“How do you know about the crystal?” he said.
Ustril’s smile was sardonic. “Facet-survivors like my almost-daughter know about the Essavyr Key, the crystal fragments, and the crystal shard that you carry. It’s what all the factions and struggles and skirmishing is about, and it’s what Raven wants so desperately.”
“We’re not completely defenceless, Lieutenant-Doctor,” said Ancil. “We’re now all armed.”
“But you’re not just facing Raven Kaligari and her two surviving underlings,” Ustril said. “She has allies, ruthless backers and fanatics from the Time-Mosaic who will do anything to bring about your downfall.”
The sentence ended with the Sendrukan looking pointedly at Pyke.
“Okay, I get it,” he said. “I’m a high-profile, in-demand target with a bull’s-eye painted on my forehead. Trouble is, Raven is our target—we know she’s working for an entity called the Legacy, and that she’s come here to get her claws on the rest of the crystal, like you said.” Reflexively he touched his jacket chest pocket, feeling the shape of the crystal beneath the material. “But you’re saying we have to avoid getting into a tussle with them so instead we can … do what, exactly?”
“Bypass Raven’s ambush and make for the next time-zone,” Ustril said. “You have sympathisers and supporters there who are eager to make Raven and her allies pay.”
“That’s a decent objective,” Pyke said. “I’m just not up on how we’d go about getting there. How about opening a crack like the one you came through? We could hop inside and take a detour round the uglies, then exit next to the airgrav-shaft to the next deck.”
But Ustril was shaking her head. “There is no way to control which facet the temporary lacuna opens into—there’s even a risk of opening a lacuna to vacuum since in some alternative versions the Damaugra has torn quite a few breaches in the hull. No, if you look at the map Hokajil gave you …”
“You know about that?”
“I’ve spoken to a couple of Hokajils during my travels—one was mad and conversing with gods living in his pockets; the other was also mad but he was coherent and ultimately informative.” As Pyke produced the map and prodded at the deck they were on, she leaned closer and pointed. “Through that door is a passage that slopes up to a long dining balcony that runs round the upper wall of the gallery-lobby. Stealthy traverse to the far end and a down-ramp will take us straight to an airgrav-shaft.”
“Guards?”
“Not sure. Between one and three.”
Pyke nodded. “Okay, we’ll take that.” He eyed the corridor end beyond which Ustril had appeared. “All righty, my lucky lads and lasses, let’s gear up and get ready for some stellar-class sneakery. Moleg, take point, we’ll be on your tail.”
Ustril got to her feet with Dervla’s help.
“Are you up to this?” she asked.
The Sendrukan looked tired and drawn. “I twisted my ankle a day or so ago while fleeing from hunters in a facet where the food had run out. I can function well enough for a while.”
They started along the corridor, a straggling bunch, senses alert, guns at the ready. Dervla laid a hand on Pyke’s arm and leaned closer. In a low whisper she said, “Still don’t trust her.”
“Think it’s a trap?”
Shrug. “Something skeevy about her just showing up like that.”
Pyke glanced over his shoulder. Ustril was bringing up the rear behind Kref and Ancil, with her carbine balanced on her shoulder. Mighty swift change, he thought. From aloof scientist to gun-wielding badass after one trip through Hokajil’s crazy time-patchwork? Well—maybe yeah, maybe no. Better safe than sorry, though.
Hooking his energy pistol-of-indeterminate-output onto a chest pocket, he pulled Dervla closer for some on-the-move winching—she was about to push him away when he surreptitiously pushed the leather-cased crystal shard into her free hand. After a brief, tender kiss he quietly murmured in her ear, “If things go south, bail out, take Ancil along if you can—they’ll be focusing on me, don’t worry, I’ll be right as skaggin’ rain!”
They drew apart and he saw her slip the nightmare crystal into an inside pocket, even as she eyed him uncertainly. “Aye,” she said. “You bloody better be.”
The door was an archway. Pyke and Moleg took up positions on either side, Pyke peering up the ramp, then advancing with caution, half sidling along the wall, ready to duck if any hostiles came into view. None did—the balcony was clear. He beckoned Moleg and the others to follow, and a quick backward glance revealed that Dervla had backstepped to the rear, pacing alongside Ustril.
When the ramp reached the balcony both he and Moleg went into a crouch. There were square tables spaced alongside the rail but Pyke also noticed that the balcony’s back wall had eight recesses separated by mock buttresses. And as well as having a table and two chairs, each recess also had a door.
“What the hairy hell,” he muttered.
“Do we need to check the doors, Chief?” said Moleg.
“Yeah—you and me go for the third; Kref, you head for the second, and Ancil, you take the first. Dervla and Ustril can provide cover. Okay?”
Although I wish I’d known there were going to be those skaggin’ doors before we got up here!
With handguns held shoulder-high and muzzle-up, they advanced along the balcony. Pyke gave one of the tables a shake as he passed, trying to gauge its usefulness as cover—the tabletop was thick and made of some weighty wood-like material, so might do at a pinch. So help me, if this is a setup I’ll … well, probably die with a profanity on my lips, I guess.
They drew level with the third door. Moleg crept over to the recess, while behind them Kref and Ancil were doing the same. Once positioned and ready, Moleg gazed back at Pyke, who’d lowered a table onto its side, angled towards the door. Kref and Ancil’s eyes were on him, awaiting his signal. Then, purely out of reflex, Pyke glanced the other way, further along the balcony, just as Raven Kaligari strode into view, a gun in each hand, and started blazing away.
Pyke roared a curse and fired back while wrestling the table round to face the oncoming danger. Moleg was firing from round the shielding buttress and Pyke snarled as he sneaked a look round the table-edge, firing off a volley as he did so. He caught a glimpse of several dark-clad forms but the most striking thing was the sight of three Kaligari henchgoons crouched behind upended tables, calmly unleashing a stream of energy bolts in his direction.
Then suddenly he realised that there was firing coming from behind. He looked round, saw Ancil wrestling on the floor with another Raven-doppelganger while Ustril was struggling with one armed with a pair of knives. Yet another had a chokehold on Kref and a dagger to his throat, at which the big Henkayan was laughing like a deranged gouger. Then from the back Dervla loosed a dead-on shot at Ustril’s opponent, hitting her in the head.
“Get out!” he yelled to them both. “Get out of here now!”
Concentrated fire hit the table he was sheltering behind, spraying splinters everywhere.
“Ah, ya want some, do ya? Here, eat this!” he roared, firing a spread of pulse-bolts over the top of his table, then pausing to sneak another look. There were several bodies lying around, bleeding into the balcony carpet, but now it appeared as if there were a couple of squads of minions, each led by a Raven, all aiming their salvoes at him.
Pyke was on the point of telling Moleg to fall back when a small object arced overhead from behind and clattered against something up ahead. There was a moment of shouting voices, then a loud crashing bang, with debris flying, some of it bloody. A glance over his shoulder revealed a bloody-faced Ancil giving a thumbs-up while further back Kref was crowded behind one of the buttresses. Next to him on the floor was one of the Ravens, her face a gory pulp. Of Ustril and Dervla there was no sign.
For a moment the firing slackened, then there were coordinated bursts, this time with what sounded like heavier calibre rounds. Pyke could feel heat coming through his table from the other side. But this
time Kref and Ancil were able to join in, with the latter showing off the odd boxy-looking gun he’d looted from the security station. Pyke glanced round again to ask Ancil if he had any nades left, and found him holding a hand-launcher which fired off a trio of shells.
Three deafening explosions merged into one cacophony of destruction. More shattered detritus was flung everywhere and Pyke saw a couple of torn corpses flying out from the balcony. For moments after there was a terrible reverberating silence punctuated by the sounds of Pyke’s rapid breathing, and muffled groans from where injured and dying Ravens lay.
“How … what is that?” Pyke said.
“Three-pattern shift-gun,” said Ancil. “Can reconfigure itself as a pistol, a short-barrelled shotgun, and a launcher.” He coughed. “What I want to know is, where did all these Ravens come from?”
“Different time-facets,” Pyke said. “Only answer—but that means there must be loads of them out there—queueing up to have a shot!”
“Pretty resourceful of her to pull together an army like this,” said Moleg. “You’d almost think she had help.”
“Hmm, the Legacy?” Pyke said. “I wonder—”
Just then a woman’s voice came loudly from the other end of the balcony, a familiar voice.
“Hey, Bran—I must say, I’m impressed. Not a bad tally for you and your crew of bumblers …”
“Scumsucking shit-heel,” Ancil muttered.
“… but all this was never more than the preamble. Bran, we need to talk and I’m coming out—unarmed.”
Pyke looked at the others. “Be ready for any tricks.”
Carefully, he straightened up, while still on his knees, and rested his arms on the curved edge of the holed and battered table. Before him the rest of the balcony was a scene of devastation strewn with smashed chairs, ruined tables and horribly dead bodies. Raven had emerged from the very last door along the back wall. She was carrying a small energy pistol with which she finished off a couple of pleading survivors as she crossed over to the balcony railing and casually leaned on it, for all the world like a passenger simply taking in the view.
“As you can see,” she said, “I’ve been making so many new friends since I got here, it’s crazy. And when I told them that I was on a mission to retrieve an heirloom of great sentimental value from your thieving hands, I was overwhelmed with offers of help.” She laughed. “You’ve got some reputation, Bran, right across the Time-Mosaic—well, probably not you but some unhinged version of you …”
“What are we doing here, Raven?” he said. “Why are we sitting here, listening to you? The Cosmic Spirit and I, we both know how much you love the sound of your own voice but, really, it all boils down to two questions—what is it that you want to say, and when do we get back to the shooting?”
“Patience just isn’t in your skill set, is it?” Raven said mockingly. “As I said, all that’s gone before was preamble—it’s now time for the main act!” She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. “Bring her out!”
A sense of foreboding stabbed at Pyke’s chest, and seconds later his worst fears came true. Her hands bound, Dervla emerged from a side door at the far end, stumbling along between another pair of grinning Ravens who gripped her arms. A third Raven walked behind, holding a chain looped around Dervla’s neck. And behind her stalked the Sendrukan, Ustril, her face sullen and haggard with shame. Pyke could barely contain his fury and fear, and the terrible panic churning in his guts.
“C’mon, Raven, don’t be a skagging monster about this!” he said. “Take me in her place—you know it’s me that you want!”
“That would be true, Bran, but actually I already have you, right here in front of me!” Dervla and her guards halted next to Raven who smiled and patted Dervla on the cheek. “Of course, then you might say, ‘Here, Raven, take the Legacy’s crystal, let my beloved go!’—mightn’t you?”
Without shifting her gaze she held out one empty hand to the side, and Ustril came forward to place the leather-cased crystal in the outstretched palm. Pyke’s heart sank and all hope guttered like a candle burning its last.
“But look—I have that, too!” Raven held the crystal up for all to see. “Finally.”
“I’ve done as you asked,” said the Sendrukan. “Now pay me!”
Raven snapped her fingers again. A slender figure stepped out of one of the recess doors holding a grey-ribbed carry case. As he drew near Pyke recognised him as the mysterious man who’d greeted Ancil soon after they’d reached this deck: sharp features, hair sculpted back, high forehead. He approached Ustril and showed her the contents of the case; she nodded, accepted the case, closed it up then left the wrecked balcony with long, swift strides. The courier’s departure was equally brisk.
Well, thought Pyke, considering all the options, we are well and truly skagged. Unless Ancil can come up with another grenade while me and Moleg take down Raven and her creepy clones with perfect one-shot kills … But he knew that Raven or any of her copies could open Dervla’s throat long before the first rounds were heading their way.
“Aw, don’t worry, Bran—the shooting’s going to start again very soon. But first—this!”
In one smooth motion, Raven unfastened the crystal shard’s leather cover and slapped it into Dervla’s open hand which Raven had suddenly grabbed. Pyke bellowed raging curses at Raven, handgun flung out to target her, and Raven’s flushed, exhilarated face stared back at him, mocking him, daring him to fire. Dervla, held upright by the doppelganger guards, shook and jerked for several grotesque seconds.
Then suddenly she was still. Pyke felt nauseous just watching, knowing full well that Dervla’s consciousness had been transferred to the strange virtual simulation called the Isle of Candles. Meanwhile, in her place …
Dervla’s mouth smiled. Dervla’s eyes were bright with an invading intellect. As the hands were freed and the chain removed there was a muttered exchange between her and Raven, and she nodded and laughed. Raven handed her a combat knife and took a step back. And when Dervla turned towards Pyke and the crew it was the Legacy that stared out of her eyes.
“Ah, Captain, we meet again, and in such a timely fashion! Your beloved, the invigorating Dervla, has such an energetic personality. She will make a fine addition to my theatrical cast of contenders.” The Legacy held up the hand gripping the crystal shard. “You see, a great and long-denied awakening will soon be upon us, the prodigious and exquisite unfolding of a new reality, an unstoppable wave of transformed being which will require shape and direction, expression and form. That will be Dervla’s role, along with you and any of your followers who measure up …”
Behind the Legacy, Raven had continued backing away and Pyke’s sense of terrible panic did not abate.
“She doesn’t want to be any part of your plans!” Pyke said. “Or me, or any of the others. How could we be any help to you if we’re fighting you every step of the way?”
The Legacy laughed, Dervla’s own laughter but now twisted into something loathsome.
“How can you do that when you don’t know what you’re fighting about?”
Then, quickly, with no warning, the Legacy plunged the dagger into Dervla’s heart. The Legacy was still smiling, despite Pyke’s near-wordless roaring and shouting, as he fought against Ancil and Moleg, struggling to climb over the table, to get to her, to get that knife out of her. But they held him back, sobbing, forced to watch as Dervla sank to her knees, blood drenching her front as her hand released the crystal shard, allowing her own consciousness to surge back into her mind. Pyke remembered how it all went, and his gaze met hers for a flickering moment before her eyes rolled to show the whites and she slumped over onto her side. Everyone was shouting, Pyke was pleading with the others to let him go to her, Ancil was swearing terribly and Kref was holding onto Pyke’s arms. Pyke fought against all restraint anyway, ignoring pleas for him to calm down. There was a tormenting emptiness eating away at his mind, a bleeding void, yet from the neck down it felt as if he was bri
mful with a burning need to destroy.
Then there was movement at the other end of the balcony—more Ravens, identical faces and all heavily armed and clad in body armour of one kind or another.
“Let me go!” gasped Pyke. “Gimme my gun!”
“No problem,” said Ancil.
They barely had time to snatch up their weapons and dive for cover before the onslaught began.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dervla, the Crystal Simulation, the city of Granah
Commander Delara, head of the Emperor’s Nightblades, frowned at the vial and the fragments of tempering hammer that were scattered across the armourer’s workbench. The vial was an ornate object of some dark golden material with rich blue threading between its curlicues. It had a peculiar sheen to it and had resisted her every attempt to open it, up to and including brute-force impacts. The iron-surfaced workbench now had a vial-shaped dent in it while the vial itself was undamaged, unmarred and unchanged. Rumours of its sorcerous properties seemed well founded.
From her main chamber came the sound of someone rapping on the door. Delara cursed—that would be V’Sel, her second-in-command, with a report on the Nightblades’ state of readiness, the disposition of the Shylan Shields, the current state of weapon and provision stocks, and possibly a word or two on the weather. Delara swept the hammer’s remains into a pile, secreted the vial within her high-collared hacketon, then went to open the door.
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