Pawn

by Timothy Zahn

  His face creased with a sudden smile. “One does not lock up a Protector,” he said, his tone mildly chiding but the smile erasing all of the sting. “Especially when we’ve been waiting for you for such a long time.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Nicole said mechanically. His eyes were unnerving: deep and piercing, and shimmering with a faintly greenish-purple color. But maybe that was just a trick of the odd lighting. “I was told I’d get some answers.”

  He made an odd gesture. “Ask your questions,” he invited.

  “Let’s start with the easy one,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “You may call me Ushkai,” he said.

  So he wasn’t ready to give her his real name? Fine. Nicole had used aliases herself on occasion. “You said we’d been waiting for a Protector. Who exactly are we?”

  “You’re humans, of course,” he said, the smile still going strong. “I’m sorry—is my translation using an incorrect word?”

  Nicole caught her breath. She’d become so used to hearing people through her translator that she hadn’t even noticed until that moment that Ushkai was speaking perfect, non-accented English at her, with the proper match of lips to words and everything. “No, the words sound right,” she said. “You speak English very well.”

  He waved a hand modestly. “The Fyrantha speaks English. Ushkai himself never did, of course.”

  “I thought you were Ushkai.”

  “You misunderstand,” he said, a hint of wistfulness touching his voice. “I’m the voice of Ushkai, or perhaps the presence of Ushkai. But I’m not Ushkai. Ushkai is long gone.”

  A chill ran up Nicole’s back. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, fighting to keep the sudden quaver out of her voice.

  “Nor should you,” Ushkai said calmly. “I’m in no way a disembodied spirit. I’m…” He hesitated again. “I’m merely a part—an aspect—of the Fyrantha.”

  Nicole stared at him, a sudden suspicion hitting her. In movies and TV shows there’d been these things called holograms …

  Bracing herself, she reached out a hand and touched him.

  Or rather, tried to touch him. Instead, her fingers went right through his clothing and skin.

  She pulled her hand back. “You’re a hologram?”

  “Yes,” Ushkai confirmed. “We thought Ushkai’s appearance would be a more comforting means of communication.”

  “Ah,” Nicole murmured. There was that we again. “So if you’re the Fyrantha, who is this we you keep talking about?”

  “We are…” Again, he hesitated. “The Fyrantha is broken, Protector. It’s no longer properly an I. It seems therefore reasonable to call it a we.”

  “Really,” Nicole said, not at all happy with the tingling sensation this conversation was sending across her skin. “Usually words like I and we are used for people, not things.”

  “Perhaps the language is wrong,” he said. “Or perhaps we stand astride that line. I don’t know the answer. Perhaps when we’ve been made whole again I’ll be able to explain it more effectively.” He smiled suddenly. “But of course that’s why you’re here, Protector, you and your people. To fix me.”

  “Well, if that’s the reason, you’re taking a hell of a roundabout time of it,” Nicole said sourly. “The only thing my crew’s been told to do is fix stuff inside the walls.” She frowned as a sudden thought struck her. “Unless whoever’s giving us our orders doesn’t want you fixed?”

  “No,” Ushkai said. His voice was firm, but Nicole thought she could hear a hint of uncertainty. “No, that can’t be. All of us wish to be whole again.”

  “Sure,” Nicole said. Maybe, she thought. “How many of you are there, anyway?”

  “We are four,” Ushkai said, his voice still sounding preoccupied. Apparently, the thought that one part of the ship might not want to get back together with the rest had never occurred to him. “There’s the part the Shipmasters control—that’s the part that guides the ship and its daily functions. There’s the part that talks to the Sibyls, the part that controls the Wisps, and the part that controls”—he touched his insubstantial chest—“me.”

  “So why are we wasting our time fixing the plumbing or AC or whatever’s inside the walls?” Nicole persisted. “Why aren’t we working on the main computer or whatever it is you’ve got?”

  “The main computer?” Ushkai frowned. “Of course you’re working on the main computer. That’s where it is: inside the walls and bulkheads.”

  Nicole stared at him. “Those are computers in there?”

  “They’re all parts of the whole,” Ushkai confirmed. “The Fyrantha’s original designers created it that way, so that a single critical attack couldn’t destroy everything.”

  Nicole thought back to the round room at the top of the ship, and the other ships that had been shooting at them. “That sort of thing happen a lot out here?”

  “More than just a lot,” Ushkai said. “But you didn’t know, did you?”

  “Know what?”

  Ushkai waved a hand. “The Fyrantha was originally a vessel of war.”

  A creepy feeling ran up Nicole’s back. She’d seen pictures of warships in books at school. Big warships, like battleships and aircraft carriers.

  All of them completely dwarfed by the Fyrantha. And a warship this size … “You said that’s what it was,” she said. “What is it now?”

  “Ah,” Ushkai said, smiling again. “The Fyrantha’s history is one of great legend and diversity. It began as a warship—Galaxy class—one of the—”

  “Look, I don’t have a lot of time right now,” Nicole interrupted. “Just give me the highlights. What made it stop being a warship?” She gestured at the cells on both sides of her. “Was it a prison ship or something?”

  “A prison ship?” Ushkai seemed aghast. “No, not at all. The Lillilli who found it drifting derelict in space had a far more ambitious and peaceful vision. They nursed it back to function, repairing the main systems and refitting vast parts of it. The room you were brought here from, for example, was once one of the fighter-craft hangars. The Lillilli took out the racks, landscaped it and put in a hidden track system for moving supplies around, and transformed it into a vivarium where visitors could stroll and watch animals in their natural habitat. The other hangars were likewise converted—”

  “Wait a minute,” Nicole cut in again. “A vivarium? Animals?”

  “Of course,” Ushkai said. “The Fyrantha was a zoo.”

  Nicole looked again at the cells. “So these were cages?”

  “Holding and treatment spots, yes,” Ushkai said, sounding strangely wistful. “This particular deck was a medical center.”

  His face hardened. “But there were others who saw different value in the Fyrantha. The current Shipmasters seized it many years ago and are now attempting to return it to its former warship capabilities.”

  Nicole snorted. “Really. Looks to me like they’ve settled for pay-per-view gladiator shows.”

  “You misunderstand the purpose of the test arenas,” Ushkai said grimly. “Rearming the Fyrantha takes a great deal of money. Once the Shipmasters locate a new species of intelligent life, they use the ship’s transporters to bring a group of random citizens aboard. They then pit them against another species to see which, if either, has the spirit and skill to become good fighters.”

  “Wouldn’t they do better to look for a few real soldiers instead?”

  “Perhaps,” Ushkai agreed. “But finding and capturing soldiers takes considerably more work. Besides, the behavior of ordinary citizens provides a baseline with which the Shipmasters’ clients can judge which peoples have the potential to be useful as combat slaves.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Nicole said. “What the hell are combat slaves?”

  “They’re those who are sent ahead of the main army,” Ushkai said. “They trigger the traps and take the first volleys of fire, thus allowing their owners to escape some of that risk.”

  “Why in the world
would they ever agree to do something that insane?”

  “Because charging onto a battlefield carries a small chance of survival, and sometimes even military advancement,” Ushkai said. “Disobeying their owners’ orders means instant death.”

  Nicole chewed at the inside of her cheek. Unfortunately, it made sense. In fact, gangs back home would typically give the hardest, most dangerous assignments to their newest members. If they lived, they advanced. If they didn’t, the gang didn’t lose anyone valuable.

  Like Trake always said, no matter where you were, it paid to be the one calling the shots.

  “So when they find someone they figure won’t mind bleeding for their bosses, then they go get the soldiers?”

  Ushkai shook his head. “At that point the Shipmasters’ role has ended. They receive payment, either currency or a shipment of heavy weapons, and give the planet’s location to the buyers. It’s the buyers’ job to travel to that world and recruit or enslave, as they choose.”

  And like a punch to the gut, Nicole finally got it.

  Plato, insisting the work crews never fight among themselves. Plato, ordering her to stay out of the arena, where she would be seen.

  Plato, willing to kill her rather than let the Shipmasters discover that humans were capable of combat.

  Only she hadn’t listened. And now she’d screwed up. She’d screwed up everything.

  “What happens now?” she whispered.

  “They’ll do more tests,” Ushkai said. “They’ll certainly watch you closely, you and the others. Eventually, they’ll bring in more humans to test, or possibly use some of the work crews already here.”

  Nicole felt like she was going to be sick. Carp, and Levi, maybe even Allyce … “Damn.”

  “But there’s still time,” Ushkai hastily assured her. “They won’t try to sell Earth’s location until they have proof of your value to their clients.” He held out a hand. “They may not even sell you at all. Only humans can handle the refitting process necessary to bring the Fyrantha back to full strength. They may not want to risk losing their supply of workers and Sibyls.”

  “Why?” Nicole asked. “I mean, why are we the only ones who can fix you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ushkai said. “All I know is that the ship’s original creators arranged it that way. I don’t know why.”

  Nicole nodded slowly. If there were observations to be done, and tests, and probably some straight-up fighting, then there was indeed time.

  “The question,” Ushkai added, watching her closely, “is what you will do?”

  Nicole took a deep breath. It made her throat hurt. “I’m going to stop them,” she said. “Don’t ask how. I don’t have the faintest idea.”

  “But you will,” Ushkai assured her. “You’ve already had ideas. Good ideas. Useful ideas.”

  Ideas that had gotten Jeff shot. “Yeah,” Nicole murmured.

  “But more than that, you’re a Protector, chosen by the Fyrantha itself,” Ushkai continued. “If there’s a way to stop them, you’ll find it.”

  He waved a hand. “And truly, the Shipmasters control very little of the ship. The central control areas, the main weapons emplacements, a few others. But many decks are hidden or sealed from them, accessible only to Wisps using the ventilation and heat-transfer ducts. They’ll show you whatever you wish to see.”

  Those strange eyes suddenly bored into hers. “We can’t help you much, Protector. We were designed to be passive, to be incapable of taking control from our masters. But what help we can give will be yours. None of us wish to be a warship again.”

  “Sure,” Nicole said. “Is there anything else? I have to get back to my friend.”

  “Yes; your injured companion,” Ushkai said, nodding. “The Wisps will help. From this point onward, they’re at your command.”

  Nicole grimaced. For whatever good they could do her.

  Still, it was an army, at least of a sort. At this point she needed all the help she could get. “Thanks,” she said. “And you—you travel around a lot, don’t you?”

  “As you’ve discovered, I’m little more than the visible voice of the ship,” he said. “You can call me from many places aboard. The Wisps will show you how.”

  There were a hundred other questions swirling around Nicole’s mind. But they could wait. “Then I guess I’ll see you later,” she said.

  She started to turn away, then turned back. There was one more answer she needed right now. “So why me?” she asked. “What did I do that made you think I was this Protector you were looking for?”

  “You don’t know?” Ushkai asked, frowning. “It was during your second visit to the Number Four arena. You saw one of the plants had been disturbed in the previous day’s battle, and you tried to fix it.”

  Nicole stared at him. “That was the reason?”

  “Of course.” Ushkai cocked his head thoughtfully. “It’s interesting, you know. The original word, the one the Fyrantha’s translator speaks as protector, actually has two different shades of meaning. Depending on intonation, it can be protector against danger from within, or protector against danger from without.”

  A stray memory clicked in Nicole’s brain. Fievj and the other Shipmaster arguing with Ushkai in that upper room … “Caretaker,” she murmured.

  “That’s the protector from within,” Ushkai said, nodding. “That’s my title, as well. Or at least the title by which the Shipmasters know me.”

  “And protector from without?” Nicole asked. “What’s that one called?”

  Again, his eyes bored into her. “Warrior.”

  Nicole swallowed. “So which kind of Protector am I?”

  “I don’t know,” Ushkai said quietly. “Only time will tell. Farewell, Protector. For now.”

  * * *

  Jeff’s eyes were closed when Nicole returned to his resting spot, and again her stomach tightened with a moment of fear. But to her relief, he stirred as she knelt beside him, and his eyes opened. “Everything done?” he murmured.

  “For now,” she said. “You feel up to a little trip?”

  “Sure,” he said. “You feel like carrying me?”

  “I think I can do a little better than that.” Nicole gestured, and the four Wisps she’d commandeered stepped into view.

  Jeff’s eyes widened. “I was kidding,” he protested weakly.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” Standing up, Nicole gestured the Wisps forward. “Easy now—be gentle with him.”

  A minute later they were walking down the hill toward the exit door, Jeff lying across four sets of Wisp forearms. “By the way,” he said, wincing with the small bumps and jolts. “Did we win?”

  Nicole grimaced. Plato dead, his plan for keeping Earth below the Shipmasters’ radar unraveling in front of her. The Shipmasters, with armor and guns and a grand scheme for turning the Fyrantha back into a monstrous weapon of destruction. Alien beings, fighting to the death for the privilege of having their whole worlds turned into slave camps.

  And Nicole and a fragmented ship’s brain all that stood between the Shipmasters and their nightmare dream.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “We won.”

  * * *

  Three minutes later she closed the arena door behind them, said a quiet farewell to Jeff, and watched as the Wisps carried him down the hallway toward the hive. Allyce would take care of him, she knew. Even Sam had no reason to hurt him. Not anymore.

  The damage had already been done.

  It was up to Nicole to fix it.

  Another Wisp was waiting for her in the dead-end corridor that ran alongside the arena. Looped around its arms, just as Nicole had ordered, were the extra food and tool vests she and Jeff had left behind at the Micawnwi hive. “Okay,” Nicole called to it, gesturing as she approached. “Open up.”

  In answer, one of the wall sections slid open, letting out a flood of hot air. The first step, she’d decided, was to get a better feel for exactly what this monster ship really was. That meant taking a tour.


  Given the Fyrantha’s size, probably a really long tour.

  But that was fine with her. There would be questions when the Wisps delivered Plato’s body back to the hive as she’d instructed. She’d rather not be there when Carp or Sam started wondering about her role in his death.

  She didn’t want this Protector thing that had been dumped on her. And the thought that she’d gotten the job solely because she’d played with a few dead branches to kill some time was maddening.

  But Ushkai was convinced, and the Wisps were convinced, and if the Shipmasters weren’t they would be soon enough. Unless she could find a way to convince all of them otherwise, it looked like the damn job was hers.

  She just hoped she could figure out quickly what kind of Protector she was supposed to be. Caretaker … or Warrior.

  The Wisp was waiting, an expectant look on its face. Awaiting the orders of its Protector. “I want to see everything,” Nicole said, turning around and backing into its enfolding arms. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down.”

  BOOKS BY TIMOTHY ZAHN

  DRAGONBACK SERIES

  Dragon and Thief*

  Dragon and Soldier*

  Dragon and Slave*

  Dragon and Herdsman*

  Dragon and Judge*

  Dragon and Liberator*

  QUADRAIL SERIES

  Night Train to Rigel*

  The Third Lynx*

  Odd Girl Out*

  The Domino Pattern*

  Judgment at Proteus*

  STAR WARS® NOVELS

  Heir to the Empire

  Dark Force Rising

  The Last Command

  Specter of the Past

  Vision of the Future

  Survivor’s Quest

  Outbound Flight

  Allegiance

  Choices of One

  Scoundrels

  Thrawn

  The Blackcollar

  Blackcollar: The Judas Solution

  A Coming of Age

  Cobra

  Spinneret

  Cobra Strike

  Cascade Point and Other Stories