This was the first shift in three weeks that Sabira had her privileges reinstated. Denial of privileges was just a small part of the right arm’s punishment for the cave-in level mess in the grank pens. Compared to how truly awful cleaning up the lake of grank shit and waste oil in the pens had been, losing privileges was only the second worst part. And in a way, she figured, the nine eyes was the least of their punishments. After all, what were a few more scars compared to losing the galaxy? Not that the nine eyes weren’t excruciating, but after years of Pitter Discipline and Servant Discipline, pain and scars were part of life. The triangle of nine wounds only itched now, the feverish boiling sensation finally subsiding over the last few days.
She no longer questioned if Cannon resented her for their shared punishment. He had made his opinion clear, and she couldn’t fault him for it. Sure, Daggeira was the one who purposefully woke the granks, but Sabira was still the fresh skin in the crew. And she was the first one to jump into the grank pens. He hadn’t spoken to Daggs or her at all since they finally got the pens cleaned up and in working order again.
With Daggeira, Sabira still couldn’t tell where she stood. She had taken their punishment without complaint. Whenever she met Sabira’s gaze, instead of an expected scowl, Daggeira gave a sly, knowing smile.
At least she was done with the taunting chants. Not like that day in the pens, standing atop the railing, looking down on Sabira exhausted and panting below, punching the air with the emergency button in her fist, chanting, “See me! See me! Warrens Dreena!”
Warrens Dreena was also the home of that pillow boy back on Nahgohn-Za, the pretty one with Trickster’s seed in his heart. Sabira wondered if Daggeira knew him. Had she drilled him, too? But how could she ask her? The pillow was nameless, no one, unseen. And if she mentioned his secret name . . .
Better not to think about it.
Then there was the crew’s left arm and what they thought of the whole godsdamned mess. It would not have been unprecedented for them to feel the prod, too, for the right arm’s foolishness. Even though they escaped the nine eyes, the skins of the left arm didn’t hide their resentment for making them all look bad before the Warseers and the other two crews of their task.
The one that troubled Sabira the most, though, more than Cannon or Daggeira or the left arm, was Caller Arrow. The second in rank of their crew, chief of the right arm, Arrow was the second to take her during the initiation rites. The one she wanted most to take her again. She had been crushed by the anger in his eyes when he walked into the disaster of the grank pens, by his cold detachment when Warseer Maru Ahzk Vohg prodded the nine eyes into her bare flesh.
Sabira didn’t know what she could do to change how Caller Arrow and the crew saw her. She was still so new to the Servants and her crew that she couldn’t help but feel out of place. She never wanted to return to her old life with the Diggers in Warrens Zevna, but at least in the Labyrinth, she knew her place and what to do.
In many ways, life on a pyramid battleship differed little from the Labyrinth beneath the surface of Nahgohn-Za. Servants or khvazol, they were all still lowly humans after all. Like the Overseers of the Labyrinth, Warseers aboard the Pyramid Ihvik-Ri always had their prods at the ready.
Many of the sounds were the same as the warrens. The insistent chugging rhythm of the air and water circulation organs, the ever-present buzz of biomachinery. Sounds so similar to the Labyrinth, she sometimes had flashes that she’d never made it out, that life on the pyramid was some kind of delusion from getting her head bashed one time too many.
Choosing the shaft of the Servants had its gold, too. The food was better, real cug meat and veggies instead of protein and fiber loaves. She wore proper uniforms and shoes instead of tunics and sandals. Privileges for pitters brew and diggers beer. Plenty of sex. And best of all, the observation deck.
With a deep breath, she tried to let go of her concerns about her crew and the shame of her self-disappointment. Better to absorb herself in the precious time she’d been granted, submerge herself in the milky starlight, dive into the chasms of deep black.
Information from all the pyramid’s biomechanical sensors and scopes fed into the deck and were holographically projected throughout the room. To be on the deck was to be in space, seeing the galaxy around you as the ship saw it. Sabira’s attention kept returning to the glowing crimson of the Shattered Gates, and she felt deep blessings to see it with her own eyes. Near to her right side floated another pyramid, seemingly just out of her reach.
With a swoosh, a vertical rectangle of light appeared in the heart of the crimson Gates. The rectangle framed the silhouette of a large, muscular man. He stepped out of the light and into the deep void before her, dressed in a black and green uniform tunic. Another swoosh, and the doorway of light dissolved back into the nebula.
“My granddaughter,” Grandfather Spear said, his resonate voice oddly incongruent with the open void she saw engulfing her. “Child of my blood, Sabira the Stargazer.”
She lowered her eyes, fearful he too was disappointed in her now. But when she peeked up, a sliver of smile carved through his face. She wanted to run to him and be squeezed by those thick arms like she did when she was a mine rat. But she was a servant now. Reining in her shock and joy at seeing Grandfather Spear again, Sabira realized he must have transferred over from the other pyramid.
She saluted. “It’s good to see you, Attendant.”
He saluted back. “When we’re alone like this, you may still call me Grandfather. And it’s good to see you, too.”
He turned to face the Gates with her, the granite slab of his jawline highlighted in the wash of red and silver light. “It’s stunning, isn’t it? The Shattered Gates of Heaven. Even the infidel races of the Monarchy navigate well around it. Shattered or not, the Gates of Heaven demand respect. Navigate too near, and artificial gravity might drop out altogether. Or it might increase a hundred times. Same with inertia modulators, shields—all the field tech jumps down a shaft.
“One day, millennia from now when the Divine Masters have Unified all life in the galaxy, living systems will have completely replaced artificial technology. Then the Masters will be able to pass through the Gates again, and bring the Gods back from Heaven.”
They stood silently for a moment together, beholding the vast, glowing nebula, before he spoke again. “Sorry to disturb your observation deck privileges. I know how important this is for you.”
“It’s no bother, really,” she said. “But what brings you to the Ihvik-Ri, Grandfather? I thought you were infiltrating the Ishkad-Za system.”
“I’m here for you. You and all of Ahzk Vohg's crew. We have a mission targeting a system near the far side of the Gates.” He gestured toward the holographic image of the nebula, and the view accelerated forward, starlight streaking around them, to focus on a bright star just over the red gaseous shoulder of the Gates. “Penultimate Hamu Ohrus Izd and Warseer Maru Ahzk Vohg are calling a command meeting soon. You’ve been summoned to attend.”
Sabira’s eyes widened in surprise. She touched her chest, felt the ridge of her scar through her uniform. She had never been summoned to the warseer’s mission briefing before. Unranked skins usually got their orders from their caller, not the Gohnzol-Lo themselves.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would they give us the honor of a command summons? Especially after we just, uh . . .”
“I’ve received word of your recent adventures.”
“I wanted to prove myself to my crew. I’ve had two missions already, but was barely in any action. Just impaled some vermin shippers other servants had already captured. Thought if I could be like you and win obezya going over the granks, they’d see me then. Instead, I got the nine eyes and pissed crewmates. I promise I’ll never make a mistake like that again, like some stupid rock-for-brains digger.
“I must disappoint you so much. I finally earn a place in the Servants and get out of the tunnels and what
, I nearly toss it down the shaft by trying to win a stupid game. Never again. I swear by Allseer.”
I have to be faithful and smart and not distracted by Daggeira and her taunting smiles.
“I know, Granddaughter,” he said. “I’ve always believed you were capable of great things in service to the Masters. But you must devote yourself entirely to being a servant. This life has been given to you for one purpose and one purpose only, to give that life in service to Divine Will. You must submit all of yourself. To do anything less is to waste what you’ve been given. Just like all those lives out there that remain to be unified and given purpose under Will. All that meaningless chaos.”
“Thank you, Grandfather. I will.”
With one natural eye and one gifted by the Masters, he gazed upon her. As an attendant, he outranked even the first drum at the head of every crew. He personally served the Pinnacle of Pyramid Zol-Ori, Urzdek Rab Izd. Only the Handmaiden, who served the Masters themselves, held higher rank. If Grandfather Spear was a woman, he might even be the one to hold that prestigious honor instead of Sabira’s blood-mother.
“When I was young and new to the Servants like you, I would also spend hours on decks like these,” he said. “As a boy, I ran through the same warrens, the same mines and tunnels as you did. Same as your mother. You’re very much like her, you know. But even more like me, I think. I longed to see the eternal night the Servants bragged about, the seas of stars. Adventures. Battles.
“Gunna on the other hand, she always dreamed of rising through the ranks of the Servants. Of being seen by the Masters and becoming Handmaiden. I did all I could for her, like I’ve done for you.”
“I heard the same tales from you when you came back to visit. It was so hard to even imagine. How huge the sky was. The stars. I wanted to be just like you. But I’m like my blood-mother, too, I guess. But even if I never make rank, I’ll have this.” Her hand circled, indicating the starscape around them. “The galaxy is always there. Waiting to be seen.”
She remembered her first view of the world above. It was daytime. All the newly trained and tattooed servants were being shuttled through above-surface tubes to the fleet spaceport. There, hammer ships waited to transport them to the pyramids in orbit above Nahgohn-Za.
The sky they ascended into had been red and thick with mist, utterly astonishing in scope. Below, the crumbling and poisoned ruins of the Old Masters stretched across the horizon. The great domes of the Nahgak-Ri emerged like opulent gems from the desolation. When the hammer ship rose out of the atmosphere, she saw the Shattered Gates of Heaven for the first time, a small, ragged smudge bruising the black of space.
“When I first came on board, I thought these observation decks would be crammed with servants,” she said. “We’ve all earned our names and come up out of the Labyrinths. We’ve all earned this privilege. Killed for it. But every time, it’s only me.”
Grandfather nodded. “It’s true. You’ve earned this. And I’m glad you take advantage of it. You should understand though, many of the other servants are far more fearful than you. Especially the ones who act as if they are the bravest, the fiercest warriors. They are scared of anything and everything they don’t already know. They’ve lived all their lives in tunnels. The ship’s corridors and inner cells comfort them, reminds them of what’s familiar. So that’s where they stay until it’s time to conquer and unify.
“And that time will find us soon enough.” Grandfather Spear nodded toward the magnified star. “Penultimate Hamu Ohrus Izd himself wants you on this mission. So Ahzk Vohg agreed for you to be included in the command summons.”
Sabira thought she noticed a hint of pride in his voice, but soon had a thought that made her stomach tighten.
“The other skins in the crew are summoned too, right?”
“The honor is yours alone among the skins. The ranks have been summoned as well, of course. The mission requires your entire infiltration crew, so the other skins will learn the details soon enough.”
“Then why am I . . . ?”
“Remember, our Master is the Pinnacle of Nahgohn-Za himself. He is also the Izd clan patron. The Vohg clan would be foolish not to seek the good graces of our Master, even if they are under a different patron.”
“But that can’t be. I have the fewest glyphs.” She could already hear Cannon’s disgusted voice in the back of her head. “The other skins, they already think Diggers and Hens don’t belong in an infiltration crew. Most of them were brought up in warrens with Mechs and Medics. Our caller came up with the Chosen.”
“You are not a digger, Sabira. And you are certainly not a hen. You are a servant. Never accept being seen as anything less. Anyway, you’ll have many opportunities to prove yourself to the Servants and the Gohnzol-Lo. Quite soon.”
“But I haven’t earned it yet,” she said.
“To be seen by the Masters is a blessing, child. Never forget that. With every blessing comes sacrifice. Each opportunity you have ever been given has also been a challenge. And you’ve conquered those challenges every time. This is no different.”
“This mission is much more dangerous, isn’t it?”
“The important ones always are.”
“That’s much farther into Monarchy space than I’ve ever been. Are we infiltrating one of their homeworlds?”
“Everything you’ll need to know will be explained at the command summons.” He gestured, and the galaxy blurred and faded out, infinity replaced by the dull gray walls of ceramic and glass that had been encasing them all along.
“Best not to keep the Gohnzol-Lo waiting.”
11.
GRANDFATHER SPEAR LED them to her duty’s wedge on the drummers deck. Twenty-seven wedges, gathering and debriefing rooms, surrounded the great Servants Hall where they held ceremonies. Across from each apex of the hall were shrines for Conqueror, Dancer, and Keeper of Hidden Fire. The drummers deck was one tier above the grank pens.
As they passed, Sabira glanced into the cavernous ritual hall. Her first time inside was for her initiation into Ahzk Vohg's crew. The drum rites of Dancer and Conqueror were a series of blurry, ecstatic impressions of drumming and fighting, drinking pitters brew and frantic drilling.
Her last time in the hall was less enjoyable but the memory sharper. There were no drums then, no brew, as the three skins submitted obediently to their punishment. They were servants, not nameless khvazol, and they didn’t flinch. Didn’t scream. Daggeira and Cannon and herself, uncloaked from the waist up, had knelt in a row before the twenty-five other servants in their task. Looked them in the eye while Maru Ahzk Vohg, the Gohnzol-Lo of their crew, burned them with the prod nine times each, drawing triangular geometries across their backs with dots of red, blistered skin.
The smell of it was almost as revolting as the pain.
Even though the medics had spread a cold, gooey salve across her sores to ensure they healed cleanly, the pain had lasted for weeks. The scars would be for life. It wasn’t her first time under the prod. Every human in the warrens and mines felt its bite. During Pitter Discipline, the prod was one of the primary tools of her overseer instructors. Servant Discipline had been far less kind.
The door to the wedge scanned Attendant Spear’s glyphs and slid open. Inside, an antechamber connected the corridor to the wedge proper. They stepped out of the dull gray into a black-walled room, detailed with glyphs and seals in the imperial colors of silver, green, and crimson. The door on the other side of the chamber remained closed.
“It was many years ago now, but I still remember my first command summons. Keep your eyes down, your knee bent, and your mouth shut, and you’ll be fine.” Spear led the way through the small chamber. The second door scanned him and swooshed open.
Inside the wedge waited every other member of her crew, all eight of them, already gathered and apparently in the midst of a tense meeting. Without her. Sabira’s throat tightened. Her scars grew hot.
First Drum Lance nodd
ed to Caller Arrow.
“That’s it. All skins clear the wedge,” Arrow commanded. “Sabira, you stay.”
“What under the rocks?” complained Cannon. “One Tit has fewer glyphs than any of the skins. How is that I get the prod, and she gets a command summons?”
“Shut your mouth, and clear the wedge, or I’ll give you the prod myself,” said Arrow. “Unless you want to question Warseer Ahzk Vohg’s orders in person?”
“Seriously, Can. What happened to that crew loyalty you were preaching about?” said Daggeira.
Sabira tried to meet Arrow’s eyes, hoping to communicate her gratitude however she could. He turned away, leaning his head toward Third Drum Misseila, chief of the left arm, to exchange comments between themselves.
Cannon was an ass, but Sabira understood him, had grown up around hundreds of others like him. Daggeira, though, remained a riddle, as intriguing and perilous as an unmapped shaft deep beneath the rocks. When Sabira saw her crew gathered there without her, she braced herself for a barbed comment or cold disregard from any of them, especially Daggeira. In fact, none of the skins met her gaze on their way out. None except Daggeira, who left with a smirk and a knowing glance.
After the other skins had cleared the wedge, First Drum Lance spoke. “Servant Sabira, as I am sure you can guess, our meeting was, in part, regarding you.” The biomechanics in his throat tinged his voice with an odd distortion. “It is uncommon, though not unheard of, for a skin to attend a command summons. Penultimate Ohrus Izd and Warseer Ahzk Vohg summon you, and as their servant I obey.
Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven: Shattered Gates Volume 1 Boxset Page 6