Eye of Terror by Barrington J. Bayley

Author:Barrington J. Bayley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-09-08T00:54:40.738514+00:00

ELEVEN

The Byssos

The Imperial Record had no figure for how many nullships had been sent into the Eye of Terror during the last fifteen millennia, but the number certainly amounted to several thousand. It did, however, say how many had come back out: no more than one hundred and ninety-eight. Even this was inexact, for some expeditions, such as that organised recently by Technomage Ipsissimus, had been mounted in the utmost secrecy and were never registered in the archives.

In all that time, the surviving probes had succeeded but sketchily in their chief task, that of charting star formations within the Eye, altered beyond recognition as they were since the day when the warp had exploded into realspace. The incomplete charts which had been built up had never been made available to the houses of the Navis Nobilite. They were accessible only to the Inquisition’s innermost daemon-hunting arm, totally unknown to society at large and calling itself the Ordo Malleus, and to the secret offices of the Naval Segmentae.

So it was that, as he looked out over the Eye of Terror, Navigator Pelor Calliden saw nothing he recognised. None of the star clusters, none of the stellar formations, none of the familiar mapped shapes and patterns of glowing dust and gas, that he had come to know from his years of poring over and memorising the great star charts which were the holy writ of the Navigator Houses, appeared before him. The only things that were familiar — and what shocking familiarity it was! — were the human faces which flickered in and out of existence, each measuring hundreds or thousands of light years across by the look of them. Yet he was not sure they were really human. They looked changed. He was not sure, either, whether they were not just an illusion produced by his own bewildered vision, for after a few minutes they faded.

He sat, numbed, until gradually his panic swelled and overwhelmed him. He looked behind him to where Maynard Rugolo lay on the pallet, a restraint strap across his middle. The trader’s eyes were glazed. He had not answered Calliden’s frantic cries, seemed not even to have heard them — either that or the news they had brought were the last straw which had driven him over the edge into insanity, for he seemed to have withdrawn into himself.

Calliden turned pleadingly to Kwyler who occupied the second pilot’s seat beside him.

“What shall I do? I can’t see the Astronomican. I’m lost!”

The bland-faced Kwyler, dressed in his voluminous striped blouse or jerkin that was almost like a robe, grinned and nudged his arm. “Use faith!”

Calliden threw his head down and covered his face with his arms. “I can’t! The Emperor has deserted me!”

Kwyler sniggered. “Not in the Emperor, you fool! He can’t help you here. Just faith.”

Slowly Calliden disengaged himself from the cocoon. He rose, retreated from the flight panel, and sat down at the table, the arched roof of the cabin curving over him in the dimness. His warp eye seemed to have lost its lustre.

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