"Why will my items of power not function?" a lesser magess of Zolaika's contingent complained. "Chaumel, are you to blame for all this?"
"High Ones, mages and magesses," the silver magiman said smoothly. "Events over the past weeks have culminated in this meeting today. Ozran is changing. You may perhaps be disappointed in some of the changes, but I assure you they are for the better—in fact, they are inexorable, so your liking them will not much matter in the long run. My friend Keff will explain." He turned a hand toward the Central Worlder.
"We have brought you here today to see this," Keff said, pitching his voice to carry to the outermost ranks of mages. "This"—he patted the nearest upthrust piece of conduit—"is the Core of Ozran."
"Ridiculous!" Lacia shouted down at him from well up in the eastern contingent. "The Core is not this thing. This is a toy that makes noise."
"Do not dismiss this toy too quickly, Magess," Chaumel called. "Without it you'd have had to walk here. None of you have ever seen it before, but it has been here, working beneath the crust of Ozran for thousands of years. It is the source of our power, and it is on the edge of breaking down."
"You've been misusing it," Keff said, then raised his hands to still the outcry. "It was never meant to maintain the needs of a mass social order of wizards. It was intended"—he had to shout to be heard over the rising murmurs—"as a weather control device! It's supposed to control the patterns of wind, rain, and sunshine over your fields. We have asked you here so you will understand why you're being asked to stop using your items of power. If you don't, the Core will drain this planet of life faster and faster, and finally blow up, taking at least a third of the planetary surface with it. You'll all die!"
"We're barely using it now," Omri shouted. "We need more than this trickle." A chorus of voices agreed with him.
"This is the time, when everyone can see the direct results, to give up power and save your world. Chaumel has talked to each one of you, shown you pictures. You've all had time to think about it. Now you know the consequences. It isn't whether or not the Core will explode. It's when!"
"But how will we govern?" the piping voice of Zolaika asked. The room quieted immediately when she spoke. "How will we keep the farms going? If the workers don't have us in charge of everything they won't work."
"They don't need you in charge of everything, Magess. Stop using the docility drugs and you'll find that you won't need to herd them like sheep," Keff said. "They'll become innovators, and Ozran will see the birth of a civilization like it has never known. You're dumbing down potential sculptors, architects, scientists, doctors, teachers. The only thing you'll have to concentrate on," Keff said with a smile, "is to teach them to cook for themselves. Maybe you can send out some of your kitchen staff, after you build them stoves—geothermal energy is available under every one of those home caverns. You could have communal kitchens in each one of the farmsteads in a week. After that, you can discontinue all the energy you use in food distribution."
Keff urged Brannel to center stage. "Speak up. Go on. You wanted to, before."
"Magess," Brannel began shyly, then bawled louder when several of the mages complained they couldn't hear him. "Magess, we need more rain! We workers could grow more food, bigger, if we have more rain, and if you do not have battles so often." At the angry murmuring, he was frightened and started to retreat, but Keff eased him back to his place.
"Listen to him!" Nokias roared. Brannel swallowed, but continued bravely.
"I . . . the life goes out of the plants when you use much magic near us. We care for the soil, we till it gently and water with much effort, but when magic happens, the plants die."
"Do you understand?" Keff said, letting Brannel retreat at last. The Noble Primitive huddled nervously against an upright of the control platform, and Plennafrey patted his arm. "Your farmers know what's good for the planet—and you're preventing their best efforts from having any results by continuing your petty battles. Let them have more responsibility and more support, and less interference with the energy flow, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the results."
"You go on and on about the peasants," Asedow shouted. "We've heard all about the peasants. But what are they doing here?" The green-clad magiman pointed at the frogs.
Keff smiled.
"This is the most important discovery we've made since we started to investigate the problems with the Core. When Carialle and I arrived on Ozran, we hoped to find a sentient species the equal of our own, with superior technological ability. We were disappointed to find that you mages weren't it." He raised his voice above the expected plaint. "No, not that you're backward! We discovered that you are human like us. We're the same species. We've found in you a long-lost branch of our own race."
"You are Ozran?"
"No! You are Central Worlders. Your people came to Ozran a thousand years ago aboard a ship called the Bigelow. That's the reason why I could translate the tapes and papers they left behind. The language is an ancient version of my own. No, Carialle and I still managed to achieve our goal. We have found our equal race."
"Where?" someone shouted. Keff held up his hands.
"You know all about the Ancient Ones and the Old Ones. You know what the Old Ones looked like. There are images of them in many of your strongholds. Your grandparents told you horror stories, and you've seen the holographs Chaumel had me play for you from the record tapes saved by your ancestors. But you've never seen the Ancient Ones. You know they built the Core of Ozran and founded the system on which your power has been based for ten centuries. These," he said, with a triumphant flourish toward the Frog Prince and his assistants, "are the Ancient Ones."
"Never!" Ferngal cried, his red face drawn into a furious mask.
Over shouts of disbelief, Keff blasted from the bottom of his bull-like chest:
"These people have been right here under your nose for ten centuries. These are the Ancient Ones who invented the Core and all the items of power."
The murmuring died away. For a moment there was complete silence, then hysterical laughter built until it filled the vast cavern. Keff maintained a polite expression, not smiling. He gestured to the Frog Prince.
The amphibioid stepped forward and began to sign the discourse he had prepared with Keff's help. It was eloquent, asking for recognition and promising cooperation. The mages recognized the ancient signs, their eyes widening in disbelief. Gradually, the merriment died down. Every face in the circle showed shock. They stared from Tall Eyebrow to Keff.
"You're not serious, are you?" Nokias asked. Keff nodded. "These are the Ancient Ones?"
"I am perfectly serious. Chaumel will tell you. They helped me—directed me—on how to make temporary repairs to the Core. It was overheating badly. It'll take a long time to get it so it won't blow up if overused. I couldn't do it by myself. I've never seen some of these components before. Friends, this machine is brilliant. Human technology has yet to find a system that can pull electrical energy out of the solid matter around it without creating nuclear waste. What you see here at my side is the descendant of some of the dandiest scientists and engineers in the galaxy, and they've been living in the marshes like animals since before your people came here."
"But they are animals," Potria spat.
"They're not," Keff said patiently. "They've just been forced to live that way. When the Old Ones moved to the mountains you call your strongholds, they robbed the frog-folk of access to their own machinery and reduced them to subsistence living. They are advanced beings. They're willing to help you fix the system so it works the way it was intended to work. You've all seen the holo-tapes of the way Ozran was when your ancestors came. Ozran can become a lush, green paradise again, the way it was before the Old Ones appropriated their power devices and made magic items out of them. They passed them on to you, and you expanded the system beyond its capacity to cope and control the weather. It's not your fault. You didn't know, but you have to help make it right now. Your own li
ves depend upon it."
"Hah! You cannot trick me into believing that these trained marsh-slime are the Ancient Ones!" Potria laughed, a harsh sound edged with hysteria. "Its a poor joke and I have had enough of it." She turned to the others. "Do you believe this tale?"
Most mages were conferring nervously among themselves. Keff was gratified that only a few of them cried out, "No!"
"You say we should share," Asedow said, "but these so-called Ancient Ones might have their own agenda for its use."
"They were here first, and it is their equipment," Keff said. "It is only fair they have access now."
"They could hardly use it worse than we have," Plennafrey shouted daringly.
"What has become of the rest of our power?" Ferngal asked.
"The turbines were overheating. We've turned them down to let them cool off," Keff explained. "There's enough power for normal functions. Nothing fancy. It's either that, or nothing at all, when the system blows up. You'll just have to learn to live with it."
"I won't 'just live with it.' How can you stop me?" Asedow asked obnoxiously.
"Shut up, brat, and listen to your betters," the old woman named Iranika called out.
"Who is with me?" Potria called out, ignoring the crone. "We've been insulted by this stranger. He claims he has stopped our power for our benefit, but he is going to give it to marsh-creatures. He wants to rule Ozran with that skinny wench at his side and Chaumel as his lackey!"
"Potria!" Nokias thundered, spinning his chariot in midair to face her. "You are out of order. Asedow, back to your place."
"Friends, please," Chaumel began.
"You give more consideration to a fur-face than to one of your own, Nokias," Asedow taunted. "Perhaps you'd rather be one of them—powerless, and fingerless!"
He started to draw up power to form one of his famous smoke clouds. All he could generate was a puff. Keff could see him strain and clench his amulet, trying to find more power. The cloud grew to the size of his head, then dissipated. Asedow panted. Nokias laughed.
"To me, Asedow!" Potria called "We must work together!" Her chariot flew upward, out of its place in the bowl. Asedow, Lacia, Ferngal, and a handful of others joined her in a ring. At once, a lightning bolt rocketed from their midst. It would have struck the edge of the platform but for the thin shield Chaumel threw up.
"This is thin," he said to Keff. "It will not hold."
Nokias, Zolaika, Ilnir, and Iranika flew down from their places toward the platform.
"This means trouble," Nokias called. "How much power is there left?"
"Not much beyond what it takes to run your chariots," Keff said.
"They can pervert that, too," Zolaika warned "See!"
Recognizing the beginnings of a battle royal, many of the other mages turned their chairs and headed for the exit. The chariots started to falter, dipping perilously toward the rows of turbines as the combined will of the dissidents drew power away from them. Many turned back and crowded over the platform, fighting for landing space.
"I will stop them," Tall said his huge hands clenched over the belt-buckle amulet.
"No," Keff said. "If you turn off the power, all these mages will fall."
"I will end this," Zolaika said. "Brothers and sisters, to me." At once, Nokias, Ilnir, and a cluster of other magifolk added their meager strength to that of the senior magess. Accompanied by straining sounds from the generators, she built a spell and threw it with all the force left in her toward the ring of dissidents.
Cries of fear came from the fleeing mages, whose chairs faltered like fledgling birds. The great chamber rumbled, and infant stalactites cracked from the ceiling. Sharp teeth of rock crashed to the platform. The mages warded themselves with shields that barely repelled the missiles. Keff jumped away as a three-foot section of rock struck the standard next to him. It bounced once and fell over the side, clattering down into the midst of the machinery.
In the circle of dissidents high up in the cavern, Potria and her allies held out their hands to one another. Keff could see bonds of colored light forming between them, one ring for each mage or magess that joined them.
"Problem, Keff," Carialle said. "They've reestablished their connection to the Core's controls."
"They are pulling," Plenna said, grabbing Keff's arm. "They're pulling at the Core, trying to break the barrier holding the power down—they've done it!"
"Tall, stop them!" Keff shouted.
"No can," the amphibioid semaphored hastily. "Old, broken."
"Coming on full now," Carialle's voice informed him.
With a mighty roar, the generators revved up to full force. The mages whose chariots were limping toward the exit hurtled out of the cavern as if sling-shot. Keff groaned as he smelled scorched silicon. He and the frogs hadn't been able to do more than patch the fail-safes. Now they were melted and beyond repair.
"As your liege I command you to cease!" Nokias shouted at the dissidents.
"You do not command me, brother," Ferngal jeered. He raised his staff and aimed it at Nokias. A bolt of fire, surprising even its creator in its size and intensity, jetted toward Nokias. The golden mage dodged to one side to avoid it. His chair, also oversupplied by the Core, skittered away on the air as if it were on ice. It was a moment before he could control it. In that short time, Ferngal loosed off several more bolts. They all missed but the last, which took off one of Nokias's armrests. Fortunately, the golden mage's arms were raised. He was readying a barrage of his own.
Lacia had engaged Chaumel. The two of them exchanged explosive balls of flame that grew larger and larger as each realized that the Core had resumed transmission. Dissidents dive-bombed the platform. With admirable calm and dead aim, Chaumel managed to keep them all from getting any closer.
"Stop!" Keff yelled. "The more power you use the closer we come to blowing up!"
With an eldritch howl, Potria swooped down at Keff, taloned fingers stretched out before her. He saw the red lightning forming between them and dove under the low console. Brannel and the frogs were already huddled there. Tall Eyebrow stood with his back to his companions, protecting them. Keff wished for a weapon, any kind of weapon. He saw his faux-hide toolkit, hanging precariously near the edge of the platform, anchored only by the edge of a chair that had landed on it. He rose to his hands and knees, and scrambled out of his hiding place, shielded by the cluster of chariots.
With power restored, Brochindel the Scarlet chose that moment to lift off in an attempt to flee the battle going on over his head. Keff threw himself on his belly with one hand out. He managed to grab one centimeter of strap by one joint of one hooked finger. Potria saw him lying there exposed, and screamed, coming around in the air and diving in anew. Wincing at the weight of the tool bag, Keff hoisted it up and dragged it into the lee of the console. He turned out the contents in search of a weapon. Hammers, no. Spanners, no. Aha, the drill! It had a flexible one-meter bit.
"The knight shall have his sword," Carialle said. "Get 'er, Sir Keff."
His fingers scrabbled on the chuck, trying to get the bit loose. Potria, her power overextended by the immediacy of the Core, threw a ball of fire that left a molten scar in the platform's surface. Keff bounced up as she passed and snapped his erstwhile sword-blade out. He smacked Potria on the back of the hand. She dropped her amulet, but it fell only into her lap.
"You . . . you peasant!" she screamed, for lack of a better epithet. "You struck me!"
Plennafrey hurried to Keff's side. The Frog Prince had her belt buckle, but she still possessed her father's sash. Working the depressions with her long fingers, she formed a thin shell of protection around the two of them and the console. Potria veered upward when her target changed, and retreated, but not until Plennafrey poked a small hole in the shield. She scooped up a chunk of fallen rock and threw it after the pink-gold magess. It struck Potria in the back of the arm, provoking a colorful string of swear words as, this time, the magess lost her grip on her power object. She swooped dow
n to retrieve it before it fell into the machinery.
"Good throw, Plenna!" Keff said, hugging her with one arm.
"Conservation of energy," Plenna said brightly, grinning at Keff.
Asedow zoomed in, his mace at the ready. Keff ducked flat to the floor, avoiding the smoke-bubble bombs, then sprang up. With a flick of his improvised epee, he engaged Asedow and disarmed him, flinging the mace away into the void. Swearing, Asedow reversed. He glanced down at the spinning engines, and felt among the robes at his chest. He uncovered a small amulet and planted his fingers in it.
"Damn!" Carialle said. "I don't have a record for that one."
Fortunately, Asedow didn't use it immediately. Too soon, Potria reappeared over the edge of the platform, her teeth set.
"I just wanted to say farewell," she said, her eyes shining with a mad light. "I'm going on a frog hunt! Are you with me, Asedow!"
"I am, sister!" the green mage chortled. "Our new overlords will be so surprised we came to visit!"
Sounds of alarm erupted from underneath the console. Tall emerged, signaling frantically. Potria, as a parting gesture, threw a handful of scarlet lightning at him. Tall shielded almost automatically, and went on gesturing, panic-stricken.
"My people," he repeated over and over. "My people!"
"We have to stop them!" Keff said. Plennafrey broke the bubble around them, and the three headed for her chair.
"I will guard our friends," Chaumel said, making his way across the platform toward them. Ferngal threw forked lightning, aiming for the silver and golden mages at once. Chaumel ducked, and it sizzled over his head. A second later, he had a thin and shining globe of protection raised around himself and the console, withstanding the attacks of the dissidents.
Plennafrey lifted off the platform. Asedow and Potria were already most of the way to the tunnel. Suddenly, half a dozen chariots loomed over them and dropped into their path, cutting them off. Jaw set grimly, Keff hung on. Tall clutched Plennafrey around the knees as she tried to evade the others, but there were too many of them.
The Ship Who Saved the Worlds Page 29
