Ten minutes before the end.
Chapter 22
Avoid Ilmarinen
It took the chevaloids and her crew a little over two hours to strip the hulk of everything she wanted and bring it aboard. For the first hour, Blueberry bathed; for the second, she retreated to her new quarters – the largest she could find on the ship – and called up her bodyguards. They sat in front of her and listened patiently while she curled up on her chaise longue in a giant towel and had two chevaloids brush her mane.
“The time is approaching, boys,” she told them, “when you and I must part ways. Don't look so down. You will see me again, and when you do, I will be … transcendent. I will be finished. I will have saved the world from all its pains. And you will take your rightful places by my side, forever.”
She smiled to herself, then flicked an ear in which a daemon was distracting her by whispering some spiel about glory.
“By the time I return to Tanelorn, I will be the talk of all Amaranth. But that carries its own burden. They may come after me, and I don't want to risk anything interrupting the plan. You … Hold on …” She buried her muzzle in the soft velvet and, slightly muffled, told the chevaloid behind her, “Yes, there. That's the place. Brush there.” She stretched out a hind leg, wriggled a little with joy, then regained some composure and looked back up at her bodyguards. A strand of her mane trailed over her face, which she thought was effectively sexy. The chevaloid pulled it back with the next stroke of its brush.
“As I was saying, nothing can be allowed to interrupt the plan. I know, they could throw their entire fleet at me and with this ship I could swat it aside in a moment. But something unforeseen could ruin everything. So I want you to stay behind and keep them busy.” She settled her head back against the velvet and let the order hang.
Sorghum, his wings tense over his thin body, looked up at her. “How?”
She held his gaze in silence for a few seconds, smiling coyly. “Defend Ilmarinen. That's what they all care about. Ilmarinen, Ilmarinen, that ugly bundle of overblown balloons. Defend the city from its own navy, and they'll busy themselves fighting to get it back. No-one will worry about little old me, slipping away to find my apotheosis.”
“So we just stay and fight?”
“Yes. Keep them away – until I come and get you. You'll have no problem.”
Outside, somepony thumped at the door. Through the metal-or-crystal hull, the sound was muffled almost to silence. Blueberry flicked the door wth her aura, and it slid open. There he was, her harried-looking messenger. She was nearly as fond of him as she was her bodyguards. She took a moment to enjoy the mane-brush a bit more, then, starting with a purr in the back of her throat, asked him, “What is it?”
“The, uh, work is finished. I mean, everything's aboard. The chevaloids are still wiring the units into the ship.”
“Wonderful,” she said, and as if the messenger were responsible for it all, “Thank you so much. How many units?”
“Six hundred, thirty-two,” said the messenger.
Blueberry smiled up at her bodyguards. “You'd best get back to your ship,” she told them. They nodded and immediately headed out the door. She ordered the chevaloids to finish and extended a hoof to the messenger, who was still standing near the door. “Would you help me up?”
When she got back to the bridge, she connected to the central pillar. She could feel the work as all the salvage units, one by one, were wired up to the ship's systems. Outside, the sky was ridged with ochre vapour. The carcass of another qilin ship lay on the shallow dunes, cracked open and stripped of everything worthwhile. Perhaps. She checked none of her crew was still aboard the hulk, then fired upon it five times in quick succession until there was nothing but shredded hull in a deep pit of sand and rock. Best to remove it if there was the smallest chance it held something that might be used against her.
She turned the Resplendent towards Ilmarinen and set off. Sorghum and Cannons followed her lead. The ship didn't need constant input to follow a straight course, so she disconnected from the pillar once everything was set. The trip would take less than half an hour; and she had a new toy to try out.
Flay sat in the back of his new cell, eyes closed, murmuring to himself. The catechisms, Blueberry realised with a twinge of revulsion. She watched him for a few seconds, silently mouthing the words along with him. A daemon whisper turned into the same phrase, a grotesque mockery of a chorus.
She stopped and steadied herself, then looked at the two pegasi either side of her. They readied their guns. A pair of chevaloids stood alongside them. She activated the door, and it slid aside.
“Brother Flay,” she said brightly. “It's time for you to make your final contribution.”
He stopped his recitation and stared at her and didn't move.
“Bring him,” she told the chevaloids.
Whirring and clicking, they moved into the cell and, grabbing a foreleg each, pulled Flay forward until he was at the door. Blueberry stood in front of him. “It may not mean much right now, but for all our … friction, I cared for you too.” She leant forward until their muzzles were an inch apart, miming a kiss.
To his credit, she thought, he didn't recoil. She swept off down the corridor. “This way!”
Around the next corner, the bright, broad corridor became something monstrous. Machinery covered each wall: A thicket of riblike protrusions narrowed the walking space; matte-black ribbons covered with wrinkled suckers trailed on the floor among a tangle of pipes and wires. The machines blocked most of the lights, dimming the entire corridor. Blueberry thought the whole arrangement spectacularly ugly, an affront to both her and her ship. But then, that was the universe: Ugly.
She glanced at Flay. His eyes trailed up and down the corridor, but his expression gave nothing away. Behind him, the pegasi guards kept their guns raised.
“This one,” she said, gesturing at the nearest unit.
The chevaloids dragged Flay over to it and pushed him against the black plate of the unit's spine. He stood upright on his hind legs. One activated the unit, and the six curved ribs closed around him, embraced him.
“Blueberry,” he said.
Not Sister Blueberry – just Blueberry.
“Stop,” she said told the chevaloids. They froze, holding the sucker-covered ribbons. She walked up and looked him in the eye. “What is it?”
“In the final account …” he whispered, almost inaudibly.
Then, silence.
Blueberry stared at him, then leaned back and looked to the chevaloids. “Go on,” she told them. “Connect him.” The chevaloids started smoothly, laying the ribbons across his neck and chest and forelegs. One flicked a switched, and his eyes closed. Some residual tension in his face relaxed; his breathing slowed. Beneath the unit's ribbons and ribs, he looked serene and almost likeable.
She silently mouthed the catechism. In the final account, all betrayals will be repaid. Nonsense, of course, but knowing that didn't sweep away the effects of its inculcation.
“Thank you so much for all your help,” she said, putting on a smile for the two guards. “You can go to the viewing suite now, if you like.”
The guards nodded and headed off. When they'd gone, Blueberry went to the bridge.
The Resplendent had long outpaced the advancing clouds. They were nearly at Ilmarinen. She stayed connected to the pillar, letting the ship's senses wash over her. She could feel the new units still being connected to the ship – and the potential of Flay's life, waiting to be tapped.
Soon, the outlines of a swollen shape sketched themselves in the atmospheric haze by the horizon. Ilmarinen. “Ready?” she asked Sorghum.
“Yes, ma'am,” he replied.
Already Ilmarinen was clearly visible. Beneath it, the ravine, holding its aquifer, scored the landscape. The Resplendent and the Exultant slowed in unison.
Two battleships pulled away from their holding pattern and came up to meet her. The speed of her initial approach had got their attention – and she suspected a photograph of her ship had been circulated on the navy's ansibles.
The battleships separated; the direct path to Ilmarinen led between them. The one to the left signalled her, an order to stand down. As she came closer, it repeated to order in amplified audio.
“Ma'am?” asked Sorghum.
“Watch,” Blueberry told him. She slowed the Resplendent, fixed her aim on the left ship, and fired.
As if under the blow of an immense, invisible hammer, the ship's aft crumpled and burst. The impact tore through the hull and shredded a good quarter of the gondola. The envelope immediately above the impact tore away, and the ship began to lurch.
A moment later, flashes of flame lit up the battleships' bellies. Smoke billowed from the main guns. High-caliber shells pattered impotently against the Resplendent's hull.
“Your turn,” she told Sorghum. “Aim for the engines. Don't destroy them unless you have to.”
The second battleship's gondola crumpled and shattered a third of the way towards the aft. Not the best aim, Blueberry thought, but then her boys did have to aim manually.
More battleships were pulling away from the city and approaching them.
“Keep them busy,” she told Sorghum. “I've got something else to do.”
She pulled forward through the ranks of attacking battleships, swatting them aside if they got in the way but otherwise happy to let Sorghum fight them. By the time she was close enough, the battleships were retreating to try and regroup. Other ships were pulling away from the docking towers and running.
Let them. Blueberry prepared a chevaloid-command spell and, with the help of her ship, projected over the entire city. Normally, of course, even with everything she'd learned, such a broad spell would be too much for her. But with Flay connected to the ship …
“Goodbye, Flay,” she murmured, and cast the spell.
Outside, its envelope streaked with flame, a battleship sheared in half and sank to the ground.
Aboard Dignity, Sweetie Belle played with the hatchlings, sat beside Scootaloo in companionable silence while Tom took over her duties, or stared out the window at the passing desert. Above her, the Dulcet kept pace with them. The clouds, pulled into bands by the winds, did too.
“Are they just going to keep coming?” she asked Saffron. “How much of that stuff was buried under the mire?”
“I expect they'll stop eventually,” Saffron said. “But you're asking the wrong question. Reality is more fluid here. Giant skull, remember? There was something down there to begin with, but now it's been seen, now it's an idea, the original volume matters less than what is expected of it And since it's so impressive, apparently, it could go on for a while.”
Sweetie Belle stepped back from the window and scratched Benz's upper mandible. It purred across several octaves. “Yeah,” she said out loud. “Magic.”
The steps to the cockpit clanged. Sweetie Belle looked round to see Tom hurrying down them. He stopped halfway, looked to Scootaloo, who was dozing on a workbench, then her. “You'd better come and see this,” he said, and ran back up the steps.
“It's another disaster. I bet it's another disaster,” said Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle followed her into the cockpit.
Millie was standing at the controls. Her ears swivelled towards them as they entered the cockpit. “Lucille forwarded us a message,” she said, gesturing to the ansible by the broken window where Gregor had punched his way through.
Tom offered them two sheets of paper, and Sweetie Belle took them with her aura.
The first was typed in the slightly smudgy, low-quality ink that was common in Amaranth.
Bit of a difficulty here. See what you think. –Lucille
The second, Sweetie Belle recognised as the scratchy but readable mouthwriting of Captain Gritstone.
Lucille,
Ilmarinen is under attack. Unknown ships, very fast very powerful. Even battleships are no match. Will keep you updated but be careful
Grit
“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle. “Shit.”
“Uh-huh,” said Scootaloo.
Millie looked round at them. “So, lad and lasses, what do we do? I'm all for suggestions.”
No one said anything.
“We could,” offered Millie slowly, “skirt round Ilmarinen and head straight for Omphalos. Get you all home.”
Sweetie Belle looked up at her. Her mouth was dry. “I …” she began.
“We only needed to stop at Ilmarinen to let them know about Blueberry,” said Tom. “I'm pretty sure they already know about her.”
Before Sweetie Belle could answer, the ansible flashed with emerald flame. Another arrival – just one sheet this time. Tom grabbed it and passed it round.
Gritstone's message was at the top:
Chaos. Chevaloids turning on us & attacking. None on board thankfully. Half navy destroyed, other half retreating. I will try to find last of crew, then run. Avoid Ilmarinen. –Grit
Underneath, Lucille had typed,
He doesn't get to order me about. I'm going to Ilmarinen. Do as you please, Millie.
Sweetie Belle gave the paper back to Tom. “Me too,” she said softly. “This is Blueberry … she's doing this because of what I gave her .. and with Saffron in my head, I might be the best placed to stop her.”
Scootaloo smiled and put her hoof on Sweetie Belle's shoulder. “Do I even need to say it”
Tom raised his hand. “If I can help … well, I'll do what I can.”
Millie looked over each of them, then back at the message. “I'm surrounded by personified bloody martyr complexes,” she said, shaking her head. She grabbed a slightly grubby pencil in her mouth and wrote a message beneath Lucille's.
In unusually elegant mouthwriting, it said, We're all with you. Sure my passengers will come up with a brilliant, world-saving plan before we get there.
Sweetie Belle grinned at Millie. “Let's hope.”
Millie put the papers in the ansible with her message on top and flicked the switch.
“Now,” she said. “About that plan.”
“So the end result is me dying and Blueberry winning,” said Sweetie Belle. “Yeah, alright, I get it.” She sighed and scratched Bounce behind the eyes. “I don't really want to put the hatchlings in the way of that thing anyway.”
That made five plans, not counting minor variations, all torn apart by Saffron. Elementals wouldn't be enough. A multi-pronged attack wouldn't be enough. The hatchlings would be no match for the ships.
“Where's Saffron right now?” asked Scootaloo at one point.
Sweetie Belle pointed.
Scootaloo addressed herself to the wall: “Nah, no way we'll run into trouble in the next couple of days.” Her tail swished.
“Wouldn't help anyway,” said Saffron.
Over the past couple of hours, the clouds had fattened and merged, forming an immense ribbed vault. According to Lucille, there had been no further messages from Gritstone. It made sense – if Ilmarinen had been invaded then the mail office, which routed ansible transmissions, could be abandoned or even destroyed. Only direct links, like the one between the Dulcet and Dignity would be useful.
“If that's right,” Millie had commented, “Blueberry's really fucked us. Most ships in the region rely on links through Ilmarinen. They're all isolated now.”
Half an hour later, she caught sight of a ship on the horizon, a smudged silhouette against the cloud layer. A ragged sort of thing, most likely a salvor. She pointed it out to Lucille, who, even through the ansible, seemed excited. It might be Gritstone!
But it wasn't.
The Dulcet interrogated the fleeing salvor through light signals as soon as it came within range. Millie watched and translated the responses with her telescope.
Had it come from Ilmarinen? Yes. What did it see of the battle? The first few shots – it was already about to leave when the attack started, and took flight the as soon as the captain saw the Ilmarinen navy going. The last it saw, before Ilmarinen vanished into the haze, was the remaining battleships retreating. Where was it going now? Skulltown – after that the captain was uncertain. Omphalos, perhaps.
Any information on other ships? The Hinny's Revenge perhaps? Nothing.
The salvor asked, was Skulltown still safe? For the moment, Lucille told it.
It had kept flying during the exchange, and by the end of it had passed them. It wished them good luck.
Before it was out of sight, a second ship became visible ahead of them. This one was much bigger. “A battleship,” said Millie as she looked through the telescope. “Maybe this time we'll get some answers.”
The battleship wasn't alone. By the time they were close enough to signal, another four were faint silhouettes in the far distance, apparently stationary. This time, Dignity signalled it.
“They're identifying as the Mettlesome,” said Tom, translating for Sweetie Belle's benefit, “They say they're preparing for an assault.”
“Now there's a death wish and a half,” said Millie.
Tom continued: “They're looking for volunteers. Any ship capable of fighting. Victory unlikely …” (Millie snorted.) “ … lots of bombast about glory and rewards if they do succeed.”
“Do they have a plan?” Millie murmured, tapping away at the lamp switch.
A pause came before the ship responded. Tom said, “Sort of. Two ships attacked Ilmarinen, but their gunship scouts says only one remained. They're hoping they can surround it and then just pile on … By coming in from all directions at once, and swarming the gunships, it should at least take the aggressor some time to destroy them all. During which, they're going to use other gunships to try and board it … or shoot at anything that looks critical.”
The ansible flashed with green flame. Sweetie Belle, being closest, took the new message and read it out. “Lucille says she intends to join.”
“We may as well go with them,” Millie said. “Not sayin' owt about whether we're joining in or not.” She signalled the Mettlesome, while Sweetie Belle relayed the message by ansible.
“They're pointing us to the fleet ahead,” said Tom. “Assault starts in an hour.”
Millie took Dignity's controls again. “Y'know, I'm getting' to like havin' you lot about. Almost like havin' my own crew.”
“Uh, speaking of which,” added Tom, looking through the telescope again, “but here's a thing you might want to look at yourself, Captain.”
“What?” said Millie.
“I might be mistaken, but I think I can see the aelewyrm.”
Sweetie Belle bounded across the cockpit, and lookec through the telescope. He was right: Barely visible, a serpentine silhouette swam against the vault of clouds, approaching from South-Southeast.
“Oh, come on!” she said, stepping back. “No way!” She paused as Millie and then Scootaloo checked the telescope. “Two meetings, sure. Co-incidence. But three? In all of Amaranth?”
“It does seem unlikely,” said Tom.
Saffron appeared in the cockpit. “And while you're at it, I don't think your let-the-aelewyrm-attack-the-enemy gambit is going to work again. You've got one of Blueberry's ships, but a whole fleet of friendlies. The statistics are against you.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Sweetie Belle told her. She stared through the cockpit window. Without the telescope, the sky looked empty.
Millie was watching the aelewyrm. “Judgin' by last time, I'd say we got thirty, forty minutes before it reaches us.” She whickered, abandoning the telescope.. “I'm going to warn the other ships.”
“To do what?” Tom asked her quietly.
“Don't be a smartass.”
Scootaloo came up to Sweetie Belle. “Look, you said it. Three times is too much. Last time it was just you and me. We're the constant.” She glanced back at Millie. “There's something going on here, and we have to figure it out in the next half hour, or this assault will be over before it starts.”