Firstworld

by Paul E. Horsman

  ‘It’s not fully in our time,’ Kambisha said. ‘That’s why not even the sun going nova could harm you in a stasis suit.’ She crouched down beside the lieutenant and peered into the dark where a fallen wall plate made a narrow recess beneath the wreckage. ‘Donoan, how do we turn off that stasis shield?’

  ‘That’s the AI’s job, ma’am. It sends out a signal to the shield.’

  ‘But you have the AI under your arm,’ Kambisha said. ‘It won’t signal anything, I’d say.’

  ‘Ah, no, it won’t. You could ask No-R, ma’am. There are only a few wavelengths used, so if you give him the suit’s code, he could try to release it.’

  ‘No-R?’ Kambisha said. ‘Can you switch off that stasis shield?’

  ‘If it is on one of the standard wavelengths, yes, ma’am. You have the code?’

  ‘A moment while I prepare,’ Kambisha said. She called her own shield and switched off the one from her belt. Then she enlarged it to encompass both herself and the stasis suit. The air would be thin, but it would only be a teleport long.

  ‘SUV 12B,’ she said. ‘Guys, when the suit disappears, I will port back to the ship. You return on your own.’

  She sat there and stared at the stasis suit. It shimmered, an opaque cocoon of vaguely human shape. Human shape? Let’s hope it is not a Dregh inside.

  A minute long, nothing happened. Then the cocoon disappeared. The wreckage began to shift and before it could crush the survivor, Kambisha ported them back to No-R.

  It was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. He had a perfect, almost girlish face, soft eyelashes and long, often-brushed white hair. How old would he be? Seven? Eight? A babe. ‘Give me some lemonade,’ she said without looking. He’s the sort of kid people dote upon.

  The boy opened big, dark eyes and looked at Kambisha. Then he cursed like a dockworker.

  She rocked back on her heels and laughed, the contrast between that innocent face and the coarse swearwords were shockingly comical.

  The boy blinked and the hardness in his black eyes disappeared. ‘Where,’ he said in a soft, appealing voice. ‘Please, where am I?’

  ‘You’re safe,’ she said, still chuckling. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Ythan, the Golden Throat of Zimnenu. I sing, I dance, I bewitch. Pretty little Ythan—you must have heard of me.’

  ‘No. Maybe our Moi guys will. Why were you aboard that ship?’

  ‘I’m going to get a show!’ the boy said, eyes big with innocent wonder she didn’t believe for a moment. ‘Ooh, it’s such a fabulous story. The recordings start today, here at BES. It will be a great show. I’m a pitiable, penniless orphan serving a bad space robber captain. Then the heritor’s men find me and take me to the Castle at Moigar. The heritor makes me his hero and I will be fighting those bad pirates and become famous.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Kambisha said. ‘But...’

  ‘Yeah.’ The boy’s hardness returned as his fake innocence drained away. ‘I crashed. Why? What happened? Have you called my producer at BES? Where is the beast... my impresario?’

  Kambisha studied the boy for a moment. ‘You may look eight years old, but you aren’t.’

  The dark eyes opened wide in true dismay and the boy came up on his elbows. ‘You know? Or did you guess?’

  Kambisha didn’t say anything and after a moment the boy sighed. ‘All right. Not everybody is stupid. I been playing a kid for seven years. Someone was bound to notice.’ He gave her a sharp look. ‘Who are you? Realmfleet?’

  ‘I’m Admiral Kambisha. Now tell me; are you really this Ythan kid?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m Ythan of Zimnenu, the miracle island. Actually, I was born in Broddagh Lows, not exactly a magic place. I’m almost sixteen. I have pink pills that keep me from growing older, for my face is my fortune. I cannot reach puberty, I must become rich first.’

  ‘You’re out of luck,’ Kambisha said. ‘We don’t have those pills, so your body will start growing again. You see, something awful happened, something that crashed your ship, killed all in the studio and a great part of the Realm as well. Your tool belt saved you, but you have been asleep a very long time.’

  ‘The studio? No show?’ he said, aghast. ‘It’s all gone? No breakthrough, no lots of gold for Ythan?’ He managed a single tear trickling down his cheek. He brightened. ‘No bullying impresario.’ Then he sagged again. ‘Darn, he had my pills. You! You’re Realmfleet. This is an emergency; you must get me new ones.’

  Thon had come back and joined them, his face stern. ‘I’m a healer. Give me your hand, please. Now, open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Yes, fabulous. It is as I thought. Those pills were killing you. They stop you from aging, for a while. But the body won’t be fooled forever, friend. One day, it would have reacted. BAM. You’d grow old overnight, wither, and die from heart failure. Those pills are poison.’

  ‘Truly?’ Kambisha said.

  ‘Yes, though it might be in twenty years’ time.’

  ‘Darn!’ the boy said. ‘You’re not lying to me, are you?’

  ‘Healer Thon is a Realmfleet officer,’ Kambisha said. ‘He would not lie to you.’

  ‘No, the Realm wouldn’t do that.’ Ythan sat up. ‘That cursed impresario! Bullying me and ogling the money they were goin’ to pay me.’ He buried his face in his hands. ‘I’ll never be rich and famous now.’

  ‘He isn’t single-minded at all, is he?’ Thon said. ‘His whole world lies in ruin around him and he thinks of his show.’

  ‘Maybe that was his whole world.’ Kambisha studied the boy. ‘Not rich and famous, but if you can act, you’ll get your chance. First we need producers, directors, editors and guys like that. If you like, we would help you become one.’

  ‘A director?’ the boy said, lowering his hands. ‘That would be something.’

  ‘We will need to restart the studio first. That will take time, for it’s a complete mess down there. You won’t get famous as a child actor. But you survived, and a whole lot of people didn’t, that day.’

  ‘I heard you.’ For a moment his sweet face looked older, a bitter teen. ‘The Realm died, and it’s all terrible. But I am not Realm, see. I’m a simple planet-bound Moi bumpkin. School said I wasn’t smart enough to join the Realm, I was just a fisher kid and should stick to my job. Only I could act, an’ Culture Ministry needed a pretty boy for one of their sob shows. I had to go an’ do some dance, look cute and... puppy-ferocious, my impresario called it.’

  Kambisha nodded. ‘You grabbed the chance. I can understand that. Your folks were fishers?’

  ‘Broddagh Lows is on the coast. I’m not only playing an orphan boy, I am one. Lost my family when our ship sank off Tushtan Keys. I was eight then. School had to keep me on until I was twelve. Instead, they handed me to the ministry and my fine impresario. I’ve been touring the provinces with my shows, drawing full village halls. The Boy Pirate, Kid Knight, Innocent Hero, you name it, I was the star. Never saw a penny, though.’

  ‘Then things will get better for you,’ Kambisha said. ‘You can join the Realm now, if you want to. It would give you a home.’

  Ythan sighed. ‘A home. Does a thing like that exist? Every show ended with me getting a home. I never knew what it was. We fishers have our ship, an’ I would’ve joined when I was old enough. No babes on a fisher ship, so I lived at school from the moment I was weaned. Then that cursed storm sank half the Broddagh fleet.’ He grimaced. ‘School was not happy they had to keep me on. If home is like them, keep it.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Kambisha said. ‘Home is a good place, with regular food, a room of your own, friends and fun.’

  ‘Is it?’ Ythan looked at her. ‘A room of my own. Never had that. Not at school, and not later. Impresario was afraid I’d run. I would, too, as soon as I’d found a way to get my gold he was keeping for me.’ He blinked. ‘That’s all lost, too, of course.’

  ‘You will come with us,’ Kambisha said. ‘We will find you a room all for yourself, train you, pay you a monthly
sum in coins to spend, and when you’re ready, we’ll give you a good job at BES, or somewhere else if you’d like that better. Let’s go back, Captain.’

  Joff saluted. ‘Very good, ma’am. Back to base, No-R.’

  ‘Welcome to Realmport.’ Kambisha walked with Ythan to the main building. ‘The planet overhead is Firstworld, Flor 3.’

  ‘You bring us a famous face, ma’am,’ Gunild said. ‘I am most happy to greet you, Ythan the Golden Throat, beloved of the village halls. I have read many glowing reviews of your shows. I am sure we can help you with your career, Master Ythan.’

  ‘Who’s that? A brain?’ the boy said, looking around.

  ‘Ms. Gunild is the spaceport operator and one of the major officials of the Realm,’ Kambisha said. ‘Think of her as a government minister.’

  ‘Ah,’ the boy said, with a quick bow. ‘Your praise overwhelms me, ma’am.’

  ‘He’s quick,’ Gunild said. ‘Bitter and unhappy, too.’

  ‘Give him a small room of his own,’ Kambisha said. ‘Ask Thon about his pink pills, and whether he needs close monitoring. Will you test him? I wonder if your conclusion is different from the one he got at school.’

  ‘Probably,’ Gunild said. ‘Those tests weren’t very broadminded. They gave him aging-suppressors? His face must have been earning them lots of money, I’d say. I will see if I can track down where the gold went. Most of the details should be traceable unless they kept it in a box under their beds.’

  ‘He said his impresario held it for him.’

  ‘That one’s name will be on file. Leave it to me, ma’am.’

  A boy came running, dressed in a red-and-gold coverall Kambisha couldn’t place.

  ‘I’m to guide Ythan, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Name’s Grogor. Guy, am I glad you’re here. I’ve seen you act once and I know we need you. We got a few guys making music and we can use a pro like you. Come, I’ll show you your room and have you meet the others.’

  Ythan looked at Kambisha, who grinned. ‘Go with him. He’ll help you get around better than I could.’

  The two hurried off and Kambisha went inside more sedately, to join her brother and Odysson in what was already their favorite spot against the outer wall of the mess.

  She dropped into a chair. ‘Hi! Had a good day, mates?’

  ‘Yep,’ Kyrus said. ‘Though it wasn’t enough of an adventure to mention. We got another watcher in the wilds, a quite foul-mouthed woman called Dolleen, who is Outpost 312. She’s one of the older brains. Gunild will update her as to what’s going on. And you? Did you get the station?’

  Kambisha accepted the servor’s frosty glass of lemonade and sighed deeply. ‘We had a Dregh fight on our hands when we arrived, and Elementalist Noya showed us we’ve been a pack of pre-conditioned, blind silly fools.’

  ‘Who? You?’ Kyrus said, half teasing her and half surprised.

  ‘Me, you, and every Firstworld magic user in space. We’ve all been brainwashed that we can’t use magic through a shield.’

  ‘Well, we can’t,’ her brother said reasonably.

  ‘With those commsets on our toolbelt we darn well can, bud.’

  ‘Cuuurse it,’ Kyrus said, staring at her. He jumped to his feet and shielded up. ‘Tell me how.’

  ‘Simply think up your spell outside the shield,’ Kambisha said. ‘Your comm. does the rest.’

  A flash, a loud peal of thunder and a gush of rain-filled wind brought the whole mess to their feet.

  ‘At ease!’ Kambisha said, laughing. ‘My brother is doing an experiment. You’ll hear all about it later.’

  Kyrus switched off his shield and sat down again. ‘It works.’

  ‘Magic is a matter of thought,’ Odysson said in a voice of joy. ‘Ooh, they’ll build statues for us in Seatome! Why didn’t Mother’s engineers discover comm. sets?’ He yodeled. ‘This is the greatest trick since the discovery of eggs, and it’s ours!’

  He looked so exultant, Kambisha had to suppress a giggle.

  ‘I’ll pass the word,’ Odysson said blissfully. ‘The Moi kids probably say they did it like that for centuries already, but that’s all right. They are not our market.’

  ‘I’m not sure they use magic for battle,’ Kambisha said. ‘Remember what Motivator Verrythers said about not teaching magic as a separate subject? I don’t think they have purely magic professions like elementalists who use their art as a weapon. We’ll have to set up battlemage classes soon.’

  ‘Me,’ Kyrus said. ‘After all, I am one.’

  ‘Fancy!’ Kambisha said. ‘Was that what you did all those years? I thought you were loafing around while I worked and studied.’ Then she patted his arm. ‘You do that. Show those students all the nasty tricks Mum taught you. At least they all need to be able to defend themselves.’

  Kyrus rubbed his hands. ‘Gunild, can you supply all the guys with a broomstick like ours? Tomorrow I’ll start teaching them how to ride.’

  ‘I’ll fill up a side of the armory with them,’ Gunild said. ‘Everyone can pick one up there. You think they can learn to use them?’

  ‘The spell was designed for soldiers with and without magic, both hale and wounded, so anyone can handle a broom. It’s the perfect way to move around in space, too.’ Kyrus sat back and rubbed his hands. ‘That’ll be fun.’

  ‘Speaking about fun,’ Odysson said. ‘Kam, did you get that entertainment station?’

  Kambisha smiled. ‘Sure we got it. There is a very remarkable brain person in charge, an old actor quoting lines out of plays at you.’

  ‘Ortheus?’ Gunild’s voice was wistful. ‘I saw him act several times when I was a teen. He was already past his prime, but still remarkably handsome. He was quite famous, too, from the early days of mindvision. Space Miner shows, all very dramatic and high-sounding. People loved that. When he became a brain person, he dropped all that manliness and became as he is now, a comfortable old gossip. But he knows the mindvision business inside out and he’s very shrewd. If anyone can bring BES back on its feet, it’s him.’

  ‘I promised to send him some techs to train.’

  ‘He told me. I have a team ready for him.’

  ‘Send them out,’ Kambisha said. ‘As long as they know the place is a mess.’ Then she told them everything, including the wrecked ship and finding Ythan. ‘He’s a strange guy; looks a very beautiful eight-years-old, but there’s a tough, angry fisher teen inside. Gunild, how is he doing?’

  ‘He’s in full artistic flow, ma’am. They’re discussing music, he, Grogor and a few others. They’re all entertainers. The Realm has its own Entertainment Service, so when Grogor came to me about starting his own band, I enlisted them, gave them their own place and those red-and-gray overalls.’ She chuckled. ‘That boy is smooth. Those shows of his were very popular.’

  ‘He called them sob shows.’ Kambisha pulled a face. ‘That doesn’t sound promising.’

  ‘They served their purpose as absolute tear-jerkers,’ Gunild said. ‘Every village had a communal hall, and they played in all of them. The whole local populace was present and cried for a year of sorrow. That’s why the government sponsored them.’

  ‘I’m not sure our people would want shows like that,’ Kambisha said.

  ‘I have a whole library of them,’ Gunild said. ‘If you’d want to see a few.’

  ‘Not me,’ Kambisha said. ‘I’m not a fan of sob stories.’

  ‘We need someone to run that studio,’ Odysson said. ‘One or two experienced newspaper people with an itch for adventure in a new field should do it. They can decide what in the archives is suitable for our people.’

  ‘This beam vision thing. Can someone explain what it does?’ Kyrus said.

  ‘It works by mindvision,’ Gunild said. ‘Just like my viewscreens and those in the ships. Imagine a box with an artificial eye connected to an AI that records all it sees. In the station’s studio a processor AI and a human editor turn these records into news bulletins, shows, documentaries or sports matches and beam t
hem to their customers. Every dwelling has a built-in comm. system that includes a mindvision receiver to project the broadcast to the viewers.’

  ‘They use brains for that?’ Kyrus said, horrified.

  ‘AI brains, but not like the ones in our ships. These are designed without a personality or awareness,’ Gunild said. ‘They’re really just a series of functions, sir. Anything else would be cruelty.’

  ‘So our Firstworld customers would have to buy a receiver first,’ Odysson said. ‘Can we make those?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Gunild said. ‘From small ones to very large models. Now I will bring you an example of a beam show. BES Studio sent me the last one, that didn’t get out because of the quake.’

  Strange music filled the hall and all around, the Moi kids looked up. On a white wall to the side of the mess a square appeared showing a sandy field. On both sides were large stands filled with people.

  As the blaring music filled the mess, spilling over into the barracks and the rest of the building, more midshipmen and students came running in.

  Now the screen showed two little figures plowing as fast as they could through the sand, each carrying a square box to a finish line.

  There a flag hung from a pole, quite high over the ground. The runners put their boxes down and immediately two others started, while the first ran back.

  It didn’t seem very exciting, but then Kambisha saw other Moi kids rush in, flushed and expectant. On-screen, the contestants stacked the boxes to build a tower, running up and down the sandy field past frenzied crowds of spectators.

  Suddenly, a player jumped onto the boxes, higher and higher, while the crowds there and the kids in the mess screamed. The other player was rapidly following him to the top of their own stack. The first guy took a mighty leap and tore the flag from its pole.

  He went down into the sand, came up and immediately his partners formed a ring around him, while the other party tried to get at him and the flag. As they moved over the sand to the start line, things got rough. Blood flowed freely, players dropped and stayed down, but the guy with the flag went doggedly on. It took nearly half an hour of dodging, rough combat and craziness, when finally, with only two of his mates left, the flagbearer crossed the line and dropped to the ground, still clutching the bloody rag he had won.