Rift in the Races (2 page)

“All right, does anyone have anything to add to that?” He hoped they didn’t.

They didn’t. Well, except Tribbey Redquill, of course. Her hand waved alone, a solitary limb in an orchard where all the trees were closing notebooks and reaching for satchels lying beneath their roots. They had obviously caught him looking at the hourglass again and took it as a sign. A few students shot threatening looks down at Tribbey Redquill when they saw her waving that know-it-all branch around, but most had already brought their homing lizards out and begun writing notes to friends, parents or sweethearts on bits of parchment pulled from pockets, pouches or packs.

“No one besides Miss Redquill, then?” said Altin, trying not to make it sound like what it was.

Most made an effort not to look at him. The note writers didn’t care. They were already lost in the oblivion of their correspondence, though most were respectful enough to try to hide the fact. He could tell what they were doing by the contortions of their bodies, their shoulders askew and, as often as not, their lower jaws working and lower lips being chewed upon while they tried to write upon the unstable surfaces of their laps.

He shook his head. “Very well then. Miss Redquill, we’ll have to save it for next time. Class dismissed.”

He felt a little bad about doing it to her, but he was tired. It had been a long day, and a long semester. And, frankly, most of this time was a waste. They all wanted to be on
Citadel
, sure, but only a few of them wanted it bad enough to work for it. Like Tribbey did. Like he had. He’d worked for it long and hard, years of failed attempts to reach the moon, pink Luria, before he finally succeded and teleported there. There and beyond. And he wanted to go back out. He wanted to find the Hostiles, and he wanted to do it before the Hostiles found them. The bulk of the Earth fleet, now ten months underway and bent on taking the war to the Hostile world, was still going to be a long time in getting to where they thought the Hostiles were. Four years and a few months to go before they got there. Far too long for Altin’s sense of security—and that assumed the Earth people had even chosen the right star. Orli admitted to him that they had no idea if the solar system the fleet ships were heading to was the right one. Altin was not going to wait that long to find out if they had guessed right. No way.

He started to gather up his notes when Tribbey Redquill stopped by his desk, as she always did, on her way out of class. She would not be silenced so easily. “I believe gravity is the most stable element in the shield, Sir Altin,” she said. “I’ve been reading through Polar Piton’s spell very carefully, and if you factor in Earth science descriptions of gravity, which you should, then it must be counted as one of the ‘all aspects of the environment’ Polar Piton wrote about, whether he intended it or not. It must be so, and if so, it certainly answers the questions some of my fleet instructors have in that regard.”

“A great topic for a paper some day,” he said as he tried to make the tidying of his desk declare the immediacy of his departure. “I’m sure someone will enjoy reading it.”

“A fascinating adventure you must have had out there,” she said, changing the subject to her real purpose for these visits after every class. “I certainly hope that, if you do decide to take a few students on
Citadel
, you’ll remember who your top performers are. You do know I am a P-class teleporter don’t you?”

He looked up and smiled. “Yes, Miss Redquill, you’ve mentioned it several times before.”

“And a K in Sight.”

“Yes, Miss Redquill.”

“All right. I just want to make sure you don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Well, you do struggle with names.” She walked out then, leaving the insinuation hanging there before he could defend himself. She vanished through the door with a flip of her long brown hair to indicate how pleased she was with herself.

He couldn’t be annoyed with her. She’d make a fantastic space mage; maybe someday she’d be his replacement as the Queen’s Galactic Mage. She would almost certainly command her own space fortress one day or, if not that, perhaps serve as an officer on a starship for the people from Earth—once they finally got over their fear of magic anyway.

The remaining students flowed out of the room like grains of sand in the hourglass on his desk, noisy granules of laughter and weekend plans crowding the door and spilling into the ancient hallways of King Perfort’s University.

When the last of them was gone, Altin went to the nearest window and looked outside. Sunlight twinkled through the leaves of a towering two-hundred-foot black oak growing across the commons lawn. It was barely mid-afternoon. He still had to conduct the tour of
Citadel
for the fleet officers in a few hours. Orli would be there, which he was happy about, but he couldn’t look forward to the event itself, not with Captain Asad and his hawkish looks and acidic remarks as part of it. Altin did have a strategy for that, though. He was going to make Aderbury do most of the talking. Aderbury was the man in charge of building
Citadel
, after all. Altin only helped coordinate which enchantments they needed and gave direction to the enchanting teams setting up the runes—that and training the crew, of course.

Still, he would see her, be near her, and afterwards, he’d have her all to himself. Finally. Two weeks felt like a thousand years when they were apart, which they often were these days.

Finding time with Orli had become a tactical nightmare ever since the Queen had conceded to the admiral’s request that Orli no longer be treated with ambassadorial grandeur as she had been when the fleet first arrived—an unfortunate consequence of Altin’s having taken her on an unannounced and unapproved all-night dragon ride the night of the Royal Earth Ball. While it was true that Orli was not technically qualified for diplomacy by experience or education anyway, her ambassadorial status was made even more untenable for many by the fact that she had “run off with Altin like a prom queen in heat” as Captain Asad had put it the day after the dragon flight, which Altin had subsequently learned had the Prosperion equivalent of the captain’s having called her the “harlot of the harvest festival.” That had done nothing to improve the souring relationship between Altin and the
Aspect’s
commanding officer. Now, ten months later, the captain worked against them constantly, making finding a night like tonight a major victory.

Altin returned to the desk and packed up his lesson plans, stuffing books and parchment and sheepskin scrolls into a leather case and tossing the whole of it over his shoulder. He was supposed to meet Aderbury to confer with him about the
Citadel
tour. This was a big deal for his friend, the first showing of
Citadel
to the fleet. All the captains who had stayed behind when the bulk of the fleet left for the Hostile system would be there. Granted, it wasn’t the official launching of the fortress, but it was the first preview of it for the people from Earth. Aderbury was almost as eager to impress the Earth people as was the Queen. Altin just wanted to be with Orli.

Chapter 2

E
nsign Orli Pewter tapped the shuttle’s communications console and signaled back to the mining base on Tinpoa, a small, rocky moon orbiting the gas giant Naotatica half a solar system away. “Entering Prosperion’s atmosphere,” she said. “Three minutes to next contact.”

“Roger, shuttle
Six
. Three minutes.” The com went black.

“Shields are up, Captain,” said Lieutenant Roberto Levi sitting next to her. “Entry in seven, six, five, four, three, two … one.”

At first the view through the windshield didn’t change. The bright blue planet loomed up at them, the massive continent of Kurr spreading out upon it like an enormous green amoeba lounging on a globe, but gradually the glow of heat building against the forward plasma shield obscured the view. At first a flicker of orange flames, it brightened through hues of yellow until finally the planet was lost in the nearly white-hot furnace of atmospheric friction.

“Two minutes twenty-seven seconds,” Roberto announced, watching the autopilot controls to confirm trajectory and attitude. “All systems normal. No signs of interfering magic.”

“Be ready for it,” said Captain Asad.

“Aye, sir.”

Orli slid two slender fingers down a long white line of light near the top of her console to darken the windshield. The computer wasn’t dimming it fast enough, and the glare was making everybody squint.

Behind the pair piloting the landing craft, Captain Asad turned to the assemblage of fellow captains seated around him, nine in addition to himself. “I spoke to Admiral Crane just before we left,” he began, “and he asked that we look suitably impressed regardless of what we see today. He considers it a matter of etiquette that, no matter how primitive this contraption turns out to be, we show respect for the effort. This Queen of theirs is vain, pompous and self-indulgent, and there is nothing to be gained from angering her. Particularly given that we still know very little about their technology.”

“It’s magic, Asad,” said Captain Jefferies of the fleet ship
Utah
. “When are you going to relax and call a spade a spade? Talk about nothing to be gained. You deny what you’ve seen with your own two eyes over and over again. We’ve all seen it at least a hundred times.”

Several of the others nodded in agreement. Orli wanted to say something as well, but Roberto saw her about to open her mouth and kicked her under the console.

Captain Asad shook his head and made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. He felt as if he were trying to reason with a room full of five-year-olds determined to believe in fairytales. Whatever the Prosperions did, the thing they called magic, worked, yes. He granted them that. He’d seen enough of it since the first encounter with Altin Meade eighteen months ago to know that
something
was real. But magic? That was ridiculous. That was a notion that encouraged lazy fantasy rather than prudent inquiry. He resisted the urge to make that point to his fellow captains yet again, and pressed on instead with conveying the admiral’s last-minute remarks instead.

“Also, please have an eye for detail, and have the video feed on your com badges set to record. I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you the tactical value of taking good mental and recorded notes, in case these people turn out not to be as sweet and neighborly as everyone is so hell-bent on trusting they are.”

Roberto kicked Orli again, and even with that, she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep her remark in check. She knew her friend was right to silence her, but she scowled at him anyway, as if he were the one with the terrible attitude.

“Asad, you are something else,” said Captain Jefferies, shaking his head. A few others clearly agreed, though not all.

“Yes, I am something else,” Captain Asad sent back. “I am the last man in Troy trying to prevent a gullible populace from opening the goddamn gates because they are so dumbstruck by the pretty wooden horse they just can’t stop themselves. Now if you will all please acknowledge the admiral’s last communication, then this … medieval show-and-tell can be over, and we can get back to work repairing our ships.”

“Twenty seconds, Captain,” said Roberto.

The ship finished its fiery descent through the upper atmosphere and leveled off. Orli brought the windshield back to standard transparency as Roberto took over manual control.

“All right,” he said. “Here we are. So, where is it?”

“Over there, on the other side of those hills,” said Orli, pointing. “Just like it shows on the map they gave us. That set of hills just below that mountain range, where it forms a bowl.” She pulled a rolled-up sheet of parchment from under her chair and spread it out on the console. “See, look.”

“These people need to learn how to give coordinates,” Roberto muttered as he glanced at the map.

“They’re working on it,” she said. “They’re learning our ways as quickly as possible. Unlike some of us.” She lifted her foot, causing Roberto’s kick to hit the bottom of her boot rather than the soft flesh of her calf.

“As I said,” said Captain Asad, ignoring her but tipping a sideways movement of his head toward the parchment map. “Primitive.” He straightened himself and faced the other captains squarely. “I know there’s been a great deal of build-up and secrecy around this project, and to talk to their monarch, you’d think it was the greatest achievement in all of history, but let’s make sure to keep our expectations in check. Smile and act impressed.”

Roberto guided the ship toward the low-slung set of foothills, which, to the cartographer’s artistic credit, were rendered perfectly on the map. He brought their small ship closer to the ground as they approached the hills, in position for a quick landing if a magical pulse from something the wizards were doing forced him to set it down fast. In a matter of moments they crested the edge of the little vale, revealing as they did an area roughly three miles long and a little more than half that wide.

To the northeast, where the vale melted into foothills crowding up against the mountains, the shuttle occupants could see a shanty town. It wasn’t very large, comprised of several rows of wooden outbuildings that appeared hastily built and leaned one against the next. It obviously stood in service to the great pit just east of it, which opened out from the base of the mountain for a half-mile and ran along it for two. The ship was too far away for its occupants to see down inside, but the sensor readings indicated it was nearly a half-mile to the bottom of the pit.