her hair stiff with dried
slime, her skin and clothes coated in it. Although it had no smell,
it itched. She stripped and waded into the tepid water, diving
under to soak her hair. The lake was quite shallow, and she
scrubbed her clothes as well, emerging refreshed.

Tarke sat with
his back to a column of pink crystal topped with a bright yellow
flower-like cup.

She flopped
down next to him and held out his wet shirt. “I washed it.”

He took it and
pulled it on. “Thank you.”

“
You’re not normal, are you?”

“
What’s normal?”

“
You know...”

His head
turned towards her briefly. “You mean I don’t react to your
flirting. No. But then, I’m not human. If you knew more about my
people, you wouldn’t act like that.”