Dragons and Destiny

by Candy Rae

  “We go on the morning tide,” announced Danal.

  * * * * *

  Rilla

  Shona brushed aside all the cadets in her way during her rush to tell her news to a select coterie of friends waiting in the queue for the cookhouse. Most good-naturally moved out of the way but others frowned as she shoved past them.

  “Hold on there young Shona,” said Charles, a fourth year cadet.

  “Don’t Charles,” insisted Petra who was in his year group, “you know Shona is usually the first with any news. She’s bursting with something, just look at her face.”

  “She’s always rushing about here, there and everywhere,” complained Charles, “and it’s our duty to keep the juniors in order.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch, she’s not doing any harm. She’s telling them too, it’ll be down the line in a moment, wait and then we’ll know.”

  Charles eyed the excited group of third years through jaundiced eyes, they were listening hard to what Shona was saying and as Petra had predicted, what she was telling them passed down the line as fast as a stampeding kura.

  “The Ryzcks have been recalled and all leave is cancelled!”

  “Yep, even those in the mountains.”

  “Wonder what’s happening?”

  Petra and Charles looked at each other. No one questioned the news, no one ever quite knew how Shona found things out but she was invariably right.

  “Think it’s the Larg, like in the old days?” asked Charles.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” answered Petra.

  Orders were given out that the cadets were to be quick about breakfast. They were to parade on the big practice field, all of them, from the youngest to the oldest.

  The cookhouse was exceptionally noisy that meal as speculation ran wild. None of the officers were present.

  Most cadets sent out telepathic queries to their Lind and received the same answer.

  : Do you know what is happening? : asked Rilla of Zawlei.

  : Most of the trainers and officers and their Lind have been up all night talking :

  : What about? :

  : I don’t know but it is important :

  * * * * *

  The Council

  The recently elected Head Councillor of Argyll sat down in the ornate chair that was now his with a self-satisfied smile and looked with benign condescension at the other Councillors seated at the table.

  This was the culmination of all Horatio Ander’s dreams. He had done it, after all the political manoeuvrings, the infighting, the elections, the promises, the lies, even the occasional bribe. The other elected representatives of the twelve wards were his to command, or almost so. The niceties of government would have to be observed but he would work round the inconveniences. He accepted the congratulations of the twelve with a modesty not in keeping with his inner thoughts.

  “Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” he began his rehearsed speech, “and a welcome to those of you who come to Council for the first time. Before we proceed, may I just say, in advance, that I’m sure it will be a pleasure working with you.”

  There were murmurs from around the table.

  “Now,” he continued, “our first task is to vote the appropriate people into the departmental positions.”

  “Here we go,” whispered old Councillor Dans of the Fifth Ward to his neighbour, “take heed of what he says, Anders will now pontificate about the matter of who he wishes we vote into the different posts. It behoves us well to listen. He will make life very uncomfortable for those who vote against his wishes.”

  “It’s supposed to be a secret ballot,” whispered his shocked neighbour, new to Council and one of only two women elected.

  “You’ve been in politics long enough my dear to know that nothing is really secret. Democracy in action, with a twist.”

  Anders left the meeting in fine fettle. He was pleased with the way the voting had gone. That troublesome Richard Duchesneson, who during the last council term had been in charge of defence had been relegated to farms and produce.

  Serves him right, the interfering old bastard.

  During the last term when Councillor Duchesneson had been secretary for Defence and he Anders, had been Secretary for the Exchequer, there had been many a clash between the two, Richard Duchesneson always demanding more funds for the upkeep of the Garda and the Navy and he insisting that defence funding should be reduced. The Larg were no longer the threat they had been in the old days. The new secretary for defence would be far more amenable.

  Councillor Iain McAllister spent his first afternoon as defence secretary listening to the briefings of his heads of department. As the last of the briefings drew to a close, Iain drew a long sigh of relief. His head was bursting with the effort of trying to concentrate and to remember what he was being told. There was the added complication that his military advisor who was supposed to have been sitting at his side explaining was not here, the General having met with an accident some tendays ago. The General’s aide de camp was also missing.

  Iain made a mental note to give Field Marshall Bruce Johnson Jones who commanded the Garda a piece of his mind next time he saw him.

  As a replacement the Garda had sent along a young and elegant Leftenant who had sat in the corner and listened. It was obvious that he was out of his depth. The young man looked efficient and intelligent but Iain had realised from the outset that he was anything but.

  “Leave your report here,” said Iain as the droning voice of the procurement official dried up at last and the official sat silent in front of his new boss.

  “Certainly Secretary McAllister,” the man said, placing it on top of the pile, “and there’s a gentleman here to see you, a Vadryzka, representative of Susa Julia of the Vada. He is most desirous to have a word with you. He arrived as I was coming in and asked if I would tell you when I was finished.”

  “Can’t it wait until morning? It’s been a very long day.”

  “I did suggest that but he was most insistent.”

  It was at the tip of Iain’s tongue to tell the man to return in the morning but a cough from the corner stopped him. The young Leftenant stood up and approached Iain.

  “Your predecessor sir, always made time to receive the representative of the Susa. I’ve heard the General talking about it.”

  Iain sat back with resignation, “I could spare him a half bell. Send him in on your way out.”

  “Certainly,” said the official, “and I’ll be leaving the office now, its past closing bell.”

  Iain nodded, “off you go, I’ll see you in the morning,” and he turned to the young Leftenant, “you too of you like.”

  “Thank you sir,” the young man said and he followed the official out of the door, almost tripping over his heels in his hurry.

  As the Leftenant passed Iain’s visitor he looked at him with interest and he recognised the uniform, a vadeln of the Vada, a Vadryzka. I don’t recognise the badge on his right breast, some sort of bird. Funny, I thought I had the Ryzck badges off pat. Wonder what he is?

  He only pondered the question for a short while. He was off duty and there was a very pretty girl waiting. The Leftenant was a young man with all the right connections but with only average intelligence and even less imagination. He forgot about the visitor as he spent what was left of the evening in the arms of his present mistress.

  The Leftenant was enjoying himself but Councillor Ian McAllister was not.

  His visitor introduced himself as Vadryzka Dusik of the Fifty-first Ryzck, the Susa’s Own. He had, he informed Iain, a written missive from Susa Julia herself.

  Dusik took a large envelope emblazoned with the Vada seal out of his satchel and handed it over.

  “Susa Julia gave me instructions to give it to you personally. I was expecting Secretary Duchesneson sir.”

  “Elections,” explained Iain. “I took up the post of Defence Secretary only this morning.”

  “I see sir,” said Dusik with a worried face, “
you have been briefed?”

  “All afternoon long,” Iain answered with a grimace as he broke the seal and extracted the envelope’s contents. “Find a seat whilst I read this.”

  Dusik took the indicated chair and watched Iain’s face drain of all colour as he read the document through, not once but twice. It was as if the man couldn’t believe what he was reading.

  “This is, this is,” Iain said at last, “this is the Call to Arms.” Iain’s face was white with shock. “It can’t be, surely it can’t be true. Must be a joke of some kind.”

  Dusik shook his head. “It is no joke.”

  “But …”

  “I am instructed to answer any questions you may have.”

  Iain’s brain was whirring as he pondered the various ramifications, trying to remember what the department heads had told him about the protocols in such a situation. With a supreme effort, he gathered his wits.

  “The Garda?”

  “Susyc Julia and Alyei have already sent a similar letter to the Field Marshall, to the Admiral and to the OC Militia.”

  “But, but,” Iain’s wits were getting jumbled again.

  “In a time of emergency,” explained a helpful Dusik, “the Susa of the Vada, Julia and her Lind Alyei, assume the title Susyc and take command of the combined armies of the north, from the rtathlians, Vadath and Argyll. As this is such a time, they have exercised this right.”

  “But what is the emergency? I haven’t heard anything. What has possessed them to do such a thing?” Iain was pacing up and down, “what will Anders say about all this? He’ll not like it you know. He’ll countermand the orders.”

  “Head Councillor Horatio Anders cannot countermand any orders issued by the Susyc,” said Dusik, “and if any officer, infantry, cavalry or naval disobeys he or she will be removed and another set in place. You’ll find they will not even consider it. She and Alyei outrank them all, even the Field Marshall.”

  “She can’t just …”

  “She can and has,” Dusik was losing his patience, “and if you’ll sit down and listen I’ll tell you why. If you want my advice I’d send for Richard Duchesneson. He’s had five solid years in the job and I think you’ll need his help before all this is over.”

  Iain McAllister was not a stupid man and saw the sense in this.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, “wait here and I’ll go find someone to go fetch him. You can tell us both about this great emergency of yours. No point telling it twice.”

  “Thank you sir,” said Dusik and settled down to wait.

  * * * * *

  The Ammokko

  The solar system which the giant space-ship was approaching was not a large one, nor did it have a name, at least not in the minds of the occupants. The space-ship did have a name, a name beginning to be voiced aloud by some of the inhabitants of Planet Wolf.

  The Ammokko was an old space-ship, rebuilt so many times that her original shape and dimensions were but a memory. The Lai would not have recognised her but they would have recognised her occupants.

  All those centuries ago, when the Lai and the Dglai had lived in comparative harmony on their home planet as the Daiglon the only aspect of their physiology that differentiated them was their colour.

  This had changed.

  Prolonged exposure to reduced gravity had altered the Dglai physically.

  In outer space, gravity disappears and an astronaut’s body becomes weightless. The Ammokko did have an artificial gravitational system but it was not set at the level that had existed on Diaglon, it was more like sixty per cent and this could and did fluctuate depending on how much power the space-ship had in her power kernels at any one time.

  Body functions are disturbed and altered by the state of microgravity, another name for the weightlessness that exists in outer space and this has physical effects on bodies of any species. The Dglai were no exception.

  The Lai on the other hand had not been travelling through space for so many generations. They had arrived on the planet not much altered as when they had set out on their own epic journey. What effect their journey had had on their bodies had long worn off.

  The Dglai’s musculoskeletal system had deteriorated; their muscles, especially in the lower body had lost tone and mass. They had become taller and thinner, their vertebrae had separated, lengthening their backs.

  Of course, during the generations, the Dglai had landed on other planets to make repairs and to replenish stocks of food, water and other minerals but these visits had never been protracted ones and had therefore not been enough to reverse the changes.

  During the epic journey the Dglai had learned it took time to adjust to each planet.

  The length of the acclimatisation period depended upon both the gravitational level their space-ship was operating under at the time of landing and also the gravity of the planet. If the Ammokko was operating at sixty per cent, the acclimatisation period was shorter than if she was operating at a lower level.

  A body’s brain receives information through the eyes, muscles and the inner ear. If gravity is set at less than the optimum then the sensors in the ears and muscles need time to orient themselves. Time spent actually standing on a new planet’s surface was therefore kept to a minimum by the Dglai, especially to begin with. They much preferred either to remain on their mother ship, the Ammokko or to travel around the planet in the small ships, only descending on to the planetary surface when necessary.

  So as the Quorko sent back the information stripped from the Nahoko, the Dglai scanned the data with much interest and not a little apprehension. It was with relief that their leader learned that the gravitational level on the planet was 0.982.

  This was an acceptable level.

  “Calculate,” the Leader ordered.

  “Twenty four shelds.”

  The Leader flipped his ears in irritation.

  “That is too long. Increase our gravity levels by seven delds.”

  “As you command.”

  The Leader did not answer, merely bending his head back to look at the screen in front of him.

  These Larg creatures are so gullible. Do they really believe that they are going to rule the planet when we are gone?

  His long digits hovered over the keypad then he began to type in instructions to the Quorko.

  * * * * *

  The Guildmaster

  “Here’s a bit that might be of interest,” said Professor Angus, “at least it appears to be about something I understand.”

  “About the power-core?” asked Annert, raising his head from the print-out in front of him.

  “It concerns travelling in outer space,” Angus informed him in his usual dry voice, “and relates to what our ancestors called zero gravity. You must read this Annert, it’s absolutely fascinating.”

  “If it doesn’t relate to the power-core Angus, put it aside,” said Annert, trying to be patient. “If you think it might be of use, mark it as a possible and put it aside for later. We’re looking for mentions of the power-core.”

  “Could be important,” mused Angus, thinking aloud as usual, much to the exasperation of Annert and the other two.

  It was one of the traits of the Professor that Annert most disliked, this tendency to do his thinking out loud. Annert felt it was a distraction he could well live without.

  He laid down his own study with a sigh. Better to get it over with, he’ll not settle until he’s got it off his chest. “Well?”

  Professor Angus coughed, preparing to enter what Annert called his lecturing mode.

  “It talks about a phenomena called gravity, whereby a planet, Earth in this case, pulls mass and weight in, now listen, ‘Gravity is created by the interaction of two masses’, I think it is the planet itself and everything that stands on it, ‘gravity increases as the distance between the two masses decreases’.”

  “What’s that got to do with the power-core?” asked Annert in an acidic voice.

  “I’m coming to that, now, a planet pulls eve
rything towards its centre … that is gravity. There is a mathematical formula for it, we call it the pull formula but until now I wasn’t sure of its relevance. Now I understand.”

  “Could you explain more please, Professor,” asked Jeannie who was listening with fascinated absorption.

  Professor Angus beamed on her and coughed again.

  “You must remember it surely, however …”

  “Get on with it man,” expostulated Annert.

  “We say A=MxP, they call it ‘W=MxG, where M is mass, G is gravity and W is the product of the acceleration due to gravity’. Gravity on the planet is equal to one. I have always hypothesised that when our ancestors travelled in outer space they were able to float. Here’s the proof.”

  “So? What’s the point you’re trying to make?” Annert was losing patience.

  “Don’t you see? In space, in a space-ship, the further it is away from the gravity of a planet, the less gravity there is. There will be virtually no gravitational pull.”

  “I still don’t understand,” admitted Annert.

  “The power-core was designed to work in low gravity, zero gravity they call it, or microgravity.”

  Annert was beginning to understand.

  “The power-core will behave differently on a planet, any planet, than in space,” Professor Angus was speaking slowly, as if to a particularly trying and stupid student. Annert was glad he had never been one of his students.

  “I see,” said Annert, “it might be important, you are quite right Angus though I don’t see how exactly.”

  “The point I’m trying to get across that the power-core was designed and built for using in micro gravitational conditions. Perhaps it is because it is here, on the planet that makes it dangerous.”

  “Mark it as important and lay it aside for now Angus,” repeated Annert.

  “You realise,” said Jhonas, entering the conversation, “it is called a power-core, not a power generator. Does it make the power or is it merely the battery which stores the power and then distributes it throughout the space-ship?”