“Oh Gods, even after the rites you two just can’t stop, can you?” said Hatchita, pulling on her basic uniform tunic.
“Star Father see me”—Cannon threw the used membrane into the mulcher—“those two are never going to stop. Say Bomb, want switch arms with me?”
“There’s not enough privileges in this whole pyramid. Let’s go get our hands on some pillows before Mace and his crew snatch up all the pretty ones.” Bomb looked to Hatchet and Hatchita, the other two skins of the left arm. “You coming?”
“Want to share one?” Hatchita asked Hatchet. He smiled mischievously and kissed her in answer. During the rites, the two of them invoked Dancer, like always, and drilled beside Sabira and Daggeira on the deck floor. Smiling lustfully at each other, Hatchita and Hatchet darted out the door just after Bomb and Cannon. Leaving Sabira and Daggeira alone in the shower room.
“You want to share one too?” Daggeira turned her back to Sabira, pulled on her basic uniform.
“No. I’m going to the observation deck for a few hours.”
“Fine, then. See you back at bunks.” Daggeira headed for the porthole.
“You could come with me if you want,” offered Sabira. “I’ve got enough privileges for two.”
“We could be dead in two days, and you’d rather stargaze than drill?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Why there? All that space, like there’s nothing holding you, like you’re going to fall and fall, I don’t . . .”
“Scared? If it’s too scary for you, being alone in the dark with me, I understand. Attendant Spear said that a lot of skins are scared of the observation deck. Too much to handle I guess. But it’s alright. I won’t even tell Cannon about it.”
Half an hour later, Sabira was guiding Daggeira into the deactivated observation deck. Daggeira stood in the middle, hands on her hips, casting her gaze around the high blank walls of glass and ceramic.
“Attendant Spear was right,” Daggeira said flatly. “Deep scared. Terrified.”
Without a word, Sabira walked to Daggeira. She stopped face to face with her, just before touching. Even after the showers, Sabira could recognize her scent. Memories of the rites flashed through her mind. Electric tingles ran across her skin.
“It’s not turned on yet,” she said and gestured to activate the holo.
Daggeira leaped back like a startled zaicha, eyes bulging wide as black void replaced the deck below her feet.
“Now it’s turned on,” Sabira said.
Daggeira appeared to regain confidence in the fact that she wasn’t falling through cold vacuum and stared at the starscape engulfing them in a wordless, gaping awe.
“Understand now?” asked Sabira.
“Yes, Stargazer, I think I do.”
“My name is Sabira.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s still who you are—a stargazer. There’s no changing who you are.”
“What do you mean?” asked Sabira.
“I mean you’re the Handmaiden’s blood-daughter.”
“How did you . . .”
“It wasn’t deep hard to figure out.”
“Is that why you invoked Dancer with me?” asked Sabira. “Maybe be seen by the Handmaiden? Maybe make rank faster?”
“I called you forth because I wanted to.” Daggeira turned her back on Sabira to gaze at the light and void all around. “Is that why you wanted to call forth Arrow? Think you’ll make rank faster if you gave him a good drilling during the rites?”
“How did you know . . . ? Never mind. Whatever. No, that’s not why I was planning on calling him forth. Is that what you think of me?”
“It’s no less than you thought of me.” Daggeira waved her hand through a band of interstellar clouds.
“I’m sorry,” said Sabira. “I didn’t bring you here to fight.”
“Why not? It’s one of the things we do best. Might as well invoke Conqueror so I can beat you once and for all.”
From behind, Sabira clasped Daggeira’s hand in her own and made a command gesture. The starscape blurred and zoomed until the massive crimson nebula of the Shattered Gates loomed before them.
“If you’re going to invoke Gods, might as well do it where They can see you,” said Sabira.
Daggeira twisted her hand and grasped Sabira’s wrist. “And who do you plan to invoke now it’s just you and me.”
“Let all the Gods watch if They like,” answered Sabira with a knowing smirk of her own. She didn’t try to pull free of Daggeira. Found herself enjoying the tight grasp, the electric closeness of her skin. Remembered the strength of those same fingers inside her, the taste of her sweat-beaded nipple on her lips.
Daggeira turned to face her again, so close their faces almost touched. She released her grasp and softly caressed her fingertips up Sabira’s arm. “And in two days, should we find ourselves before the Shattered Gates of Heaven, then at least we’ll look familiar.”
“In that case”—Sabira hooked her other arm around Daggeira’s hips and pulled their bodies together—“let’s give Heaven something worth remembering.”
16.
“HOW DO YOU expect the Gods to see you if you don’t even see yourselves? Have you seen this crew—its left and right arms? Have you seen the first drum? If you want to pass through the Shattered Gates marked by conquest, you better see right now.”
Caller Arrow paced the central aisle of the wrecker ship’s hold, meeting the eyes of each skin as he spoke. They were less than an hour from the target planet. “See yourselves. We who were once the unseen, the unnamed, now we know our place among the stars. We are the creations of the Divine Masters. We are the enforcers of Divine Will. Our lives are weapons for the Gods. See who you are, and see this crew. And if Conqueror sees us, maybe you’ll see tomorrow.”
As caller, it was Arrow’s duty to make sure the crew was focused and prepared for the mission. The first drum gave the orders; the caller and the third drum made sure the skins executed them. In some crews, the first drum was more direct, but Lance preferred to remain taciturn, though vigilant, with the servants in his charge. He stood with Attendant Spear at the fore of the hold, watching both his crew and the floating holo-display data.
Luckily, their mission required the wrecker ship, capable of transporting a full task of servants, and they had room enough to get up, walk, and stretch out tight muscles. For a single crew infiltration, they’d normally be in the smaller chisel ship, but since their objective was to bring back the stolen khvazol, as well as vleez prisoners, they needed something bigger.
They had spent the better part of three shifts aboard the wrecker, almost one full day. The hold had grown steadily warmer with each hour of transit. Sabira’s skin was moist with sweat beneath her armor. Even though the wrecker traveled through the enemy system cloaked in stealth fields, they had to be ready for any contingency and needed to be outfitted in vacuum-ready armor, except helms and gloves, the entire way.
Earlier, during their second shift of transit, Attendant Spear made his way through the crew, checking in with each rank and skin. Once they were planetside, they would be taking orders from him as well as First Drum Lance, and he had only these few hours to cement their loyalty. Attendant Spear was a natural leader—Sabira saw it plainly. Thousands of servants had followed him into battles and infiltrations across the local cluster. She often wished she had inherited some of his leadership in her blood, and just as often feared that she hadn’t.
As the newest of the skins, Sabira was the last to meet with Attendant Spear. She mentioned her desire for a porthole to see the stars as they flew past. The hold was little more than a dark, warm box on the bottom of the wrecker. Spending her entire life in underground tunnels and pyramid ship corridors meant that confined spaces were as normal to her as dirt to worms. But she had glimpsed the eternal expanse, and now she craved it like she craved sex.
He slapped her shoulder. “Be grateful. The Masters
have crafted their ships with purpose. If Humans get too much of what we want, we grow soft, and when the hour comes the Gods will find us unworthy of service and leave our souls unseen and forgotten outside the Gates of Heaven.”
A faint smile curled his lip, as if he found something amusing. “There wouldn’t be much to see even if there was a viewport, not while we’re in the egg. The only light you can see at all is coming from straight ahead. And then you’re not seeing any stars or nebula, just a hazy disc of white directly in front. Won’t be much to see till we crack the egg, just outside the planet’s rings. But then there’ll be no time for stargazing.”
Servants called the field generated by the aku-vayk engines the egg, earning its name for the shape it took around the ship. Wreckers were too small for interstellar engines. Their ship, along with two other wreckers from the Pyramid Ihvik-Ri, was docked to a nest. Serving as detachable interstellar drives, nests transported ships too small for their own aku-vayk engines.
Due to the lack of viewports, Sabira never got a chance to see the nest they were docked to, but from her training she knew it looked like little more than a large circle with a line through the middle. That bisecting line served as a docking pier designed to hold up to three wreckers in either half-circle.
During their third shift, after more than twenty hours in transit, Caller Arrow was making sure their heads were straight and ready for what was coming.
“Servant Cannon, where will we be landing?”
“One kilometer north of the city, near an industrial shipping port along the river bank, Caller.”
“Servant Hatchita, how long will the breather pills be effective?” asked Third Drum Misseila.
“Two shifts after ingestion, Third Drum. One shift for activation, one shift for use.”
The Vleez breathed different air than Humans. Whenever a mission brought servants to a Vleez planet, they had to take breather pills to temporarily modify their lungs. The longest a single pill stayed effective was two shifts after ingestion, eighteen hours. Prolonged strained activity or contact with a yarist gem could reduce their effectiveness time considerably. According to Attendant Spear, a servant might wring out another hour of shallow breathing if they could keep themselves relaxed and their heart calm. Not the easy task if you're struggling for every breath.
“Servant Sabira, how long do we have to accomplish our mission once we land?” asked Arrow.
“One shift, Caller.”
“Servant Bomb, what are our tactical protocols?” asked Misseila.
“Full stealth infiltration. No contact with the locals. Stealth in, confiscate the targets, call in the wrecker to our precise location, stealth out, Third Drum.”
“Let me make that extra deep clear for you,” said Caller Arrow, “in case Trickster has got your ear. Stealth fields on the entire approach and withdraw. No contact. No noise. No mistakes. There’ll be time for killing vermin later.”
“It’s always time for killing vermin, Caller. Extermination is what we do best,” said Servant Hatchet. He and Servant Hatchita bumped forearms and laughed. They were in the left arm with Servant Bomb and sat across the aisle from Sabira.
“Has Trickster got you, after all, skin?” Caller Arrow turned on Hatchet. “Still got mine dust in your ear? No contact. No mistakes. Otherwise, this mission will fail, and this crew will die. Do you see me, skin?”
“I see you, Caller,” replied Hatchet, though his eyes looked to the floor. Arrow stood over him a long, uncomfortable moment, the silence filled only with the thrum of the engine and hum of air flow, before nodding to Misseila and walking to the fore of the hold to meet with First Drum Lance.
“Did the Masters give you an extra scoop of stupid when they made you, Hatchet?” taunted Cannon.
“Shut your face,” snapped Hatchita. Everyone knew Hatchet and Hatchita were close. One would always defend the other. Sabira thought she would be driven crazy to have someone so close with the same name, even if it was the masculine version. But Hatchet and Hatchita bonded tighter than most.
Third Drum Misseila loomed over the seated skins in an instant, her voice low but angered. “All of you shut all your damn faces. What under the rocks has Caller been saying? I want all of your mouths on stealth for the rest of the transit. Do you see me?”
“Yes, Third Drum,” they answered in unison.
“Now check your armor and your palukai. Last chance before we break the egg. And don’t let me hear another godsdamned word.” Misseila turned and strode back toward the ranks.
Daggeira, strapped in to Sabira’s left, turned to her, imitating the stern look Misseila had just given them. Sabira smiled, careful not to laugh or make a sound. Things had changed between Daggeira and Sabira since the rites. Or if not changed, at least made clearer. They had spent the last three sleep shifts together and yet still remained rivals. Even during the passion of their drilling, hints of competition emerged. Sabira couldn’t be sure if Daggeira’s playfulness was out of affection, a way to try to get her in trouble with the ranks, or both.
The last sleep shift before the mission they had shared Sabira’s bunk. After sex they had lain close together, sweaty legs entangled, and stared bleary-eyed up at the ceramic ceiling. It reminded Sabira of falling asleep next to her brood-sister and staring up at the dry stone of the warrens.
“What’s it like?” Daggeira had asked her while slowly tracing her finger along Sabira’s scar.
“Getting my tit cut off? Star Father’s balls, it hurt.”
“No, not that. I didn’t finish. I mean, what was it like having the Handmaiden as your blood-mother?”
“It’s not like anything. I never met her. I don’t know for sure that she’s ever seen me, either. Grandfather Spear said she watched my pits. But who knows.”
Sabira still held lingering doubts about why Daggeira was drilling with her. As if in answer to her unvoiced worries, Daggeira softly kissed her ear, and Sabira felt ashamed of her suspicions. The kiss had reminded Sabira of Zaicha, her last pillow boy before Servant Discipline. Did everyone from Warrens Dreena kiss so softly? Did Daggeira keep a secret name, too, before her nine victories and the glyphs on her cheeks?
“But you had Attendant Spear. All of my blood and brood were Aggies. Of course you were going to make it into the Servants shaft, with him there to help you.”
“You think I had it easy growing up with a warren full of rock-for-brains diggers? You think I didn’t earn my glyphs? Easy for you to say, Daggs, no one’s calling you Stargazer One Tit instead of your name.”
Daggeira tensed beside her. Sleepiness gave way to wary alertness as Sabira suddenly became uncertain if their drilling was about to shift into fighting. Even when Daggeira softened again, Sabira remained guarded. She hated the way this sudden tension made her feel, dreaded the thought of mistrusting Daggeira again.
“I’m sorry,” Daggeira whispered. “I’m . . . It’s just . . . It would be easier—Gods—if I didn’t like you.”
The tension melted from Sabira’s shoulders. “I see you, Daggeira.”
“I see you, Stargazer Sabira.”
“You’re such a mine rat.”
Coming back to the here and now of the hull, Sabira set about readying her palukai, hoping to distract herself from Daggeira. The palukai, commonly called the stick as that’s more or less what it looked like, was the primary weapon of the Servants. In its neutral state, it was a nondescript gray and black pole, a meter long and three centimeters in diameter, and made an effective cudgel, as unforgiving as a bar of steel. But when activated, the stick was capable of a spectrum of lethal possibilities. By applying the activation sequences—gripping or handling the palukai in specific ways—the cylinder could instantly reshape into new configurations. One or both ends could flatten into three different styles of blades, sharp as a diamond drill. Stock grips could extrude as the stick transfigured into one of three different plasma rifles. If the servant was feeling extra deep le
thal, they could activate hybrid configurations of bladed guns.
Their armor was designed specifically for infiltrations. The form-fitting, gray and black shells were crafted from grank plates—stronger even than super-ceramic—but less bulky than the plates on infantry armor. Besides being lighter and more agile, infiltration suits could generate their own stealth field. The armor also held an array of smaller weapons. A utility knife was sheathed into the plates over her left thigh. From the left gauntlet she could unwind a garrote strong and sharp enough to sever the head of Human or Vleez. The right gauntlet fired controlled blasts of poisonous spray, a greenish-blue gas that would fry a vermin's innards but do no more than leave a bad taste in her mouth.
Yarist gem slivers were woven into the interior jumpsuit, right over her heart. The weapon that made her the weapon, the yarist was the key to the genetic lock that unleashed and transformed her. With just the touch of gem to flesh, muscles grew stronger, bones grew denser, and fury grew unstoppable. Sabira had been disciplined on how to control and utilize the power the yarist awoke in her, but she hadn’t used one in combat since her final pit fight.
An electronic alarm buzzed. A holo display timer floated in the middle of the aisle, counting down from nine.
“We’re about to break the egg,” announced First Drum Lance, the biomech twang of his voice sounding even more metallic in the hold. He counted out loud with the timer once it hit the five-second mark.
Finally, thought Sabira, no more waiting.
A quick look around at the rest of the skins’ faces showed they all felt the same way. As the count neared zero, one by one they met each other’s eyes. The time for jokes and rivalries was over. Now it was time to be one crew or a dead crew.
The holo display counted zero and converted to other mission statistics too small for Sabira to make out.
“We’ve broken the egg in a high orbit over the target planet. Warseer Ahzk Vohg has engaged the stealth fields. We’ll be planetside in one shift,” announced First Drum Lance. A loud thud and clank reverberated through the ship as the wrecker undocked from the nest.
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven Page 9