She shook her head as she looked at the small glass of wine and the scrap of bread he'd ordered as an appetizer. “Looks like a snack to me.” The waiter arrived, carrying several plates heaped high with food. “Now that's what I call a banquet!"
Indeed it was. This small store with the rather curious name of “Camp Seven Trading Post” seemed unaware of Scrornuck's shunning, and was happy to sell them all the food they wanted.
"That little snack is a most important ritual to Mister Saughblade,” Jape said. “You have to keep in mind that he has different religious traditions."
"Well, his traditions are going to mean big trouble when we get back. That little stunt at the Temple..."
"It was just harmless fun,” Scrornuck protested.
"Fun, maybe,” she said. “Harmless, my a—my eye. It was blasphemous and tasteless, and there are people in the city, powerful people, who won't take it sitting down. At the very least, we're looking at a hefty fine, probably a hundred gold pieces.” She took a sip of wine and pointed a finger at Jape. “Remember, our deal says you cover all my expenses—that includes the fines."
Jape shrugged. “Easy come, easy go."
"It could be more than a fine. The Mayor and the officers of the Guards were watching, and the Guards were so pissed they almost let the Mayor fall over. We may end up doing some jail time."
"Jail time?” Scrornuck said indignantly. “Over a stinkin’ stuffed lizard?"
She put down her fork and sighed, the long, deep, exasperated sigh of somebody who's Finally Had Enough. “What the hell is your problem? You don't want to sacrifice your boots? Fine! Rosaiah himself said nobody's going to make you. All you have to do is keep quiet and walk away, but you flip him rude gestures, you call him obscene names, you flash your butt at him in public—what's the matter with you?"
"I'm sick of the bullshit,” he said. “Spafu's no god; he's just a character out of a stupid comic strip! Jape, show her!"
"Oh, no,” Jape said. “My dad taught me to stay out of holy wars."
"Fine, I'll do it.” Scrornuck grabbed the softscroll and stylus from Jape. He was no expert, but had learned enough to scrawl “SPAFU COMIC” in the search box. A moment later, the response showed up. “Aha! Here it is: Spafu the Friendly Dragon. Comic strip, created by artist Justin Jacob Schultz in 2092 C.E. After a successful run as a comic and animated cartoon, Spafu became corporate mascot for the UniFlag Entertainment Group. Late in his life, Schultz sued UniFlag in an attempt to recover the rights to the character, but died before the case could be decided. See? Spafu's just a cartoon! Here's the guy who drew him.” He turned the scroll to face Nalia. It displayed the picture of a rather unassuming man, forty-ish, balding, posing with a half-finished Spafu comic.
She looked at the picture and shrugged. “So what? Lots of artists draw Spafu. They just have to follow the rules and pay their fees to the Temple."
"That's not the same thing...” Scrornuck stopped, wondering how to make his point.
"Ahem,” Jape interrupted. “I'd love to watch you two debate theology all day, but there's a world to be saved.” He pointed to his blood-red ring. “Let's get moving.” He retrieved the softscroll and summoned up the map, overlaid with the weathersat image. “It appears the Orb is slightly south of due west from here.” He stood, and handed Scrornuck a few gold pieces. “Mister Saughblade, please get some provisions. Nalia, let's see what the locals know about trails."
The Trading Post, though small and poorly stocked compared to the stores in Taupeaquaah, had enough to make Scrornuck quite happy as he planned the next few days’ meals. After loading the backpack's food and drink compartments to capacity, he tossed the gold pieces onto the shop's counter and sauntered outside, leaving the astonished shop-keeper a tip that would become the stuff of legend.
He found Jape and Nalia poring over the map and discussing what they'd learned. “There's a trail going west,” Jape said. “It goes at least as far as a good swimming-hole a few miles out, but nobody seems to know what's past that.” He rolled up the scroll and pointed. “This way."
Nalia fidgeted uneasily. “Guy over there told me Spafu put a curse on the trail. Cast members are forbidden beyond the first several miles."
"Bah!” Scrornuck threw the pack over his shoulder and started up the trail at a brisk pace. “The lizard couldn't curse his own butt."
Cursed or not, the trail was in good condition and they made rapid progress, passing through a pleasant forest into open grasslands. There, beneath a small stand of sycamore trees, they set up camp and enjoyed a good dinner. Another shitty day in paradise, Scrornuck thought, as he opened a Batatat's and watched another perfect sunset.
Jape was not as content. “That's strange,” he said, pointing to the flat-topped mountain silhouetted against the red and purple clouds. “My map shows a lake out there."
"Maybe the mountain's further away than you think,” Scrornuck suggested. “The air is mighty clear here."
"Maybe,” Jape said, tapping a few buttons on the softscroll. “Hey, look at that!” he said, suddenly excited. “Talk about clear—we can get a channel tonight! Gather round; I want you to meet the family!” He hurried to get out the spotter-scope. Seeing Nalia's puzzled expression, he quickly explained as he furiously manipulated controls. “Once or twice a year the time streams are quiet enough that I can actually speak with people back home instead of sending messages—hello, Betty!"
The scroll displayed the face of a rather ordinary, middle-aged woman, smiling and a little surprised. “Why, hello, Jim!” she said. Nalia raised her eyebrows—yet another name for Jape?
"Betty, meet Nalia.” Jape turned the scope on her. “She's from Taupeaquaah, and she's working with us."
"Pleased to meet you—Nalia? That's an interesting name."
Nalia waved politely. “Good to meet you, too."
"Are you taking good care of my husband, Scrornuck?” Betty asked.
Scrornuck grinned into the scope. “Always, Mrs. Phelps, always."
"Where's Robert?” Jape asked.
"Orchestra rehearsal. They've got a concert in two weeks."
"I wish I could be there. I'd like to see him play before he graduates."
"Someday, Jim, someday."
The picture began to tear up. “I think we're losing the channel,” Jape said. “I miss you, Betty."
"I miss you too, Jim."
And then the scroll displayed only multicolored snow. Jape sighed as he put the spotter-scope back in its case. “It's not much, but I'll take it.” Scrornuck smiled, knowing the Ranger would spend many future nights replaying and savoring this moment of real conversation with his wife.
As darkness fell, Nalia retired to her tent, leaving Jape and Scrornuck by the fire. They sat in silence for a while, watching it burn down to coals. Then Jape said, “I know I promised to stay out of your love life...” He paused and stirred the fire, as if debating whether to continue. “But let me offer a bit of advice: you're not scoring any points with Nalia when you insult her religion."
"Yeah, I know.” Scrornuck kicked the dirt in frustration. “But Spafuism drives me nuts. It's like something the shopkeepers made up to boost their business. You'd have to be crazy to believe it!"
Jape shrugged. “And you believe in a deity who's everywhere but can't be seen. She might say the same thing about you.” He yawned, and slowly got to his feet. “I'm calling it a night, and I suggest you do the same. We've got a long day ahead of us.” He headed for his tent, and within a few minutes settled down to a steady snoring.
Not yet ready for sleep, Scrornuck began an experiment, planting Ol’ Red's grip in the dirt a few feet away from his plaid and playing soft music on the Setron. He let the instrument guide him until he found just the right notes—and suddenly, there it was: the sword's blade suddenly appeared, and danced in response to the music, dissolving into hundreds of multicolored threads that twisted and flickered like flames.
Hearing the music, Nalia quietly left
her tent and joined him. “Nice campfire you've got there,” she said.
"Pretty, isn't it? I noticed how the Setron's grip feels just like Ol’ Red's, and I wondered if they'd talk to each other."
"Looks like it worked,” she said, watching the sword's swirling, separating, undulating dance. She half-shivered. “Chilly out tonight."
"I'm afraid my little ‘fire’ doesn't throw much heat. Want me to warm up the real one?"
She shook her head. “I'll be going back to bed soon.” She leaned against him and snuggled close.
Deciding this was a better way to keep warm, he set down the Setron and wrapped an arm around her. “So what's on your mind?"
"Not much,” she sighed, “I'm just not ready for sleep yet. What's on your mind?"
"Not much. I'm just thinking about how I'm getting to feel at home here."
"Even though a dozen people have tried to kill you?"
He half-shrugged. “I'd find that anywhere—it goes with the job. This place is so beautiful: the stars, the grass, the trees, this whole world...” He paused, unsure whether to continue. “You,” he concluded, sighing contentedly. A dragon passed through the thin, silvery clouds near the moon and spat a ball of orange flame. For the first time, he found the sight pleasant. The dragons belonged here. “You know,” he said, “I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life here."
She said nothing for a moment. Then she rolled on top of him, resting on his chest and staring into his face so that all he could see was her deep brown eyes. And then she kissed him. Not a polite little peck, not the just-friends smooches they'd been exchanging: this time she delivered a passionate lip-lock, the kind of kiss that belonged in the back seat of a ‘57 Buick, the kind that left him gasping for air but not wanting to come up for a breath. When she finally let him inhale, his heart was racing and all he could say was “Woo-hoo!"
And then, with a long, slow sigh, she rolled off him and looked back up at the stars.
"Something wrong?” he asked nervously.
"Yeah,” she said. “Whatever happens at Alpine Lake, come Saturday your business here is finished, and you and Jape will be leaving. And here I am falling for you...” Her voice was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Do I have great timing, or what?"
Scrornuck, having no idea what to say, wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. He could feel her body quivering. “Maybe things will work out.” The words seemed hopelessly inadequate.
"I don't see how,” she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, I'll miss you so much..."
Scrornuck felt something vibrating gently against his left leg—the grip of the Setron, lying where he'd left it. He reached out with his foot and flipped the instrument into the air, deftly catching its fretboard in his left hand. Keeping his arm around Nalia, he wrapped his right hand around the grip and played a soft, romantic ballad, humming wordlessly along with the tune. He let the instrument suggest the sounds, and it gave him something rather like a kazoo combined with a slightly off-key flute. Nalia seemed to like it, especially in the bridge portion, when the machine guided his fingers so that the sound split into several voices that swirled around her before joining together for the sweet final chorus. As the last notes faded, she was relaxed, comfortable and ready for a good night's sleep. Wordlessly, she got up and headed for her tent. But before she did she gave him one last kiss, a kiss that forced him to spend the next several minutes thinking very hard about cold showers.
* * * *
"No!” Nalia's voice roused Scrornuck from his light slumber. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, and in another heartbeat he was crouched at the door to her tent, sword held at the ready.
"Nalia, I'm here—what's wrong?” He saw no dangerous animals, no bandits, nothing threatening her at all.
The tent flap opened, and in the moonlight he saw tears in her eyes and a look of intense fear fading away on her face. “It's okay,” she gasped, “it's okay.” She struggled to bring her breathing under control. “I just had a nightmare."
He put the sword away and sat cross-legged on the grass. “Want to tell me about it?"
She caught her breath and nodded. “I've had it before. It's always the same: I'm about nine years old, living with my family in a tent a lot like this one. I'm out in the meadow playing with some of my friends when some big silver birds pass overhead. They're making a sort of humming noise, not like anything I've ever heard, and something like smoke is coming out—but instead of floating up into the sky it's falling down around us. It smells sweet, like flowers. And then, a little later, I'm in the middle of our village and suddenly, all at once, people just burst into flames and burn up.” She covered her eyes at the thought. “They fall, and they roll, but their arms and legs start smoking and sizzling and...” Her voice cracked and she buried her face in his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her reassuringly. “It's okay now, you're awake."
She took a deep breath. “It's just so horrible—my parents, my grandparents and uncles, the really small children—when it's over, there's nothing left of them but little piles of ashes."
"And nothing happens to you?"
"Nothing, not to me. But my older brother's burning up like the grownups, and the shrieking from the babies...” she stopped, took a deep breath, wiped her eyes again. “And when it's over, I'm standing there in the village with these piles of smoking ashes around me, all alone—and then I wake up.” She looked up into his eyes. “I've had it so many times, and it's always the same. I'm starting to think it must mean something."
"Maybe it just means I put too much pepper on the steaks."
"Maybe.” She slowly relaxed and yawned. “Anyway, I'm sorry I woke you up."
"That's what I'm here for, to protect you."
"Thanks.” She half-smiled. “I'm not sure what that sword can do to protect me from bad dreams, though."
"Let me show you!” He jumped to his feet and extended Ol’ Red's blade to a preposterous length. Waving it like a madman, he danced around the tent, jumping clean over it a couple times, screaming, “Begone, evil dreams! Away with you, demons of nightmare! Taste the wrath of my sword, things that go bump in the night!” After a minute or so he bowed graciously and knelt before the tent. “Milady, I can assure you that all nightmares in the vicinity have been slain, and you may sleep peacefully."
She smiled, took his hand and held it for a moment. He gave her a polite little goodnight kiss, and within a few minutes she was fast asleep.
Scrornuck, on the other hand, found himself unable to doze off. His mind was filled with questions about the future. What would he do when this mission was finished? Nalia had fallen for him, he'd fallen just as much for her, and he'd like nothing better than to settle down in this lovely world with the first woman who'd ever loved him back. And he could, because Jape had released him from his promise.
The question, he realized, was whether he could release himself.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Fifteen
"If You're Dancing, I'm Asking"
Scrornuck floated in nothingness, a disembodied spirit between the blue world below and the black sky above. He'd slept since the battle over Roswell, the most perfect sleep he'd ever experienced. Now he wondered if he was awake, dreaming, or perhaps dead and on his way to heaven—assuming, of course, that heaven was his destination.
Though the Hitchhiker had disappeared, Scrornuck was not alone. His new companion sported short brown hair and a small goatee beard inside the fishbowl-like glass helmet that topped his puffy blue coveralls. Scrornuck quickly came to think of him as the Blue Man.
An ungainly assemblage of cylinders, spheres, and blue-black panels appeared in the distance and slowly drew closer. Bits of wrinkled gold foil clung to its streaked and flaking white paint, and as it slowly rotated, a faded insignia came into view: a red flag, with five gold stars and a crescent design in one corner.
Scrornuck and the Blue Man drifted toward a small sphere at
one end of the machine. A fat blue finger pressed a button, and a hatch opened slowly. They floated inside, the door closed, and after a minute Scrornuck's companion removed his helmet and sniffed the air cautiously. They explored the interior of the craft, eventually finding a small, brightly lit chamber whose walls were filled with controls and screens covered with unfamiliar symbols.
"Which one of these buttons gets this thing moving?” The Blue Man's voice carried a tone of urgency, and a glance out the window showed Scrornuck why—another craft approached, smaller and sleeker, spitting little puffs of steam from orifices in its sides as it moved into position to dock. The Blue Man was a pirate, trying to commandeer this ship before its owners returned.
Scrornuck focused his attention on the signs and screens, doubting he could do much; his Gift helped him to pick up spoken language quickly, but even so it took hours, not seconds, and he'd had little luck with written languages. To his amazement, he found he understood the complex symbols, each of which represented a complete word or even a phrase, as if he'd been reading them all his life. Which one would get this vessel moving? There it was—that rectangular yellow button. Guided by Scrornuck's thought, the Blue Man pressed the button, and a moment later a dull rumbling surrounded them. The approaching ship veered off, and a singsong voice wailed from a loudspeaker...
"Coffee, coffee, I need coffee!"
Scrornuck opened his eyes and saw Jape fumbling around the entrance to his tent, searching for caffeine. “In a minute, boss!” he called, jumping to his feet to get the coffee brewing. Jape retreated to his tent, muttering.
As the coffee warmed and the sun rose, Scrornuck trimmed his beard—with his sword. Ol’ Red's blade formed a six-inch razor, which he rather casually pressed against his neck, scraping off errant hairs and shaping the beard to create the illusion of a heroic chin.
"Isn't that a bit dangerous?” Nalia asked, watching nervously as he flicked the blade across his Adam's apple.
Saying nothing, he extended the blade a bit further and dragged it across his neck as if trying to slit his own throat. She gasped involuntarily, but the blade never so much as scratched him. “Ol’ Red's my friend,” he said, drumming his fingers along the edge of the blade. The faintly glowing fibers jumped and wiggled to avoid cutting him. “He'd never hurt me.” He looked at her, and then at the fibersword, and then back at her. “I wonder..."
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