Philip Palmer - Hell Ship

Sai-ias: No.

Jak: Shall I tell you then about

Jak: Sai-ias? Are you there? Sai-ias, are you there? Sai-ias, are you there? Sai-ias Sai-ias: I’m here. The signal was-I switched it off. I couldn’t listen any more.

I’m sorry.

Jak: It’s all right. I understand.

Sai-ias: Do you?

Jak: I do.

Sai-ias: I think perhaps you do. Thank you, Jak, for understanding.

Jak: Shall I tell you instead then about my adventures? The days of my youth?

Sai-ias: No.

Jak: Then talk to me of yourself. Your world. What it was like.

Sai-ias: No.

Jak: Something bad has happened.

Sai-ias: Yes.

Jak: Do you wish to tell me about it?

Sai-ias: No.

Jak: An atrocity?

Sai-ias: The latest of many. The Ka’un truly trust me now. They think I am one of them.

Jak: Ah.

Sai-ias: I think it may be true. I am indeed like them.

Jak: No. Not so! You’re merely pretending.

Sai-ias: Indeed, that is what I do.

Jak: And tell me-do you still speak to the Ka’un?

Sai-ias: Yes I do. I hear a voice in my head and speak back to it. Though not every day, not any more. The voice of Minos, captain of the ship.

Jak: “Minos.” I know that name! Minos was-What is he like, this Minos?

Sai-ias: Charming. Cultured. Kind. A liar.

Jak: Why don’t you kill him? Can you do that? Are you strong enough?

Sai-ias: Strong enough, yes. But I cannot. I have only seen Minos in the flesh once. Otherwise, he is a voice in my head. I do not know how to reach their part of the ship. I never see them, only hear them. And even if I could get near Minos, he has a power over me; he could take control of my body in an instant.

Jak: Then we shall kill him for you.

Sai-ias: I wish you would. Before Jak: Before what?

Sai-ias: Before I become truly evil.

Sai-ias: I’m here.

Jak: Sai-ias.

Sai-ias: I’m here.

Jak: Sai-ias! Can you talk awhile?

Sai-ias: I do not wish to talk.

Sai-ias: I’m here.

Jak: Sai-ias.

Sai-ias: Are you near?

Jak: It’s hard to say what “near” is.

Yes. I think we are near.

Sai-ias: What will you do? When you find us?

Explorer 410: We have weapons that will destroy your ship in a single panoramic blast; thus compensating for any possible illusory image tricks of the kind that deceived us last time.

Sai-ias: You will kill me too.

Jak: Yes.

Sai-ias: Good.

Sai-ias: I’m here.

Jak: We are close to you Sai-ias. We’ve just emerged from rift space. Our sensors detect the ship with the black sails. We are stealthed and ready for combat. We are ready to fire. We are firing now. Our missiles are being launched, they are rifting, and now they are materialising again. The Hell Ship does not a stand a chance this time! Oh Sai-ias, I will always

Sai-ias: Jak?

Explorer?

Where are you?

Minos: Sweet Sai-ias; a nicely baited trap.

For nearly a hundred years I have endured pain beyond anything I would have believed possible. And I have not faltered, or faded, or succumbed to the fatal state that is known as Despair.

And I have always clung to this small consolation; they have not crushed my spirit. They have defeated me, humiliated me, tortured me, and left me with no prospect of hope. But my spirit remains intact.

It is, indeed, a very small consolation.

It would, I know, be so much easier to yield to utter desolation; and let the toxins steal over my body, and turn my flesh into stone. The Ka’un have spread the myth that death is not possible, even when the body is petrified; but I do not believe this. I believe that when I die I will be dead and I will achieve merciful oblivion.

However, I do not wish to give those forsaken-by-the-gods fucking bastards the satisfaction.

So every day they hose salt water upon my flayed skin; and plunge knives into my body; and lash me with a knotted rope. After a few hours the pain is so bad that I become blind, through some kind of hysterical reaction, but the torment does not cease. They use members of the Kindred to torture me; it is clearly one of their tiresome but necessary allotted duties. There are few things worse for me than seeing the look of boredom on the face of my torturer before the first knife is thrust into my gut.

Then every night the ceiling rains healing water upon my body and the wounds seal and my organs reform and my vision is restored and by the morning I am whole again, and the rhythm can begin anew.

To distract myself I write poems in my head. I have never had much flair for poetry; and in all honesty, I suspect I still do not. But I have written 10,000,000 cantos or more of an epic poem about my adventures, and there is no one here who can tell me that it is less than a work of genius.

Ha!

You see, even in the midst of utter agony, I have not lost my sense of humour.

Sharrock defeated?

Never!

Oh I am so weary.

I awoke, and felt that something was different.

My agony was no less; my torturers were as bored as always. But the magnetic bonds that hold me aloft felt soft, and spongy.

Once my torturers had completed their daily chores and departed, I realised I could now bounce upon my invisible bonds, to get some movement going. And furthermore, I could manipulate my hands inside their metal shackles, which were looser than before. And so I wriggled and struggled, and used my teeth to grip the shackles while I moved my wrists; until finally I was free.

It was an far easier job to slip free of my ankle shackles. I was still trapped in a cell the size of a desert tent, but I was no longer restrained.

There was an electronic lock on the door; and I began to manipulate it with my body-energy; touching it with fingers and licking with my tongue to move the inner parts with the power of my own electricity. This is the trick I used in Sabol, the capital city of the Southern Tribes, to steal their precious alien artefact, the Jewel of the Seventh Sun (a jewel that is now possessed by a black-hided sea monster who I am proud to call my friend).

Finally the lock opened, and I was through the door. I was naked-nay, flayed, my muscles were visible and knotted, the slightest touch or brush against a wall was agony for me. But I did not allow this to distract me.

I found myself in a silver corridor, and I placed my ear to the metal and I listened.

It took a long time for the sounds to make themselves manifest; but eventually I was able to hear the murmur of conversation between the Ka’un and their Kindred slaves. I started to distinguish voices. I could identify twenty-five distinct individuals. But the words they uttered were gibberish, for I no longer had a pakla-translator in my brain.

I also heard the faintest noise, the merest hint of a vibration, that sounded to me like water flowing; I deduced it was the twin rivers that ran through the interior world. Four layers of hull separated me from my friends; but at least I could hear the sounds of their world.

And I was unbound, and had a vivid mental map of my location and where my enemies were.

I continued down the corridor until I heard footsteps and the whisper of blood through veins, which betokened enemies approaching. And I clambered up the wall and clung to the ceiling with my fingertips, which though fleshless still retained some magnetic-electric adhesive power. And I waited. Twenty long minutes passed and eventually two burly bipeds strode down the corridor; giants with square heads carrying energy guns in their hands. These were two of my Kindred captors, on their way to torture me. It must be dawn, I realised, though the lighting in the corridor had not changed.

The Kindred were big and muscular beasts, used to hand to hand combat; and I was weary and flayed and I knew I stood no chance against them in a fair fight.