“You really should think up your own.”
“Oh, I will. I just need an example.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Now I’ll never believe you.”
“Just tell me. What can it hurt? I know you won’t let me get close to you, anyway. Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes, you are.” She smiled, concentrating on the moss. “I just want to know what it would take to get your attention.”
“You have my attention.”
“But not your sympathy.”
“Ah.” He sounded relieved for some reason. “Well, if you were an outlaw, being hunted by the authorities, I might consider taking you on. Or if you were a slave, and I freed you, I might consider employing you.”
“I was almost a slave, and you rescued me.”
“Almost isn’t good enough.”
“So I have to have one of those things.” She gestured to her throat. “You know; a collar.”
“Something like that.”
She pulled a face. “I think I’d rather be an outlaw.”
“It’s a dangerous life.”
“I’ve had one of those for years.”
He appeared to stare into the distance, presenting her with the mask’s strange profile.
She sighed. “I suppose you’ll be taking your ship back, when you go.”
“Keep it.”
“I can’t do that. It’s far too valuable.”
He shrugged. “I have plenty more. I don’t need it.”
“Thanks. I guess I can use it to come and see you in five hundred years’ time, when you keep your promise.”
“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“I hate liars.”
He plucked at the moss. “I’m sorry about that. At the time, I almost meant it, but I didn’t think we’d survive. You’ll probably get to see me when Tallyn catches me one day. Doubtless he’ll display my corpse on the council steps, as he did the others.”
Rayne shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to see that.”
“It would satisfy your curiosity, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought we were friends. I like to look into a person’s eyes when I speak to them. It’s not just curiosity. I don’t really care what you look like. It doesn’t matter if you’re ugly.”
He chuckled. “That’s comforting.”
“But you’re not, are you?”
“I’m not purple with green spots, no.”
“Would you take it off if I held a laser to your head?”
He laughed. “No.”
“You’d rather die?”
“You wouldn’t kill me.”
She shredded the moss in irritation. “Are we friends?”
“If you want.”
“What would it take?”
He turned to look at her, the mask glittering. “Even my most trusted people don’t know what I look like. It’s not about trust. From time to time, my enemies try to learn my secrets by kidnapping my people and prying into their minds with powerful telepaths. Once, a close advisor had to remove my mask while I was unconscious, after I had been injured. I had a head injury, so he had no choice.” He plucked more moss. “I had his memory wiped, for his safety.”
“Why would your enemies want to kill you if they knew what you look like?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
As she pondered her next question, she sensed the gentle brush of Scrysalza’s mind, asking her if she was ready to leave. The Ship was in no hurry, it said, but the people outside were growing worried. Rayne assured it that she was not ready to leave yet, and it withdrew to attend to other business. When she looked at Tarke again, he faced her, and she sensed that he was watching her.
“The Ship’s ready to send us back, isn’t it?” he asked.
“No,” she lied. “It just wanted to ask me something.”
He stood up. “Well, I’m ready to go.”
“No, wait.” She jumped up and grabbed his arm. “I want to talk to you some more.”
“There’s nothing more to say. I’ll never answer your endless questions about my secrets, and our work here is done. Go back to Atlan and enjoy your fame. Forget about me.”
“What about Tallyn?”
“He can’t catch me aboard Scimarin.” He pulled free. “Scrysalza, I’m ready to go.”
“We could talk about something else. You can’t just go, so soon, after everything we’ve been through together. Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does, but it’s over now. There’s nothing left to say.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“I’m sorry, Rayne.”
A sheath of white light engulfed him, and when it faded, he was gone. She sank down in the moss, a terrible numbness stealing over her as she stared at the place where he had stood. His departure drained her joy and let in the howling emptiness of the void the Envoy had left in her mind. Doors to blank spaces opened, letting in the unimaginable loneliness of one who has been to the brink of death and returned. She would never see him again. Tears ran down her face as her mind grew cold and distant. He was the reason she had returned, and clung to life when she should have died. His promise had held her in this cruel world, but he had broken it and left her alone with the mental abyss of the Envoy’s scars, which threatened to swallow her.
Scrysalza brushed her mind with alien concern, sensing the loss that caused her sorrow and the growing blankness inside her head. It rushed in to heal the damage, closed doors that let in the shadows and sealed them with soft light. It filled the emptiness with fluffy pinkness, a blank something on which she could write her thoughts. Frivolous, mundane ideas replaced the howling void in her head, simple thoughts that blocked the threatening dimness, banishing it to wait behind the sealed doors that led to the nothingness beyond. She wiped away her tears as Scrysalza’s soothing presence dulled the pain like ointment on a wound.
The Ship knew all about pain. Its life thus far had been filled with it, yet it had survived. So would she, it assured her, and she would grow stronger from the suffering, just as the Ship had done. The scars the Envoy had inflicted on Scrysalza were healing, and, as before, it forgave the abuse quickly; already the memory of his domination faded. Rayne’s scars were deeper, however, and permanent. It warned her never to look behind the doors or court unhappiness that would erode the seals of light it had put on them. Just as Rayne healed flesh, the Ship could heal minds, and it had done its best for her.
It also warned her of the deep scars it had found in the man-thing’s mind, which had never truly healed. Rayne’s reliance upon him was dangerous, the Ship said. He was a broken staff; to lean on him was to court calamity. It urged her to find someone who was reliable, dependable and most of all, sane. Rayne agreed, since the advice was unnecessary, but sounded good. She would never see him again. The Ship made her promise to obey it before it turned its attention to other things.
It was eager to return to its home, and a brief leap into the first dimension would transport it there. Rayne was reluctant to let it go; its loss, so soon after Tarke’s, would only compound her sorrow. Scrysalza offered to take her with it, and she gazed around the vast breathing chamber with its soft breezes and gossamer mist, wondering what it would be like to live in this strange environment.
The Ship told her it could provide whatever she wished, and its kin would be delightfully curious about her. Rayne would be trapped within it, however, unable to see the wonders outside, or to appreciate the places it took her. She was fond of Scrysalza, but a gulf of cultural and species differences yawned between them. No, she decided, she must return to her own kind and make a life amongst them. Should the Ship ever return, however, she would welcome it as her friend.
Their leave taking was long and heartfelt, steeped in the kind of sorrow that cannot be expressed in words. Unlike Tarke’s abrupt, cold departure, Scrysalza left her in no doubt of its sadness, which made their parting
that much harder to bear. She would always blame him for leaving, but she could only share the Ship’s grief and give it her own. When the sheath of light released her on Shadowen’s bridge, her eyes stung with fresh tears. She sank onto her chair and stared out at the massive crystalline entity that was her friend, hardly hearing Shadowen’s soft greeting.
The beams of brilliance that lanced from the Crystal Ship’s wings to slash space no longer seemed alien and threatening, but merely majestic and beautiful. The Ship hung like a huge, scintillating jewel against the inky backdrop, outshining the stars, its filigree wings of crystal radiance spread to catch the sun’s light. Its wings folded and shrank as the vast crystal spears slid back into its body. Rayne ignored the space line’s chiming, transfixed by the Ship’s alien splendour, feasting her eyes on it in the last moments before it vanished.
It departed with startling suddenness. A shell of Net energy engulfed its light for a moment, then it winked out of existence like a star in the dawn sky. A ripple of warped space swept from it and rolled away, leaving the area empty. Rayne bit her lip, fighting the tears that threatened to overflow again, and ordered Shadowen to answer the space line.
Tallyn appeared on it, looking worried but triumphant. He smiled, his black eyes studying her. “Are you all right?”
She returned his smile, glad his first question at least showed some concern. “Just tired.”
“We were starting to worry. The Shrike left over an hour ago.”
“Did he? And you let him go?” She clicked her tongue in feigned disapproval.
“It didn’t seem like an appropriate time.”
“I should think not. I had some unfinished business, that’s all.”
Tallyn’s triumphant smile widened. “You did it.”
“I had help.”
“But you killed it.”
“Not exactly. It’s a long story, and I’m really tired. I’d like to rest before I face an enquiry, okay? The Ship’s returned to its galaxy, and Atlan’s safe.”
Tallyn nodded, trying to hide his disappointment rather unsuccessfully, and she broke the connection. She sighed and leant back, gazing at the stars.
“What I need right now, Shadowen, is to sleep for a week.”
“Feel free,” the ship replied.
Rayne rose and stumbled to her cabin, where she flung herself down on the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Chapter Thirteen
Tarke leant back in a comfortable chair in his plush lounge on Ironia and watched the vidfilm that played on the screen. It had been tapped from an Atlantean space line feed, on its way to Mansure. The girl looked tired. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and her demeanour was lacklustre. Of the many vidfilms he had tapped from Atlan, this one revealed more than most about her inner thoughts. It had been pirated almost a year ago, and there had been no more since then. He rubbed his nose, running a finger along the bridge and enjoying the sensation. She had dropped out of sight, shunning the public eye, but had not eluded his spies.
The vidfilms they had taken were even more disturbing. He flicked a switch with his mind to access another recording. It showed the dim interior of a club, thronging with bright-eyed patrons. The rich and debauched, clad in glittering finery, their hair sculpted into impossible, sometimes revolting shapes. Most wore too much jewellery, and crystals were all the rage since the Crystal Ship had turned away from Atlan and vanished. A nearby sensation centre’s flashing lights made the vidfilm grainy as the tiny light sensor tried to compensate. The man who wore it weaved through the throng with experienced adroitness, shoving aside those he could not avoid.
Tarke could almost smell the cloying stench of Bliss, a common euphoric, and the acrid smoke of Twisters, the latest mind-altering cigarette. Throbbing, sensual music pulsed like a heartbeat, adding its cheap brand of eroticism to the already sweaty crowd. He glimpsed her pale hair as someone shoved his spy aside in his turn, then the camera focussed on her briefly, and he froze the picture. She had cut her hair, which hung only to her shoulders now, and a fringe partly obscured her eyes. The application of too much lip colour and eye enhancer gave her an exotic look, but he disliked it. Her eyes had the glazed dullness of someone on drugs, but he could not tell which one.
The door buzzer sounded, and he picked up the mask on the table beside his chair and clipped it on. He ordered the lights to brighten as he released the door lock. Vidan entered, glancing at the screen on the far wall as it went black and slid into its slot, revealing the tasteful oil colour of an alien landscape behind it. He sat on the broad white sofa opposite Tarke and tossed a crystal scribe pad onto the polished red wood table with a sigh, eyeing his boss.
“Are you in one of your moods?”
“What moods?”
“The ones you get into when you watch that girl. Bad ones.”
“Ah.” Tarke tilted his head. “No.”
“Why don’t you just bring her here, then you can watch the real thing?”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?”
Vidan rubbed his brow. “It is my business. It’s making you crazy, and she’s going to kill herself soon.”
“No, she won’t.”
“Why don’t you talk to her, at least?”
“And tell her what? That I can’t have her near me, because if I do, sooner or later I’m going to say too much? I just like to keep track of her, that’s all. There’s no harm in that.”
Vidan shook his head and rose to pour himself a glass of fizzy blue Nebrian pod juice, returning to sit opposite again. “If you think I believe that, you’re a fool. You should bring her here. Let her find out; hell, tell her the truth. Surely you don’t think she’d betray you to Atlan?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Tarke leant forward to put his empty glass on the table. “Did you come in here to discuss business, or make a nuisance of yourself?”
“Both. She’s going to kill herself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know what that was she was on?”
Tarke shrugged. “Bliss, probably.”
“No. That was Mainline, Wormhole or Void.”
“How would you know? A glimpse of her isn’t enough to make that kind of judgement.”
Vidan sipped his drink and snorted. “You don’t want to see it. That’s why you haven’t. You should be able to spot it even better than me. The shaking. You saw her hands.”
“The picture was still. You couldn’t see that.”
“I’ve watched that vidfilm.”
The Shrike jumped up and crossed the room, his hands clenched. “So what must I do about it? It’s her life. She can make her own decisions. If she wants to take drugs, who am I to stop her? What right do I have to interfere?”
“If you’re not concerned, why do you spy on her?”
“I am concerned, but I’m not going to tell her what to do.”
“She looks like she could use the advice.”
Tarke went to the refreshment dispenser to pour himself another glass of frothy pink Drell essence, a concoction of rare alien fruit juices that cost over a hundred regals a litre. “She has a big brother. He should be looking after her.”
“Our latest information is that he’s taken a Mansurian wife and settled down on Darmor. Damn it, Tarke, it’s been two years since the Crystal Ship left. What harm could it do to see her again?”
“She should have settled down too.”
“But she hasn’t, and you know damn well why.” Vidan studied his boss. “She needs you just as much as you need her, and you’re the one who’s too thick to admit it. Why are you being so stubborn?”
Tarke returned and flopped onto his chair. “Why are you being so bloody irritating?”
“Because you’re being so bloody stupid.”
The Shrike snorted, staring at his drink. “Shall I tell you how she defeated the Envoy? I left out a vital detail in my telling of it, you know. She didn’t just distract him
while the Ship poisoned him, she was killing him. She’s a damned empath.”
Vidan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “That poor kid.”
“Exactly. We all know why empaths are so rare, don’t we? Even the Shyanese don’t number it amongst their skills. I’ve heard that any kittens born with it are not allowed to breed. Can you imagine what she’d go through if she got close to me? I’m the ultimate in damaged goods. But besides that... I’d be as much use to her as a walking stick to a paraplegic. You want to bring her here, into this den of sordid pasts and painful memories? She’d go crazy.”
“She’s already going crazy. Why do you think she’s taking drugs? Damn it, you know what that stuff does. You’re the one person who can block her empathy. You’ve got mental shields no one can penetrate. Do you really want to leave her out there, at the mercy of all the unsavoury characters who haunt those places?”
Tarke banged his drink down, slopping it. “Enough. What’s on the scribe pad?”
Vidan sat back, his face becoming blank. “Shipping rosters and orders.”
“Do I need to look at them?”
“Not unless you want to.”
Tarke sat back, crossing his legs. “I don’t. Deal with them.”
“Right.” Vidan stood up, hesitated, and opened his mouth.
“The subject is closed,” Tarke said, and the chubby man nodded and left.
Rayne gazed around the smoky club with aching eyes, allowing the pounding beat of the hypno-music to do its work on her senses. The mixture of that, the euphoric smoke and the Mainline in her bloodstream blended to form a pleasant numbness. It was one of the few ways in which she could escape her empathy, and her sizeable fortune allowed her to indulge herself as often as she wished. Atlan kept her in luxury, providing houses on any planet she wanted to visit, and enough money to buy as many clothes, jewels and drugs as she could hang about her or ingest. No amount of money could buy her happiness or acceptance, however. Her slinky silver blouse, silver-studded black jeans and high-heeled black suede ankle boots cost a small fortune, but brought her no joy.
Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship Page 19