by Glen Cook
She released it with a stroke of gratitude. It flashed away across the void to resume its place on the edge of the system.
Marika sent her allies down to complete the subjugation of the planet. She drifted across to the alien starship and forced her way inside. The last minutes before she succeeded were desperate ones, for she had no strength left and was beyond help from the senior bath and her golden fluid--even had the bath had strength enough to leave her station. Had she tried to descend to the planet’s surface she would have followed Bestrei as a shooting star.
She led her huntresses and bath into halls filled with breathable air. The moment they were safe she sat down, her back against metal, and sighed. “That was close. As close as ever I want to get.”
It was very strange in there. Very spartan and spare, all metal and cold and electronic lighting and the hollow sound of feet shuffling on deckplates. Her curiosity was intense but she hadn’t the strength to pursue it. “Grauel. Barlog,” she whispered. “I must rest. Stand watch. Please.”
The bath, except their senior, had collapsed into sleep already.
Grauel and Barlog shared their remaining ammunition and stood guard, though they themselves were near collapse from exhaustion. Marika had drawn upon them as well as her bath.
Marika wakened ten hours later, feeling little better than when she had closed her eyes. Barlog was snoring. Grauel had the watch. The bath were all still asleep. “Any trouble?” Marika asked.
“None yet,” Grauel replied. “Not a sign of life. But this place makes me nervous. It vibrates all the time, and makes sounds you cannot hear unless you listen. It makes me think of putting my ear against someone’s stomach and listening to what is going on inside. It makes me feel as if I am inside the belly of some mythological monster.”
When Marika listened she could hear and feel what Grauel meant. It was disconcerting. She opened to the All, seeking those who had come to the system with her.
Dead ships were adrift everywhere. A disaster? She counted carefully. There were only ten derelict or missing. Not as bad as she had feared. But only ten? Was that not disaster enough? That was almost half the force she had brought. A massive loss of dark-faring silth. Virtually every void-faring Community would be plunged into Mourning.
And the expense of victory did not stop totally with a count of darkships lost. The survivors down below, upon the planet’s surface, resting and inventorying what had been taken, numbered only enough to cobble together crews for seven or eight darkships. The fall of the Serke might mark the end of an era in more ways than one.
“Is there anything to eat?” Marika asked. “Did anyone think to bring anything in? I’m ravenous.” The struggle had consumed her body’s energy reserves.
“There is cold meat,” Grauel replied. “The bath remembered to bring it in, but I have found no way to cook it.”
Marika was amused by a vision of nomads cooking over a dung fire in the middle of the floor of an electric kitchen. Neither she nor any of those with her had any idea what anything aboard the alien might do.
“Did we take any captives who know anything about the ship?”
Grauel shrugged. “I’m not silth, Marika. I can’t communicate with those below.”
“Of course. It was foolish of me to ask. Get some rest now. I’m going exploring.”
“Marika... “
“Give me your ammunition. I’ll be fine.”
Grauel did not argue, which indicated just how far she and Grauel had extended themselves. Marika moved the ammunition from Grauel’s weapon to her own, then settled down to gnaw on cold, half-cooked preserved meat. Her stomach rumbled a greeting as sustenance finally arrived.
Having eaten, she reached out to the planet and tracked down a Mistress who was alert enough to be touched. She sent a series of queries and learned that only a pawful of Serke had been taken captive. Few of the rogue brethren had survived either. There had been a lot of anger in the struggle down there, and each death scream of another allied darkship had heightened the fury of the attackers. The majority of the prisoners were bonds. They would know little or nothing.
Some who had been interviewed were unaware that they were not still upon the meth homeworld.
But we did capture the records of the investigation of the alien ship, apparently intact.
That is wonderful, Marika responded. I will come down to examine them as soon as my bath are rested enough to make the descent. We will want hot food, and lots of it, when we arrive. She broke touch and began to wander through the dead ship.
She found dead brethren everywhere. Those who had not gotten themselves into their suppressor suits had begun to bloat, to stink. The first order of business would be to get rid of them before they polluted the environment permanently. She stepped over and around them, ignoring them, as she examined alien hardware.
The ship was a Jiana, she reflected. Or, if not a doomstalker, certainly accursed. Twice those it sustained had been slaughtered by enemies from without. She sped an admonitory prayer to the All, suggesting that that not be made a tradition.
The starship was a tradermale’s dream. It recalled the wonder she had felt the first time she had entered the control cabin of a dirigible, now so long ago the moment seemed excised from another life. The line of descent from that crude array to this was obvious at the control stations.
Much of what she saw was recognizable in terms of function, if not of actual operation. She saw several places where tradermales had made repairs and brought parts of the starship back to life.
The subliminal throb of the vessel continued, almost unnoticed, like her own heartbeat. The ship was crippled but far from dead. She wondered how much the rogue brethren had hoped to restore it. There had to be limits to what they could comprehend.
How broad those limits, though? They had had more than two decades to study it.
She wandered for more than two hours, growing ever more awed by the ship’s size. In that time she was unable to see everything that had been restored, and that part of the vessel represented but a fraction of the whole. She could duck through her loophole, capture a ghost, and sail through vast sections still unreclaimed, seeing ten thousand wonders that were absolute mysteries.
Wouldn’t Bagnel love it?
A worthy next project for him and his loyal brethren? There must be studies enough here to occupy generations.
Something touched her. She had a vague, general sense of something having gone wrong. She opened to the All.
A darkship had arrived.
She probed more closely. It was High Night Rider, at last come from the baseworld with the second wave... No. When she scanned the surrounding void she found the Redoriad voidship alone, and limping discernibly.
II
Feeble touch brushed the starship. Marika thought she recognized its flavor. Balbrach. Are you there? Is that you? What is wrong? Where are the other darkships?
The weak touch focused. I am here, Marika. Balbrach’s touch did not become much stronger. We jumped into an ambush. The Serke were attacking your base when we arrived. They had destroyed everyone caught on the ground and were dueling two darkships. We tried to help and nearly were destroyed ourselves. We lost bath. We managed to shake them returning here. But they could appear at any time. Our very direction of flight would unnerve them.
Do they know we have found them?
I do not know. It is likely they will learn, if they do not guess from the way we fled. We did learn that they were trying to destroy you with their attack. They were disappointed because you were not on your baseworld. My impression was that they planned to remain there till you returned. But if they guess that you have come here they will bring all their strength back. Come help us, Marika. We may not have the strength to make orbit.
I will be there as soon as I can. How many darkships did they have?
Five still functional when we fled.
Hold on. I am going to collect my bath now.
Marika wi
thdrew into herself and hurried to rejoin her crew. But soon she learned that she was lost in the corridors. She had to go down through her loophole and catch a ghost and ride it through the starship, scouting a pathway.
She touched her senior bath. We have to go out. High Night Rider has arrived after skirmishing with the missing Serke darkships. They lost bath and are in trouble. We are the only ones able to get there. Get your sisters up and ready.
The senior bath grumbled to herself, but prepared.
Marika debated having her let Grauel and Barlog lie where they were, but decided against it. They needed the rest, but they might waken, find themselves alone, and think that they had been abandoned.
Marika joined them as the senior bath passed the silver bowl and led the way through the airlock to the darkship. While she waited for the bath to untie and push away, Marika reached down and touched a Mistress on the planet to relay Balbrach’s news.
We could have unfriendly visitors at any time. All darkships must lift off immediately, lest they be caught on the surface. Assemble near the starship.
The response below was not one of great joy, but the silth down there sorted themselves out and got seven darkships off the ground. Marika was not pleased. Only seven surviving. She touched the silth who remained, telling them to keep a firm paw on their captives.
Her senior bath touched her. We are clear, Mistress. You may drive when you will.
Marika marked the location of High Night Rider and surged away from the alien. She gathered more ghosts and did the unthinkable: skipped through the Up-and-Over. She matched courses with the voidship, took her darkship inside, and loaned one of her bath to the senior Redoriad bath. Then she put her head together with Balbrach’s.
The Serke darkships materialized only hours after High Night Rider made orbit in the starship’s shadow. Marika and the others were waiting. They rushed in. The struggle was fierce, bitter, and without mercy asked or given. Though they were tired, the Serke showed well. They destroyed another three darkships. Marika had to summon the great black to end it.
The survivors limped back to the alien starship. Marika found Balbrach wandering the cold metal passageways of the ship. Balbrach greeted her by gesturing, saying, “This reminds me of the ice in a brethren factor’s heart. There is nothing here but function. Is this species a race without a soul?”
“I do not know, mistress. I have not had time to learn. Come with me. I can show you what they look like.”
“You have one of them?”
“No. An image.”
As they walked, Balbrach asked, “And what will you do now?”
“We have broken the Serke threat at last,” Marika replied, scarcely able to believe that the long hunt had come to an end. “Now we go on to... “
“You have fulfilled the role for which you were shaped by Gradwohl. Where will you go from there?”
Marika temporized. “I think nowhere. I will return to the homeworld, briefly, to gather meth to study the starship. Maybe I will come back here and stay here, awaiting the advent of the creatures who built this ship--if ever they come seeking their brethren.”
“Brethren?”
“Most seem to have been males, though their crew was mixed. Actually more like bonds at work than silth or brethren. Or I may hunt some rogues. There is one in particular with whom I have a grievance.”
“For a long time there have been close ties between Marika and the Redoriad first chair,” Balbrach observed. Her body language suggested that she was imparting an important secret. In a softer voice, she continued, “I suggest that you not spend much time at home, Marika. That you be very careful and abnormally alert if you do visit.”
“Why?”
“There are many sisters who feel that we should not have to endure the continuous threat represented by one silth who is able to impose her will upon anyone. Bestrei was tolerated because she did not interfere. She enforced the Serke will in the void, but according to a rigid and ancient noble code. They will see the silth who defeated Bestrei as more flexible, less predictable, and more likely to interfere in areas considered none of her business.”
“I see. You fear someone might try to eliminate that unpredictable silth.”
“Certainly the rogues would make that effort. The warlock will have been planning your fate from the moment he heard a rumor that his stellar allies had been found. And if he failed, then those sisters would take up the blade.”
“And?”
“And another thought strikes me now. This ship has proven to be a treasure that inspires madness. And you have made statements already sure to arouse the enmity of the greedy.”
“I see what you mean. I also sense that you speak not on the impulse of the moment, and that you do so without guessing. That you know whereof you speak.”
“Perhaps. I am sure there were Mistresses who came out here with orders to close the legend of Marika the savage if that was possible. The Serke ended their tales instead in this great slaughter. That in itself is going to cause considerable dismay. A useful villain has vanished. A third of all voidships in existence have been lost, and with them the most seniors of many dark-faring sisterhoods. There will be chaos when the news reaches home.”
Marika reflected. “Yes. Not only within the Communities bereft, too. If he has prepared as you suggest, and recognizes it, that would be a great moment for the warlock to strike.”
“So I have thought.”
“Then I shall race the news homeward. I shall arrive before he hears and complete my business there before the Communities can recover sufficiently to turn upon me.”
Looking within herself, Marika found her ties to her homeworld attenuated. But for wanting to see Bagnel again, and hoping to encounter Kublin, she had little desire to return. She hardly missed the enfolding subconscious touch of the planet. In fact, if she could convince Bagnel to come out to help unlock the secrets of the alien ship, she would be content to spend the rest of her life there, perhaps using it as a base from which to continue her explorations and to fare beyond the dust cloud in search of the creatures who had built the starship.
If she could fulfill her responsibilities toward Grauel and Barlog... She was stricken by an old guilt. “Whatever else I may do, Balbrach, there is one task I am compelled to undertake upon the homeworld. In one sense, now that the Serke have been overcome, I no longer have any excuse for delaying.”
The Redoriad most senior awarded her a baffled look, confused by her body language. Marika had ceased to be silth. She had lapsed into the upper Ponath savage she had been as a pup. Balbrach said, “I sense that some old haunt has recalled itself to you.”
“You know my background. You know I never completely rejected it. Nor have my two voctors, my packmates, who have been with me since we escaped the nomads the Serke sent down upon our homeland. It has taken us all our lives to avenge our packmates. But with that done, we still owe them one obligation. And we cannot complete that without returning to the place where they died.” She tried to explain a Mourning to Balbrach. The Redoriad could not encompass the savage practice. It was unlike anything in the silth experience. But she managed better than most because of her own rural background. Most silth would have mocked the notion of rites for a band of savages.
“I wish you could engineer it so you did not have to do this thing, Marika. I wish you could stay here and never again venture homeward. But I cannot presume to tell you what to do. I can only warn you of the dangers to your person.”
Marika nodded. “Here we are. This is the place from which the vessel was controlled. Where their equivalent of the Mistress of the Ship was posted.”
The chamber was large. It had three separate levels, with seating for forty beings. Most of the chairs faced screens similar to those meth used for communications. Balbrach said, “It looks like an oversize comm center.”
“Look here.” Marika touched a switch. One of the screens assumed life. A creature peered out at them. Balbrach made a start
led sound when it began talking. The sounds it made were more liquid and round than any that could be formed by the meth mouth and tongue.
“That is one ugly beast,” Balbrach said in an attempt at humor. “Such a flat face. Like someone smashed it in with a frying pan. And no fur, except on top. It looks like a badly deformed pup. Look at those ears. They are ears, are they not?”
“I suspect so. They are taller than we are, in the main, judging from the size of their chairs and doorways. That one seems to be male. The one in the background behind him, though, may be female.”
“Do you have any idea what he is saying?”
“No. At a guess, this is a recorded report to whoever finds the ship. This is the reason the Serke were certain someone would come. As it progresses you will see what appears to be a report about what crippled the ship, followed by regular reports on the fates of individual crew members as they perished.”
“You could tell all that?”
“Some things do not need words. A picture says more.”
“True.” Balbrach turned from the screen. “So. What are your plans?”
“As I said. I will go home briefly. I will assemble a team to study the ship. I will close out my life there. I think it will be my last visit, unless I go home to die. I will leave soon, to arrive before anyone who slips off with the news. Can High Night Rider carry darkships and Mistresses who have had to loan their bath?”
“If necessary. That leaves me with only one question, Marika. Perhaps the most important question of all.”
“Yes?”
“What about Starstalker?”
It was a question Marika had been avoiding, even within her mind. Starstalker had not been among the Serke voidships destroyed. “What about Starstalker? I do not know. I think that will have to answer itself. Possibly at a time and place of their choosing.”
III
The first rest stop on the path home came at the former baseworld. Marika drifted in through space scattered with broken voidships and dead silth. One third of all voidfaring silth lost. One third of the best and brightest of all silth. And the warlock had not had to lift a paw.
