by C H Duryea
“Right,” Harbinger said. “Back where it came from, stable and mostly inert—even if it’s rare enough to use for currency. But here, it’s unstable, volatile, and apparently reacts to the physics of this new space.”
“Where are you going with this, Chuck?” Zeke asked.
“I just think it’s interesting that with all the material we brought in with us that stopped working, including the ship, that we also have something here that’s exhibiting emergent properties.”
“That could be a useful insight.”
“And it brings me to my next point. Narissa’s gun. We all saw what the mage did with it. He unloaded the power cartridge without batting an eye.”
“Like he’d handled one before,” Narissa noted.
“And did you see how he looked at Zeke?”
“I have a feeling,” Zeke said, “it’s why we’re on currently horseback and not in a cage.”
“And their reaction to Qaant Yke? Sure they thought he was a demon, but to judge from their reactions, dealing with demons is part of their job description.”
Zeke felt a rush as a sudden realization washed through him. “If that’s true—”
Harbinger nodded. “—then these people have already had some kind of contact with a technological continuum.”
“Meaning,” Zeke concluded, “we’re not the first interdimensional travelers to come here.”
Fifteen
After a few hours’ ride, they arrived at the Inverkethi soldiers’ camp. They were shown to a private tent and given food and water and a chance to rest in what seemed, in a relative sense, like some semblance of safety. At first, Qaant Yke, far too tall to stand comfortably inside the text, stationed himself outside the flap. But after a series of misunderstandings with the locals, it was decided that he should come in. He squatted in the corner and meditated with the same small, shell figures he had on the ship.
After a while, Scar came in, looking freshly chastened, and told them that the prince was out on a scouting mission, and they would have several hours to rest in the meantime. They enjoyed the food, the first outside the autoslop in some time—slabs of fresh bread, meat, cheese, something that looked like grapes, and a spreadable substance that resembled peanut butter. They welcomed the chance for a breather, but they didn’t leave their guard completely down. They decided to get in some nap time, but they did so in shifts.
Augie stretched out on the tent’s earthen floor, and Vibeke conked out leaning against Zeke’s shoulder while he reclined on one the support poles. She drooled slightly on the sleeve of his shirt, but Zeke was too keyed up to let himself sleep.
Narissa and Harbinger had been sitting across from each other and drawing rough diagrams in the dirt, seemingly trying to work out the physics involved with tying gravity to magic—and what the implications might be for fixing the ship. Zeke knew he should get in on the conversation, but Vibeke looked too comfortable, her cheek smushed against his shoulder, so he didn’t feel like moving.
Eventually, Narissa and Harbinger reached a stopping point in their deliberations. While Harbinger turned and started to examine the now inexplicably potent moolite tiles, Narissa crossed over to Zeke and sat down.
“You want to set her down?” she asked quietly.
Zeke waved it off. “She’s fine. What did you two come up with?”
“Not much. Without knowing exactly what principle the magic of this place is based on, and without some direct measurements, a full analysis is impossible.”
“But gravity is still a possible variable?”
“Definitely,” she said. “But we might have to get close to a black hole to prove it.”
“Let’s not do that today,” Zeke said.
“Hey, guys,” Harbinger said, holding up a stack of the inert tiles. “Don’t you think we should all carry a few of these with us? They might come in handy.”
“Narissa,” Zeke asked, “do you know exactly how you triggered the tiles?”
“I don’t even remember it.”
“Then no. Until we know what sets them off and what their applications are, I say we keep them under wraps.”
Harbinger replaced the tiles in the pack and crossed over to the food tray. He picked up a chunk of bread and began covering it with the brown spread. He looked over at Qaant Yke, who had taken out a small collection of additional shells and meticulously joined one with the next, assembling more of his little figures.
“Just what is it that you’re doing with those?” Harbinger asked.
“It is the spiritual practice of my kind,” Qaant Yke replied.
“What is the name of your people anyway?” Narissa asked.
Qaant Yke answered with a sound that had no human equivalent.
“Let me guess,” Zeke said. “You lack the appropriate translation.”
“So you worship these objects?” Harbinger asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“No,” the alien said. “They worship me.”
“Come again?”
“To make something is to become its master—its god. I make things that look like me.”
“So by that logic, I’m the god of this sandwich I just made.”
Qaant Yke looked up at him. “A vengeful god.”
“Does this philosophy apply to every act of creation?” Narissa asked.
“Yeah,” Harbinger said. “Like Zeke, here, and his drive?”
“Or children for that matter?” Narissa added.
“It is one thing to create a machine,” Qaant Yke answered. “It is altogether another thing to create—” and then he repeated the unpronounceable word for his race.
The tent flap jerked open, and Scar came back in.
“The prince has returned,” he said. “He wishes to see you.”
They woke up Vibeke and Augie and followed Scar across the camp. Zeke walked next to their escort.
“So what do they call you around here?” Zeke asked him.
“Sergeant.”
“Sergeant what?”
“Scar.”
“Of course.”
Harbinger moved up next to Zeke.
“Not a lot of soldiers,” he said. “Less than a hundred, it looks like.”
“Suggesting what?”
“This isn’t a fighting unit.”
“I didn’t take you for an expert in ancient military practices.”
“You pick up a lot in RPGs.”
“All right, I’ll bite. What do you make of it?”
“More of a recon outfit,” Harbinger said. “And if they’ve got a member of their royalty leading—then it’s a mission of some importance.”
They approached the prince’s tent. At a nod from Scar, the guards to either side of the entrance pulled the flaps aside, and Scar gestured for them to go inside.
They went in and saw a small group of men circled around a table on the inside wall of the tent. One of them was the mage. The robed old man kept looking askance at Zeke, but then he turned back to the table. They were conferring quietly and pointing at what looked like a map on the table. On a shelf behind them, a strange model—something between an astrolabe and a particle collision map—struck Zeke as oddly familiar. When he glanced at the others, he also noticed Narissa looking at it with her eyes narrowed.
The man at the head of the table was dressed in dark, but ornate armor, with a black cloak thrown back over his shoulders. A sword with a jeweled hilt hung from his belt. He was young, younger than Zeke, and his dark features suggested they had seen and endured more than his year’s allotment of hardship. He looked to the other men and nodded. They bowed to their superior and left. The mage remained behind for another moment, exchanging a tense but quiet exchange with the man in the dark cloak.
Zeke and the others lined up before him and a tense wordless moment passed.
“I am Prince Feldspar,” the man said, coming around the table. “Guardian of the Western Territories, and Commander of the Vigil of the Gate. I must apologize for the way in
which you were welcomed to my land. We are a beleaguered people, and your aspect surely invoked fear in my men.”
“They were only doing that for which they were trained, Your Highness,” Harbinger jumped in. “No offense by your people has been taken.”
Zeke and Augie exchanged a furtive glance. Your Highness? they mouthed to each other.
The prince nodded and turned to Narissa.
“My men tell me,” he said, “that you summoned a forbidding spell strong enough to repel even my mage.”
“Your men assaulted my husband,” she retorted. “Try it again at your peril.”
The prince’s gaze darkened for a moment, then he broke into a wide grin and laughed.
“I shall consider myself duly cautioned. And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“I’m Narissa Brand,” she said.
Feldspar bowed. “I greet you, Lady Narissa of the Kingdom of Brand.”
Narissa put her hand on Augie’s arm. “This,” she said, with a half-questioning tone, “is—Lord Agosto, of Diaz.”
Harbinger bowed with a flourish. “I am Lord Rattus, Bringer of Omens.”
What the hell? Zeke thought.
“I am Lady Hell Storm,” Vibeke said with a sharp smirk. Then she looked at Zeke and raised her eyebrows as if to say, your turn, mister.
He thought for a moment as everyone present waited.
“Call me Hezekiah,” he said, and he could at first feel a wave of disappointment from the others, “the Traverser.”
At that, the others grinned.
“Please,” the prince said. “Be my guests. Have some wine, and be comfortable.”
Two attendants came in and filled a line of goblets with red wine and offered one to each.
“Lord Rattus,” Zeke said to Harbinger quietly. “What the hell is that?”
Harbinger shrugged. “It’s my character name.”
“Anyone ever call you Rat?”
“Bringer of Omens?” Vibeke asked, coming between them. “Have a care, Doctor Harbinger. Your punmanship is showing.”
“And you, Lady Hell Storm,” Zeke said. “You could have been less literal.”
“Go traverse yourself into the lake.”
Feldspar and his inner circle hosted Zeke and the others for a rustic dinner of something meaty and local, and vegetables that looked more or less like things Zeke had tasted before, all washed down with generous doses of wine.
After dinner, everyone relaxed, and the prince became talkative. He explained that Inverketh was at war.
“It is why my men reacted so harshly to you,” he said. “We have been scouting the frontiers of our lands for signs of our enemies.”
“Who are they?” Zeke asked.
“They are the vilest creatures,” Feldspar spat. “Demonic. Entirely evil. They strike out at us through the Gate. While your carapaced companion startled my men, we were soon convinced that you were not in league with our enemy.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Even though he was drunk, Feldspar seemed to consider his response before he spoke.
“You may not believe me if I told you.”
“I think you’d be surprised at how much we would believe.”
“Just the same—we return to the city tomorrow. I will allow my aunt to explain.”
“Which enemy race did I assign—” Harbinger began, then stopped himself. “Tell us about this enemy of yours.”
“They strike from beyond the Gate with weapons the likes our forces have never seen.”
“Your sergeant mentioned a gate,” Zeke said.
“The Wandering Gate,” Feldspar said. “It is a doorway to every kind of hell. If you live long enough you will see it spit out more horrors than a madman could comprehend. Creatures of smoke and fire. Light and darkness. Beasts made of substances that should never harbor life.”
“Where do they come from?” Zeke asked. “Where is this Gate?”
“I wish I could point to it and have you behold it. But it is only visible when our enemy is on the attack, and it never opens in the same place twice.”
“What is it exactly?” Vibeke asked, sipping on her wine goblet.
“A vast portal,” the prince said, “that rips open a hole in the sky, then closes up once it has disgorged the invaders.”
“Have you ever brought the fight to them?” Harbinger asked. “Through the Gate?”
“I would that we could. The Gate serves naught but its masters on the other side. Our best mages have been unable to solve its mysteries. No, we can only wait for them to strike. I command the Vigil of the Gate—the force that stands ready to greet them in battle. But we are stretched too thin. Our legions must relentlessly patrol these territories, in the chance that one of our mages will detect an opening with sufficient warning for our forces to meet it.”
“You get no warning?”
“There is a telltale sign—a blue fire that sizzles like meat on a spit blossoms in mid-air. When it happens, we have minutes at best to prepare a defense.”
“And your mages,” Harbinger asked. “How involved are they in your defenses?”
“It is only because of our mages that we are able to hold them back from our largest populations.”
“Prince Feldspar,” Narissa asked, pointing back to the shelves beyond the table. “What is that model intended to represent?”
“Some have caught glimpses of it through the Gate,” the prince explained, standing and crossing to the table. He started flipping through the layers of maps and diagrams. “We have been working to create a map of the terrain on the other side, and our mages have been working to make sense of the twisted sights and landscapes within.”
Zeke approached the table and the others followed, gathering around. Feldspar pulled a large sheet out and smoothed it out on top of the pile. Within a frame of shimmering energy that must have been the Gate, the illustration showed a nightmarish landscape. Zeke suspected by the features that it was the surface of an asteroid or some small planetoid. But the shimmer and the twisted horizon was only one reference point for what loomed beyond.
The drawing showed a great swirl in the sky above the horizon, bursts of energy like lightning flashing from within. Feldspar stabbed the tip of his finger at the center of the swirl.
“Our mages seek to uncover the nature of this monstrosity,” he said. “This terrible, many-faced sun turns like some dark and hungry god over the dark horizon beyond the Gate. We suspect it is the source of the invaders’ power.”
Zeke noticed that the drawing was superimposed by intersecting parabolic arcs and vector lines etched over the phenomenon. Narissa was ahead of him. She leaned into the drawing, her fingers tracing the parabolae and vectors.
“We have been striving to uncover its physics,” an undermage explained, joining them at the table. “We have yet to succeed in rendering a viable model for us to study.”
Narissa held up her hand. “Give me a pencil,” she said, “or whatever you use to write with around here.”
She took what they offered and put her own marks on the chart, adding new lines and arcs, changing some of the existing diagramming, eliminating some completely in place of her own. She filled out the whole drawing with additional flourishes of what Zeke recognized as Narissa’s extremely specialized multispatial physics iconography.
“By the Defender,” the undermage breathed, his face a mixture of wonder and terror. “That is it.”
The prince looked hard at Narissa.
“You know this beast?” he said.
Narissa tossed the stylus to the table. “You could say that.” She didn’t sound happy about it.
The undermage exchanged a glance with the prince. Feldspar said nothing, but turned and looked hard at Zeke and the others.
Zeke also recognized the schematic Narissa had mapped out, and he didn’t like it either. But something else in the diagram caught his eye. He leaned in.
It was a small detail, and he’d almo
st missed it. In the sky over the alien landscape was another smaller shape in the distance. It was dark, and rectangular, with an exhaust contrail following it as it moved over the otherworldly surface. And it had a distinctly broad squarish snout.
Zeke felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Your Highness, what do these invaders look like?” he asked.
Feldspar riffled through the charts again.
“They have the aspect of an ancient iron deposit,” he said as he searched. “Coated with a sandpaper of rust, with bestial bodies stronger than our sharpest blades. Here.”
He pulled out another illustration—this one showing a distressingly familiar saurian phenotype.
“The Tozzk,” Zeke said.
Sixteen
“It has to be the Tozzk,” Harbinger said as they walked back to their tents. Qaant Yke followed carrying a torch to light the way. “Rusty. Nasty. Square-fronted ships.”
“Nobody’s arguing that,” Zeke said. “But why the hell are they here? Are they one of your RPG races?”
“They’re not. Which means they’re punching space just like we are.”
Zeke turned to Narissa. “Do you concur?”
“The math,” she answered, “points to just one solution. Think about it. The odds of their existence in our Earth-Zero universe would have been long until they actually showed up. Once they did, the smart money suggested they belonged to our space. When they showed up at the nebula station after our first jump I thought they were just an analogue. It’s a stretch that they would have such an analogue in the one parallel universe out of an infinity we happen to blind jump into. A stretch—but still possible.”
“But they knew who we were,” Zeke countered. “Unless we had analogues running around over there who had ticked them off too.”
“Right,” Vibeke said. “Figure the odds of that happening.”
“But either way,” Narissa continued, “the odds of them showing up in the same two universes in a row as we do—while exponentially unlikely—I at least have enough decimal places in my head to imagine it.”