Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship

by Southwell, T C

  Rayne screamed, a red haze of terror invading her mind. Pure panic made her try to fling the creature off, kicking out like a demented ballerina. The alien’s tail wound up her leg, the muscular whips gripping her, withstanding her desperate kicks with ease. She screamed again, flinging herself down in a desperate frenzy. She beat her leg against the wall, disregarding the fact that this was futile, uncaring that the library tapes had taught her that once a mariner had a hold of you, you were doomed. The alien had its legs clasped around her ankle, and she knew that within seconds it would inject her with the paralysing venom, and her struggles would be over.

  Scimarin’s calm voice broke the silence, dragging Tarke’s attention from his embattled ships. “Shadowen reports that the girl’s biorhythms have become elevated. He deduces that the mariner has attacked her.”

  “How close are they to boarding?”

  “A few minutes. The shells are almost synchronised.”

  “Go closer. Tell Shadowen to pinpoint her position as close as he can with his bio link, and get ready to transfer me there as soon as Norvar’s shell goes down. Fire on her Net link.”

  Tarke rose and left the bridge to enter his cabin and open a locker. He pulled out a padded waistcoat of space armour and strapped it on, shucking his coat. Returning to the bridge, he studied the battle again, now from close range. The energy shells had almost ceased to ripple with disharmony, paling as they approached synchronisation. The commanders of his three ships would be monitoring each other’s wave forms, each trying different ones until one found a match, thereby speeding the result. Scimarin fired an energy weapon, the bolt of brilliance lancing through Norvar’s shell to strike the hull, making it glow red hot. The battleship, which hung above the saucer a few thousand metres away, fired lasers into the Draycon ship’s hull in a line of red spots. It was only a matter of time before one of them hit the Net link’s hook, or the shell was disarmed.

  “Well?” Tarke demanded. “Has he found her?”

  “He has narrowed the area to a few hundred square metres close to the centre of Norvar. He is refining it further.”

  The screens blazed with golden light as Scimarin’s stress shields shredded an energy bolt from Norvar. Tarke looked away until the dregs of brilliance had leeched off into space. A string of laser bolts slashed across the front shields, smeared to harmless light. Norvar fought back with all she had now, strafing Scimarin and Starlight with energy and laser fire. The exercise was fairly pointless, since both ships had functioning stress shields, but it did serve to keep Scimarin linked, preventing his transfer. He cursed, watching Scimarin’s energy bolts blazing across Norvar’s pitted, scorched hull.

  “Four more Draycon ships have arrived,” Scimarin informed him. “The Atlanteans have confronted them. They are communicating.”

  “Tap it.”

  “They are enquiring as to their affiliations.”

  “And?”

  Scimarin paused. “Two ships are of the Gorder Bonn Priesthood, same as Norvar. The other two are from the Merval Agben Priesthood, which is a rival.”

  “Well, this should be interesting. The Merval won’t help us, but they might decide to try to snatch the Golden Child for themselves, which would put them in conflict with the rest of the Draycons.”

  “Shadowen informs me that the girl’s biorhythms have become erratic.”

  “Hit that Net link, Scimarin.”

  “That won’t be necessary. The shells are coming into synchronisation... now.”

  The four shells, each bordered by brilliant, rippling energy, melted into one. The ships now shared a single shell, an even more dangerous situation. If Norvar tried to move now, the stress would tear all four apart. The three cruisers moved closer to their prey, their powerful attractors overcoming Norvar’s repellers. The battle of super magnets was not without its toll, and parts of Norvar’s hull bulged, pulled out by the cruisers’ attractors. The cruisers’ hulls also suffered, pitting and sagging under the massive power of Norvar’s repellers.

  No ship was built to withstand such immense strain, but the Shrike’s were better than most, since this was a tactic he used on slavers. No slaver he had ever tackled was a big as Norvar, however, and all three of his cruisers sustained serious structural damage. At the same time, they were tearing Norvar apart. If her captain admitted defeat and deactivated his repellers, he could save himself, but Draycons never surrendered, and this one was no exception.

  A boarding tube protruded from one of the Shrike’s cruisers, spanning the gap. When it reached Norvar’s hull, his men would have to burn their way through it, which would take several minutes. Once a boarding tube was in place, his men would pour into the enemy ship. It was a swifter method than transferring, which limited the numbers to less than a dozen per energy shell. Under normal circumstances, this tactic was useful, but time was something he did not have.

  “Get the waveform and synchronise our shell, then transfer me as close to the girl’s location as you can. Tell the carrier to send its men to the same location, but not too many.” He studied Norvar. “That ship’s not going to last long. There won’t be much time to get them out, and they’ll be a long way from the boarding tube.”

  “An Atlantean ship is approaching, and the four Draycons are now engaged in battle with the Atlantean ships and each other.”

  “Send a couple of mine to join in the fun, but tell them only to fire on the Draycons unless the Atlanteans start something, in which case they should withdraw. If the ship that’s approaching fires on you, fight back, and tell Shadowen to help you. The two of you can manage Vengeance easily.”

  “What if they wish to communicate?”

  “They won’t.”

  Chapter Four

  Rayne beat the little monster that clung to her so tenaciously, hammering it with her fists in hysterical desperation. In her mind, she screamed at Shadowen to help her, but he remained silent, probably because he could do nothing. Grabbing the mariner’s legs, she tried to pull it away so it could not bite her. The thing was immensely strong, however, and she might as well have tried to prise a barnacle off a rock. Never had she longed so much to be parted from her leg, but at that moment she would have gladly chopped it off.

  Evidently the beast did not feel her leg was the optimum place to inject its paralysing fluid, for it moved up it, keeping a firm hold on her, the tri-tail still wrapped around her ankle. Rayne’s fists bounced off its carapace, bruising her leg and hands. Her suit’s thin material would not impede its jaws, and even if she stripped off her clothes, the beast had too firm a hold on her.

  The three-eyed nub had withdrawn into its bony protection, and its feelers where like bristly rubber, impervious. With indomitable fortitude, it marched up her leg. She was hardly aware of the faint thuds as energy weapons and laser beams hit the ship’s hull, or the slight judders that ran through the floor. Her mind raced in a fury of desperation.

  The alien reached her thigh and crawled over her belly, its tri-tail shifting its grip to her waist. Its six legs clasped her in a lover’s embrace, the muscular tail pinching her waist in a cruel grip. The mottled orange carapace seemed to glow, throbbing in her fevered eyes. Its scissor jaws opened, gleaming, and she screamed as they sank into her.

  The energy shell released Tarke in a corridor filled with hurrying Draycon crewmen. Twelve of his troopers emerged from another shell mere metres away and fired on the Draycons, sending them scuttling for cover. Tarke ducked into a doorway to avoid the crossfire, not bothering to draw his weapon. Distant explosions shook the ship and an alarm whooped. A soft female voice, calm and unhurried as only a ship’s neural net could be, repeated in Drayconar, “All crews to battle stations. All crews to battle stations...”

  While his men occupied the enemy, Tarke headed down the corridor away from the fight. He turned into the first doorway he came to, which slid open, so he moved to the next door, with the same result. He checked four more doors that all opened, revealing a canteen, a gymnasi
um, a bathroom and a library. On a big ship like this, the living areas were broken down into sections, usually by rank or occupation. This meant that each group of crewmen had their own facilities. Somewhere in this section were cells where unruly or criminal crewmembers were kept as punishment, and, according to Shadowen, Rayne was in one of them.

  Fewer men dashed about now. It seemed those who had been sent to deal with the invaders had all reached them. A crewman came around the corner and spotted Tarke, grabbing his laser.

  “You! Stop!”

  Tarke dived into a doorway, and a laser bolt sliced through the door as it slid shut behind him.

  “Intruder!”

  Tarke ran through a supply room and out of another door into a busy corridor. The pursuing Draycon, now with reinforcements, emerged soon after, still shouting. Wild shots hummed along the corridor, cracking into the walls. The technicians and engineers who thronged the passage added to the confusion as they ran about, blocking the patrolmen’s aim. The ominous buzzing hum was not a sound Tarke liked. It reminded him too vividly of injuries he had sustained in the past. The Draycon crewmen dived to the floor with thuds and yells to avoid the laser beams that blazed amongst them. Tarke sprinted down the corridor, cursing the patrolmen for driving him away from the area where the girl was held.

  Drawing his laser, he flattened himself against the wall and razed the corridor with a waist-high lash of light. Half the guards fell; the rest flung themselves down. Tarke stepped into an office and ran through it, turning sharply to go through a door at right angles to the one through which he had just entered. Drayconar decoration was unimaginative, and the bare rooms drab. An officer stood up behind a console, his scaly crest raised. Tarke shot him in the heart and was halfway across the room before he hit the floor.

  The thuds of the crewmen’s booted feet faded as he increased his lead, and he ran down a corridor, ducking into the first doorway that opened at his approach. He entered an empty recreation room with no other exit and flattened himself to the wall next to the door, listening to the patrolmen’s confused shouts.

  Two pairs of booted feet approached the door, which opened to admit a guard. Tarke grabbed his throat, yanked him inside and snapped his neck in a swift movement. Dropping the corpse, he waited to see if any others came. Explosions rattled the fittings, and a glass wandered to the edge of a table and fell off, shattering. When the patrolmen passed by, Tarke re-emerged and hurried back the way he had come.

  Rayne writhed, struggling to break the alien’s iron hold, her hands bleeding from the scratches the horny carapace had inflicted. The creature’s jaws were locked in her chest, clenching as it injected paralytic into her bloodstream. Numbness spread through her, and her arms went limp, then her legs, ending her futile struggle. She lay wedged against the wall, her head propped up, staring at the alien that gripped her.

  Perhaps the cruellest thing about death by mariner execution was that her mind would remain unaffected to the end. The mariner opened its jaws and raised itself. The two needles on its belly unsheathed, and, with an obscene thrust, it jabbed them in, injecting the preserving fluid that would turn her into an imperishable meal. No longer distracted by her struggles and grunts, she became aware of distant thuds and booms.

  The scene on Vengeance’s main screen beggared Tallyn’s ability to believe his eyes. The four ships now shared a shell, and two smaller ones hovered close by while the massive battleship hung overhead. None had objected to Vengeance’s proximity, but he had the impression the truce was a tenuous one, and a wrong move would end it. He contemplated calling more of his ships from the other battle, but that would only heighten the tension.

  Marcon claimed that the Shrike had now transferred to Norvar, which defied everything Tallyn knew about the slaver. All the ships around the Draycon vessel pounded her save Vengeance, and areas of her hull were breaking apart under the strain of the combined firepower and tearing force of the cruisers’ attractors. Tallyn found it hard to believe the elusive Shrike had gone into that unstable, hostile environment, risking life and limb for a human girl he barely knew. He certainly did not understand it.

  “Find that shell’s waveform, so we can transfer some men in there to find her, Marcon,” he ordered.

  “Sir, that could take hours, and we have no idea where she is.”

  Tallyn scowled, hating to admit that a criminal had outdone him, and the fact that it was the Shrike was even more infuriating. In this instance, however, Rayne’s safety was paramount, and he swallowed his pride. “I wasn’t suggesting we try to analyse it. Contact one of those ships and ask them what it is. If they want our help, they’ll have to tell us.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marcon touched his sensor pad, and moments later the information flowed into one of the holograms on his console. “They already have men aboard Norvar, and more are being transferred from their carrier now.”

  The massive carrier was parked some distance away, an oblong ship honeycombed with shuttle bays. “They didn’t object to giving us the information?” Tallyn asked.

  “No, sir. They’ve been ordered to co-operate unless we take hostile action, at which time we become the enemy. This also applies to our boarding parties, of course. And they’ve informed us that Rayne’s location is at the centre of Norvar.”

  “How the hell do they know that?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but they do seem positive.”

  Tallyn muttered, “It could be a ruse, to put us in the most dangerous area while they find her.”

  “I don’t think so. I guess it’s our choice, whether we trust them or not.”

  “I don’t trust them at all, but if it’s not a ruse, it’s valuable information we’d be fools to ignore. If it is a ruse, we’re not much worse off than we were to begin with, since we have no idea where to look. That’s one hell of a big ship. If only Rayne still had her beacon, we’d be ahead of them.”

  “So we send men to the centre?”

  “Yes. And I’m going too.”

  Marcon’s jaw dropped, and several officers turned to stare. “Sir, that’s unheard-of.”

  “I might be able to capture that bastard; this is the perfect opportunity.”

  “May I point out -”

  “I know, Rayne’s safety is the priority, and we’d be breaking this unspoken truce. But once we had him prisoner, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

  Marcon shook his head. “He’s under sentence of death. Once we captured him, there would be nothing to stop them attacking us, and we’re badly outnumbered.”

  “Then if I get the chance, I’ll just kill him. They won’t know who did it.”

  “It would be underhand to use their information to hunt the Shrike when he’s trying to save her too.”

  “Perhaps,” Tallyn said. “I’ll decide if and when the moment presents itself, but I intend to go aboard Norvar anyway.”

  “This is a breach of protocol.”

  “Noted.”

  Back in the original corridor, Tarke resumed checking doors. The corridor was deserted now, and the ship shook with shuddering thuds and muffled bangs. Blackened scorch marks and several corpses testified to the battle his men had fought here, and they appeared to have driven the Draycons off and pursued them. Tarke checked two still, black-clad forms, but they were dead. The alarm still whooped in the distance, but the dulcet message had stopped. Ominous groans and creaking underscored the distant explosions as Norvar was torn apart.

  Finding a door that would not open, he fired at the lock mechanism until it burnt out in a shower of sparks and the door slid open. He entered the smoke-filled room, peering into the haze.

  “Rayne!”

  A Draycon sprang from the smoke, crest raised, throat sacks swollen, his claws reaching for Tarke’s throat. The Shrike sidestepped, and his laser shot almost cut off the alien’s head. Returning to the corridor, he went to the next door. As he aimed at the lock, a massive explosion tore through the ship, making it judder. A harsh, braying klaxo
n added its cacophony to the din. The Draycon ship was taking a terrible pounding. He scanned the corridor, but evidently the warren of passages and corridors that made up this ship had swallowed his men. Undoubtedly they were searching as diligently for him as they were for the girl, but their hunt had taken them in a different direction. He sent a brief order to Scimarin.

  Tell the others to ease off on the attack, or this ship will break up.

  The men can’t find you, and I cannot guide them to you, since I have only a vague idea of where you are.

  He burnt out the lock of the next door. I’m okay. I think I’m in the right area now.

  You should have some men with you.

  I’m fine.

  A Draycon charged from the cell as the door opened, almost bowling Tarke over. The alien paused and snarled, then ran away down the corridor. Tarke moved on to the next door, aiming at the lock.

  A movement caught his eye, and he spun and flattened himself to the wall. The Draycon who had just come around the corner already had his weapon drawn. He fired at the same instant Tarke did. Tarke’s bolt cut through the Draycon’s neck, and he collapsed.

  Tarke staggered as the air was punched from his lungs, a savage, burning pain lancing through his chest. The metallic tang of blood invaded his mouth, and his vision dimmed. He coughed and slid to his knees, clutching the side of his chest where the agony burnt. A rush of memories blinded him as he struggled to breathe. He slumped, struggling with them and the pain, clinging to the unpleasant reality of the doomed ship’s blaring alarms.