The Wizardry Cursed w-3

by Rick Cook

  Karin shivered. "I do not think I would like to see war in your world."

  "Neither would we," Gilligan told her.

  "But," Karin said thoughtfully, "with such weapons you would be powerful allies against our enemies."

  "Maybe. I don’t make policy, but I’m sure willing to carry the word back to the people who do."

  "We must get you back to your World, then."

  "You mean you can get me home?"

  "The Mighty at the Capital certainly can. The Sparrow knows how."

  "But first we’ve got to get to your Capital. Are they going to come looking for you?"

  Karin shrugged. "Probably. But they dare not search too long or too hard. Magical methods work poorly here and we are too close to our enemies’ hold to risk many riders and dragons."

  "So they aren’t likely to find us."

  "No, but I do not think that will matter. Once Stigi’s wing is healed, he will be able to carry us back to my people."

  Gilligan looked over at the snoring dragon. "You mean that thing can really get us out of here?"

  "In easy stages, of course. Stigi can carry two for a ways and there are many reefs and islands where we can rest."

  "That’s something to look forward to, anyway."

  "Meanwhile," Karin said, getting up. "It is late and morning comes early. Let us to bed."

  Mick Gilligan fell asleep that night and dreamed about flying and girls with blonde hair and freckles.

  Twenty-eight: IMAGE ENHANCEMENT

  Quite a collection of brass, Willie Sherman thought to herself. It wasn’t the biggest group she’d ever worked with and it wasn’t the highest ranking, but it was still two generals, a gaggle of colonels of both types and a brother who was obviously some kind of high-up spook. Pretty impressive.

  Not that Master Sergeant Wiletta Sherman was impressed. After being in for eighteen years there wasn’t a lot left that could impress her.

  Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been at Edwards AFB in the California desert helping to test a new filmless imaging system. She had been ordered to Alaska so quickly she’d just had time to throw a winter uniform into a suitcase and grab a few toiletries.

  Unfortunately whoever was responsible for this building had never heard of the DOD energy conservation guidelines. It had to be eighty-five degrees and she was already sweating in her heavy blue wool uniform.

  If it weren’t for all the brass she would have taken her jacket off. But no one else had, so she just sweated.

  "Everybody here?" asked the ranking two-star. "Okay, pull it up and let’s see what we got."

  Willie hit a couple of keys to call up the file on the screen. Before she got here someone had already gone through the tape, picked out the best images and digitized them. So all she had to do was the processing.

  The workstation she was using wasn’t much bigger than a personal computer tied to a compact refrigerator, but it had cost the government nearly a million dollars. She didn’t know how many millions had gone into the software, but it obviously hadn’t been cheap. For Willie, who had started her career analyzing photographs of North Vietnam with a binocular microscope, it was a lot more impressive than her audience.

  After a couple of seconds the image flashed on the screen. Willie looked at it and her eyes went wide. Some asshole was playing tricks, in front of the goddamn generals, no less!

  The picture was obviously taken at long range but it was clear enough. Against a background of fleecy gray clouds a dragon sailed along with its wings extended. There was a rider on its back just forward of the wings.

  Beautiful job, though. There was no sign of a matte line or the kinds of shadow inconsistencies that usually trip up faked photographs-not that that was going to save the poor bastard who was responsible.

  Willie braced for the inevitable explosion. It didn’t come. All the generals and colonels were staring at the picture as if it made sense. Some of them looked sideways at each other, as if they wanted to say something, but none of them opened their mouths.

  "Hmm, ah yes," the major general said. "You’re sure this is, ah, correct?"

  "I unloaded the tape and digitized the image myself," said the colonel in charge of the base’s imaging section.

  "And this is the best image that was on the tape?"

  "Ah, yes sir," said the colonel. "None of them are any better and they all, um, show the same thing."

  The major general looked over at the black man in the flight suit with no insignia and the brother looked back at the general. Not a muscle in either man’s face moved.

  "Well then," the general said briskly. "We’ll have to use this one." He peered at the screen again. "Although it is a little out of focus."

  It’s a dragon, you fucking moron! Willie Sherman thought. But in the Air Force there are times when you protest and there are times when you keep your mouth shut. In her climb to master sergeant she had learned which was which and this was definitely a time to shut up and soldier.

  "Let’s check it against known aircraft first," the head of the image processing section said.

  Try checking it against Saturday morning cartoons, Willie thought. But she entered the command anyway.

  Quickly the machine ran through the profiles of Soviet and NATO aircraft.

  "No match, sir," Willie reported without taking her eyes off the screen. Even smiling would be bad form and she wasn’t sure she could keep a straight face if she met someone’s eyes.

  The major general nodded. "A new type then."

  "That’s what we suspected all along," the man with no insignia said.

  "Let’s see if we can get some more detail," the imaging colonel said. "Try stretching the contrast."

  Without comment Willie used the mouse to indicate the new contrast range. Instantly the dragon and rider seemed to fuzz and smooth out as every shade of color broke down into sixteen closely related shades.

  "Look there along the trailing edge of the wing," said one of the other colonels. "That’s obviously some different kind of material."

  "Radar absorbing," said the spook. "If you look at the way the trailing edge is scalloped you’ll see that it has some resemblance to the trailing edge of the B-2."

  "Might also be radiators to dump infra red," one of the other colonels said.

  The brigadier general rubbed his chin. "Plausible. Okay, assume they’re radiators. They’d be flat black, wouldn’t they?"

  The imaging colonel nodded. "That gives us a color reference. Make them flat black."

  I can’t believe you people are taking this seriously! Willie thought. But what she said was, "Yes, sir."

  Making the rear of the wings flat black changed the colors on the rest of the image, muting them and fuzzing the details even further.

  "Okay," the two-star general said. "Now, where are the tail surfaces?"

  "If you look closely at the tail boom you’ll see it’s somewhat flattened," the imaging colonel told him. "The entire thing is apparently an empennage."

  "Enhance that, will you?" the brigadier asked. "Let’s see if we can bring out the detail along the boom."

  "Try compressing the tones there," suggested the imaging colonel.

  Willie marked out the tail with her mouse and compressed the colors. Now four or five shades on the tail were rendered as one. The thing on the screen didn’t look like a dragon anymore, but it didn’t look like much of anything else either.

  Slowly and gradually, one change at a time, the gaggle of officers used a million-dollar workstation to enhance a clear picture of a dragon into something they could accept.

  By the time they broke for dinner they were arguing over the serial numbers on the tail.

  Twenty-nine: HUNTING PARTY

  It was still cool and gray when Mick awoke, but Karin was already stirring. She had taken the quiver from the pile of harness and slung it over her shoulder.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, throwing back the blanket.

  "I must hunt to fe
ed my mount," the dragon rider said, holding her bow horizontally and sighting down the string.

  Mick Gilligan compared the monster before him to his dog at home and then computed the amount of dog food it would take to make a meal for a fifty-foot-long golden retriever.

  "An elephant a day?"

  "Not so much," Karin shook her head and then brushed a wisp of golden hair off her forehead. "Dragons are related in part to lizards and magical besides. They do not eat as much as you would suppose."

  "Still, its going to take a lot of meat."

  "I know where to find that. There is open country not far from here and large game to be had. Will you hunt with me?"

  At home Mick had gone deer hunting occasionally, without much luck. On the other hand the thought of being stuck in camp all day with an overgrown iguana with a sore wing didn’t appeal to him either.

  "Sure," he said. "Let me get boots on."

  Karin led off at a brisk pace through the forest. Trailing behind her Gilligan found himself admiring the way she moved lithely through the undergrowth-and the swing of her hips in her tight riding breeches. He shook the thought off and tried to concentrate on business.

  Gradually the trees thinned and the underbrush diminished until the forest became almost parklike. Once a herd of deer or something like them went bounding away at their passage. Karin ignored them, obviously intent on bigger game.

  After perhaps three miles the forest petered out altogether and they moved out onto a broad plain. The trees were reduced to occasional clumps and the grass varied between knee and waist high.

  Karin stopped and raised her head as if she was sniffing the air. Then she pointed off to their left and, motioning Gilligan to silence, she started off in that direction.

  Gilligan heard their prey before he saw it. The wind brought crackling and crashing as if a number of large animals were moving about. As they got closer he could smell them as well, a faint odor that reminded him of nothing so much as the elephant house in the zoo.

  The dragon rider moved through the grass silently with a grace that made it seem effortless. Gilligan, trying to move quietly, found it wasn’t effortless at all. He had to keep his eyes on the ground in order to keep from stepping on dry leaves or twigs. He was so intent on trying to move quietly he almost ran into Karin when she stopped suddenly. Then he looked up and saw what they were hunting.

  Dinosaurs! Gilligan thought. There were about a dozen of them in a clump of trees perhaps a hundred and fifty yards off. They were bipedal and balanced themselves with their long tails while they used their smaller forearms to pull branches down to the small heads on their snakelike necks and then nipped off the leaves and buds. They were striped dusty gray and green and they didn’t look like any dinosaurs he had ever seen pictures of. But they were definitely large and reptilian.

  While Gilligan had been staring at the animals, Karin had slipped to one side and dropped down on one knee. Slowly and carefully she drew the bow to full extension, string and arrow kissing her lip. Then she released.

  Suddenly an arrow sprouted from the flank of one of the dinosaurs. The beast stopped feeding, looked down at its tormentor, honked once and then dropped like a sack of sand.

  Instantly the other dinosaurs fled, honking and bellowing, knocking over a small tree in their flight.

  As the noise of the herd faded into the distance Karin and Mick moved up to the carcass.

  "They have no fear of humans," Karin said, surveying her kill. "If all the beasts on this island are like that I will have no trouble keeping Stigi fed."

  "As long as they don’t stampede toward you when you shoot one," Gilligan said.

  "Such animals almost always run upwind when frightened," Karin told him. "That way they can smell what is ahead of them."

  "Great," Mick said, looking at the kill. "Now, how do we get it back to camp?"

  "That will not be necessary. Stigi can walk. I will go and get him. Can you stay here with the kill?"

  "Sure."

  "Oh, and do not let predators get at the carcass. Stigi expects to be first on a kill and it upsets him when he is not."

  Mick thought of Stigi angry. "Right," he said.

  Karin nodded and strode off the way they had come.

  "Hey, wait a minute! How do I keep predators off this carcass?"

  Karin turned back to him. "Use your weapon," she called and then disappeared in the brush.

  Mick drew the 9mm automatic and looked at it sourly. Then he looked over at the elephant-sized monster he was supposed to be guarding. Then he thought about the kind of thing that was likely to prey on something the size of an elephant.

  "Right," he said again.

  * * *

  The sun was close to the horizon when Stigi waddled out of the forest with Karin alongside. Mick moved to meet them, but Stigi drew back his head and hissed like a jet engine starting up. Mick took the hint and backed off.

  "He does not like you," Karin said, quite unnecessarily. "Perhaps it would be better if you gathered wood for a fire. It looks as if we shall have to camp here tonight." Mick noticed that both his and Karin’s packs were tied to the saddle.

  Mick retrieved the hand axe and started gathering firewood. After he saw Stigi tear into the carcass he spent as much time as he could with his back to the dragon. Stigi’s manners ran to the enthusiastic rather than the polite and Mick, who hated the chore of field dressing a rabbit, was a little put out by the sight.

  By the time Mick had a double armload of firewood Stigi had finished his meal. The dragon followed docilely behind Karin and settled down near the fire with a belch that smelled like smog in a butcher shop.

  Their own dinner was a thick stew of parched grain, dried fruit and jerky from Karin’s pack. By mutual agreement they had decided to save Gilligan’s rations against future need.

  While they ate Stigi washed himself with his tongue like a giant cat and then curled up and went to sleep. With his belly full he snored astonishingly loudly.

  Around them the plain was alive with the sounds of night birds and the roars of hunting predators. Gilligan took to running his thumb over the butt of his pistol and searching the darkness.

  "Nothing will come close to us," Karin told him, catching his expression. "They are afraid of Stigi and the fire."

  "What about scavengers after the carcass?"

  Karin shook her head. "Especially not the scavengers. Besides, if something did approach Stigi would sense it instantly and waken."

  "What’s left of that carcass is going to get pretty ripe in a couple of days."

  "We will not be here that long. Indeed, we would not have camped here tonight if darkness had not caught us. We need to be back among the trees for safety."

  "Doesn’t that just make it easier for things to sneak up on us?"

  "Not the predators." Karin pointed outside the firelit circle. "That."

  Mick followed her arm with his eyes. Off in the distance there was a greenish glow against the sky, as if there were a city lit entirely by mercury vapor lamps just over the horizon.

  "What is that?"

  "Our enemies’ hold," Karin said grimly. "A great castle and fortress."

  "So close? They must be on the next island over."

  "No," Karin told him. "They are on this island."

  Mick started. "Then what the hell are we doing sitting around a campfire?"

  "Keeping off predators," Karin said sharply. "Without the fire they would be a danger, Stigi or no."

  "Besides," she added, relaxing slightly, "those of the castle do not hunt by night."

  "If you say so," Mick said neutrally.

  "Such has been our experience."

  Despite the roaring and the snoring, Mick finally got to sleep that night. But he didn’t sleep easily or comfortably and his dreams weren’t nearly as pleasant as they had been the night before.

  Thirty: GRAND REVIEW

  Craig looked down from the balcony and out over the serried ranks of his han
diwork.

  The narrow valley was full of rank upon rank of war machines. There were warbots ranging from two-ton Fleas to 200-ton Deathbringers, there were tanks and armored cars and artillery and jeeps and scout cars and missile carriers and on and on. They were there by the companies and battalions and regiments, by the hundreds and the thousands. They packed the valley and spilled back through the enormous portal at the valley’s head into the very bowels of the mountain. And over it all, perched on a reviewing stand carved out of living rock, was their creator.

  Looking them over, Craig reflected he had come a long way since those first crude robots.

  Now for the test. He had marked off hundreds of square miles of desert south of the castle for a proving ground. There he would pit his creations against each other to test his tactics and designs. When the battles for the control of the new world began he wanted his armies to be perfect.

  Flanked by his robot servants, Craig shifted in his elaborately carved chair. The other chair on the platform was empty. Mikey had sent word at the last minute that he would be too busy to watch the show.

  As if he’s done anything since we got here, Craig thought. Aside from a few robots he had whipped up for his own use, Mikey had never touched his engineering workstation. Craig seldom saw him anymore and he palmed him off with vague explanations when he tried to ask about his work.

  Even if he was busy, he could have taken a couple of hours to see at least part of the parade, Craig thought. He realized that part of it was disappointment. He was sure Mikey would be impressed when he saw the super-weapons he had whipped up. But no, he’s too busy even to come to the damn parade.

  Well, it didn’t matter. He’d created all this and now he’d work out the winning tactics on the game board of the desert. When the time came Mikey would be plenty impressed with how his armies performed in battle. That was really all that mattered.

  He turned to the robot to his right. "Move out," he commanded.

  The valley filled with the ear-splitting noise of ten thousand engines starting up. Clouds of dust roiled over the scene as Craig’s army began to move.