Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals

by John Daulton

  Altin sighed once more and walked away. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with a stubborn old woman hells-bent for a fight.

  He went out into the courtyard and saw that there were several of the long, brick-shaped containers that the Earth people used for shipping freight. He noted that they were all closed up and locked tight, and that there were no more scaffolds, cranes, hoists, or sawhorses anywhere.

  The setting sun glinted a dull orange off the black-painted metal of his tower, and more so from the black windows that wrapped round it, the image of the horizon at his back reflecting perfectly in them. Were it not for the gap-toothed metal wall that formed the battlements at the top, the whole thing might have looked a bit like a giant version of the projectiles the Earth people used in their guns, the lower half ringed in stone like a bullet casing, and thrusting up from that, the brushed black bullet of the rest. He thought the crown of the battlements made it look regal, though, and he was glad that they had added an extra floor. Four aboveground floors and a basement would give them lots of room. And it would be far better for space travel than being packed into Citadel with a fortress full of bureaucrats. Despite how huge and spectacular Citadel was, despite how much glory the enormous, diamond-encased space fortress had achieved during the war to save planet Earth from the Hostiles, Altin still felt bad for how that had turned out for Aderbury. Brilliant artist that he was, master of stonework and architecture of the highest kind, yet there he was, stuck with the command of Citadel. He only had it because Altin had just never wanted the job. That was the Queen’s enthusiasm, not his. And so far, he’d managed to stay out of it, which left it to poor, loyal Aderbury.

  Which reminded Altin of one of the reasons he’d come home. He still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Aderbury telepathically, and unlike the rest of the continent, Altin hadn’t yet taken to carrying homing lizards around with him everywhere he went.

  Out of habit, he sent a gentle telepathic nudge to his friend, but as before, he got no reply. Aderbury was blocking or, given the absolute nothingness Altin sensed, being shielded by seers, diviners, and illusionists on Citadel. He tried reaching Aderbury’s wife, Hether, but she too was blocked. He knew it was inappropriate to do it, but he cast a quick seeing spell and looked around their house, hoping to find her at home—he’d done as much before, and while it would be grotesquely rude for most, he’d known them both long enough, and done as much often enough, that he felt less guilt than he would have otherwise. But she wasn’t there, so any guilt at all was pointless then.

  As he looked about their house, he noticed a small cage populated by the couple’s handful of homing lizards. Feeling more than a little guilty for it, he teleported himself directly into Aderbury’s study, where the wind of his arrival blew several parchment designs off his friend’s workbench and sent them fluttering to the floor.

  He went to the cabinet upon which the cage sat and took a bit of parchment from a tray sitting next to a pot of ink and a quill pen. He wrote a short note to Aderbury, explaining that he needed to talk to him about a very important transmutation spell. Then he tied the note to the back of a black-and-yellow-spotted lizard he’d taken from the cage. He tossed the creature down to the floor as he spoke Aderbury’s name, and in that instant the homing lizard disappeared.

  Altin busied himself with picking up the drawings his arrival had blown about, and in the time it took him to clean them all up, and gaze at a few—he could hardly help it given that they were right there in his hand—he got his reply.

  The note read:

  Can’t help you. Secret project for the Queen. How’d you get my homing lizard?

  It was signed simply “A.”

  His reply was nearly as brief:

  In your house. Sorry. Couldn’t be helped. Need special transmute spell to merge living heart stone with surrounding crystals (Liquefying Stone, no less) on new Yellow Fire world.

  Altin sat down and studied the drawings on Aderbury’s desk again, mostly out of the need for something to do while he waited for a reply. They seemed an odd collection of designs for a gifted stone-melder like Aderbury was. Several of them were designs for what looked like simple frontier-style fortresses, although rather high-walled and, if he was looking at them right, made to set upon some kind of column or cone. One drawing depicted nine of the forts all together, a large central one connected to the eight smaller ones by walled bulwarks that arced up and over the space between like bridges that seemed unnecessarily high.

  He flipped through the stack of drawings and found some interior sketches, and as before, most seemed entirely normal but for what seemed a proliferation of murder holes, especially along the bridge routes. He couldn’t imagine what possible use there was for such a fortress as this. Although, he and Aderbury had once discussed putting an amusement park up on Prosperion’s pink moon, Luria. He supposed the drawings might be meant, somehow, for that. Perhaps they were evidence that Aderbury really did not have his heart into the command of Citadel, though he uttered no complaint.

  The lizard returned at that moment, appearing with the barest puff of air and setting itself immediately to chewing on Altin’s earlobe with its soft, toothless mouth.

  Altin pulled the note off and read:

  Don’t eat all our food, you burglar, or Hether will have at you when we return. Assuming we do, of course. And for your spell, take the book on the shelf to the left of the lizard cage. Get the one with the yellow spine. Look for a spell called “Gorbon Glassblower’s Cotton Meld.” Don’t send the lizard back. We are being watched. You (we) got lucky this time.

  Being watched? What in the nine hells did that mean? Who was watching? The war was over. All of the wars were over. Weren’t they? By the gods, there’d better not be another one, he thought as he read over the note once more.

  He turned, however, to the shelf behind him and found the book with the yellow spine. It was a squat, fat book with gold leaf painted along the edges of the pages. An expensive spellbook to be sure.

  Unlike most, it had a table of contents, making its maker a rare sort of wizard for such things. It did seem appropriate, though, given that most transmuters ended up tinkerers and builders and the like. The very same sorts of people who tended to like things organized.

  In a matter of moments he’d found the spell. It was a longish one, sixty-one pages in all, but nothing he couldn’t memorize with a little time. It was too long to copy, however, and feeling more guilt about taking the book, he shrugged and took it anyway. What were friends for if not the lending of wondrous books? He only hoped that this one would do what he needed it to do, which was to spare him a much greater guilt than the pilfering of a book: the guilt of killing two living worlds. One he might kill by incompetence, should he fail, and the other would die by his vow.

  He grunted and shook his head. All he’d wanted to do just three short years ago was travel to the moon. See the sights. Maybe have a look at some nearby stars. And now look at him.

  Chapter 25

  Pernie paused and watched, transfixed, as Djoveeve waded out into the surf with her arms out slightly to her sides. The dry, rippled appearance of the woman’s skin intrigued the girl, the way the backs of her arms hung loosely from the bone. Just a little, but it was there. The lines of muscle were still visible beneath that leathery flesh, but the muscle was more than lean, seeming almost stringy in the striations visible there. The ancient Sava’an’Lansom was wearing thin. Without her armor, it was obvious. The skin seemed barely attached at the back of her thighs. Oh, those thighs could still leap well enough, and those slender shoulders could still heave a spear hard enough. But bare as she was, Pernie could see age upon her. A little past three centuries she’d had. Not so many as the great Tytamon had, but still a lot of time to be the guardian of the High Seat.

  The curiosity that stayed Pernie there on the beach vanished with one backward glance from Djoveeve, who beckoned her to come along. “Don’t let me eat them all without you,” she teased.


  Pernie yanked off the last bit of cloth that covered her, then plucked up her spear and ran out after the old woman, eager to get her first taste of sugar shrimp, the fine feast for her birthday.

  “You won’t need that, little Sava,” Djoveeve said once Pernie had caught up. “Your eyes are your weapons here.”

  Pernie frowned, but turned and threw her spear back onto the beach, a long, graceful arc that had the black shaft glinting in the sun as it flew true and plunged into the sand near her clothes. She didn’t really know how she was supposed to catch shrimp with her eyes, but she supposed anything was possible in the land of elves.

  Soon they were deep enough that Pernie could just barely keep her head above the water, and she had to jump to stay above the white froth of the broken waves, which washed over them both in steady, crooked lines.

  “Here,” said Djoveeve. “Here is where you will find them. They come in with the tide, and they eat the little things that spawned in the sun when the water was gone.” She made a show of holding her breath and ducked under the surface. Pernie tracked her as she swam along the sandy bottom. Her splotchy skin was pale beneath the clear blue water, dappled further by the sun.

  Djoveeve swam slowly along as Pernie watched, winding between black rocks that stuck up here and there from the sand. The old assassin paused from time to time near this one or that, and she paused here and there beneath clumps of kelp that drifted over her as well, rolling over and looking up at the bottoms of them as they slid through the low, rolling waves. Pernie watched for several minutes until finally she saw the woman’s arm dart into one of the clumps. Djoveeve stood up out of the water then, not even a half measure taller than Pernie was, and raised her arm triumphantly. “Got it,” she proclaimed.

  She made her way over to Pernie, who was still standing nearby, bobbing in the waves as she hopped over the highest ones. Djoveeve picked bits of seaweed off her hand as she approached. She drew near and held out her hand, palm open and up, revealing a lump of dark green seaweed. She pinched out a few more bits of green slime, then briefly made a loose fist and shook it back and forth beneath the water for a moment before lifting it out again. “There, you see?” she said, holding her hand out for Pernie to have a look.

  All Pernie saw was the woman’s palm again, wet and clean.

  “See what?” Pernie asked.

  “Well, drat,” Djoveeve said. “They change so fast.” She ducked down under the water and scooped up a handful of sand from the bottom, then came up again. She sprinkled the wet sand in little clumps onto her hand, and Pernie watched with delight as the shape of a shrimp was formed. For a moment. Then there was only a little heap of sand.

  Pernie frowned, then laughed, then frowned again. “Is it gone again?”

  “Oh, they’re never gone,” she said. “But they’re clever and they’re quick.” She made a loose fist again and once more plunged it into the surf and, shaking it again, rinsed out all the sand. “Here, put out your hand.”

  Pernie reached out, and Djoveeve placed an invisible thing into her palm. Something wriggled there, little feet working as it tried to get free again. “I can’t see it,” Pernie said. “It’s magical!” She was thrilled. She’d been trying to find a magical sea creature for quite a while now, using what time she could steal for herself to find beaches and seek out something that she might ride back to Kurr. She hadn’t found a single one yet, and was starting to lose hope that any had magic at all. And now here there was evidence after all.

  “Oh, that’s not magical,” Djoveeve said. “Lots of creatures can do that. Regular old ordinary critters do it all the time. Cuttlefish and octopuses and squid. But so, too, do the great gavenau whales, the shrieker fish, and the blue sea dragons of the Tine. Even in these creatures it’s not magic, however impressive it may be. It’s a common trick, actually, but very good camouflage.”

  “Well, I thought you said these things were magical.” Pernie began to feel a little bit cheated. Old people always made up magical things. They told stories of tiny badgers living in their beards or danced fake lizards in the air. She used to like it when they did that, but now she knew they only did it to get her to do what they wanted her to do. She began to protest that very thing, but Djoveeve cut her off.

  “The magic,” said the old woman, “is how they create the wondrous taste.”

  Pernie looked dubious, but she did want to have fun on her birthday, so she decided to wait and see.

  “First, however, my little Sava has to learn how to catch a few. Then I’ll show you the trick of the treat. Come, follow me and watch close.”

  Djoveeve took the shrimp back from Pernie and tucked it into a bag she’d tied to her wrist. Then, without further ado, she ducked under the water and began to swim away. Pernie did likewise and swam beside her, only just a bit behind. Djoveeve swam along through the rocks for a long time, but Pernie, though she had swum a lot since coming here, couldn’t hold her breath so long as that. So she came up, took a fresh lungful of air, and plunged back down after the old woman again.

  Djoveeve was waiting for her near a rock. The rock was covered with feathery tufts of blue-green algae amongst which nestled several mollusks known as fire limes, named so for their green color and the little bubbles of boiling water that they spat, little round beads of steam that scalded on contact anyone or anything that got too close. Pernie had learned about those the hard way a few months back while trying to connect telepathically to an elephant seal lounging on a rock a few hundred spans offshore. She pulled away from the rock as soon as she saw them, her toes wriggling reflexively as she thought about how that had felt on the bottom of her feet.

  “Here,” came the gentle thought pushing against her mind. “Share my thoughts, little Sava.”

  “I am,” she replied.

  “Look here by this anemone. Just in front of it.” She was pointing to the space in the water only a finger’s width away from the reach of a deep purple anemone. “Come closer and watch how the tentacles sway with the currents. Look carefully and see how the pattern breaks. There is a delay as our sweet little friend is constantly trying to keep up.”

  Pernie swam right up next to Djoveeve, whose long gray hair floated wildly around her in the water, making her look rather like an unkempt silver anemone herself.

  Pernie peered closely into the anemone, staring down Djoveeve’s gnarled finger and looking for a break in the pattern. There was nothing. Just lots and lots of little purple strands.

  “It’s moving,” came Djoveeve’s thought. “You have to see carefully. You must be patient and watch. Put away what you think you ought to see. Put away what you expect. Keep those images out of your head. Just shut down your inner voice and see.”

  Pernie stared into the place where Djoveeve pointed, the woman’s sticklike finger slowly moving down, apparently tracking the invisible shrimp as it made its slow getaway, working down the rock beneath the anemone and seemingly headed toward the sand.

  Pernie tried to stay with her, watching as hard as she could, but her air was running out again, and she had to go back up. She burst above the surface and took a few long breaths, before pulling in as much air as she could and going back down again.

  Djoveeve was still pointing, though she was moving along the bottom now, lying on her side as she pulled herself along, stirring up little clouds of sand each time her elbow or hip grazed the bottom.

  Pernie swam up opposite her and turned parallel, facing her, barely the length of Pernie’s arm separating them. She stared at the space in the water near the woman’s fingertip, a hand and a half above the seabed. There wasn’t anything there.

  “Stop looking for the shrimp, little Sava,” came Djoveeve’s thought. “Start looking for what’s wrong with me.”

  That didn’t make any sense. Pernie didn’t need to send the thought with words; the face she made conveyed it clearly enough.

  “Look at my finger. My hand. Look through what you are trying to see at me. Wat
ch what shouldn’t be about me. See what is there, not what you believe should be.”

  Pernie tried again. She watched the woman’s finger carefully. She tried to imagine how big the shrimp would be. It was trying to look like a part of Djoveeve, like it had looked like the anemone and then the rock. Like it had looked like the sand.

  She stared through the empty space and watched the movement of Djoveeve’s arm. The way her stomach wrinkled and movement of her breasts. There were lines in all of that, shapes and forms, shadows and spots of sunlight beaming down. Then she saw it. A double line of fingernail, and the shadow of the old woman’s rib. But it was gone right after.

  “I think I saw it!” Pernie sent to Djoveeve as she peered even harder through the intervening sea.

  The color shifted on Djoveeve’s inner arm, the blue veins visible and the little dimples in the soft flesh not quite rippling right. Pernie squinted and moved closer. The line of her shoulder seemed a little too brown, just for an instant, and the sunlight that sparkled on a rippling wave above flashed twice right in a row. Pernie’s hand shot out and snatched the little shrimp even as her little lungs began to burn for having held her breath too long. But she caught it. It wriggled in her hand.

  She burst up out of the water and let go a whoop, holding her arm high. When Djoveeve surfaced right beside her, she whooped a second time. “I got it, I got it!” she yelled.

  Djoveeve’s smile was just as wide as Pernie’s was, and the woman laughed happily as Pernie let her hold the little captive and measure it with her hand. “Why, look there,” Djoveeve said with pride, “yours is even bigger than mine.”

  Pernie would have clapped for joy, but they were in water too deep to make such things easy. And besides, she wanted to get more of them.

  “I want to find more,” she said. “I think I can see them now.”

  “You can, indeed. But we must get enough for us both, and I am in quite a mood for sweets. Let’s not be lazy. I can eat quite a pile.”