Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship (4 page)

“
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 and 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.”