Pyke nodded and with a prod and a swipe he shifted Hokajil’s map to the party deck, centred on their current refuge, the storeroom. He zoomed the image in closer and little tags in mysterious lettering appeared here and there, along with another hand-drawn arrow pointing to a small, square symbol which was identical to the one for the airgrav-shaft back in the concourse deck.
“That has to be it,” he said, showing the map to the others.
“Not far away, Chief,” Ancil said. “What’s our story if we run up against any nosey types?”
“Easy—we’re entertainers, a band of troupers, heading up to the bridge on the express invitation of, say, the First Mate.”
Dervla was unconvinced. “Entertainers?—what, a song, a dance, a filthy joke—that kind thing?”
Pyke grinned. “More of a band situation—we can call ourselves ‘The Newfangled Five’!”
“I could be the kitarist,” said Ancil. “Kref could be the drummer …”
“This is crazy-mad,” said Dervla. “Off-the-wall barking lunacy …”
“Isn’t it?” Pyke said. “But it’s no crazier than what’s going on out there in Partyland, which makes our claim plausible—hell, we don’t even have to know the First Mate’s name, because our manager does all that liaison stuff!”
She was right, it was demented and high-risk, but Pyke’s reckoning was that high-risk options were the only ones going. Bravura and cunning was all that the notion required, and they had those aplenty.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Dervla said, “but it could just work. All I ask is, let me do the talking, or at least most of it if we get stopped. Deal?”
Pyke gave a gracious nod. “Deal. Shall we get going?”
After cautiously checking activity out in the corridor, Pyke waved the others to exit the storeroom. The route to the crew airgrav-shaft was straightforward, just a few turns and short passage traverses away from the security station. They passed barely anyone on the way, which was lucky in several ways, not least because Ancil, Kref and Moleg were trying to come up with fake band member names. By the time they got to the last stretch of corridor they’d settled on Artemis Goldark (Moleg), Magnus Frost (Kref) and Zaine Hellion (Ancil). There was also a certain amount of muttering which made Pyke suspect that they’d concocted daft names for him and Dervla, too, but were wisely hesitant about voicing them.
Pyke took another look at Hokajil’s map as they approached the airgrav-shaft. He frowned on discovering new handwritten symbols that weren’t there before, an up-arrow stopped by a thick red line—there were three black dots at the bottom of the arrow and seven at the red line.
“What does it mean?” said Ancil. “Maximum of three in the shaft?”
They’d reached the crew-access shaft, which was clearly designed for shifting large loads as well as personnel.
“No, Zaine,” said Pyke. “Looks like it could take all your kitars and then some!”
Ancil gave a sly smile. “Awritey, thanks for the update there, Raskal!”
“Uh-oh,” muttered Kref. Dervla just smiled.
“What … was that?” Pyke said.
“Chief, ya gotta have a name for the band, one that goes along with ours …”
“And it’s Raskal?”
“Yeah—Raskal Stryka!”
Pyke considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Heh, it’s okay, fairly badass—Zaine!”
“Told you he’d like it,” Moleg told Kref.
“Okay, okay,” Dervla interrupted. “I’ve figured out what Hokajil’s scrawl means—look.”
Sure enough, there were markings on one side of the shaft entrance, three dots and an unknown word which had to be “floor” or “level.” Pyke frowned.
“So it’s saying that we can’t go above the seventh floor?”
“That must be it,” Dervla said. “Perhaps one of those Time-Mosaic facets is blocking the shaft above the seventh.”
“All right,” Pyke said. “Everyone into the airgrav-shaft—first one in holds down the multi-load button.”
That was Moleg so he swiftly triggered the “hold” control. Pyke grinned.
“Going by Hokajil’s map, the upper boundary of his final time-zone is five floors up from the concourse, which makes it level eight.”
Ancil laughed. “And we can’t go past seven. I don’t mind walking the rest of the way!”
“Less walking we do,” said Dervla, “less chance of being stopped and questioned by ship security.” She gave Pyke a narrow look. “So—did you guys come up with a name for me?”
Ancil calmly studied the grav-shaft’s light sources. “Yeah, we did, actually.”
About three seconds of silence went by before Dervla poked him. “And?”
Wearing a big smile, Ancil turned, hand outstretched, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only—Atomic Jean!”
Dervla frowned. “Sounds seriously retro—and it doesn’t have the same edge as the other names.”
Ancil shrugged. “We might be able to whip up some alternatives.”
“Ah well,” said Pyke. “If do-overs are on the menu …”
That was when the lights in the shaft went out and the platform shook underfoot, forcing Pyke over against the side of the shaft.
There was a sudden, raw hiss of escaping gas, a barrage of choking charred smells, and Pyke realised that he was perched on some kind of wire mesh-covered ledge. As he tried breathing through part of his coat, raised to his mouth, he heard coughing and hoarse voices from below. One sounded like Kref, another like Dervla, but before he could call down to them there was a metallic creak from very close by, clanking, a grating noise, and a slice of artificial light pierced the smoky darkness in which he sat. And there, in the gap between a pair of elevator doors, was Kref, trying to force the doors further apart. Pyke waved at him, making frantic sshhing gestures then pointing downwards.
Below, another pair of doors were being levered apart, a bright gap that widened as extra hands joined in. Corridor light revealed the coughing figures below, Kref, Ancil, Moleg and Dervla, all sounding the same, yet all dressed in elaborately decorated body armour and carrying heavy weapons. One by one they clambered out, after which another leaned in for a last look, then was gone. Pyke let out the breath he’d been holding—that final head and shoulder had looked a lot like himself, only wearing some ocular device over one eye.
Another doppelganger of myself, he thought as he waved at Kref to resume his rescue. If I was the superstitious type I’d be getting the shivers by now. As it is I’ll just keep a running tally.
With the doors open, Kref and Ancil grabbed his hands and hauled him up out of the wrecked shaft. As he got his breath back he explained what he saw in the floor below.
“Looked like us, eh?” said Ancil. “Maybe versions of us from another time-facet.”
“Except they really look the part of our band names, Zaine Hellion!” said Dervla.
There were a few sniggers but before Ancil could muster a retort, Pyke broke in.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want us bumping into them anytime soon—we need to figure out where we are …” He paused to stare at the elevator doors. “Skaggin’ hell! I think we crossed over into a time-facet as we came up the shaft. And we’re on level six.” He swiftly assessed the surroundings—the corridors seemed lower and the decor was dominated by grey and dark blue shades, rather than the lighter pastel hues of earlier. There was also a muffled alarm sound in another section on this deck and every now and then a tremor passed through the deck and bulkheads.
“Feels as if the ship’s under attack,” Dervla said.
Pyke nodded as he fished out Hokajil’s map, but according to that they should still be in the time-zone they’d first encountered, the last one Hokajil had created before stumbling out of the devastated wreck. But there were another four of these time-zones, each one a temporal stepping stone forward to the chaotic assault of this huge creature, the Damaugra.
“So his map
’s wrong,” said Dervla.
Pyke grunted. “In parts, maybe—it only shows where he created the zone with his gadget, not where these time-facets are. If these things have spread throughout the forward section, we could be faced with having to travel through a jigsaw of deranged alternate timelines!”
They all looked appalled, in varying degrees. Then Pyke zoomed in on the map of the deck they were on and spotted another shaft symbol not far from the current location.
“We might be able to sidestep all of that if we can leave this facet by going up!”
When he showed them the map, their spirits improved visibly and they set off again, weapons at the ready.
“Whoever designed this bloody ship clearly had something against stairs,” muttered Dervla.
“There might be some on the map,” Pyke said. “But I’ve no idea what the symbol might be …”
Just then the deck shook underfoot, almost knocking Ancil off balance. An alarm went off and small pinlights in the ceiling began to flicker red. A machine voice suddenly spoke:
“Attention—hull breach on deck six—all personnel proceed to axial evacuation lobbies fore and aft …”
Hull breach? Pyke thought. Has to be a Damaugra attack.
“All right, let’s move!” he said.
The elevator was round the next corner and halfway along the passageway. They reached it without incident, piled inside and Ancil hit the up button. The lift had barely started upwards when everything quivered, the ceiling corner lights dimmed and jittered, then went out completely. There were intakes of breath but before anyone could speak or curse the light snapped back on, revealing a changed lift interior. The grubby walls were patched with something like lichen and smeared with dirty trails of moisture. Grime discoloured the lighting covers and tendrils of what looked like glittering weeds were spilling out of them. The floor was covered in grit and dross and overall it stank of decay. Then the lift slowed to a halt, creaked and scraped open.
And they found themselves facing a web of gleaming, interwoven foliage among which Pyke spotted some familiar blooms and buzzing insects. He groaned.
“Just what we need—a time-facet where the Steel Forest has spread to the forward section!”
“Hey, Chief,” said Ancil. “There is another lift right next to this one, yeah?”
“Certainly is.”
“Well, if you have any of them blue-flower bracelets on you, they might help us nip into it …”
Pyke shook his head. “Sorry, ditched them back where we met Hokajil. Derv?”
“I left mine back there, too,” she said. “Hanging on a strut poking out of the wreckage at the rear.”
“Kref,” said Pyke. “Don’t suppose—”
“Erm, well …” The big Henkayan cleared his throat. “I did, Captain, I held on to a coupla things …”
A sideways glance showed Kref carefully extracting coiled-up strings of those tiny blue flowers. In a moment or two his head and wrists were decorated.
“This okay, Captain?”
“Looks good—now, shuffle over there and see what happens.”
Kref nodded and warily approached the intruding mass of tendrils and blooms—and they drew back, shrinking from such close proximity. Pyke laughed in relief.
“Okay, Kref, now see if you can sidle on out there and check on that other lift …”
Kref grunted and advanced to the elevator’s threshold, and the slow-writhing foliage retreated before him. Once outside he took a couple of sidesteps and was gone from view. There was silence for several long seconds.
“Hey, Captain, I’ve pressed the button for the lift and it’s on its way!”
Pyke and Dervla exchanged a look. “I’m just waiting for these armoured doppelgangers to come howling round the corner, guns blazing,” she said.
“Nah, my money’s on a squad of Ustril-clones armed to the teeth with scanners and forceps …”
Kref popped his head into view as a rough scraping sound came from the other shaft. “It’s here, Captain—the plants and the creatures aren’t bothering me—I think it’s okay.”
“Right then—all aboard!” Pyke directed the others into a kind of queue then led them in a shuffling gait up to the parted doors where Kref stood, hands outstretched towards the mass of foliage, keeping it back. The other lift was even more dank and grimy than the first and when Pyke thumbed the up button there was no response and the doors stayed open. Grinding his teeth, he began to jab the button steadily, focusing his anger into that single stabbing motion. After the eleventh jab something went clunk and the doors began to grind together. A slight jolt and the lift began to rise.
A few seconds later they passed through another time-facet boundary—the lighting flickered and they were back in the clean, unmarred environment of an airgrav-shaft, with a partial forcefield platform beneath their feet. They stepped out at the next deck and Pyke paused to get his bearings.
Level eight. Question is, are we now in the next time-zone, or is this another time-facet?
He pulled out Hokajil’s map, flipped and zoomed to the current location and saw that they were—supposedly—still in the first zone, but well to the stern of the forward section. This was where the ship’s cross-section narrowed to that of the next section which was for crew and low-status retinue quarters. Just then, a slender man with swept-back hair and angular features emerged from a cabin bearing a black carry case. He wore an expression of unvarying amusement, and with intense, piercing eyes he surveyed them all in a swift, sweeping glance.
“Hello again,” he said to Ancil then strolled further along the corridor and entered another room.
“Who’s yer friend?” said Pyke.
Ancil’s features were a picture of open-mouthed surprise mingled with the strain of attempted recollection. Then his face lit up. “Ah, right, him!”
“Who?” the others said, almost in unison.
Ancil looked at Pyke. “It was just after I sent those guards on a mad dash to Crazytown. I got to the door to the corridor back to the security station, and that guy was just coming out and he held the door for me. He was carrying that case then, as well.”
Pyke nodded, thinking over the odd encounter, certain there was something familiar about the man. Well, how many loopy, cranky types have we crossed paths with during our time on this planet? Enough to staff a coupla good-sized carnivals!
“Ah, probably nothing,” he said. “Probably someone trying to find a safe spot.”
“While we go galivanting off in search of Raven and her man-slugs?” Dervla said.
Before Pyke could respond, a female ship’s officer appeared from a side corridor up ahead and strode purposefully towards them.
“Shit,” Ancil muttered. “Right, don’t forget our cover story and our band names …”
“Friends and guests,” the officer said. “Please remember that this section must be evacuated within the next six minutes due to the ongoing emergency. A provisional guest-list checkpoint has been established up on the gallery-lobby in the forward axial area.”
Then, with a professional smile, she turned and hurried off.
“Evacuating?” said Kref.
Dervla looked at Pyke. “Ongoing emergency? Doesn’t sound like where we came in.”
“Nope.” Pyke scrutinised Hokajil’s map, no longer certain that it was accurate concerning the extent of the time-zones. “There are two passenger lifts going up from this gallery-lobby, one to port, one to starboard. All we have to do is get to one of them without being noticed.”
Dervla’s smile was weary. “While being the invisible, easily overlooked types that we are!”
“A diversion may be called for,” Pyke said. “Ans, see all the stuff you pilfered from the weapons cabinet—anything like a flashbang among it?”
“Got a couple that look like they might be that kind of thing but …” Ancil shrugged. “Won’t really know till I throws ’em!”
“Okay, we’ll see if there’s somewhere s
afe for it to go off—meantime, let’s get going. Hasty walking is called for here—no running or drawing attention. Let’s go.”
Following Hokajil’s deck map, Pyke led them to the end of the passageway and swung right. The second opening on the left apparently led straight to the lobby area but just as they were coming up on it there was a weird midair ripple in the stretch of corridor further along. Then the ripple turned into a vertical crack which opened wide enough for a tall figure to squeeze through, carrying a laser carbine of some sort.
“Skaggin’ hell!” said Pyke. “It’s Ustril!”
Some pursuer in a visored helmet appeared at the crack and tried to stab at Ustril with a glowing shock stave. Pyke had the plasma slugger out but couldn’t get a good aim. Then the Sendrukan scientist dodged the stave thrusts and struck her assailant with the stock of her carbine. The attacker fell back with a cry and quickly Ustril pointed a small device at the crack which closed up and vanished. Then she turned, saw them dashing towards her, stumbled against the wall and slid down to the deck.
Ancil and Pyke got to her before the others, and helped her into a sitting position. Dervla was there with a flask of water, even some biscuits she must have looted along the way. The Sendrukan lady scientist, though, seemed to have had a rough time of it.
“You look like you’ve been in the wars, Doc,” said Pyke.
Ustril nodded, sipped more water. “My own fault, Captain.” She looked at Dervla. “I am deeply sorry for how I treated you—it was an act of rash folly that led me to chase after … after treasures that remain out of my grasp.”
“Where was that place that you came from?” Dervla said.
“More to the point, how did you create that door?” said Pyke. “That might be handy …”
“While I was searching,” Ustril said, “I met some … strange people, some of whom have been here for a very long time. They told me how the Time-Mosaic has grown over the many centuries, and some of the facets now reach into alternate versions of this ship, some almost unrecognisable!” She leaned forward, expression intense. “And I met different versions of you, all of you, and I learned so much … I got lost in the fractured facets until I met …” She gave a dry, bitter laugh. “Someone I thought was a younger me at first, but turned out to be the daughter of a much older version of myself. She was well versed in the tales of her bygone days, as she put it, and knew the fate-tales of all the divinities …” She shook her head. “That’s what we are to them. She knew what I had to do to help you, and showed me how to get back to the first five time-zones.” With a sudden urgency she grabbed Pyke’s sleeve. “Captain, you must not go up to the gallery-lobby! Raven knows you have the crystal shard and has prepared a deadly ambush!”
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