Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals (26 page)

Orli had had to stop Altin’s response with her fingers placed softly on his mouth, pleading with her eyes that these two men whom she loved so very much would not grow to hate one another any more than the doctor already did the mage. “Please,” she whispered, and Altin had relented.

It had been the work of eleven days and countless conversations that had finally gotten Doctor Singh to do the surgery. A lot of begging and a lot of tears. But at last he had relented, perhaps knowing in his heart that it really was the only hope of happiness for Blue Fire. And with Orli’s secret promise not to let Altin keep his word.

And so now the doctor worked with a strange tool, not so different than a laser scalpel in its way, but much messier and much more difficult to use. There were no cutting templates for a living planetary heart, and the odd properties of the gray crystals, the gray Liquefying Stone all around, gobbled up attempts to map the surgery properly. They could not get a visual representation with sound, X-ray, neutrino, or Higgs flow. They’d managed a gross sketch between each of those, each having marginal ability to permeate and shape the heart stone, but there were far more blank areas in the organ map than there were details. Which meant the doctor was on his own, though he did have the careful advice of Marks Bryant in his ear, the professor’s years of archaeology aiding his great knowledge of geology.

So Orli watched, and the doctor worked, and everyone not operating the machine or the lights, or monitoring the settings of everyone’s environmental suits, waited and paced. Which included Altin Meade.

Altin, therefore, paced back and forth on the bridge of the
Glistening Lady
, relegated to that distance at Orli’s request. The farther he was from Doctor Singh, the better off everyone would be, especially Yellow Fire, who needed the doctor’s hand steady as a steel plate, not quivering with rage. So Altin watched on the monitor of Roberto’s ship and waited anxiously.

“You’d think your daughter was late coming home from the prom,” Roberto said, trying to break the tension Altin kept painting across the deck. “I know you and the doc ain’t really all kissy-kissy anymore, but the man is good. It’s going to work out fine.”

For a moment Altin was taken aback, the words his friend chose confusing him. Altin was trying very hard to learn the language Orli’s people spoke, and he was within the radius of a translation spell now, but some of that made no sense. Besides the enchantment on one of Altin’s amulets, and enchantments on the com buttons of the ship’s entire crew, Roberto also had enchanted torch sconces mounted all over the ship, a gift from the Lord Chamberlain that Roberto had been too polite and too delighted to send back. Which meant Altin should have been able to understand everything. And yet, with Roberto more than most, he often couldn’t. He did know the man well enough, however, to realize much of it was likely some bit of inanity or sarcasm, so he forced himself to let it go. “I know Doctor Singh is competent, the best,” Altin said, responding to what he had gotten out of it. “I have absolute faith in his skill. But I’m worried about putting it back.”

“What do you mean?” Roberto asked as he laid a card on the table he and his crew had set up on one side of the bridge. He looked to the brawny woman sitting across from him, whom Altin had first seen standing guard at the base of the ship’s loading ramp that first day at Murdoc Bay. “Just one, and make it sweet,” Roberto said. She seemed to be amused by that, and her muscles flexed beneath tanned skin as she dealt Roberto a card, her arms toned and strong, with veins like blue snakes visible at the inner elbows and down her forearms.

“I mean, when he cuts it out, and we figure out how big it is,” Altin replied, “how are we going to get it into the cave on Red Fire? I’m watching the man work, and it occurs to me that we’re not going to be able to just stuff this heart into a hole like planting daffodils. It’s going to have to be put back perfectly.”

Roberto looked like he was going to make some smart remark, but Deeqa Daar, standing beside Altin, saw where the Prosperion’s thoughts were going. “You do not think they will be able to cut a new hole for it properly on the red world, despite all of that?” She pointed into the monitor, indicating all the expensive equipment that Tytamon’s—that Altin’s money had bought. “That is a high-end setup you have there. It is the best that money can buy.”

“Yes, I know. And Professor Bryant says they’ll cut a hole to match. The machine is monitoring the doctor’s every move, and taking notes of some kind. But I’m still worried that it has to be an absolutely perfect match. A hand in a kid-leather glove isn’t going to be a good enough fit. It must be more like those flexible gloves Earth doctors wear, and I just can’t see how they’re going to do that with that water machine. All that money, and I saw no plaster or even mud down there. I had hoped they might at least plan to make some kind of wet mold or something.”

“Four ladies, ladies,” Roberto announced, slapping four cards onto the table to the groans of both security crewwomen and his navigator. “Good thing I pay you well.” He turned a victorious face toward Altin as he raked in a pile of silver Prosperion coins. “Dude, that’s your medieval-age thinking going again. You’re so backwoods, bro. No offense, of course. But relax. They’ll scan that hole when the doctor is done and model it exact. I’m telling you, Singh won’t even have to make the cuts on Red Fire. The computer on that rig down there will match the hole way better than he ever could. It’s the first template that is the tricky part. That’s what Singh will do.”

Altin understood most of that very well, and he nodded, pacing right up to the monitor. “I certainly hope so. But I’m still worried about the joint. If it’s not close enough, it might not heal. Or grow. Or whatever it needs to work.”

“If you want something to worry about, you should be worried about how you’re going to get all that equipment teleported to the red world without screwing it up when this is done. Do you guys even have a hole cut out for it yet?”

Altin shook his head. They didn’t. He hadn’t even gone back since the day Orli blew the life out of the vicious Hostile they all called Red Fire, the day both she and Altin were nearly killed. He hadn’t wanted to. There’d been no need. Only a few quick trips with a seeing spell to confirm that the damage was done and that it had stayed that way. He’d looked again after Her Majesty had suggested there was a chance that Red Fire, like Yellow Fire, was merely lying dormant somehow. But he was not. The black, burnt-out remnants of his heart chamber lay open like a caved-in skull. The force of the explosion Orli had ignited with the mining charges had blasted out the bottom of the chamber and broken off a section of the cave wall, which dropped to the cavern floor like an unhinged jaw. There was no pulsing light in it now. Altin had even sent his magical sight scurrying through the debris, crawling with it through the darkness like a tiny insect through the rocks, looking through and beneath each boulder, all around, seeking the slightest pulse of light in the Stygian darkness. There had been none. Red Fire was dead. It was a certainty.

Or at least he hoped it was. He’d cast a divining spell for it, and that seemed to confirm it as well. So did the one the priestess Klovis had cast for him. The young adherent of Anvilwrath, part of the circle of clerics who had helped find Red Fire, had done it as a favor for him when he’d asked.

Now that there seemed to be a real chance that they could get Yellow Fire out, now that the professor’s insane-seeming water-knife idea was working as planned, the reality began to settle on him. They were going to have to go back. And if he was there, if Red Fire was lurking in that rubble heap, what might happen to them all?

He decided that perhaps he should put a little more effort into verifying the death than he had. Yes, the priests said it was so. But the priests lied as often as not these days. And when they weren’t lying, they simply got things wrong. Snatching up bits of this prophecy and that, trying to tie together the absolute truth.

He decided that, just to be sure, he’d go see Ocelot again. Orli would be busy for a while, and he thought a quick trip to the Z-class diviner would bolster his confidence before going back again. If it were only him, he wouldn’t be worried at all, but the whole lot of them would be going there in Roberto’s ship. And for the five or six hours it took to restart the ship’s systems, it and everyone in it would be vulnerable as it drifted in orbit above the huge red world. He supposed if there were to be bad news, now was the time to get it. And while he was on Prosperion, he would open up some books of transmutation spells. Maybe between him and Ocelot, they could figure out how to meld all that Liquefying Stone. He’d never tried to work with Liquefying Stone and his ring together. And certainly never an entire planet’s worth, a very big planet’s worth when it came to Red Fire. That world was no moon.

But he’d have to look into it. It was clear from watching this procedure that something most likely would need to be done to facilitate the transplant. The cut that Doctor Singh made now would have to be uncut on Red Fire, the damage undone. So home Altin would go, to Ocelot, and perhaps afterward, a visit to the man with the greatest gift for merging stone that Altin knew: Aderbury.

Chapter 23

C
limbing the twisted palm trees in the forbidden cove was easy. Pernie scrambled up the winding slant of one such pair with the ease of a monkey and the silence of a child who’d spent her whole life playing and exploring in nature, one who had learned from hunters and woodsmen on Kurr, and now one with over a half year’s being trained by elves.

The cawfrat, a poisonous variety of parrot, flapped away as she climbed. Silent as she was, it did not need to hear her, for it saw her quite easily with its great round eyes. Just as well, Pernie thought as she neared the top of the winding trunks. It was better to be out of its range. She knew from previous experience that cawfrats spat foul acid along with the curses that they spoke. But their range was short, and the parrot only flew to the next tree, not particularly concerned with the little girl in the tree.

That was a fatal mistake. No sooner had it settled in the crook of the palm fronds it had flown to than Pernie’s spear ran it through, right beneath the wing and halfway out the other side, pushing that wing out at an acute angle as the spearhead knifed through. It barely had time to squawk before it fell in a flapping spasm into the sand, where it landed with a thump.

Pernie sent the image of it, in particular of its eyes, to Knot, who lay curled up in a ball on the beach where she had left him. He perked up upon receiving the thought, and she guided him to it once he’d unrolled himself and seized onto the idea of food. A moment later, an instant really, given the insect’s speed, Knot set upon the still-twitching cawfrat and drove his tongue spike into one of the bird’s huge, juicy eyes, happily sucking out the delicious meat.

Pernie watched Knot as she leaned into the tree, her toes jammed into the cleavage formed where the two trunks had come together as the trees had grown. Knot loved eyeballs, it was true, but there were none he loved as much as cawfrat eyes. Each was nearly as big as a papaya, and every time she killed one of the birds for him, he grew a little less obstinate.

She sighed and looked up into the cluster of coconuts that dangled just above her head. She should have gotten one down before she’d thrown her spear. She’d been wanting to try one anyway.

She climbed the remaining distance and drew her knife from her belt. She reached up and had just begun to cut when Djoveeve’s shout came up. “Don’t you dare, child!” There was such absolute command in it that Pernie’s little eyebrows dropped into a concerted line above eyes that focused all the more. She set to the task more earnestly and thrust her little knife into the cluster, sawing for all her worth.

Tremors vibrated through the trunk as she cut, and for a moment it gave her pause. Her sawing slowed as she feared that Djoveeve’s stories of the twisted tree spirits, the ghosts that lived in them, might be coming true. What if the tree was shaking because a ghost was coming out?

But then an enormous hand clamped an iron grip upon her leg as Djoveeve, now transformed into a silver-haired gorilla, yanked her free of her perch and dangled her by the ankle high above the sand.

Djoveeve began descending, still holding Pernie at arm’s length in one hand and using her remaining three limbs to climb. The motions were violent. The transmuted assassin jumped down with her bottom half, her thick body elongating as she dropped. Her lower legs would catch the trunk and stop the near free fall with a jolt, then she’d let go with her upper arm and let the tree slide through the gray pads of her powerful hand. The sliding made a rapid
tick
,
tick
,
tick
ing as the corrugations rasped across her leathery grip, then she’d grab hold and drop another two spans with her bottom half again. She repeated the sequence several times, with Pernie swinging wildly in the air.

The whole descent took only a matter of seconds, and by the end of it, Pernie was shaken rather violently—perhaps on purpose. It was a condition that was not helped much by the fact that, when they were still five feet from the ground, Djoveeve simply dropped her, letting Pernie fall into the sand. She landed with a dull thump not unlike that of the fallen cawfrat, whose eyes Knot was still sucking on, and had to blink some of the beach out of her eyes.

“I told you not to come here again,” Djoveeve said, already returned to human form. “And I certainly told you the nature of these trees.”