Hell Ship

Sai-ias

“Come,” said Lirilla, and I wearily got up, and began flinging myself through the air with my tentacles.

This time I came upon Sharrock before the battle had begun. He had indeed, as he had pledged, journeyed to the bipeds who lived at the foot of the Further Mountains, whose high snowy peaks loomed above our nearer mountain ranges. And now he was engaged in single combat with a mighty Kindred female-twice the size of Sharrock himself and massively muscled, her long red hair streaked with silver, and as skilled at he in combat with a sword.

Her Kindred allies had gathered round to watch, with their biped slaves sulkily stood beside them. All cheered as Sharrock and the female clashed swords, and leaped, and rolled, with grace and speed and awesome energy.

They were well matched; the female warrior was larger and stronger but Sharrock was fast and nimble and able to leap high in the air whilst wielding his sword. Blades clashed so hard together I could see sparks; and the bodies of the two warriors spiralled in the air as they somersaulted around each other; their blades lashing and slashing as they dodged and rolled and stepped back and lunged forward in a coruscating display of martial prowess that would have been beautiful if it weren’t so godsforsakenly childish!

“Enough,” I yelled, and seized each of them in a tentacle.

“Let me down,” screamed Sharrock, and hacked at me with his sword.

“Let me down,” screamed the female and hacked at me with her sword.

I roared; and spat webbing in their faces; and they fell to the ground, bound and helpless.

A killing rage had come upon me; I yearned to smash them into pieces.

The rage passed.

“Let us talk,” I said.

In the shadow of the snowy mountains, the female warrior-who I had by now recognised as Zala, the only female Kindred with such red-and-silver-hair-and Sharrock confronted each other; while I placed my body between them.

“Tell me why you fought this female,” I said to Sharrock.

And Sharrock told the tale:

“As you know,” he said, “I fought the giant Gilgara. Nobly he-”

“Just the facts,” I said.

“I defeated him,” Sharrock synopsised sulkily, “freed my people; and then sought out the renegade Kindred who dwelled at the foot of these mountain. And I gave them my terms; release your slaves and we will live in harmony.”

“He’s insufferable, isn’t he?” I said to Zala.

“He is indeed,” she concurred. “To state my case: we acknowledge no master; we broke free of Gilgara many cycles ago. We are free.”

“But your bipeds are slaves,” pointed out Sharrock.

“Well, yes.”

“And I bested you in combat, therefore-”

“I was winning, you shit-eyed bastard!”

“Sharrock, I’ve heard enough. Zala, tell your tale.”

“I have no tale to tell; I do not answer to monsters such as you.”

“I have said what I must say; the slaves will be freed, I demand it!” roared Sharrock. “And as for this bitch, this evil-I cannot find a word for one so fucking-she has to die! Her presence cannot be tolerated! For she tried to kill me!” Never had I seen Sharrock so dementedly enraged; which was indeed remarkable, since demented enragement had been his commonest mood during his early days on the Hell Ship.

“You shameless liar!” Zala replied, with evident astonishment. “You attacked me! I was merely defending myself!”

“Not here,” said Sharrock, calming himself visibly. “Not on this pathetic excuse for a planet. On my home world. She was part of the invading army. She serves the Ka’un.”

There was an appalled silence; and ruefully I acknowledged to myself that I had always known this day would come.

For I had recognised, of course, from Sharrock’s account of his battle with the female alien on Madagorian, the red-and-silver-haired Kindred Zala.

“Do you deny it?” Sharrock accused.

Zala laughed. “No, I do not deny it. I have no recollection of such a battle; but it may well be as you say. For I have fought, I will not deny it, many times in the service of the Masters of this Ship.”

Sharrock looked at me in triumph.

“You see?” he said savagely. “She fights for the demons who control this ship; she was a warrior in the invasion and slaughter of my world!”

“I know,” I said.

There was a terrible silence.

“You know?” said Sharrock, more stunned than if I had smote his skull with an axe.

“Yes. It is the way of this world: all of us know that the Kindred serve the Ka’un. It is why there are so many of them; they are ruled by the Ka’un, and they in turn rule us.”

Sharrock seemed to have lost the power of speech. He looked at Zala and tried to spit at her with contempt; but his mouth was too dry, and all he managed was an ugly croak.

“How could this be?” Sharrock said faintly, his eyes radiating accusation and hatred.

“We are soldiers; we serve,” said Zala, but there was shame in her eyes.

“You should also know,” I explained to Sharrock, “that I collaborate with the Kindred on a regular basis. That is how order is achieved on this world; the Ka’un speak to the Kindred, the Kindred speak to me.”

Sharrock stared at me with horror.

“Collaborate in what way?”

“Information. Discipline. The training of the new ones, and, if necessary, if they fail to settle into our world, their execution.” I spoke calmly, but inside my spirit was quaking with anxiety; I knew Sharrock was going to take this badly.

“You are the lick-cock of these craven giants?” said Sharrock.

“That is not how I would-”

“Oh Sai-ias,” said Sharrock, and my soul’s fire was quenched by his cold disdain.

“You are indeed,” said Zala to me, “our lick-cock; a phrase well chosen.” And she smiled, not pleasantly.

I bowed my head submissively; for one of the conditions of serving the Kindred was to comply with their strict etiquette of submissive behaviour.

“If you say so, Zala, then I will agree that the phrase is apt,” I agreed courteously.

“And now that Gilgara is gone,” added Zala.

“Indeed! I yield to your authority, mistress,” I said swiftly.

Zala smiled. Her look of triumph encompassed both me and Sharrock.

“Serve me well, beast,” said Zala arrogantly. And she departed.

There was a prolonged and horrifying silence. Sharrock’s unblinking blue eyes were like ice.

“How could you, Sai-ias?” Sharrock said to me. His voice was calm, which filled me with foreboding.

“If not me, then it would be someone else,” I explained. “Once it was a beast called Carulha; when he died, I took over his role, and his responsibilities.”

“And why did you not tell me all this? Before I conquered Gilgara and assumed chieftainship of the Kindred?” asked Sharrock savagely.

“It did not for a moment occur to me,” I admitted, “that you could win.”

Sharrock was silent for a long time. I waited.

“You are a traitor,” Sharrock concluded finally, in the quietest of tones.

“Sharrock,” I explained, “you cannot-”

“To deal with them, those evil conquering bastards, to do their bidding, that is truly-”

“You have to be pragmatic about-”

“TRAITOR!” Sharrock’s red face was redder still; his rage hit me like a punch.

“I do what I have to do,” I said, wretchedly.

And Sharrock drew his hull-metal sword from his scabbard in the blink of an eye; and he struck me with it in my face. The blow barely registered for me, but even so I flinched.

He struck me again, and again, hammering his sword against my carapace, my skull, jabbing my eyes, trying to hurt me and break flesh but failing.

Eventually he was too exhausted to lift his arm. He threw the sword down on the ground. Then he walked away.

Sharrock did not return to the Valley, nor did he have any further dealings with the Kindred.

And from that day on, he refused to speak to me.