by Lyndon Hardy
It was quiescent at the moment. The world-renowned bursts of angry reds and yellows did not arc to impossible heights in the sky. Instead the crater was illuminated dimly by three or four dancing flashlights, like giant fireflies looking for mates. Every minute or so a loud thump echoed down the slope. Ashley strained to see what was happening and occasionally saw one of the beams reflect off a metal cylinder arching across the sky. The SF6! Somehow, the gas containers were being shot into the Kilauea’s mouth.
The moon was nearly full, but nothing white stood out on the volcano’s wall. There were no exiles about. Ashley’s rush of adrenaline drained away. She had failed. Maybe the others had done better, but she had failed. Nowhere were any of the exiles to be seen here, and worst of all, Kilauea was being successfully seeded with what could destroy all life on earth.
ANGUS STRETCHED his arms. It felt good to be out of the hoodie and aerogel insulation. He rubbed his hands back and forth in front of the heat radiating from the kiln. Everything was going according to plan.
The cab that had appeared where the truck was parked was a bit unusual given the time of night, but then native tourists sometimes acted so strange — probably wanting to photograph the bubbling lava against the backdrop of deepest black.
He had already heard from Sicily. Etna’s deposit was completed also. The transaction was over. His minions there probably now were focused back on ransoming wealthy tourists, their usual line of work.
Bagana would take another day or so. The delivery from the Mizuno Maru had gone smoothly and the SF6 was working its way into the island interior as planned. The shaman would signal when the dumping was complete. Allowing a little time for the native to receive the command to start the incantation would mean it would be more or less in synchrony with the broadcasts of the audio files by the speakers near Etna’s and Kilauea’s peaks. Like the irresistible turn of a ratchetwheel, his plan was working perfectly.
Part Five
Eightfold Path Neverending
The Magic Eightball
THALING GRINNED with satisfaction. Finally, he had constructed a solid proof for the ritual ensuring his makeshift setter would dominate once it was placed in use. It was long to execute, and the rockbubblers grumbled throughout, but now it was done. The transformation of the tracker into a setter was complete.
Giving each of his flock their own choice had been a good decision. The first few were enthusiastic, and they helped convince the others. In the end, every single one had decided to go. It was like what had happened when Angus had brought home from above ground the little arm bands for Captain something-or-another, red, white, and blue rings around a common center. Everybody had to have one.
Yes, his flock was excited about going home. But to an uncertain future, Thaling admitted. Dinton had been right. The Faithful would resist their return. There would be a battle as there was before. ‘Burning the ship’ would help, but every dagger he could add to his flock could only improve the odds of success.
So, there was the matter of those who had Dinton as their leader. Of course, his elder brother himself would refuse to go. Like a brittle bone, he was so rigidly stubborn, unable to give up his dream of the eventual heating of the orb, no matter what. His brother’s minions, however. Should they not get to choose for themselves? Choose free of the badgering of their flock leader who would demand they stay with him? Thaling could hear Dinton’s voice now. ‘I am due the respect that goes with my position. You must do as I say.’
Thaling began pacing. The problem was so very messy, not neat, and cleanly defined like the theorems of magic. Those could be proven either true or false. It was why he had chosen the craft in the first place — pure and precise. Not like the silliness of his rockbub…
His rockbubblers. Was there a way they could help?
DINTON SAT on the table in his alcove, his legs crossed in front. Thaling stood with his back to one of the walls, his hunched shoulders pressed against it, following the gently rounding contour like a garment in a native’s spinning dryer.
Thaling firmed his resolve. He slapped the rod on his side for emphasis.
“I hold the baton, do I not?”
“Yes,” growled Dinton. “I still have not figured out how you have been able to win each time we play the new game.”
“No matter now,” Thaling said. “I ask you respect what we both agree it means — and do exactly as I say.”
“A command?” Dinton asked. “You give me a command?”
“As holder of the baton, yes, I do.” This was the tricky part. Dinton had to be intrigued. “All I ask is you remain silent without interrupting until the finish of what I have to say.”
“Then speak,” Dinton growled.
“Eldest brother, it is now a time of decision. With the use of my craft, I will shortly be in control of the magic portal that brought us here so long ago.”
“What! The portal! Magic! How — ”
“I hold the baton,” Thaling cut him off. “Be true to your word. Hear me out.” He watched his brother settle back down and began again.
“Yes, I have used magic… used magic for our common good. All the members of my flock are going to return to our home world. I wish to offer the same opportunity to all of yours.”
“I forbid such a choice,” Dinton thundered. “It is a decision of great peril. If only we would wait — ”
“Yes, yes, everyone knows about the joys of thumb twiddling and nit grooming. Because the natives will destroy their environment, and we will be their successors.” He matched his fingertips together as if to encage his next thought and Dinton did not speak again. Now to start planting the hook.
“Hypothetically,” Thaling continued, “if your flock members were offered the chance, how many do you think would accept? Twenty? Twenty-five?”
“Why, no more than ten,” Dinton said. “They have enough sense not to be beguiled.”
“Okay, ten. Suppose we make a game of it. A contest of pure chance. If I win, then each of your flock members would be allowed to choose. If I lose, I transfer ten of mine over to you… and give you the baton.”
Dinton squinted at Thaling. “Suppose it were not ten but twenty, and I get to choose which ones? What is it you have in mind?”
“Here,” Thaling thrust out the small black sphere he was holding. “This is your chance to extend your command.”
“What is this thing?”
“The device is one fabricated by the natives. It is called the Magic Eight Ball.”
Dinton grasped the globe and then shook his head. “This is not magic. There is no tingle when I hold it. Besides, the natives know nothing of the craft.”
“Correct. It is a mere toy, not something of great power. Ask a yes or no question aloud, shake the orb, and it will give a random answer.”
“Has my younger brother lost his mind?” Dinton shook the sphere vigorously and watched as words appeared in a window cut into it.”
“Ha!” He laughed. “It says ‘Without a doubt.’“
“There are only twenty different answers,” Thaling said. “Each on the face of an icosahedron. It is a regular solid with twenty faces, each one — ”
“Don’t start on the magician gobbledygook.” Dinton interrupted. He shook the sphere again. “Will my brother surrender his baton now before he does something stupid?
He waited a moment and laughed again. “‘Don’t count on it.’ Well, it got that one right, too.”
“So, are you game?”
Dinton frowned. He shook the sphere again. “There must be some sort of trick here.”
“Exercise the toy all you want. When you are satisfied there are no biases, then we can ask the question. Think of it, my brother. You gamble perhaps ten of your flock against twenty of mine.”
“Be gone,” Dinton said. He held up the sphere against a wall candle and peered at it closely. “I will think on this.”
SEVERAL HOURS later, the two brothers met again.
“Only if the orb says no to giving all of yours the choice to decide their own destinies.”
“Yes, yes. I understand. But there are additional conditions you must agree to.”
“Additional conditions! Not what I proposed.” Thaling then said nothing more for what he hoped would convince Dinton he was open to negotiating. “Like what?” he asked at last.
“I have performed hundreds of trials,” Dinton said. “There are twenty different answers, as you have stated, and the results are indeed random. Ten are ‘yes,’ five are ‘no,’ and five are undecided. If an undecided one comes up, we will shake the ball again.”
“I know about all the answers. What are your conditions?”
“The first is that you pick one of the ‘yes’ answers to truly mean ‘yes.’ All of the other nineteen mean ‘no.’“
“I would choose ‘It is decidedly so’… but, wait! That is not fair! I have only one chance in twenty of winning.”
“No, not one chance in twenty.” Dinton smiled. “It will be even less. We will shake the ball, not once, but five times. For you to win, ‘It is decidedly so’ would have to come up at least three times in the five.”
“But, but…” Thaling mentally pretended he was calculating. “That is less than one chance in — ”
“One chance in thousands,” Dinton said. “I figured out as much. But don’t dwell on certainty. Think instead of possibility, Thaling. If you lose, it will only be a few of your flock. If you win, you might gain many more daggers for your side.”
Dinton’s smile grew bigger. “I have you figured out, little brother. It is the additional strength in arms you want. You want more warriors badly. So badly you are willing to gamble almost anything to acquire them.”
“If I win, you said only ten would come.”
“Words spoken in haste,” Dinton said. “Look, your journey is going to be a gamble. You already knew that. I am agreeing to participate in it — just so long as it is a big one.”
“Why all of sudden are you now the one who wants to play the game?” Thaling asked.
“You may be a mathematician, little brother, but simple odd calculations are something even a sorcerer like myself can do.” He squinted his eyes almost shut. “Do you want a chance at ten more warriors or not?”
“If you can pick and choose if you win, then I can talk to each of your flock members individually before they decide,” Thaling blurted.
“Oh, all right,” Dinton said. “Now, let’s get this over with. I think I already know the names in your flock I will select.”
Thaling pressed against the wall as firmly as he could and slid his hands behind his back. Wait a few moments more before agreeing, he thought. Everything depends on the final bit of the sell.
The hole Littlebutt had made was small, so it did not show. Tiny, but still large enough that the rockbubbler could see his finger signal to manipulate the piece of paper he was holding.
“You shake, brother,” he said.
BACK IN his separate magic alcove, Thaling smiled. “Good job, Littlebutt,” he said.
“I don’t get it, Boss. How is my turning one of the icoso… icosa — ”
“Icosahedron,” Thaling said. “It was an exercise of thaumaturgy.”
“Is that part of wizardry or magic?”
“No, a separate craft, but a very simple one to perform.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Look, you guys came up with the idea of the fortune-telling orbs, and bartered with the air imps to get about six of them, right?”
“Yeah, Boss. But you know we don’t like doing the payment part of the bargain.”
“All of that is over and done with. We got six and a good thing, too. We broke three of them trying to take them apart.”
“We have two spares. So?”
“Turned out, they were not needed. We cut new icosahedrons out of paper — both from the same sheet. That was important. ‘Once together, always together’ right.”
“Why are you telling me all of this, Boss?”
“I’m going home, Littlebutt. Soon, you, Mintbreath. Lilacbottom, all of you will be on your own. Knowing a little thaumaturgy might help you when you get a new master.”
Thaling felt a little twinge as he said this. But yes, letting them go was the proper thing to do.
“Anyway, once two things that were once together are bound by the incantation, you manipulated one of the paper constructs to always come up ‘It is decidedly so’ when I signaled you. The one in the sphere rotated to present the same.
“Then, like the sheep we are, first a few, then in larger and larger numbers, all of Dinton’s flock came over to my side. My brother is so enamored of rigor of logic that he has forgotten how impulsive all of us are. Like the lemmings of this world, we herd together at the slightest hint of a new direction. My brother, my know-it-all brother, the eldest. He did not have a chance.
“And the natives,” he mused. “How much better their lives would be if only they understood a little magic. It would help them out of so many seemingly impossible problems.”
Souvenirs
BRIANA WAITED until the thug disappeared. She and Jake were alone. She looked up at the moon. A tiny flicker of blackness flashed across its face. The crash of glass when her pack had emptied meant her matchmites were free. Staring at the flicker, she opened her mind, reached out, and issued commands.
The little imp was not powerful, but it was obedient and easy to control. It settled next to where the remaining five matches in the pack had been strewn and, trembling from the exertion, managed to drag one against the rough ground. It lit, and almost instantly, another sprite appeared. To the untrained eye, it looked identical to the first.
Briana extended her control, and soon six tiny helpers were hovering at attention awaiting their next command.
“Jake, pay attention,” Briana whispered. “Sit up and bend forward. Move away from the wall as best you can.”
“What?”
“Not so loud! And don’t question. Do as I say.”
For an instant, Jake frowned, but then spotted the imps and shrugged. He must be realizing who was in charge now, Briana thought. The mites swarmed behind him, and all six began gnawing at the fetters binding his hands. It took more than ten minutes, but eventually, he was free.
“Now you do the same for me,” Briana said. “But move slowly. Any misstep will send a cascade of these small stones downslope and alert the guard. He can’t be too far away.”
“Okay, you’re free too,” Jake said after another few minutes of fumbling. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No! He would see us and raise an alarm. We need to surprise him when he returns of his own volition.”
“But how?”
Briana eyed the scattered contents of her pack. She spotted the nail polish and the little egg of silly putty among the mess.
“I have an idea,” she said.
AN HOUR later, the guard approached. He held a small shipping box in one hand and the pinchers in the other. Briana and Jake were propped against the rock wall, but this time side by side with their heads nestled together.
“Mama mia! What have you done?” he said when he spotted what lay on the ground in front of his two prisoners.
“So long as it was going to happen, we managed to do it ourselves,” Jake said with a slight tremble in his voice. “I am not going to submit to butchery that will make a plastic surgeon’s task impossible.”
Briana got the reaction she wanted. The Mafioso was incredulous. He dropped the box and pinchers, knelt down, and extended his hand toward what had attracted his attention. He saw what looked like a severed penis, pale and fleshy in the moonlight and coated in blood at one end. Briana had to clamp her face tight to prevent herself from smiling. The silly putty had been quite good for modeling. And the nail polish glinted in the mo
onlight like real blood.
As the thug gawked, both Briana and Jake leaped up like clowns springing from toy boxes. With rocks in their hands, they pummeled the thug’s head and sent him sprawling. A cascade of the little stones radiated from under his slumping form and noisily began tumbling down the hill.
While Jake stood guard with another rock, Briana restuffed her pack with everything worth saving.
“Now!” she slid her arms into the straps and took a first cautious step. Jake nodded, dropped the rock, and began to follow.
Despite their best efforts, more pebbles started to bounce down the slope.
“Let’s hope the rest will think this noise is due to the guard and not us,” she said.
Jake nodded again, and crouching low, the pair started their descent.
The first ten steps were tentative and agonizingly slow. Without causing a large spill, they slipped pass the remaining thugs huddled around a small fire a little distance away and passing around a bottle.
The next twenty came more easily, and with rising confidence, they lengthened their strides and increased the pace. Soon, they were a quarter way back down the slope. The upper terminus of the cable car loomed faintly in the darkness.
Briana glanced up at the moon. The silhouettes of her matchmites hovered in the soft light. They were descending as she had commanded, at the proper angle so she could keep track of them. She strained to make out more detail of the path ahead, wishing Jake still had the night vision goggles, but the Mafioso immediately had taken them away when they were captured. Rather than have him lead, they were stepping in parallel, side by side.
Suddenly, a larger rock under Briana’s foot gave way and started a clatter. She lost her balance, and before she could regain it, she fell onto her back and started picking up speed. Jake reached out at one of her upraised hands, but he could not stop her. He, too, became prone and started to thunder down the hill.