NASTRAGULL: Pirates (22 page)

For thousands of years, Urrack's people had guarded this ancient chamber, which they know only as the Hall of Gall. Perhaps it was a tomb; in any case, they had forgotten what it was, and why they guarded it. They knew only that to do so was important. It had become a custom, part of their culture. It had no religious or political significance; it simply was a tradition, something that linked the new generations of Urrack's people with those that had come before.

Occasionally Urrack wondered: was the Hall in fact a tomb, with the bones of ancient Elites laid beneath the flagstones? Or was it a place his people had used for sacrificial rituals, or perhaps a temple for prayer? He had long since decided that it didn’t really matter; ultimately, it was just something that was important to his people.

One thing was certain: the place was creepy. The darkness lay thick as cobwebs across the chamber, and the only light came from torches in sconces along the walls. Powered lighting was not allowed in the chamber, which made no sense to Urrack; surely the torches, with their soot and heat, did more damage than modern lighting ever could. He himself had taken part in the yearly scrubbing of the soot from walls and ceilings. 

No matter. All he wanted to do was to get his guard shift over with.

The twenty guards who had accompanied him were lined up outside in strict formation. For two days and two nights, they would remain outside the large wooden doors unless ordered inside. There could be no communication between them, nor could they drink or eat anything until the next guard shift replaced them. Again, tradition. It was an honor for any of his people to stand guard at the Hall of Gall.

This responsibility fell only to select, mature individuals of the very best and brightest, those who had performed something extraordinary during his or her lifetime. That person could be anyone: a scientist, a reporter, a soldier, a factory worker. It was the last thing they were required to do before retirement from seventy five years of service either in the private or governmental sectors.

The torches inside the Hall sparked strange reflections from the engraving on the dusty floor. It would soon be time to put together a work detail to clean the place, Captain Urrack reflected. He had almost finished his rounds and had started for the exit when a wave of cold swept over him, causing him to shiver. Goose-bumps rose on his exposed flesh as he realized that something unnatural was happening—and that thought sent more cold chills down his spine. Something was wrong, very wrong. He turned around very slowly, and saw a strange bluish glow emanating from the altar. There was no power source in the Hall of Gall to generate that light, and yet it was there.

"Guards!" he called loudly, his throat desert-dry.

Without waiting for a response, he cautiously approached the strange light. He noted that the Hall was growing colder as he went, and darker. He glanced at his torch, puzzled. It was as bright as usual, guttering slightly in the draft from the door, and still the room was becoming darker. It was almost as if the shadows were thickening, trying to smother the light.

When he was within a few meters of the altar, the bluish glow vanished. He stopped, then shook his head and squinted. Could it have been his imagination, or the first sign of age?

"Captain," one of the guards said from behind.

Captain Urrack turned and looked quizzically at the two guards who had joined him. Clearly, they too could sense that something wasn't right. He was sure that their disquiet was brought on by the same thing as his: fear, an emotion all but unknown to his race. The guards raised the edged, forked sticks of their Yahariias lances; Captain Urrack nodded to them. Fighting the alien emotion, this fear, he turned back towards the altar—and that's when he saw it. Some sort of pale liquid, seemingly made of living light, now filled the ancient basket almost to the brim.

It shuddered and danced, and that's when the throbbing began.

Urrack's people lived on a well-tamed, tectonically-dead world with no large predators, and little worry from the weather. They had lived in peace for at least as long as the Hall of Gall had been quiescent; they had no need to fear anything. But soon all that would change. From the deep, silent caves at the center of the largest mountain on their world's single continent pulsed a sound no one had heard for ten thousand years. It was felt more than heard, and spread from its focus through the caves into the surrounding valleys, and thence to the open plains and coastal jungles. Every member of Urrack's people, from the least to the greatest, became instantly aware of the throbbing's meaning and purpose. It left no one unaffected; those who slept awoke, and all over the continent people put aside what they were doing and turned toward the Mountain of Gall. What once had been blessedly forgotten now was remembered by the Samari, as something in their collective racial memory stirred, stretched, and raised its behorned head. Drums: drums that brought only one message.

War.

Chapter 13

Nikko Behl glared at the monitor in front of him, cursing fluently in his native tongue. Alec glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and Behl immediately switched to Nadjarish, the common tongue that had been cobbled together thousands of years ago in order to facilitate communication after the end of the last, devastating war. It had since become the lingua franca of the inhabited galaxies, the first tongue of thousands of worlds and a secondary tongue for tens of thousands more, in one dialect or another.

After his cursing ran down—and quite inventive it had been, too—the captain growled, "By the way, son, name's Behl...Nikko Behl."

"Yessir, I recognized you, sir," Alec said, just as their small craft shuddered from what appeared to be a glancing blow from a magma blaster. "Alec Horn..." Alec's instinct took over, and he repeated, "Alec Horn, sir."

"Honor making your acquaintance," Behl replied, then cursed fluently as their ship shook again. "Sorry, lad, I get a little emotional when a ship's up my ass, throwing things at me that can hurt."

"No worries, sir, you fly like a Master-Level pilot!" Alec tapped at the weapons panel, releasing a second anti-flak burst. 

"Hmmph. That's good, because I
am
one."

Alec looked at him, amazed. "You're a Master-Level pilot? Begging the Captain's pardon, but what are you doing flying for the Merchants?"

Behl snorted. "Well, normally it wouldn't be any of your damn business, son, but since I'm guessing we're going to be spending some real tight quality time together and given the fact that you just saved my life, I might as well tell you. Money."

Alec looked puzzled. "Money?"

"Yeah, that's right, a lot of money."

"But...I'd expect that anyone with a Master-Level at anything would earn a fortune."

"Well then, you don't know much, now do you?" Behl tapped the control panel and peered closely at readout. "Looks like they've stopped firing." His fingers danced across the keypad. "All righty then...navcomp's got a fix, and says we're less than a light minute from a natural jump point. Looks like a wormhole that's lost its event horizon. We hit it right, we can get home. Eventually." He tapped a few keys, peered at the board, and said, "Course plotted. I'm accelerating to 0.5 c; we'll be there in two minutes." Behl sat back with a satisfied look on his face.

It was a long two minutes before the nav alarm went off. Behl roused himself, made a few adjustments to their course, and muttered, "Hang on, son, here we go."

It was the first time Alec had been present on the bridge of a vessel that was allowing itself to be drawn into the hungry maw of a singularity, and for a few moments he forgot about his predicament. Not that the experience was particularly spectacular; the cabin lights and panels dimmed abruptly as the engines sent them on their space-warping approach to the singularity, and outside the ports, all became pitch black. For a few seconds, everything appeared to move in slow motion, and it felt, in the pit of his stomach, as if they were falling down a deep well at enormous speed—which in fact they were.

Then the ship seemed to stop abruptly, jerking its occupants forward.
Must have hit something
, Alec thought, a split second before a bright white radiance flooded the bridge and he was pushed hard back into his crash couch, as if by a giant's hand. He took a deep breath and examined his instruments. They were back in normal space.

Alec glanced at Behl. "That was interesting, sir. Do it again?"

"Ha! Don't you worry, son. Something tells me we'll be doing this a few more times."

"How come it's nothing like this when you're a passenger?"

Captain Behl shrugged. "You have to be at the center core of a big ship or in a little one like this one to get the full experience."

Alec scowled. "The flight simulators at school included nothing like this."

"They should, but they don't," Behl agreed. "But I'm glad I was able to put a smile on that mask of yours."

"Mask?"
 

Behl tapped a few keys on the instrument panel and looked sidelong at Alec. "No offence meant, son, but the first time I saw you was after you almost blew me up. There was a big boom, the nano-wall died, and suddenly there was this bloody, weather-beaten warrior standing in the doorway, loaded down with weapons. I saw your eyes, and the stare you gave me. Shit, you made that hairy bastard of a pirate captain look nice there for an instant."

"Um, sorry if I startled you." Alec's memory of the rescue was a little spotty, since everything had happened so fast. "You startled me, actually. I had no idea the nano-wall was there...and when I saw you hanging from the wall, well..."

Behl nodded. "Well, I appreciate you taking me with you." He looked around the cockpit and said, after a long moment, "I guess this is that pirate bastard's back-up plan."

"What do you mean?"

"Most pirate captains have contingency plans in place, in case they need to make a quick getaway. Kinda like the ones Admirals have aboard their flagships. This must've been one of Zuzack's." 

Alec listened with interest as Behl continued. "The crews have their escape pods and the officers their shuttles to make an escape in, if they have to. Most Admirals keep a pinnace or gig in place, so they can escape if they need to. Let’s 'em maintain their chain of command. In this case, the pirate bastard turned a fast scout ship into his personal escape pod."

Alec interrupted. "Isn't this ship a little big for a scout?"

"Yes and no. What we're sitting in is the scout ship itself; it's integrated into a larger transport chassis of some kind. Haven't found the commands that will detach the transport chassis yet, but I'm sure I will if I dig deep enough into the comp system. I bet we'll find a lot of interesting things back there, whenever we get a chance to look. Hell, we might be sitting on a fortune."

Alec glanced surreptitiously at the bag behind him.

"Here, take the stick," Behl said suddenly. He tapped a few controls before Alec had a chance to protest, and suddenly the ship jinked to the left. "Right aft thruster's a little hot," Behl said helpfully, as Alec grabbed the yoke and did his best to get the steering under control.

"I thought you knew how to fly," Behl muttered as rubbed his forehead.

"I do. I did well in Piloting and Nav at the Academy," Alec defended himself. "It's just that..." He stopped talking and focused on the steering.

"Here now, just relax." Behl unstrapped himself, then leaned forward in the microgravity and adjusted Alec's hands, efficiently instructing him how to gain control over the ship. Within moments
Tramp
was back on course, and over the next few hours Behl gave Alec better lessons on maneuvering and flying than he'd ever learned in school. Eventually the older man stretched and excused himself to go to the head. Alec barely noticed when he heard the hatch cycle behind him, but Behl's shout of "Holy shit!" yanked his attention back to reality.

"Hey, now," Behl called, "Don't let me make you lose control of the ship, cadet." His voice reminded Alec of some of his instructors from the military academy. He turned his head to glance at Behl as he entered the tiny bridge; the old man wore a huge grin. "C'mon, let's trade places. You got to see this with your own eyes."

Alec quickly traded places with Behl, who took the yoke with practiced ease, and scrambled through the hatch leading back to the cargo spaces. The first thing he noticed in the hold was a huge bed; on the far end of the small space was a compact pantry, flanked by two open hatches. Alec looked into the leftmost and found a surprisingly neat, well-organized head that was barely big enough to handle someone the size of Zuzack. He grunted and stepped over to the hatch on the right; he found himself facing a short cylindrical hall that jogged to the left about three meters in. It seemed well-enough lit, so he hauled himself inside. He soon found himself in a larger space that was so tightly packed with goods that there was little room left to move around. He grabbed hold of a bar on the wall and pulled himself off the deck, peering at all the boxes and crates strapped to the deck. Several had been jimmied open; he could see that they contained clear plastic containers filled with from food, furs, and alcohol to weapons, money, and jewels. He whistled faintly, and wondered what the hell they were going to do with all that loot.