Sygillis of Metatron
Page 22
Nothing.
He looked down, far away, through the weak amber atmosphere to the dark scab of standing water and rock that was Metatron far below. He stared hard.
"What do you see?" Kilos asked from her station.
"Sure enough, I see something large and silver down there in the greater part of Metatron, amid all the dark stone. Something that shines. Something pyramidal in shape."
"Is it Sygillis's temple? Was she right after all?"
As Davage Sighted in farther, something passed his view. Something big, yet hidden. Something indistinct.
Something Cloaked … something in a deep, deep Cloak!
Davage concentrated, Sighting hard.
And there they were, Xaphan ships, everywhere. Ghome 7 transport ships, one hundred plus, in a hard, interlocking Cloak—the most devilishly crafted he'd ever seen.
And they were mounting weapons, huge, unwieldy cassagrain cannons strapped crudely to their lumpy backs.
He looked up. They were there as well, closing in, drawing the net tight. Cassegrains heating …
The Seeker was boxed in.
"BEAT TO QUARTERS! WE ARE AMBUSHED!" he yelled.
Claxons rang, and crewmen began jostling about, taking their positions.
"Captain, Fore Sensing, no contacts!" Sasai said.
"Captain, Aft Sensing, no contacts!" Dieter said.
"Captain, Ventral Sensing, no contacts!" Vert said.
He Sighted a hail of incoming cassagrain fire. "Hold tight, everyone."
Concentrating, he tried to answer.
The Seeker, hardly ever touched in battle, was pounded from tip to top with cassagrain hits peppering the hull, the neck, and the huge wings. The hardy ship rocked and groaned—the strength of the Straylight design, Lord Probert's masterpiece, was evident once again. The ship plummeted through the upper mesosphere in a shooting gallery with a gaggle of Ghome 7s hot on its heels.
"Captain!" Kilos screamed. "Hull temperature spiking at twelve thousand degrees!"
The hull couldn't take much more. Davage Sighted—he saw something, a slim chance. "Port Battleshot units, fire and maintain!" he barked.
The ship trembled with vibrations from the Battleshot units and cassagrain strikes.
"Captain, Port Sensing: Xaphan Ghome 7 transport ships falling out of cloak and sinking toward the planet surface!"
Davage looked. The Battleshot barrage had opened a small but very real hole in the Xaphan ranks. He saw a chance for escape.
"Helm!" he barked. "Make six arcs of 2:00, bearing 1:00 of midnight. Go now!"
Saari, the blue-haired junior Helmsman holding the wheel, looked horrified. "A-Aye, Captain, six arcs of 2:00, bearing 1:00 of midnight!" She rammed the wheel as hard as she could in the extreme movement Davage had just ordered, and the ship, protesting all the way, responded.
It worked. In a gut-wrenching movement, the Seeker had plunged into the hole and was cork-screwing violently toward the surface far below, screaming all the way.
Davage Sighted about. He was pleased; this might turn out after all. The Seeker was well ahead of the bulk of the Xaphan force, and they being mere transports, he outgunned, out-toughed, and out-legged the lot of them.
Looking back, he Sighted.
To his horror, they were hot on his tail.
They were now flying backward, using the mounted cassagrain cannons as a sort of rocket assist. Obviously, they were spoiling to ram the Seeker, to batter her into a shapeless, sinking mass.
And they were closing fast—much faster than he had anticipated only moments earlier, the rocket assist giving them a huge speed boost.
Davage needed the Seeker out of this dive, but the sky was full of Xaphans hell-bent on his destruction. He could simply order all head full, take his lumps, and meter out, firing through any ships that got in his way, but that will leave the ship crippled, broken, listing. He will have to pass through a gauntlet of fire. If he could double back and chandelle to his right, firing the whole time, they will then be able to make a clean run for open space, where they could gun down these embarrassingly slow transports at his leisure.
He saw how to do it. A hard pull to the right on the wheel, followed with firm trim and a lot of redress will do the job. It would be a wrenching, ruinous movement, and the Seeker will, no doubt, require servicing, but they will be clear.
It was time. It was now or never.
"Helm," he yelled. "Make ten arcs of 9:00 PM, minus four of 6:00 AM!"
They needed to do it soon; they were running out of room.
Saari looked terrified. She clearly couldn't understand what Davage had ordered. She held the wheel with white knuckles. "Um … 9:00 arcs of … 10:00 PM?"
They were out of time!
"TEN ARCS OF 9:00 PM, MINUS FOUR OF …"
Too late. The Seeker was devastated by several terrible impacts.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Four Xaphan ships had successfully hit the ship. Three in the rear section, one in the neck.
CRACK!
Davage heard the heartbreaking sound. The main spar in the neck, the back-bone of the ship, had collapsed. He could feel the ship beginning to torque helplessly.
"We're sinking! We're sinking!" Dieter yelled, and the ship listed in a long, deadly spiral toward the surface.
Davage agreed with Dieter's assessment; however, he wasn't quite ready to give up just yet.
"Engineering, all ahead full! Helm, pull out of this dive Z-minus nine thousand degrees port of yore. That will keep pressure off of the main spar. All batteries and canister, open fire and maintain until we are clear of this rabble!"
In a long, smoking arc, the smashed Seeker, gunning down everything in its path, roared past the transports, sinking many of them in smoky heaps, but taking a massive amount of hits in the process. At the bottom of the arc, the muddled sprawl of Metatron came into the viewing screen. There, amid the spindly towers and black, shapeless, buildings straddling standing pools of murky water, was a tall silver temple shining in the night.
The Seeker climbed, roaring and bucking, higher and higher, the Xaphan transports far to the rear clawing back into low orbit.
Then, in the lower pressure, Seeker began to fall apart.
A long, zipperlike tear formed in the neck near the cracked spar. Holes and tears began forming randomly as the hot hull cooled too rapidly and twisted and turned, spar-less.
"Containment breach, deck ten, section 42!"
"Breach, deck nine, section, 12!"
And on and on.
"Captain!" Engineer Mapes, Lord of Grenville, yelled over the Com. "Containment is overloading!"
"I want those breaches sealed, Mapes, now—no exceptions!"
"The ship is torquing itself into pieces!"
"This ship is sailing away. Now look to your systems and get those breaches contained!"
Ennez came into the bridge. "Captain," he said, "I've wounded all over on—"
With a bang, a breach opened in the front section of the bridge, a huge twenty-foot hole, outside a thin black sky.
No containment—they were going to depressurize.
Sasai at her Fore Sensing location was quickly lifted off her feet toward the gaping hole.
Davage, like lightning, caught her by the ankle. He too was lifted, and his hat was sucked out. He latched onto a metal pier with his boots, crossed them, and held fast.
"Captain!" Sasai shrieked. "Let me go, I'm over!"
"You are not yet dismissed, crewman!" Davage yelled.
The pier he was holding onto with his legs bent as he pulled
her into his grasp.
Ennez, using his magnetic pads, walked the walls and fighting the pull, reached out to Davage but could not quite get to him.
The pier groaned and twisted.
Davage, using his Strength, tossed Sasai into Ennez's grasp. He then thought to Waft away to safety, but found he was blacking out; the lack of air was leeching into his brain.
"Containment in thirty seconds!" Kilos yelled.
Davage barely heard her.
"Lieutenant!" he yelled. "I … order you … get the ship to safety. Get … Seeker out of the area immediately. Understand?"
Kilos looked at him dumbly.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I EXPECT THESE … ORDERS … CARRIED OUT!"
"Yes, Captain!" she yelled, tears in her eyes. "I understand. Waft, Dav, Waft away!" she pleaded.
With that, the pier broke.
"Dav!" Ennez shouted. Sasai couldn't look and buried her face in Ennez's uniform.
"DAVAGE!" Kilos cried.
And Captain Davage, Lord of Blanchefort, was sucked out of the hole into the bleak sky.
He was gone, as though he'd never been there.
The Seeker, groaning and twisting metal, grieved at his loss.
* * * * *
When the ship began falling apart, Sygillis was on Deck Four, roaming the corridors. Crewmen and Marines were running around all over. She had wanted to be on the bridge, but she had gone to Deck Four instead.
Because he had asked her to go there.
She wasn't supposed to be on the bridge. Command and control areas of the ship were still off-limits.
That hadn't stopped her before.
The Sisters had grown tired of watching her all the time, and she had proved that she wasn't going to hurt anyone, so they had lapsed into long stretches when they weren't watching.
She could tell when these times popped up, usually when she was working in Paymaster Milke's office, and she took advantage of them. She waited until the white-haired fellow fell asleep behind his desk and then Cloaked herself and Wafted up to the bridge. There, she saw Dav and Kilos and the rest of the bridge crew hard at work doing this and that. She frankly had no idea what they were doing. Oftentimes she stood there and listened to Dav command. It sounded impressive, whatever he was talking about. She had lots of questions, but obviously, she couldn't ask them. On those rare occasions when he sat in his chair, she playfully blew in his ear, and sometimes she'd kiss him lightly. She had to be careful; if he Sighted her, he'd probably be pretty mad. She'd probably have a lot of explaining to do.
She was only there because she missed him—that's all. She meant no harm.
She could feel the muffled thuds coming from high above. Something was hitting the ship. A trap—the Black Abbess had finally attacked. If Dav was letting the ship get hit, there must be a lot of ships out there.
Crewmen and Marines started locking in. "Lady Sygillis," a Marine said, "you should brace yourself. The Captain's going to set the Seeker to rocking in a moment."
She had always heard about how Dav could fly a ship. She'd been amazed by what he could do with a ripcar, but the Seeker was a huge vessel—what could he possibly hope to …
The ship pulled hard to the right. Everyone in the corridor strained to hold on. Syg Stenned herself into place. She stood fast even as the ship rolled and plunged in a stomach-churning ride.
Then came the crashes, the loud, thick booms as the Seeker was rammed.
The crew looked around, terrified.
There was a sickening grinding of metal, and then the ship seemed to acquire a floaty, twisting sort of movement, like it was no longer whole.
"By the Elders, our back is broken!" one of the Marines cried out. "We're going to sink!"
Someone screamed.
Getting a bit concerned, Syg sent Dav a quick message via telepathy.
She wanted to be on the bridge. She wanted to be with Dav.
The ship gave a long, steady groan and then the end of the corridor, near the exterior of the ship, breached. A long, cold rip opened. Girders twisted and rolled, and like a row of rotten teeth, Syg could see open space past the girders.
The decompression pulled on all the people locked into their handholds. They were lifted off their feet.
The corridor began to crumple up under the pressure.
She loosed her Silver tech, coating the walls and ceiling in a thin layer. She then extended and flexed it—gave it strength, and the corridor resumed its former shape despite the pressure.
A white-shirted crewman let go of her hand hold; she could hold on no longer. She slammed into a Marine, and he let go too. They were headed for open space.
Stenned into place, Syg stood fast. Without thinking about the Sisters, she flooded her other hand with Silver tech and let it fly. Quickly, easily, she caught them with her Silver tech ropes and pulled them back.
Another person let go—again she caught him.
Extending her arm, she blasted out a thick blow of Silver tech. It covered the breach and sealed it. It stretched slightly as the ship continued to torque.
But it held. It held firm.
She un-Stenned and released the crewmen. "Is … is everyone all right?"
They ran toward her and embraced her roughly.
"Thank you, Lady Sygillis! Thank you!"
Soon she was buried under crewmen and Marines wanting to thank her.
In a mound of people, she desperately wanted to be on the bridge.
6
FALLING OVER METATRON
It was an undignified thing, to awaken from unconsciousness, frostcovered CARG whistling, falling through the air, but such it was for Captain Davage.
The dull, amber air of Ergos had thickened enough that he could breathe almost normally. His mind, oxygen starved, slowly came back into focus.
He was falling—he had been sucked out of the hole in the Seeker's bridge, and he was plummeting fast. He'd been able to save Sasai; using his Strength, he roughly threw her into Ennez's arms. The pier he was holding onto was giving way, and he was able to order Kilos to take Seeker out of the atmosphere and into the safety of space before he was sucked out. Containment had failed—the ship, its back broken, was torquing too much. The Sisters will come and plug the breaches, or Syg could do it with her Silver tech. He didn't care which.
He'd given Kilos a direct order to get the ship out of the area. It was probably ripping her up, but he didn't expect that she would disobey him; still, he whirled around and looked. The Seeker was not in sight. He looked down at the surface and Sighted. If he had time, he could have made an extensive scan of the heavens, but it wasn't necessary. He didn't see its carcass anywhere, only sundry flaming Ghome wreckages pocking the sullen landscape, burning in colorful chemical fires.
Good, good. He knew Ki wouldn't disobey him, though it was probably breaking her heart.
He also guessed that when Syg found out, she'd probably be quite cross with Ki for leaving him behind. He imagined they might have another confrontation. They might even end up in the gym again, beating each other senseless.
That's fine, they can fight each other all they want as long as the ship was safe.
Ki, his trusted friend.
Syg, his "girlfriend," powerful and dangerous.
Now to it—what was his situation?
He was falling. He guessed he was still about twenty miles from the surface. Looking down, the mottled brownish-gray surface was a curved, indistinct mass. Far below he began to make out the hints of clouds, and beneath that, the dark ugly sprawl of Metatron, tinged with black water—a place League mothers warned their children about.
Metatron was dark—no lights. Ergos, the mightiest of the Great Xaphans, was starving in the shared dry light of Mirendra and could no longer afford the gilded dream of illusion. Only the dirt and stone was left. The city was built on a flat shelf of land over a shallow inlet of water. The tall buildings were built up to great heights, buttressed by innumerable cobbled slum buildings and
railed causeways lining the waterfronts.
His clothes were covered in frost. The whistling air was biting cold. His CARG was a coppery icicle. But he was a Blanchefort—cold meant little to him. Cold he could handle.