Hell Ship

by Philip Palmer

  Are you ready?

  I am ready.

  A moment later, Explorer and I embraced improbability, and left the universe of the Olara

  For ever.

  BOOK 6

  Sharrock

  After my encounter with Zala of the Kindred, the slayer of my entire species, I walked away from Sai-ias with hate in my heart. And I wondered at what I had become.

  What indeed had happened to Sharrock the great warrior?

  I had fought battles in this “Hell Ship” and lost, and eventually won-but they were all the wrong battles. For what merit was there in being King of the Kindred? Who was I helping or saving through such an act of braggartry?

  And yet what other options were there? I could not fight an enemy I could not see. And escape from this ship was, I knew, impossible. Everyone told me that, and I had of course verified it carefully for myself, by interrogating everyone I met, and through personal investigations.

  Thus, I knew we had no access to the engine room-for though there was one place in the interior world where the throb of motors could be heard, there was no way to break through the walls. I had tried to cut through the metal, but it was impregnable to my blade. There were no ventilation shafts; and no hidden corridors or secret passageways of the kind I had been so used to finding when raiding the palaces of rich aliens or the Southern Tribesfolk. There were no space pods or lifeships we could steal, and hence no way to survive departure from the ship. I had spent many days in the glass belly of the vessel looking out at space, and I knew that through the hull-hatch I could get access to the world outside; but how long would even Sharrock survive in empty space?

  So instead of trying to escape I had endeavoured to make a life for myself here. I had smelled the flowers, enjoyed the breeze, savoured the sun on my cheeks. I had made friends: Sai-ias, Cuzco, even Mangan. Mangan was an angry creature but a smart one; his blind rage was his way of coping with a terrible situation. Mangan’s kind, I had been told, were life-loving forest dwellers who on their native world had lived in peace and harmony with others. That was then; now Mangan was truly a vicious devil.

  But that is what this ship did to people; it marred their souls.

  As it had done to Sai-ias.

  I had, in all truth, become fond indeed of Sai-ias. She was a gentle beast, and a thoughtful one. It touched me to see how she became involved in the lives of others; she knew each sentient on the ship by name and knew the names of their planets too, and could remember all the names of their lost loved ones. She remembered I had lost a wife called Malisha and a daughter called Sharil; I had only told her once but she never forgot.

  But her soul was still tainted; for Sai-ias’s way of surviving was a form of complicity. She made the ship run smoothly; and hence the Ka’un had an easier time. She taught the ways of acceptance; and thus the Ka’un’s slaves were docile, and easier to handle. She was the prisoner who helps her own gaolers; I had always despised that type.

  And so, after learning the scale of Sai-ias’s treachery in collaborating with the despotic Kindred, I refused to talk to her, or deal with her in any way. Instead I spent my time alone, climbing the mountain paths, swimming the lake, and exploring the ship. I refused to participate in their godsforsaken Rhythm of Days; I wanted to keep my mind pure, and my body honed.

  And then one day, I swam to the Tower as I always did, at least once a day. And once I was in sight of the island’s shore the winds whipped up, as they always did. One time I had swum onwards and touched the force shield walls for myself. But the walls of force could not be penetrated of course; and my presence in such proximity had caused a great storm that had vexed the others hugely; so it seemed futile to keep attempting it.

  So today, I merely trod water, and I stared at the Tower where dwelled my enemies; then I heard the sound of wings above me and I looked up.

  And Cuzco swept downwards and caught me in his claws. I did not struggle, I let him carry me. He loosened his grip and I scrambled free and clambered up on to his back.

  “Turd-for-brains,” said Cuzco amiably.

  “Vile and ugly orange freak,” I informed him.

  I enjoyed these flights; Cuzco soared up to the sky, almost touching it, then soared down, and made me dizzy with his speed.

  Then he hovered as low as he could above the Tower. I saw the shape of the gardens around it; the shrubs on the craggy rock. The Tower was huge; larger than many cities. It was so near, and yet so untouchable.

  “Watch,” said Cuzco, and he released the boulders in his rear claws and they dropped down out of the sky and they

  Bounced.

  Rattling like pebbles on a roof-yet there was no roof, just air-before sliding off in a downwards arc and splashing into the sea.

  “Force shield goes all around,” I said.

  “No way in,” agreed Cuzco.

  “No way to escape,” I agreed.

  “I believe, nevertheless,” said Cuzco sombrely, “that I may have found a way to leave this place.”

  And my heart raced. “Tell me,” I said.

  Sai-ias

  It was Day the Third of my nine hundred and eighty-four thousand four hundred and twenty second cycle of the Rhythm of Days, and Sharrock approached me by the lake side.

  And for the first time in many cycles, he spoke to me.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “It seems then you thrive,” said Sharrock, “upon the misfortunes of others.”

  I made no comment; yet I could not comprehend how he could say such a thing to me.

  “I have been planning,” said Sharrock, “how we might escape this wretched vessel.” And he smiled; but it was not a pleasant smile.

  “There is no way,” I said.

  “So I have concluded,” Sharrock said, grimly.

  “Best-”

  “-to accept the way things are. Acceptance is all. Yes, I know your lies, Sai-ias. I have also been considering ways to attack the Ka’un.”

  “Many have tried and failed.”

  “How? Tell me all.”

  I sighed. “There is little point. Trust me on this: I have been here for many years. The problem is that we do not know who the Ka’un are, nor how to get at them in the Tower where they dwell.”

  “Have you yourself tried?” Sharrock’s tone was taunting; I wondered at his game.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I swam across many years ago. The way was blocked. Cuzco attempted to storm it with a flock of aerials, that did not succeed. It cannot be done.”

  “Indeed, that tallies with all I know and have been advised,” said Sharrock, his mood strangely buoyant.

  “So what is it?” I asked. “Why are you speaking to me now?”

  “Oh, there is news,” Sharrock said. And there was a smug look in his eyes; I feared the worst.

  “What is it?”

  “Cuzco,” he told me, “has issued a challenge to Djamrock.”

  The news shocked me. “What cause?”

  “No cause. They fight at dawn.”

  And Sharrock’s features were lit with elation; for he knew already that my calm and ordered equilibrium was about to be destroyed.

  Two giant sentients were at war with each other, with no valid cause.

  Thus, bloody and pointless anarchy had returned to our world.

  We were in our cabin, the night before the combat. Fray was sombre; Lirilla was distressed; Doro was a pool of turbulent water; Quipu was appalled at what was occurring, just as I was. And Cuzco himself was in arrogant and bombastic mood.

  “On my planet, before we became gods to the other sentient species, we were hunted,” said Cuzco, with a pride that repelled me. “The biped Mahonosi feared us and slew us. The four-legged Karal feared us, and slew us. We were born in blood, we fought each living day. And we survived. And we evolved. And we grew mightier and mightier.”

  “Evolved? From idiot, into total fucking idiot?” snapped Quipu One.

  “Good point,
” said Quipu Two.

  “Where is it decreed,” said Cuzco, “that we should not fight?”

  “This creature is so arrogant!” said Quipu Three.

  “Such duels are foolish, and dangerous,” I told Cuzco, “They serve no purpose, and damage us all!”

  “Those words are true,” said Quipu Four, and his fifth and first heads nodded in agreement.

  Cuzco snorted his contempt at me, and at the bobbing-headed agreeing-with-himselves Quipus.

  “I need,” roared Cuzco, “to taste blood and feel fear. Without that, I do not-”

  “YOU CANNOT DO THIS!” I screamed at Cuzco, and they all stared at me, for I do not usually scream.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Cuzco said, in tones of utter scorn.

  “Why? Because I’m not a blood-crazed warrior?”

  “War is in my soul. It defines me.”

  “War is a form of madness,” I told him. “Do not give in to it.”

  “Oh let him do what he likes,” said Quipu One, and his other heads hissed.

  “It’shisfuneral,” Doro taunted.

  Lirilla howled; not a song, a howl. I had never heard such a noise from her before; it sent a shudder down my central spine.

  Fray brooded, silent, conflicted; she knew the joy of war too, but this was all too much for her.

  “Please,” I implored Cuzco.

  “It will be a glorious combat,” Cuzco said, and steam emerged from his neck and skull; and I knew we had lost him.

  It was Day the Fourth. But no poems were to be recited this day.

  We gathered at the foot of the White Mountains. Cuzco’s scales were orange and scarlet and shone in the bright sunlight. Djamrock descended out of the clouds, his four wings flapping loudly. Djamrock had three heads, each of them fearsomely fanged and armoured. He was twice the size of Cuzco, and Cuzco was a giant even amongst the giant sentients.

  No one had ever before dared to challenge Djamrock. But, from time to time, he had savaged unwary predators and herbivores and ripped them limb from limb. Eventually they healed; but the shock of Djamrock’s violence always left a lasting damage in the souls of those he attacked.

  We accept the evil of the Ka’un; but when our own kind turn on us, it more profoundly hurts.

  We formed a circle around the fighters. Sharrock caught my eye; and the ghastly smile on his face repelled me. His naked torso was glistening with sweat; his red skin was darker in hue, a sure sign that he was agitated and surging with adrenalin.

  And I could feel terror descend upon me. Violence is a character aberration that perturbs and disgusts my soul, and so I truly did not want to be here. For I am the child of a pacific species. We never fought, we never went to war, and, until the Ka’un, no other creatures had ever warred against us-not since we became sentient, many aeons ago.

  And yet, even so, I could not resist the mood of the day. The energy! The sheer exhilaration of being in the presence of the blood-lust of all my fellow sentients!

  The combat began.

  The two beasts leaped and flapped wings savagely, and hovered in the air above us.

  I cannot bear to describe the scene, and yet I must; for the images are seared upon my mind and the pain of that day lives as a reproach in my soul.

  At first, for the first twenty or more minutes, I did not directly observe the two beasts in their bloody combat; I merely watched the watchers. It shocked me deeply. The screaming, the drooling, the roaring of rage, the obscenities uttered, the lust for the dealing of death that consumed all those who beheld!

  A thousand and more different species all united in hate and loathing! Polypods and bipeds on the land, gathered in a vast crowd around the combatants; and sea-dwellers peering up from the lake, and swamp-dwellers staring up from their boggy homes at the aerial part of the battle. Only the sessiles were unable to witness the duel, for understandable reasons. Even the sentient plants were savouring what they saw of the spectacle-jeering and shedding leaves and spitting spores as they savoured the carnage.

  As she watched, Fray snorted and scratched the ground with her powerful hooves; clearly a large part of her wished she could be part of this legendary fight.

  As for Quipu, he was in a frenzy; his heads whipping from side to side, a crazed look to him that I had never seen before. He was the dearest friend of Cuzco and, despite the cruel words that often passed between them, they felt a huge affection for each other. And yet, as Cuzco bled, he roared, all five of his heads roared, in brutal exultation.

  And when I dragged my eleven eyes from the spectators, I saw blood raining from the sky as the two beasts gripped teeth into flesh and rocked back and forth in the air. Whenever he could, Cuzco breathed fire from his skull-holes and neck-holes upon his adversary, but the flames did not even sear the ebon hide of Djamrock. And Djamrock’s three heads relentlessly pecked and tore at Cuzco’s flesh.

  One of Djamrock’s wings was severed by a bite from Cuzco and went tumbling to the ground. The black beast flapped free and spikes from its belly impaled Cuzco and Cuzco blazed fire again and the sky rocked with the horror of two monsters locked in an aerial death-embrace.

  Then Cuzco lost a wing too and tumbled to the ground and crashed and Djamrock moved downwards with talons extended to sever his adversary’s remaining limbs, and thus secure victory.

  Cuzco was dazed, and did not move. Djamrock was descending in a fast plunge. We all waited for the inevitable.

  But Djamrock halted his dive. He hovered in mid-air above his near-unconscious foe, his great wings beating. And slowly Cuzco stirred. Then looked up. And saw his enemy poised above him, waiting.

  A long and powerful funnel of flame from Cuzco’s skull enveloped Djamrock’s body, but Djamrock did not flee. He remained hovering, his wings beating out billows of flame, and after a time his black hide grew darker and the flesh below began to burn.

  Djamrock screamed and screamed. For his body was aflame beneath the near-impregnable coating of his night-dark armour. His heads writhed from side to side. And Cuzco pulled himself on to his two legs and pounced, and his teeth caught Djamrock’s belly and ripped it. Then Cuzco took to the air again and flew above his opponent, stopped in a frozen hover, then plunged. And with a single powerful movement he landed on his prey and ripped Djamrock’s head off his body. And then he ate it. A silence descended, as we watched, stunned. Cuzco fed the head into his mouth and ate the skull, and ate the brains too. The slow steady crunching appalled us. Even the rejuvenating powers of the water of the well of life could not heal that; so now, one of Djamrock’s heads was completely dead.

  Cuzco blew flame from his skull again, and we could smell and taste the aroma; it was the reek of the remnants of the burnt brain of Djamrock being expelled from Cuzco’s body.

  Djamrock’s other two heads stared at the sight. He was in dire agony, but his dark hide was recovering its normal lustre. The fire in his body was being extinguished, his flesh was healing again. He was recovering. And even though he’d lost a head, he still had enough power to rip the crippled Cuzco into pieces.

  But Djamrock did nothing.

  Cuzco pounced again and ripped off a second head. And he ate that too. And he billowed steam from his neck to sluice his system of the last traces of alien skull and brain.

  “No!” screamed a voice. “No!” screamed another voice.

  But these were lone voices in the mob. I heard a drumming sound, as the crowd clapped and stamped their feet and chanted: “Kill him, kill him, kill him!”

  Cuzco pounced one final time and ripped off Djamrock’s third head.

  And ate it.

  And shat out the remnants through his neck-holes.

  And then Cuzco looked at me, with triumph and sorrow in his old eyes. And I knew then: this had been planned. This was a death pact between Cuzco and Djamrock.

  And Djamrock had won. His victory in battle had entitled him to the ultimate reward: his irrevocable death.

  Except that Djamrock w
as not truly dead. His sentience and his soul lingered on in his headless corpse. It endured in the particles of brain-ash that still floated in the air. Djamrock was thus doomed to an eternity of torment.

  But he had died fighting; and that was enough for him.

  The thought of what he had done, and what Cuzco had aided him in doing, appalled me.

  I slithered away.

  I was ashamed, so deeply ashamed, of Cuzco, of Djamrock, and of the rest of my fellow sentients. Could they not see that defeat was preferable by far to this kind of terrible victory?

  That night, I crept out of my cabin and made my way through the pitch blackness of the interior planet’s artificial light, using memory to guide me, until I reached the lake.

  And I there I sat, and listened to the waters lapping.

  In the morning, as the sun rose. I watched the first fish leap from the water. I watched the aerials flock in the sky above, dancing patterns in air.

  “Do you not see,” I argued, “that Cuzco must be banished? An example must be made.”

  I was addressing the Guiding Council of the Sentients; twelve of us in all. Quipu, Biark, Sahashs, Loramas, Thugor, Amur, Kairi, Wapax, Fiymean, Krakkka, Raoild. And Sharrock, too, was there; for he had, unknown to me, been elected as a thirteenth Council Member and hence now had a responsibility for the government of this world.

  The meeting was going badly. Quipu’s five heads were all laughing at me for my attempt to actually punish Cuzco for achieving a glorious victory.

  Sharrock’s scorn too was evident in his every cold glare.

  And the others-sentients I had known and regarded as friends for so many years!-treated me with a contempt that they barely bothered to disguise.

  Thugor made a pacifying gesture. His words were silken, we felt them as much as we heard them. “You, my Sai-ias,” he said, “you, kind and gentle being, have always been a kisser of the arse of your enemy. Cuzco however is a hero. He showed us a way out. Through war and glory. You should celebrate him, not censure.”

  “What he did was wrong,” I insisted.

  “He enabled Djamrock to escape.”