Nigel Findley: The Broken Sphere

"This" was the world of Crescent, of course. As the Fool approached the small planet, it appeared to live up to its name: a bright arc of silver against the black backdrop of wildspace. At first, Teldin assumed the world appeared this way because the sun was lighting it from an angle-for the same reason that the familiar moons of Krynn showed different phases. But now, as he drew closer, he realized how appropriate the small world's name really was.

Crescent actually was a crescent-a curved piece of a world, like a fireapple with a huge bite taken out of it. The two pointed ends of the strange planet-the "horns," he termed them-seemed fixed in space, as though attached to a single axis. The rest of the world rotated around that axis, as though, he realized after a moment, the arc of rock were still part of a spherical planet.

According to his chart, the planet's entire population was concentrated on the curved inner surface of the arc. Bringing the Fool in closer, Teldin could see why. The outer surface of Crescent was the most rugged, inhospitable-looking environment he'd ever seen-and that included hellholes such as the goblinoid planet of Armistice. The land surface was all mountains and craters, split with great cracks and fractures leagues wide, as though the world had been struck with a cosmic hammer until it had shattered. There weren't many clouds, but those he could see were moving incredibly fast across the landscape, hinting at ship-killing winds. The Cloakmaster found himself shuddering just thinking about trying to make a landing there.

In contrast, the inner surface was downright inviting. There were mountain ranges, certainly, large enough to be seen from space, but the individual peaks looked immeasurably older, weathered into smooth, rolling shapes quite different from the knife-edged, needle-summited monstrosities on the other side of the world. The inner surface was a land of blurred greens and browns, reminding Teldin strongly of his last view of Ansalon from space, and even of the terrain around Rauthaven and Evermeet on Toril.

What was that? It seemed that there was some feature on the planet's surface that looked much sharper, more vivid than the blurred surroundings. It looked like a sharp black dot….

It took his mind a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. The black dot wasn't on the planet's surface at all. It was a ship of some kind, climbing rapidly out of the atmosphere. He watched it for a few score heartbeats, expecting it to "drift" across the planet's surface in one direction or another. But no drift was visible, as the ship expanded in his vision-no longer a dimensionless dot, but a shape with length and breadth. No drift, he told himself. That meant it was heading directly for the Fool.

He felt warmth at his back, like the heat of the noonday sun beating down onto his shoulders. He knew that the ultimate helm was flaring with power, reacting to his thoughts and his subconscious fears. The ship-whatever it was-was coming straight toward him. While he knew the unarmed Fool could outrun and outmaneuver virtually any other ship, that advantage could help him only if he used it….

He frowned at the course his thoughts were taking. Paranoid, he chided himself. You're starting to see enemies everywhere.

The ship continued to draw nearer. Now he could make out its configuration, the angular, hunchbacked shape of a wasp. Again he felt the cloak flare to life. No wonder, he told himself. The last time I saw a wasp ship close up was when the pirates attacked the Unquenchable just off Krynn. He forced himself to release his control over the ultimate helm's power. No, he ordered himself sharply. If I run every time a ship closes with me, I'll never get anywhere.

If there was ever any doubt over the wasp's destination, it was gone now. The brutal-looking ship-painted an unrelieved, drab gray-had slowed and was edging directly toward the Fool. From this distance, about a spear cast away, Teldin could see motion on the angular vessel's deck. Standing exposed on deck, he felt vulnerable-a single, well-aimed shot from the wasp's heavy ballista would put an end to him, and there was little the cloak could do to save him- but he brutally suppressed those fears. He stood at the rail, feet braced, hands on his hips, and waited.

The two vessels were close enough now that their atmosphere envelopes had merged. Teldin heard a voice ring across the open space between them. The language was the Common tongue, but the accent was unfamiliar. "Permission to come alongside?" the voice called.

Teldin cupped his hands around his mouth. "What vessel are you?" he hollered back.

"We are the Pathwalker," the voice rang out from the wasp, "of the Crescent Peace Force. Permission to come alongside."

"What's your purpose?" Teldin called.

"Routine inspection of incoming ships," the answer came back immediately. "Please stand to. Permission to come alongside, third request." This time the "request" for permission wasn't even phrased as a question.

Teldin hesitated. From the way the man aboard the wasp had specified this was the third time he'd asked, the Cloakmaster had to assume some official policy would come into play if he didn't respond correctly. He glanced nervously at the weapon platform filling the bow of the angular ship. A ballista shot into the hull, perhaps? "Permission granted," he yelled back quickly.

He watched tensely as the wasp maneuvered closer, side on to the Fool. Now he could see a small white insignia painted on the hull near the vessel's widest point-a simple crescent with a seven-pointed star framed between its "horns." The ballista, set on a swivel mount on the ship's upper weapon deck, was trained out over the starboard rail, pointing directly at the Cloakmaster's smaller ship. The weapon was cocked and loaded, Teldin could see, and armed with a full crew of four. They wore gray uniforms of a severe, militaristic cut, and looked-to his partially experienced eye-chillingly disciplined and competent. How competent do they have to be, after all? he asked himself wryly. At this range, even I couldn't miss….

The Pathwalker edged nearer. The wasp's crewmen were definitely competent, he had to admit-neither that or suicidal and phenomenally lucky. Huge wings of fragile, translucent material extended from the top of the ship's hunched back, with a total span easily equal to the wasp's eighty-foot length. If that weren't enough, the six slender, jointed legs- the craft's landing gear-extended down and outward from the keel. If anyone had asked him, the Cloakmaster would have stated-categorically and without doubt-that it would be patently impossible for the wasp to come close alongside the Fool without either driving one of its legs through the smaller ship's hull or shearing off one of its fragile wings.

Yet that was exactly what the Pathwalker's captain had in mind, it seemed. The wasp's starboard wings loomed over the Fool's deck, while three sharply pointed legs extended only a couple of feet below the river trader's keel. For an instant, Teldin was uncomfortably reminded of when the Probe had been grappled by a neogi deathspider soon after his departure from Krynnspace.

The wasp finally finished its delicate maneuver, hanging in space-totally motionless relative to the Fool- with the rail of its foredeck no more than a man's height from the smaller ship's hull. Fancy ship-handling, Teldin admitted grudgingly. If I'd. tried that-even with the ultimate helm- I'd probably have holed both hulls.

As he watched, a figure emerged from a hatch onto the open foredeck. He was tall and slender, Teldin noted, much the same build as the Cloakmaster but perhaps half a hand-span taller. Even though the man wore a uniform similar to those worn by the weapon crew, Teldin recognized at once he was looking at an officer.