by J. S. Morin
When Cedric caught side of the gravity stone, his mouth gaped. He strode reverently toward it, palm extended, and laid his hand on the surface. “This is remarkable. I… I can’t believe an old elementalist did this. If you told me a senior gravitational terramancer placed this enchantment, I wouldn’t have doubted your word.”
“There’s more to your father than you realize.”
Picking his way through a litter of damaged parts, Cedric inspected the star-drive. Reaching out with a booted toe, he pulled open a battered access panel hanging from one hinge. “And this? I suppose my father is also an amateur star-drive mechanic.”
Esper stared down at the floor. “Not exactly. He smashes that thing up with a wrench any time some bureaucrat makes us get it fixed. We do all our astral travel manually. I mean… I guess… well, what’s the point of being outlaws if you can’t break a few silly safety rules, right?”
She hadn’t even noticed his approach when Cedric put a finger under her chin and lifted it. “He’s dangerous. You know that, don’t you? Forcing you all to rely on him for astral travel is just a ploy to make himself indispensable.”
“No, it’s not like that. I can manage astral drops just fine.”
“You? I thought you were an internalist?”
“Mort doesn’t pigeonhole me.”
Cedric let loose a long sigh. “My mother told me stories of how Mordecai The Brown had these grand dreams of being like Merlin himself, master of all magics. But that’s not how the modern world works. A wizard specializes, or he’ll never rise to the top of his field. Or her field, in your case. You could come back with me. I could get you into the Convocation through proper channels. It pains me to see a beautiful young wizard squander her talents with scattershot training and a hazardous lifestyle such as this.”
Good Lord. Esper should have seen this coming. Mort’s eldest was a few years older than her, but she and Cedric were about the same age. He had been whisked from university to a planet too newly habitable to be populated, with a group of stodgy old wizards for co-workers. Of course he was going to be smitten with the cosmo-enhanced wizard who’d fallen under the sway of his evil father. This was practically a fairytale from his point of view.
Esper put a hand on Cedric’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. Let him think her naive, but there was nothing a reader of the Tome of Bleeding Thoughts needed to worry about from a goody-good terramancer. “Listen. I don’t need saving. This isn’t a ‘save the girl’ story; it’s a heartwarming family reunion. He’s really a complicated guy, with more layers than an onion. And like an onion, if you chop your way through those layers, there will probably be some tears. But I think you two need to get to know one another, even if it’s to decide once and for all to cut ties. At least you’ll go forward knowing what you could’ve had. The two of you should go find someplace around here to have a nice, quiet dinner together and talk about… well, whatever you need to talk about.”
“I should have contacted Cassie. I don’t relish the idea of being completely alone with my father. She’s the one who’s good with people.”
“He’s your father. I think you’ll manage to find common ground.”
Cedric took her by the shoulders. “Come with us. Please. I’ll put everything on the Convocation’s tab. Just don’t leave me with him.”
He wasn’t scared of Mort in the typical sense. Most people who feared the old coot had good reason. Life expectancies fluctuated inversely with his mood. But this was a boy who didn’t know his father, and Esper suspected the fear he bore had far more to do with finding out about the darkness in his bloodline than any concern for his personal safety. And it’s not as if Mort couldn’t speak freely in front of her. “Fine. But I’m the chaperone for this date, not Mort.”
# # #
“You’d think everyone would expect a creature with acoustic sensors for ears to be able to hear them through a bloody wall.” Archie paced Yomin’s quarters, his rant kept to a harsh whisper. “Why aren’t they just getting rid of the kid wizard? He’s no use to any incarnation of our plans. Send young Mordecai off to babysit him a while. Good plan. Then what? A handshake and a parting of ways? What if the lad has an epiphany? Maybe he wants to join up. This ragtag bunch seems keen to pick up any stray that shows signs of initiative—yours truly being a prime example. What then? Hmm?”
Yomin watched him move. The articulation of the joints beneath the fabric of his disguise. The human-like tics and twitches reflecting his agitation. “They’ll manage. This isn’t an ARGO battleship. Plans usually start off in one direction and veer hard before hitting the mark—or something nearby at least. We’re not used to following the program.”
Archie snorted. Or at least, he approximated a snort as best his primitive vocal modulator allowed. “Programming. You think I’d be slumming around the ass end of Mirny if it wasn’t for programming? I’ll answer that for you: not on your life. Can’t intentionally harm a sentient being—well, humans at least. I wonder, would the laaku be amenable to me trying to give him a firm slap in the face?”
“Probably not.”
“Pity. Ought to find out my limit on that sometime. Not like I can actually see my own programming, daft as that sounds from both ends. I mean, I shouldn’t have a concept of my own programming since it’s the programming itself doing the thinking. On the other side, it’s my own bloody brain—or should I say, formerly bloody. Because these days it’s superconductive polymers and quantum circuitry. But the here and there of it is I can’t even intentionally set in motion indirect harm, as best I can fathom it. Makes vengeance a twisted nightmare of a logistical knot. They say you take all the veins and arteries in a human body and lay them out end-to-end you can reach from Earth to Luna. There’s a few scientists I’d like to test that theory on. But no. Programming steps in and I get a mental block. Can hardly even plan it out before the contraption part of my brain clamps down.”
“Hey, if you’re not planning to make us a one-heist stand, maybe I can help you unlock programmer access to your code.”
Archie stopped. His eyes focused on Yomin and scanned her up and down. “What do you know about robotics?”
“Less than you, probably, but more than anyone else who’s likely to help you. I do know a lot about breaking through encryption and getting into systems that I’m not authorized for. I could tell you more if I had an idea what sort of hardware you’re packing.”
Yomin felt her face warm but hoped Archie didn’t note her embarrassment. The odds that close examination of Archie’s hardware components would give her crucial insight into his software dilemma were slim. Maybe if Harmony Bay had cheaped out and purchased some stock components for their prototypes, there might be an edge for Yomin to pick at their security. But a high-price outfit like that was bound to have hand-baked everything they put into him. Still, she was dying to see how he was put together.
Archie was still and silent for a moment, without even breathing to hint that he was still animate. “Very well. You can look, but no tools. First sign that you’re tinkering in me without forewarning, you’re on the list for impotent robotic vengeance. Intelligas?”
“Do all wizards threaten with little Latin postscripts?”
Lifting the shirt of Archie’s human disguise, Yomin found the outline of a torso access panel. Running her fingers along the edge, she was surprised to find the metal warm to the touch. “I expected you to be cold.”
“I’m exothermic. I don’t imagine that power conservation was foremost on my creators’ minds when this husk was built. In thirty-two hours or so, depending on my level of activity, I’m going to need a recharge.”
A panel popped open, and Yomin reached inside. She brushed the actuator pistons with her fingertips and began tracing communication line connections with the aid of her datalens. His body cavity was packed as full as any living creature, except Yomin knew the function of these organs, and the thought of touching them didn’t make her nauseous.
“
Well?”
“Well, what? You’re complicated. I’m not going to be able to draw any conclusions instantly.”
“I’m just… this is strange is all. Last time I had a woman your age taking this much of an interest in my body, it ended in a divorce.”
Yomin froze.
Archie gave a nervous chuckle, and Yomin forced herself to match it. “I can keep you talking, if you want. Maybe help distract you. I’m new at this whole business, too. I mean, for starters, can you even feel what I’m doing?”
“Feel might be too strong a word for it. I’m aware of it in a way that I can react without having to do any special calculations to coordinate hand movements, if I wanted to get your grubby mitts off my dorsal motivator array—for example. But feeling? Real feeling is a memory occasionally mapped onto the computer-generated inputs my robotic brain receives. I think if I weren’t a wizard, I wouldn’t have the mental wherewithal to endure the disembodied sensation.”
“So… you can tell when I do… this?” Yomin asked, reaching around and running a hand up Archie’s chest.
“Yes, I just explained how I interpret tactile sensation.”
“How about… this?” She slid her hand down his chest. Down. Down. Down…
Archie squirmed out of Yomin’s grasp and snapped the access panel on his back shut. “Young lady! Have some decency!”
Yomin smirked. “But I thought you weren’t feeling what I was doing. You had a reflexive response.”
Archie scooted away from her to the foot of the bed. “Yes, and the last thing I need is you stirring up things that can only end in frustration.”
Yomin cleared her throat and adjusted her datalens. “Well, keep this in mind if you’re wondering whether to stick around with us: if I can unlock your programming, we might be able to fix all sorts of problems you’ve got.” She leaned close even as Archie tried to shy from her. “And not all encounters have to take place in meat-space.”
# # #
They had walked right in at the Catalina Cantina. No one needed to pull out a Convocation insignia to wrangle loose a table from the restaurant’s non-magical guests. Esper had made sure to ask for one of the little round high-tops instead of a booth. The last thing she wanted was to choose whose side of the table to sit on. An equilateral triangle seemed the best arrangement for the three of them.
As they browsed their menus, Mort would peer over his at his son. Cedric did likewise, though with more tact and subtlety. Esper chose her meal quickly so she could observe the two Browns as they deliberated.
“So, life on the run seems to be treating you ill,” Cedric observed absently from behind his menu.
“It comes and goes,” Mort replied without lowering his own.
“I mean, if you’d mentioned you didn’t have anything to wear to dinner, we could have stopped at a tailor on the way.”
That got Mort to set down his menu. He gave his sweatshirt an appraising look. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Not like this place is the Ritz Boston Prime.” In fairness, it was a clean sweatshirt, which by Mort’s standards was dressed up. Esper knew he had formal attire tucked away in his quarters but would have been a bit much for Catalina Cantina.
“You dress like a vagrant, and you obviously haven’t shaved in days.”
“Look here, son. You’ve got a nice respectable profession. Even people who aren’t partial to wizards usually give a stiff nod to a terramancer. Can’t hardly have a nice colony without your esteemed profession. Looking like one suits you. Me? Most of the time, I try my damnedest not to get a second look. By the time anyone knows I’m a wizard, they’re either in my good book or past the point of me caring what they think.”
Why did he have to mention books? Esper silently willed him to use some other theme for his colloquialisms.
Cedric seethed a long breath out his nose and resumed his study of the menu. “I suppose.”
In an effort to remove the menu barricades, Esper tried to think of something they both might like. “Yomin checked this place out on DinnerBlab for me. She said the salmon asado has great ratings.”
Cedric scowled. “Who’s Yomin?”
“Our resident techno snoop,” Mort replied. “Not a bad girl, all things considered, but a techster is a techster at heart.”
“Nice to know you haven’t gone completely renegade. Still, I won’t take my meal advice from some anonymous voice in the omni. If you or I claimed to hear disembodied voices, they’d think us cracked in the head. A techster, on the other hand…”
Mort nodded along. “They’ll listen like it was the burning bush. Merlin only knows why.” He slapped his menu down. “I’m having the steak. Never heard of a fish tasting right after it’s flown around in a starship.”
“No argument there. Aquatic creatures don’t taste right if they’re not fresh caught. There’s a little place back home where they serve cod straight from the Bay Harbor Marine Sanctuary.”
“Revere’s Lantern. I used to take your mother there, back before you were born. I’d split the candle flame into two lights when we were ordering seafood. Nancy always got a kick out of that.” Esper’s face must have betrayed her puzzlement, because Mort patted her on the arm. “It’s a very old joke.”
“Well, apparently Mom doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, since she’s never mentioned it.”
Cedric’s expression was placid, but Esper could feel the resentment lurking in his eyes. Time to head things off before they took a turn down the path of eternal grudges. “So, Cedric. What fascinating project have you been working on?”
“Well, Osiris IV is in the final stages of biome independence. I certified the atmosphere sustainable just before I left on this sabbatical. I’ll check it upon my return, but I have every confidence that the flora and fauna are in balance.”
Mort sipped at his complimentary water. “Yes, yes. Respectable profession, but as exciting as watching comets form.”
“Oh, and what has my lawless father been up to? Burn anyone to cinders lately?”
“Ah, human combustion. The greatest and most final of argument settlers. But no. Can’t say I recall my last incineration.”
January 6th, but Esper kept that date to herself.
“But just recently I stopped an alien wizard who was impersonating a deity. Had human worshipers and all. Quite unseemly.”
“And how, might I ask, did you resolve this unsavory deception?”
Mort cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “Well, I… well, he and I had words, and there was a truly massive gravity stone that had locked two moons in orbit together…”
“He crashed the moon into a gas giant.” Esper didn’t think that any amount of beating around the bush was going to make it sound any better. At least telling it her way allowed her to skip the part where Mort bludgeoned Devraa to pulp with his staff.
Cedric’s chair slid back with a noisy scrape. He stood and offered Esper a slight bow. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Esper, thank you for what you attempted to do, but—”
Mort’s chair tipped over as he leaped to his feet. “You think you’re so high and mighty. Never got your hands dirty with anything but dirt. I’d been proud to hear my son was a terramancer until I saw what it had done to you. Where’s the fire? Where’s the passion? You make creating worlds out of barren rock seem like a checklist chore. Find something you love and do it. Don’t let your mother’s expectations dry you out like an old man at age twenty-four.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
Mort waved away the notion. “I’ve always been bad with calendars. Point is, you’re too young to be buttoned up and stoic.”
“Oh, you think I should let my wildest impulses reign free.” Cedric stepped around the table, facing off at a half pace from his father. It was as if a mirror offset thirty or so years in time was placed between them. “Maybe we should have it out. Right here. Right now.”
Mort looked around at the horrified diners as Esper
willed herself invisible to no avail. “Hardly the place for it…”
“I meant Mirny. Surely there are dueling grounds around here somewhere.”
Mort snorted. “Not so much as a bowling alley.”
“As if I’d play you at a sport you have trophies for back home. Mom still keeps them on the mantelpiece. I’m sure we can find a vat of water for a match of Boil-n-Splash.”
Esper raised a finger. “Or, we could go to Connor O’Reilly’s two blocks from here. They have darts.” Both Browns turned to glare at her. “I thought this might happen, so I looked up an appropriate duel where no one will get singed, scalded, or bitten for losing.”
Cedric’s eyes bored into hers. “How is he at darts? Is this a setup, too?”
“I’ve never seen him play.”
Cedric snorted. “You wear honesty like a saint’s shroud. Very well, I accept.”
# # #
Esper’s dart flew wide of the target, veering at the last second to bury its point in the corkboard behind the numbered circle. Her glare shot from Mort to Cedric, but both wore near-identical looks of sympathy for her miss. “How am I supposed to compete with the two of you? You both know I’m not strong enough to prevent you from putting the whammy on my darts.”
Her latest miss had joined her two previous attempts in the non-scoring periphery of the game. Connor O’Reilly’s fit like it had been built around the dartboard. Dark faux wood was all around them, from tables to ceiling beams, polished or bare and rustic wherever appropriate. The taps were brass, and the music had enough flutes and fiddles to feel authentically Celtic.
Mort took a long drink from his two-pint mug of dark ale and retrieved his darts. “Eventually me and the boy will get drunk enough that one of us’ll get the upper hand. Maybe you can come from behind and sneak out a win.” He toed the line and aimed his shot. The tip of his tongue poked out the side of his mouth. Though it was only two meters to the bullseye, the board was carved into such tiny slices that it was still easy to miss. And Mort proved it. His shot stuck firm in the two-point slice, without getting into any of the rings that multiplied the result. His second and third shots weren’t much better.
