“You will have nothing.” With that Kharfon let out a scream and charged.
“Enough.”
The simple command struck Kharfon with the force of a deadfall. His body froze as firmly as if he were suddenly immersed in a glacier. He could only listen as Lyvorese stood before him.
“You’ve performed excellently, my friend,” the magician smiled coldly. “This time you nearly won our little game. But, of course, that can never happen.”
Inside Kharfon memories began to tremble, to slowly awaken and burrow toward his consciousness as he watched the preening mage pour himself a glass of wine.
“I see I have much to do to fortify my defenses,” Lyvorese said almost to himself. “Imagine, you actually managed to reach, and enter, my manor! And if you could do so, so could my real enemies.” He sat and swirled his drink. “You must tell me how you did it.”
Never, Kharfon wanted to say. Instead he found himself describing every detail of his journey, including the scaling of the cliffs and his attack from above. When he finished Lyvorese nodded sadly. “A whurm you say? Pity, they are so difficult to propagate. Yes, your efforts have given me much to ponder. I see I have much work to do.” Then he turned his gaze on Kharfon. “You are starting to remember now, aren’t you?”
If Kharfon could scream, he would. If he could cry, could make any movement at all. Yet the spell was too powerful. He could only tremble from the rage and terror inside him as the memories did return. Memories of his other assaults on the mage’s domain. Assaults that had been fatal to so many, futile and, ultimately, without purpose. Each under the command of the magician before him. Each with the sole purpose of testing the mage’s defenses.
Lyvorese approached him, touched the seeping wound on his forearm, the result of the were-bat attack. “I could heal that, I suppose,” he whispered. “I could perhaps heal her,” he pointed to the still form of Kharfon’s sister on the floor. “But that would serve no purpose. Better my enemies see a man beaten and nearly destroyed by his efforts, then cast aside like a sodden crust of bread. That is what you shall tell them, my friend. That you failed.” Lyvorese stepped back. “My minions will return you now. All that has happened here will be forgotten when you awake. Except, of course, for your failure.” He paused. “You have another sister, I believe. Yes, she will do nicely.” Lyvorese patted Kharfon on the back. “When I am ready, I will call for you.”
BEYOND
THE GANYMEDE INCIDENT
“Sir, everyone is aboard.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ryan.” John Baron, captain of Hunter3, accepted the manifest and scanned it. “Tell Mr. Mitchell we can leave immediately. Assemble our guests in the conference chamber at once.”
The officer saluted and left. Baron juggled the manifest. The supplies, the extra weaponry, the equipment brought by the passengers, everything was loaded. He just hoped it would be enough.
Besides his crew, all military, there were only two other passengers on this mission; Dr. Amos Frunhomme and Dr. Thoran Dru. He had read some of Frunhomme’s theoretical work; it had to be theoretical since he was an exobiologist and as yet no exo-life had been discovered. Although that could change by the time their journey was completed. But Dr. Thoran Dru? “Since when did you become a doctor, old friend?” he said to himself.
He felt a slight shudder, signifying Hunter3 was leaving the dock. Good, we’re five minutes early. He retrieved the packet of what little information they had and headed to the conference room, where he found his officers waiting for him. The man he didn’t recognize had to be Dr. Frunhomme. The scientist towered over Baron as he rose to greet the captain. “I demand to know why I was denied my assistants!”
“Dr. Frunhomme,” he offered his hand. “I am John Baron, captain of this mission.”
The doctor ignored it. Instead he looked down at the encephalic folds, the leathery skin, the thick tongue and the coarse spare hair on his head. My God, this mission is being led by a mongoloid! He bit back an insult, he understood how effective the Stimulator was in negating the mental retardation caused by Down’s Syndrome. He would not challenge the man’s competency because of an extra chromosome. He would find another reason. “You have not answered my question,” he said instead.
“Admiral Sharkey put together this complement. You will have to take your objections up with him. Now,” Baron continued, looking around the room, “I see we are missing someone. Mr. Ryan, where is Dr. Dru?”
“He was still supervising the unloading of his equipment in his stateroom when I left. He said he would be here shortly.”
“Fine.” He took the seat at the head of the table. “While we’re waiting we can go through the introductions. Officer Marinovich,” he pointed to the sole woman at the table, “is our science officer on this mission. She will offer you all the assistance you need, Dr. Frunhomme.”
“My assistants were trained by me,” the doctor said. “I doubt your officer has the training this mission requires. No offense intended, Miss Marinovich.”
Her response was interrupted. “I am sorry I was delayed. Have I missed anything?” Thoran Dru smiled shyly as he entered the crowded room.
Dr. Frunhomme watched coldly as the short, stout and balding man took the open chair across from him. Doesn’t he know that suit is eight years out of fashion? “You are late, doctor.”
Dru tugged at his goatee. “Unavoidable. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Baron broke in before Dr. Frunhomme could retort further. “You’re here now. Let’s get started. Please study the computer screens in front of you.” Baron pressed a button on his own and the computers sprang to life. “This is station Ganymede,” he described the scene on-screen. “It is a research facility in orbit around Neptune. Less than two days ago we received a transmission. They reported they were under attack, then the signal stopped.” He gazed at the assemblage. “We have received no communications since.”
“What about the asteroid colonies? They’re closer, have they heard anything?” Marinovich asked. “Or any vessels in the area?”
“Nothing. There are no vessels in the vicinity. Considering the content of Ganymede’s original and sole message, the Navy decided it would be best not to send an unarmed craft. Other vessels have been warned. We will be the first to investigate.”
“Being attacked. Being attacked by what?” Dr. Frunhomme asked.
“We have no idea at this time,” Baron responded. “Pirates? A mutiny? Or an unknown race? That is why you are here, Dr. Frunhomme.”
“I am well aware of that,” the scientist replied coldly. “But why,” he looked at Dru, “are you?”
Dru played with one of the many rings on his hands. “I am here strictly in an advisory capacity, doctor. I assure you I will not interfere with your work.”
“You already have,” the doctor rejoined, rising. “Thanks to you I had to leave my assistants behind!”
“Admiral Sharkey insisted Dr. Dru accompany us,” Baron interrupted. “I apologize that the living quarters on this ship are limited, but a full complement of military personnel are necessary if we find ourselves in a hostile situation. Again, Dr. Frunhomme, I suggest you take up your concerns with him when we return.”
Dr. Frunhomme sat grudgingly. “What else do we know?” The anger was still in his voice.
“Very little, I’m afraid. First and foremost we are on a rescue mission. Ganymede is a research facility only. Against any armed force it will be defenseless. We will be arriving within three days. Other mission information is already logged into your computers. I suggest you study it. We will reconvene in 12 hours. All other questions and suggestions will be honored at that time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other duties to complete.”
Baron hurried to his stateroom. Because of the importance of this mission, he had foregone his regular sessions with the Stimulator for far too long. The damage Down’s Syndrome inevitably caused would, in an earlier age, have doomed him to an institution or sheltered employment
for life. The Stimulator allowed him to learn and remember. But, like a diabetic, he had to take treatments frequently.
He sat in the special chair and attached the helmet. He would have an excruciating headache later, he knew. While the Stimulator did its magic he read the dossiers. Despite the doctor’s abrasive manner, he remained impressed by Dr. Frunhomme’s qualifications. Doctorates from three different and prestigious universities, head of the exobiology department at Stanford, dozens of theoretical papers and several honoraria. He wondered if the doctor would finally get the opportunity to use his knowledge and training on this voyage. He hoped not.
Then he turned to Thoran Dru’s resumé. He frowned as he read the sparse information. He knew Dru had attended the Space Academy; they had been classmates and, later, crewmates. A short and unspectacular stint in the Navy, an unexpected resignation. And then - nothing. “Why are you here, Thoran? Why did Admiral Sharkey insist you accompany this mission?” And what have you been doing for the past 15 years? Baron closed his eyes and tried to ignore the hum of the machine and the familiar fire inside his head. He had many questions to ask his old friend.
Dr. Frunhomme studied the chessboard as he relaxed in the otherwise empty lounge. It was their second day out and as of yet no other information, no other communications from either Ganymede or headquarters had been received. He could hardly make realistic theoretical conjectures with such sparse data. All he could do was sit and wait, an activity he did not particularly enjoy. Chess, at least, would help him while away the hours. Since he had been forced to abandon his assistants and since he had no confidence or confidants in the crew, solitude was his only recourse.
This particular end-game problem had perplexed him for the past three weeks. He cautiously advanced the white knight, considered, then took back the move.
“Try advancing the queen’s bishop pawn to the sixth rank. It puts it in danger but it also opens the board for an effective counter-attack,” a familiar voice suggested from behind him.
Dr. Frunhomme turned and found Thoran Dru standing behind him. He forced an insincere smile. “Ah, Dr. Dru. So nice to see you again. I take it you play?”
Dru took a seat across from him. “On occasion. Not as much as I would like. I believe if you follow my suggestion you can checkmate in five moves. Sometimes, as in life, one must make sacrifices for the greater good.”
“Well said. One of the great delights of the game. Care for a match?” The scientist began setting up the board. “Tell me, doctor, what is your specialty?”
Dru positioned his own men. “You give me black. I assume you prefer the offensive position.”
“Yes,” he replied, advancing a pawn in a standard opening. “Passivity rarely leads to success. Again I ask, what is your field?”
“Religion, I would guess. History. Some might say mythology,” Dru answered as he responded with a standard defense.
“A minister? A minister on a spaceship? On a mission as important as this? While my assistants had to remain behind?” Anger crept into Dr. Frunhomme’s voice. “Where did you earn your degree?”
Dru smiled. “Mine would be considered honorary, I confess. I doubt any recognized university could bestow a degree such as mine.”
Dr. Frunhomme set his knight solidly on the board, safely threatening the black pawn. “Then I ask again; what are you a doctor of?”
“Alchemy.”
Dr. Frunhomme stared at his opponent. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Dru shook his head while he studied the board. “On the contrary. Alchemy is as much a science as quantum physics or your own field.”
“Eyes of newt and tongue of toad? That’s a science?” And my assistants were left behind because of you! “You try my patience, Mr. Dru.”
Dru advanced his queen’s bishop as assuredly as he responded. “Alchemy functions the same as any science. If you are trying to create a particular distillate, you mix certain chemicals in predetermined amounts, treat them with the proper temperature or pressure and you arrive at the desired result. The same is true of alchemy, even if our ‘ingredients’ might appear a trifle unusual to the uninitiated.”
Dr. Frunhomme snorted. “You sit there and tell me you can change lead to gold?”
“If I had a dragon’s egg, yes. Unfortunately many of the items required for successful alchemy are difficult if not impossible to obtain.” Dru leaned forward. “I understand your skepticism even if I do not appreciate it. But please remember: alchemists were successfully mastering the secrets of the universe while your ancestors were still arguing whether or not the Earth was round.”
“Superstitious claptrap,” the doctor snarled as he captured a pawn. “I had to leave two assistants behind while a self-styled magician is given a berth on this mission. This is ridiculous!”
“Again I say that alchemy is no more magical than any science once you understand the principles,” Dru replied evenly. “I am not a magician. I do not make human sacrifices or covenants with the darker gods. I am sorry you are inconvenienced by the lack of your assistants. But it was absolutely necessary I participate in this mission.”
Dr. Frunhomme fought his anger. “And why is that?”
“Because I know what we are dealing with.”
Dr. Frunhomme snorted again, then advanced a rook. “And how do you know that? Are you also an expert on exobiology? Or did you merely read the entrails of a goat?”
“A lamb is more effective, but no. Actually, it started 15 years ago...”
I was assigned to collection duty. When you’re fresh from the Academy and mired in the middle of your class, you can’t expect high profile postings. And there’s few lower than collecting Cans.
Cans were giant interstellar trash collectors. Somebody got the idea that perhaps among the flotsam and jetsam of space we would discover evidence of other space-faring civilizations. The Cans were little more than giant dumpsters with lids that were triggered when something stumbled into them. The lids shut and a transmitter went off telling us that something, usually a small meteorite or other debris, was inside. Our job was to collect them.
Collection ships weren’t much more complicated. Small living quarters in front, engines in the rear and a lot of empty space between. John Baron and I were the crew. I was on duty when the signal came in. A Can in the vicinity of Io had collected something.
It didn’t take that long to find it, maybe six hours or so. But what we retrieved was something totally beyond my experience. You must understand, Cans were strong. Titanium-reinforced carbon/resin compound almost a foot thick, these things were designed to catch a comet. But when we brought it into the docking bay and checked it out, we found this Can had been virtually torn apart. There was a gaping hole in the side where something had ripped through it from the inside. When we returned, John and I were de-briefed, then taken off collection duty. Our report was buried. The program was canceled three months later. Not long after I left the Service.
“A pleasant story,” Dr. Frunhomme offered. “Obviously an explosion.”
“No. The damage was too localized. The scratches we found on the inside were parallel and very deep. Like claw marks.”
The scientist paused, his bishop still in his hand. “You are claiming that something alive caused the damage? Something that could actually exist in space?”
Dru nodded. “There is one aspect of the incident I didn’t put in my report. I was still on duty after we retrieved the Can. I was monitoring both our instruments and our cameras, hoping I would discover something.
“Unfortunately I did. It came out of nowhere. It just appeared, with no warning from the instruments. It flew right at my ship; giant wings and claws, gaping jaws and fangs. It actually seemed to hover in front of me, it actually seemed to laugh at me. Then it turned and leisurely flew away.” Dru gazed at the scientist. “You can understand why I didn’t say anything.”
Dr. Frunhomme grimaced in disgust. “A hallucination. Otherwise instrument records would h
ave supported you, no matter how fanciful your report.”
“Our instruments are not designed to sense organic material. Not in space. Although I doubt this creature was organic.” Dru moved his queen out of danger. “Frankly, I thought the same as you. Then, about a year later, I was vacationing in Europe. And I saw them again, in Paris, in Germany. Then I knew what we were dealing with. Gargoyles.” Dru paused. “That’s when I decided to leave the Service, to study the alternate sciences.”
“That’s the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard.” Dr. Frunhomme stated firmly and moved his knight. “And you’re in check.”
“I would expect that response. And,” he replied with his bishop,” I expected that move.” Dru stood. “I am here to help, Dr. Frunhomme. Don’t forget that. If you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to make. By the way, you are checkmated in three moves.”
Thoran Dru left the scientist studying the board, vainly searching for an escape.
“You will remove that man from this ship immediately!”
John Baron rubbed the pain from his forehead. That and abrasions on his brow were a regular aftereffect from a session with the Stimulator. “I take it you are referring to Dr. Dru.”
Dr. Frunhomme was livid. “He is no doctor! He is a charlatan, a sham, a fraud. He has no business on this vessel!”
“We are less than a day from Station Ganymede. You know time is critical on this mission.”
“Then throw him in a transport and get him out of here!”
“He is here at the expressed request of Admiral Sharkey.” Baron smiled at the raging scientist. “Again I suggest you render your objections directly to him.”
Dr. Frunhomme leaned across the desk. “You little moron. When I’m done, I’ll have your hide hanging on my wall!”
Baron allowed a slight frown to cross his mongoloidal features. “Technically, my unenhanced intelligence quotient puts me in the ‘idiot’ category. The Stimulator makes that moot, of course.”
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