Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship (21 page)

“
But we have to get through them.”

“
If we can do it without alarming them, we might reach him
before he wakes up.”

“
But...” She gazed at the torpid females. “How?”

“
With extreme care. We have to try, at least. Come
on.”

Tarke stepped
over a parasite, into the space beyond it. He cast around for
another opening, this time forced to jump over two females into a
clear area. Rayne followed, trying to emulate him. She waved her
arms to keep her balance when she could not move her feet for fear
of kicking a slumbering female. For a time they made good progress,
albeit not directly towards the Envoy.

When Tarke
could not find a space, he pushed the females gently aside. Once
one squealed when Rayne stepped on its foot, but the yelp went
unnoticed. They followed a circuitous route, but drew closer to the
Envoy. Scrysalza found the adventure exciting, and shared its
childish delight with Rayne. If Tarke wondered about her silly
smile, he did not bother to enquire as to the reason for it.

The Ship
treated the danger as a game, but its dread of the coming conflict
was as raw and strong as Rayne’s. Until the Envoy woke, however, it
enjoyed the thrill of their sneaking up on him with every bit as
much enthusiasm as a six-year-old for a game of hide and seek.
Probably it, of the three of them, would suffer the most, and she
wished it could be different. She would need the Ship’s pain,
however; it was to be her greatest tool, creating her only
weapon.

Rayne wished a
few laser shots could have ended the slug-like behemoth’s torpid,
sadistic life. Tarke beckoned to her. He stood only a few metres
from the Envoy, and she moved towards him, trying to hurry. She had
almost reached him when a female lurched into her path and she
tripped over it, falling into the throng. The females squealed like
irate pigs, crawling over her with sticky tentacle hands as they
milled. Tarke reached her in a stride and seized her arm, hauled
her to her feet and dragged her towards the Envoy. She stumbled
over the females, and Tarke clasped her waist, holding her up. The
Envoy writhed, raising feelers and tendrils.

Tarke picked
her up and hurled her at the alien. Rayne thudded against his
greasy hide, bruising her elbows, and tried to hang on. Tarke
landed beside her with far more grace, and they slid down the
smooth skin. A tentacle rose to lash at them, hitting Tarke in the
back. He grunted and drew his sword, raising it as he turned to
face the next attack. A tendril whipped overhead, missing him by
centimetres. He stabbed the fighting blade into the Envoy, stopping
his descent, and grabbed Rayne as she slid past.

“
Hold on to me,” he said.

Rayne wound
her arms around his neck, and he released her waist, freeing his
sword arm to repel the next attack. A feeding tube rose and curled
towards them, its toothy maw sucking air. Tarke stabbed it, and it
flinched away, sinking back into the glowing fluid. Another
tentacle made an abortive foray in their direction, but veered off
when Tarke raised the sword. He twisted, searching for danger.
Above them, the Envoy’s feelers curled to watch them.

“
Very clever,” Rayne said. “This beast’s learning fast. He
couldn’t prevent us from reaching him, but if he doesn’t do
anything to hurt me, I can’t do anything to him. It’s a
stalemate.”

“
I can hurt him.” Tarke raised his head, facing the top of the
monster. “I’ll bet he won’t be happy about losing a few
feelers.”

“
I’m surprised he has the willpower. The temptation must be
strong, and all his instincts crave my pain. I think once he
starts, he won’t be able to stop, but he’s determined not to start
anything. He knows he’ll lose if he does.”

Tarke turned
towards her. “Can you climb up? Crawl over me, and I’ll give you a
push.”

She peered
upwards. “Do you think we can?”

“
He’ll either try to stop us, which might make him fall into
the pain trap, as you want, or he’ll let us, in which case I’m
going to cut off as many of his feelers as I can. If he won’t start
anything, we’ve got to goad him.”

Rayne nodded
and pulled herself up, using him as a handhold, then a foothold as
she got higher. He pushed her up with little regard for the
niceties of her anatomy, but did it with such complete disinterest
that she could not accuse him of ungentlemanly behaviour. She clung
to the smooth skin while he climbed up beside her, using the
fighting blade to gain purchase, then repeated the process.

The Envoy
rolled, sending huge waves crashing to shore and washing dozens of
females into the sea. Tarke stabbed the sword into him and hung
onto it and Rayne. The parasite stopped rolling and lashed them
with his tendrils, landing a few blows before Tarke could pull the
sword free and fight back, using the fighting blade for purchase.
After he lopped off the ends of three tendrils, the Envoy seemed to
give up.

Tarke waited,
ready for another attack. “He’s up to something.”

Rayne’s legs
smarted from a painful blow. “He doesn’t want us up there. It’s a
sensitive area.”

“
Obviously. Come on.”

Tarke pulled
her up beside him, then boosted her ahead. As he pushed her up, his
right hand occupied with that task, his left anchoring him to the
beast, a tentacle snaked up the Envoy’s flank and fastened onto his
leg, yanked downwards and tore the fighting blade free. Tarke
twisted as he fell, cutting the tendril before he hit the seething
ocean. Rayne clung to the Envoy’s skin for only a moment longer,
then followed him down, wailing. As she plunged into the mass of
blood beasts, he surfaced nearby and reached down to help her up.
She coughed and spluttered, clinging to him as she dashed the fluid
from her eyes. He shook his head, fluid steaming from under the
mask, and she wondered how he could see when he could not wipe his
eyes. It did not seem to bother him, however. He tilted his head
upwards, buoyed by the blood beasts.

“
Well, that wasn’t such a good idea. He’s learnt to strike at
me. I can’t hurt him like you can.”

“
Let’s get to shore before he decides to drown us.”

They struggled
to shore, and the Envoy let them go. On dry flesh once more, Rayne
wrung fluid from her hair. “There’s got to be a way to goad him.
We’ve got to make him hurt me, or the Ship.”

Tarke turned
his head to scan the surrounds, and Rayne followed suit, her nerves
on edge. The females had fled, leaving trails of slime, and their
absence made the chamber seem brighter.

Even so, the
soldiers that oozed from the walls escaped her notice until Tarke
said, “I don’t think he’s going to let us do that. Look.”

“
No, it’s not him. I’d sense Scrysalza’s pain. It’s the
Ship.”

“
Good thing, too,” he observed. “They’re different now, just
as I thought they’d be.”

Jointed
crystal armour sheathed the soldiers, and long spines protruded
from their heads, like horns. The numbers grew, gathering next to
the walls in a silent, restive army.

Rayne said,
“The Ship’s mounting an all-out attack, but what if the Envoy turns
some of them against us?”

“
To do that, he’ll have to hurt it. Come on.”

Tarke took her
arm and strode towards the Envoy, helping her to keep her footing
on the slime. She was fascinated by the effortless way in which the
Ship manufactured a seemingly endless supply of soldiers to defend
itself. The army swelled to thousands, filling the shore in a
packed mass as the females had done. As she and Tarke approached
the Envoy’s beached forepart, a tendril lashed at them, narrowly
missing Tarke, who ducked. Clearly the Envoy did not want her
anywhere near him, and would do his utmost to beat her off. Neither
would the ship attack until she was ready, so all they had to do
was reach him. The Envoy had other plans, however, and struck
first.

Scrysalza’s
musical bellow of pain fluted through its many tubes and tunnels.
Its mental anguish seared Rayne’s still-raw mind. She staggered,
hanging onto Tarke, and the soldiers raced after them. Her legs
buckled, and she would have fallen if not for his support.

He hauled her
forward. “Run!”

Several
tentacles emerged from the sea and snaked towards them, whipping
around Tarke’s arms and legs. He went down with a grunt, slashing
with the sword and fighting blade. Rayne tried to help him, but the
Envoy dragged him away, lashing out at her with a tendril to stop
her following. Tarke struggled in the thick coils, dropped the
sword and yanked a dagger from his belt to hack at the tendrils. He
cut a few, but more snaked out to replace them while Rayne
hesitated and the soldiers rushed towards them.

He twisted to
yell, “Come here! You have to touch him!”

Scrysalza’s
pain suffused her, unused, mocking her cowardice and hesitation.
The soldiers would kill her without reprisal, and they would all be
doomed. With a sob, she ran towards him, determined to reach him. A
tendril swung at her, and she ducked, but another hit her from the
side, sending her sprawling. She gasped and writhed for a moment,
then crawled towards Tarke. Another tendril, or perhaps the same
one, hit her again, sending her sliding towards the sea. She clawed
at the silky flesh, stopping herself before she fell in.

The soldiers
were almost upon her now, and the Ship’s pain beat at her. With a
desperate effort, she flung herself at Tarke, slithering across the
floor to collide with him. Masses of severed tentacles lay around
him, and he hacked at those that held him. She grasped a tendril
just as the soldiers reached them, and the Envoy’s pleasure flooded
into her. The psychic struggle overwhelmed her, and she convulsed,
her eyes rolling back. The tentacle she gripped tried to jerk free,
but she hung on, and was dragged towards the Envoy’s forepart.

Chapter Ten

Tarke sat up
as the tentacles fell away, smashing the fighting blade into the
chest of the first soldier to reach him. The crystal armour
shattered, and the soldier sank into the Ship’s flesh. Others raced
past to attack the Envoy, the Ship regaining control of them as the
Envoy writhed in pain. Tarke clubbed down two more soldiers, then
looked for Rayne, who was close to the Envoy, almost within reach
of his tube mouths again. Tarke spun, smashed a soldier down and
grabbed his sword before sprinting after her. He fell to his knees
as he reached her and slashed a tube mouth, which recoiled, then
took her arm and tried to drag her away.

Several
hostile soldiers galloped up, forcing him to defend himself. The
crystal armour turned aside his sword, compelling him to smash them
with the fighting blade and his fist. The brittle armour shattered
easily, but he did not want to face the next generation of improved
soldiers. They kept coming in an endless stream, manufactured in
seconds by the walls, and he had no idea how many soldiers he
smashed down, for there was no pile of dead by which to gauge his
success.

The combined
pain-pleasure of the three combatants now locked in telepathic
battle hammered on his mental shields with astounding force. Rayne
arched in a seizure, her lips pulled back in a fearsome grimace,
her hands locked around the Envoy’s tentacle. Now that the psychic
conflict was rejoined, the deadly circle closed, and he was the
only one outside it. Hundreds of soldiers crawled over the Envoy,
injecting their venom, but some staggered and fell off as the two
powerful telepathic entities vied for control of them.

Tarke smashed
aside the ones that attacked him, holding the girl away from the
Envoy’s tube mouths. He fought the soldiers instinctively, even
predicting their pattern of attack after a while. A dozen tendrils
snaked out and seized him, dragging him away from the girl. He hung
on, pain shooting up his legs. The Ship bellowed again, and
soldiers rained down from the Envoy, splashed into the sea and
sank.

A horde of
land-bound soldiers dashed towards Tarke, who realised that he was
doomed if he continued to lie there, helpless. He released the girl
and twisted to cut the tendrils that dragged him away. More snaked
out of the sea; the Envoy seemed to have an endless supply of them.
Tarke scrambled away and raced for the girl, reaching her just
before the soldiers. He skidded across the slippery shore and
pushed her ahead of him into the sea.

The soldiers
stopped on the brink, all but a few, which fell in and sank.
Amongst the roiling blood beasts, he and Rayne were safe from the
soldiers, but not the Envoy. A tentacle shot out of the depths and
wound around his ankle, dragging him under. He held onto the girl,
afraid that if he let her go, he would never find her again. He cut
the tendril with a glass dagger, and the mask filled with liquid.
Tarke broke the surface spluttering, shaking fluid from it. Rayne
coughed and wheezed, unable to free herself from the psychic
struggle. He wondered who was winning, and when they would. His
arms ached, and the dozens of wounds the soldiers had inflicted
throbbed and bled.

Fighting was
strenuous when so much strength was required to smash a soldier’s
armour, and hunger weakened him. He crawled through the blood
beasts towards the Envoy, glad of a respite from the tentacle
attack. The Envoy writhed, quivering, and the Ship bellowed. Rayne,
the catalyst and mirror, seemed to be in limbo, locked into a spasm
of mental torture. Tarke held her head above the fluid, his arm
around her throat as he half swam, half crawled through the
seething red sea.

A glance at
the shore assured him that soldiers waited for him there, while
more still crawled over the Envoy, injecting him with venom. He
wondered how much of this the alien could stand, hoping it was not
much more. Reaching the Envoy’s flank, he held her to it, knowing
that the more intimate she was with the beast, the more powerful
her affect would be. The Envoy quivered, and several tentacles rose
to coil around the girl and try to crush her again. Tarke hacked at
them, then had to defend himself as more tendrils gripped him.