“Captain Griffiths,” Flynn purred smoothly, never looking up from his study of the map. “How good of you to accept my invitation.”
“How gracious of you to have offered it—you two-faced bastard,” Griffiths replied as smoothly as his host.
Flynn looked up and smiled one of his fabulous smiles. “Not at all! Only trying to help as best I can.”
“If this is help”—Griffiths’s voice suddenly reflected a cold edge—“then we’d just as soon do without it. Let Merinda go.”
“Oh, I will, I assure you,” Flynn said, his eyes dropping back to the map on the desk before him. “I’ve known Merinda a long time. She’s both powerful and impulsive—a dangerous combination actually. She hates to lose and she’s angry, but she’ll get over that in time. She just needs to cool her temper and get her wits about her. I need her wits, actually. There are subtleties here that she just cannot appreciate right now.”
“Right!” Griffiths snorted. “Leading us into this trap; that was subtle! Boarding the Brishan and abducting us? Ooh, more subtlety still! Locking us in the brig for three days? Very subtle indeed, Flynn.”
“Hey,” the tall man looked up and shrugged, annoyance growing in his features. “I didn’t have a choice in this!”
“Choice?” Griffiths laughed. “You’re the bloody captain of these pirates!”
“Yeah”—Flynn nodded back at the astronaut—“I’m the captain—fat lot of good it does me! I never wanted this job! I never asked for it!”
Griffiths opened his mouth but wasn’t sure what to say. He quite suddenly realized how much alike were their positions. He had often considered himself the butt of some great cosmic joke played on him by the universe. Now here he was, staring at himself in the form of this pirate captain.
Flynn looked away once more, gathering his own thoughts, and then rounded the desk to Griffiths’s side. “Please sit down,” he said, indicating a massive armchair standing before the desk.
“I think I’d rather …”
“Please?”
Griffiths slowly sat down in the chair. Leaning back against the massive table, the tall man crossed his arms over his exposed chest and continued.
“Some years ago, something happened that drove me out of the Omnet. I just couldn’t live with some of the memories.”
“Tentris?” Griffiths asked quietly.
Flynn’s eyes widened. “Yes! How do you know about …”
“It’s a long story,” Griffiths said. “I’ll tell you all about it later. What’s your point?”
“The point is that I ran,” Flynn said. “I ran as far as my wealth allowed. The core was the frontier then, just as it remains now. I figured that a wilderness—untamed and untamable—was just the place I needed to get lost in. The money ran out quickly enough and I found myself signing on to one of those bulk yardow schooners that operated out of Tsultak. The work was hard, the pay was lousy, but no one knew who I was, or who I had been, or who I had failed to be. I figured my past couldn’t catch me there against the chaos of the Maelstrom Wall. At the time I hoped somehow that adventure would drown out the thunderous boredom and hatred of my own existence.”
“What’s that got to do with …”
“I’m getting to that,” Flynn said, the cocky buccaneer appearing awkward for the first time. He stood up, working his hands nervously as he began pacing the room. “I was aboard the Rhindan Pah, a freight schooner captained by an idiot named Guppin. He was barely more than an animal. The crew was a minimum complement for that size craft because Guppin didn’t want to have to pay out any more wages than necessary, bad as they were. That would have been bad enough under normal quantum conditions but to sail against the Maelstrom Wall with a minimum complement was just short of suicide. He regularly ordered the bosun to administer discipline to the crew at his whim. Often as not there was no truth to the charges that were read: I believe he did so just for the pleasure of inflicting the pain. Not that we were short of pain. Working the ratlines of the rig through quantum wave after quantum wave left us all ragged. We were each doing the work of four men and had Guppin thrown into the bargain as well.”
“Bad career move,” Griffiths said without commitment.
Flynn laughed. “Bad enough. So, there we were just rimward of the Beltrix Shoals. We’re easing between the eddies trying to keep our headway so as not to drift into one of the null-pockets about us. It’s a dangerous trick, that passage, but can cut three days off the run time for those who can manage it. We were nearly out the other side when …”
“No.” Griffiths’s voice conveyed a boredom that he didn’t feel. “Let me guess: pirates?”
“Exactly! Fact is that we ignored Guppin’s orders to defend the schooner. We figured that anything was better than Captain Guppin—even Marren-kan himself. The pirates ransacked the Rhindan Pah and were going to set her adrift. Guppin remained aboard but couldn’t possibly sail the ship without the assistance of a crew. I would have remained with him but it would have been suicidal to do so. Instead, I crossed over with most of the remaining crew to the pirate ship. Better to take my chances with them than with Guppin again!”
“So,” Griffiths said slowly, “basically, you ran again?”
“Of course I ran, I had no choice!” Flynn spread his hands helplessly before him. “If I had stayed, I’d have been adrift with a madman captain on an unnavigable ship.”
“So, that’s why you became a pirate captain?”
“You’re not making this easy, Griffiths,” Flynn complained. “It’s not as though any of this were my fault!”
“Really?” Griffiths raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “This I’ve got to hear.”
“So there I was, a prisoner aboard a buccaneer ship. They forced each of the prisoners to sign their Ship’s Articles and become a member of the Marren-kan. It was that or die, and I wasn’t ready to die yet. It turned out that life aboard the Marren-kan buccaneer wasn’t so bad. There were far more hands aboard the pirate ship than any other ship I had served on—that meant that the work was much easier, since it was spread around rather thinly. Most ships that we plundered simply dumped their cargo for us rather than risk the wrath of the Marren-kan. All we had to do is hove up alongside, wave our banner, rattle our sabers, and they would hand over their possessions. There’s a lot less bloodshed in this profession than people are generally led to believe.”
“Wait!” Griffiths held up his hand. “You guys use sabers and cutlasses?”
“Sure!” Flynn said cheerfully. “With all the various quantum zones around the Wall, they are about the only weapons that work all the time. A simple sharp edge works in nearly every quantum zone. Complex weapons will die on you nearly every time.”
“Can we get back to this ‘captain’ thing?” Griffiths said impatiently.
“Right! So I was working the decks of the ship. The captain then was an honest-to-the-Nine Gorgon, old as the stars themselves, I swear.”
“Gorgons?” Griffiths piped in. “I thought their race was extinct!”
“No. Not yet, anyway. Their home world is near the Wall itself and well hidden. Their history is a tragic one. They were once a great and proud nation, brought to ruin with the coming of humanity. It seems that in the ancient days of the Third Gorgon Dynasty …”
“Er,” Griffiths interrupted. “One tale at a time: how you became captain?”
“Well, I was working the main deck, coiling some of the optic transfer lines from the upper rigging. This Gorgon captain—Neuden-kan was his name—came walking by to inspect the work. All of a sudden, near as I can figure, the old space turtle starts choking. I figure he has something caught in his throat, so I throw my arms around him and start squeezing as hard as I can. We both fall to the deck. I roll on top of him and start pressing his chest trying to dislodge whatever is choking him. It turns out that the Gorgon had an embolism or something and just died of old age! Before I know it, the entire crew is staring at me, sitting on the chest of
this massive Gorgon captain who is lying under me deader than last week’s rust.”
“So they proclaimed you captain?” Griffiths shook his head.
“On the spot—something about the right of succession in the Articles. I can’t run from these cutthroats—they have spies everywhere and they are basically ruthless. They are friendly enough on the surface but that doesn’t mean that they won’t eat your brains for breakfast if you cross them. Every now and then I talk them into letting me go for a few months. I’m supposed to be ‘searching for fresh prey’ I tell them. I get to work in the Tsultak yards for a while and be nearly human until I arrange to bring another prize their way.”
“Like us?” Griffiths said flatly.
Flynn stopped his pacing and turned to face Griffiths. In a sweeping motion, the buccaneer grabbed the map from the table and held it out toward the astronaut. “Yes—just like you! But you’ve got to see that I’m on your side! Don’t you understand? The Brishan is a fine ship out on the perimeter but she’s poorly equipped to run the core! She’ll never make it through the Maelstrom Wall! But a ship of the Marrenkan—this ship—would stand a chance!”
Flynn dropped the map back on the desk and moved suddenly forward, grasping both arms of the chair. “You wouldn’t have taken this chance, Griffiths, and neither would Merinda. I know what is at stake. Targ is coming for you, make no mistake about that. He will employ every means at his disposal to shake you loose. He will do it, too. He’ll break you and Merinda both without a second thought. Then he’ll have the Nightsword, and may the Nine have mercy on the galaxy then! With me, however, you’ve got a chance at beating him to his own prize! This crew will follow me so long as they know there’s a treasure at the end of the chart!”
Griffiths looked suddenly up at the buccaneer.
“Look, Griffiths, we haven’t gotten off to a good start, you and I. I’m offering you a chance to stop Targ and save Merinda from both that madman running the Omnet and herself. It’s my one chance at escaping these cutthroats—and yours as well. Trust me, Griffiths! With your help, you and I can keep control of this crew, capture the greatest treasure in the universe—and we may even get out of this alive. What do you say to a little adventure?”
The astronaut sighed through a weary smile. “Did you ever sell used cars?”
“Used cars?” Flynn said quizzically. “What does that mean?”
“I think it means we had better both take another look at that map,” Griffiths replied.
30
Shoals
Merinda exited the hatch. The bizarre creatures working the deck commanded little interest from her. Their names and kind were familiar. It was the even more bizarre creature that swaggered toward her that caught her up short.
“Merinda! Are you all right?” Griffiths asked as he approached.
“I was about to ask the same of you,” she replied with astonished disapproval.
Griffiths’s great black cape billowed behind him as he moved. The astronaut wore a doublet of deep crimson fastened with a broad belt and brilliant buckle. The matching crimson pantaloons bloused out of the top of knee-high boots, both fitted with thick collars. It all fit him perfectly, right to the top of his twin-billed hat—an outrageous monstrosity overstuffed with massive plumage.
Merinda folded her arms across her chest. “And just who are you supposed to be?”
“Oh, you mean the uniform? Rather dashing, don’t you think?”
“Is that what that is?”
“Well, of course!” Griffiths said with some pride. “Flynn has made me first mate on the voyage. He says that the uniform is part of the job.”
“Indeed?” Merinda said through a quizzical smile. “And just what might that job entail, Captain Griffiths?”
“Nothing much, so far,” Griffiths admitted, adjusting his hat to a more appropriately rakish angle. “Still, I think it’s a good sign.”
Griffiths moved closer to Merinda’s side and took her by the arm, walking her slowly across the deck, his head leaning conspiratorially close to hers as he spoke in whispers. “Merinda, there’s a lot more going on here than appears on the surface. Flynn is as much a victim of this piracy as we are—but we came up with a plan to use this ship of alien bandits to beat Targ to the Nightsword.”
“ ‘We’ came up with a plan?” Merinda’s eyebrow arched skeptically.
“Yes, both Flynn and I worked it out last night.” Griffiths stopped at the look on Merinda’s face. “Now what’s the matter?”
“Griffiths, what’s wrong with you?” Merinda’s voice turned suddenly edgy. “I’ve seen you in action before. You were skeptical enough of Targ to keep us all alive. You were commanding. You got us all the way to Tsultak with only the help of the synths. You acted and survived. Now here you are in that ridiculous outfit eating every word Flynn speaks as though it were the food of life! At least Flynn is acting on his own and not trailing along like some fawning pet!”
“Hey!” Griffiths stepped forward, leaning over Merinda as he spoke. “I wasn’t the one who chose Flynn in the first place. I wasn’t the one who got us boarded and I certainly wasn’t the one who got blindsided by that same wonderful ‘old friend’ Flynn! I think I’m doing pretty damn well keeping us alive, high-and-holy Merinda Neskat. So, if there’s anyone here that’s lost their edge it isn’t me!”
Merinda’s eyes had transfixed his own. She could tell that her own face filled his vision. The cold blue depths of his eyes suddenly softened and warmed.
Her hand reached with lightning speed forward toward the hilt of his cutlass. She stepped back, planting her left foot solidly on the deck as both her knees flexed slightly for strength. The blade slid with a quiet ring from the scabbard as she stepped back once more, the edged steel already arcing through the air. It circled over her head once as she stepped back in toward Griffiths.
Plumage was scythed from the hat in a clean stroke, its newly freed white fluff exploding into the air.
The blade continued again, this time down the side and around as Merinda’s left hand joined the hilt. Both hands swung down over her head as the blade split the air—and was suddenly arrested in its course to hover half a handsbreadth from the centerline of Griffiths’s face.
Griffiths sucked in a breath.
Merinda’s steel-gray eyes gazed at him from a face uncomfortably close and just behind the blade.
Somewhere, further out, feathers drifted down around them both.
“Some men know how to use their blade.” Merinda’s words were iron with a frosted edge. “But those who don’t should know enough to keep it put away until they do!”
The blade dropped slowly out of view but Merinda’s face and eyes never moved.
With a sudden ring, Merinda shoved the cutlass back into Griffiths’s scabbard and turned contemptuously away from him.
The Venture Revenge sailed through three separate quantum zones as it passed along the great expanse of the Maelstrom Wall. Each was duly plotted but it wasn’t until they had reached the third that they were sure of their course. The length of each was off by a full two hours in each case, two of them longer than expected, and the third, considerably shorter. Flynn commented to Griffiths that it wasn’t to be unexpected. The map that they had was many millennia old, and this close to the core there were bound to be many shifts in the actual quantum regions involved over such a long time.
Griffiths wondered if such shifts couldn’t have just closed off the very corridor that they were looking for to enter the galactic core. He had attempted to ask Merinda about it, but the Vestis seemingly ignored the question and anything else Griffiths had to say, for that matter.
It was with some despondency then that Griffiths took to paying more and more attention to the drawn map on the chart table. There were areas of the map that he could see clearly in his head that did not appear on the map itself. The words were clear to him as he looked at the map but were unreadable to others.
Such a curious map, he
thought.
He wondered where it had come from.
Griffiths suddenly pushed himself up from the map table as though struck by a bolt. “Of course! Why didn’t I see that before!”
He quickly skirted the massive table and dashed out onto the deck. He looked about him in a frenzy, sighted Merinda standing on the quarterdeck surrounding the main mast, and in several quick strides, reached the ladder. He pulled himself quickly up to the elevated platform in the center of the ship.
The helmsman lay on his back between the ship’s wheels, gazing up the length of the mast in the direction of the ship’s travel. Flynn stood at the opposite rail, his eyes examining the rigging as the crew aloft reset the ship for yet another quantum configuration. Griffiths quickly moved to where Merinda was leaning against the rail, deep in her own thoughts.
“Merinda! I know where we’re going!”
“Not now,” Merinda said, turning away from him and staring across the rail. “You’ve managed to help me enough for the time being.”
“No, Merinda,” Griffiths said firmly. His instinct was to grab her by the arm and turn her forcibly around toward him, but the more sensible part of him had learned that such an act with Merinda—or any Vestis for that matter—could easily get him killed. “Not this time. You can’t just sit around on this pirate barge. There’s work to be done—your work—and you’re the only one who can do it. Ready or not. Doubting or not. You’re here and you’re it. Are you coming, Vestis, or do I have to get violent!”
Merinda turned suddenly, her eyes ablaze, but one look at Griffiths and she suddenly laughed, warmth returning for a moment to her eyes.
“I … I’m sorry, Griffiths,” she said haltingly, trying to regain control of herself. “It’s … it’s the uniform.”
Nightsword Page 25
