Djan had brought the Cloakmaster's spyglass to bear on the vessel. Now he lowered it, his expression one of profound puzzlement. "No obvious weapons," he said quietly. "And no portholes, no hatches, no way of getting in or seeing out." He shook his head. I've never seen anything even vaguely like this."
Teldin stared at the strange ship. Now no more than half a league off, it had started to decelerate again, slowing its silent approach. Its mirror finish reflected the yellow light of the fire ring and the ruddy red of the planet below. It gleamed in the firelight, occasionally flashing with almost intolerable brightness as the light reflected off facets on its surface.
What are you? Teldin thought fiercely. What?
Then, suddenly, thoughts and images blasted into his mind. He clutched at his head with both hands, as though to keep his skull from splitting under their ferocious impact. His stomach knotted, and he almost doubled over with the pain of it.
What am I? The voice, echoing in his brain, carried a sense of almost ludicrous surprise. What am I? I am.
Through the bolts of agony that still lanced through his body, Teldin felt Djan's supporting hand on his shoulder. He looked into his friend's concerned face. "What is it?" the half-elf asked. "What's wrong?"
Teldin took a deep breath, tried to force his pounding heart to slow. "It's talking to me," he whispered.
"What is?"
Only as the words emerged from his lips did Teldin recognize the truth. "The ship." He pointed with a trembling finger. "That ship."
The titanic voice boomed again into his brain. What are you? it asked. Come closer, so I can see-hear-sense you better.
"The ship," Teldin breathed again. "It's alive, but that means it's not a ship."
"What?" Djan shook his head in disbelief. "What?"
"I'm bringing us in closer," the Cloakmaster told him, struggling to keep his voice firm and under control.
"You're doing what?"
"Bringing us closer," Teldin repeated. "Get Dranigor to release the helm."
He could see conflicting emotions warring across his friend's face. Concern, fear, denial… But, then, finally, he saw Djan's expression settle into one of acceptance. Without another word to the Cloakmaster, he crossed to the speaking tube and issued the order to the helmsman.
Teldin extended his will, focused it through the ultimate helm, and exerted it upon the ship. The Boundless started to move, slowly, toward the metal object.
Filtered through the expanded perception of the helm, the metal ship-being's mental voice didn't seem as "loud" or overwhelming. I can sense you better now, it said, and again the words were tinged with surprise, this time alloyed with intense curiosity. You are of a primitive form, your species, and you seem to be injured. Yet your voice is strong, your presence distinct. How can that be? I sense you suffer from the same infestation as those who have come before you. Explain this to me.
Teldin shook his head, confounded. The words were clear, but the meaning was the exact opposite. The statement about his species, his "primitive form"… Perhaps a creature of living metal might consider a human primitive. He could almost understand that. But what was that about injury? Teldin wasn't injured. And he certainly wasn't suffering from any kind of "infestation."
Djan was by his side, his eyes full of questions.
"It's speaking to me through the cloak," Teldin explained quietly, "like the People did on Nex. It's alive, Djan! It has a mind." Like the Spelljammer? he asked himself.
He turned his attention back to the metal being. It had stopped and was now hanging in space less than a league ahead of the Boundless. Even though the "voice" currently wasn't speaking, he could still sense puzzlement and curiosity through the mental link.
"I am Teldin Moore," he said softly, focusing the meaning of his words through the cloak, "captain of the Boundless Possibilities."
And I am Zat, of the fire ribbon of Garrash, the "ship" replied, as are my fellows. The voice paused. 'Captain'? A strange designation. What does it mean? And what are these 'boundless possibilities' you refer to?
Teldin shook his head again. They were talking, he and this metallic creature, but he wasn't convinced they were really communicating. "Captain," he tried again, it means the person in command of the ship, the ship we name the Boundless Possibilities."
'Ship.' Puzzlement had turned to outright confusion in the mental voice. Is that a place you refer to? The crystal sphere of your origin, perhaps? it guessed tentatively.
"No." Teldin forced himself to think things through. Obviously the cloak wasn't translating as well as it usually did. Probably the mind of this great shiplike creature was too alien for easy communication. "The ship that we call the Boundless Possibilities is what you see directly in front of you," he tried again. "I'm the captain of the ship. I am in command of the crew that runs it. I'm the one who makes the decisions, who tells the crew to set the sails, or steer the ship." He paused, frustrated. "Don't you see the ship?" he demanded.
Of course I see you, the being-Zat-replied. I see you, and I sense your mind, Teldin Moore. But I ask you again: what is this 'ship'?
Teldin rubbed a trembling hand across his eyes. "I don't know what in the hells it's talking about," he told Djan tiredly. "And it doesn't know what I'm talking about. It can see the ship, and it 'hears' my thoughts, but…"
And then realization flooded through the Cloakmaster's mind, it thinks it's talking to the ship," he said to Djan. "It thinks I'm the ship." Of course, he told himself. The "injury"-that had to be the squid ship's ram, torn away during its crash-landing on Nex, and never replaced because the materials weren't available. And the "infestation"-didn't that have to be the crew, and by extension, Teldin himself?
He grabbed the rail with both hands, poured all his concentration into the link with the huge creature. "Zat," he said, "I am not what you see, or what you think you're seeing. I am not what's hanging in space before you. That's what I call a 'ship'. I am-Teldin Moore is-a human. There are twenty of us, each of us about"-he quickly calculated- "one thirtieth the size of the ship we're aboard.
"We are all alive," he pressed on forcefully, "we all have minds, like you do. The ship isn't alive. It has no mind. It's nothing more than"-he groped for words-"than a box of wood in which we live."
A wordless blast of shock, tinged with horror, flooded through the telepathic link, powerful enough to make Teldin sway dizzily. The infestation? Yet… this is not possible. No. How can the tiny, scurrying things have minds, the parasites? No. The last mental words carried a strong sense of denial, of refusal to accept something that went against cherished beliefs. But there was more to it than that, Teldin recognized: a hint of… could it be guilt? Why?
He put those questions aside for the moment. "Why would I lie to you?" he asked firmly. "What possible benefit could I gain?" He took a deep breath. "Look through my eyes, if you can," he demanded. "Use my senses. See if I'm not telling you the truth."