Rift in the Races (78 page)

Ilbei told Aderbury exactly what he thought was allowable under the definition of
silence
as he understood it to be. Aderbury was familiar enough with the Queen and the nobility, being a commoner like Ilbei was, to read between the lines, so he didn’t press.

“Well, master miner, I understand you well enough, trust me,” Aderbury said. He took the time to fix Ilbei with a look that conveyed it clearly and as true. “And, whatever circumstances Orli finds herself in, I’m sure it will all work out. I’ve sent my prayers to Mercy and have faith in her and the Queen’s men. In the meantime, your timing could not be better, for we are ready to give
Citadel
a try.”

“Ya mean she’s all done, sir?”

“No, not quite. We had to take a few shortcuts, and some of our enchantments have fewer charges on them than we would have liked, but, truthfully it’s not anything we can’t keep working on while we are underway. She’s done enough to fly.”

“That’s great news.”

“It will be better news if you can make the machine work. I’ve tried a few of the other miners that came back from Tinpoa, but none of them had enough experience to risk tinkering with that machine. To a man they all suggested we find you.”

“I only worked with the drillin’ units and small generators,” he confessed. “The only communication machines I used was them small boxes mounted on the walls.”

“Just have a look, Ilbei. I won’t hold you to anything. I realize this was an unexpected request.”

Encouraged by Aderbury’s amiable attitude, after such an audience with the Queen, Ilbei let himself be led through
Citadel
and up into the highest chamber, wherein the fleet’s entanglement array sat in its various parts, disassembled as it was and packed in several hard plastic crates. There were seven of them.

Ilbei pulled off his leather hat and scratched at his bald spot skeptically. “Now, Master Aderbury, there’s figurin’ out how ta make it work, and then there’s figurin’ out how ta put it together. Them two ain’t remotely the same.”

“You are quite right,” Aderbury agreed with a sly grin. “Good luck.” He patted Ilbei on the thick shoulder and exited the anti-magic room, flashing one last glimpse of that grin before he disappeared, his head bobbing lower and lower as he descended the stairs and finally vanished through the opening in the outer chamber’s floor.

Ilbei looked around him, surveying the stack of alien crates then peering down through the transparency of the diamond floor. He frowned at the enormous chessboard arrangement of all those redoubts far below. What had he gotten himself into?

With a sigh, he set himself to work. At least it gave him something to do, keeping his mind off of what might be happening to that poor Earth girl. He hadn’t been particularly keen spending that much time with the Queen’s elf, but he sure hoped the scary bastard could get Orli out of whatever predicament she was in. He wasn’t too sure why anyone would reckon themselves safe to snatch one of the Earth people like that, or why a nobleman like Lord Thadius would stoop to such a thing, but the elf and the Queen had agreed that Northfork Manor was most likely where Orli had to be. Ilbei still had no idea how the elf had figured it out the way he had. He chalked it up to inside information and maybe some kind of intuition that comes with creeping around in the dark.

Chapter 61

T
he poisoned wine, or at least that’s how Orli had come to view it, had a sweeter fragrance than it might have had without the … whatever it was Thadius’ magician had put in it. She was on her third dose now, and having shown no reluctance to drink the last two, today’s treatment went down with equal ease. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she’d held Thadius in such contempt. He was a harsh man, when he dropped the fancy-pants façade, but she had to admit he had certain qualities. He was tall. And very brave. She remembered how dashing he’d been charging across the rocky shelf in that cove. So tall and strong on his white horse. Leading his men into battle against those giant creatures. Striking down her captors mightily, and so many of them.

She thought about him wistfully, though, in the back of her mind there still twittered some nagging doubt. There was something about the horses, but she could not recall. She had to shake her head to clear it away. She was getting sleepy.

Her friend was there to greet her in her dreams. Once Thadius was gone, she rode the subtle scent of the wine into the dark void where Blue Fire loomed magnificent and large. A fantastic black mass with a pink halo, a fringe of luminous loveliness worn like a crown.

Blue Fire felt sad, just as she always did. Her lost love the center of everything. Orli was reminded of her own loss, though, somehow, it didn’t seem so sharp today. Blue Fire sensed it too, and Orli was swept away by the torrent of Blue Fire’s concern. Hate flared again. The sense of betrayal. Hatred and anger. A galaxy filled with the knowledge of human incivility, even now inflicted upon itself, betraying Orli too. The only friend. Infuriating irony.

Orli felt the rage of it, the indignity, but Blue Fire’s emotions ran where they would.

Orli saw skyscrapers jutting like broken teeth into a turquoise sky. Huge buildings, alien structures to be sure, but buildings just the same. Engineering marvels of the sort ubiquitous on Earth. She’d seen them before. In the images from Andalia. This was a city. Persepiece. She’d even stood once on that very ground, though long after the city was destroyed.

She saw through Blue Fire the city in its dying days, its spires and wondrous curves being meticulously devoured, consumed by sheets of Hostile brown and gray. She dreamed it as it died, watched it eaten away by the force of Blue Fire’s world, of Blue Fire’s rage. A people removed for its audacity, for the ripping out of Andalia’s innards, its substances perverted for lifeless constructs.

Her dream became one of humanity, a human: faceless, nameless, genderless. A simile. Eviscerated. Entrails ripped out and thrown into space like gray and purple sausages. Flung there carelessly. She could feel the abandon of the act. Not hate. A point. The point of waste. What was the point of all those entrails floating amongst the stars? The nameless human was dead. For nothing. For emptiness.

They all were now. All of them. Every human. Condemned. The race of them for the rape of Andalia. The flinging of its metals into space. The corruption of its compounds for vacancy and lifelessness. Twisted forms and erections of nothingness. No beauty. No love. Which is why the buildings had to rot and fade to nothingness.

She watched as the vast metropolis of Persepiece dissolved as if it consumed by some great acidic cloud. It melted away, fizzled and gassed, and was gone. All of it. Its people too. Coughing up blood. Gone mad. Dying. Then dissolving with all the rest. Returned to Andalia. Put back to the way it was a hundred million years ago. The way it was supposed to be. Returned. Undone. And punished.

Punished the rest would be. For Blue Fire. For Blue Fire that was him before her. For the Blue Fire that had died beneath the blue sun. This is what the Blue Fire beneath the golden sun understood. He was killed by men. The people who tear out the guts of worlds and fling them into space. Those are the people that must die. All of them.

Orli’s dream became blinding hate again. She filled with the blast of it, so full, yet so sorrowful, that she awoke, breathing heavily and having sweated clear through her filthy dress.

“She thinks we killed him,” she muttered breathlessly as she sat up. “She thinks we killed her mate.”

Perhaps an hour after that, the sound of shouts came echoing to her, down through the stairwell and into the cavern through the door.

Chapter 62

A
ltin was forced to endure another two days in sick bay before the doctor would release him to his own room. He was given quarters close to sick bay and near Doctor Singh’s so the physician could keep an eye on him.

Satisfied that Altin would be all right, and warning him not to stress the arm lest he risk breaking it or tearing the fragile tissues that were still being made, the doctor left him to his own devices.

The first thing Altin did was try to teleport himself back home.

He stood, a bit wobbly still, but strong enough not to collapse or fall, and closed his eyes, letting his mind reach out into the mana pool. He’d be damned if he was going to remain a prisoner on the ship.

The mana was there, a familiar friend, a beloved sea upon which many a wondrous voyage had been sailed. He began the words that would guide the spell, reaching out to shape them with the gestures of his dance, the ritual to focus the mind—but his left arm wouldn’t move properly.

Lifting it, making the sinuous motions that shaped the magic, the focusing of the mind and body in the ritual of purpose, was rendered awkward and ridiculous. He might as well have had the length of the tree limb in which he’d been stuck still attached for all the grace he could muster now. His arm was nearly useless, weak as a babe’s. He couldn’t even get the damned spell started.

He tried to find the fury to cast the spell without the words. Tried to find the instinct, the emotions. He’d done far more in his last great battle with the Hostiles. The fear for Orli’s safety made it simple. Shortened the need for artifice. Clarity of purpose instantly.

But he couldn’t find it. He knew what it looked like. He’d felt it before, the raw force of will that instantly shaped magic in the manner of a beast. He’d even done it to his sister by accident so many years before. He shouldn’t need a gods-be-damned arm. Even tiny Pernie could teleport without words.

He found anger. He found frustration, grief and bitterness.

But none of it would work.

He withdrew his mind from the mana and sat back down. This was ridiculous.

He knew enough of Earth ships to know how to operate the com. He pressed the button with the hand at the end of his one good arm. “Roberto, are you there?”

“I’m here,” came the Spaniard’s voice a moment later. Altin could not see his face, but an orange light flickered to life in the upper corner of the screen.

“Are the other teleporters here on the ship?”

“No. They’re on the
Utah
. The admiral called another big conference. Everyone’s trying to figure out what to do. I can’t really talk right now. I’m on duty. I’ll come down after my shift.”

Altin was about to turn away when Roberto added, “And press the orange light if you want video.”

Altin reached up and touched the blinking orange light, bringing Roberto’s grinning face and thumbs-up gesture into view. The recently promoted commander reached forward and cut the link immediately after, unwilling to risk the captain’s wrath. But it gave Altin an idea.

He scanned about for a container, a basin or large bucket. He didn’t need gestures for a scry. He could find Orli that way, contact her through the mirror he had made. At very least, he could find out where she was.

He tore through the room, opening everything, looking under anything that he could. But there was nothing he could use.

“Surely these people have a bucket,” he said. “What rat-infested vessel doesn’t have a damned basin or bucket? Where do they do their laundry or wash their food?”

He went back to the com and this time tried to call up Doctor Singh. He got one of the nurses he vaguely recognized—now that he’d mastered the visual secrets of the orange light. This was even better.

“I need a basin,” he said. “A fairly good-sized one.”

“What for?” asked the nurse.

His first instinct was to snap at her and tell her it was none of her infernal business what it was for, but he suppressed the urge. “It’s a calming ritual of my people,” he explained. “A bucket of warm water in which to soak our feet. We believe it helps us clear our heads.”

“Oh,” said the nurse. “You want Epsom salts?”

“I have no idea what that is. I just need a bucket. Please tell me where I need to go to get one.”

“I’ll have an orderly bring one right over. Doctor Singh asked that we let you rest. A good foot soak is a great idea.”

“Thank you.” She cut the connection as soon as he’d said it, leaving him to sit back and try to rest. He was already nearly exhausted from the effort of his simple search.

A few minutes later an orderly came in with a container made of the thin but resilient material Earth people called plastic. It was filled halfway with steaming water. He could see the shadowy movements of the water through the container’s translucent sides. The orderly set it down next to Altin’s bunk. “Here you go,” he said, handing Altin a thin plastic envelope filled with some sort of powder. “Epsom salts if you want them.”

“What’s it for?”

“It reduces swelling. Makes your feet feel better.”

Altin was certain swelling feet would be the last thing he could care about just now, but he forced himself to courtesy. “Thank you,” he said. He bit back the urge to say, “Now get out.”

As soon as the orderly withdrew, Altin stared into the plastic bucket. He wasn’t sure if it would work. He hoped there was nothing about this material, this plastic, that would make scrying spells not work. He thought that perhaps an even bigger problem would be properly remembering the spell. It felt as if he hadn’t cast a spell in ages, and his mind still felt as if his thoughts were thick. Nonetheless, he was determined to find his beloved, and missing, Orli.