Rayne remained inert until he pulled her upright and shook her, then she coughed. He shook her until her eyes opened and her face twisted with pain, then laid her on the ground. Her eyes held a frightening vacancy, and he remembered her previous incapacitation after her first battle. The second one had been far worse, longer and more strenuous, and he wondered if her sanity had survived. A chill ran through him at the possibility that she might also be lost, swallowed by the strange emptiness he had sensed within her mind earlier. He patted her cheek again, making her flinch.
“Come on; snap out of it, Rayne. Fight.”
She gasped and coughed, her eyes wide and empty.
“You’ve got to heal yourself. Come on, don’t give up now.” He rubbed her icy face, alarmed by her pallor, visible even in the gloom.
She turned her head away, seeking to escape his insistent patting.
“Come on, heal yourself. For me.”
A little awareness returned to her eyes, and tears leaked from them as she fought the painful numbness within her mind. He stroked her cheeks and stiff hair, knowing his touch was the only thing keeping her from sliding back into the dark arms of unconsciousness to escape the howling emptiness of her scarred mind. His voice made her twitch in distress, soft as it was, and he murmured words of encouragement to hold her attention.
Rayne clung to the sound of Tarke’s voice, and his touch slowly brought her back from the blank blackness that had held her in its grip for so long. It seemed like an eternity that she had lain in the silent folds of utter numbness, the world lost in the great void left by the Envoy’s pain. Her pain sharpened her awareness, and a burning agony in her lungs demanded her attention. She gasped, trying to fill lungs that seemed to have shrunk drastically, fluid bubbling in them. With each breath, her lungs healed as she concentrated on the task until the tightness eased and the bubbling lessened.
When her breathing was normal once more, she opened her eyes, squinting at the man who sat beside her. He stroked her hair, his touch awakening her senses and bringing reality closer with each caress. The howling emptiness tried to fill her, but she held it at bay with his image, using it to fill the void. The numbness receded, shut off by the closing of doors that had allowed it to sweep in like a winter storm. As her mind drifted up into the light of awareness, the pain of its raw wounds pounded her temples.
She groaned and lifted a shaking hand to her head. “It hurts.”
“I’m not surprised. Heal it. You can do it.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I know how strong you are,” he said. “Anyone who can survive what you did can heal a little headache.”
“It’s not so little.”
“But you’re getting better all the time.”
“It’s not as bad as the first time.” Her fierce frown eased as she soothed the ache in her temples, and the apathy and dullness ebbed as her health improved. When her pain had abated sufficiently, she studied him. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’ll live, but the Ship needs your help.”
“Why?” Alarm blossomed in her as she struggled to sit up, wincing. He helped her, and she gazed around at the gloomy chamber, shivering with shock and cold. She rubbed her arms, startled by the air’s damp chill, and her teeth chattered.
“It’s cold! And dark...” Her breath caught in a sob. “It’s dying!”
“Yes. I cut the ganglion, but I might have been too late.”
“The Envoy...?”
“Dead.” Tarke took her icy hands and chafed them, and she wondered how many hours she had lain on the cold floor, her metabolism at a low ebb. He asked, “Are you okay?”
“Cold,” she bit out, her teeth rattling.
“Can’t healers do something about that?”
“We’re not bloody magicians, Tarke.”
“Right,” he muttered, and stripped off his torn battle armour, then undid his shirt. “Now I wish I’d worn the damned coat.”
She stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Basic survival tactics. You need to warm up quickly so you can help the Ship, and sitting here shivering isn’t going to do it.”
Rayne half expected him to strip to bare skin, but was sadly disappointed, for beneath the shirt he wore a form-hugging tunic of a thin elastic material. It was dry and warmed by his skin, and when he took her in his arms she pressed close, sensing his slight shudder. She wondered at it, and his tension. She got the impression that he disliked her proximity intensely, and endured it only so he could warm her. That confused and hurt her, making her wonder if it was just her, or if he reacted like this to everyone. Somehow, she sensed that his aversion was deep-seated, and applied to all and sundry, which mollified her somewhat.
With detached efficiency, he assured that as much of her as possible was in contact with him, thereby speeding the warming process. While she enjoyed the unexpected intimacy with the formidable Shrike, she also wondered at the lengths he went to, to cover himself from head to foot. The chill air nipped her through her suit’s thin, damp material, and Tarke draped his shirt over her. Far too quickly, she warmed against him, and despite her keen worry for the Ship, she longed for the wonderful intimacy to continue indefinitely.
As soon as she stopped shivering, Tarke released her and pushed her arms into the sleeves of his shirt. With this to increase her warmth, he stood up and pulled her to her feet. Her knees buckled, forcing him to hold her up, and she clung to him while her legs shook.
“You need to keep moving now,” he said. “That will warm you.” He held her away, but her legs promptly folded, so he pulled her upright again, chafing her arms to get her circulation going.
“I need to lie down and bloody well sleep for a week,” she muttered. “You don’t know what it’s like to have a yawning abyss where your mind’s supposed to be.”
He steadied her when she wobbled, foiling her attempts to hang on to him. “No, but I do know that if you don’t help it, the Ship’s going to die.”
Tears of sorrow and tiredness ran down her cheeks. “What can I do to help it?”
“You’re a damned healer, Rayne.”
“It’s an alien.”
“One you know pretty well. Better than me. I don’t think it requires you to heal its flesh, only its mind. You know what it’s been through. You were with it, so you know how it feels now.”
She shook her head, gazing up at him. “But it’s gone. I can’t sense it. Maybe it’s too late.”
“No, I sensed it, near its core. It’s not dead yet. Not quite.”
“I can’t. I have nothing to offer it but my own emptiness.”
“Then what do you need? Is there anything I can do?”
She nodded, clinging to his arm, which was the only support he was prepared to offer now. “Yes, but first we have to get to the core.”
“Why can’t you do it from here?”
“Because I’m not like you; I can’t send my mind there. I don’t have the skill.”
He cursed. “All right. We’ll have to find a way to the core, then.”
Tarke wished the chamber was brighter. Dozens of tunnels opened into it, but there was no way of knowing which, if any, led to the Ship’s core. The air was growing stale. The wind had died, and a terrible silence filled the Ship, making him realise just how many unobtrusive noises had been there before. The sea’s glow had faded to a deep crimson, like cooling lava. He hunted for a solution, and remembered his ship, somewhere outside. The Crystal Ship had blocked contact with it before, but could he reach it now? He tried, and received Scimarin’s concerned reply. After reassuring him, Tarke thought of ways to reach Scrysalza’s core with Scimarin’s help.
Can you transfer us, he asked.
The ship was silent for a time, pondering the problem, then answered, The crystalline entity no longer has a Net energy shell, but it still possesses a distortion shield, which has weakened sufficiently to allow contact with you, but remains a barrier to the transfer locat
or beam.
Tarke shook his head in frustration. The transfer Net, while able to circumvent any barrier due to the fact that it passed through the energy dimension, had its limitations. When transferring between two known points, especially the metal plates in permanent transfer points, no barrier could prevent transfer. When transferring to an unknown location, however, such as the Ship’s core, a locator particle beam had to be used to map the destination, lest the person being transferred emerge from the energy shell inside a solid object.
This had hampered him when he had tried to rescue Rayne from the Draycon ship. The ship’s energy shell had distorted the locator beam until he was able to synchronise Scimarin’s shell with it. Evidently the Crystal Ship’s distortion shield was too alien for Scimarin to deal with, otherwise he would have suggested it. The transfer Net was a wonderful tool, but it always seemed to present this problem just when he needed it most. Rayne released him and rubbed her arms while she waited for him to finish communicating with his ship.
“That means we’re also stuck here until the Ship dies,” he muttered, “unless we can save it.” He closed the communications with a mental switch and turned to the bedraggled girl. “Our options appear to be limited. Any suggestions?”
She shook her head, looking miserable. “I’ve tried to contact it. The Ship won’t answer me.”
“Can’t,” he corrected. Tarke eyed the Envoy’s dead bulk. “The ganglia go straight down, which means the ship’s brain is directly below us.”
“Not necessarily.”
“But in all likelihood. Come on, be a little optimistic.”
She shrugged. “So what good does that do? We still have to find a tunnel that goes there.”
“No, we don’t. You’re a healer. That’s it!” He snapped his fingers.
“What’s it?” She looked suspicious.
“You’re a healer. You can make a tunnel down to the ship’s core.”
“Really?” Her brows rose. “How?”
“The same way you heal people, damn it. If you can heal my flesh, you can make the ship’s form a tunnel.”
“That’s crazy. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “You can do it. All you have to do is believe in yourself. That’s half the battle.”
“Do you have any idea how much power it would take to command the flesh of a creature this size? Need I remind you that the Crystal Ship is almost as big as a small moon? What do you think I am, a miracle worker?”
“You don’t have to take control of all of it. Just a small area, to form a tunnel.”
She shook her head. “It’s not so simple. In order to take control of that small area, I still have to send my mind into its flesh, and that disperses my power. The larger the patient, the more difficult it is to heal.”
“Just try. It can’t hurt to do that, can it?”
“I’m so tired,” she groaned, rubbing her temple.
“I thought you cared about Scrysalza?”
“I do. I want to help it, more than anything. I just don’t think I can.” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “Let’s look for a tunnel.”
“That will take too long, unless we’re really lucky and find the right one first time. What do you think the chances of that are?”
“Probably better than my being able to form a tunnel in the ship’s flesh.”
He snorted and turned away, then swung back. “The ship’s dying. Doesn’t that make it easier? It has no more influence over its body.”
She frowned. “Well, it does, I suppose.”
“Then try. Just do that, and if you can’t, we’ll look for a tunnel. It won’t take long, will it?”
“It shouldn’t.” She sighed and looked down at the floor. “But I have no idea how far it is. What if I go in the wrong direction?”
“Follow the blue ganglion.” He gestured to the Envoy’s body. “Once you’re inside the Ship’s flesh, you’ll be able to see it, won’t you?”
Rayne nodded and trudged up the shore, pondering. He was right in many ways, and she was surprised by how much he knew about healing powers, considering he did not have them himself. His determination to save the Ship also surprised her; she had not thought he would care about an alien entity like Scrysalza. He had touched its mind too, however, and she knew the beauty he had encountered there. Also, it was a slave, recently freed from its master, and she wondered if that was why he wanted to save it so much. The thought of Scrysalza dying brought her great sorrow; she just doubted her ability to save it.
Stopping close to the Envoy’s beached forepart, she gazed up at its vast, hated bulk. Killing him had saved Atlan, but the Ship had been sacrificed in the process. In a way, that meant he had still won. She knelt, wincing at her aches and pains, aware of Tarke beside her, watching her. Placing her hands on the Ship’s cold flesh, she closed her eyes and let her consciousness trickle into the vast crystalline entity. The strangeness of it blocked her, forming a barrier of mystery she had to plumb. She allowed it to permeate her, sensing the gradual flow of information settling into her mind. It was a kind of balm to the aching emptiness there, filling it with a pinkish-grey mass that seemed opaque and strangely translucent.
Time ceased to have meaning as she unravelled the data stored in the alien flesh, a fascinating combination of crystal and weird, isolated cells. That baffled her until she adjusted to the vast difference in size. Perspective formed a key, and with it she unlocked the mystery, knowledge flowing into the gaps. Like a picture forming on a canvas, she decoded Scrysalza’s flesh, and received a pleasant surprise. Unlike hers, the Ship’s mind had commanded its inner workings much like a person would his arms and legs. The barrier of reluctance she had always encountered in people did not exist in the ship, whose flesh was ready to obey her. The floor beneath her hands sagged, then opened. Tarke grabbed her before she fell headlong into the tunnel, pulling her back.
She opened her eyes and grinned at him. “I can do this.”
“I knew you could.”
Rayne peered into the dark tunnel before climbing into it, finding it only a few feet deep. Tarke squeezed in beside her in its narrow confines. She placed her hands on the floor and commanded it again, and it parted beneath them. They slid down, following the opening flesh, and she closed her eyes, found the glowing blue filament ahead and followed it down. Twice she stopped to rest, the work arduous for a mind still raw from the psychic battle. The second time she stopped, she calculated that they had descended several hundred metres. Tarke was pressed against her in the solid gloom, his presence comforting. He occasionally placed a hand on her back to encourage her. Once again she was aware of his acute discomfort at being in such close quarters with her, but refused to dwell on it. She forced herself not to think of his proximity and concentrated on her task.
When the Ship’s flesh opened into thin air, it took her by surprise, for it seemed as if she had been tunnelling through it forever. Her tired mind did not react in time, and she fell through the hole with a startled yell. She landed on a hard floor, bruising her backside. Tarke landed beside her, on his feet. She glared up at him when he reached down to pull her to her feet, then forgot her pique as she became aware of their astonishing surroundings. They stood in a chamber almost as large as the one in which the Envoy had dwelt, but it was filled with scintillating light.
The walls reflected the brilliance like crushed diamonds sheathed in clear crystal that appeared to be several metres thick. She looked up to find that the hole she had made was closing, sheets of crystal sliding back to cover it. No other tunnels led into this chamber, nor did slime cover the floor. The rosy light of blood beasts shone through the walls, adding a pink tinge to the amazing surfeit of white light. Its source was the tips of several massive crystal spears that protruded through the walls, each glowing with pale brilliance. The gravity made her knees sag, draining what little strength she possessed. The vast chamber was
spectacularly beautiful, but empty. She sank down on the hard floor and allowed tears of sadness and defeat to overflow.
“It’s useless,” she muttered. “It’s too late.”
Tarke turned his head as he gazed around the chamber. “Not necessarily.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that.”
“I’m not the one who said it before. You did. The Ship’s still here. It’s not dead yet.”
“I can’t sense it.”
“You’re tired.” He took a few cautious steps, for the crystal floor was as slippery as ice. “We’re inside its brain. When it’s awake, this chamber is filled with energy, a massive soup of charged particles that functions just like a biological brain, only it doesn’t need grey matter. If it was awake now, we’d never survive in here.” He indicated the crystal spears. “Those are its eyes, sort of. They bring it images of the outside world.”
“That’s very interesting, but where’s Scrysalza?”
“Here.” He pointed at the floor, then the walls. “All around us. It’s so weak now it’s almost invisible. But look closely.”
Rayne peered at the walls, and after a moment caught a faint flash of something running along them like quicksilver; a shimmer of sparkles, a remnant of thought or memory vanishing into the pale crannies of its vast mind. The silvery stream sank into the crystal and disappeared.
“Scrysalza!” She tried to run to the wall, but slipped and sprawled, banging her elbows. Pain and weakness mixed with sorrow and tiredness, and she bowed her head, letting her tears flow.
Tarke knelt beside her and lifted her, cradling her against him. His soft voice soothed her wounded mind and raw emotions. “It’s okay. You can still save it. I know you’re tired and dirty, thirsty and hungry. You feel like you’ve been beaten and kicked in the guts, but you’re not defeated yet. You can do this. I know you can. I’ve never met anyone as strong as you. You have a will of iron and a heart as big as a world. Don’t give up. I’ll help you; just tell me what to do.”
Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship Page 17