Nigel Findley - Into the Void

Something grasped his jaw, forced his mouth open. He felt something cold and hard being driven cruelly between his teeth, then a liquid struck the back of his throat, a liquid that burned like all the cheap liquor he'd drunk on a dozen planets, all combined into one harsh draft. He coughed, and agony tore at his chest. This must be death, he thought.

Somehow, though, he didn't die. In fact, he felt a little control returning to his body and mind. After the initial burst of torment, the pain seemed to retreat to a manageable level. He forced his eyes open.

For a moment, his brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, then the meaning penetrated. He screwed his eyes shut again to block out the scene-to deny the reality of it, if he could. He would have screamed in horror, but he couldn't draw a deep enough breath.

He was in a small room or a cell, perhaps five feet wide and not much more than that long. Walls and ceiling were dull black, and the only illumination came from a small disk over-head that glowed with a dim, blood-red light. Two faces were above him, looking down at him. Not human faces. They were more like the heads of giant snakes-or perhaps the moray eels he'd seen on one of the worlds he'd visited. Their grinning mouths were filled with needlelike teeth, and their small eyes were red-tinged and staring.

Shandess knew he was dying, but he also knew, suddenly, that there were some things he feared more than death. Instinctively, he tried to fend off the hideous creatures with his hands but found his wrists-and his ankles, when he tried to move them-securely bound. He whimpered deep in his throat.

"Withered meat, eyes open." That voice could never have come from a human throat. It was the voice of a giant snake, if such a creature could have the power of speech. From the order of the words, Shandess could tell the monster was struggling with a foreign language. "Meat eyes open," the sibilant voice repeated, "or master eyelids from meat tear."

Shandess forced his eyes open once more. One of the monsters had backed away. It was the nearest one that had spoken. "Good," the neogi said. "Meat master 'Prissith Nerro Master' call. Meat speak." Shandess couldn't force his throat to work. The monster lashed down with its head until its teeth were a mere hand's span from the old man's face. Its breath, reeking of corruption, washed over him, and its saliva dripped on his face. "Meat speak!"

Shandess forced the words out. His voice was a croak. "Prissith Nerro Master."

The neogi reared back. "Yes," it spat. "Master. Meat obey. If no-" the creature's mouth opened wider into an evil grin "-if no, master meat tear. Master meat rip. Master flesh from bone pull. But meat obey, master meat kill swiftly." The monster's voice became almost wheedling. "Now. Meat questions answer?"

"Yes," Shandess croaked. With blinding speed, the second neogi lashed out with a claw and opened a gash in the old man's arm. "Yes, Prissith Nerro Master!" Shandess shrieked.

"Good," Prissith Nerro breathed. "First. Ship where bound?"

Shandess hesitated. The Probe's destination was no secret, but… The second neogi's claw ripped his flesh again. "Realmspace," he screamed.

Nerro nodded. Its wicked smile remained unchanged. "Meat aboard ship," it went on, "master must know about. Meat cloak has. Cloak-" the neogi hesitated "-power has, value has. Such power, meat commander must be, inconceivable else. Old meat master tell, of cloak, of meat aboard ship. Old meat master tell everything."

Shandess was confused. Fear, and the monster's garbled language, were making it hard for him to understand what the neogi wanted. Something about a commander… Aelfred Silverhorn was the highest-ranking human aboard the Probe. That had to be whom the monster was referring to-but to Shandess's knowledge, the first mate had no cloak… at least, nothing magical, nothing that could interest this neogi. "I know our leader," he said quickly, "we call him Mate." There was no reason to give this monstrosity Aelfred's name, he decided. "But as to the rest," he went on, "I don't know what you're talking about. He has no cloak."

"Meat lie!" the neogi spat. Then its smile widened, showing more of its needle teeth. "And glad I am. Meat no resist, I feared. Pleasure master denied, I feared."

"I'm not lying!" Shandess yelled. "I'm telling the truth!"

The neogi hardly seemed to be listening. "Pleasure I have now. Knowledge I have later," the creature hissed, almost to itself. "Pleasure." Slowly the monster brought its mouth down toward Shandess's throat. "Now, withered meat," it said quietly, "your taste I will know, after all."

Shandess fought vainly against the bonds. The creature's breath was on his face, then his chest, then his belly…. Horror overwhelmed him.

Shandess knew it would serve no purpose to scream, but he screamed anyway.

*****

Teldin Moore sat alone in the Probe's saloon, gazing out at the flow. Although it was nowhere nearly as beautiful as the star-specked sky of wildspace, today the view of the phlogiston served the same purpose. Gazing at the universe, Teldin could temporarily forget-or at least minimize the torment of-his responsibilities, his fears, and his memories. He felt drained, both emotionally and physically. When Sylvie had led him belowdecks, she'd started to take him to his cabin, but he'd had enough mental spark left to know that wouldn't be the right place. Dana was gone, Miggins was in the infirmary-expected to live, but probably missing an arm-and Horvath's presence would have been a reminder that it was all his, Teldin's, responsibility. He'd insisted on visiting the officers' saloon instead, and Sylvie had agreed without argument. As she'd left him, she'd touched his hand and given him a gentle smile. "There are those who can help you," she'd told him softly, then had left him alone, shutting the door behind her. He hadn't known just what to make of her cryptic words, but had recognized that he was hardly in the best condition to puzzle them out. There would always be later.

Teldin could hear the crew moving around the Probe's decks: cleaning up the blood, repairing the damage, and throwing the bodies of the dead overboard. Elsewhere, he knew that the ship's healers were treating those who could be saved and easing the last hours of those who couldn't. Julia, promoted to second mate after the death of Sweor Tobregdan, was seeing to the erstwhile neogi slaves, teaching them what she could about ship routine and explaining their duties. Everybody had duties, the officers most of all, so it wasn't surprising that he was alone in the saloon.

Everyone has duties except me, Teldin thought. They don't know what to do with me. From the start, he'd been more-or perhaps less-than a full member of the hammership's crew. His friendship with Aelfred and the way the big warrior treated him set him apart from the others, and, over the days, that had only increased. The rest of the crew had seen him hobnob with the captain and the first mate, and this he felt was the reason for the respect in which the crew seemed to hold him. Even when he was standing watch, the crew always treated him more like an officer than as one of them. And now?

As Sylvie had led him down from the forecastle, he'd seen the crew's reaction. They'd watched him-all the while trying to pretend they weren't watching him-and had moved out of his way, as though they expected three-rayed stars to burst from his fingertips and form a hissing curtain about him. He'd heard somebody mutter, "Fighter-mage," but when he'd turned to see who had said it, no one would meet his glance.

He'd always seemed to come, somehow, to the forefront of any group he was a member of, Teldin had to admit. In general, he got on well with the vast majority of people. Not that they always liked him, or he them, of course, but there was something about his manner that made it possible to deal with virtually anyone. There was no conceit in this admission; it just happened to be the case. After a while, people came to him for advice, and they listened to his answers. Even when he intended to keep his opinion quiet on a particular subject, people would try to secure that opinion from him as though it were something of value. It seemed that the more he remained aloof, the more he tried to stay out of the focus of an issue, the more people would believe his silence was a kind of calm wisdom. Teldin had never been able to understand this. He knew from personal experience that he was no more wise than the majority of people; quite the opposite, perhaps. He found it amusing, albeit somewhat irritating, at times. His grandfather had been like that, too, Teldin remembered, but the old man had shrugged it off with a typical grandfatherly comment: Better to keep your peace and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. Of course, the aphorism wasn't appropriate: nobody thought grandfather a fool, except for perhaps his son.