D & D - Tale of the Comet

by Roland Green

  "I was thinking of a waterwheel turning in the stream," Brinus put in. "But this sounds a lot better. We can—what is the word?—design a waterwheel, though, just in case something goes wrong with the turbine."

  "It won't charge the cells enough to power the gate," Gregis said, "but it might be useful to keep up power aboard Fworta, for those who stay behind."

  At the moment Ohlt would not have wagered on there being any such persons of any race, but he knew that somebody would have to hold the Rael outpost. Jazra was nodding.

  "Will the turbine run on steam from dirty water, or will it corrode and break?" she asked. "I'm no engineer, but it seems to me that the cleaner the water, the better."

  "M'lenda—" several people said at once, but Gregis shook his head.

  "This will need more water than M'lenda could purify, even if she killed herself doing it," the Rael technician said firmly. "If we had enough magical heat, though, it could also run a simple distillation plant. Turn the water to steam, run the steam pipe through cold water—the stream would do. . . ."

  "Let us start putting some of this down on—whatever you Rael use instead of parchment or paper," Hellandros said. "Glass?"

  Gregis picked up his counting machine and opened it. "The glass is just the face. The numbers and words are created by electrons inside the machine."

  "What is a—?" Hellandros began.

  "Hellandros," Ohlt said, with gentle menace. "We all wish to know about electrons as much as you do, but we want the gate running first!"

  The wizard gave courtly bows, first to Ohlt, then to Jazra.

  "Your humble servant, my lord and lady."

  • • •

  They ended up taking three nearly sleepless and foodless days to build the steam plant, instead of two. Gregis had been right; M'lenda could not have purified enough water to drive the turbine to power a helmet light.

  She did, however, keep a supply of pure, cold drinking water available at all hours of the day and night. On the second day, she even purified handfuls of survival rations that had made it through the Overseer's occupation of Fworta, but would have been too dry or rotten to eat without her magic.

  "Now all we need is Hazlun," she said to Ohlt, as he gobbled a midnight snack. "Together, we can conjure up feasts!"

  Ohlt nodded, crumbs dribbling from his lips as he chewed his way to being able to speak. "M'lenda, are you still ready to go Beyond?"

  "You seem to doubt my courage more than anyone else's," she snapped. "Have I given you any reason?"

  "You have more life ahead of you than the rest of us, so more to lose," Ohlt said.

  "Yes, but it is the lonely life of the half-elven," she said. "I came in search of kin among the wood elves, but instead I found them in four humans, a dwarf, and folk from beyond the stars. I know kin-duties as well as the next elf, thank you."

  She held out a cup to Ohlt. "This one 1 tried to flavor with lemon," she said. "See how it tastes."

  It tasted like lemon as conjured up by someone who had only heard of lemons, but it was not unpleasant, and it definitely helped wash the grit out from between Ohlt's teeth.

  Indeed, it seemed that grit and sweat had taken up residence in the most intimate parts of his body. He prayed earnestly that there would be enough fire left when the gate was ready, to allow everyone a hot bath. He would do more than pray, if he thought any gods would accept a sacrifice.

  On the morning of the fourth day, the steam charging plant was ready.

  If Ohlt had encountered the machine in the street on a misty night, he would have wondered what outer plane it had escaped Irom. As it was, he saw Gregis looking at the plant with almost paternal fondness. Muscle aches, burns, and grit reminded Ohlt that he and his companions could also stand sponsor to the newborn.

  To make the self-contained sphere of fire, Hellandros needed phosphorous. They had scavenged enough from grenades and Hares so that Hellandros hoped he would not melt the boiler.

  The wizard stepped forward, with a lump of phosphorous ineared on the tip of his staff, and the spell written on a strip of i loth tied around his left wrist. He raised both hands and the siaff, and shouted the syllables of the spell.

  Raw white fire streamed from the tip of the staff, coalesced into a ball, and drifted down toward the firebox under the boiler. The Rael guarding the door hastily leaped aside, then just as hastily leaped back, and slammed the door.

  After that, nothing happened for so long that everyone was obviously trying not to fidget. Jazra was as still as a statue, but Ohlt had long since learned to read her eyes.

  Even Jazra's fingers were twitching when Gregis stepped forward to read a glass number-screen just above the firebox door. Then he turned, and threw his arms over his head. He almost danced.

  "We're getting steam!"

  "Distiller or turbine?" someone asked. The importance of feeding only steam made from clean water into the turbine had taken hold of everyone. Ohlt realized that if they came back from Beyond, they had the key to a method of giving clean water to whole towns. According to Jazra, that might save thousands from fluxes and fevers.

  "Distiller, for now," Gregis said. "But we'll have steam in the turbine after the first tankful is distilled." He looked less optimistic than he sounded.

  The second triumph came, although after an even longer wait than that for the first one. A faint whine filled the chamber as the turbine began to turn. Gregis hurried from one screen to another, and finally turned, looking readier to weep than laugh.

  "What—is anything wrong?"

  "No," Gregis said. "Not at all. We're—we have power into the cells. We're going to have a gate!"

  It was impossible for as many people to embrace Gregis and Hellandros as wished to, so for a moment the chamber looked more like a riot than a victory celebration. Ohlt waved to the two victors from the edge of the crowd, found a less than filthy piece of floor, and let his legs collapse under him.

  Thus far he had led his friends across a land he knew better than the Rael, even if the Fworta had brought a host of surprises to it. Now, if they went Beyond, the Rael would be on familiar ground. The humans would need their guidance with every step.

  Somehow, this did not bother him. He trusted the Rael more than any folk he had ever met, save only his companions, and a few back in Aston Point. His neighbors in Port Enkrimpe, and his old shipmates, might have been creations of the Overseer, for all that he now had in common with them.

  That was something the old hero tales never mentioned: That after a hero had stepped into a new world, there was no way back into the old one.

  The distiller began leaking enough to need shutting down

  after two days. By then, however, the working cells held an ade-i |uate, if not generous charge for one gate opening to Kel-Rael.

  After the first few hours, Gregis caught up on his sleep. Once he had done that, he was back to work. When he was not watching the screens, and sometimes even when he was, his hands were busy repairing survival gear and making an instrumented probe to throw ahead of the gate travelers, on a long cord. Radio would not pass through a gate.

  "It won't hurt to know the conditions we'll be facing," he told Ohlt. "If the arcology is in vacuum, or flooded with toxic gases, for example—"

  Hellandros was listening, and coughed. He was doing a good deal of that lately, although it had not kept him from tending his magical fire as long as necessary. Ohlt hoped the wizard was not developing a chest congestion or lung fever. The Rael had ways of healing those beyond any cleric's, but a man Hellandros's age should still not be on campaign while he was healing.

  "A question, Gregis," Hellandros spoke up. "Could a vacuum—that means no air, I believe—suck our world's air off across the stars? Or could the poison gas leak into our own air?"

  Gregis frowned. "The best I can tell you is that it's much easier to close a gate than to open one. The probe has a remote control to shut it down from beyond. I've also trained two of i he people who are staying
behind to work the manual shut-off... or, if necessary, cut all power from the cells.

  "Jazra is also planning to have a weapons team covering the gate. They'll use stunners if they can, but their orders are to kill us rather than risk the Overseer's forces using the gate again."

  "And when was Jazra going to tell us about those orders?" 1 lellandros muttered.

  "Peace," Ohlt said, more sharply than the word usually came (int. "Remember that Jazra is leading us. It is her death she had ordered, as well as ours."

  "I meant nothing against her honor or courage," Hellandros said. "If you think otherwise, I will apologize to her personally."

  Gregis assured them that he would let the matter rest. Then he handed them a large bundle wrapped in tent fabric. Within lay a miracle—a power-cell heater, that could heat soup, stew, or—blessed beyond price!—water for a bath.

  Ohlt did not kiss Gregis's feet. Instead, he hurried off to the human quarters with the miracle clutched to his chest.

  He also did his duty as leader by bathing last. He had taken one quick plunge in the stream, now flowing steadily through the crack in the dam. The larger crack in the valley wall had drained most of the lake, but once the water fell enough, the mountain-fed stream had set out to resume its normal course. In the process it not only fed the steam plant, but was cleaning much of the filth out of the lake.

  Others had not been so lucky. Anyway, Ohlt had bathed in soapy salt water already used by four or five shipmates. A single bowl of hot water would be an unexpected luxury.

  Although Ohlt waited until he thought the bath corner was empty, when he entered it he found Elda still rinsing herself off, in cold water. Another pot was already heating, and Ohlt picked it up, trying his best to ignore Elda. She had lost some weight, but no desirability.

  "You could come up to me and put your arms around me, you know," she said, as she wrung out the sponge and tossed it to Ohlt.

  "That would not surprise you the way you surprised me in the lake."

  "No, but it might please me."

  From Elda's sigh, it did please her. Ohlt was silent, but found that he also was enjoying the embrace. The pleasure was not guilty. Rather, it was a reminder that he had not lived like a monk before he met Wylina, and might not be wise to plan on living like one for the rest of his years.

  If he or any of them had years left.

  That thought seemed to reach Elda through his embrace. She sighed again, this time in resignation.

  "Who can know their fate except gods, and maybe not even them? But I go with my back as well-guarded in battle as it is

  well-warmed now. That is more than most of us can hope for."

  Then she turned around and gave Ohlt a kiss that might have heated the water all by itself.

  Two more days, and six Rael led by Jazra, and the humans led by Ohlt, were ready to face the gate. Everyone had survival gear, including sleeping bags, salvaged from undamaged escape pods and storerooms. Everyone also had full armor, although Gregis had extra work cutting a suit down to size for Chakfor, and M'lenda could not bear the full weight.

  They were not so well armed as they could have wished. Everyone had a blaster pistol and hand grenades. There were six rifles, Zolaris had his magnum cannon, and Vorris carried a grenade launcher, with Chakfor carrying extra grenades in addition to the axe that Gregis had made for him.

  The problem was ammunition. They had expended much in retaking Fworta, and captured less than they had expected to. The gate party could, however, hope to find fresh ammunition on Kel-Rael, while those staying behind would not have that opportunity. So the stay-behinds had the lion's share of the ammunition, while the gate party had enough for one good fight and no more.

  "At least it will be a good fight, if we have enough," Vorris said. "Running out of ammunition is the best way to turn a good fight into a bad one."

  "Vorris, I could kiss you for such optimism," Elda quipped, resting her hand on her rapier hilt.

  The Rael replied with a mock-pout, "Then I shall always seek to be sober, even grim."

  Jazra raised a hand, and her voice. "Enough, people. Gregis, the briefing is yours, and if we are killed because you've forgotten something, I'll come back to haunt you."

  Gregis forgot nothing. Indeed, he went on so long that Ohlt felt an urge to find a private corner before the briefing was done. But that was only unease; Gregis was actually done in less than five minutes.

  Somehow, this small marvel made Ohlt less uneasy about the greater marvel to come. To be beyond the stars, in just a few-steps!

  At least he could hope that once he had survived that, the Rael could not come up with anything still more marvelous.

  "Time!" Jazra called.

  The gate party shuffled forward, as the power flowed from the cells to the rings. Gregis, in the rear, handed over the probe, and it passed from hand to hand to the head of the line.

  Blueness shimmered in the air between the rings. Silver shot through the blue, dazzling the eyes and seeming to reach other senses. Ohlt felt the deck vibrate, and saw the shimmering now display more than blue and silver—indeed, more colors than ought to exist on any lawful plane.

  The colors vanished in one breath. In a second breath a gray wall took their place, and in a third, Jazra flung the probe. It struck the wall, bounced, but did not return through the gate. Everyone wanted to look back at Gregis, but no one could take their eyes off the grayness in the Beyond.

  "Nominal readings all across!" Gregis shouted. Metal and ceramics scraped as everyone drew a weapon. Armored feet clattered, first on a metal deck, then on something that felt both solid and liquid at the same time, then on something smooth that felt to Ohlt like stone.

  "Spread out!" Jazra shouted, and Ohlt turned left. As he did, the world turned blue again, a blue so intense and solid that he felt he could cut it into slices like a venison pasty.

  Then, with a roar, the gate collapsed. With another roar, air as solid as a fist punched Ohlt in the back, sending him sprawling half on the floor, half against the wall.

  Fourteen

  Gredin held up her hand to signal her comrades, then reined in her own mount. A moment was all she needed to tether the mare, then dismount. In another moment, she was slipping downhill.

  Behind her she heard no voices, and no sounds of dismounting. That was good. There were no arguments, and no one coming after her to "protect" her. That had not been the way of it, when the watch's mounted guard was first established.

  She had to be a sergeant. She was a better rider, and knew the land better than all but two others, who also became sergeants. Of her companions, Kalton Praug knew riding, but not the land, and Skindulos of the Spear was wise in the land, but not an expert rider.

  This had not kept both of them from disputing her orders, out of concern for her "safety," the first few times she led them

  out. She had refused to appeal to Torgia Mel or Seldra Boatwright, instead ignoring their disobedience until they finally grasped its futility. Neither of them yet seemed easy in their minds about obeying a girl of sixteen, but then she was not easy about giving them orders, either.

  Of course, the elf had come down to ride with the watch mostly to be his father's eyes and ears in town. The elves did not care to trust entirely to Drenin Longstaff for their knowledge of human affairs, and trade journeys were still few even though the comet's ghouls and golems no longer seemed to roam the land.

  Now the noises that had drawn Gredin's attention were growing louder. She thought she recognized hobgoblins, who were usually alert enough to take alarm at the approach of riders. Had she come too close? Were they stalking her? Or was it some trick the forest was playing on her ears?

  Asrienda would know the answer, but Asrienda was not here, and Praug and Skindulos were doughty fighters, if not wise in the ways of hobgoblins.

  Now the hobgoblin sounds were unmistakable, and included the lip-smacking and bone-cracking of one of their feasts. Gredin went on her belly and crawled
until, at last, the gap under a bush let her see without being seen.

  Two hobgoblins sat on the beach, snatching raw fish from a large pile between them. They would strip the bones out with bare hands, flick the heads and tails off with knives, and devour the rest of each fish in a couple of bites.

  In spite of the feast before them, the two hobgoblins looked half-starved, with ribs showing through the rents in their tunics. Both were barefoot, and besides their knives, one had only a spear, and the other a short sword.

  No, that was not quite right. A bulging pouch lay between them, and two of the little red hand-thrown sky-fireballs had spilled out onto the sand. From this, and seeing that the fish lay gape-bellied, Gredin knew what had happened.

  Cut off from their homelands by the fighting against the comet's ghouls and golems, many of the hobgoblins who had stolen sky-weapons had turned marauder. They had done more harm to one another than to humans, and more harm to the grimlocks than to one another. In time, the magic of their weapons was exhausted.

  But the little fireballs could kill a whole pond or stream full offish in one blazing moment. The wood elves had stuck up on spears outside their village the heads of two hobgoblins caught fishing that way. The hobgoblins Gredin saw must have tried t His in Paradise Lake, and were feasting on the results.

  Gredin cupped her hands over her mouth, and softly gave ihe call of the green thrush. That was the rally-and-attack signal, to bring her comrades down.

  However, the reply came from the water, and it was a call no bird had ever uttered. Instead it was a series of liquid notes, that seemed to flow over Gredin with the caressing quality of warm, scented oil. She wriggled with pleasure, like a kitten being petted, and stopped trying to draw her sword.

  A moment later, she stopped even thinking of her weapons. All she wanted to do was crawl out from under the bush, stand up, and wait for further pleasure to come. She had the vague notion that it might even be wise to strip off her clothes and swim out into the lake. . ..

  The liquid notes ended. Instead, a cry of pain broke the sudden, unwelcome silence. Then Gredin heard a splash, another cry, and the thud of a falling body.