Strontium-90

by Vaughn Heppner

  I turned and ran for the opening. War increased speed like an out-of-control locomotive. The imp laughed as he scrambled into the Corridor, the key in his warty hand.

  I dove. War’s sword swished. The imp inserted his key into the air. As I rolled upon the limbo-like clouds, the portal vanished. So did War’s grim visage.

  “You’ve alive,” the imp said.

  Blood seeped between my fingers. I held my gashed side where War had cut me.

  The imp walked up to inspect the wound, and he dipped a finger into the blood and tasted his finger. “Too bad,” he said. “You’re going to live.”

  I groaned, sat up and gingerly removed my shirt. I retied it around the gash.

  “Your fool’s luck saved you,” the imp said. “You won.”

  “Did you watch the fight?” I asked.

  “For the world’s greatest magician, you’re amazingly dense.”

  “I’ll bite, imp, and I’ll pay the cost.”

  He grinned evilly. “Do you think that if you’d slain War that Murakawa, Boone, Genghis and Vulpus would have left it at that?”

  “I gave the orders,” I said.

  “Ah,” the imp said. “So what did you mean by jumping onto War’s sword near the end?”

  I scowled.

  The imp laughed. “It’s actually more amusing than that. If you’d beaten War, you would have taken his place. Can you imagine that? You would have bathed in blood for uncounted centuries. I know you saw his eyes.”

  I had, and I shuddered. With a weary grunt, I climbed to my feet. “I want to go home,” I said.

  The imp grinned and jumped for my shoulder. It was going to be a long walk back.

  The Flower Girl

  Phade timidly spread the whortle-berries onto the table. She also laid down bark from a hard to find assassin-tree and a small bag of herbs. She had thin fingers, a ragged dress and struggled to lift her gaze.

  The wizard harrumphed as he stroked his maroon beard. “Barely adequate,” he said. “The berries still have streaks of green.”

  “I trekked to the hidden glade to find them, sir. These are the ripest anywhere.”

  A twitch of the wizard’s lips betrayed his interest. “Hm. How far is that glade again?”

  Phade made a vague gesture. The Enchantress had warned her never to tell anyone.

  The wizard fingered the bark. It crumpled at his touch.

  “Don’t breathe on that too heavily, sir, or you’ll blow away the meng.”

  “Who is the wizard here?” he asked in annoyance. “You or me?”

  Phade scuffled a bare foot, still not daring to look up.

  The wizard produced a whiskbroom, carefully swept the bark into a bowl and delicately covered it with a clatter of its ceramic top. The berries he dropped into a basket and the bag of herbs he shoved in a jar. Then he wriggled his fingers, produced a copper coin, clicked it onto the table and slid it across to Phade.

  Dismay pulled at her mouth. “No one knows the forest like me, sir.”

  “Possibly,” he said. “So I’ll give you a silver florin if you take me to the hidden glade. Not that it’s worth that much, mind you. But seeing how—”

  “Oh, but sir, the Enchantress has forbidden me to do that.”

  He snapped his fingers. “You can’t expect anyone to believe that story, my dear. You’re a waif, a little flower girl. The Enchantress indeed. You’re a stowaway. Everyone knows that. How you stumbled onto the glade, I’ll never understand. But a silver florin is ample reward for something I’ll find sooner of later.” He scowled. “If you persist in this foolishness, I might have to change my vote.”

  Looking glum, Phade took the copper coin, although she remembered to curtsy, and said, “Thank you, sir.” She turned to go.

  “This is a privileged community,” he said. “And you’re just a ragged herb gatherer. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Phade nodded and quietly took her leave. His hut was in the middle of the village and was the biggest one. It had once belonged to the Enchantress. Phade hurried along the lane and passed the old duchess in her velvet gown.

  “Girl!” the duchess said.

  With her head bowed, Phade approached in a slow step.

  The duchess was a portly old lady with a great wig of red hair. “The lilies you picked have begun to wilt. You promised me they would remain fresh for a week.”

  “Did you sprinkle the twitus powder in their water, my lady, as I suggested?”

  “What nonsense is this, you silly girl? You promised me a week of fresh lilies and now they droop like tired hounds. You’re no flower girl. If you wish to stay, you must work. Picking dandelions in the meadows certainly doesn’t count. My hut is a sty and the outhouse… it’s unspeakable. I’ll expect you at dawn tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “No nonsense from you, girl,” the duchess said, “or I’ll recast my vote.”

  Phade shoulders slumped.

  “Now off you with,” the duchess said. “You smell like pine needles.” And the old dame took out a gryphon-imported hanky scented with rose water and held it under her nose.

  Phade soon reached her hut at the edge of the village. Hers was the smallest, the oldest and therefore the most ramshackle of the lot.

  This forest hideaway had once belonged to the Enchantress. Phade had served her before the invasion and had lived here with the other servants. Then the Enchantress had gone off to help the Queen, taking the others. Unfortunately, the Enchantress had never returned. Soon thereafter, these important people had arrived on gryphon-back. They were refuges from the barbarian invasion. A few more trickled in each week, and overcrowding had brought about the vote.

  Phade watered various flowers, crushed grayblooms with her mortar and pestle, and set aside some photis seeds. She sighed. Count Washburn yearned for watercress with his vegetable stew and had hinted he’d vote for her if she brought them before dusk. The kind he wanted were miles away, however.

  Well, better to start now then. Phade tucked away a packet of powder, picked up a basket and hurried into the dim forest. Giant trees spread their shadows, although in places sunlight filtered through the leaves to angle down like taut golden wires. Phade used deer paths, skipped through a patch of knee-high mushrooms and waded upstream over cool stones. The moss between the stones, when dried, chopped and sprinkled on wounds, helped stave infections to a marvelous degree.

  Phade loved the forest, but feared the wolves, bears and the sleek panthers that roamed it. She wasn’t a dryad to sleep in a tree. She needed her hut, and she had lived alone a short time to know that she needed people, too. The wizard, duchess and count were important people. They needed a safe refuge until the Queen drove out the barbarians. Phade worked hard to please them. Oh, she dreaded the coming vote. But did they have to treat her so shabbily? The Enchantress had never been so—

  An evil chuckle coming from behind some bulrushes froze her. She’d waded upstream with her head down, her thoughts churning.

  A great brute of a barbarian now rose from behind the clump of bulrushes. He wore a bear-fur vest that exposed muscles crisscrossed with scars. He gripped a black axe and wore a strange helmet that sprouted two elk antlers. He had a big drooping mustache that hid his lips.

  Phade skipped back, turned and ran full into another barbarian as solid as an oak tree. He grabbed her, while the first tossed a noose over her head and tightened it around her throat!

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she said.

  The one with antlers grinned unpleasantly. Then four more barbarians rose from hiding, huge warriors with shields and axes.

  “So this is the Werewood,” the first shouted at the others. “This is the place of ogres and trolls, a place that swallows warbands. Not so!” he shouted, and he thumped his chest so dirt puffed off the bear-furs. “If a girl can wade in its streams, then Vidar Iron-Arm’s warriors can do the same.”

  The huge barbarian—Vidar Iron-Arm presumably—grinned down at Phade.
He tugged on the rope so she stumbled closer. He raised his axe. It was an ugly weapon and seemed as if it wanted to chop into her.

  “Listen, girl,” he rumbled. “You have a single chance for life. You must lead us to the hidden village.”

  Phade tried to swallow. He had such pitiless blue eyes and pale features.

  “I know it’s here,” he said. “So don’t tell me any little girl lies.”

  “This is the Enchanted Wood,” Phade whispered. “It’s dangerous here.”

  Vidar Iron-Arm grinned at the others. “Dangerous? Then how have you survived?”

  “I-I know the forest,” Phade said. “The Enchantress taught me—”

  Vidar tugged the rope and choked off her speech. “Your life, little girl, hangs on your next words. Will you guide me to the village?”

  “What will you do to the people there?”

  Vidar gave her a wolfish grin. “I’ll introduce them to Skull-Splinter,” and he shook his axe.

  Warriors shouted approval.

  “Now choose, girl,” Vidar said. “Life or death.”

  Phade squeezed her eyes shut. The others in the village planned to vote her out of her own home.

  “Very well,” Vidar growled.

  “Wait!” Phade cried. “I’ll show you!”

  Vidar Iron-Arm pointed into the forest with his axe. “Lead on, little waif.”

  “I’m a flower girl,” Phade said. But Vidar was too busy shouting at his warriors to hear.

  Soon the barbarians filed after her, splashed in the stream as she did. None slipped on the stones, as Phade knew the duchess and old count would have. Later, she marveled at how soundlessly the brutes padded along the forest trail. They were like killer panthers, only more deadly. If the wizard had time, he might cast a powerful spell. Yet if that was so, why did he hide in the village? No, Phade knew she could not ease her conscience that way.

  She considered leading the barbarians into the hidden glade. That might trap half of them, but not all. Vidar would reach her with his terrible axe. There was no hope then. She had to take them to the village.

  She crept past the knee-high mushrooms and reached the deer path.

  “Wait,” Vidar whispered.

  The warband clumped around him.

  “I hear voices,” Vidar said. He eyed Phade. “Gryphon fliers brought them here. Our scouts witnessed that. The fliers bring them food. Are there any fliers in the village?”

  Phade shook her head.

  “If you’re lying—”

  “It’s the truth,” she whispered.

  Vidar eyed her more closely. Then he exposed his yellowed teeth in a hideous grin. “You’re wise to fear us, girl.”

  “Great sir,” she said, “I beg you. Leave this place. The Enchanted Forest is deadly towards those who would do its denizens harm.”

  “I’ve given you life,” Vidar said with a scowl. “Don’t throw it away by telling me lies.” He turned to his warriors. “Stay close. Keep quiet. When I give the signal, spread out and kill everyone in sight.”

  He pushed Phade. “Go.”

  Phade stumbled leadenly down the path. Her stomach twisted and her arms felt hollow. This was dreadful. Oh, it was the most awful thing. She could not have cried out a warning now if she’d wanted to. Her tongue was frozen. She wiggled her fingers, however. She balled her fingers and made fists. She drew down a lungful of air.

  “I’m a flower girl,” she whispered.

  “Shhh,” Vidar said, poking her in the back with his axe-handle.

  Phade’s footsteps were heavy. Through a screen of leaves, she heard the duchess complaining. The others avoided the old biddy if they could. Phade drew another lungful of air. It didn’t loosen the knot in her stomach, but it calmed her, maybe enough.

  The flower girl, she thought to herself. I know the graybloom, the red toxin and most importantly the purple lotus.

  The barbarians bunched around Vidar. He strode just behind Phade. Despite their boasts and strength, they still feared the unknown and needed their chief’s confidence.

  Vidar Iron-Arm laid a hand on her shoulder. He had a painful grip that grinded her bones. With him holding on, Phade stepped out of the shadows of the last tree. She saw the duchess look up. The duchess talked with the wizard, who stroked his maroon beard. Farther away, the count leaned against a white picket fence and moved his withered hands, as he no doubt retold one of knightly adventures to a maiden. Each of the villagers now froze in horror.

  Vidar Iron-Arm roared with mirth. “So here is the hidden place! Here is the village my warriors feared!” Vidar raised his axe.

  The warriors raised theirs.

  Freed from Vidar’s grip, Phade inhaled a whiff of mintus for protection. Then she withdrew a tiny, deadly packet. She slipped the packet’s knot and whirled around. She flung purple powder into the air and dashed among the warriors. Several glanced at her. She flung even more purple-lotus powder. All the while, she held her breath and dashed with desperate speed.

  “Hold her!” Vidar shouted. They were his last’s words. He frowned, grew alarmed and then his eyes rolled up into his head. He fell like a giant tree, twitched once and then lay still. Other warriors did likewise.

  “Catch!” Phade said. She threw the empty packet at the last warrior. He slapped it away, but a puff of dust reached his face. He too crashed upon the ground.

  It was over hardly before it had begun, such was the deadliness of the powder of the purple lotus. It left the duchess, the wizard, the count and others staring in shock at the barbarians and then in even greater amazement at Phade.

  “I’m the Enchantress’ flower girl,” she said.

  The duchess was the first to clap. Then the others joined in. They cheered, and they hurried to Phade, to touch her, to pat her on the back.

  “You most certainly have my vote, dear girl,” the wizard said.

  “Mine too,” the duchess said. She pinched Phade’s cheek. “You’re such a darling, and so brave.”

  “You have all of ours votes!” the count shouted.

  Phade smiled shyly. Yet she felt sad for the barbarians. Why couldn’t they have listened to her? Then she followed the others, to join in a feast to celebrate her victory over certain disaster.

  The Rationalist Response

  The Xenophobe battlewarper first pumped photons into the Starship and then slammed it with pulson missiles. Before any retaliation could occur, the battlewarper warped and therefore never saw the rescue pod being spit from the dying Starship.

  The rescue pod survived atmospheric reentry to land in the planet’s tropic zone. It launched three land probes, and the two humans within the pod soon analyzed data.

  “We’re doomed,” First Rank Wagner finally said. He was a thin man with discolored bags under his eyes. He wore a black astronavigator’s suit. In three strides, he cross the respiration module and sat in his webbing. His despair visibly grew until he reached for a plastic bulb of whiskey.

  “Set aside the alcohol,” Tomcat said. “I might need your expertise.”

  “Why? We’re finished. Kaput. Null.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Wagner made a rude sound.

  Tomcat, a tall nu-man with intensely dark eyes, studied the planetary data. The module slowly grew warmer. Tomcat finally opened his zipsuit and disrobed. Black fur covered his body.

  Wagner nursed his whiskey and muttered to himself.

  “Our Starship is still in orbit,” Tomcat said.

  “What?” Wagner lurched unsteadily to his feet and crossed the module. He squinted at the readout and then expelled his alcoholic breath. “The orbit is decaying, you fool. The ship will be planet-side in a matter of days.”

  “True,” Tomcat said, “but the matter transmitter is still operational.”

  Wagner laughed. “So where are you going to transmit to? One of the moons?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Who is being ridiculous? We have air and supplies for six months
. Then it’s death. Or do you think other starships will put in an appearance by then?”

  “Of course not,” Tomcat said.

  “Of course not, he says.” Wagner straightened. “Wake up, my furry friend. We’re doomed! The Xenophobes did us in.”

  The matter transmitter works. Don’t you understand?”

  “Apparently not,” Wagner said.

  Tomcat studied him, and said, “I need you to access the Starship’s computers.”

  “Why? Any messages you send will take years to get anywhere?”

  “Do you understand that I’m a Pan Rationalist?”

  “Of course I understand,” Wagner said. “Some of your brethren tried to convert me on the trip out. Anyone with any sense should know, though, that astronavigators don’t buy into that sort of nonsense.”

  “A pity,” Tomcat said. “You don’t read our journal then, do you?”

  “Heavens no.”

  “Pan Rationalists aren’t quitters,” Tomcat said. “We find avenues that others can’t see. My own physiology should convince you of that.”

  “Is this conversation going anywhere?”

  “Indeed,” Tomcat said. He tapped their computer terminal. “The probes found life.”

  “And it also found that the air-mix here is wrong for us.”

  “Perhaps,” Tomcat said, “but I’ve also found reading of intelligent life.”

  Wagner shrugged.

  “They’re aquatic creatures,” Tomcat said, who had gone back to studying the data. “The probe found underwater stone construction. It even shows the aquatics at work.”

  Wagner stepped forward again and watched the holovid. He saw seal-like beings towing granite blocks. “I’ll be darned,” he said. “Our techs back at base would love to see this.”

  “And the Xenophobes wouldn’t want our techs to see it,” Tomcat shrewdly said.

  Wagner’s eyes narrowed. He sat back in his webbing, rubbed his jaw and then took another sip of whiskey. Finally, he roused himself and sat beside Tomcat. “Our techs need to see this,” he said. “Even if it doesn’t help us, we need to send that message. Here’s the access code to what’s left of the Starship’s computers.”