“We’re taking everything on this one, so kill as you please!” Captain shouted to the crew. They muttered assent. Aye, and after they were done stripping the ship clean, he’d send her straight to Davy with a torpedo in her belly. Always a fine sight. His masters would be very pleased. Put the fear of IronHell back into the corp’s belly. Damn suits were getting uppity again. “Storm status?”
“Wave height increasing,” announced Tactical. “Winds up
another twenty kph.”
The squall was getting worse. “All stop,” Captain ordered, reversing his cap. “Gimme periscope depth. Stabilizers on full.”
“Aye, sir. We are.”
At fifteen meters depth, their periscope was above the ocean’s surface, but the endlessly crashing waves hid their target in a choppy maelstrom. “Up five meters,” said Captain, forearms resting on the side supports of the ’scope. Someday, he’d get jacked and see the outside inside his head through their pinhead cam on the hull. But he’d yet to find a chummer he trusted enough to stand guard over him while he was unconscious and under the laser.
“Aye, sir,” said Lieutenant, scratching his stubble. “Helm, up five, zero bubble.”
Rigger nodded, fully jacked into the sub’s brain so man was boat and boat was man. His hands also hovered over the main control panel as he watched the dials before him intently. “Confirm. Five at zero!”
As the periscope focus adjusted automatically for the distance, the captain of the
Manta
punched for night vision. Lights were flashing over the craft. What the hell was going on? “Ah, drek!” he said finally. “They’re fighting a snake!” Murmurs came from the bridge crew.
“Sea serpent,” corrected Captain grimly. This was not part of their plan. But the sea was always full of surprises. “Big fragging mother. Forty, fifty meters long.”
“Leeches?” asked Lieutenant grimacing.
“Tons of ’em.”
“An old snake then. Bloody hell.”
“Aye.” Standard procedure was to wait for the target ship to come out of a squall and then attack while the crew was still weak and disorganized from battling the elements. But a sea serpent!
“Prepare torpedoes,” ordered Captain briskly. “No, belay that! Prep the Firelance.”
The Weapons officer awoke from his dozing. “Sir?”
“You heard me, Wep. The big laser. Now move! Let’s give this baby a test run. That’s why we got it!” There were rules at sea, even for pirates. And one of the most important was, everybody killed snakes. Just for different reasons, that’s all.
Standing in the open doorway of the bridge on the forecastle, Delphia squinted against the sheets of rain. He lowered the SCK and reached into his jacket for his Zeist glasses. He put them on, the frames giving a low hum, the lenses swirling with colors, and suddenly his machine gun was back in action, chattering away into the raging darkness.
Just steps away, Thumbs touched the third molar in his mouth with his tongue and his reflexes kicked into overdrive. He always liked using his reflex trigger, it gave him such a rush. He slashed his monofilament blades at the sea serpent with chipped speed, a blur in the rain. The rest of the crew was battling the leeches crawling over the deck of the
Esmeralda
like roaches on a wet kitchen floor. Green-black waves rose above the radio mast to crash on the decks harder than piledrivers, smashing the last few lifeboats and washing off everything and everybody not holding on for dear freaking life.
Silver meanwhile had found her spare cable and had jacked directly into the automated weapons control panel of the ship. She was no rigger, but she figured it was now or never. It wasn’t a rigged vessel, thank the gods, and it only took her a nano to seize control of the weapons systems. The Emmy seemed to have only one defensive battery, class four,
honeycomb formation, Rockwell and Boeing manufacturer.
Carried 10 four-meter-long missiles. Loaded with old-style Amsterdams, almost a decade out of date, all-purpose missiles: surface-to-air, ship-to-ship, and ship-to-land.
Drek! Only three remaining, and all set for detonation upon impact, not penetration! Useless against the adamantine scales of the fragging snake. Frantically, Silver raced through the menu, changing the codes to alter the timing sequence on the big 15-kilogram warheads. She hoped to drek the others could keep those leeches off her while her consciousness was here doing this. With its doors open and lights full on, the elevated forecastle and balcony seemed to be a lure for the filthy things. Bloodsucking monster leeches. She shivered.
Grenades used up, Moonfeather was shooting at any leeches that tried to gain entry into the bridge. But easily half her rounds twanged off the steelloy deck, and one big leech got so close it almost bit her with a fanged proboscis even as the thing horribly exploded.
“Thanks!” she called over her shoulder.
“Not a problem,” shouted Delphia from the other side of the bridge. “Can’t you see through the storm?”
“Hell, no!”
Four more fast shots. “Then I’ll give cover! You do something else!”
“And make it big!” Villiers added.
Nodding, Moonfeather holstered her weapon and moved over to the center of the room. She sat down crosslegged and pulled a leather fetish from her belt. Holding it like a sword, she took a deep breath and went very very still.
* * *
Moonfeather was standing on a vast desert, its shifting dunes reaching to the shimmering horizon.
Her combat gear was gone. She was dressed in a flowing garment made of purest white silk and leather sandals. The sand under them was rippled like waves on a lake, and Moonfeather noticed her feet were in shadow, at the very tip of a pointed triangle of darkness. Turning around slowly, she flinched. The afternoon sun was blazing directly behind a huge structure of some sort.
Impossibly, the sun rose into the sky as if on celestial tracks. The shadow receded toward the structure, pulling her along with it as if she was attached to it. As the sun reached azimuth, she crested a low hill and saw a tremendous stone pyramid rise majestically before her. It was enormous, bigger than anything she had ever seen, towering three, four hundred meters tall. Dominating the entire desert, the featureless expanse of the geometric shape seemed brand new, not crumbling and ancient like those of Egypt or Mexico.
Reverently advancing in the shifting sands, Moonfeather spotted a small opening on ground level. It was a metal doorway, the detailed stone skindle and jambs edged with elaborate hieroglyphics and cartouches. On either side of the entrance, supporting the massive lintel with inhumanly muscular arms were twin statues. Apparently carved from hard mountain granite, not soft sandstone, the statues were of norms with the heads of cats, their angled eyes glittering the same color as the door itself. Some sort of amber gems? No, polished bronze, or gold. Golden doors?
In the distance, Moonfeather heard soft voices singing sweet songs of praise, and the silvery tinkle of bells. A soft wind blew the sands away from before her, exposing a walk of polished jade leading directly to the mighty door.
Approaching, she noticed the statues moving slightly, tracking her every step. Their granite hands were claws, and ebony swords hung sheathed on their belts, but Moonfeather felt no fear. Theirs was the kindly gaze of an amused friend or perhaps an elder sister.
Distance fooled her sense of perspective. As she stood before the massive door it stretched above her like a golden cliff. No hinges or lock were in view. Moonfeather walked closer, and as she moved between the guardians, the door slid silently aside, going into the pyramid. Beyond was the sandstone side of the structure and a normal-sized passageway, a minuscule mousehole compared to the gigantic door.
Tricks and illusions. Moonfeather knew she was being played with. Every time she visited her totem, the landscape was different; a hollowed-out tree larger than any megacorp skyscratcher—its branches stretching out to cover the world, bejeweled cities of paper and silk, steaming savannahs, always different, yet always the same. Tricks and illusions, games and tests.
As she stepped into the passageway, soft fur brushed her cheek and the door closed with a whisper of the air pushed out of its gargantuan way. It was much cooler in here, even though the corridor was lined with dozens of smokeless torches. The steady light illuminated a long narrow passageway whose walls, ceiling, and floor were completely covered with painted scenes of solemn ceremonies attended by endless hordes of worshippers lovingly offering tribute to whatever was down the passageway.
The far end was open, the golden doors spread wide, inviting entrance. Walking at a steady pace, Moonfeather could almost taste the mana in here, it was so thick. She felt invigorated, almost giddy and fought the feelings down. Another test. Remember, dignity, always fragging dignity!
Beyond the doors was a single massive chamber larger than any sports arena, the vaunted ceiling stretching out of sight. The floor was covered with thick rugs and piled with plump cushions. The interior walls were mirrors, reflecting everything. Prominent in the exact center—and somehow she knew it was the precise and exact center—was a tiered rise of jade, framed by statues of brawny humans holding aloft a golden bower edged with sparkling jewels. Sprawled almost bonelessly on a silken divan in near obscene comfort was a large tan cougar. Although the creature purred in pleasure, the black tip of its tail was a metronome of impatience. Only the overly large eyes watching her minutely showed startlingly human expression. It was Cat.
“Little one, I do not like to be kept waiting,” throated Cat, giving a long slow blink of welcome.
“I did not know I was expected,” said Moonfeather honestly.
“My followers should think ahead of the now.” Cat hunched her shoulders as if preparing to pounce, then relaxed and tilted her head. “However, you are forgiven. When you struck that hougan and left My mark upon him, that was very good. His kind had no fear of me, now they do. I am pleased.”
“Thank you, I—”
“You wish a favor?” Emerald eyes narrowed and widened. “You have not asked of me for many years. Yet you always boast of my songs, tell of my power, and wear my marks. Even when it endangers your life. Your request is granted.”
Moonfeather was stunned. So easy? Words filled her thoughts, but she forced herself quiet. Here was the game. Don’t ask for two things when offered one. Don’t ask for what cannot be given. Magic had limits.
“Beloved mother, sister of the night, please touch me . . .” She shook her head and began again. “Show me a song to summon an ocean spirit to banish the storm.”
Cat purred louder and gave a smile. With a sigh, Moonfeather knew she’d asked correctly. As the storm departed,
so would the serpent. Teaching her could have taken hours or days, depending on how attentive she was. Showing her was much faster, and time had nearly run out. Cat only gave what was asked. It was part of the game. Without rules to secretly break there was no point to life itself.
Leaping from the divan, the great feline padded close to Moonfeather and rubbed her stiff whiskers against the palm of her hand. Moonfeather stopped herself from stroking the head or scratching the ears as she had not been invited to touch the Old Mother.
Another purr, deeper, almost a rumble.
“You may touch,” said Cat, circling the woman.
Moonfeather tenderly stroked the velvety fur, feeling a sensual pleasure at the contact. After a few moments, she stopped, although she ached to touch her totem more. Rising to stand on her hind legs, Cat rested both massive paws on Moonfeather’s shoulders, their eyes centimeters apart. Moonfeather tried her best to show no fear, but she felt her reverence tinged with impatience. Deadly black claws slid out from the soft pads and Moonfeather felt her skin pricked by the needle-sharp points, but said nothing. There was nothing to say, this was Cat. Implacable as the wind. You did not argue or cajole, but accepted whatever was offered. Pain or pleasure. Life or death.
“Ah, wisdom at last. You are no longer a kit,” throated Cat, releasing the woman. Reverently, Moonfeather blinked once slowly and purred under the praise.
Sitting on her haunches, long tail wrapped around her on the floor, Cat licked her paws with a rough tongue, and the claws retracted.
“A song of summoning, little sister? Very well, listen and learn.” Cat began to croon, a low melody of tranquillity. It steadily grew in complexity and power, and Moonfeather followed as best she could, trying to remember the song for herself. From outside the pyramid, she could hear the silvery bells ring louder and louder, until the noise shook the structure like primordial thunder.
* * *
With a deafening boom, sheet lightning crashed among
the thunderheads in the boiling sky. In the open doorway of
the bridge, Delphia stopped firing at the leeches when a missile whooshed by close overhead. Backing away, one arm held before his face, he cursed as the leviathan snake twisted out of the way at the last moment and the missile disappeared into the churning sea.
“Close! Try again!” he shouted at Silver, as the ship plowed through a turbulent swell. The craft was tossed upward, then paused in midair for a breathless moment, before crashing back down into the yawning trough. Delphia grabbed a stanchion near the doorway with both hands, losing the SCK 100 as it happened again. On the bow, the fat ork cook screamed and was gone.