by Frank Tuttle
“Fate deals us cards, Miss Meralda. We just play our hands the best we can. You say these Mag ate everyone who didn’t get off?”
“For the most part, I’m afraid so.”
“Well. I don’t intend to be any bug’s meal,” said Mr. Gliff. “If I can help you folks get to your spoke, I will. Funny thing, though. I’ve been traveling tripping wheels my whole life. Never met anybody from another universe that spoke my tongue. But here we are, all talking the same language. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Wonder what?” Mrs. Primsbite said.
“Wonder if you might not be the great-great-grandchildren, many times removed, of my old shipmates.”
“We have our own history,” Meralda replied. “A quite well-documented history. I don’t see how that could be possible, Mr. Gliff. The records are detailed and stretch back quite a long time.”
Mr. Gliff shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. What does is getting to the spoke. Bit of a chore, without a means of flying past the bugs, isn’t it?”
Meralda explained her plans to build an airship. “I didn’t know we’d have a dragon to transport,” she added, with a glare toward her mother.
“You leave Bruce to me, miss,” said Mr. Gliff. “I can convince him to fly again. He’ll have to, I reckon. Because I tell you plain, I don’t think a power on restart will bring the main computer back. They tried everything before they left, I know they did. Whatever weapon killed the drives killed it too. You’d better build your airship and hope the Mag don’t shoot it down.”
“I thought the Mag were – what was it you said, Skoof? Technologically impaired?”
“Quite,” replied Skoof. “But they are capable of employing crude projectile weapons. A number of them were left behind, and they collected them all. Though I believe they expended most of the ammunition during their subsequent subjugation of the survivors.”
“Lovely,” Meralda’s mother said. “We must assume they have grown expert in their use.”
Mr. Gliff regarded Skoof curiously. “You there, metal man. How’d you manage to walk around free all these years?”
Skoof hummed in what Meralda had come to recognize as chuckling. “I have very little to offer them in the way of nourishment. After a time, they simply began to ignore me.”
Mr. Gliff sighed.
“We’ll take you all with us, of course,” Donchen said, to the older man. “The Realms are different from your home, but you will find them quite comfortable. And safe.”
“Well, that’s a kind offer, young man. I don’t like the thought of leaving Celestia behind, all alone. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, we will.”
Meralda yawned. The need to sleep she’d been fighting off grew stronger by the minute, and she rose. “I hope you’ll all forgive me. But I need a few hours of rest. Mr. Gliff, this was your home long before we stumbled upon it. I’m sure you don’t need any help settling back in.”
Mr. Gliff stood and bowed. “Not at all. I’ll have a look around, see if anything changed while I slept. Won’t do anything without discussing it with you first.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure.”
Donchen rose too. “I’ll see the Mage to her quarters.” His eyes were puffy and red. “Wake me in a few hours, won’t you, Mrs. Primsbite? I’d like to look in on Bruce.”
Meralda slept in her clothes again, dreaming fitfully of dragons and giants and explosions in the air.
21
Mister Mug’s Musings, Wednesday, February 11th, 1971
Miss Bekin woke a dragon.
It would be her. It would be a dragon. A dragon named Bruce, a portly little man named Mr. Gliff, and a terrifying assemblage of bones and feathers called the jabberwock.
Unknown to us until today, Celestia housed three members of her original crew. One is a dragon, massive and formidable, but with the mind of an ill-used child. His name is Bruce, and despite his imposing physical appearance, he is a sad, lost creature, suffering from horrors I can only imagine.
Mr. Gliff could walk any street in Tirlin and go wholly unnoticed.
The jabberwock – well, the jabberwock might hide in a nightmare but would incite panic anywhere else.
We are fortunate these three appear to mean us no harm. Skoof claims the multiverse and the void are home to any number of even more unusual creatures.
I shall never look up at the stars in quite the same state of fearless wonder again.
But we are unharmed, and Mr. Gliff knows the ship. I hope that he can provide the Mage with the knowledge she can use.
The Mag are closing in. I fear our refuge will not long escape their relentless scrutiny. And from what Skoof reports, their discovery of Celestia will coincide with our doom.
I’ve asked Skoof about these creatures. He claims they have never communicated with any of their victims. Indeed, the term ‘Mag’ was coined by the survivors, and even Skoof doesn’t know the origin or meaning of the word. Not that it matters.
Skoof doesn’t sleep, and he loves to talk. We’ve had many long conversations. I wondered why my flying coils continue to function when so many wondrous machines lie inert. Skoof claims the Hub’s damping field may not recognize a flying coil as a piece of high technology. Or that I am just too small to register, as he calls it. I took offense to this until he began to explain the vast gulfs between the sophistication of the races that travel these tripping wheels. Apparently, we of the Realms are at the bottom of this gulf, although for all their amazing machines the former occupants of this place fell prey to a race of oversized beetles.
Mistress works tirelessly, determined to cobble together an airship and thus make our way to the spoke that leads home. As the Mag will see our path markers the moment we leave this anomaly, I feel no high confidence we will ever complete that journey. But Mistress is ever-resourceful, and if any scheme can lead us to safety, she will craft it.
It is at once dismaying and surprising how life aboard this Hub has settled into a routine. We wake, we work, we sleep. The sky speaks in words of thunder. The darkness never waxes, never wanes.
I shudder to think that this should ever become our home.
22
The whine of Mug’s tiny flying coils woke Meralda from a troubled sleep.
“You awake, Mistress?”
Meralda groaned. She rolled over and glared. “I am now.” She sat upright, frowning at Mug’s tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Spotted four Mag scouts already this morning. Had to wait one out before we could get to the generous tree.”
“Why was anyone risking a trip to the generous tree?” Meralda asked. “We have water and food here. Is something wrong with the charger I built for your holdstones?”
Mug landed on the deck beside Meralda’s bed. “A certain unpleasant and no doubt nefarious female insisted that the tree’s water makes a superior cup of tea. She even dragged Mr. Gliff out with her.” Mug paused to roll a dozen eyes. “Mistress, you should see how’s she’s dressed today.”
Meralda leaped from her bed. “She lowered the ramp? With the Mag skulking about?”
“She waited until Donchen was busy in the kitchen. Mrs. Primsbite was still asleep. Typical of her, wasn’t it?”
Meralda hurried to her tiny washroom. Mug remained in place. He heard her speaking, realized she was conversing with Nameless and Faceless, and then wilted when he heard her cuss.
When Meralda emerged, she was wrapped in a towel and barefoot. She threw on a fresh coverall, put on mismatched socks, and began pulling on the oddly supple boots she’d found in a closet a few empty cabins over.
“Celestia,” she said. “From now on, the landing ramp is not to be operated without consent from either myself or Donchen.” She frowned. “Or Mr. Mug, if neither Donchen nor I am available.”
“Yes, Captain,” replied the ship, its tone one of faint bemusement.
“Captain Meralda!” Mug piped. “Celestia, you will address me from now on as Admira
l Mug.”
“Command failure,” replied the ship, with a faint hint of laughter.
Meralda stood.
“What did the crows have to say, Mistress?” asked Mug. “Wasn’t good news, I take it.”
“They’ve spotted fifty-two Mag within five miles of us. With more appearing all the time.”
“Looks like they’ve grown peckish, and they’ve decided to hunt us down.”
“Celestia,” Meralda said, after a curt affirmative nod to Mug. “Invite everyone to the galley, please. At once.”
There was a brief silence. “Your mother declines, as she is occupied,” said the ship.
“Is she currently in a lighted area?”
“She is.”
“Extinguish the lights. Play one of those outlandish recorded songs Donchen found yesterday, at a volume just below that which might injure her ears.”
“Oh, now that’s good, Mistress,” said Mug, rising from the deck. “Can we clap her in irons, too?”
“She is moving toward the galley,” said Celestia.
“Come, Mug,” snapped Meralda. She stomped from her cabin, Mug sailing close behind.
“Good morning, dear,” said Donchen, as he offered Meralda a cup of coffee. “Our little band is gathered.”
Meralda took a single sip from the cup before stepping into the middle of the galley. “Thank you all for coming.”
Her mother, who slouched beside Mr. Gliff, pointed a wobbling finger at Meralda. “Some of us weren’t given a choice.” She blinked. “What was that infernal racket?”
“Mother,” said Meralda. “You’re drunk.”
“Daughter. I am. It seems the ever-resourceful Mr. Gliff—” she squeezed his elbow, causing the portly little man to blush – “is privy to many of Celestia’s secrets.”
“We’ve all been under quite a lot of stress,” Mrs. Primsbite said quickly. “Miss Bekin, why don’t I help you to your cabin?”
“No,” barked Meralda. “She stays. I’m only going to say this once.” She glared at her mother, who glared right back. “The landing ramp was lowered this morning. Had the party responsible, mother, inquired as to any Mag activity in the area, she would have been told that more than fifty of the creatures have infested our hiding place. Fifty. It was sheer blind luck that kept us from being overrun.”
“Well, now, Miss, in your mother’s defense, she did have a good look at the viewport before we disembarked, and no man-eating insects were milling about,” Mr. Gliff said.
“Oh, she’s just overly cautious, as usual.” Meralda’s mother sighed and raised her hands in mock surrender. “Forgive my small lapse in judgment, dear. It won’t happen again.”
“No. It won’t. Because I have rescinded your permission to operate the ramp. We are under siege. The Mag are entering the anomaly in droves. Everyone is to remain aboard, and that ramp stays closed unless I open it.”
Meralda’s mother laughed. “Are you granting yourself the rank of Captain?”
Meralda met her mother’s gaze. “I am an officer of the Court of Tirlin. While neither Mr. Gliff nor the jabberwock nor Bruce is bound by that, you are.”
“That’s Meralda-speak for I’m the bloody captain,” added Mug. “And if you have an issue with that, Miss Bekin, so help me I’ll toss you to the Mag myself.”
“Goodness.” Mrs. Primsbite rose. “I’m sure no one present has any intention of obstructing the Mage in her efforts to get us home.” She fluttered to Meralda’s mother’s side, all smiles. “You’ve had quite the adventure this morning. Why don’t you let me and Mr. Gliff see you to your cabin? I’m sure a brief nap would be most refreshing.”
“Good idea,” chimed Mr. Gliff. “Come, lass, and it’s my fault for introducing you to Bentran whiskey in the wee hours of the morning. Apologies, Miss Meralda.”
Miss Bekin wobbled to her feet. She took Mr. Gliff’s bent elbow. “I shall retire, then,” she said, airily. “Good day, daughter. All.”
She swept ahead, dragging Mr. Gliff in her wake. Mrs. Primsbite with them, chattering away.
“Breakfast theater,” Donchen said, after the galley doors slid silently shut. “Amusing enough, though I doubt it catches on in Tirlin.”
“I did warn her the fluid she consumed was mildly toxic,” Skoof said. “Her reply was perplexing, as I lack any such anatomy.”
Meralda sank into a chair. “She could have gotten us all killed.”
Donchen wiped his hands on a towel. When he emerged from the counter separating the dining area from the kitchen proper, he bore a plate of food. “I believe she is somewhat smitten by our guest.” He put a plate and a fork down in front of Meralda. “And no harm was done.”
Meralda stabbed at the yellowish substance that was very much like, and yet still not quite, an egg.
“Mother is quite incapable of being smitten.” She took a bite. “She’s up to something.”
The jabberwock, which lay curled into a gray ball in the corner, unfolded. It walked to the doors and departed.
Donchen shrugged. “She has been imbibing. With a certain admirable determination. Perhaps the brew was more potent than we Tirls can tolerate.”
“Mother could probably drink the jabberwock under the table. But we have more immediate concerns.”
“The Mag invasion?”
“Yes. They’ll find us, sooner or later. Skoof. Celestia. How long will it take a horde of these Mag to breach the hull, and gain entry?”
“My hull is designed to withstand the rigors of interstellar travel,” said Celestia. “It is impenetrable to insects. Even the one I observed.”
“Two weeks, perhaps more,” Skoof said. “The Mag are relentless and implacable. I have witnessed them breaching hulls before.” The machine paused, its trio of flat-footed feet tapping nervously on the deck. “I would sooner not go into detail. But these are not mere insects. They will bring tools. They will neither rest nor tire nor despair. Your only hope is flight.”
“And our only means of flight is to construct an airship,” Meralda said. “Celestia. Please know that we have no wish to leave you behind. Is there a way to remove the machinery that houses you? Take those components with us?”
“No,” said the ship. “The infrastructure required to maintain my functions is only available aboard the hull.”
“And just how much does your hull weight?” Donchen asked.
“Several orders of magnitude above your ability to lift it using nothing but heated gas. I shall simply re-enter suspension when you depart,” it added. Meralda was sure there was a hint of genuine sadness in the ship’s voice. “But thank you for considering me.”
“Should we return home,” Meralda said, “I shall make every effort to mount a rescue.”
The Celestia said nothing.
“When we return home,” Donchen said. “Not if. But when. I have every confidence we shall prevail.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mug piped. “Blind dogged optimism! A steadfast refusal to acknowledge facts or accept a painfully obvious reality. That’s one of the two things I like about you, Donchen.”
“Two things?” asked Donchen, feigning an expression of surprise. “What is the other?”
“Your uncanny ability to lie with an absolutely straight face.” Mug brought his cage to hover over Meralda’s plate. “Orders, Captain?”
“See to Bruce. He’s doubtlessly frightened and confused.”
“Aren’t we all?” Mug’s coils hummed, and he sped toward the doors. “Still, I’ll go spread my usual good cheer, while carefully skirting the topic of being consumed by space cockroaches.”
Meralda glared, and Mug darted away.
“More coffee?” Donchen asked. “One can hardly expect to construct a makeshift airship on a single cup.”
“I’ll take one with me. To the extruder room. We’ve got to get ready to depart.”
“Friend Skoof,” Donchen. “Remind me. How many do the Mag number, at least approximately?”
“Between ei
ghty and a hundred thousand, spread about the wheel,” replied Skoof.
Meralda dropped her fork.
“Spread about the wheel,” Donchen said. “Not all massed in a single place. Not yet. Have you given thought to weapons and tactics?”
“The fire lances,” Meralda answered. “Though we’ll need a much larger mounted device on the airship frame itself. I believe I can rig together smaller devices which will ignite and disperse when thrown or dropped.”
“Excellent ideas.”
“I should be pleased to assist you with any diversion you require,” Skoof said. “The Mag know me and ignore me.”
“But you’ll be on the airship with us,” Meralda said. “If you wish to be, naturally.”
The metal creature bowed. “I have not yet decided. But your invitation is generous. I shall inform you of my decision soon.”
Meralda rose, her plate empty. “Time to get to work,” she said, snatching up her coffee cup. “Check in on Mother after a time, won’t you, Donchen? I’d do it myself, but I have no patience for her machinations.”
Donchen stood. “Of course.”
Donchen and Meralda kissed. Skoof came tapdancing close, his battered dome rising beside them. “Mr. Mug encouraged me to observe this behavior closely,” he said, as both Donchen and Meralda turned their faces toward him.
“I’m sure he did,” Meralda said, glaring. She stepped back after squeezing Donchen’s hand. “See you at lunch.”
“Skoof, why don’t you come with me,” Donchen said. “I shall try to explain Mug’s sense of humor. Meralda, dear, don’t despair. They are many in number, yes, but that will hardly matter once we take flight.”
“It will certainly become an issue once we reach the spoke,” Meralda replied. Then she sighed, pushed the thought away, and stepped through the door.
* * *
The extruder chimed. “Creation complete,” said Celestia, as a neatly folded square of dark gray material slid from the maw of the machine and into the collection basket. “One gas envelope, with rigging, vents, and thermal apertures as specified.”