by Rick Cook
"Alcatraz," General Manley growled.
"Sir?" the lieutenant asked.
"When I get that pilot I’m gonna send him to Alcatraz for the rest of his miserable life."
"Sir, they closed Alcatraz prison years ago."
"We’ll reopen it," the general growled, clamping the field glasses to his eyes.
"When I get done with him, that bastard’s never going to see daylight."
"Okay folks, almost there." Charlie chopped the throttle and the big biplane settled toward the desert floor at an unnerving rate. Gilligan resisted an urge to close his eyes.
The lake bed was flat and the Colt was made for rough-field landings. Charlie took full advantage of the plane’s ruggedness and brought them in steeply and hard Gilligan’s teeth rattled and Jerry lost his grip and landed in a heap against Moira.
Charlie was unfazed "I’m going to taxi right up against the thing," he yelled over the engine noise. "As soon as we get there everyone get the hell out." With that he stood on the rudder pedal and gunned the engine to send them bouncing over the desert at a speed that threatened to ground-loop them at any instant. Off in the distance Gilligan could see columns of dust rising where vehicles left the pavement and raced toward them. He looked sideways at Charlie, but the old man seemed oblivious to the approaching danger.
There!" Jerry yelled in Charlie’s ear, pointing past his head to an utterly unremarkable spot in the desert. Charlie nodded, kicked the pedals to bring them around and gunned the engine for one last burst of speed.
Then he stood on the brakes, chopped the throttles and the Kuznetsov radial died in ear-shattering silence.
"Everyone out folks," Charlie called back into the cabin. "Come on. We’re gonna have company in just a couple of minutes."
Gilligan was out of the seat and back into the cabin in a flash. Jerry fumbled with the door until Vasily reached past him and opened it with a practiced twist. Then the dragon, wizard, programmer, pilot and Russians all piled out onto the dusty lake bed.
The desert was chilly, but the glare from the bare soil was disconcertingly bright and the dust kicked up by the prop stung their eyes and skin.
"Is this the place?" Gilligan asked. "If so, do it quick."
Coming over the lake bed were three Blackhawk helicopters painted in green camouflage. Squinting, Gilligan thought he could make out door gunners. Two more columns of dust marked where vehicles were speeding toward them across the desert.
"Stay where you are!" the loudspeaker on the first helicopter blared. "Put your hands up and stay where you are."
"Everyone ready," Bal-Simba boomed.
"My Lord, the circle:" Moira began.
"No time," Bal-Simba said, raising his staff. "Stay close," he roared. The group huddled together at the sound of his voice.
As the F-16s circled and the helicopters flared for a landing, the wizard raised his hands and began to chant.
The security forces, mistaking Bal-Simba’s gesture for surrender, barreled in. They couldn’t hear his voice rising and falling and when the air around the group began to twist and shimmer it looked like heat rising from the desert floor.
As they dropped lower the helicopters kicked up clouds of fine, powdery dust. Even before the wheels touched, the combat-equipped Air Police were jumping from the ships to secure their prisoners.
By the time the dust cleared there was nothing in the desert but a dozen bewildered Air Policemen with M-16s at the ready.
SEVENTEEN
HOMECOMING
The world twisted, darkened and lightened again, leaving the party dizzy and blinking. Instead of the brilliant desert sunshine there was the softer light streaming through the windows of the Great Hall.
At the eight points of the compass wizards gaped at them. Behind them, a crowd of castle folk gaped too.
There was plenty to gape at. Unfortunately, the summoning spell wasn’t precise without a physical circle to delimit it. Fortunately, the great hall of the Wizards’ Keep was very large. Fortunate because when Bal-Simba looked over his shoulder he saw he had brought Charlie, biplane and all, with them. As the castle folk gaped at the arrivals, most of the newcomers gaped back.
"Boshemoi!" Kuznetzov gasped.
"Holodeck City," Taj said, looking around. "Awesome."
"Son of a bitch," Charlie said softly. "Son of a goddamn bitch."
Mick Gilligan didn’t say anything. He had done this before, after all. Instead he craned his neck, searching for a familiar head of blond hair.
Arianne advanced across the now-useless circle to greet them.
"Merry met, My Lord," she said to Bal-Simba. "Was your quest successful?"
"I believe so, My Lady." He turned and gestured. "This is E.T., the one we sought."
"Stunned," said the Tajmanian Devil.
Arianne dropped a graceful curtsy.
"Charmed, too," he added.
"Forgive me, My Lord, but we were not expecting so many." Arianne was doing her best to ignore the airplane and Bal-Simba’s rather improbable outfit.
"Things became a trifle complicated," the big wizard said dryly.
"Karin?" Mick called into the crowd gathered behind the wizards.
"Mick! Oh, here Mick."
A blond woman in dragon rider’s leather detached herself from the crowd and threw herself into his arms.
"You came back! Oh, you came back."
"Hey, I told you I would, didn’t I?" Mick Gilligan said softly. "Just took a little longer."
"Have the shadows come back?" Bal-Simba asked his assistant.
"Somewhat. But we have better spells to hold them off, thanks to the time you bought us."
"Any word from the others?"
His assistant shook her head.
"Well then." Bal-Simba sighed. "We had best get our new guests settled and then decide how to proceed."
"I will have their quarters prepared immediately," Arianne said, gesturing the seneschal forward. Then she paused.
"My Lord, just one other thing."
"Yes?"
"How are we going to get this," she asked, gesturing at the airplane, "out of the hall?"
Bal-Simba pursed his lips. "That may pose a problem," he said at last. It was a wonderful, glorious morning when Mick Gilligan awoke after a wonderful, glorious night. The sun was well up and the whole world was so perfect Gilligan thought his heart would burst.
He propped himself up on one elbow to admire Karin beside him. She responded by snuggling closer, a wisp of straw-blond hair falling across her lightly freckled cheek. He leaned over and gave her a wake-up loss. A long, fingering wake-up kiss.
"Hmm," said Karin, stirring beneath him and kissing him back. Then her eyes popped open and she broke the clinch.
"Good morning, beautiful."
"What time is it?" she responded. "Oh, I’m sorry Mick." She gave him a quick Kiss. "I’ve got to go look after Stigi. I should have been down to the aerie long ago." She threw the covers back and swung her long legs over the side of the bed, giving Mick a wonderful view of her trim, athletic back.
"Oh," said Mick, deflated in more ways than one. "I’ll wait here for you then." She turned to look at him and the view from that side was even better. "Oh, come along. This won’t take more than a few minutes." She searched briefly on the floor before finding the chemise she had dropped there several hours before. Yeah," Mick said, "but Stigi doesn’t like me. I think he’s jealous." He didn’t add that the feeling was mutual
Karin pulled on her flying breeches and cinched the buckle. "Pooh. Stigi didn’t dislike you. Besides, I’m sure he’s forgotten all about you. Dragons aren’t very smart, you know."
"You don’t have to be smart to dislike someone and that dragon doesn’t like me."
"Come on, get dressed. I’ll show you how wrong you are."
As he hunted up his clothing strewn about the floor Mick remembered how his ex-wife used to make jokes about being jealous of his F- 15. Mick was beginning to suspect that those
jokes had been more pointed than he knew.
Wiz was dreaming of Moira. She was with him again and they were back in their chambers at the Wizards’ Keep, all tangled together in the big bed with the feather comforter. Moira was in his arms and she was kissing him all over. As she covered his body with warm, wet kisses Wiz smiled and groaned in his sleep. He knew it was a dream, but he didn’t want to wake up from it, ever. It was so real, so vivid. He could not only see Moira and feel her moist tongue as it stroked his flesh, even the smells were real.
Especially the smells. In fact Moira smelled like she’d had spaghetti with a particularly aggressive marinara sauce. She reeked of garlic.
Something tickled his nose and he opened his eyes to sneeze. The first thing he realized was that Moira wasn’t there. The second thing he realized was that the lobster was. In fact, the lobster was basting him with garlic butter. Wiz let out a yell and rolled away from the lobster.
The noise woke Glandurg, who threw off his cloak and grabbed Blind Fury in a single motion. Unfortunately the cloak landed on Wiz so he was temporarily immobilized.
The dwarf sprang to his feet, brandished his weapon and charged.
"Die, vile crustacean!" he yelled, just as he stepped in the puddle of garlic butter and went flying. He landed flat on his back and the lobster vanished into the darkness.
"Run, you damned bug!" the dwarf yelled after the fleeing shadow. "You’ll taste my steel yet!"
"My, don’t we smell delicious?" Malkin said as she came hurrying up. Wiz glared.
"There’s a pool back that way," she continued. "You better wash that stuff off before something comes wandering by and decides you’re good enough to eat."
"Hmpfl" said Wiz, and worked his way carefully to his feet.
The aerie was an enormous gloomy cavern that stank of dragon and reminded Mick irresistibly of the hangar deck of a medieval aircraft carrier. Men and women in the plain tunics of keepers and the leathers of riders bustled about caring for their charges. Occasionally the silence would be punctuated by the scrape of a manure shovel on rock, or the bass rumble of a dragon, but for the most part the place was quiet. Even the soft leather boots of the riders made no sound on the rocky floor.
"Why do you keep it so dark?" Mick asked, thinking of the brightly lit hangars of his own experience.
The dragons prefer it," Karin told him. "And keep your voice down. They don’t like loud noises either."
They skirted three harnessed dragons on the great central floor of the aerie, keeping well clear of the powerful tails. Their riders stood by the dragons’ heads petting and talking to the beasts. Mick noted the ready patrol was spotted so the dragons were well separated. Probably to keep the dragons from fighting, he decided.
Karin took something that looked like an iron rake from a rack and hefted a leather sack from the row of similar sacks beneath it.
"Currying iron," she explained. "Stigi likes to have his back scratched."
"Do you do this every day?"
"Unless I am ill or we are in the field. Contact helps build the bond between dragon and rider. Now, walk to the outside, away from the stalls. Dragons prefer those who are familiar to them."
"How long will this take?"
"Oh, not long, love. A day-tenth or so. Then I shall be free for the rest of the day." She gave him a sultry look past lowered eyelashes. "I’ve made arrangements with my squadron leader."
She led him along the far edge of the chamber, past the shallow caves that served as stalls for the dragons.
"We’re almost here," Karin told him. "I’m sure Stigi has forgotten all about you. You’ll see."
They stopped in front of a stall no different from any other. Dragon tack hung next to the entrance, clean, oiled and ready for instant use. From within came the sound of gentle snoring-loud gentle snoring. Through the gloom Mick could see the dragon curled up like an enormous house cat.
"Oh, Stigi," Karin called gently.
At the sound of his rider’s voice, the dragon stirred lazily and opened one eye. Then he saw Mick. His head jerked erect so fast it slammed into the roof of the stall and he let out a roar that made the cavern ring. Alarmed, other dragons took up the challenge until the place echoed and re-echoed with the steam whistle bellows of upset dragons.
"He remembers you," Karin shouted over the chaos.
PART III: QUEEN OF THE NIGHT
EIGHTEEN
LIFE AS WE WISH WE DIDN’T KNOW IT
"So anyway:" Charlie leaned back against the bar and gestured expansively. There I was at fifteen thousand feet. Nothing between me and the ground but an air mattress."
The walls might be hung with squadron banners, old riding leathers, weapons and bits of dragon harness. The floor might be stone, the ceiling hewn beams and the leather-clad men and women dragon riders, but it was still a pilot’s meeting place and Charlie fit right in, international orange flight suit and all. Two or three of the dragon riders were gathered around him at the bar, listening intently. Several more were scattered around at the tables paying half attention. Off in the corner Mick and Karin were enjoying each other’s company.
"Did he really do all these things?" Karin whispered.
They’re flying stories," Mick whispered in her ear, pausing to nibble a bit on the lobe. "You know the difference between a fairy tale and a flying story? A fairy tale starts ’Once upon a time:’ and a flying story starts ’No shit, this really happened.
Karin turned to grin at him. The move deprived Mick of an earlobe but the tradeoff wasn’t that bad. "We have a similar saying. He does it well, though." The room exploded in laughter as Charlie reached the punch line.
"Oh, he’s entertaining," Mick said quietly.
"But you don’t like him?"
"Let’s say our styles are different. We have another saying. There are old pilots and there are bold pilots but there are no old, bold pilots. Charlie’s one of the, ah, boldest pilots I’ve ever met."
"He is not young either," Karin pointed out.
"He’s lucky then. But luck runs out, especially if you push it"
The programmers’ workroom was as warm and cheery as the tavern, but there were only two inhabitants. Moira had long since excused herself and now only Taj and Jerry remained. Jerry was hoarse from talking and beginning to fade around the edges, but Taj was as eager and alert as a beagle on the trail of a rabbit. There were no less than eight "screens" hanging above Jerry’s desk, most tiled with several windows, as Jerry led Tajikawa through the basics of the magic compiler and how to write software for magic. Taj already had a pile of scrolls beside him to read later and he was pushing Jerry hard on subtle points of the system.
"Well, then there’s this for example." Taj pointed to a section of the compiler code written in glowing letters in thin air. "It’s in here but you don’t seem to use ft."
"Oh, that’s an indeterminate instruction," Jerry told him. "You’ve heard of the DWIM instruction, Do What I Mean? That’s kinda an ’IDAIDWP.’"
Taj cocked an eyebrow. "Ida id wip?"
"I’ll Do As I Damn Well Please. You can’t be sure what it will do from one time to the next"
"Cute, but why’d you write it that way?"
"We didn’t. Remember, the bottom layer of the compiler, the elements we built the rest of it from, are tiny spells that exist here naturally. But we only use a subset of what’s available. Some we don’t use because they’re redundant, as far as we can tell. But some of them, like this one, don’t produce reliable results. We think it’s something analogous to a quantum uncertainty effect operating on a gross level"
He pointed to the fiery letters again. "This one was particularly tricky. Most of the time it works consistently, which is why it made it into a beta of the compiler. But about one time in a hundred it does something else. Which is why we didn’t use it."
"Have you got a list of those things?" Taj asked.
"The indeterminate instructions? Some of them. Mostly we didn’t bother. Why?"<
br />
"I want to play with them a little."
"Be careful. Some of those things are damn dangerous and we don’t know all the dangerous ones. Why mess with them?"
"Because," the Tajmanian Devil said, "you learn the most about a system by observing it when it becomes unstable."
"Yeah, well just remember that around here when the system becomes unstable you can get caught in a system crash. It nearly happened to us once and it wasn’t fun." He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "Look, I’m about done in. How about we continue this tomorrow?
"You go on. I want to go on with this stuff a little."
Jerry hesitated. "What did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking I’d just take the docs and dive right in."
Jerry frowned "That’s not a real good idea. Danny tried that when he first got here and ended up stuck in a DO loop."
"So? That happens."
Jerry shook his head. "You don’t understand. When I say he got stuck in a DO loop, I mean he got stuck In a DO loop, repeating the same action over and over. Someone like had to get him out of it."
Taj looked serious. "I take your point. But I still want to keep going." The big programmer considered. "Probably the best thing to do is start you out with some simple little nothing spells so you can get the feel of things. He glanced around and spotted some pieces of wood on Wiz’s desk. "Wait a minute, here’s something." He picked up a stack of slats with writing on them and handed them to Taj. "Study these and the docs tonight and we’ll take a crack at them tomorrow.’’
The Tajmanian Devil looked at the strips of wood and cocked a quizzical eyebrow.
"This is a spell one of the wizards wrote. Only there’s something wrong with it and it doesn’t work. It’s pretty harmless stuff, it just brightens and dims the lights, but it will give you some practice with the tool kit and the language."
"Sounds good. Where shall I work?"
"You can use Wiz’s desk. Tomorrow I’ll get you in on his system. When you’ve got that problem spotted, I’ve got a couple of other things around here. But don’t try to do anything tonight on your own. Remember, this stuffs dangerous." It was June who heard it first. They were picking their way down a straight section of tunnel when Danny’s wife hissed and suddenly her knife was in her hand.
