Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  The rest of the bay was similarly foreign. Beyond the two wains, there was a wide bay, twice the height of a man, that combined the pristine sterility of a bouleuterion and the shabby nature of any common workshop. The lights overhead bathed the room in an unearthly glow, as stark as lightning but as steady as sunshine. They revealed every crack and crevice in the room, without any glare. Tools and workbenches lay on either side of the bay, and the doors between them opened at Forseti’s silent command as he approached.

  “It appears that the main geothermal power supply is still intact,” Forseti said, hopefully, as he rolled ahead. “If this facility conforms to colonial doctrine, the control room should be directly ahead and on the right. Facilities management control will be on the left. Personnel quarters will be straight ahead and either on the left or above, depending on the structural layout of the installation. Laboratories and medical facilities will be beyond that.”

  “It looks remarkably clean, for someplace that hasn’t been visited in a few centuries,” Nattia said, sniffing the stale air.

  “If regular colonial protocols are still in place, then the ventilation system should activate shortly,” Forseti called, from far ahead. “In dormant mode, the atmosphere was pumped full of nitrogen. It is unlikely that any vermin were able to maintain their life cycles in the face of a pneumatic seal and lack of water. There should be no challenge to our entry.”

  “Of course, what could possibly go wrong?” asked Gareth, sarcastically, as he pushed his way forward with resigned caution.

  “This is the outer vehicle bay,” Lilastien supplied, as she walked between the vehicles with a fond smile on her face. “This is the workshop, the stables and smithy, so to speak. The real work would have been done further in.”

  “What kind of work?” asked Nattia, looking at the vehicles suspiciously.

  “Monitoring the volcanic activity,” Lilastien supplied. “And the biological systems of the region. A facility like this would have had many remote monitoring stations. Of course, that would depend on the intelligence running the facility. Non-human,” she reminded me. “Probably a Level Three or Level Four Constructed Intelligence was in charge – it might still be active. That was the established protocol. I had to sit through countless advisory meetings about that sort of thing, back when I was an administrator. They were interesting, if insanely boring at the same time. Your people have a gift for that sort of thing.”

  “It’s gratifying to know we had a complex culture, once,” I said, dryly.

  “Bureaucracy is an art,” Lilastien decided. “Not a great art, but there is art involved. I sometimes wonder if periodic staff meetings weren’t your greatest contribution to Callidore’s global culture. Not all culture is positive,” she reminded me, quickly.

  “I am aware,” I said, again dryly. “I’ve been a ‘regional colonial administrator’ for some time, now, apparently.”

  “Don’t dismiss that determination,” Lilastien said, as we followed Gareth and Nattia beyond the bay. “That’s actually an important designation. The intelligences that ordered the colony were very particular when it came to such distinctions. That sort of thing had power, back on Perwyn.”

  I could tell that there was a long and complicated story, there. I didn’t really want to hear about it, while I was busy gawking at the wonders of my ancestors.

  There wasn’t anything particularly impressive about Unger Station as we trod the floors that had been bereft of human attention since before the Narasi horde had overcome the Magocracy. The nondescript gray floor and the indirect lighting did little to visually impress us with the might and majesty of the colonial period. This was not a ceremonial center, I could tell. This was a place for work, and it had a certain plain dinginess that seemed by design.

  That said, there was no mistaking the engineering effort and technical mastery involved in creating Unger Station. I knew what kind of challenges were involved in subterranean construction, as the Karshak had explained when they began turning a mountain into a fortress back in Sevendor. But instead of celebrating them with impressive decorations, the Ancients had wisely, if uninterestedly focused on utility.

  The first few rooms we came to after the workshop proved to be simple storerooms, after we manually opened the ancient metal doors. The shelves were packed with tekka, as well as vessels and parcels from centuries ago, with only a thin layer of dust covering them. Lights came on automatically, as we ventured further inside, just like magelights did when you triggered them. I looked forward to what useful ancient loot might be lurking in those rooms. Just beyond the storerooms was a privy, and then another big sturdy steel door.

  “This blast door is designed to protect the habitable interior in case the outer door was compromised,” Forseti explained.

  “They feared attack?” Gareth asked, surprise.

  “They feared an eruption,” the machine explained. “Having pressurized sections nested behind each other provided a degree of protection against a potential eruption. Security concerns were implicit to the design.”

  Forseti paused for just a moment, and then that door, too, slid open. All the way, this time.

  To the right was a chamber that contained the console the machine had been seeking. It appeared as a solid wall of tekka, much of it darkened. A few small lights glowed on its face, and there were many odd appliances or textures or . . . all right, I’ll be honest. At the time I had no idea what I was looking at. It could have been ornamentation in a questionable style, for all I knew. But there was a sign in Old High Perwyneese announcing the chamber to be the Primary Control Center, while the door to the left was labelled Facility Control Systems.

  “The control center seems to be intact and functioning,” Forseti reported, as his extended eyes surveyed the wall. “Power reserve access and control are where I expected them to be. There is no response from the facility’s host intelligence, however. They may have taken it when the station was abandoned. Gareth, do you see that socket midway up the wall? The circular one next to the small screen? That is the central interface module. If you remove my command module from this chassis and place the round port on my ventral side exactly into it, I can interface with the installation’s systems and perhaps initiate the local command and control program. A station of this complexity would have had a Level Three or even Level Four Constructed Intelligence installed. It has likely gone dormant, in the intervening centuries.”

  “Is he speaking Narasi? Or Perwyneese?” asked Travid, shaking his head skeptically.

  “The Language of the Ancients,” Gareth said, as he traced the socket with his finger. “You would call it Old High Perwyneese, but it’s mostly technical language. Like thaumaturgy, only with tekka.”

  Gareth evidently knew what Forseti was talking about – I had a vague idea, having played around with some of my tekka collection from time to time – and pulled the little black spheroid device that housed Forseti’s consciousness from the back of the machine. The little carriage instantly lost its mobility and all but a few signs of functionality without Forseti riding it.

  “Yes, it’s that one, Gareth,” Lilastien advised, as the wizard fitted Forseti into the wall. “Push it until it clicks . . . yes, that’s it!” she said, pleased, as the wall began to light up in patches and squares. Indeed, it seemed as bright and active as a spell viewed with magesight. “Can you hear me, Forseti?” she asked.

  There was an anxious pause while we waited for Forseti to do whatever it was that he was doing.

  “I can, Dr. Lilastien,” Forseti’s voice said, coming from somewhere on the wall. It had a deeper timbre, now, and was much louder. “I am initiating activation of the installation. It appears that there has been substantial damage of an unknown nature to the local Constructed Intelligence that controlled the installation. I’m afraid it will take a while to perform a forensic analysis and discover the cause. There are two Level One and one Level Two intelligences intact, and they run the data collection, facilities ser
vices, and data analysis functions of the station, but the Level Four that was installed here is ruined beyond restoration.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Gareth asked, curious.

  “A bad thing,” Forseti answered, without pause. “It will make accessing the subsidiary systems much more difficult, as I will have to construct new command pathways. The geophysical data from the system is intact, but without an analysis unit it will take time to interpret it. The satellite antenna appears to be intact, but the control system is absent. I will have to re-write it. Historical data likewise appears intact. The last system update was in Colonial Year 89.”

  “So . . . what does all that mean?” I asked, to spare anyone else from doing so.

  “I will need several days to establish full control of the station, and several more days to accurately analyze the data archived here. But it appears within my capabilities, as long as I can update my skillset from the library.”

  “You just want us to . . . leave you here?” I asked, skeptically.

  “Do not worry, Count Minalan,” Forseti said, “I am now in control of basic facilities, including fire suppression and security. I can detect your return and keep the exterior door locked until you do so. The power systems here are pristine. I will be fully charged by the time you return and will be able to access far more of my capabilities as a result.”

  “Believe me, nothing can get through that door,” assured Travid. “It’s been tried for years. Centuries,” he corrected.

  “I will be safe,” assured the machine. “Dr. Lilastien, it might interest you to know that there is a fully stocked medical bay just after the residential quarters. Much of that equipment will likely function, although I caution against using the stored medications. It is unlikely that any of them are still efficacious after so much time has passed.”

  “A medbay?” she asked, eagerly. “With proper equipment?”

  “It is classified as an aid station, designed to provide first aid and simple medical procedures due to the remote nature of this location. Count Minalan, you may be interested to know that there is a security locker just before the mess hall. There is an incomplete inventory of weaponry stored there, but the original complement of arms was impressive for a facility this size. Likely due to the dangerous fauna found here.”

  “What kind of weapons?” I asked, curious. Very curious. Twilight is an excellent mageblade, but in the realm of the jevolar it was just a really elegant sword. I was missing magic desperately. Especially if there were a company of gurvani hunting me.

  “Two civilian model Raytheon-Seimans high-powered plasma rifles, four Wagner-Douglass Defense plasma pistols, six conventional ten-millimeter pistols, two thirty-caliber hunting rifles, a shoulder-fired precision guided anti-aircraft rocket, and a variety of hunting knives are listed in inventory. The energy weapons have been in charge mode and are ready to be deployed. The firearms should have a thousand rounds of ammunition each, according to the manifest. There are additional arms and ammunition in the vehicles in the transportation bay,” he informed me.

  “I understood ‘hunting knives’,” I chuckled.

  “Don’t worry Min, I’ll show you,” Lilastien assured me. “What about radios, Forseti?”

  “Check the forward storerooms,” the machine suggested. “A complete inventory is unavailable, but if they were included in the original supply of the facility, that is where they will be stored.”

  “I’ll be glad to paw through it,” she grinned. “You have no idea what a treasure we have found here, Minalan! The fact that this place is in as good of shape as it is a miracle.”

  “So this is everything you were looking for, Forseti?” I asked.

  “This is a very good start, Count Minalan,” he agreed. “Within a week I shall know more, I hope, if I can re-establish communication with the Calsat network. But I will at least be able to reconstruct the final days of the advance colony in better detail from the information stored here. That should significantly advance our effort to locate the New Horizon.”

  “The weapons and medical supplies will be a great help here, too,” Lilastien offered. “They might make up for the lack of magic, a bit. I don’t know a lot about your weaponry, but I did see a few demonstrations. I even tried out a few, back on Perwyn. Your people had a special talent for the cunning variety of their weapons,” she praised. “If the tales of your homeworld are true, you had a warlike history.”

  “We still do,” I shrugged. “But anything that makes me feel less like a helpless child would be welcome. I’m not so good a swordsman that I like depending on my skill to save my life. I’m a wizard. We prefer to cheat.”

  “If it is helpful, the case of each energy weapon should display a tutorial video for their proper care, storage, and use,” Forseti informed us. “Additionally, the mess hall complex contains a basic information terminal and two workstations that should explain any questions you have. I will upload a translation matrix from Colonial Standard to Narasi and begin conversion for your use,” The machine said, helpfully.

  “Are there any additional education archives in the installation?” Lilastien asked, with great interest.

  “This was a Level Four scientific facility,” Forseti answered. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a note of pride in his artificial voice. “As such, there is an extensive body of scientific literature available for review in addition to the standard general-purpose archives. Most pertain to geophysics, vulcanology and chemistry, but the archive also contains substantial basic science information current as to the date of the last update.”

  “Why is that important?” asked Nattia, who just seemed confused by the entire conversation.

  “It’s just an entire post-doctoral education crammed into a cave,” shrugged Lilastien. “The accumulated knowledge of your ancestors. Enough to change the world. So much of what you lost when Perwyn sank will be there,” she said, with a sigh. “It’s as if you just opened the door to the largest library in the world.”

  “Books?” Nattia asked, skeptically.

  “Far more than books. Knowledge,” she said, touching a panel and displaying long lines of text. “Lectures. Technical tables and specifications. Diagrams.”

  “Knowledge has a price,” I reminded her. That had been a perpetual source of discussion on the way here.

  “Your ancestors paid it already,” Lilastien answered. “So much of what the Alka Alon Council persuaded you to abandon can likely be rediscovered here. This,” she said, pointing dramatically to the screen, “this is what was so important about this expedition, Min! This is worthy of your quest.

  “All of the scraps that have survived over the centuries in your monasteries and physical libraries? There are ten thousand times more books in this place than in all the Five Duchies! Books? There are videos, recordings, illustrations, simulations, interactive educational materials, things that . . . oh, dear gods, Min, if you only knew what had been taken from your people, you would be furious,” she said, sadly. “Perhaps this place will give you back a tithe of it. A tithe that could change the world.”

  “You will also be happy to know, Lilastien, that due to the remote nature of the installation and the necessity for diversion for mental health reasons, there are ninety terabytes of Terran music available in the archive. Including a comprehensive collection of the Big Band music era, and the complete works of Frank Sinatra, Glenn Miller, Ella Fitzgerald, Woody Herman, Louis Prima, Louis Armstrong, the Andrews Sisters, Julie London, and Bing Crosby. As well as Elvis Presly,” he added with especial emphasis.

  “Be still my beating heart!” Lilastien laughed. “There’s Elvis?”

  “Every song, every movie, and an extensive collection of biographies,” Forseti bragged.

  “Who is . . . Elvis?” I demanded.

  She gave me a sly look. “Elvis Aaron Presley. One of the most important cultural forces your race ever produced. Oh, I’ll show you Elvis, Minalan,” she promised.
“Elvis is the king. I’ll show you. And you’ll never be the same again.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Malartu, Master of Midmarket

  It is unsurprising that commerce, in some form or fashion, sprung up even in this remote locale. A man trades what he has for what he needs, as a universal truth. What is surprising is how sophisticated it is, in Midmarket, without having a sovereign authority regulating its conduct, or attempting to tax it overmuch. Fairness is the order of the day, enforced by long acquaintance and the regularity of trade. Credit established on one market day is, by tradition, settled at the next, with few exceptions. It is a fascinating departure for how such things are done in the rest of the Wilderlands . . . or anywhere, for that matter.

  from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Alya of Spellgarden

  It was fascinating, exploring the world of my ancestors at Unger Station – the Cave of the Ancients. It gave me new appreciation for the technical ability and ingenuity of my ancestors, a sense of pride in their great accomplishments – without magic.

  That afternoon Lilastien gave me a tour of the facility, in a way, by wandering around the place and recalling elements of the early colony that each new room inspired. It was the medical bay that caused her the most joy, of course – it was designed to handle emergency medicine in a remote location, and as such was stocked with . . . well, I wasn’t really sure what everything did, but Lilastien was ecstatic.

  “They have everything here but a heart-lung bypass,” she said, as she surveyed the shelves of the infirmary and began pulling boxes and contraptions off the shelf. “Internal imaging machines, monitors, ventilators, a surgery suite, a bloodwork lab module, a toxicology lab module – oh! Even a labor-and-delivery suite!” she said, beaming at some memory. “That’s a handy one to have. But I suppose they didn’t want to take chances, this far back in the bush. Let’s see, when this place was built, the nearest hospital was in . . . Merwyn? Yes, that’s right,” she said to herself. “That’s almost three hours away, by air . . .”