Reign of Fire

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  Susannah’s brow wrinkled anxiously. “It’s not right to agree to this, then leave them hanging when the time comes to leave!”

  “Leave?” he asked gently, prompting her to admit what she knew already but was refusing to believe.

  “To go home!”

  “I am home.”

  Susannah glanced away quickly, then dropped her chin to her knees with a forlorn sigh. Stavros suppressed a grunt of pain as he pulled himself up to fold her in the crook of his good arm.

  “You knew long before I did,” he whispered. “You remember? The Planting Feast?” He laughed softly, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m there lost in erotic panic, trying to figure how to get you close to me, and you’re playing the Delphic oracle, telling me how I don’t want to leave. You scared the shit out of me.”

  Susannah said nothing, only shook her head. Stavros felt one, then two warm tears slide past his wrist where it rested against her cheek.

  “Beloved,” he pleaded huskily, trying to pull her closer. “They would welcome you too, you know they would. And I would consider myself the luckiest of men…”

  “You’ll break Weng’s heart,” she murmured.

  “Susannah…”

  But as she bent her head sadly against his neck, curling into the comfort of his eager body, an urgent knocking rang out at the entrance of the hall. Stavros swore in earnest, but rose, drawing on his pants, and padded across the tiles to unbar the doors.

  Megan stood outside, her mouth a tight line of frustrated disbelief.

  Stavros glanced behind her quickly, and in both directions up and down the FriezeHall. “You came up here with…?”

  She waved a dismissive hand and shouldered past him through the door. “Security be damned. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Took off early this morning, while we were all dead to the world in our little air-conditioned cocoon. The sonofabitch was lying about how ready A-Sled was! And he took McPherson with him.”

  “By force?”

  “Who knows?”

  “And B-Sled?”

  “Weng’s checking it out now.”

  “Can she fly it?”

  “She says not. Never had occasion to. I think she doesn’t want to.”

  “Taylor, then.”

  Megan shrugged. “I suppose.”

  Susannah came out of the shadow, tying the sash of her tunic. “Will CRI say where he’s headed?”

  “Oh, there’s no mystery about that. He’s not covering his tracks. He’s making a beeline for the southern desert.”

  “Nolagri,” murmured Stavros, deadly calm. “He could be there in three or four days, if he really pushes. But it’s a big desert. Does he really know where to go or what he’s looking for?”

  “If it’s there, he’ll find it, you can be sure of that.”

  “Wouldn’t it be the crowning irony if he did manage to make us all rich,” said Susannah dispiritedly.

  Megan folded her arms dubiously. “What’s he going to find down there, Stav?”

  “How should I know?” he replied, faintly sullen. “I have no private information except the stuff none of you will believe.”

  “Emil seemed to think you did.”

  He spread his hands. “I have nothing more than a guess.”

  “You think there’s people? A pocket of the old race left down there?”

  “No. That would show up somewhere in the myths.” He paced away and back again, unconsciously bringing his palms together to press one fiery center against the other. “But I do think I know the power source he was so interested in. I think it’s his goddamn lithium!”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Stavros grabbed her arm and propelled her to the raised edge of Valla’s fountain. He pointed through the arching threads of water to the blue flame burning within its central glass tube.

  “That.”

  “Not natural gas?” remarked Susannah. “Up in Physicians’, I wondered.”

  “What, then?” demanded Megan.

  Stavros’ finger straightened toward the floor. “Some several hundred meters below us is a remarkable secret that the Sawls have been keeping.”

  “From everyone but you.”

  “With good reason. It’s a huge power plant, built mostly of glass. It makes the gas to fuel that flame, as a byproduct of a reaction involving nearly pure lithium dug from mines deep under the cliffs. But the Sawls don’t see it as technology anymore. The whole process is heavily shrouded in myth and euphemism. The priests call it ‘feeding the Goddesses.’ ”

  Megan gaped at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He returned her gaze steadily. “I didn’t want him to be able to beat it out of you, Meg.”

  She sighed, nodded reluctantly. “Good thinking.”

  “Lithium,” said Susannah. “No wonder Ghirra was so upset when Emil came back with a pack load of it. Lithium.” She made a further connection. “Your guar rock.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh boy.” It was Megan’s turn to pace as her mind ranged forward. “According to CRI, he’s taken a case of his atomic mining charges with him, among other things.”

  Stavros could do nothing more articulate than moan.

  Megan spoke his thought for him. “If your goddesses exist, Clausen’s not going to want them around and functioning enough to compete with him for the planet’s mineral resources.”

  “He seemed pretty interested in stealing the technology,” Susannah interposed soothingly. “He’s not going to blow up something that’ll make him rich.”

  “Unless the lithium’ll make him richer faster.”

  Stavros paced into the darkness at the far end of the hall and came back pulling on a sleeveless tunic to cover his bandaged shoulder. “We’ve got, what, another shipweek till sunset? Where’s the damn laser?”

  “Tay’s brooding over it like a mother hen.”

  “Good. I have to get Ghirra and Liphar to make a few explanations for me. Get back to the Lander. Tell Weng to keep working on that Sled!”

  Megan blinked at his sudden speed.

  “Well, come on!” he urged impatiently. “The bastard’s got enough of a head start as it is!”

  Susannah came through the cylinder shaking her head. “She should not be out there so long in this heat.”

  “She’s the only one left who really knows how the Sleds work,” Megan replied but she endured a private stab of guilt that she was sitting inside in the cool while out in the cruel sun a much older woman struggled to recall her long-unused mechanic’s skills.

  Even Taylor has the grace to keep her company. Megan roused herself and went outside.

  Passing through the cylinder was like stepping into a blast furnace. Megan lingered within the silvered arc, shielding her cheeks with her hands. She felt as though her skin might shrivel and flake away.

  She saw Stavros striding down the path from the Caves, Liphar beside him, Ghirra and Aguidran at his heels. Fine, pale dust danced around them like slow smoke. Some trick of the hot light caused their bodies to shimmer darkly against the too-white background.

  Megan frowned and glanced involuntarily at the sky, It too had gone white. The sun was a hot white spot behind a glowing veil of cloud that stretched across the entire bowl of the sky.

  Plain and cliffs and sky blended into a single burning white-on-white vista. The fearsome glare pinched at Megan’s eyes, She thought of the irony of going snow-blind without snow. A thrill coursed through her, a jolt of irrational fear at the way the sand flew up on its own to cling to her shoes and pant legs like a swarm of hungry parasites, refusing to be shaken off. She ducked back into the Underbelly to retrieve her sunlenses.

  “Stav’s coming down,” she called to Susannah on her way out.

  She hurried across the torrid clearing to join Weng and Danforth under the protection of the tarp Clausen had rigged to shade the repair work. Danforth leaned against the Sled’s smooth white hull, one arm clu
tching his crutches, the other draped over the edge of the cockpit. Weng sat in the pilot’s seat, disheveled and dust-streaked, a wet towel draped around her neck. She was touching contact switches on the control panel and conversing in mutters with CRI’s tinny Sled voice.

  “How’s it going, Commander?” asked Megan without much hope.

  The tip of Weng’s tongue worked its way further into the corner of her mouth. Danforth turned aside slightly, as if to give her efforts privacy from the distractions of conversation. He wore the laser pistol stuck casually into the belt of his cut-off trousers, His dark features were nearly invisible, lost in shadow, back lit by glare.

  “She’s running an instrument check now,” he reported. “We do have power at least.”

  Megan was unable to shake the unease that had settled over her along with the hot white pervasive light. “Have you looked at the ski?”

  Danforth nodded. “A thin cloud nearly planet-wide, except where we’re going, over the desert. According to CRI, it’s some bit of moisture being injected at higher altitudes. According to legend, Valla Ired’s last gasp of defense: White Sky.”

  “Spooky,” Megan admitted with an exaggerated shiver.

  Danforth’s grin was a bright relief in his shadowed face. “Just them ol’ positive ions, Meg. Don’t let ’em get to you.”

  Stavros ducked under the canopy. “Reporting for duty as ordered, Commander.”

  Weng did not look up from her instruments. “Ah. Mr. Ibiá.”

  Stavros exchanged a careful nod of greeting with Danforth, his eyes flicking from one cast-bound leg to the other. “How are you feeling?”

  Danforth laughed harshly. “Me? How about you?”

  Stavros allowed him a rueful half-smile. “Yeah. How ’bout that sonofabitch?”

  Megan snorted. “If you two are going to compare war wounds, I’m leaving.” But she rejoiced for anything they could find in common. They would dearly need mutual respect, if not friendship, in the days to come. She headed back to the cool of the Underbelly and found Susannah remonstrating with Ghirra, while Aguidran and Liphar looked on, the one stone-faced, the other acutely uncomfortable.

  “But Ghirra, do you think it’s right for him to accept?” Susannah was demanding. She fell silent with a gesture of despair when she saw Megan at the cylinder.

  “So I was right about this planet being a good source of lithium,” Danforth probed.

  “A guess, Taylor. I told Megan that.”

  “I’m inclined to trust your guesses a little more than I used to, Ibiá.” He looked down, jiggled his crutches. “I’d sure like to see that plant, but I don’t suppose…?”

  Stavros shook his head with genuine regret. “Stairs all the way down. If we had more time…”

  “No problem,” said Danforth amiably. “I’ve been giving the chemistry some thought, though, since Megan told me. If the lithium the Sawls mine is as pure as you suggest, it could be combined with water to produce lithium oxide, heat and hydrogen gas.”

  “The blue flames.”

  “And the high-temperature ceramic technology. Hydrogen burns hot.”

  “Also, the cooling system for the reaction vessel provides heat and hot water for the Caves.” Stavros was sorry to have lacked the benefit of Danforth’s knowledge for so long. Ghirra was right to welcome him so readily. Still…

  “Taylor, what’s you, interest in this? Sorry, I have to ask that.”

  “You mean, whose side am I on? Sure you have to ask. I would too, in your shoes, maybe a lot less politely.” Danforth eased himself onto his crutches and stumped to the edge of the shade to stare out into the sun. “On my own side, if hearing that helps you to believe me. I’m glad to know I was right, that the lithium is here, but I think we’re onto something much more remarkable and I’d be a fool to let that go down the drain. I think Emil will lose this case if it goes to court, and I think he’s reached the same conclusion. If there’s something out there he can use, he will. If not, he’ll destroy it. He has to be stopped,”

  “Dr. Danforth?” Weng’s voice wavered with exhaustion. “I believe it is time to clear the canopy and test the fans. The instruments do seem to be in working order.”

  “Congratulations, Commander. I’m on my way.”

  Stavros glanced at the crippled planetologist. “You’re flying this thing?”

  “I’m not as incompetent at the stick as Emil always made out.”

  “By yourself, I meant. All twenty-five thousand klicks?”

  “You bet. Don’t need my legs to do that.” Danforth let a slow grin build.

  Stavros grinned back with less certainty. “Hell of a good thing, eh?”

  Behind him, he heard Weng say, very quietly, “Damn,” followed by a wheezing sigh and a long, sliding thud. Stavros sprang back to the Sled.

  “Commander?”

  Weng lay in a heap on the floor of the cockpit. One-armed, Stavros could not haul himself up to help her. Danforth swung helplessly to his side. “What happened?”

  “Heat, exhaustion, I don’t know,” Stavros muttered. “Fuckin’ useless, both of us.” He lunged into the sun and tore across the clearing at a clumsy pain-jarred run, shouting for help.

  Susannah met him at the cylinder mouth.

  “Weng just collapsed,” he panted.

  She whirled to call Ghirra and Aguidran, but they were behind her already. They raced across the clearing to the Sled. Aguidran bent, interlacing her fingers to receive her brother’s foot, and vaulted him into the cockpit. Susannah had followed him by the time Stavros regained the shelter of the canopy. Ghirra knelt and untangled Weng’s crumpled limbs. He cleared tools and loose test equipment with a sweep of his arm and stretched her out between the front seats. He fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons at her throat until Susannah arrived to relieve him.

  “She breathes,” he reported with relief, “but the heart…” His hands hovered, cupped around but not touching her jaw.

  “Racing,” supplied Susannah. “Heat prostration, I hope, not a stroke. We’ll have to get her where it’s cool.”

  Ghirra slipped his arms beneath Weng’s thighs and shoulders, and lifted her with surprising ease. “She has no weight,” he noted.

  He carried her to the lip of the cockpit and handed her down to Aguidran. Susannah scrambled to the ground and led the way to the Underbelly. Stavros started after them, but Danforth stayed him with a big hand laid quietly on his arm.

  “She’s in good hands, right? Nothing further we could do.”

  Stavros nodded slowly, waiting.

  Danforth jerked his head at the Sled. “So, want to give it a try?”

  Stavros regarded the seemingly inaccessible cockpit dubiously.

  Danforth swung jauntily to the midsection and patted the hull. “I think I can hoist myself in through the cargo hatch underneath… with a little help. You game?”

  Stavros wondered in what way Danforth was testing him. “Taylor, I need a pilot. I’m game for anything that gets us in the air.”

  Megan ventured once more into the heat to help Stavros clear away the canopy. The silverfilm tarp flashed dully as they floated it aside into loose folds. It reflected only white. White light flooded the cockpit. Stavros swung himself up one-handed through the open cargo hatch, slammed it shut behind him, then clattered across the empty hold to drop heavily into the seat beside Danforth. The planetologist was already strapped in, his rigid right leg stretched out in front of him under the dashboard, the other crooked beneath it.

  Megan peered over the pilot’s side of the cockpit. “Heat prostration, like Susannah said. Most spacers have trouble after this long on the ground. She’ll be fine if she takes it easy for a while.”

  Danforth shook his head admiringly. “The woman is a rock.”

  One less passenger to weigh us down, Stavros calculated guiltily. No, two. Someone will have to stay with her.

  “You have command, Taylor, until she wakes up,” Megan reminded him.

  Danforth clea
rly had forgotten, and even more clearly worried instantly that this new responsibility might hamper his freedom to chase after Clausen. Barely giving it time for thought, he replied, “You’re next in line after me, Meg. You take over.”

  Stavros laughed. A month ago, he would have given his firstborn for such a chance.

  “Meaning you want me to stay behind?” Megan did not sound altogether resistant to the idea.

  “Somebody ought to run CRI’s first contact procedures, broadcast the usual messages.”

  Megan looked doubtful.

  “It can’t hurt to try it, Meg. Besides,” he added more gently, “we can’t leave Weng here alone.”

  “Well, it’s true I’m not much good in this heat,” she admitted quietly.

  “Done, then,” declared Danforth. “Commander Levy, please inform our colleagues that we’re ready to power this baby up!”

  “Forward fan, check.”

  Stavros envied the deep steadiness of Danforth’s voice over the comset in his ear.

  “Forward fan nominal,” acknowledge CRI.

  “Aft right fan, check.”

  “Aft right nominal.”

  As each fan spun up to quarter-speed, the haze of dust around the Sled thickened. The white silence of the clearing was invaded by machine whines. The observers drew back to the edge of the clearing, eyes slitted against the glare and flying grit. In the open cockpit, Stavros coughed convulsively.

  “Aft left fan, check,” said Danforth hoarsely.

  “Aft left nominal. I have no reading on the cockpit shield, Dr. Danforth. Is that an instrument malfunction?”

  “Shit,” muttered Danforth. Stavros saw him squint uncertainly at the control panel, then touch a switch. Within a matter of seconds, the noise of the fans abated to a mildly deafening level. The hard white light eased as a small protective force field enclosed the cockpit area. Danforth flipped a toggle, touched another contact. Air flowed into the static heat already building up inside the little shield.

  “It won’t keep us cool, Ibiá, but it’ll keep us breathing,” Danforth apologized into his comset. “My mistake, CRI.” He flipped three more toggles, hit the first of three switches. “Aft engine check: One?”