Born of Flame

by Oscar Steven Senn

  Spacebread paused, fighting her doubt. She turned to Niral. “Again, what is this Flame? Refresh me.”

  “It is the heart of Osghan,” replied the priest. “The soul of the religion of those who ruled the galaxy long ago, who perished in an unknown disaster before our worlds congealed from dust. They believed that it was the Flame-that-is-not-a-Flame that lit the first sun. It is a force, they believed, that wears our visible universe like a cloak. They believed that if one could learn to see behind the appearance of things, beyond the surface we see, to where the Flame burns, one could do anything. Any illness could be cured. But the art was lost with them.”

  “If this is so,” Spacebread said, “why have you not said something sooner?”

  Niral shrugged his four shoulders regretfully. “I am unused to thinking of matters of Korlann teaching in terms of practicality. We keep the story of Osghan for its spiritual value. It did not occur to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter, really.” Spacebread sighed and seated herself. “Since there is no map.”

  “There is a location, though,” Niral said hesitantly. “It has never been revealed outside the Korlann, but now I am already an outlaw. The old records say Osghan lies on the other side of the star you call Antares as seen from Marghool.”

  “Impossible!” Spacebread snorted. “I myself helped chart that region. There is no planet or star, only a wilderness of dust.”

  “Yet it is there,” Niral said.

  “Look,” Dundee began, “what have you got to lose …”

  “I could never believe in that particular myth,” Spacebread mumbled, remembering how useless the Flame-faith had been to her mother. “But there are maps to other locations. Perhaps there is something to what you say, Gorsook. Perhaps there is something in the world of magic and belief. I have heard strange stories in the stars, and some that I deem possible, though I always laughed before …”

  She turned to face the computer. “Votal—compute the best chances of finding a place of healing besides those of science, the places where there might be truth in the legends. The likeliest, Votal.”

  Votal whirred. “I have already taken that step, milady. There are three places that might harbor possibility among the Home Worlds. They are on your terminal now, in order of likelihood.”

  A rare smile crossed her face. “Good work, Votal. Once again you act without instructions. In this case you were right. Let’s see. Yes. The lost cave crystals of Kreevaborh. I have heard of them. Yes … yes. I have heard of all three of these places. There are many travelers who say these places have power. And unlike Osghan of fable, we know these exist, and where. You say it may be possible to find a cure here?”

  “There is a chance, milady.”

  She gazed sadly out the port. “I have never believed these stories of the supernatural. I have always found a way to succeed by my own wits. Yet now … if there is a chance, for Klimmit’s sake I must try it.” She turned and checked systems lights. “Plot a course for Kreevaborh and notify the tower, Votal. We leave as soon as we’re cleared.”

  “Aye-aye, milady,” Votal hummed obediently.

  “And I,” Gorsook thumped his chest. “Klimmit is the sap of my tree.”

  “I also,” threw in Niral. “It is to my account that the mishap must be marked. I will see it righted.” He felt vague stirrings to hear himself make such a vow.

  “Very well.” Spacebread shrugged disdainfully. “You two have an interest. Clear out, Dundee.”

  “But lady,” the calico cat protested, patting his bolstered gun. “What of this murderous priest from Marghool—do you think he will stop now? Let me come—”

  “I can deal with Quan,” Spacebread snarled. “And if he tries anything in the Home Worlds, I’ll deal with him within the law.” She walked around the ship bolting things down and dampening valves without paying him further mind.

  “Oh, but I have the newest armaments on my ship, Spacebread, my lovely.” He gestured proudly.

  She glared at him, moving quite close. “I don’t care a whisker about your armaments. I told you, Quan is mine. And I am not your lovely!”

  Before he knew it, she had spun in close in a delicate move and thrown him head over heels out the port. Dundee, like all cats, found a way to land on his feet, but as he did, he heard the portal slam shut.

  He punched the side of the ship angrily. “But I love you, Spacebread!”

  His only answer was the blare of a klaxon horn warning him to move back from the ship. It was lifted by a cable system that carried vessels from their docks to the launch area. Dundee cursed against the departing noise. If only he had not been delayed by that false trip to Sharn, perhaps he could have been with Spacebread and prevented the disaster. Then he broke into sudden laughter.

  “Again you best me!” he hooted. “Which makes you all the more beautiful, lady. And, I believe, a match for any villain in the galaxy. You will be my partner yet.”

  Dundee Dulowe turned and wove his way through the resting rockets toward his own vehicle, glancing over his shoulder only once, when the launch dome was rolled back to release a finger of flame with a glint of metal at its tip.

  “To Kreevaborh, then,” he muttered, and strode ahead.

  [9]

  Three Wishes

  THUS THE RACE began in earnest. It was an odd race, for each of those involved raced toward a different goal. For Dundee Dulowe, rake and buccaneer, it was the winning of a partner. He had not lied when he said he loved Spacebread and that was a rare thing in Dundee’s world of shady deals and border planets. For Gorsook, it was a race toward reckoning. He knew Niral’s presence was a lure for Korliss Quan, who had brought this thing on his nephew, that Quan would one day confront them. When that day came Gorsook would be there to make sure who won. Besides, he was old and crippled now, and the tale would add a good song to his memory back on Kesterole. For Korliss Niral, it was a race without an end. For the rest of his life his goal would be to recover the honor he had lost so suddenly on Marghool and win his own self respect. Quan’s goal was Niral, and through him control of the Korlann and all Marghool, and Quan’s time was short.

  It was Spacebread’s goal that drove the race. She was like a spark in search of fuel. On Kesterole she had lost Klimmit the same day she knew she had won him. She had never before realized just how much his companionship meant to her. The fury in her was relentless, cold. Though death held Klimmit’s body with a grip of ice, she would pry him loose, and spare nothing to do it.

  Of course they had not gone to Kreevaborh. She had invented the lost cave crystals to occupy Dundee as she had lied about Sharn. She had no need of a silly suitor to clutter up her plans. He could now not be so sure where she would be at a given time.

  Their first stop was in the Destulor system, the very heart of the Home Worlds. The headquarters of the Inter-System Police lay on Destulor 4, but her destination was Destulor 5, where the Holy Fraternity of Chemists kept every drug known in the galaxy for their religious experiments. As soon as her ship entered the Destulor boundaries, an ISP fighter swung in to cruise on either side of the ship. The communicator crackled.

  “I have a call from an Inspector Galvirst, milady,” Votal said.

  “Go ahead.” Spacebread swiveled to face the terminal.

  Presently a face appeared, a gruff brown humanoid face with hair clipped short and a wide moustache. “Welcome, Spacebread,” it said. “I have not seen you in a long time, though my agents do inform me of your activities. Got into a little trouble on Ralph, I believe?”

  Spacebread didn’t smile. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, Inspector. Am I free to travel in this system? If so, could you please inform your goons to keep their distance, or I will make a formal complaint.”

  Galvirst laughed heartily, the tip of his nose turning red. “Well, I see exile hasn’t taken any of the pepper out of you! Of course you’re free. This is just an escort. You see, I know of your mission. I have a man in Outaire. Very sorry to hear about your
friend, Spacebread.”

  “Thank you,” she said drily. “Is that all?”

  “Not quite, not quite,” he replied, leaning back. “The word from Kesterole is that the trouble comes from Marghool in the form of a powerful Korliss. Is that true?”

  “If I had proof, I would have called you,” Spacebread answered. “All I can say for certain legally is that drones are after my passenger Korliss Niral. If any Margh ships enter this system, I will expect you to intercept.”

  “Of course.” Galvirst smiled. “But there’s one thing you should know. The ISP can only protect your passenger from force. There is a Margh ship being fitted out now to find you. You will understand what I say when you monitor the broadcast I’m playing after I end this little talk.”

  “Why are you doing this, Galvirst?” Spacebread said. “Where’s the string attached?”

  “Let’s just say that you can go many places my patrols can’t,” the Inspector mused, “and that if I do some favors for you, maybe you can do me a favor someday. All right? I know that we have been on opposite sides of the law in the past, but—”

  “Very well.” She cut him short. “Ill owe you, if you prevent Korliss Quan from using force within the Home Worlds. But that is only your job. Now I do ask a favor. If Dundee Dulowe locates me, I want your people to pick him up on one of your many suspicions and hold him for a few days. Agreed?”

  Inspector Galvirst’s smile broadened. “I know Mr. Dundee. I’m sure your request can be accommodated. Good luck. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

  Galvirst’s image faded, and Spacebread frowned.

  “A friend?” Gorsook eyed her.

  “More an old opponent. But Galvirst’s not crooked or spiteful, and I can deal with him.”

  “Why have him detain the calico?” Gorsook asked pointedly. “I know you don’t like him, but he does have a ship. And weapons.”

  Spacebread’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she was about to voice her suspicions about the persistent Dundee when Votal interrupted.

  “I monitor the broadcast now, milady.”

  Spacebread had it displayed on the terminal, and Niral, who had crept up fearfully to hear all the talk of Marghool, gasped. It was a film of Korliss Quan addressing the Korlann. Gorsook growled and leaned over the terminal.

  In a hissing, rattling voice the gaunt face told the sad story of Korliss Niral, whom Quan had befriended and patronized. He implored the Korlann to give him a ship and official authority to find the fugitive.

  “Surely it is some grave illness,” Quan pleaded, “and Niral’s behavior should not be held to his discredit. Let me find him and discover what has troubled him so. I’m sure that if I can talk to him alone, wherever he has gone, he will return and his position in this assembly can be fully restored. The Korlann is mercy.”

  Quan seated himself while a moderator explained that the Korlann would recess to deliberate. The tape jumped forward to show a dark Korliss saluting Quan.

  “It is our decision that you should have your chance to find Niral,” the officer droned. “Even though he has broken our laws by fleeing. Find him and convince him to return. You have until your Abdication to do so.”

  The terminal went dead.

  “He comes personally now,” Niral said quietly. “Just as on Kiloo, when his drones failed, he came. They failed again on Kesterole. He will find us now himself.” He felt the confidence he had recently detected in himself fading.

  “Good!” Gorsook slapped his belly. “The sooner we meet the better!”

  Spacebread shook her head. “There will be no fighting until Klimmit is well. The ISP will see to that. We must not think about revenge in the Home Worlds. I want no more of exile. We must now find the Holy Chemists before Quan can locate us.”

  They found the Holy Chemists in their catacombs on Destulor 5, where the monks wore only narrow kilts against the cold and damp. The Abbott listened to their tale without emotion, when they were finally allowed to see him. He was of a rigid order and felt no pity for them or Klimmit. However, an experiment was ordered to fill yet another page in the sacred texts. Spacebread insisted on being present in the testing chamber, though they would not allow the others. Through a panel in the cryo-box they monitored Klimmit’s signals for three days. Then they withdrew sap through the same panel and put the sample through endless tests. Spacebread slept little, sitting wordlessly in the cold chamber with the box.

  At last a potion was prepared from many elements, using incantations found in forbidden books. A secret ceremony was held that none but the holiest could attend. A single amber drop of elixir was produced and treated with much awe by the Chemists. The chamber was draped in yellow fabric embroidered with occult designs, to Spacebread’s disgust. Then the cryo-box was turned down long enough for Klimmit to thaw, the elixir was injected, holy words were said.

  It had no effect, other than a color change around the figlet’s eyes, which the priests happily noted in their books. A minute had passed for Klimmit. The clock in the side of the cryo-box registered four minutes until death when they returned him.

  Grimly Spacebread left Destulor 5. As the ship left the system, a Margh ship appeared, new and sleek. It did not come close, but tried repeatedly to communicate, which Spacebread coldly thwarted by having Votal block all transmissions. True to Inspector Galvirst’s word, an ISP ship intercepted the Margh vessel, and Spacebread escaped while the two were in conversation.

  Niral trembled only slightly at this threat. He sat and meditated in the Korliss way for hours as they sped toward the next star-well, scanning the lines of the Warrior’s creed for hope.

  A month passed before they saw the second destination on Votal’s list. Ley Dundrow was at the other end of the Home Worlds from Destulor, and there was much travel by rocket between warps.

  The Temple of Vog lay beneath a crimson ocean, inside a sturdy bubble of crystal that the worshippers had built when it was foretold that their city should sink. Life on other continents of Ley Dundrow had gone on in separate civilization for a thousand years until the Temple’s rediscovery. The Vogites’ wisdom and wizardry were renowned, and many strange stories had made their way from Ley Dundrow.

  Spacebread made her request to the supreme Vogite by communicator and was kept seething for a week for her trouble. Finally, when she was ready to break her promise of noninterference to the Planetary Power of Ley Dundrow and blast a way into the Temple, a submarine was sent for the cryo-box. The three companions reasoned and cajoled, threatened and begged, but the Vogites would permit only the coffer to travel into the Temple. Gorsook had to finally pry Spacebread’s fingers from the box. He ordered drink sent to the ship and kept Spacebread busy with gaming and ale for two days, though she had little spirit for it.

  On the third day the submarine returned the cryo-box. Klimmit was inside, and there was another second and a half gone from his death-watch clock.

  There was little conversation as they turned away from Ley Dundrow. The ship seemed dark and close around them, as if it were their lives that were ticking off. When the Margh ship appeared once more, Spacebread had to restrain Gorsook from putting on a space suit and attempting to deliver his box of grenades personally. Niral’s reminder that a Warrior never thinks of revenge only outraged him more. Again the ISP intervened, though as Votal took them out of the system the adventurers heard the communicator channels bristle with Quan’s protests.

  The last location on Votal’s list was Yesturian, and the last hope of healing lay in the arid highlands inhabited by the Keece, a savage tribe who guarded a secret blue fountain rumored to have vast healing power. By direct means they could have been circling Yesturian in days, but Spacebread cautiously ordered Votal to take an evasive course, and they spent a week leaving false trails through obscure star-wells.

  Finally Yesturian lay before them, amber and orange, yellow and tan, portions shrouded in dust clouds.

  “An unlikely looking spot for fountains,” grumble
d Gorsook. “Especially healing ones.”

  “Power often comes from unlikely sources,” Niral commented cryptically.

  Spacebread said nothing. She paused before hailing the Planetary Power for permission to land, because she hated pinning her hopes to this last chance. She dreaded what disappointment would mean.

  “Hail the power, Votal. Plug it into audio,” she said finally.

  The computer contacted the shifting field of energies that permeated Yesturian, then translated its communications into artificial speech.

  “YES. YOU ARE NOTICED. WHY DO YOU COME?”

  “For healing,” Spacebread answered. “We bear a wounded comrade to the blue spring of the Keece.”

  “DO YOU SEEK TO ALTER THE BELIEFS OR GOVERNMENTS OF MY PEOPLE?”

  “No,” she replied. “To this I swear.”

  “I KNOW OF THIS SHIP, AND THIS TRAVELER. TRY NONE OF YOUR INTERFERENCE ON YESTURIAN, ALIEN. YOU KNOW THE PENALTY.”

  The communicator crackled into silence. By now Niral and Gorsook were used to conversations with whole planets and knew there was nothing to fear as long as they took no part in revolutions or subversion on a planetary scale.

  “Make ready to land,” Spacebread said quietly.

  [10]

  A Thief in the Night

  THE ATMOSPHERE of Yesturian boiled around them when they opened the port. It steamed and hissed, blurring the outlines of the tall yellow stone buildings of the capitol city, Yestupah. Spacebread had donned a breathing filter, but still she had to cough and hold her cape against the wind. Gorsook, with his filter helmet, had less difficulty; but Niral needed all the priestly detachment he could muster. His robes made loud clapping noises as he descended.

  Once inside the spaceport dome, they found it easier, though they had to wait in a long line to be passed by a customs official. He was a sallow Yesturian with the typical flat head, plated thickly against the sun, and long insulated robe. He processed visitors boredly, as officialdom across the galaxy was wont to do.