The Broken Sphere

by Nigel Findley

  “Maybe,” Djan said with a shrug. “But maybe not. There’s no light, no stars to navigate by. Ships would be flying totally blind. Maybe they rammed the frozen air world. They couldn’t even detect the boundary of the crystal sphere,” he went on. “They could have rammed right into it.” He shrugged again. “It’s possible.”

  Teldin wouldn’t be swayed. “Then what about the ships that did make it back?” he demanded. “The ones that told of being attacked by immense forces of magic?”

  “Spacefarers’ tales, perhaps?” the half-elf suggested. Then he smiled. “But you’re right, of course, it is a mystery, isn’t it’ I hate leaving a mystery unsolved. And anyway, it’s not as if it’ll take long to find out. If this is Nex” – he tapped the central dot – “we can be there in twelve hours at full speed.”

  *****

  They didn’t travel all the way at full speed, of course. The Boundless plunged through the blackness of wildspace, only to slow just outside where the dust cloud began. At tactical speed, the squid ship edged inward.

  Teldin and his two mates were on the foredeck as the vessel began to penetrate the cloud. To the Cloakmaster’s naked eyes, there was nothing different about this part of space. Outside the radius of illumination cast by the Boundless’s running lights, there was just impenetrable darkness, with no details or texture visible. At first, Teldin had wondered whether the information the cloak and amulet had given him had been wrong, whether there wasn’t anything in this region of space at all. But then word had been relayed up from the helm that the ship was encountering some kind of resistance and traveling slower than projected.

  Both Julia and Djan had expressed worry about the dust or gas or whatever diffusing into the squid ship’s atmosphere envelope, possibly fouling or even poisoning it. Yet that didn’t seem to be happening. Teldin took a deep breath, scenting the air. If there was anything filtering into the ship’s air, he couldn’t detect it with any of his senses.

  “What’s that?” Julia was leaning on the forward rail, pointing.

  Teldin looked in the direction she was indicating, straight out along the squid ship’s ram.

  He saw light! It was a faint, unfocused glow, so weak that he could almost believe it was his imagination.

  But Djan was staring in the same direction, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

  At first too faint to be said to have color, the light was taking on a red-orange hue, rather like the glow of a sunrise seen through a pre-dawn fog. With each passing second, the illumination grew in intensity. The Boundless was emerging from the inner edge of the dust cloud, Teldin realized.

  The three comrades watched in silence as the light continued to intensify. Then, with shocking suddenness, the squid ship emerged into clear space once more.

  After a long moment, Djan turned from his gaping stare at the vista to ask Teldin, “Just what in all the hells is that?”

  Teldin felt a broad smile spreading across his face. “Nex,” said the Cloakmaster.

  *****

  The Boundless hung in a high orbit, three thousand leagues above the surface of the planet. On the afterdeck, Teldin stared down with a sense of awestruck amazement at the world below him.

  It was a vibrant, living world – the brilliant blues of oceans contrasting with the verdant greens of forest-covered continents – streaked and swathed with the gleaming white of clouds. From this altitude it looked so much like his last glimpses of Krynn as to bring a lump into the Cloakmaster’s throat and sting his eyes with tears.

  With a sudden laugh, he threw the cloak back from his shoulders. Even this high above the planet, space was comfortably warm. From the vegetation he could pick out below him, he guessed the climate of the world would probably be much like that of Ansalon.

  We should have thought of this, he told himself. One of us should have guessed. But no – we’re all so used to the standard pattern, where a planet orbits around a much larger sun, or perhaps where the sun orbits the planet. Our preconceptions prevent us from anticipating the wonders the universe puts before us.

  The planet – it had to be Nex, didn’t it? – had not one sun, but many. Orbiting at an altitude of about two thousand leagues were two dozen tiny spheres, burning so brightly with red-orange light that to look directly at them set tears streaming. The “mini-suns,” as he’d taken to calling them, moved rapidly, each following its own orbit, yet somehow never coming near any of the others. Teldin guessed that, at any given time, any point on the planet would have at least two mini-suns in the sky. Hence, there’d be no night, and a new “mini-dawn” every couple of minutes.

  He chuckled again. No wonder the cloak had shown him no sun. When he’d brought Lucinus up on deck to show him the spectacle, the halfling navigator had abashedly admitted that each mini-sun was no more than a league in diameter. “Class A suns,” he’d muttered. “Who’d have thought it?”

  Not you, Teldin thought.

  I should be excited, he told himself, on edge to get down there and see what there was to be seen. But he found himself calmer than he’d been in a while – a long while. The phlogiston river, the crystal sphere, and the world of Nex – all had been just where the old book had said they were. As to the Juna themselves … Well, there was no reason to go charging down to the planet’s surface right away. Everything would come in its own good time.

  Anyway, it simply wouldn’t be safe to move yet. Djan, Lucinus, and Julia were up on the foredeck now, using astrolabes, sextants, and other instruments to track the movements of the mini-suns, analyze their orbits, and figure out how to project their future positions. The burning spheres moved fast, faster than a spelljammer at tactical speed. Until the experts worked out their paths and found a “window,” any attempt to land would be a crazy risk. An impact from a mini-sun would smash the squid ship into burning splinters, while even a near hit might set the vessel on fire.

  The view from up here was so beautiful; Teldin was in no hurry to give up this perfect vantage point. As he watched, a spot on the upper left limb of the planet seemed to glow yellow, then red. Then another mini-sun soared clear, looking for all the world like a flaming spelljammer climbing from the land into space.

  He forced his eyes away from the vista as Djan clambered up the ladder to the afterdeck. Teldin could see the anticipation in the half-elf’s face. “Have you found your window?” he asked.

  “We’ve found it,” the first mate confirmed, it’s narrow, but safe enough. It’ll take us down about there” – he pointed to the lower right quadrant of the planet – “on that large continent. If that’s what you want, of course, Captain,” he corrected. “Once we’re past the mini-suns, we can cruise anywhere you want to go.”

  “One place is as good as another.” Teldin shrugged.

  “Do you want to take the window?”

  “Let’s do it,” the Cloakmaster confirmed.

  *****

  The afterdeck was crowded as the Boundless began its descent. Lucinus and Julia continued to take bearings on the speeding mini-suns, every few seconds wiping streaming eyes. Djan had a sextant, too, and used it occasionally; however, most of his attention was taken up with relaying course corrections to Blossom on the helm. Teldin considered clearing the deck to give them more room. But they seemed to be managing fine, and the afterdeck was his favorite vantage point.

  “Steady as she goes,” Djan instructed down the speaking tube.

  Nex was swelling steadily below them now, as they descended to the altitude at which the mini-suns orbited. He could see now how frighteningly fast the fiery bodies actually moved, and how large they were. When Lucinus had told him they were “only” a league in diameter, he’d been thinking in planetary terms. Now he realized that the smallest had a diameter more than two hundred times the length of the squid ship. If Julia and the navigator made a mistake with their bearings, the chances of anyone surviving were zero.

  But Teldin had little fear that they would make a mistake. They’d taken enough tim
e analyzing the mini-suns’ orbits, and even now they were cross-checking each other’s results to eliminate any chance of error. The “window” was still open, and would remain so for almost a dozen more minutes – plenty long enough to get the Boundless to a safe altitude.

  He craned his neck to look all around. The mini-suns orbited at different altitudes – which was why they never collided, he guessed – spread out over a range of more than a hundred leagues. The squid ship was already in the midst of that “danger band,” closer to the planet than some of the fire bodies, but higher than others. For the next couple of minutes, they’d theoretically still be at risk.

  “Steady as she goes,” Djan said again. Then he asked the observers, “Everything still on track?”

  “Still on track,” Julia confirmed.

  Then, suddenly, “No!” She pointed up and back, over the ship’s stern. “Port astern, high. One’s off track!”

  Teldin felt tension grip his chest. His fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. He looked back, following the direction of Julia’s arm.

  He could immediately see the mini-sun she meant, about fifteen degrees above the stern rail and an equal angle to port of the squid ship’s track. It was still a good distance away, not a direct threat to the ship … yet.

  “Observation error?” Djan queried. “Check it again.”

  The two observers raised their instruments, confirming the bearing of the speeding object. “It’s off projected course,” Julia answered after a few moments. “Ten degrees off.” Then, a couple of heartbeats later, “No, more. Fifteen degrees and increasing.”

  “What in Paladine’s name is happening?” the Cloakmaster demanded. He felt suddenly, sickeningly powerless. For an instant he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to use the ultimate helm, to speed the Boundless on its way. But he couldn’t, he recognized at once. His crew had computed this “window” based on a certain ship speed. If he changed that speed, or the ship’s course, he ran a very real risk of driving the vessel into the path of another mini-sun.

  “Mini-sun increasing speed!” For the first time ever, he heard real panic in Julia’s voice. “Twenty-five degrees off projected course, deviation increasing!”

  In a hushed voice, Lucinus echoed the realization that had, an instant before, struck Teldin. “It’s coming after us!”

  “Helm,” Djan yelled down the speaking tube, “full speed! Now!”

  “What about the atmosphere?” Lucinus cried. “If we hit the atmosphere at full speed …”

  “By the mind of Marrak!” Djan snarled. “If we don’t get out of the way now, we’ll never get that far.”

  Teldin felt the motion of the Boundless change as Blossom poured on the power. He could see the mini-sun changing course, curving from its previous trajectory to follow the speeding ship down.

  How’s this possible? The question hammered in Teldin’s brain.

  Nex, part of his mind answered. Nex – violent death. Now you know why it has that name ….

  “It’s gaining!” Lucinus called.

  “More speed!” Djan barked down the speaking tube. “Give it everything you’ve got!”

  The deck vibrated under Teldin’s feet as Blossom pushed the helm – and herself – to the limit. His ears were filled with the thrum of the rigging’s vibrations.

  “Still gaining!” Lucinus’s voice was a wail that easily carried over the background din.

  Teldin could see that he was right. The mini-sun was dead astern now, swelling ominously with every passing moment. He could feel heat like midsummer sun on his face. From the ship’s movement he knew Blossom had reached the maximum speed she could manage, and still the mini-sun closed the gap. The heat falling on Teldin’s skin continued to increase.

  Before he even knew he’d made the decision, he felt the cloak flare with power and felt his awareness expand to include the entire squid ship. He could feel the mini-sun’s burning heat on the ship’s stern, the strain the speed was putting on the rigging.

  “Get Blossom off the helm.” His voice sounded calm, emotionless, in his own ears. Djan relayed the order.

  As the woman released her control over the major helm, the Cloakmaster felt his command of the vessel become total. He almost lost his footing as the squid ship leaped forward, doubling, then tripling its speed in only a few seconds.

  But, in his wraparound view, he could see the mini-sun still closing. He saw, as well as felt, the paint on the stern flukes and spanker sails start to bubble with the heat. He gritted his teeth and drove the full force of his will into the cloak. Still the Boundless accelerated.

  “Still pursuing!” Julia called out; Teldin could clearly see the burning sphere on their tail.

  But it’s not closing! he told himself exultantly. The gap between mini-sun and squid ship was remaining constant. No, it was starting to open up again. The heat on the stern was diminishing. I’m pulling away!

  “Still pursuing!” Julia repeated. Then, “No!” she shouted. “It’s changing course again.”

  Teldin was tempted to slow the ship down – the planet below was looming up awfully quickly – but he kept the power on. It could be a trick, he told himself. If a gods-damned burning rock can give chase, it might have more tricks in its repertoire.

  But then even he, without the benefit of a sextant or astrolabe, could see that the mini-sun had broken off the pursuit and was climbing again, back toward its normal orbit.

  He gasped as Djan grabbed his arm in a grip like a vise. “Pull up, Teldin!” the half-elf almost screamed into his ear. “Pull up!”

  Nex was much closer now – no longer so much a planet as a landscape, with the world’s curvature more inferred than directly visible. He could feel the rigging straining as the ship entered the outer wisps of the planet’s atmosphere. Normally a ship’s own air envelope would protect it from turbulence and from the effects of entering a planetary atmosphere, he knew, but not at speeds like this. He closed his eyes, focusing every fiber of his being on bringing the Boundless out of its lethal dive.

  Pain racked him; he clenched his teeth, trying to hold back a scream. The strain on the squid ship’s keel burned up and down his own spine. He felt as though he were being torn in two. His skin crawled as he heard the keening of wind through the vessel’s lines, the musket-shot cracking of the sails’ canvas. We’re not going to make it, he told himself.

  But that thought was the spur he needed. He forced himself to dissociate from the ship’s pain, concentrated the last iota of his will on bringing the bow up, up, away from the planet.

  The strain lessened – imperceptibly at first, then with growing rapidity. As the ship’s speed decreased, and its nose-down attitude changed, the stress on the hull and rigging diminished. I’m doing it! he thought, with a flash of triumph. He brought the bow up even farther …

  And it was over. Back out of the atmosphere, back in the vacuum for which it had been built, the Boundless was back under control.

  Teldin released the force of his will; the sense of internal relaxation was directly analogous to easing tension in a strained muscle. He felt the breath hiss from between his teeth, felt his shoulders sag. He opened his eyes again.

  The Boundless was hurtling in a low orbit, maybe twenty leagues above ground level. It was still traveling abnormally fast, but the danger seemed over. He let the speed bleed away.

  We’re safe, he thought as he climbed up to the deck.

  Djan, Julia, and Lucinus were clinging to the rails, their faces paste-white, their wide eyes staring at him, He forced a smile, saw their answering relief. “We’ve made it,” he whispered. Their exhausted smiles mirrored his.

  He wouldn’t have seen it if his sphere of attention didn’t still surround the entire ship. A sudden fire-red glow bloomed on the planet’s surface. Another mini-dawn, he thought.

  But no, the light wasn’t on the horizon, it was directly beneath the squid ship.

  Before he could react in any way, a titanic burst
of searing energy arced from the ground twenty leagues below, flashing past the Boundless like an oversize lightning bolt. Concussion like a dozen thunderclaps pummeled him as the bolt superheated the outer edge of the ship’s air envelope. Screams echoed around him, audible even over the ringing in his ears.

  Another glow sprung to life, now to the left of the ship’s path. Another bolt arced skyward, burning past the hull.

  Another glow, another bolt, then another. Instantly he knew this one wasn’t going to miss like the preceding three.

  He felt the impact like a punch over the heart delivered by an ogre. He felt the ship’s hull rupture, felt his body torn asunder. Redness, then blackness, enveloped him.

  “We’re going down!” Julia screamed.

  And her voice followed Teldin down into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  Teldin could only have been unconscious for a couple of heartbeats if that, not even long enough to fall. As awareness returned, he could feel the deck jolting beneath his feet as the Boundless plummeted toward the world below. He grabbed at the mizzenmast to retain his balance.

  His connection with the ship – his cloak-mediated control – had vanished as consciousness had fled. Now he struggled to regain it. Rosy pink light flared around him.

  He gasped, almost doubling over with the pain, as his awareness once more encompassed the whole of the stricken squid ship. A huge hole had been smashed in the hull just starboard of the keel – directly amidships, in the middle of the cargo hold. Flames licked around the jagged edges of the hull breach and across the overhead. The large hatch cover had been blown loose and lay smoldering on the main deck.

  “Fire in the hold!” he gasped, and heard Djan echo the cry. He felt and saw crewmen with buckets of sand jump to deal with the threat.

  Again, the squid ship was plunging toward the ground. But this time the Cloakmaster knew he had more time to react. They were falling free, not being driven downward in a screaming dive by the power of the ultimate helm. That alone made the threat less immediate, but that benefit was negated by the serious damage to the ship.