by John Daulton
Orli was good at what she did, and she knew exactly what to do. She began by clearing out a large cabinet near the far wall, removing all but the middle and lower shelves. She hung a heat lamp inside and put it on a timer set for low light and medium heat. Next she would install a mister in an upper corner, set to spritz twice daily a small dose of water and air, and then she would seal the cabinet doors, airtight and leak-proof. After that, she would build a double-chambered tent by securing successive plastic sheets to the wall, ceiling and around the cabinet on the floor, completely surrounding the cabinet in its own space, sealed tight in the inner tent and enveloped by a perpetual fungicidal cloud in the outer one. She even activated the quarantine misters to spray disinfectant whenever the lab door opened for added security. The little spore had no hope of escape should it try some nasty fungal trick.
But, she was going to let it grow. And at last she had something significant to do.
It took her most of two days to procure the parts and assemble the outer two chambers for her little quarantine to the point she was confident that it was both functional and safe. But at last she was done with it and could place the single Andalian spore into a petri dish and prepare to make it grow. She set it in the confines of the cabinet next to a microscope that she had committed to this task; not even that would escape her airtight tent. The petri dish looked so small sitting there on the wide, waist-high shelf: a single, round plastic container, transparent and filled with a red bed of organic compounds that any fungus should absolutely adore. She hoped she’d done it right, set it up so that the alien spore would grow, but what did she really know about this variety anyway? She really wanted this to work, felt she needed it to. For her own sanity.
Roberto had promised her that cataloguing Andalian plants would get her name into the botanical history books, but she knew that while this was probably true, it would only be as a footnote. Nothing of dignity. She was just the schmuck who happened to be standing in the right place when the landing teams went planet-side. Nothing more. She would get no credit for brains, just for the labor of putting it down for everyone else to read. Anyone could pick a plant, and anyone could put information into a data file. That was not enough for her. Not enough to keep her going for very long. No, this fungus, this was the real work. This was the discovery. Three species in one. She actually had something to be enthusiastic about. And she could hardly wait for it to grow.
But she would have to wait, for shortly after she got the petri dish settled in place, and after a suitable period of time standing in the fungicidal fog and then carefully zipping the outer plastic chamber closed, the alarms went off, recalling the crew to full alert again. She glimpsed over at her monitor, having gotten used to the image of the orb floating out there over the span of a pair of days, and felt her heart begin to pound inside her chest.
Now there were two.
The second one was larger than the first, perhaps by nearly half as much again. And the two were linked together, joined like cells about to split. They must have come together very fast—or else the bridge crew had been very slow to raise an alarm—but they neither split nor merged together all the way after that. They simply joined as they had, and now seemed content to just float out there in space.
Orli felt panic tighten in her stomach as she considered the chance of winning in a fight against them both. Roberto was good, and his instincts had probably saved their lives, but even he could not react fast enough to deal with two. And if they did merge all the way, how huge would a stinger be on a bee as big as that?
She switched the screen to the starboard view, and then to port and stern. Damn. Still no other ships. They were only supposed to be two days apart. Those were the admiral’s orders when the fleet had left from Andalia so many months ago. What was taking them so long? There should be at least one other ship by now, if not two. Meanwhile, the clarion rang and she had to get back to the infirmary before they could accuse her of having dallied twice in as many days. Doctor Singh was a kind man and had acknowledged her tardiness last time with only a frown. But she didn’t want to push him. He was a superior officer after all. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more stress beyond what she already bore.
With one backward glance at her monitor, at the empty space where another ship should be, Orli went out into the corridor, having to pause and wipe the sting out of her eyes as the sterilizing mist she’d set to spray caught her unprepared. “Shit,” she cursed, wiping at her face. She’d forgotten how much that stuff could burn. But she was determined to leave it set that way until she was finished experimenting with the spore.
Blinking the disinfectant from her eyes, she began to run. Triage duty called. She only hoped that this round would be as uneventful as the last, although she really had her doubts.
Chapter 13
Leekant was a modern city, not as large as the capital, Crown City, certainly, but close enough to the royal home to enjoy the luxury of being near the Queen. The city’s greatest wealth came from its booming lumber trade. Located at the edge of the Great Forest, and right at the convergence of the north and south forks of the Sansun River, Leekant was ideally located to cut trees and to ship lumber, and the many products that Leekant craftsmen could make from it, to Crown. The city also boasted an agricultural base to rival any of the plains towns across Kurr, and once more had the Sansun River to thank for getting its produce to Crown City faster, cheaper and in greater quantity than most other towns could ever hope to do.
Leekant was divided into four quarters, as most post-Unification cities were, and it was to the Guilds Quarter that Altin intended to go. Doctor Leopold kept his offices in a large medical complex near many of Leekant’s other physicians, and so it was that Altin guided Taot to a grassy knoll about a half-measure outside of the city walls, close enough to make it a short walk. Normally he’d land a bit further away even than this, but he was in a hurry and so risked landing within sight of wandering eyes. The whole way over he’d been watching the mouse’s body slowly thaw within the cloth, and he’d been briefly tempted to have the dragon land upon the doctor’s roof. But, of course, he did not. No sense throwing the city into panic, much less bringing arrows and lightning bolts down on both his and Taot’s heads. The city guard would not tolerate such a thing.
So instead he landed on the grass and dismounted, sending Taot off with a grateful thought. He could teleport home, there were no restrictions going the other way, but it was expressly illegal to teleport into town. Cities were busy places, and even if one used a scrying spell to find a safe place to port, the time it took to leave the scry and cast the teleport was often enough for someone or something to move into that spot. Teleporting one’s self into the same location as another object or person was a recipe for instant death; two bodies so combined could make an awful mess. And besides, transportation via teleport was the domain of the Teleporters Guild, of which Altin was required to be a member by the laws that guided such things. It would not do to step on the guild’s toes. They were a very powerful guild and had the ear of the Queen. Which is why Altin found himself walking into town.
He came in through the city’s north gate and strode down the cobbled streets, bare feet forming with each step to the surface of every stone he trod along the way, some more comfortably than others, and some not comfortable at all. He suddenly wished he’d thought to strap his sandals on, but he hadn’t, so he had to grin and bear it as best he could.
The buildings in the Guilds Quarter were generally uniform: three or four stories above a ground level that was open to the air and held aloft by thick trunks of local wood columns, aligned in orderly rows and serving as stilts to accommodate the occasional Sansun flood. The roofs were all thatch excepting for the Patient Peacock Inn, which sat on the corner across from the medical center and had upgraded to tile roofing made of clay. Most guilds and merchants didn’t bother with such things as the Enchanters Guild had sealed up every roof in the quarter long ago, making the thatch
impervious to water, fire and rot. But Old Bucky Falfox, the inn’s proprietor and perpetual candidate for mayor, had decided that it was important to modernize, wanting to “keep up with the times.” Perhaps not the smartest move politically, considering his proximity to the Enchanters Guild headquarters only a block away, but it was a lovely sight and a testament to modernity.
Seeking it as landmark, Altin weaved between ox carts, foot traffic and the occasional nobleman on a horse until he spotted the reddish tile of the Patient Peacock’s roof. Finally he’d arrived. He darted between a foursome of city guards in burnished plate armor, one of whom snarled at his impudence with a curse that made a woman passerby cover her young daughter’s ears. Altin ignored the verbal exchange that followed as the mother scolded the blushing soldier vehemently and hopped up onto the wood-plank sidewalk that would lead him to Doctor Leopold’s office. A half-minute later found him stepping through the familiar iron-bound door.
The doctor’s reception room was large and well lit, lined round with chairs along the walls and with plants in two of the four corners, potted and growing as lushly as anything a forest could produce, their health a testimony to the growth magic of the doctor who worked within. A painting of the Queen hung regal and smiling to the left of the receptionist’s desk, facing him as he walked in.
Lena, the buxom, green-eyed brunette who worked the receptionist’s desk, looked up as he entered and, seeing who it was, smiled widely, her crimson lips parting to reveal perfectly straight, snow-white teeth, also as flawless as modern magic would allow.
“Hello, Altin,” she cooed. “Back so soon? I hope it’s nothing serious this time? How are your ribs?” Her face became the definition of concern as she leaned forward to scrutinize him for signs of harm, the motion incidentally causing her shoulders to squeeze inward and forcing her cleavage to bulge spectacularly from her bodice in her most alluring way.
Altin rolled his eyes and exhaled audibly in an attempt to stay the onslaught of her inevitable advance. She was always like this when he came to see the doctor, and she had no concept of decency or guile. But she was beautiful. He could not deny her that.
“No, I’m fine. Ribs are fine. I just need to see Doctor Leopold if he is in. Is he?”
“Well I don’t know, exactly,” she replied, turning her face slightly and giving him the slender curve of a long, delicate neck while batting her eyelashes as coquettishly as she could. “I suppose I could go check for you if you promise to be a little nicer this time.”
“Nicer? I’m perfectly nice. And isn’t that what they pay you for? Please, I’m in a hurry.” He raised the bundle of cloth containing the mouse before him as evidence of the urgency of his quest. Faint red stains bleeding through the cloth indicated that the body was beginning to thaw in earnest.
Even he was normally not that abrupt with her, despite his implacable disregard for her advances, and she took it as a sign that perhaps there was something serious after all. She looked a little hurt though, and Altin could see that she seemed rather to deflate. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go get him. Have a seat.”
Altin sat as Lena disappeared through a door behind her desk. He sighed impatiently as he waited, glaring about the room not really seeing anything in particular. There were several newspapers and some guild pamphlets on the table at the room’s center. He picked up the Teleporter’s News restlessly, laying the mouse down in his lap so he could have a look inside. He flipped through the pages rapidly. Nothing, as usual: something stupid about a new kind of lizard, something else about a hike in guild member dues... he tossed it back on the table, too edgy to read such triviality. What was taking Lena so long? He spent a few grueling minutes watching two fish swim lazy circles in a bowl on Lena’s desk and was just about to stand and pace the room when the familiar figure of Doctor Leopold stepped out from the door behind Lena’s post.
“Altin, my boy, back so soon? Don’t tell me I botched the job on your ribs. I hate to give money back. You know I’m a miser when it comes to gold.” He laughed a fat, jocular laugh that rippled through his thick jowls, down the stairwell of his layered chins and all across the great globe of his belly. “I’d rather take it out in trade.” He laughed again as Altin assured him that his ribs were better than they had ever been.
“Good, good, lad. What now then? You look healthy enough to me.” He looked Altin up and down as he spoke, his eyes fixing on the towel that was slowly turning pink. “You haven’t got a finger wrapped up in there, have you? Or maybe a toe? I didn’t notice you favoring a leg when you stood up.”
Altin glanced over at Lena, who had returned to her desk but was still standing, close enough to him that he could smell the lilac scent of her perfume. She swayed rhythmically as she smiled at him, her body gently sinuous although she barely seemed to move. He thought for a moment she might be trying to cast a spell. But that was silly. Lena was a blank.
“I’d rather discuss it in private, if that’s okay with you,” he said to the doctor.
Lena snorted, barely audible, just a breath, and returned to her desk. Thwarted again.
“Of course, my boy, of course. You know the way.”
The ponderous physician motioned grandly through the door and Altin, clutching his swaddled mouse, went inside. They quickly traversed the short maze of halls leading to Doctor Leopold’s office, and Altin threw himself into a familiar chair. The doctor waddled in after him and plumped down into a squeaky leather chair that screamed and creaked in protest to the load it suddenly had to bear. The doctor was wheezing noticeably from the trip back to his office and took the time while he regained his breath to study Altin with keen, intelligent eyes. After a time he glanced at Altin’s bundle. “So what’s in the towel?”
“A mouse,” said Altin. “And I need you to tell me what went wrong.”
Doctor Leopold was familiar enough with Altin’s work to know what this visit was all about. He rose up and reached across his cluttered desk, Altin meeting him halfway and handing the bundle into his stubby-fingered hands.
The doctor laid the bundle down and unwrapped the mouse. He took a few moments to regard the dilapidated little corpse before letting out a low whistle. “Pretty mangled. What did you do to it?”
“Well, that’s mostly what I’m hoping you can tell me. All I know is that I sent it to the moon.”
“The moon? Luria? You mean you’ve actually done it?” The doctor looked up, his face radiant with pride. “Congratulations, young man. That was a long time coming. But I knew you’d manage it one day.”
“Yes, thanks,” Altin said, dismissively. “But look at the mouse. That’s how it came back. I anticipated that it would be very cold, and maybe very hot. So I cast Sunscreen and Winter Warding spells on it. But, well, they didn’t seem to work. I believe I was right about the cold. But I’m not sure what went wrong.”
Doctor Leopold studied the mouse again as Altin leaned over his desk expectantly. The body was still largely frozen, only the edges of the wounds were beginning to soften up. The doctor muttered under his breath as he prodded the mouse with a letter opener taken from a drawer. “So it is. So it is.”
After what seemed an interminable length of time, Altin asked, “Well? What do you think? Can you divine it or something? I absolutely have to know. I can’t do anything else until I do.”
“Yes, I can certainly see that,” the doctor agreed. “Give me a moment to find the spell.” Doctor Leopold hoisted himself up from the chair and moved to a bookshelf where he kept some ancient-looking tomes. He pulled one down and leafed through it until he found the spell he wanted. He turned through page after page of the spell for an unbearable length of time, reading over the magic meticulously, well past sixteen pages by the time Altin grew too impatient to continue counting anymore. Finally, the doctor spoke. “All right, this is the one. It’s a place to start.” He waved Altin away, batting at the air with the back of a pudgy hand, “Give me some room, will you?”
Altin retook his sea
t and watched as Leekant’s legendary healer closed his eyes and began to cast his divining spell. The casting seemed so much simpler than the spells that Altin had to use. The doctor didn’t move his hands at all, pressing them together palm to palm, fingers steeple-like and held beneath his chin. But the cast went on for quite a while. The doctor sat there in his chair, chanting, for what turned out to be a little over an hour. It was no wonder Altin couldn’t force himself to try the damnable divining school himself.
Once the doctor had finally finished invoking the magic, he spent a great deal more time immersed within the spell. Altin figured that Doctor Leopold was likely traveling around through the tiny spaces within the mouse and posing the question “why?” to the harmonies of truth that supposedly vibrated across the mana stream when one divined. At least that’s what Altin had read; that’s what the books said divination magic did. Altin honestly had no clue. And he didn’t really care. At least not now. That’s why he was here. He didn’t have time to mess with prayer.
Finally, after another half an hour examining the mouse’s corpse, Doctor Leopold came out of the divining spell. “Wyvern’s wings, boy. What have you got yourself into? What killed this mouse is no child’s game. Luria is a horribly dangerous place.”
“Yes, I gathered that myself. So what, beyond the cold, took place?”
“For starters, I wouldn’t say ‘beyond the cold’ so casually. You have no idea how cold it is up there. There’s nothing on Prosperion like it. If water freezes at zero degrees, and we measure our southern pole in wintertime at negative ninety, your moon is at least three times that cold. Maybe more. Divination is not really meant for measurements like that. But I got the sense of three, so take that for whatever it is worth.”