Every Wind of Change

by Frank Tuttle

  Meralda halted, facing the mirror. “Your transmission to my world. Can you modify it?”

  “I suppose,” the wheel replied. “But to what end? Even if your folk launch another vehicle, it will arrive too late.”

  “No compression,” said Meralda. “Audio only. Can you do that?”

  “I can.”

  “Here is the message then.” Meralda fought back a cough. She was light-headed, and short of breath. “Fromarch. Shingvere. Stop whatever you are doing. We are coming home, with the survivors of the Hang fleet. Tell the King we have worked together to defeat a common foe, and he should expect us in a few days. Should we fail to return, no one is ever to return to this place. Ever. This is Mage Meralda, and I do insist. End.” Meralda fell into another fit of coughing. “Can you send that?”

  “It is done. Your craft is venting atmosphere. I suggest you return to the interior at once. I shall hasten the docking process.”

  “We have an errand first,” Meralda said. “We shall attempt to interrupt the object’s attack, if only briefly. Be ready. I assume that, if the object is destroyed, you will be able to restore your normal environments?”

  “Yes. But your supposition is fanciful.”

  “I doubt we can destroy it. But me might be able to make it blink. I suggest to gather your remaining energies. You’ll have time for a single blow, if that,” Meralda replied. “I have so many questions. But.” Her lungs burned. “I’m out of time. End this simulation.”

  “As you wish. Need I warn you that any attempt to damage my adversary is almost certainly in vain?”

  “Just do it, please. Quickly.”

  The Laboratory fell away, and Meralda was once again in the pilot house.

  Smoke filled the thinning air. The pilot coughed non-stop, and the Captain worked his controls with one hand while he held a rag over his mouth with the other.

  “Who were you talking to?” Mug hung inches from her face, his eyes wide with concern.

  “There isn’t time,” she said. “Donchen. Is the Yangzhou armed?”

  Donchen nodded. “She has forty cannons, twenty to a side,” he said. “Projectile weapons. They use explosives to fire iron spheres, which are themselves explosive.”

  “Any magical weapons?”

  “None. No Mages aboard. Except you, of course.”

  “Then cannons it is,” Meralda said. She pointed toward the needle as it swung into view. “We need to blow that thing out of the sky.”

  “We need to get back indoors before we all choke to death,” Mug cried. “Mistress. We’re aboard a wreck. We’ll have to come back and fight another day.”

  “There won’t be another day if we fail in this.” Meralda coughed and covered her mouth with her sleeve. “Not for us. Not for the Realms, or Hang, or anyone. That thing is full of Mag. They want to use the wheel to consume worlds. Ours will be first.”

  Donchen spoke, in Hang. Meralda waited, her heart pounding, visions of millions of Mag loosed upon the bright green lands of the Realms filling her mind.

  Mug wilted. “Are you sure, Mistress?”

  “I am. Donchen. Convince them. Our home. Their home. Everything.” She choked and gasped. “All will die if we don’t.”

  Her mother floated to her side, a bright steel dagger in her hand. “In case these gentlemen disagree,” she said. Her smile was small and tight. “Just say the word, daughter.”

  “Put that away,” hissed Meralda.

  Donchen and the Hang spoke. The Captain raised his hand finally and turned to face Meralda. He regarded her intently for a long moment before he spoke briefly to Donchen.

  Donchen nodded. “They don’t understand all of it, but they say they’ve seen enough. We’re going to fire up the coils. Get in close. Then, and I quote, we’ll let those monsters have a taste of good Hang iron.”

  “He understands this may not work? That it’s a desperate, wild action, likely to result in tragedy?”

  “He does.” The Captain spoke again, and Donchen grinned. “He knows this ship will never make it home. He would rather die fighting than be eaten by bugs.”

  The Captain spoke into a microphone. His words rang throughout the ship, and a chorus of muted cheers answered. Still hacking and coughing, the pilot righted the Yangzhou and sent her soaring toward the needle.

  “What a column this would have made.” Mug slipped a slender vine from his cage to touch Meralda’s cheek. “You sure about this?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Meralda brought her hand up to touch Mug’s vine.

  The Yangzhou accelerated, sending everyone into a scramble for rails and handholds. The needle grew in size until it filled the viewport. Suddenly the ends vanished as the Yangzhou drew close alongside it.

  The pilot worked his controls. The Yangzhou slowed and came to rest, the needle’s featureless skin looking close enough to touch, though Meralda knew it must be half a mile distant, at least.

  Donchen took Meralda’s right hand, and her mother gripped her left.

  “Let’s rid the void of this bothersome object,” her mother said, choking out each word. She hugged Mr. Reardon tight. “Quickly. I’m right out of liquor.”

  The Captain worked his panel. The lights in the pilot house turned red, and a warbling tone filled the Yangzhou.

  He spoke a word.

  “Cannons are being brought to bear,” Donchen translated.

  The Captain spoke again.

  “Range is set. Firing ports are raised.”

  “I will always love you.” Meralda croaked. Her mouth tasted of ash. “These cannons. Employ them.”

  “I believe the word is fire,” Donchen said.

  “Then fire,” Meralda said. Donchen nodded to the Captain.

  The Captain spoke another word, and the Yangzhou filled with thunder.

  For a single heartbeat, nothing happened.

  Then flashes showed alongside the needle. Bright and brief, half a dozen, then another half dozen.

  The pilothouse fell silent as round after round exploded just beyond the needle’s white hull.

  Meralda counted flashed. Thirteen, fourteen.

  “It was a brave effort,” Donchen said. The pilot spoke, and Donchen’s face fell.

  “Opening her gun ports exposed more leaks.”

  Before Meralda could ask how many more, the needle flared, glowing for an instant. Then again.

  “We got a few inside it,” Donchen cried. “Perhaps—”

  The needle went bright. Wild shadows tumbled and flew. Meralda squeezed her eyes shut and extended her Sight.

  The swirling corkscrew of energies flowing from the needle wobbled and expanded. The cruel precision within the light fell into sudden disarray. A vast wave of darkness rose up from the Hub and washed over the needle, all but obscuring the needle’s bright beam.

  “Get us out of here,” Meralda barked. “Right now!”

  Gravity pulled her suddenly toward the aft bulkhead. She caught hold of the Captain’s chair and hung on, ignoring the shouts and muffled thuds all around her.

  “Faster,” she shouted. “Whatever we have left, burn it!”

  The pilot needed no translation. The Yangzhou banked and leaped, her battered hull groaning and popping.

  There came another flash, this one so bright Meralda saw it plain through her tight-shut eyes. There was more shouting, and Donchen’s hand gripped hers tightly.

  She pushed her Sight back, back to the rippling pool on the Hub.

  It was gone. In its place was a series of incandescent rings, moving and expanding, and from them stabbed shafts of power so intense Meralda’s Sight simply fled her, leaving her blind and gasping.

  She opened her eyes, shielded her face with her hands.

  The pilot squinted, working his controls with a calm determination. The Captain’s voice echoed through the ship, and it took a moment for Meralda to realize he was not talking but singing.

  Her mother helped Mrs. Primsbite to her feet. Skoof lay motionless, wedged i
n a corner, his silver limbs limp and still.

  Donchen rose up beside her, a long shallow gash bleeding on his forehead.

  “Crude but effective,” he said, grinning.

  “We have to get back inside. At once.”

  “We are headed to the nearest port.” Donchen fell into a fit of coughing. The air grew suddenly chill, and rimes of ice raced across the viewport glass.

  A high, thin whistle sounded, from inside the pilot house. Scraps of papers flew.

  “We’re breached.” Meralda’s ears popped. Her words were lost as the whistle became a piercing shriek. She saw her mother hug her little dog and stroke its furry face.

  Mug squeaked, his words lost in the thinning air. Meralda reached for him, but he flew to the icy glass, his vines pointing.

  The Yangzhou’s coils failed, and the cabin’s floor lost its hold. Though the pilot worked his levers frantically, the ship tumbled toward the Hub.

  Before the layer of ice rendered the glass opaque, Meralda thought she saw a bright circle of light appear below the Yangzhou. Appear, expand, and then rush toward them.

  The Captain’s song died, as he slumped over his panel. The pilot succumbed next, his fingers going limp. The shrieking gave way to complete silence.

  The cold took Meralda next.

  28

  Something cold stung the right side of her neck, and she batted at the pain.

  “I must urge you to hasten,” said a voice. It took Meralda a moment to recognize it as Skoof’s. “Wake up.”

  Meralda coughed. She lay amid a jumble of bodies in the pilot house, lit now only by the dim light from the icy viewport. She rose, struggling to free her legs from beneath her mother’s still form.

  “They are not deceased,” Skoof said. “Merely unconscious from asphyxiation. I have opened the craft’s vents. There is sufficient air, but we must be aloft within two minutes, or the Mag will be upon us.”

  Meralda forced herself to her feet. There was gravity, but the Yangzhou was utterly silent – no hum of fans, no buzz of coils.

  The ice on the viewport was melting. Rivulets of water ran down it.

  “Are we in the Hub?”

  “Yes. Can you raise this machine?”

  Meralda stepped carefully through the limp forms of her friends. She pushed the pilot aside as gently as she could, inspecting his controls. “Can you wake him? I only saw him operate these for a few moments.”

  “He will be fine momentarily. Unless he is digested by the Mag first.” The metal man raked a limb across the glass.

  Outside, the Hub’s grey plain stretched out forever. The sky no longer flashed, and the light was noontime bright – bright enough to reveal a seething black mass of limbs and carapaces surging toward the slightly raised platform that bore the Yangzhou.

  Meralda shoved the pilot out of his seat. She took it, gazed down at the controls, which were labeled in Hang.

  “Quickly,” Skoof said.

  I invented the flying coil, thought Meralda, to herself. I am a pilot. This is just another airship. Form follows function – if I were designing this panel, where would I put the controls?

  She reached out and flipped the single red switch on the board.

  Lights flared. Fans hummed. Dozens of indicators came to life as dials moved and buttons illuminated.

  The Mag converged on the platform. It was too tall for a single Mag to climb or leap, but limbs and antenna began to show above the rim. She knew the creatures were massing at the edge, climbing over each other until they formed a ramp of their bodies.

  She stabbed buttons. Turned knobs. More green lights flared, and the Yangzhou shivered as her flying coils came haltingly to life.

  “Hold on to something. We’re taking off.” I hope, she added, mentally.

  The first line of Mag spilled over the rim. Meralda pulled back her yoke and shoved what she prayed was the coil power lever all the way forward.

  The ship leaped skyward, yawing precipitously, but flying. Meralda compensated for what she assumed was a burned section of coil to port, and sent the Yangzhou spiraling upward, toward what was not the sky at all.

  “Well done. I suggest you moderate your climb. The upper portion of the Hub is entirely inflexible.”

  Meralda pulled back on the yoke. The craft leveled, and Meralda saw for the first time the enormity of the Mag swarm below.

  Skoof began to prowl among the fallen, touching them with his silver limbs as he went. “I detect no life-threatening instances. All should revive shortly.”

  Meralda nodded, scanning the pilot’s panel for anything resembling a coil charge indicator. “We’re nearly out of power. We must be.” She frowned. “But if I am reading these correctly, our batteries and holdstones are fully charged.”

  “A parting gift, from the wheel. It sends its regrets that it is unable to do more. The battle with the entity continues, although the wheel believes it shall be victorious.”

  “You have spoken with the wheel?”

  “More precisely, the wheel spoke to me. An unprecedented event. I shall be quite famous when I rejoin my folk. Speaker to Wheels, I shall call myself.”

  Mr. Reardon stirred and barked before commencing a frantic campaign of licking Miss Bekin’s face. Meralda saw her mother stir, and she smiled.

  “We reached the auxiliary port, then.”

  “The wheel has managed to resume many of its basic functions. We should be able to pick a new spoke, one the Mag have not besieged. Find a destination compatible with your unassisted existence.”

  “No,” Meralda said. “Not without Bruce and Mr. Gliff. Can you locate Celestia?”

  “The Mag are aware of your participation in the conflict. They will certainly be massed at the starship.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “You have the means to escape with your lives,” Skoof said.

  Meralda turned and glared. “Either tell me which way to Celestia, Speaker to Wheels, or get off my ship. I’m not asking again.”

  About her, people began to moan and stir. “Heavens, I’m not dead,” said Meralda’s mother. “This is a day of surprises, is it not, daughter?”

  The jabberwock pushed open the pilot house door.

  “Or perhaps I spoke too soon.”

  Meralda met the jabberwock’s cold red eyes. “Don’t even.”

  Skoof chuckled. “Celestia is to port. Make a quarter-turn. Be warned, though. The flying Mag are approaching.”

  Donchen stood unsteadily and wiped blood from his brow.

  “We need cannons, and we need them now,” Meralda said. “And you,” she said, to the jabberwock. “Find a hatch. You’re good at killing those things. Go kill some more, won’t you? Mother isn’t dying today.”

  “She’s always this way, before her morning coffee,” Donchen said. “Best if you humor her.”

  The jabberwock looked to Meralda’s mother, who winked at it. “It’s true. I’m still quite healthy. Although I do feel a need to visit the facilities. Come along, that’s a dear.”

  She took up Mr. Reardon and glided airily out of the pilot house, ignoring the jabberwock entirely. It padded silently after her.

  “I do not trust that creature,” Meralda said.

  “Which one?” Mug quipped. “All right, all right,” he said quickly, visibly wilting under Meralda’s glare. “But Mistress. She seems quite safe with the monster. And your mother is quite safe with her. Actually, I think they’re friends. Birds of a feather, and all that.”

  The pilot stirred, leaping to his feet and speaking rapidly in Hang to Meralda.

  “Tell him he can have his post.” Meralda moved out of the seat. The Hang slid in, his face pale but determined. “Skoof. Direct him to Celestia. Donchen. We need the cannon crew standing by.”

  “How are we flying?” Donchen asked. “I thought the coils—”

  “The wheel recharged them. And brought us inside. It’s fighting the needle. Let’s hope it’s winning.”

  “So
, we’re going to rescue Celestia,” Donchen replied. “I rather like the sound of that.” He shook the Captain. “Wake up!” he shouted. “We’re not done yet.”

  * * *

  One by one, the Yangzhou’s crew awoke.

  Her Captain was among the last to revive. Donchen’s explanation continued, as Meralda watched the ship’s shadow race along the Hub below.

  She found the relative silence left in the absence of the booming voice from the sky disquieting, after hearing it for so long. She tried once to turn her Sight to the conflict outside but found she could not See through the tripping wheel, no matter how hard she tried.

  Finally, the Captain muttered a grudging affirmative, and Donchen sighed in relief. “He’s not exactly thrilled, racing off to rescue aliens, as he calls them, but he’ll do it.” He mopped at his head wound with a cloth. “Now, about rescuing these aliens. Might I be made privy to the specifics of your doubtlessly flawless plan, love?”

  “Skoof,” Meralda said. “Now that the Hub isn’t suppressing technology, can you raise Celestia? With your –” she stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Radio?”

  “I can try.” He extended a long silver aerial. “What shall I say if I make contact?”

  “Tell Mr. Gliff to begin a power on restart. Tell him to begin at once.”

  “Sending,” Skoof said.

  “Meralda,” Donchen said. “The blow to my head must have affected my faculties. We don’t need a spoke any longer, do we? We just need Celestia. If she can fly, we can use a port to get back to the void and then fly all the way home.”

  “I doubt it will be that easy.” She sagged against the bulkhead. “But yes. Let the Mag besiege the spoke entrances. If we can raise Celestia, we can leave, and they can’t stop us.”

  “Agreed.” Donchen spoke briefly with the Captain, who in turn spoke with his crew. “The cannon crews are ready,” reported Donchen. “We have sixty rounds left.”

  “Sixty rounds. I’d hoped for more.”

  “We’ll be exposed to boarding when we open our gun ports,” Donchen added, no hint of humor in his voice. “But you knew that already.”