The Draycon’s laser bolt had hit him just above the heart, and, at such close range, it had penetrated his armour. Blood squirted forth in little scarlet jets, staining the white floor. A minor laser burn would often cauterise itself, but this had hit at least one fairly major artery. He clamped a hand over the wound to slow the bleeding. Pain made it difficult to breathe, and air hissed through the mask’s intakes as he gasped.
Rayne blinked, her eyelids growing heavy as the embalming fluid mixed with her blood. Her eyes widened as realisation hit her. Of course she could sense it; she was a healer. The alien withdrew its needles again and moved onto her chest, thrusting them between her ribs, close to her heart. Cursing her stupidity, she closed her eyes and concentrated her awareness on her insides. The alien’s poison ran with her blood as a yellowness, and her body’s defences tried to fight it.
Already the poison slowed her metabolism, blocking vital processes that kept her alive, like the absorption of oxygen and nourishment. Her death would be slow but not painful, a process that would take several days to complete, by which time her flesh would be saturated with the preserving fluid. At first, she could not decide what to do about it, then it struck her.
The poison was currently concentrated in her blood, which ran through her excretory organs. Having identified the alien chemical, she summoned all her willpower and forced the yellow fluid through the walls of the capillaries in her lungs. Her chest grew leaden, and yellowish gas puffed from her mouth and nose. Again she concentrated, forcing the alien fluid through the capillaries of her skin and into her sweat ducts. She shivered as dampness spread over her, and did the same thing deep inside her abdomen, forcing the yellow fluid into her urine. Her bladder began to fill.
Rayne remembered the conversation long ago between Rawn and Mindra, the cat alien. If a healer could heal, she could also kill. Manipulation of the flesh worked both ways, if she wished. Mindra had been insulted by the suggestion, but right now she did not care about ethics. Mindra would never have been in this situation; she had too many other powers to rely on. The mariner had a brain no larger than a pea, and its death would be no loss to society.
Now that her body obeyed her wishes without a need for constant prompting, she concentrated on the alien. It had an odd chemical makeup, and its metabolism seemed capable of burning any combustible gas. Its yellow blood was propelled by contractions of its abdomen instead of a heart. Most of it was muscle, with a rudimentary intestinal tract at its centre. Her mind swept through it, finding it simple, and male. Yellow gas puffed from her nose with every breath, and cold sweat soaked her suit. Her bladder prodded her to empty it.
Tarke’s vision remained dim, and bright lights whirled in his vision as he struggled to stay conscious through the shock, forcing air into his lungs to stave off dizziness and encroaching unconsciousness. A mental touch helped to clear his head.
Tarke, your biorhythms are erratic. Scimarin’s cool tones held a wealth of concern.
I’m hit, but I’m okay.
I will transfer you -
No! The mental bellow must have made Scimarin’s circuits jump, and he turned down the volume of his thoughts. I haven’t found her yet. You’ll transfer me when I say so, or if I lose consciousness.
Very well. Scimarin’s tone dripped disapproval.
Tarke flipped open the pouch on his belt, took out an injector and pressed it to his pectoral muscle, introducing a coagulant. The bleeding slowed, and he injected a fast-acting stimulant to counter the effects of blood loss. A rush of artificial strength energised him, clearing his vision. He pulled out a tiny aerosol of quick-drying pseudo-skin and sprayed the wound, sealing it.
Tarke waited to catch his breath, then struggled to his feet. The only thing he would not allow himself was a painkiller, knowing the betrayal of the numbing drug that robbed a person of the need to be cautious. Too many times, he had witnessed the effect of painkillers that allowed men to do themselves such grave injuries that they died of their wounds. There was a reason the body shared its pain with the mind, and to ignore it was suicide.
Rayne concentrated on the mariner, oblivious to the outside world. Not even the battle sounds reached her within her quiet cocoon of flesh. The only sound was her heart and the rushing of her blood. She had allowed the alien’s yellow flesh, now an extension of her own, into this calm red world, and it fell under her command as she grew familiar with it. The muscular contractions that pumped the alien’s blood were involuntary, produced by electrical impulses from its brain, like a human heart.
Pushing her awareness into the mariner’s flesh, she commanded the unwilling brain to stop sending the impulses. It struggled against her psychic hold, sending out a series of impulses that made its abdomen flutter. Then they stopped. Rayne opened her eyes as the alien reared back, raising two of its tri-clawed legs as if to stab her, then it curled. The needles were plucked from her flesh as it released its hold and fell backwards onto the floor, twitching.
After a moment of relief and triumph, she turned her mind back to the task of healing herself. Yellow sweat soaked through her suit, and the gas that issued from her lungs grew paler. Now that the alien was no longer pumping the poison into her, she was able to rid herself of it, and movement began to return to her limbs.
Shudders rattled Norvar, making the floor and walls quiver. Tarke opened two more doors, one empty, the other containing a Draycon who sprinted from his prison and made off down the corridor.
Three Draycons appeared around a corner ahead, staggering as an explosion went off nearby. Tarke, steadied by his hold on the wall, swept his laser in an arc that razed all three with a single burst of blue fire. He leant against the doorway of the next cell, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. Common sense told him to transfer out now, but another part of him insisted he was close to his goal, and if he did not find the girl, no one else would.
Once more, he was being inexplicably stubborn, refusing to leave even when he knew that if he stayed he might die. His vision blurred as blood loss drained his strength. The pseudo-skin had succumbed to the pressure of the blood under it, and a scarlet trail marked his progress along the corridor, the wetness spreading across the front of his shirt. An explosion rattled the walls, making the floor surge. He staggered away from the door and fired at the lock, cursing as the beam died. With numb, fumbling fingers, he groped on his belt for a new power crystal, slotting it into the weapon with difficulty.
Gritting his teeth, he fired at the lock until it burnt out, and the door slid open. A figure crouched in a corner, pale hair gleaming through the smoke.
“Rayne!”
Tarke turned at the sound of running footsteps, raising his weapon. A tall Atlantean appeared around the corner and stopped, his dark eyes snapping to the laser with a hard glint. Tallyn’s hand hovered over the weapon holstered at his side, unable to move as long as the Shrike had him covered.
A brilliant flash blinded Tarke as an explosion ripped through the corridor mere metres away. The concussion lifted him off his feet as shrapnel shot down the corridor with a vicious buzz. He sprawled on the bloody floor, one leg twisted under him. The laser skittered from his hand, spinning down the corridor after the shrapnel.
Tallyn picked himself up, shaking his head to try to dispel the ringing in his ears. The corner had shielded him from most of the blast, and he checked himself, finding no injuries. He glanced at the Shrike’s still form, torn by the urge to see if his enemy was dead. Getting Rayne out of this doomed ship was more important, however, and he crossed the corridor to peer into the cell.
Rayne struggled to her feet, clutching her head. Evidently the concussion had flung her back, cracking her skull against the wall. He seized her wrist and dragged her out of the cell. As she stumbled out, she spotted the Shrike and tried to wrench free with a cry of anguish.
“Shrike!” She struggled to reach him, almost dragging Tallyn along when he hung onto her. “Let me go! He’s hurt!”
“He’s
dead!” Tallyn shouted, pulling her away. A wind blew past them as air rushed from the Draycon ship’s breached hull. Distant thuds underscored the battle sounds as airtight doors closed automatically, sealing off sections of the ship in an effort to save her crew. The ship’s neural net started a new monologue, announcing in its soft female voice, “Warning: hull breach. All crews abandon ship. Warning: hull breach. All crews abandon ship.”
Rayne tried to prise Tallyn’s fingers off her wrist, exhaling puffs of faint yellow mist. “Let go of me! Let me help him!”
Tallyn grabbed her other arm, trying to avoid the kicks she aimed at his shins. An energy shell engulfed them in a moment of golden silence, and when it dispersed they stood in Vengeance’s hospital. As Tallyn released her, Rayne punched him in the jaw, staggering him. Two orderlies hurried over as he stared at her in stunned surprise, stopping when he raised a hand. Rayne’s eyes were wild in a face streaked with the yellow slime that soaked her suit.
“You bastard! You killed him!” she shouted.
“He was hit by an explosion.”
“I could have helped him!”
Tallyn shook his head. “He was dead.”
“You don’t know that! Did you bother to check?”
“There wasn’t time. I had to get you out of there, and besides, he was a criminal.”
“He was my guardian!”
Tallyn signalled to the orderlies. “Give her a sedative.”
Rayne wrenched free when the men attempted to lead her away, walking, stiff with rage, further into the hospital. Tallyn strode to the lift.
Entering the bridge’s peaceful gloom, he studied the main screen. Against the intense blackness of the void, sprinkled with a dusting of glimmering stars, the battle raged with ponderous majesty. Streams of blue laser light flashed towards Norvar, pulverising her disintegrating hull. The three cruisers that had attached themselves to her retracted their boarding tubes and moved away. A sizeable section of the red saucer came away with them, sending a wave of debris into space. Norvar had been torn apart.
He asked Marcon, “Did we get all our men off her?”
“Yes sir, all except for a few casualties.”
Tallyn nodded and looked at the screen just as one of the sleek black ships veered away and was engulfed in an energy shell. It shot off into deep space, gone in an instant. “What ship was that?”
Marcon consulted his holograms. “Scimarin: the Shrike’s personal ship. It looks like the rest of his ships are leaving too.”
“Leaving us to deal with the Draycons.”
“Well, it was never his battle, anyway.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Marcon. What are the Draycon ships doing?”
“They’ve broken off their attack, and the Gorder Bonn Priesthood is transferring survivors from Norvar.”
“Good. We’ll stay until they leave the area.”
“How’s Rayne?” Marcon enquired.
“Angry and ungrateful. When I reached her cell, the Shrike was there. He would have shot me, but an explosion went off close by, and he was killed. She accuses me of killing him, which is completely unfounded and untrue.” He fingered his jaw. “She seems to be extremely upset about it.”
Marcon shook his head and returned his attention to the main screen. The three cruisers had left Norvar and joined the rest of the Shrike’s ships. Two of them had buckled, breached hulls, and the third was scorched and pitted by laser fire. The five red saucers clustered around Norvar, while Tallyn’s ships hung in the background, awaiting orders. He wondered why the Shrike’s ships had not left, then realised that the three cruisers were too badly damaged to go super light.
They would transfer their crews to other ships, then a skeleton crew in spacesuits would fly the crippled vessels to the Shrike’s nearest base, he assumed. Again he pondered the slaver’s motives for risking his life to save a human girl. Even if he had not planned to make the ultimate sacrifice, which Tallyn did not doubt, he had still taken a huge risk.
The Shrike’s ships turned golden and vanished into the void. Last to leave were the three damaged cruisers, and he had to admire their captains’ courage. They deserved medals, and he wondered why they worked for a slaver. The only black ship left was Rayne’s, which waited alongside Vengeance. Now that the battle was over, it all seemed peaceful, a collection of ships gathered in a remote area of space. Only the knowledge of the hostility between them caused tension on the bridge as the officers watched their holograms intently, ready for the first warning of attack.
The Draycons, however, seemed to have had enough. Norvar’s loss was a grave blow to the Gorder Bonn Priesthood, weakening their standing. Now they would have to sort out their pecking order all over again. One thing was certain, neither he, nor the Draycons would ever underestimate the Shrike again. His suicidal tactics, although successful, could never be emulated by captains who cherished their lives, and to admit that the Shrike’s men had more courage than his was galling. At least the man was finally dead.
Normally a space battle remained a stalemate for hours, sometimes days, during which time reinforcements were called and the whole thing got bigger and messier. Ships were too well protected by their stress shields, and could hurl laser and energy bolts at each other endlessly with no effect. There were chinks in the armour, however. A stress shield had weak points that could be penetrated with a well-aimed shot. Only by hitting either the Net link hook or a stress shield generator could a ship gain the upper hand.
The way the Shrike’s cruisers had overcome Norvar so quickly and efficiently had been a revelation, but they had done it at great cost to themselves. So the tactic, while useful, was not without its drawbacks. He wondered if Rayne had calmed down yet. He had a lot of questions for her. Mostly, he was exceeding curious about the yellow liquid she had been drenched in when he found her.
Marcon straightened, his hand pressed to the sensor pad in front of him. His skin paled to a sickly grey, his eyes wide. Tallyn had never seen the unflappable lieutenant look so alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Sir.” Marcon blinked and turned to his commander. “A report from Atlan, sir. They detected a spacial anomaly, and sent a ship to investigate it. They report... a vast ship has appeared, larger than anything we know of. It’s made of crystal.”
Tallyn’s blood turned cold. “The Envoy?”
“Yes, sir. They think so. It’s heading for Atlan, moving slowly, and they’re mobilising a strike force to intercept it. They request our return urgently, with the Golden Child.”
Tallyn gripped the edge of the console to steady himself, fighting an urge to run to the hospital and find Rayne. The Golden Child. Her importance loomed enormously, and he longed to have her by his side, where he could bask in the assurance of her presence. The prophecy was about to come true, and the magnitude of the moment stunned him. He gathered his scattered wits.
“Set course for Atlan. Tell the others to follow. I’ll go and tell Rayne.”
In the hospital, doctors tended to the men who had returned from Norvar. Rows of beds were occupied by injured men in an artificial sleep, their wounds, visible through the clear regeneration jelly, already showing pink areas of regrown skin. The redolence of jelly and antiseptic permeated the huge room. Nurses trotted past on errands and doctors stalked by with the injured air of a healer on a battlefront.
Rayne sat on a bed, staring into space, clad in a clean pale grey suit. Her hair was damp from a shower, and she sipped from a half-empty bottle of water.
“Rayne?”
Her eyes flicked up to him, filled with anger.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No.”
Tallyn sat beside her. “We’re on our way back to Atlan.” He hesitated, not knowing how to word his momentous news. “The Envoy has appeared.”
She looked away, a frown puckering her brow and raw fear shining in her eyes. When she looked at him again, a bitter smile twisted her lips. “He has great timi
ng.”
“You must prepare yourself. Put aside your anger for the moment.”
“Prepare myself?” She gave a mirthless laugh. “For what? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”
“It will come to you, when you confront the Crystal Ship.”
“How do you know that? Even Endrix doesn’t know that. How do you know I won’t need the help of my guardian? The one you just murdered.”
“I didn’t kill him, I swear. Maybe he isn’t dead. There was no time to find out. Surely his ship, if it’s so intelligent, would have transferred him out?”
Rayne gasped and closed her eyes, a faint smile curving her mouth as if she had just remembered something vitally important that brought her extreme comfort. “Did any of his ships explode?”
“No. We were in close proximity; such an explosion would have shaken us badly, maybe even overloaded the shields.”
She opened eyes that glimmered. “Then he’s alive.”
“How do you know?”
She studied him as if unsure of whether or not she should tell him, but apparently she failed to see what harm it could do. “If he dies, his ship self-destructs. So will Shadowen, if I die.”
“I see.” Tallyn tried to hide his disappointment. “What happened to you? Why were you so wet when I found you?”
“The Draycons put a mariner in my cell, but I was able to undo the effects of its poison.”
“Did the Shrike know this?”
She shrugged. “Shadowen probably told him.”
“So that’s why he was in such a hurry. How did he know where you were?”
“Shadowen. He can track me through the bio link. That’s how he knew I’d been abducted in the first place. He followed Norvar when she left Mansure.” She took a long swig from the bottle. “It was the Shrike who led you to me, wasn’t it?”
Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship Page 6