Which the killer had known, he thought with grim certainty.
In the five days since the murder, he’d found himself eyeing every crew member he encountered. Is he the one? he kept wondering. Or is it him? The knowledge that a murderer was constantly nearby had been unsettling enough, but what had made it even worse was that he had to hide his suspicions, his knowledge.
Even without the rest of the crew knowing that Blossom had been murdered, her death had seriously weakened morale aboard the Boundless. He’d overheard muttered conversations among the crew that the squid ship was a jinxed vessel. Some crew members seemed to be linking Blossom’s “accidental” death with that of Merrienne, the lookout who’d fallen to her death from the mainmast crow’s nest. The crew still considered the incident with the boom, just outside the Heartspace crystal sphere, to have been an accident, not the sabotage that it actually was. That made two tragic, pointless, fluke deaths. And sailors seemed almost universally superstitious, Teldin had noticed, whether they sailed the rivers of Ansalon or the void of wildspace. A third “accidental” death, and the crew would be convinced that the Boundless was a ship of ill omen.
Still, he couldn’t let himself dwell on such things, Teldin knew. His crew depended on him – on him and his officers – more now than ever before … even though they might not be fully aware of it themselves. They were trusting him to guide them through the troubles that had beset them and might continue to do so, to protect them, even to convince them that the Boundless wasn’t a jinxed ship after all. He owed them that much, he recognized – or, at least, his best efforts – and didn’t feel that their expectations were in any way unreasonable. Bonds of duty go both ways, he’d frequently reminded himself. He owed his crew his best efforts.
Yet, right or wrong, those expectations put even more pressure on him.
At least they were now close to Garrash, looping around the vast planet in an orbit that would take them just under a week to complete. The ship’s current attitude presented its starboard beam to the world, which guaranteed Teldin a spectacular view from his cabin’s large “eye” porthole.
From the ship’s present position, Garrash was a swollen ember-red disk, not quite circular, but slightly bloated in places, as though the world’s gravity was barely capable of restraining its burning atmosphere. Looping around it was the fire ring, glaring with bright yellow-red light. From this point of the ship’s orbit, Teldin was looking at the fire ring from directly above, showing it as perfectly circular, concentric with the planet itself, a thin band of flames. Djan had told him it was only – only! – a quarter-hour of spelljamming flight wide, but since that was only one-fiftieth the diameter of the planet itself, in comparison it looked like little more than a line. When the Boundless had first approached Garrash, they’d been seeing the fire ring from edge on. Since the band was only twenty or so leagues thick, it had been invisible from any significant distance, and Teldin had feared they’d somehow come to the wrong system. Today, however, there was no doubt.
So we’ve reached Garrash, he told himself. Where’s the Spelljammer?
The previous night watch, he’d used the amulet again, striving to maintain his contact with the Spelljammer for longer than he’d ever done before. For almost an hour, his senses had been united with those of the great ship. During that time, he’d seen a small, bluish fire body – presumably the primary of the system the ship was in – and countless views of the distant stars. But there’d been no glimpse of Garrash, the fire ring, or – and here he’d admitted to wild hopes – the Boundless itself in orbit around the great world.
The star patterns hadn’t been any help. Even now that they were within the Vistaspace crystal sphere, Djan and the navigator had charted only a fraction of the system’s stars. The patterns he’d seen hadn’t matched anything on those incomplete starcharts. But that didn’t really mean much, one way or another, did it? Also, the bright blue-white sun might have been the primary of the Vistaspace system, but it might just as well have been in an entirely different sphere. At least he still hadn’t seen any hint that the Spelljammer had passed through a portal into the Flow, or that it was about to do so in the near future.
Throughout his contact, he’d also tried to connect with the mind of the mysterious ship – if it had anything resembling a mind – not just its wide-ranging suite of senses. Some tinge of emotion – or thought, even – might have given him some clue as to his quarry’s location. But, though he’d sometimes felt such emotions in the past – or thought he had, he forced himself to add – nothing came through the link this time.
After an hour he’d let the contact slip away, returning to a physical body that was panting with exertion and drenched in cold sweat. Nothing.
Still, the Spelljammer had been here. It had passed close to Garrash itself, apparently sailing right through the fire ring. And, during its passage, the ship had sensed other vessels – if that’s what they were – moving within the ring itself.
That’s the last real clue I’ve seen, he told himself, the best lead I’ve got. He sighed.
He wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and headed aft, to where Dranigor sat on the helm. “Take us down,” he ordered quietly, “closer to the ring.”
*****
Standing on the afterdeck, Teldin imagined he could feel the heat of the fire ring on his face, just a baseless fancy, he knew. While the ring burned hot enough to ignite the squid ship like dry kindling, both Dranigor and Djan had reassured him that this heat didn’t radiate far through the vacuum of wildspace. If necessary, they’d told him, he could bring the Boundless within a league of the ring without undue risk, maybe even closer.
Let’s hope it won’t be necessary, he thought. Even from this distance – a league or so from the ring, a distance inconsequential in comparison to the width of the band of fire – the violence of the Garrash system was impressive, terrifying. The huge planet itself, more than an hour’s full-speed flight away, filled the sky. He could see the writhing, tortured surface of the atmosphere, churning and bubbling with heat, sometimes sending out great flames and prominences that soared many thousands of leagues above the surface before falling back. The comparison with the magical bolts rising from the surface of Nex were unavoidable, and every time another prominence started to climb into the heavens, fear squeezed his heart. Would this one fall back like the others? Or would it continue out into space, questing blindly for the ship, to send it down in fiery destruction?
He could see the great, dark circle – the weather pattern or whatever it was – near the distant limb of the planet. From this range, he could see that it wasn’t black, as he’d thought initially. It was just a darker red than the rest of the world, appearing black only in comparison to the brighter fires around it. The circle – which Djan had taken to calling the Great Storm – was actually a great cone, the half-elf had explained to him, easily large enough to swallow tens of thousands of worlds the size of Krynn, extending far down into the heart of the world. The Great Storm was much colder than the rest of the flaming atmosphere, so much colder that Djan had guessed a spelljammer might be able to descend some distance into it before bursting into flames.
The ring itself was a spectacle in its own right. From a distance it had seemed perfectly flat, but now Teldin could see that its surface churned, too, as though currents of unimaginable speed and ferocity were flowing through its liquid fire. Its light was largely yellow, but sometimes rivers or bubbles of flame burned at the surface in different colors – red, emerald green, even sometimes lightning blue. The result was an impression of barely contained violence.
The Spelljammer sailed through that? Teldin found himself wondering. And what about the other shapes – ships or whatever they were – he’d seen cruising within the ring? It boggled the imagination.
He turned away from the view, stared out into the star-specked blackness. Where are you? he asked mentally. Where?
“Ship ahoy!” Harriana’s voice echoed down fr
om the repaired crow’s nest.
Her words jolted Teldin like an electric shock. The Spelljammer! “Where?” he yelled.
“Low off the stern, starboard,” the halfling called. “In the fire ring.”
Teldin sprinted to the aft rail on the starboard side and pivoted the ballista aside to give himself more room. He leaned over the rail, looking aft and down, past the broad spanker sail.
Yes, there it was, a darker shape moving within the liquid fire of the ring. Was it the Spelljammer?
No, the configuration was all wrong. No manta shape, this, but a broad-based triangle with an extended, sharp apex. As he stared in shock and amazement, the apex emerged from the ring, liquid fire dripping off it. Metal, it looked like, finest steel polished to a mirror finish.
The rest of the – the thing – emerged into the vacuum, and he could see it clearly for the first time, a cylindrical body or hull, maybe a hundred feet long, maybe a little more, sprouting broad, knife-edged wings that spanned at least one hundred and fifty feet. The tips of the triangular wings bore sharp, forward-pointing spines or spears dozens of feet long. The whole thing seemed to be made of the same mirror-polished steel as the apex.
A ship made completely out of steel? Capable of surviving – and keeping its crew alive – in the depths of the fire ring?
Teldin sensed a presence next to him – Djan. “What in all the hells is it?” he whispered.
The half-elf shook his head. His face was pale, his eyes wide with wonder, or perhaps fear. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly, “I’ve never seen, never heard of, anything like that before. I can’t even guess what race could build a ship like that.”
The broad-winged metal ship moved slowly, cruising parallel to the rippled surface of the ring. Although he couldn’t see any portholes – and there definitely couldn’t be any open decks! – Teldin imagined he could feel the vessel’s crew scrutinizing the squid ship. Then, smoothly, the metal ship’s bow lifted, pointing directly toward the Boundless, and it began to accelerate.
“Battle stations!” Djan screamed. “Man all weapons!”
Feet pounded the decks as the crew hurried to obey. Teldin moved farther forward, getting out of the way of the gunners who began to prepare the twin ballistae.
The first mate turned to Teldin. “Captain …?”
“Bring us around,” the Cloakmaster answered after a moment’s thought. “Bring the bow toward it.”
Djan paused, then nodded and relayed the order through the speaking tube to the helmsman. Teldin could understand the first mate’s hesitation. Normally, aligning the bow with an approaching vessel would allow the squid ship’s main weapon – its forward catapult – to come to bear, but it would limit the ship’s maneuverability if it needed to escape. The half-elf had realized, however, that the Cloakmaster’s unusual control over the Boundless – through the ultimate helm – would compensate for that disadvantage.
“And get Beth-Abz up on deck,” Teldin added, “just in case.”
The bearing to the knife-edged metal ship began to change as the squid ship’s bow came around. As Teldin watched, the strange vessel maneuvered, too – much smoother than he’d seen any other ship change course – to keep its own bow pointing directly at the Boundless. It continued its acceleration for a few seconds, then settled down on a fast – though not incontrovertibly aggressive – approach course.
Djan had brought the Cloakmaster’s spyglass to bear on the vessel. Now he lowered it, his expression one of profound puzzlement. “No obvious weapons,” he said quietly. “And no portholes, no hatches, no way of getting in or seeing out.” He shook his head. I’ve never seen anything even vaguely like this.”
Teldin stared at the strange ship. Now no more than half a league off, it had started to decelerate again, slowing its silent approach. Its mirror finish reflected the yellow light of the fire ring and the ruddy red of the planet below. It gleamed in the firelight, occasionally flashing with almost intolerable brightness as the light reflected off facets on its surface.
What are you? Teldin thought fiercely. What?
Then, suddenly, thoughts and images blasted into his mind. He clutched at his head with both hands, as though to keep his skull from splitting under their ferocious impact. His stomach knotted, and he almost doubled over with the pain of it.
What am I? The voice, echoing in his brain, carried a sense of almost ludicrous surprise. What am I? I am.
Through the bolts of agony that still lanced through his body, Teldin felt Djan’s supporting hand on his shoulder. He looked into his friend’s concerned face. “What is it?” the half-elf asked. “What’s wrong?”
Teldin took a deep breath, tried to force his pounding heart to slow. “It’s talking to me,” he whispered.
“What is?”
Only as the words emerged from his lips did Teldin recognize the truth. “The ship.” He pointed with a trembling finger. “That ship.”
The titanic voice boomed again into his brain. What are you? it asked. Come closer, so I can see – hear – sense you better.
“The ship,” Teldin breathed again. “It’s alive, but that means it’s not a ship.”
“What?” Djan shook his head in disbelief. “What?”
“I’m bringing us in closer,” the Cloakmaster told him, struggling to keep his voice firm and under control.
“You’re doing what?”
“Bringing us closer,” Teldin repeated. “Get Dranigor to release the helm.”
He could see conflicting emotions warring across his friend’s face. Concern, fear, denial … But, then, finally, he saw Djan’s expression settle into one of acceptance. Without another word to the Cloakmaster, he crossed to the speaking tube and issued the order to the helmsman.
Teldin extended his will, focused it through the ultimate helm, and exerted it upon the ship. The Boundless started to move, slowly, toward the metal object.
Filtered through the expanded perception of the helm, the metal ship-being’s mental voice didn’t seem as “loud” or overwhelming. I can sense you better now, it said, and again the words were tinged with surprise, this time alloyed with intense curiosity. You are of a primitive form, your species, and you seem to be injured. Yet your voice is strong, your presence distinct. How can that be? I sense you suffer from the same infestation as those who have come before you. Explain this to me.
Teldin shook his head, confounded. The words were clear, but the meaning was the exact opposite. The statement about his species, his “primitive form” … Perhaps a creature of living metal might consider a human primitive. He could almost understand that. But what was that about injury? Teldin wasn’t injured. And he certainly wasn’t suffering from any kind of “infestation.”
Djan was by his side, his eyes full of questions.
“It’s speaking to me through the cloak,” Teldin explained quietly, “like the People did on Nex. It’s alive, Djan! It has a mind.” Like the Spelljammer? he asked himself.
He turned his attention back to the metal being. It had stopped and was now hanging in space less than a league ahead of the Boundless. Even though the “voice” currently wasn’t speaking, he could still sense puzzlement and curiosity through the mental link.
“I am Teldin Moore,” he said softly, focusing the meaning of his words through the cloak, “captain of the Boundless Possibilities.”
And I am Zat, of the fire ribbon of Garrash, the “ship” replied, as are my fellows. The voice paused. ‘Captain’? A strange designation. What does it mean? And what are these ‘boundless possibilities’ you refer to?
Teldin shook his head again. They were talking, he and this metallic creature, but he wasn’t convinced they were really communicating. “Captain,” he tried again, it means the person in command of the ship, the ship we name the Boundless Possibilities.”
‘Ship.’ Puzzlement had turned to outright confusion in the mental voice. Is that a place you refer to? The crystal sphere of your origin, perhaps? it gues
sed tentatively.
“No.” Teldin forced himself to think things through. Obviously the cloak wasn’t translating as well as it usually did. Probably the mind of this great shiplike creature was too alien for easy communication. “The ship that we call the Boundless Possibilities is what you see directly in front of you,” he tried again. “I’m the captain of the ship. I am in command of the crew that runs it. I’m the one who makes the decisions, who tells the crew to set the sails, or steer the ship.” He paused, frustrated. “Don’t you see the ship?” he demanded.
Of course I see you, the being – Zat – replied. I see you, and I sense your mind, Teldin Moore. But I ask you again: what is this ‘ship’?
Teldin rubbed a trembling hand across his eyes. “I don’t know what in the hells it’s talking about,” he told Djan tiredly. “And it doesn’t know what I’m talking about. It can see the ship, and it ‘hears’ my thoughts, but …”
And then realization flooded through the Cloakmaster’s mind, it thinks it’s talking to the ship,” he said to Djan. “It thinks I’m the ship.” Of course, he told himself. The “injury” – that had to be the squid ship’s ram, torn away during its crash-landing on Nex, and never replaced because the materials weren’t available. And the “infestation” – didn’t that have to be the crew, and by extension, Teldin himself?
He grabbed the rail with both hands, poured all his concentration into the link with the huge creature. “Zat,” he said, “I am not what you see, or what you think you’re seeing. I am not what’s hanging in space before you. That’s what I call a ‘ship’. I am – Teldin Moore is – a human. There are twenty of us, each of us about” – he quickly calculated – “one thirtieth the size of the ship we’re aboard.
The Broken Sphere Page 23