by Roger Moore
“Ah!” Dyffed’s face lit up. “Ah, I did see that. You simply dive back toward the place you came in! Marvelous system. The gateways open up at regular intervals, the same time each day for an hour or so, and – assuming that you’ve been able to time your exit using a properly built timekeeping device, such as gnomes are known for making you leave!”
“Good,” said Teldin in relief. “Now, look for the fal.”
“The fal, yes,” said the gnome, raising the red box to his face again. He rotated, scanning the sky in all directions at eye level, then looked higher. “Perhaps this cursed device really is just a tad out of adjustme – oh! By Reorx!” The excited gnome started to point to a place forward, up, and to the starboard side of the ship, then did a very unexpected thing. He dropped the red box.
Stunned, Teldin lunged for the box, which bounced on the deck toward the side of the ship. His fingers missed a clean grab, instead knocking the box back on the deck and away from him. Dyffed lunged for the box again and missed, stumbling over his own feet to fall facedown on the deck. Teldin lunged for the thingfinder, slapping a hand over it and pinning it to the deck.
Heaving a sigh, Teldin pulled the thingfinder to him and picked it up. As Dyffed mumbled apologies, Teldin held up the box as he had seen Dyffed do, placing the glass plate in front of his face. He tried to face it in the same direction as the gnome had aimed it, thinking all the while about a giant, balking black slug – as best as he could visualize one.
Almost at once, he felt a sort of tickling sensation inside his head. It was difficult to describe it as anything else. The image of a giant slug sharpened in his mind until he thought he would see it: a creature perhaps a third the length of the old Probe, gleaming black and very thick. From the near end of the beast sprouted a handful of whiplike tentacles, two of them especially thick and having bulbous ends. Between the tentacle roots was a huge, circular mouth rimmed with a double row of long yellow-gray fangs. Curiously, above the treat central mouth was a large human-type mouth.
With a shock, Teldin realized that he was. looking at such a creature. It was clearly visible before him. He knew that the image was not displayed on the glass plate of the thingfinder; Instead, the view of the fal replaced his normal vision, blocking out everything else as if it were the only object in sight. The being appeared to be resting, stretched out full length on invisible ground somewhere.
Abruptly, the bulbous antennae writhed and moved, weeping slowly around as if searching for something nearby.
A sense of dread grew in the back of Teldin’s mind, and he was certain that somehow the creature knew it was being watched, but he fought the urge to tear his gaze away from it. This is impossible, he thought; what I’m seeing is merely some sort of magical image the thingfinder is creating. Even if this was the mul, it could not possibly know that —
The creature lifted the front third of its great bulk into the air with an unhurried motion. The head – if he could call it that – tilted and moved until it was aimed directly at Teldin, one two thickest antennae pointing at him from their widely separated directions. The upper humanlike mouth moved.
You are greeted. The sensation of the beast’s words in Teldin’s mind was nothing at all like that when he had once
Chapter Fourteen
“Are those the scro?” Teldin asked, pointing aft at the swarm of distant objects on the horizon. He felt like a fool to ask, but he wanted to be sure.
“That they are, sir!” Gomja shouted, unnecessarily loudly. “We’re clearing the deck for helm changeover, so you’ll have to come inside! You, too, Mister Jammermaker!”
Teldin quickly got to his feet and headed for the open hatch, still not entirely comfortable to be walking around on the open deck so far from the ground. “We found the fal!” he called. “It’s off that way, ahead but up and to the right, to starboard!” He looked down at Dyffed, but the gnome was busy watching the approaching fleet through his thingfinder. Teldin grabbed the gnome by the shoulders and propelled him toward the hatch.
One minute later, Teldin pulled the hatch shut behind him and bolted it tight, then descended the last few rungs on the ladder to the deck. He fought down a brief surge of claustrophobia, telling himself that one day he wouldn’t have to face being cooped up in a gnomish ship ever again – at least, not if the gods were kind.
“We’ve been going too slowly for too long, sir,” Gomja said, checking Teldin’s bolting of the hatch. He climbed down the ladder, looking grim. “Aelfred wants to pull Loomfinger off the helm and put Sylvie back on. You should go to your cabin during changeover. I believe we’ll have some trouble there, but it shouldn’t last long. I’ll handle everything else around here.”
“I can give a hand, I’m sure,” Teldin started to say. The huge giff shook his head vigorously. “That won’t be necessary. We’re not going to go above to shoot back at the scro this time. We lack the troops, and the wind will be too great when Sylvie takes over. Just —”
The door into the room banged open unexpectedly. An overweight, sweating gnome hurried into the room, panting as if he’d run a long distance, and bounced off Gomja’s massive left leg before coming to a stop. “Teldin Mayor,” he announced, red faced and out of breath. “Captain Albert Silverhand requests – no, wait. Captain Albert Silverhorn requests your – Captain Aelfred Hornsilver requests – oh, bother! The captain would like to see you in the helm room right away if you have a moment for an emergency now, unless it’s a bother.”
Gomja appeared stunned for a moment at the message but quickly recovered himself. “Calm yourself and get your message straight, Private,” Gomja ordered the gnome. The gnome immediately sat down and tried to catch his breath, repeating his message softly to himself to straighten it out. Gomja turned back to Teldin with a concerned look on his face. “I wouldn’t worry about it, sir. I think Gurfley here has his message twisted around. I’ll get it straightened out and tell you later in your cabin. Get some rest.”
“I think I got the basic idea of what the message was,” Teldin said. “I’ll find out what’s going on with Aelfred.”
“But sir!” Gomja called anxiously. “Changeover could be dangerous. I don’t think it would be wise to go there yet. Wait until it’s over, at least.”
Teldin hesitated. Gomja might have a point. He waved to the giff and said, “Whatever you say,” then left the room, closing the door behind him. On impulse, he set off for the helm room anyway. Aelfred wouldn’t ask for him unless it was at least remotely important.
Teldin made the trip through the low, narrow corridors of the ship with better than usual speed, stumbling over gnomes only twice. When he arrived in the helm room, he found Loomfinger on the elaborately decorated helm, perched nervously on the edge of the thronelike seat. Aelfred and Sylvie were there, as was Gaye, standing almost in a corner of the room. Gaye immediately smiled and waved at Teldin when he entered. Aelfred glanced at him, then turned his attention back to Sylvie.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Aelfred asked with concern. He stood by Sylvie, who was seated on a stool just in front of the helm and rubbing her face vigorously.
“Damn it, I’m fine,” the half-elf muttered. “I got a little sleep, anyway. If we make it quick, we won’t drop more than a few hundred feet, a thousand at most. How high are we? Arc we above the clouds? No – I mean, are we above – are we high enough to make that drop okay? You know what I mean, Aelfred. Just tell me.”
Aelfred looked up at Teldin and gave a quick shake of his head, his lips pressed into a line.
Teldin then caught on to what was happening. “Aelfred, do you want me to take the helm?” he asked. “I don’t know anything about how to make this thing work, and the last time I tried running the helm, it didn’t work.”
“You did pretty damn well when we flew out of the reach of those scro at Ironpiece,” Aelfred said flatly. “We don’t have time to quibble. We’ve got to get up and out of this atmosphere, or we’ll never get anywhere. We don’t know
how high the air goes, but it will be faster sailing for us all the farther we get from the ground and the scro. No offense, Loomfinger, but we need the best person in that helm right now. Sylvie’s too tired to do it, and I want you to try, Teldin.” Aelfred looked back at the gnome on the helm. “What’s the situation out there?”
The gnome swallowed. “The fleet is still behind us, sir,” he said, his speech growing more rapid with each second. “We are at two and a half miles altitude and I count twenty ships to aft so far, and they are gaining on us and should be upon us in ten minutes or so unless we change helmsmen, but I can still run the helm in an emergency if you need me anytime. Just call me and I can run the helm in a jiffy and never —”
“Forget it! Just forget it, Loomfinger,” Sylvie interrupted, standing suddenly and swaying. She caught Teldin’s arm in a tight grip but did not relax it. “I can do it. Bring me some water so I can wash my face off, and I can get on the helm. Hurry it up.”
Aelfred stared at Sylvie, who was still swaying, then looked at Teldin with desperation. “You up to this, old son?” he asked. “Can you make that cloak of yours run a ship again?"
"Aelfred, I said I would try it!” Sylvie yelled suddenly. She angrily whirled around, looking at everyone. “Would you all just get out of here? You’re driving me crazy!”
“Sylvie, calm down!” Aelfred said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t had any sleep, and – Teldin!”
Without a word, Teldin acted on impulse. He reached out, caught Loomfinger under the arms, and lifted the surprised gnome off the helm to set him on the floor. At that same moment, Teldin had a curious feeling, as if he had stepped off a high cliff and was starting to fall. He lunged for the helm in panic, not having expected the change so soon. His cape flowed out behind him as if he were underwater. Everyone in the room fought to keep from falling over as the gravity left. Sylvie shrieked, flailing with her arms.
“Gods, Teldin!” roared Aelfred, his face turning white. His feet had left the floor. “You idiot!”
Teldin’s right hand grasped the back of the helm, and he heaved himself clumsily into the helm’s seat, holding himself down by grasping the arms of the chair.
Nothing happened.
Now weightless, with the screams of everyone in the room ringing in his ears, Teldin felt a terror that he’d never dreamed he could feel. He had just murdered everyone aboard the ship. They were going to die because of his stupidity. And dying was going to take a long, long time at this altitude.
Wildly, he clutched at the arms of the chair, concentrating on making the ship rise with every bit of willpower he had.
Nothing happened.
“Noooooo!” he roared. There was a cracking sound, and one of the arms of the helm broke loose in his grip.
Time slowed down.
Warmth flooded through his body again, as it had on the Probe. This time the warmth and surge of power felt even stronger and clearer than before. In a daze, he pulled himself down to the helm. As he did, he felt his spirit pull loose from his body and flow out through the ship and into every part of it. He felt himself fully become the Perilous Halibut.
With the ship’s internal gravity restored, Teldin felt himself slowly thump down onto the helm’s seat, his cloak glowing with bright pinkish light. He was vaguely aware that everyone else was flailing about in slow motion, but all were falling toward the floor now. Luckily, they didn’t have far to fall.
Spelljamming the Halibut was a strange sensation, somewhat different than it had been on the Probe. He could see everyone in the helm room with him, and he could also see all around the outside of the long, black ship. He saw both the floor of the room and the ground miles below the ship. It took only a few seconds to look back, without turning his head, and see the nearing fleet of scro ships above the horizon. They were hovering almost motionless, but he knew that they were just slowed by his perceptions. The Perilous Halibut had fallen quite a distance in the last few seconds.
Strangest of all, Teldin felt as if he was the ship. The ship’s hull became like a second skin, though he could feel no heat or pressure from it. It was simply there, a part of him now. He wondered if he was gaining more awareness of things as he acquired experience with spelljamming.
Business first, he thought. Aelfred had wanted to gain altitude in hopes the ship could move more quickly. Teldin focused all of his energies into going up. He felt no different sitting on the helm. His view outside, however, revealed at once that the Perilous Halibut was climbing rapidly.
Time returned to normal again.
For a few seconds, the room was filled with cries and struggling bodies on the floor.
“Teldin!” Aelfred thrust his face right into Teldin’s own, the pink light from Teldin’s cloak reflecting on them both. “Teldin Moore, you son of a bitch, what in the Nine Hells possessed you to do that?” Aelfred shouted at the top of his lungs, his face pale with fear and rage. “Damn you for screwing around with the helm! We all could have been killed! Don’t you ever think first?”
Teldin looked at Aelfred and felt an onrush of shame. He knew he had acted too quickly and had endangered everyone, but he felt his anger spill out instead. “It was either act or stand there and listen to everyone argue,” he retorted. “I apologize for the shock, but we’re gaining altitude from the scro fleet. They won’t catch us now. It worked!”
Aelfred continued to stare into Teldin’s face at eye level. “Wonderful, but don’t ever do it again,” he said. “You scared the crap out of me. The gods damn you for that.”
Teldin nodded, his face deep red. He switched to looking outside the ship. The sky above the ship was getting darker, bit by bit. How high did the air envelope extend, all the way to the sun? They’d know soon enough.
Sylvie looked at Teldin, blinking rapidly. “You’ve torn the arm off the helm, but you’re flying the ship.”
Teldin looked down and nodded. “The cloak must work only if there’s no functioning helm on a ship,” he said slowly. “That’s why it wouldn’t fly for me before now, and why I could fly the Probe with both helms down.”
Sylvie stared at him. “I see.” She tried to rub her face, but her hands were shaking too much. Swaying from foot to foot, she turned and left the room without another word.
Aelfred followed her to the door. “I want to talk with Teldin for a while, so go ahead. I won’t wake you up again. Gaye and Loomfinger, you two can leave, too.”
“I wanted to talk with Teldin, too,” said Gaye, as Loomfinger picked himself up and scuttled for the door.
“Out,” said Aelfred, jerking a thumb at the entrance. Gaye rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Darn,” as she left.
When the door closed behind everyone, Aelfred stepped back from Teldin and took a deep breath. “You’ve saved us again, but this time I can’t think of a good excuse for it,” he said in a calm but hard voice. “You took a chance and blew it, then you broke the helm and, by an incredibly stupid piece of luck, you saved us. But if anything had gone wrong – the ship rolling over, you missing the helm, whatever – we’d be at the bottom of a crater about now. For all your powers, Teldin, you still don’t know dirt about spelljamming, and you’d better leave decisions on it to people who do know dirt about it. Think before you act! Do you want to kill us?”
Teldin couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze. He nodded, facedown.
Aelfred shook his head and looked away. “I almost soiled myself when you pulled Loomfinger off his seat.” He shivered for a moment. “It’s different in wildspace. You don’t fall anywhere there if someone gets off the helm to go to the head. The ship keeps on flying. You can’t do that in a gravity field.” He glanced back at Teldin. “As long as you’re up there, are there any signs of our followers?”
Teldin looked, using his helm’s-eye view of the outside of the ship. “None that I can see. We’re not leaving the atmosphere yet. The air envelope here must be very thick. Where should we go next? The fal?”
Aelfred nodded. “Of course. If I’m going to put my life on the line for you every few days, I want to know some of the reasons why. That slug had better have some good answers, too. I heard Dyffed knew how to get there, using some little magical box of his. Any truth to that?”
Teldin had almost forgotten about the gnome. “He has a device that picked out the fal’s location just a few moments before Gomja came up and warned us about the scro fleet. It works on mental energy in some way. I don’t pretend to understand it. He may be able to set a course for us using it. He said we had to use it outside the ship on the deck, or at least I had that impression.”
Aelfred looked at Teldin with an odd expression. “Messing with the helm has addled your brain. I think you meant that Gomja found out about the scro fleet from you when he came up on deck, don’t you?”
“No,” said Teldin. “He told us.”
Aelfred looked at Teldin blankly. “Now, how could that be? Gomja’s been inside the ship this whole time. I assumed he’d gone up to see you and you’d warned him then, or else you’d come in yourself to tell him.”
“Wait, let me think about this,” said Teldin, becoming confused. “Couldn’t he have found out from Loomfinger? When he was on the helm, didn’t Loomfinger see the fleet behind him and warn everyone?”
“I wasn’t here, but Loomfinger wouldn’t know a fleet from a flock of gullions,” Aelfred said. “He’s not much more than a minor illusionist with a handful of spells, and he can barely pay enough attention to the real world to keep from getting killed on a daily basis. I guess it’s possible that he could have warned Gomja. I never asked the giff how he found out about the scro. He practically dragged me out of my hammock to tell me about them. I ran to get Sylvie right after that, and Gaye showed up wondering what everyone was doing in the helm room, then you showed up, and there you are. I should ask Loomfinger, just out of curiosity, I suppose, but I don’t know if it matters now. Maybe I should give him a medal.”