The Nuclear Druid

by Felix R. Savage

  A mostly bald head poked up through the hatch from the first floor. It belonged to Lloyd Mackenzie.

  “There you are,” Lloyd said, catching sight of Gil underneath the bed. “Jesus, you’re a funny-looking creature.”

  “It is an honor to meet you, too,” Gil said. It was impossible to crawl out from under the bed with dignity. He brushed the dust bunnies off his fur and dipped his head to Colm’s father.

  Lloyd laughed. His breath smelt of booze. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier. I’m Colm’s dad.”

  “I know.”

  Lloyd extended a hand and shook one of Gil’s foreclaws. At that moment a hissing noise came from below. A cat shot past Lloyd, ears flat, and hid under Gil’s bed, where he had just been.

  “Mickle! Mickle!” Lloyd said. He climbed up onto the second floor and reached under the bed, then gave up. His eyes gleamed as he regarded Gil. “You look a bit like a cat, don’t you?”

  “I most certainly do not,” Gil said. “Cats are animals. Queazels are people. And if you do not remove your pet from my house, I shall eat it.”

  “Ah, come on,” Lloyd said. “We’re all animals. It’s just some of us are animals with souls.”

  “Can I help you with anything, Mr. Mackenzie?”

  “Colm’s in the house. He was wondering why you didn’t come and say hello.”

  “I—I—I ruined his life. The CHEMICAL MAGE project destroyed his health and his career. And now it has robbed him of ten years in his family’s company. How should I face him?”

  “He’s not doing too badly, for all that,” Lloyd said. “But you’re right. You must atone for what you did.”

  He continued to speak, telling Gil what he must do.

  “I cannot,” Gil interrupted. “I cannot.” He dived back under the bed, forgetting that Lloyd’s cat was under there already. A hiss alerted him to her presence. Round black queazel eyes met slitty green cat eyes. After a moment, Gil realized that this cat was not like other cats. There was something … he could not put his claw on it … something different about her.

  He slithered back out to where Lloyd was sitting on the floor, calmly smoking a cigarette as he waited. “Your cat is not like other cats,” he said grudgingly.

  “Damn right,” Lloyd said. “She’s my familiar.”

  “Your what?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you.” Suddenly a knock sounded on the door below.

  “I shall be driven to distraction,” Gil growled. “Yes? What is it?”

  “It’s just me,” Diejen Lizp’s voice came through the door. “Can I come in? Please?”

  *

  In the kitchen, the fuss was dying down. Lloyd had wandered outside for a smoke. Colm was sitting in his place by the fire, eating a slab of delicious meat pie and thinking drearily about sentrienza fleets. Nicky had gone to sleep in Axel’s arms. “We’d better put him to bed,” Meg murmured.

  A little voice buzzed, “I have made up another bed in the children’s room.”

  Colm jumped a mile, nearly dropping his piece of pie.

  The speaker was a sentrienza.

  In fact, it was Emnl ki-Sharongat, the former princess of Betelgeuse. She looked very odd indeed in a fleece and cargo pants. Her massive braid of lavender hair was looped twice around her head to keep it out of the way.

  “You’re an angel, Emmie,” Meg said. “Did Phil go to sleep with his clothes on?”

  “No, he is wearing his pyjamas. I also made him brush his teeth.”

  “Emnl’s fantastic with the kids,” Meg said to Colm. “We call her our faerie godmother.”

  Emnl reached up to Nicky and lightly stroked his cheek. Her eyes glowed, the membranes sliding down over them.

  Axel said, “Yup; here he is. Home at last.”

  “And you are home, too,” Emnl said to Colm.

  “I am.” He wondered for how long.

  “I wanted to be the one to unravel the mystery of magic,” Emnl said. Her eyes glowed with something that he took for regret. He frankly could not believe Meg and Axel allowed her near their children. “I thought, naturally, that scientific experimentation would be the way to get to the bottom of it. But now I know there is a better way. I have learned so much just by living with magic.” She spread her little four-fingered hands. “Just living!”

  Axel whispered, “She’s OK. She really is.”

  Colm was hearing echoes of the Gray Emperor’s paeans to experience. Emnl was still a sentrienza. But maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  “I look forward to learning more about magic from you,” Emnl said to Colm. “But the rest of my people do not understand the way of living that I have discovered, the Way of the Empty Hand.”

  “Karate,” Meg translated. “We’re still working together. Emnl’s a black belt now.”

  “Yes. They must be taught the lessons I have learned. And I fear the only way to teach them will be by example.”

  “By example?” Colm said.

  “By blowing up a great many of them, of course,” Emnl said matter-of-factly. “They respect strength.” She studied him. “Did you really kill the Gray Emperor? He was supposed to be immortal.”

  Colm spread his hands. “The planet blew up. If he survived that, I’ve no doubt the Magus will sort him out.”

  “Even immortals cannot withstand magic,” Emnl whispered ecstatically. “And you will do it again? Blowing up planets—yes, that is good. That will be a powerful demonstration. You should start with Harridulast, in the Orion Nebula—the King of the Nebula is revoltingly arrogant. Then I can make you a list of other targets, ranked by proximity and political importance.”

  Meg nudged her teasingly. “A.k.a. a list of your personal enemies?”

  Emnl giggled. “We sentrienza know how to pick the winning side. I shall endeavor to convince them to pick the side of humanity.”

  “We’ve built a spaceport right here on Skye,” Axel said to Colm. “Got a shuttle to go up and down to the Unsinkable.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all arranged,” Colm said with a rictus grin. Then he murmured an excuse, stuffed the last bite of pie into his mouth, and went outside.

  *

  Dhjerga walked up the hill, away from the horses standing quietly in the back field. The beasts were well cared for, their coats brushed and their hooves shod. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs of Ghost craftsmanship and animal husbandry. It wearied him a little—the attention to detail, the conservative adherence to formula. This narrow focus had doomed the Magus. They had exchanged a few words in private before Dhjerga and the others left the Elphame system. “Well, deserter,” the Magus had said. “Are you happy with what you have wrought?”

  Dhjerga had wanted to say yes, to rub his victory in the Magus’s face. But something about his old commanding officer compelled him to honesty. “I am not happy,” he had said. “I don’t know if I will ever be happy.”

  The Magus had glanced at Drest, who was playing with the dolphin-like alien in the shallow water. “I am happy,” he had said with the simplicity of that elder time he came from. “I have got what I warred for. What were you warring for?”

  “Freedom,” Dhjerga said.

  The word had hung there in the air of that unfinished Faerieland, stale and inadequate.

  Now Dhjerga was climbing in the evening between long straight rows of bushes. The sun had gone down, but there was still plenty of light to see by. Lemon washed the eastern sky, fading into violet in the west. He could hear the sea.

  It was so peaceful here. And yet Dhjerga did not feel at peace.

  At the top of the hill stood a square building that, he had been told, housed the wine press and crush pad. He looked west across rumpled fields. Ridges of rock pushed through the meager soil. Cows and sheep dotted the slopes. A pocket-sized loch reflected the twinkling lights of a spear-shaped tower that stood by the road around it.

  A tower?

  Dhjerga sucked power from
the wine press, and flitted.

  The Son of Saturn!

  He laughed out loud to see it, and let out a glad shout when he saw Dryjon sitting on the bottom rung of the SOS’s ladder. “I’ve been looking for you!”

  The brothers embraced. Dryjon was older now, of course. “I’ve caught up with you,” he said.

  “By Scota’s grave, you actually look like a grown-up.”

  “Speaking of Scota’s grave, I’ve had a proper tunnel made, with guide ropes and electric lights,” Dryjon said cheerfully. “It’s quite the tourist attraction.” Then his smile died. “Are you going, then?”

  “I think so,” Dhjerga said. He had not known it himself until that moment.

  Dryjon gestured up at the Son Of Saturn. “I’ve had her fueled and checked over for you.”

  Dhjerga’s mouth twitched ruefully. Dryjon had known he’d be going away again before he himself had. “What’s that?” he said, indicating the new lettering on the fairing.

  “Oh, she was sitting out on Juradis for five years, and then sitting out here for another five. She needed a paint job. So I thought I’d give her a new name while I was at it. Do you like it?” Dryjon said hopefully.

  The five-foot letters read: NUCLEAR DRUID.

  “I’m going to be the faeries’ worst nightmare come to life,” Dhjerga said, rubbing his hands.

  “I hope Colm likes it.”

  Dhjerga grimaced. “I’m pretty sure he’s not …”

  “Not what?”

  “Not coming.”

  Before Dryjon could answer, an enormous form waddled around the spaceship, dragging a hose. “We can start LOX fueling anytime. Oh, hello, Dhjerga!” It was Drest—the original Drest. He wore a custom-sized mechanic’s overall, and had grease on his huge hands. Dhjerga smiled, remembering the copy of Drest he had left in the Elphame system. His last copy ever had been a good one.

  “You can’t go by yourself,” Dryjon said.

  “Why not, brother? I’ve done everything by myself as long as I can remember.”

  “Is that really what you think?”

  CHAPTER 60

  COLM STUMBLED OUT OF the house. He was sweaty and jittery. The meat pie he’d eaten sat like a rock in his stomach. He had come out to get some fresh air, but also to take a hit of tropodolfin without anyone noticing. He went around to the front of the manse, where the cars and horse carts were parked. They had left some of the pines standing here, and the trees were taller now. At the end of the track, numerous small boats were drawn up on the beach.

  He dug in his pockets for his tropo, and found a stone from the beach where they had left the Magus and Drest. It was flat and round. He flipped it like a coin. Heads I take the Unsinkable to the Orion Nebula and blow up some more planets. He pictured himself coming back in another ten years, when Meg and Axel’s children, and Nicky, would be nearly grown. Don’t worry, kids, it’s just your junkie uncle come home for a bit of R&R. Tails I walk down to the beach and just keep walking. Both sides of the stone looked the same.

  A soft voice said, “Colm?”

  He startled. Whipped his hand out of his pocket.

  Diejen Lizp walked out from behind the church. She was wearing Earth clothes: jeans and an anorak. Her hair fell to her shoulders in a wavy bob.

  Colm cleared his throat nervously. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

  “I was hiding.” She stopped in front of him. The extra ten years suited her. Her face looked more defined. Kinder.

  “Why?”

  She stared him in the eye. “Am I still too young for you?”

  Colm reached out for her, and then came to his senses and dropped his arms. He turned away, jaw clenching. “Oh Jesus, Diejen. You don’t want me. I’m a junkie. I came out here to pop a pill without anyone seeing. I’m so screwed up.”

  “You defeated the Magus.”

  “Not really. We just sort of talked it out. He did most of the talking.”

  “You slew the Gray Emperor.”

  “I blew up his entire fucking star system. Millions of sapient beings must’ve died. Billions. I can’t stop thinking about it.” But he would be able to stop thinking about it if he took tropo. Swallow enough of those little beauties and all he’d have to think about was where to get more.

  Diejen bit her lip. Her face in the twilight brought back memories of that twilight party in Ilfenjium where he had pursued her and Gaethla Moro to the zoo, seething with jealousy. Twilight on Kisperet lasted for days, but this was Earth and the light would soon be gone.

  “The old ways are dead,” she said. “All that is left for us is to move back to Earth and place ourselves at the mercy of the Christian God. It is not easy for me.”

  Colm held up his pack of tropo in a crooked salute. “It’s not easy for me, either. But I suppose I’ve got to try. To save everyone.” He started back towards the house; hesitated. “Thank you. If you hadn’t been here, I might have done something stupid.”

  “Might have?” she flashed. “You are always doing something stupid!”

  “I’ve got to go,” Colm said desperately, and plunged away around the house. He strode through the people trickling out from the house towards the back field, brushing off everyone who wanted to offer him their best wishes. Halfway up the hill, he realized it was full dark and he couldn’t see for shit. He barked his shin on a grape plant. Whose stupid idea had it been to plant a vineyard on Skye, anyway? “Ah, fuck it,” he muttered. Mages don’t have to walk. They travel at the speed of thought, and never mind if that means their thoughts come with them, like a ball and chain. He took the hit of tropo, and flitted.

  He came to himself on a launch pad ringed by floodlights. Axel hadn’t been kidding. They really had built a spaceport.

  Just a flexible concrete pad, and a hangar, and some fuel tanks. Still, it was a spaceport, and Colm’s heart lightened further when he saw the spaceship standing on the pad.

  It was the freaking Son of Saturn!

  Dhjerga came out of the hangar with Dryjon and—Jesus, that was Drest, wearing a mechanic’s overall. Dhjerga came over to Colm, grinning. “I was just going to pop back and say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye?” Colm scoffed. “Did you figure you could leave me behind? Forgotten whose ship this is?”

  “It’s not really big enough for the both of us, and the smell of your feet,” Dhjerga said.

  “That’s why we’re not going to take this ship,” Colm said. Seeing the incomprehension on Dhjerga’s face, he grinned. “And this is why you need me along.”

  Dryjon offered cigarettes around. Colm took one and sat down on the bottom rung of the SOS’s ladder, wanting to savor the summer air for just a few more minutes. He had been on leave, but now leave was over. The harsh lights at the edges of the pad buzzed, attracting moths. The breeze carried the scent of heather, a sweet topnote to the launch pad smells of machine oil and lightly toasted thermal tiling. Nicotine blended with tropo in his veins, making him feel that none of it very much mattered.

  “Do you remember,” Dhjerga said, “on Juradis, long ago, you said: if we joined forces, no one could stop us?”

  Colm laughed at the memory. “Sure. Famous last words.”

  “It’s true though, isn’t it? We blew up the fucking faerie emperor. That felt like the end, but it wasn’t. It was the beginning.”

  “Right,” Colm said, gazing up into the sky, where the floodlights blacked out the first stars of the evening.

  Dryjon took it up. “We humans are the rightful rulers of the galaxy. This is the beginning of the age of humanity. No other species has a hope of stopping us, if we’re careful and don’t over-extend ourselves.”

  “Fuck being careful,” Dhjerga said. “We’re going to conquer the entire fucking universe! The Magus will be sitting on Elphame eating his heart out with envy.”

  Colm studied Dhjerga. There was that glint of berserker craziness in his eyes, just the same as the first day Colm had ever seen him on Majriti IV. Colm had a little insight: Dhjerg
a had never really stopped fighting the Magus’s war. He’d just differed with the Magus as to their aims. Despite his troublesome conscience, he was a warrior born, who’d never be happy unless he was blowing shit up.

  You need friends like that.

  Colm stubbed out his cigarette with his boot. “All right. Let’s go.”

  There ensued a lot of cursing at the fuel gauges and temperature controls. Colm had to open several hatches on the engineering deck, visually check the wiring, and tighten up a couple of connections. An hour passed before he considered the SOS safe to launch.

  He and Dhjerga climbed to the crew capsule, wearing their spacesuits—real spacesuits, brought from Juradis, with Fleet insignia. As he proceeded with the launch countdown, headlights bounced down the hill. A convoy of cars pulled up at the launch pad, and Colm’s entire family jumped out, along with Meg and Axel and a whole gang of monks. They clustered at the distant edge of the launch pad.

  Colm cued the PA system in the hangar, which could be remotely controlled from the ship. “Stand the hell back, everyone.” His eyes watered as he gazed at the external feed screen. Meg. Axel. Nicky. His parents, arm in arm. All of them waving, their lips forming the word: Godspeed, Colm. He looked for Diejen, but she wasn’t there.

  “Put your helmet on,” he said to Dhjerga, as he initiated the main drive. The ship began to vibrate.

  “Why?” Dhjerga said, sprawled in the navigator’s couch with his feet up.

  “It’s standard procedure.”

  “I flew the Son of Saturn from Kisperet to Juradis without one of these stupid suits,” objected Dhjerga. He still didn’t really get the difference between flying and flitting. Well, fair enough. For them, it was a continuum now.

  “Yeah,” Colm countered, “but one, you’re crazy, and two, if we’re going to conquer the galaxy, we’re going to do it by Navy rules. And three, I’m going to be crying and cursing my fate all the way up to orbit, and I don’t want you listening in.”

  “Cursing fate?” Dhjerga’s smiling eyes darkened. “I’m good at that.”

  So they flew up to low Earth orbit shouting out the worst curses they could think of, forcing the words out while clenching their muscles against the launch gees, in English and Teanga, until the words gave way to wordless battle yells. A few tears may have been shed, but absorbent helmet liners tell no tales.