Slave Empire - The Crystal Ship

by Southwell, T C

  The discovery of her enhanced empathic powers had changed her life after her encounter with the Envoy. He had opened channels that allowed her to sense people’s emotions even without touching them, and the scars of her mental suffering had heightened her reactions. The Ship’s healing had covered the dangerous cracks that might otherwise have opened and swallowed her sanity, but they were still there, under a thin layer of light. After discovering its negative effect on people, she had tried to hide her ability, but word had spread, and occasionally she gave herself away.

  For a time, the media frenzy and instant fame had satisfied her. She had enjoyed the attention and flattery. She had even thought she was helping people. Soon, however, she had realised that she was only a novelty to be stared at and holographed. She had grown tired of the lack of privacy and endless, prying questions asked over and over again, the barrage of flashing holocameras that met her at every venue. Rawn had stuck by her, trying to hide his aversion for her new ability, just as she had struggled to hide it from him. Her empathy had made that impossible, however, and eventually she had left to spare him the pain.

  Tallyn had remained at her side, but his aloof, clinical approach had become grating. When she had grown tired of the endless parties and empty conversations, the false smiles of uncaring people, she had taken Shadowen and fled the Atlantean domain, finding a quiet backwater planet. For a while she had found peace, and even tried to start a relationship with a man, but that had been a dismal failure, perhaps the worst side effect of empathy. She left the planet for a different sort of life amongst the anonymous rich who thronged pleasure palaces to buy their thrills. After a few experiments, she had discovered the drugs that dulled her empathy, and took them in large quantities. She ignored the dangerous widening of the cracks within her mind and how her loneliness chipped away at the light.

  Her life was a mess, but there was little she could do about it. Many people had assured her that empaths were cursed. Their ability often drove them to suicide when they could no longer stand the pain of rejection, and she could certainly understand it. One day, she told herself, Scrysalza would return, and this time she would board the Crystal Ship and go back to its nebula with it, or ask it to take her back to Earth, two thousand years ago. The loneliness of living with an alien entity, or amongst strangers on Earth, would be nothing compared to the solitary existence she led now.

  Friends were people she knew until they discovered her empathy, then they became worse than strangers. No one wanted to be around someone who could sense their every emotion, and, no matter how hard she tried, she could not hide her reactions. She had taken to wearing an empath’s spiral pendant, and found that it stemmed the advances of people who would later shun her. With every rebuff, however, the cracks widened, and sometimes, when she was deep in the clutches of the numbing drugs, the doors opened and let in the howling emptiness.

  A portly man in garish finery approached her, and she eyed him dully. Several people close by, who knew what she was, took an interest. He flopped down next to her, bestowing a gold-toothed smile upon her. His lust hung about him like a sordid odour, mixed with an egotistical urge to seduce an attractive and obviously drugged woman. He was rich, powerful, and seldom rejected, she sensed, and he did not expect to be now.

  She said, “I’m not interested, so piss off.”

  Several nearby patrons sniggered, and the man reddened. “I wondered if you’d like to dance.”

  “That’s not what you really want.”

  “How...?”

  Rayne held up her pendant, and he blanched, jumped up and hurried off. She lay back and closed her eyes, hating her tawdry existence, which only offered the appearance of normality until someone accosted her for the wrong reasons. Even those who were friendly and apparently harmless had some hidden agenda. She had returned to Farlaw a year ago to speak to Endrix, but the entity had no solution to offer her. His masters had been empaths, but they had not mixed with those who were not.

  The Mainline was wearing off, and she sat up to empty another vial into her glass of Mansurian wine. As she lifted the almost lethal concoction to her lips, several onlookers muttered in wonder. Her healing ability allowed her to ingest enough of the drug to kill most people. It would eventually kill her too, but her mind’s growing blankness was already akin to death.

  A hand clamped around her wrist, preventing her from completing her action, and she turned to glare at her assailant, surprised that she had not sensed his approach. A black mask glittered in the smoky gloom, and he leant closer so she could hear him above the music.

  “Surprised?”

  Rayne gasped, her mind going blank with shock. He hauled her to her feet and headed for the door, towing her after him. People stared at him as he passed, for his plain black garb stood out amid their garish finery, and he moved amongst them like a shadow. They reached the door in record time, since people tended to step aside when they saw him coming, and he shoved those who did not out of the way.

  Outside, he marched down a wide, well-lighted passage, his long strides forcing her to trot. A dozen stupid thoughts crowded her mind, the most pressing of which was the fact that her drink was slopping out of the glass she still clutched. She did not know what to do with it, and the problem occupied her all the way to the private room at the end of the passage. By then, most of the wine had spilt onto her hand. The room was a luxurious lounge that visiting dignitaries and wealthy moguls used for business meetings, with pale grey, speckled walls, a deep crimson carpet and a selection of stylish but insipid modern art on the walls. He released her wrist and turned to face her. Rayne gaped at him, her mind numb. Her hand shook, and more wine spilt over it, so she used her other hand to steady it.

  Tarke took the glass away and put it on a table. “You bloody imbecile. What are you trying to do to yourself?”

  Rayne shook her head, struggling to find words in the morass of her mind. Hiding her trembling hands behind her back, she remembered how he had told her to heal herself on the ship, so long ago. If only she could do that now, but banishing the effects of a drug was much harder than healing wounds.

  Tarke sauntered away to stop beside a velvet chair. He was waiting for an answer. She knew him well enough to understand his silence. Her tongue came to life, and she blurted, “What are you doing here?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious. I certainly don’t have business with these pleasure junkies. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You want to know what I’m doing to myself?” She tottered over to another deep purple velvet chair and sank onto it. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. As far as I know, nothing. Just living. Existing. Trying to forget the past. What else is there? Why does it concern you, and how did you know where I was?”

  He sat on the chair opposite. “So the Atlanteans didn’t take care of you. I thought they would.”

  “Oh, they did. I’m rich. If I go back there, I’m a celebrity, just like you said. They trot me out at functions to kiss babies and shake hands. I even met the Council of Elders, a great honour.”

  He snorted. “But they didn’t give you a life.”

  “Not one I wanted. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Which one?”

  “Take your pick.”

  “I have spies.” He leant forward. “Do you want my help?”

  “No.” She forced herself to stand up, fighting the lethargy Mainline bestowed, and teetered towards the door. “You’re a cold-hearted bastard, and you should have stayed away.”

  He reached the door before her and blocked her way. “You’ve got a right to be angry with me.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Good, the old one sucked.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to keep my promise.”

  “Has it been five hundred years already? How time flies.”

  “Do you hate me now?”

  Rayne sighed and returned to her chair.
Mainline had a tendency to make her limbs tremble, and that, combined with his presence, meant her knees were almost knocking together. She sat down as he took the chair opposite again.

  “I don’t hate you,” she said. “I’m just bitter. You didn’t want me around then, why would you now?”

  “What you have is worse than I can offer you. If you keep doing it, you’ll die.”

  “Is what you have to offer so bad?”

  He nodded. “It’s pretty shabby.”

  “What are you offering, a crew position on one of your ships?”

  “No.”

  “A labourer’s job on one of your bases?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “What could be worse than that? A toilet cleaner on one of your space stations?”

  “No. It’s a different sort of job. The pay’s terrible, the social life is limited and the perks are bad. It’s dangerous and unrewarding, but it’s not strenuous or humiliating.” He paused. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  “No.”

  She sighed, rubbing her brow. “Well, then it can only be a job as a guinea pig in one of your laboratories.”

  “A what?”

  “An animal human scientists used to test medicines on.”

  “You’re joking.” He sounded shocked.

  “Of course I am. I wouldn’t take a job like that, even from you.”

  “Good.”

  “So, I’ve run out of ideas. I give up. Surprise me.”

  He hesitated, and she sensed a faint uncertainty leaking through his shields. “Do you still want to stay with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not very illuminating.”

  She threw up her hands. “What else can I say? Do you really want me around? I’m an empath, you know. Not many people want me around.”

  “I can deal with that.”

  “Yes, because you’ve got iron-clad shields. Even god doesn’t know what you feel.” She studied the hated mask. “So, are you going to tell me what this job is, or must I keep guessing?”

  Tarke rose and went over to the refreshment cabinet to pour two drinks. He returned and handed her one, taking the chair opposite again. She tasted it and grimaced at the bland flavour of a fruit juice. Tarke put his glass on the table, untouched. Once again, she sensed a faint uncertainty from him, and a hint of tension.

  He laced his fingers. “You must understand that this position is purely for the sake of convenience. I’m offering it to you to keep you safe from my enemies, because once I’ve revealed my secrets to you, they might target you. It will give you a great deal of power, and you’ll have a permanent home on any of my planets.

  “I think you deserve more than the Atlanteans have given you. Money doesn’t buy happiness or acceptance. It only buys that filthy drug you’ve been taking. A slow death by drug addiction is not a fitting end for the Golden Child. In return, I’ll expect your undivided loyalty, and you’ll have mine. You won’t be able to return to Atlan, ever.”

  She stared at him, surprised by this long speech. “I don’t want to return to Atlan. So what is this damned job, anyway?”

  He seemed to study his hands, then, to her surprise, he pulled off his gloves and put them on the table. “I’m offering to make you my wife.”

  “Your what?”

  “Wife.”

  Rayne shook her head, wishing she was not so full of Mainline. She pinched herself and winced, then stared at her shaking hands. Surely she was passed out in the club, and this was just a dream? It could not be happening. It made no sense. The silence lengthened, but she could not think of anything to stay. She waited for him to say something else, hoping it would spark a reaction in her empty head. Sometimes shock brought on spells like this, when the howling void of the Envoy’s absence returned and the scars of his pain swallowed her reason. The drugs had made it worse, gradually opening the doors to those blank spaces where the memory of her battle dwelt. His voice jerked her back to reality like a pin jabbed into her flesh.

  “You don’t like the idea.”

  “I don’t know what the idea is,” she retorted. “Is this a joke?”

  “No.” He bowed his head and studied his hands again. “I had hoped this was a way to help you. It’s also the only way I can reveal my secrets to you. Think of it as a job, a position that’s vacant and never going to be filled, otherwise.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “A technical detail. I’ve studied your culture, and found that this was once an important institution amongst your people. It was amongst mine, too. In this situation, it serves to gain my people’s protection, which you’ll need. If I’m to reveal my secrets to you, you’ll have to be as well protected as I am, for my safety will depend on yours.”

  “I see.” She picked up her drink and sipped it, not tasting it. Her hands shook, slopping it, and she put it down. The silence lengthened as the blankness threatened to overwhelm her again, and she said the first thing that popped into her head, to stave it off.

  “I need to think about it.” As soon as she said it, she wished the words unspoken, for she did not need to think about it at all.

  “Of course.” He stood up, pulling on his gloves. “We’ll go to one of my bases, where we can discuss this in more comfort. You’ll feel better once the drug’s out of your system, more able to think.”

  Rayne followed him into the next room, where a transfer pad gleamed on the floor like a pool of quicksilver. She joined him on it, and when the energy shell dispersed, she was on a ship’s bridge, almost identical to Shadowen’s. Tarke stepped away from her and indicated a corridor to the side.

  “Go and lie down in the cabin. Use the sleep inducer.”

  Rayne obeyed, her mind still numb with shock. The numbness stayed with her, an almost a permanent feature when she took Mainline, and the drug’s enforced lethargy soon pushed her into the black abyss of sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Rayne woke, several hours had passed, according to the holographic clock next to the bunk. Evidently they had reached their destination and Tarke had switched the sleep inducer off. She splashed her face in the tiny bathroom before going to the bridge. The ship orbited a hostile planet, the fourth child of a weak yellow dwarf star. As she gazed at it without recognition, Tarke spoke from the pilot’s chair.

  “Ironia. Do you remember it?”

  “This is where you brought me, after you bought me on Gergonia,” she said.

  “Yes. The largest and best defended of my bases. It’s my headquarters. I spend most of my time here, when I’m not chasing slavers.”

  Rayne leant against a console as a wave of dizziness made her head swim. Mainline withdrawal was painless, but she had not been eating well for months. Tarke rose and went to the refreshment dispenser, returning to hand her a glass of thick nutrition drink. She sipped it, grimacing. It had a pleasant, creamy flavour, but her stomach rebelled, demanding more Mainline. Tarke squeezed past her again to return to his chair, leaving her to lean against a console. As she sipped her drink, she noticed that the golden planet was drawing closer as they sank towards it, the ship matching the speed of its spin.

  A slight jolt told her the ship had hit the outer edge of the atmosphere, then its attractors pulled them through it with a brief flare of fire over the screens. They descended rapidly, and the bio-dome came into view as they passed through a thin layer of clouds. It gleamed like a vast pearl half sunk in a golden sea of sand. The dome doors opened in a yawning oblong void, into which they sank, the doors rolling closed above them. Lights came on, triggered by their arrival, to illuminate a modern hangar filled with equipment. Vapour rolled off the hull in white clouds as warm air was pumped in, melting the ice on the ship’s skin, which had collected on the way through the atmosphere.

  Tarke watched the information scrolling up on the many holograms around his chair, waiting for the atmosphere outside to match the one within the ship. As she fi
nished her drink, he rose to his feet and motioned for her to precede him to the door. It opened when she reached it; the steps glided out and sank into their positions on antigravity units.

  Rayne descended the steps and stopped. A flood of black-uniformed people streamed into the hangar. Most went straight to their workstations, but some paused to gaze at the man who exited the ship behind her. Although their expressions were guarded, she sensed the adoration from them now, as she had not done before. Tarke took her arm and led her across the hangar, inclining his head to those who bowed or nodded to him. They passed through the huge room with the glass office, then entered the corridor that led to the living quarters where she had been held prisoner.

  Rayne had lost track of the many turns and crossroads they had traversed by the time he approached a door that opened ahead of him, admitting them into the tastefully decorated rooms where she had met him to ask for a ship. He led her to a cluster of comfortable dun chairs around a low crystal table and indicated that she should sit. When she did, he went to a console in a corner and studied several holograms that scrolled up from it. Apparently satisfied, he returned to sit on a chair opposite, the mask glittering in the bright, warm light.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  Rayne obeyed, revealing the slight tremor that still affected them.

  Tarke turned his head towards the door. “There’s someone I want you to meet. He’ll be here shortly, if he hurries. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll run. He’s the man I had to have mind wiped. I would trust him with my life, but not my face. He’s been with me for more than twenty years, and he runs most of the empire.” He faced her, and she sensed a slight dissatisfaction from him. “Before he gets here, would you like to freshen up? Perhaps wash your face?”

  Remembering the cosmetics she wore, she suppressed a smile and nodded. He indicated a door, and she entered a sleek, blue and white bathroom to study her reflection in the mirror. The eye enhancer gave her a bruised, owlish look, and the lip colour was garish against her pale skin. She washed it off and surveyed the result with a grimace. It did not seem like much of an improvement. Her skin had lost the golden tan it had gained from Earth’s sun, taking on the pallor of a person who spent most of her time indoors. She had no time to bask in the sun these days, since she was either in a club or on her ship. She combed her hair and smoothed her brows; glad her lashes were black, at least. Returning to the lounge, she flopped back into her chair, and the Shrike studied her.