Splintered Suns Page 10

Pyke laughed faintly, pointing. “These statues, they all look—”

  “Like us,” Vrass said. “Yes, we know, one Bargalil, one Shyntanil and one Gomedran. When I first arrived here, however long ago that was, there were just two statues—only after the demise of my real-world self did a third statue appear, mysteriously, when no one was around to see.” Vrass joined him at the rail. “That looks nothing like me, however.”

  Pyke grimaced. “Wonder what I’ll get when … when I …”

  Dizziness hit him like a wave once again and he staggered back, lunged at the wall and fell to his knees. Then his limbs went numb and he slumped over on his side. Vrass was swift to crouch nearby.

  “It’s happening again!” he wanted to say but the numbness had reached his mouth and tongue. Physical sensations ebbed away, and his hearing was next to go. By now the others had hurried over and gathered around him, their shapes blurring at the edges. And there were others, too, sad-eyed spectral forms hovering and wavering behind them, apparitions weirdly lit by nearby candles. Then it all gradually fell away and he breathed in to cry out as dark tendrils curled in from the edges like an iris, plunging him into sightless blackness.

  Then the iris opened out, and he saw that he was walking swiftly, stealthily, along a dim corridor towards a well-lit branch passage: there, a slender, wiry biped in a dark uniform was shouting while aiming a long-barrelled weapon at someone further along the branch. Pyke was a mere spectator as the Legacy casually strolled up to the guard and disarmed him, before rendering him unconscious quickly and ruthlessly.

  Pyke sat back in the pilot’s couch and spread his hands theatrically.

  “The rest you know!”

  There was a stunned silence and looks of puzzlement or scepticism were on show. Dervla found herself in a strange state of conflicted emotions—part of her just wanted to laugh out loud at such an unbelievable tale, yet Pyke’s actions after his arrival at the museum had certainly gone from unsettling to unhinged craziness, which was enough to make her pause for serious consideration. Also there was the fact that he had told this big, convoluted story straight, without any of his usual tics and tells, so this was either the performance of a lifetime, or …

  Billows of fine sand hissed against the shuttle’s hull, claws of the duststorm whose fringes they were skirting around. She shivered.

  Ancil raised a hesitant hand. “Chief, all that stuff with the island—all that happened inside that chunk of crystal?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “Can I get another look at it, Chief?—if that’s okay.”

  Pyke shrugged, then produced the dark, leather-clad object, its odd shape reminding Dervla of a fang, and gingerly undid the fastenings and peeled them aside. The crystal lay within, looking like the head of some creature—a bird or a reptile—and it had a tapering, irregular stem with rough sides as if it had been broken off from something else. Dervla saw the nervousness in the way Pyke handled the thing, and realised that she was starting to believe in his story.

  “So this AI, this Legacy,” Ancil said, “jumped into your mind and bounced you over into the crystal-thing. And now you’re back in charge of your own body but there’s still another you left behind. Right?”

  “You’ve got it,” Pyke said. “My guess is that anyone dumb or unlucky enough to touch this thing ends up leaving behind an imprint, an echo of themselves, when the Legacy decides to pull the plug. That hijacking scumbucket thought I was a deader when it left me falling out of that window. It didn’t reckon on Dervla leaping out of the skagging window after me, or having a grav-boat backup plan!”

  Dervla sketched a mock bow from where she sat. “You said Raven used the crystal on that Construct drone, and that it was there on the island, but when you got glimpses of what this Legacy was up to back in the real world you never mentioned seeing some evil-possessed drone floating around.”

  Pyke shrugged. “Never caught sight of it, no idea what happened to the drone’s casing and contents. When Raven used the crystal on the drone back on the ship it couldn’t have been completely trashed, so the Legacy must have allowed the drone to be copied into the simulation for some kinda reason, probably a twisted one.”

  “What do we do with it in the meantime?” said Ancil.

  “Keep it safe and wrapped up and away from tampering fingers,” Pyke said as he refastened the straps and clips. “I’m not having any of you taken over by that skagsucker from hell.”

  There were nods of assent all round, though Dervla wondered if careful study under lab conditions might explain more than Pyke’s travelogue. She was about to suggest this when the shuttle-barge heeled over noticeably as it turned to port. The filtered daylight dimmed and the interior glowstrips brightened in response.

  “We changing course, Chief?” Ancil said. “We’re veering into that storm.”

  Outside, the hazy view of the dune desert and the distant, hilly horizon had been obliterated—dark swirls of dust and fine sand engulfed the shuttle-barge in a constant abrasive hiss.

  “Autopilot is guiding us to the rendezvous coordinates,” Pyke said, studying the navcomp screens. “ETA in … uh, ten minutes—the skagging storm has shifted and we’re running straight into a headwind.”

  “Okay, then,” Dervla said. “While we wait for the shuttle to get to where it’s going, it might be handy to know what surprises Oleg packed away for us.”

  “Ah, already done, Derv,” Ancil said.

  “What … when?”

  “While the captain was telling us his story, I was footling around with the cases. I was still listening, though.”

  “I heard you moving around,” Derv said. “Thought you were just off to the can.”

  “Explains your follow-up questions,” said Pyke. “So what did you find?”

  Ancil was immediately gleeful. “He packed the gauss rifles, a brace of drum-pistols, a pulse beamer and …” he paused, “… the Melari!”

  The Melari was a hefty, double-barrelled weapon capable of delivering a range of highly effective rounds.

  “The Melari,” Pyke said with an approving nod. “What else?”

  “Only a bandolier stocked with all my favourite nades and charges!”

  “Nade Boy’s got to have his nades. What else?”

  Ancil looked thoughtful, glancing back over his shoulder. “One of the cases had body armour … another’s got food and drink, I think.”

  “Easy to see where your priorities lie,” Dervla said, getting out of her seat and moving to the rear of the passenger compartment where the supplies had been stacked. She studied the labels, even looked inside a couple of containers, then folded her arms and whistled.

  “I hope Oleg packed my beach shorts and windbreaker,” Pyke said. “’Cos I’d just be lost without ’em …”

  Dervla gave a sly smile. “How about two-man hunker tents? Or command-level emergency rations? Or breather masks, quality ones? There’s even a field surgical module—clamp it to a steady table, activate it and, pow, instant field surgery. That Oleg, he’s a treasure …”

  Pyke was taken aback. “I didn’t even know we had half this stuff aboard.”

  Without warning, the shuttle-barge lurched to starboard as its nose dipped. Dervla grabbed a nearby seat headrest and hauled herself into the couch behind it. Outside, something was glowing through the murky rushing veils of the sandstorm. Pyke was hunched over the controls, madly keying and screen-prodding, and a moment later the craft levelled off enough for Dervla to leave her seat safely and return to the co-pilot couch.

  “Got a castext from this scientist of Van Graes,” he said. “Claims to be her anyway, told me to look out for ‘the arrowhead,’ whatever that means …”

  Dervla was peering forward, through the battering swirls of dust in the direction of the glow source. When details became apparent she smiled, snapped her fingers to get Pyke’s attention and pointed.

  “Right, I see,” he said. “Typical intro-tech, can’t just tell me to look f
or three landing lights in a triangle, nah, has to make it a skaggy IQ test!” He glanced at Dervla. “Which I would’ve figured out, by the way, let me make that clear!”

  The duststorm was shifting again by the time the shuttle-barge was within fifty metres of the landing pad. A ferocious crosswind was now forcing Pyke to alternate between the autopilot, which was keeping them lined up with the landing gear traps, and manual control. Minute by minute the shuttle-barge descended with nerve-jangling slowness until at last Dervla heard the satisfying multiple clunk of the landing gear being locked into position, solidly anchored to the ground.

  By the haloed light of the lamps, Dervla could see that they were parked next to a louvred wall set into a rock face. As they sat there, a rigid canopy began extending outwards above, curving down and over them, entirely sealing the shuttle-barge off from the raging storm. They could now see that the landing pad was situated square in the middle of what looked like a crescent-shaped area with rough rock walls, the air still hazy with fine, disturbed dust.

  “Well, we’re here, sitting on her doorstep,” she said. “You’d think there’d be …”

  Three loud raps interrupted her. Pyke chortled.

  “Our hostess makes her presence known!”

  Pyke got up, went over to the hatch and thumbed the release. It slid open to reveal the midriff of someone tall and dressed in a rose-coloured robe with baggy sleeves and capacious folds. The stranger bent down to peer in, and Dervla had to fight to keep her expression composed—a female Sendrukan!

  Well now, what was a member of the Master Race doing out here in this wasteland?

  The Sendrukan Hegemony was the single most powerful civilisation in this part of the galaxy, a status that the Sendrukans had worked hard to acquire over preceding centuries, not least because they had an exceedingly high opinion of themselves.

  “I am Lieutenant-Doctor Ustril,” the Sendrukan said in a slightly hoarse voice, her words calm and measured. “Are you Captain Pyke?”

  “That I am.”

  “And this is your crew?”

  “That they are. Don’t be fooled by their unpromising demeanour and lack of social graces—they’re highly trained operatives, able to turn their hand to any job, even cooking.”

  The Sendrukan scientist stuck her head through the hatch and gave each of them a moment’s scrutiny. The proportions of Sendrukan faces were quite similar to those of Humans, and Lieutenant-Doctor Ustril’s features were neat and well formed with a soft, pale complexion that Dervla refused to be jealous of. Long, dark-blue hair braided into three thick plaits completed the picture.

  Ustril’s expression gave away nothing yet Dervla could almost feel the disapproval vibrating in the air.

  “Van Graes mentioned that you liked to talk,” she observed.

  “One of life’s pleasures,” Pyke said. “Although not everyone agrees.”

  Ustril seemed on the point of frowning, but instead turned and moved away from the shuttle-barge. “Please follow me—my Angular Eye detector is still being calibrated, a brief procedure. Then activation will take place.”

  Dervla went outside and leaned against the side of the shuttle-barge while Pyke and the others filed out. Last to emerge was Ancil who was gazing wide-eyed at the back of the tall Sendrukan scientist. He glanced at Dervla as he exited, eyes quickly returning to the Sendrukan.

  “She’s kinda … y’know, really …”

  “What?” Dervla said. “Tall? Mysterious? Enigmatic? Aloof?”

  Ancil swallowed. “Amazing,” he said, eyes wide. “I think I’m in love.”

  At which Kref turned and stared at Ancil, then exchanged a worried look with Dervla.

  “Uh-oh,” he said in deep, foreboding tones.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Pyke, the planet Ong, Ustril’s base in the desert

  Without offering an explanation, the Sendrukan made them wait in an austere, pale-grey foyer-like room laid out with hard benches whose greyness was equally pale.

  “What is this all about?” Dervla muttered.

  “Don’t know, my sweet,” Pyke said. “But if there’s no change very soon I may be forced to start singing ‘The Ballad Of The Bastard King’s Bodyguard’!”

  He smiled as she brought a hand up to her forehead, as if she were suffering from a sudden needling pain. “The Filthiest Song Ever Written?”

  “The very same, all thirty-two verses, in all their multi-sexual, ultra-sensual glory.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Every one committed to memory.”

  “I like verse eleven,” said Kref with a throaty chuckle. “Dirty-funny.”

  “Verse sixteen,” Ancil said. “Once heard, never forgotten.”

  Grinning, Pyke nodded. “We could probably get a good chorus going—we’ll need it for verse twenty-one …”

  At that moment a tall door cracked open in the wall and the Sendrukan scientist emerged, clutching a bundle of opaque, filmy garments. Pyke just caught Dervla giving thanks under her breath and smiled inwardly to himself.

  “The isochronal detector is still running through its calibration phase,” the Sendrukan said. “Therefore I have decided to admit you to my workshop. However, due to a number of sensitive ongoing experiments I must ask you all to don these simple environment suits. They seal in any skin cells, follicles or particulates.”

  Pyke stared at the filmy garments and raised a querying finger. “Erm, Doc, how long till your calibration is actually finished?”

  “In Human terms, more than one hour. You are quite welcome to wait out here if you so wish.”

  Hmm, trying to make me look like the yokel-bozo, eh? Pyke snapped a smile into place, bright and furiously cheery.

  “Not to worry, Doc—looks like a comfy suit, can’t wait to try it on!”

  With surprising alacrity Ancil darted across to take the suits from Ustril’s outstretched arm. As she passed them over to him she stood there regarding him for a slightly bemused moment, then retreated inside the darkened workshop and closed the door. Ancil stared at the door for a second or two, then began sorting through the suits and handing them out. Watching this from the side, Pyke exchanged a quizzical look with Dervla. Under her breath she whispered, “tell you later,” then smiled when Ancil came up with an envirosuit for each of them.

  “Everyone’s got their name on it, see?” Ancil pointed to black characters near one shoulder. “And they all fit just right. Amazing—bet she’s got devices in the walls that scanned our measurements!”

  Great Spirit of the Spaceways! Pyke thought as Ancil wandered off to get himself kitted out. The lad has a bad case of the besots—for a lady Sendrukan, no less!

  “So—stars in his eyes, then?” he murmured to Dervla as they both tugged the thin, baggy suits on over their clothes.

  “Kinda looks that way.”

  “Y’know, I could have a word with him, man to man …”

  She gave him an amused look and patted his arm. “I don’t know if your skill set’s up to the challenge. Leave him to me for now.”

  Pyke shrugged and nodded, even though he knew that he had plenty of sage advice to offer, especially given the mystical bonds of brotherhood shared by those who had faced dark perils together and survived. Not to say that Dervla won’t be helpful, deploying her womanly insights and suchlike, but it’s always wise to have a plan B—if all else fails, the lads will come to the rescue.

  The door opened when everyone was suited up, and they calmly filed inside.

  Ustril’s workshop turned out to be a wide, high room, sporadically lit by freestanding downlamps which left the ceiling in shadows. Framework partitions sectioned off areas into small rooms here and there, and the decor was a mix of soft green and sky-blue materials adorned with stylised gear and circuitry patterns. Even as they entered, Pyke saw a square partition descend from the ceiling to enclose completely a cluster of analyser racks and a cluttered lab bench over in the corner.

  Looking around, Pyke noticed that one part of the open-pl
an area was for cooking and dining, another for soft seating with an entertainment console, another that was a library of sorts. There were also shelves and transparent cabinets spaced around the walls.

  Ustril was nowhere to be seen but suddenly her composed voice could be heard in the air overhead. “Please wait in the de-stress zone. I am occupied with matters of parameter adjustment and will join you shortly.” There was a two-second pause. “Kindly do not touch anything.”

  Exchanging looks and shrugs, the crew gravitated to the group of oversized, padded stools and a pair of immense loungers. Pyke stretched out on one of these and was just starting to enjoy it when the Sendrukan scientist emerged from one of the partitioned rooms, came over and sat down quite primly on one of the stools.

  “The calibration is proceeding satisfactorily,” she said. “We will have to wait no more than one half-hour.”

  “Good, great,” said Pyke, nodding, and Dervla nodded, too. Then the others nodded to each other as well.

  The ensuing silence widened uncomfortably.

  “So, Doc,” Pyke said after a moment. “Er, Doctor Ustril, that is, how did you come to be here on Ong? Are you studying the desert for one of your academies, or the like?”

  His words trailed off as he saw a distraught expression passed over the Sendrukan’s face and she bowed her head for a moment. Ah, hell, what have I said now?

  Dervla shot him an annoyed glance before she went over and sat next to the Sendrukan, now looking almost childlike in stature.

  “If our captain said anything to upset you, we’re very sorry …”

  Lieutenant-Doctor Ustril raised her head. “I take no offence. None of you could be expected to know anything of my personal indignities. I do not wish to reveal the details, but I can tell that I have been exiled from the Hegemony for some years due to … to hasty remarks I made about matters outwith my area of competence.” She looked around her for a moment. “It has been some time since I had … visitors.”

  Then Ancil put up his hand, as if he was a kid in school, and Pyke thought, Don’t, Ans, just don’t!