Splintered Suns

by Michael Cobley

  Pyke laughed. “So, where are we off to now?”

  “A between-decks access hub,” Ancil said. “Originally a kind of spares and parts cache, but it’s more like a glorified closet.”

  He wasn’t joking. It really was like a walk-in cupboard with storage lockers spaced around the walls. There was enough room for three people standing, and another couple sitting on work surfaces, so long as they didn’t mind jostling against each other.

  “Here he is!” Ancil said to Shogrel who was watching their arrival. “Managed to stop him marching back into all kinds of mayhem. Where’s Moleg?”

  “As soon as I sensed the captain’s warding flowers I sent him to bring Dervla and Kref back to join us.” She looked closely at Pyke. “Have you inhaled the flowers’ essence?”

  He nodded. “Got bitten by some hellish buzzing vermin, and my head was swimming and it was tough to walk in a straight line. So I decided I had nothing to lose, jammed your flowers into my beak and gave a mighty snort.” He couldn’t help grinning. “Cleared my head in no time, and I was able to push on …”

  Just then footsteps drew near and Dervla appeared in the other doorway, along with Moleg. Shuffling round each other, hugs and handclasps were exchanged, with Kref stretching one arm past Moleg’s shoulder to give a thumbs-up.

  “Dunno how you made it out of that inferno, Chief,” said the big man. “But I somehow knew you’d be okay.”

  “I wasn’t quite as sure as Kref,” said Dervla. “But here you are, back in one piece, against the odds—again. Maybe now we can get ourselves out of this place and back to the ship. Shogrel knows of a safe route …”

  “Hold on a second,” Pyke said. “We can’t go back—we still have work to do.”

  “Bran, that entire hall and everything in it was incinerated,” Dervla said. “There’s no way Raven and her mates could have survived. It’s a minor miracle that you’re standing here …”

  “Yes, I made it out and, sad to say, so did they!” He smiled at their sceptical looks. “Two explosions, right? Well, the first one was to knock a hole in the room’s bulkhead, opening the way to an access tunnel like these ones, and as soon as they had scurried off like the rats that they are, Boom! goes bomb number two, the big one. Anything closer than ten metres—like all those insects and critters—is dead from the blast, anything closer than twenty metres gets burned to a crisp.”

  Ancil was nodding. “I reckon it was a couple of big thermite charges seasoned with half a kilo of monorupt—that would do it.”

  “Speculation,” said Dervla. “If you were running for your life, how could you know that they survived?”

  “I know ’cos I saw them,” and he went on to give an account of what happened after his lucky escape from Raven’s blast zone, while glossing over his hallucinogenic encounters. When he got to the description of the room with the portal, Shogrel straightened up and gave him her full attention. When he got to the part where Raven and her goons departed via the silvery portal she was starting to look positively worried.

  “So, in a nutshell, the Queen of Crazy and her henchlings have hopped on out of this wreck, taking the Angular Eye with them so she’s still chasing after the treasure. Question is, where does that weird doorway lead to?” He looked at Shogrel. “You said something about a gate that opened a path to the ship’s bridge. Is that what I saw?”

  All eyes were on Shogrel now and for a moment she seemed to be frozen in a kind of a fugue with her eyes staring off to the side. Then she returned her gaze to Pyke and nodded.

  “I do not doubt the truth of what you say. These other intruders are of a most savage and destructive nature and if they have crossed into the bridge the repercussions may be unpredictable.” She look around at them all. “Even catastrophic. They have to be stopped but it cannot be me who takes up the pursuit—I would not survive a day away from the Steel Forest. Without its sustenance I would wither and die.” She turned to Dervla. “I knew you were anticipating your departure with great longing, but would you perform this service for us? Track down these savages and neutralise their actions?”

  “It’s gonna mean jumping right back into harm’s way again,” Pyke said. “But if we can take them down and get back the Eye and any other goodies they’ve acquired, at least we’ll have something to barter with when we meet up with Van Graes, and we might not come out of this flat broke.”

  Now everyone’s attention was on Dervla. She was immediately displeased.

  “Don’t go putting all this on my shoulders,” she said.

  Pyke shrugged. “We can just throw in the towel and walk away, if you feel we should.”

  “If I feel we should?” She folded her arms. “I’m not the only one with an opinion, y’know. Kref, what d’ye think we should do? Cut our losses or go after Raven to get the Angular Eye back?”

  A bemused Kref furrowed his brow and scratched his stubbly neck. “Erm, if we pack it in and go back to the Scarabus, do we still get paid?”

  “Uh-huh, that’s the question,” said Pyke. “We’ve not been in touch with Van Graes for a while now …”

  “Some of Raven’s hired thugs were after him,” Dervla said. “Is he even still alive?”

  “If we got back the Angular Eye and any artefacts,” Moleg said, “we’d have something that Van Graes might pay well for, but if he’s dead we’d be bound to find a buyer, or we could use it ourselves to make track-and-find jobs a lot easier. If we leave empty-handed …”

  Moleg left the sentence unfinished but Pyke knew everyone else would be completing it unhappily in their own heads.

  “Empty-handed ain’t my preference,” said Ancil. “Besides, Raven and her uglies have been a major source of our woes and it’s long past time they got their arses kicked!”

  “Can’t disagree with you, Ans,” said Kref.

  “Nope, neither can I,” said Dervla. “My instinct says quit now but you’re right—we’ve come this far and we deserve some kind of payout.”

  Pyke felt relieved at this consensus, yet still with an undercurrent of disquiet—Dervla seldom talked about instincts or hunches. He turned to Shogrel.

  “Okay, we’re back in the game. What’s the best way to that room with the portal?”

  It turned out that there were two routes, the first a short one which passed very close to the territory of the Thornscar sentience, an area still in upheaval in the aftermath of the firestorm and therefore presenting undoubted risks. The other route was longer and entailed a descent to the deck below, bypassing the worst hazards, traversing several corridors to stairs that would bring them up quite near their destination. With recent events still fresh in their thoughts, the latter option was an easy choice. Shogrel checked all the blue flower wards she’d given them before they set off on a tense trudge along corridors so shadowy and sombre that the usual banter and chitchat was muted. During the journey through the deck below, Shogrel paused several times to consult with local denizens. Sometimes she seemed to be communing with a hanging clump of blooms or a bower made from vines and weeds, other times she conversed with faces half buried in wall creeper.

  Not quite an hour later they finally reached a creaking, half-rusted stairway which led back up. As he reached the top step Pyke immediately noticed the strong smell of smoke. Shogrel, who’d gone on ahead, pointed to a door just visible among the undergrowth.

  “That leads to the chamber of the Gate,” she said. “Wait within and take some rest—I will join you shortly.”

  Then she went back to muttering to a cluster of crystalline berries that seemed to respond with gleams and glints of light.

  The sliding door was jammed part-way open—there were handprints on the grimy surface so it looked as if Raven’s louts had tried to force it shut. Kref wedged himself in the gap, raised a leg and shoved it all the way open, accompanied by grating, cracking sounds. Pyke grinned and slapped the Henkayan on the shoulder as he followed him in.

  The room was unchanged from the last time, its gloom
relieved only by the glowing displays spread out across the back wall. Orange and ruby indicators pulsed slowly, radiant glows mingling eerily, like the inside of a heart. As the others wandered around, Pyke glanced at the grubby, half-obstructed window, for a moment seeing himself trapped behind it, staring and gesticulating …

  “So how does this apparatus work?” said Dervla who was up on the dais, peering closely at the portal framework.

  “Raven and her underscum twiddled and tinkered and messed around with these dials and the controls until the lamps all started turning green.” Pyke pointed at the tall framework with its eye-like crosspiece. “Then that opened up and became a silvery doorway so they walked through it. Once they were gone, the door shut itself down and all the lights went back to orange and red again. That’s all I saw.”

  Before Dervla could respond in her own unmistakable fashion, Shogrel arrived, nodded approvingly at the fully open door then went straight over to the dais.

  “We’re all hoping that you know how this works,” Dervla said. “We’re not too keen on experimenting with the buttons …”

  “I will be able to retrieve the precepts from the didactikon in a few moments,” Shogrel said. “But first there is some news, of a kind, which I should make you aware of. After consulting with several forest minds, I can confirm that one other person passed through this room several hours ago, before the killer savages came.”

  Pyke and Dervla stared at each other.

  “Ustril?” she said.

  “Has to be.” Pyke walked over, speaking to Shogrel. “Anyone say what this traveller looked like?”

  “Tall but cloaked and hooded,” said Shogrel. “A few thought that the Wanderer had returned, an intruder with similar characteristics who had frequented parts of the forest a while ago and had become friendly with some of our denizens, learning a few of our languages. But this traveller only used a handful of basic phrases on the way here.”

  She broke off and went over to a spot near the door where some forest growth had worked its way through cracks in the wall panels. She pushed her hands deep into the foliage and some of the tendrils that made up the tight weave of her arms uncoiled and unfurled themselves in order to entwine with the forest growth’s bines and stems. Dervla looked puzzled but Pyke had an idea about what was going on. After a long moment Shogrel withdrew her arms from the bushy tangle and declared, “I now possess the precepts for operating the Gate!”

  Kref and Ancil grinned and laughed and bumped fists. Moleg merely looked thoughtful, one eyebrow raised. Dervla, though, slumped down to sit on the edge of the dais, shoulders sagging wearily while Shogrel busied herself at the control panels behind her.

  “Really,” she said as Pyke joined her, “I need about three nights’ sleep and at least five showers. Can’t remember the last time I felt this burned …”

  Pyke didn’t have to try hard sorting through his memories. He snapped his fingers. “Ixazil!”

  Dervla smiled and groaned at the same time. “Oh, the Planet of the Crazy Canyons!—and being chased around by those insane Kazorka Clans …”

  “All trying to get their hands on the stupid bloody statuette thing …”

  “Stupid bloody talking statuette thing …” She punched his shoulder. “Damn it, you made me remember …”

  They shared a companionable silence for a minute or so until Pyke, nagged by thoughts of what lay ahead, said, “If or when we run into Ustril, how do you want to play it?”

  Dervla glanced at him. “She’s on a mission to get her hands on ancient Arraveki artefacts so she can bribe her way out of exile. And given how she treated me I doubt that she’ll be in any mood to be reasonable. I mean, with her alliance with this AI we don’t know what to expect if—when we do make it to the bridge.”

  Thoughts of the Legacy made Pyke grimace with anger. “That Legacy thing—wherever that abomination came from, it was the product of a diseased mind.”

  “That reminds me …” Dervla took out the leather case containing the crystal shard and held it out. “I don’t want to carry it around any more.”

  Wordlessly he nodded, took it back and slipped it inside his jacket. He understood. The crystal seemed to have a presence that induced an undercurrent of unease at the back of your thoughts. The toxic drip-drip reminder that weird and nasty shit was going on inside it.

  Just then Kref and Ancil let out cheers as the back wall’s indicators began shading into the green. As before the frame’s eye-shaped crosspiece turned silver then divided and widened lengthways until it became a shimmering doorway.

  “Now, you must hurry,” said Shogrel. “The Gate’s functions have been prepared for five persons and no more. The transits must begin now otherwise the Gate will return to its state of abeyance.”

  “All righty!” Pyke said, rubbing his hands. “Moleg, you’re up first, then Kref, then Ancil, Derv, and lastly myself. Go to it!”

  As Moleg casually walked round from the back wall and climbed the dais steps, Pyke turned to Shogrel.

  “You’ve been a bit reticent about where this portal ends up,” he said. “You say it goes to the bridge section of the ancient ship, and I heard you say something about a mosaic once. Is there anything useful you can tell us before we go?”

  The forest guide regarded him, her pure blue eyes gazing into his. “You are possessed of a great strength which you mask, even from yourself. Beyond the Gate lies the Mosaic—it will show you many things from pasts that never were, presents which will seek to waylay you, and futures made for ensnaring hearts and minds.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  Shogrel nodded but would say no more as she glanced past him. He turned to see Dervla waiting at the rushing silvery portal.

  “You must pass through,” Shogrel told her. “No pausing—and you, Captain, I urge you to track down the destroyers and put an end to their malice.”

  “I’m pretty sure that there will be some intemperate language and homicidal gunplay somewhere along the line!”

  Shogrel’s expression was somewhat sad as she hurried him up to the dais and steered him towards the silver door. He glanced over one shoulder, thinking to offer some kind of farewell, then he realised that she wasn’t slowing down! Figuring out that he only had one option, he lunged forward through the portal with one long, blind stride …

  … which came down on a soft surface at the same time as a shaft of brilliant sunlight caught him full in the face. Both feet were through but he staggered, momentarily dazzled, and walked a couple of swaying paces before the hands of his crew grabbed and steadied him.

  “Careful, Chief.”

  “Watch yer step, sand’s very soft …”

  “Get a grip, there.”

  “Ah … are you Pyke?”

  A stranger’s voice, gruff and resolved. The crew drew aside to reveal an elderly man with a craggy face, grey muttonchop whiskers and piercing pale eyes. He wore a soft-brim hat that was as battered and decrepit as the layers of coat and cloak that he tugged about himself with an air of self-importance.

  “That’s me!” said Pyke.

  “Captain Brannan Pyke?”

  “That’s also me!”

  “Well, sir—you’re late!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Pyke, in the Crystal Simulation, the City of Granah

  The city offices of Inox & Throm turned out to be a sizeable compound surrounded by an imposing brick wall which had but a single large entrance. Guard towers flanked solid, iron-riveted gates and the frontage was well lit by oil lamps. Large posters with curled corners adorned the brickwork to either side, their details indistinct in the lamplight. The walls were about fifteen feet high (and higher than the neighbouring properties) and although there seemed to be no broken glass or spikes along the top, Pyke did hear the barking of dogs from within. Much was still in darkness, even though dawn’s first grey streaks were spreading from the far hills.

  “If we’re going over the wall,” said Vrass, “we’ll need r
opes and grapples.”

  “Over that wall?” said Pyke. “Dicey. Combine that with us not knowing the actual layout inside, although we do know they have dogs?”

  Vrass frowned. “Dogs?”

  “Er, small domesticated pack animals?” Pyke said. “Also good for attacking and hunting …”

  “Ah, like shukans!”

  Pyke shrugged. “Probably. Anyway, they’ll be a major problem for any over-the-wall lark—or we could bluff our way in, claim we’re from the city sewage department and that there’s a serious leak somewhere under their building …”

  “Or we’re from the Imperial barracks,” Vrass said, “and we’re here to talk about a new wagon contract!”

  The sound of quiet laughter interrupted their brainstorming. Pyke smiled at the third member of their company, Tiselio Flett, whose millinery shop was so recently occupied by a squad of Shylan Shield guards.

  “I’m sorry, do you have something to add, Tiselio? We’re only too happy to share the planning!”

  “Oh, those were fine notions, most certainly,” she said. “But what we could do is go round to the rear, into the back court of the adjacent disused warehouse, find the underwell room and the door to the old aquasluice which linked both properties back when Inox & Throm owned them both.”

  Pyke nodded, smiling. “Leads right inside that compound, you say?”

  “Leads right into the main building, down in the sub-basement.”

  “You’re a remarkable lady, Mistress Flett.”

  “I wasn’t always a seamstress!”

  Morning had definitely arrived by the time they reached the warehouse back-court entrance. The brick-walled lanes were filthy with mud washed down from streets further uphill and the three of them were soon splashed and streaked from the knees down. As they gathered by a heavy, iron-strapped door in the warehouse’s rear wall, Tiselio Flett raised a finger to her lips.