The Galactic Mage Read online

  Which left only the ground below. The shield ended abruptly at the ground. It did not penetrate the earth beneath, though it was attached more firmly than the castle was itself. Altin decided that he would have to teleport a cut of ground as well, so as not to break his airtight seal, he could in essence scoop out a solid foundation of earth from below to make sure his shield had a significant “cork” of dirt to stand on when it appeared upon the moon.

  Letting go of the mana that had immersed him in the shield, he spent a bit more time exploring with a seeing spell, scurrying around the tower with his magical vision to make sure that nothing was awry. Once he was confident that all was well, he ran down to his room and scribbled a brief note on a sheet of parchment:

  Tytamon,

  Gone to moon. Will have tower back by morning.

  Altin

  He teleported the note to a basket that sat on Tytamon’s desk for the express purpose of receiving such things and, with that done, ran back up to the battlements prepared to cast.

  Unwilling to take any chances, Altin uncovered the Liquefying Stone and held it in his hand. He didn’t want to miss leaving something critical behind; the teleportation spell he was going to use was little different than the one he used on himself almost all the time, but it did include a significantly larger mass: his entire tower! He dipped his mind into the mana currents, seething now with the effects of the wondrous Liquefying Stone, and carefully drew off a large quantity of the whirling purple mass. He flattened it with his mind, spreading it thin like a sheet, which he then cast over his tower’s Polar shield like a giant net. He pushed the net down through the curtain wall, a pace beyond where the shield was anchored to the stone, and he stuffed its edges down into the very surface of the earth, pulling underneath the tower as well, almost as deep as he was tall, and yanking at it with his mind as if trying to wrap the tower in a sack. He squared it off beneath the tower as best he could, wanting a flat base beneath him when he set the tower down upon the moon, but it was so dark beneath the ground that he had to do much of it by “feel.” Snugging the mana net firmly into place, he took a moment to make certain that all the significant parts were tucked inside. They were.

  With that portion of the spell complete, he shifted the cadence of the chant for the transition through space and attached a cord of mana from the “netted” tower up to the tiny seeing stone on Luria countless measures above his head. He funneled the mana easily, despite the difference in mass, and found himself on the verge of distraction at how simple the Liquefying Stone made such a monumental task. Once the link was made, Altin drew the tower back, stretching the whole of himself and the entire castle corner backwards in the empty place where mana dwells, and then released it like a shot. The next thing he knew, he was on the surface of the moon.

  He opened his eyes and there he was, gazing out into the most enormous night he’d ever seen. Stars were everywhere. Ten times more than he remembered from his seeing spells before. An awesome sight, beyond anything he had even thought to imagine prior to being here. One just doesn’t think in terms of this.

  And then there was Prosperion. He looked up and saw it, momentarily surprised that it would be “up” where the moon should be. But there it was, shining like an enormous pearl of blue. Real this time, radiant, a far more mesmerizing sky light than Luria could ever be. Altin was suddenly jealous of himself, knowing that most nights would find him back down there with only pink Luria’s face to see. How unfair that the denizens of his world had only this small pink disc to gaze upon. After such a sight as this, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be so impressed with a face as featureless as was the moon’s.

  It took him a while to move through his moment of newfound awe. But at length he did, and he paced excitedly around the battlements, looking at everything. As he did, he realized that the tower was tilted just a bit, and it was with some degree of humor that he discovered he’d cut himself out an uneven granite base. His tower leaned like a poorly made chess piece set upon a rocky board of red. Still, not bad for a bit of guesswork he decided, and gave a dismissive laugh. Experimentation was never without its risks. If he’d gotten himself to the moon and all he had to suffer was a five degree incline, he figured he’d done it decently enough. Far more than anyone else had done. At which point he grinned.

  He allowed himself to fill with the appreciation for what he had just achieved. Altin was the first man on the moon. Ever. Two magicians had tried before, or so he’d read, but neither had made progress of any note. One had simply vanished several hundred years ago, and the other, a P-class teleporter, was found dead, his mythothalamus burnt to a crisp inside his head. Altin was sure that he now knew why. He glanced at the Liquefying Stone lying safely in its bowl. There was no way anyone could get here without that stone. At least not the first time. The unknown element was just too impossible to outcast. Especially for a P.

  But Altin was certain that he could teleport back without it now, at least himself and quite probably the tower. The distance wasn’t a problem, at least not for him. The problem had always been the colossal ambiguity that made blind casting such a strain. But now he knew exactly where “here” was. That poor P-class teleporter had never had a chance, as uniquely powerful as he most certainly was—a P rating was no common thing. No, finding the moon was a project for a Z. And here he was.

  He hopped giddily about his tilted tower and shouted with glee. It was just so exciting. And there was no one else around to see, so it didn’t matter how silly he may have looked. Glancing down from the wall, he happened to spot the little goat sitting out there all alone in the faint glow of the seeing stone below. He gave a start. Poor thing. He’d completely forgotten about the goat. He calmed himself enough to cast and brought the goat and the flagstone back inside, the flagstone returned to its proper place in his bedroom down below. He ran down to make sure that the goat was all right, and, satisfied that it was, came quickly back up top. He was still jubilant, like a child, and it took several more moments to prepare his mind again so that he could make yet another cast, this time one that would take the tower to the edge of the first big crater that he had found while using Sight to explore.

  Viewing the yawning hole in person, from his tower, was more impressive than it had been with simple magic sight; the perspective of a flesh-and-blood man, physically present, gave the site a sense of scale that had been missing merely seeing from Prosperion. The scale of the crater, wide and dark, punched into the ruddy landscape as if by the fist of a god, was humbling to behold, spectacular in its magnitude and in its presentation, encapsulated by stars and with bright Prosperion looming high above. Altin could not help but be in awe. He wished that there were someone else here to see it too.

  He found himself thinking of Aderbury and his wife. Aderbury would love it up here, and Hether would scream in absolute delight. Then, as one thought tends to lead to another, he realized that this was where Aderbury should build his amusement park, not down in Murdoc Bay. Suddenly Altin’s mind filled with images of a giant Polar’s dome covering measures of Luria’s open space. No place on Prosperion afforded so much land ready to be used. The moon was already cleared and leveled. Imagine the demand. Aderbury could make a fortune up here and leave that tiny office and insipid Thadius far behind. Yes, he was definitely going to pay Aderbury a visit when he got home.

  And he also wanted Tytamon to see. He decided at once that he should go down and get him; he should go and teleport Tytamon back up. His mentor had lived for nearly eight hundred years, had seen almost everything there was to see, but he’d never seen this. Altin was suddenly intent on nothing else. And besides, he wanted to see if it was going to be as easy as he thought to send himself back without the Liquefying Stone. In the matter of casting, there was not so much difference between a goat and a man as one might think.

  Using the scrying basin to spy out a dark corner of Calico Castle’s vacuous dining hall, an area safely behind the mounted armor of a long dead knight, Altin
determined that the corner was indeed devoid of any life. So confirmed, he closed his eyes and cast the teleport spell that he felt certain would bring him home.

  A moment later found him standing in the dark. His vision took a moment to adjust and, after reaching out a hand to confirm that there was indeed cold metal armor on his left, he knew that he was home. Two tiny spots of light marked where candles still burned on the table far across the giant room, and Altin jogged over to them only to discover that the table had long ago been cleared. He wasted no time and rushed to Tytamon’s tower.

  He took the stairs three at a time—well, three for a while, then two, and finally one at a time—as he made the arduous trek up to Tytamon’s private rooms, but, despite being out of breath by the time he finally arrived, he was still completely energized as he stood upon the landing and beat upon the door.

  He was called inside immediately by the sound of Tytamon’s gravelly voice. He burst in and without a salutation of any sort breathlessly spilled it out. “I made it,” he proclaimed. “I made it to the moon and I’m on the surface right now as we speak, looking up—or down —at Prosperion. It’s beautiful and you have to come see. Right now. You truly do. You’ve never seen anything like it in all your life.”

  Tytamon raised a bushy eyebrow, just one, cocking his head slightly as the other brow pressed downward over a somewhat doubting eye. “You’re where?”

  “I’m on the moon. Right now. You really have to see.” He was still panting.

  “Hmmm,” Tytamon uttered, nodding gravely and giving Altin a patronizing look.

  “What?” Altin said, seeing the disbelief. “Didn’t you get my note? Haven’t you seen the tower?” He ran to Tytamon’s window and pointed down to the missing section of the keep. He was somewhat taken aback by what he saw. Whoa! He certainly had excavated a large chunk of Calico Castle’s wall. But that didn’t matter now. He put the vast gap in the fortress out of his mind and gestured eagerly out the window for Tytamon to see. “Look!”

  Tytamon moved reluctantly to the window and looked down into the court. “Good heavens,” he said. “What have you done?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I told you in the note. I’m on the moon. Right now.”

  “My boy, you’re standing right here. Perhaps you’d better have a seat.”

  “No, not now. Well, I mean, not right now. But… I just was. And I can go back. Please. Just come. I promise it’s worth the time to see.”

  “Ah,” said the wizard finally caught up. “So you’ve really done it, eh? You’ve actually put a man upon the moon?”

  “Yes,” said Altin beaming. “And I’m about to put two on the moon if you’d care to come along.”

  For a moment Altin thought Tytamon was going to decline, to hesitate on the grounds of prudence or some spurious safety fact, but after a brief pause to consider, the great mage put the spell components he was holding back down upon the bench. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked with some slightly nervous collaboration taking place between his eyes, his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth.

  “I was just there. And I had a goat up there all day before I went. It’s fine. I promise.”

  Tytamon sighed, resigning himself to curiosity and to fate. His weathered face burst into a grin, the cautious cabal amongst his features put to rest. “Then let’s go. Show me to the moon, my boy. By all means, show me to the moon.”

  Altin, having the Teleport Other spell still fresh in his mind from working with the goat, wove it together with the self-teleport spell, and after a few moments of careful incantation, they both vanished with a sucking of air that left the candles on Tytamon’s bench flickering and alone.

  They emerged upon the parapet of Altin’s tower, and it took Tytamon only a few moments before he let out a low whistle and a gasp of awe. Just as Altin had not so long ago, the great sorcerer stood transfixed before the bright enormity of Prosperion for some long time. When he finally could, he smiled beneath his beard and muttered, “So that’s how we look from way up here.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Altin staring up at the great blue wonder above.

  There came another long silence as both of them contemplated the nature of what they saw, its magnitude both in beauty and in size. “It’s as if we don’t even count,” Tytamon said at last.

  Altin looked puzzled, but Tytamon was too busy ruminating within his ancient mind. After a while, and what looked to Altin as if the old man had wiped away some tears, Tytamon turned round and clasped him by the shoulders. “You’ve done something great here, lad. Do you realize that? You’ve done something that’s never been done before. A real discovery. I’m not even certain what it means just yet, but it means something significant I’m sure. This is a lifetime’s work fulfilled. Your name will be listed as one of the greatest magicians of the age. Queen Karroll is going to have a fit she’ll be so pleased.”

  Altin smiled and basked in the praise. But something in Tytamon’s words checked his pride from glowing too blindingly. “It’s not a lifetime’s work,” he said, just to make the record clear. “It’s just a spectacular start.”

  Tytamon frowned at him. “Really? A start to what?”

  Altin turned away from Prosperion’s bright blue glow and pointed to the stars. “I’m going out there.”

  Tytamon shook his head in disbelief. “For what, Altin? There’s nothing there but stars, pinpricks of heaven’s light. And likely not meant for us.”

  “Well, to begin, there are seven more planets I can find. If there are no satyrs and dancing nymphs up here on Luria as the legends said there were, then perhaps they are on the other planets instead. And how do you know that the stars are not meant for us? The priests say we are the children of the gods. I’m sure the gods will want to see their son if they’re actually out there peeping through. They’ll be happy when I arrive.”

  “You don’t believe in gods, Altin. Don’t invoke them now.”

  “I don’t know what I believe. But I know that there is only one way I’m ever going to find out.”

  Tytamon continued to shake his head. “There’s never enough for a Six.”

  “Why must you always go to Six? You always do that. I told you I’m not a Six. And you thought I would be dead before I ever got this far, but here we are. Gods. Why ruin a perfectly good moment?”

  Tytamon was taken aback by Altin’s sudden flare of rage. But the boy was right. Tonight was not the night for the never-ending debate. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit, and one I’m trying to break. And this is a spectacular night. We should celebrate.”

  “We should,” agreed Altin, his irritation settling once more beneath his skin. “Tonight. I think I should go get Aderbury and bring him up as well.”

  “I’ve got a hundred-year-old bottle of elven wine that is begging to be the first one opened on the moon,” Tytamon offered. “I’ll go get it while you chase down your friend.”

  “You mean you’re not going to warn me about teleporting into Crown?”

  “Altin, I believe you’re well beyond listening to me just now. If you don’t know the rules by now, you never will. And besides, you’ve already broken the laws of teleportation as we know them anyway, just by getting yourself up here. Who am I to tell you what to do?”

  Altin knew that Tytamon didn’t entirely mean that, but it was good enough to suit his mood. “Ok, I’ll be back with Aderbury, and you go get the wine.” He started towards the scrying basin, but stopped and turned around. “If you think your little U-class teleport can handle it that is. If not, the Liquefying Stone is over there in that bowl upon the wall.”

  Tytamon conjured the illusion of a fireball and made as if to throw, then cast himself back to Calico Castle with a hiss of emptied air. Altin laughed as he went to the basin to find a vacant room in Aderbury and Hether’s house, into which he planned to teleport himself. Twenty minutes later found the four of them sitting round the ragged, half-burnt table toasting Alt
in and the moon.

  “To the moon,” they cheered.

  “And to the stars,” he answered back. “Maybe this time I’ll find someone out there besides myself.”

  Chapter 21

  The hours that followed the orb’s retreat were a mix of euphoria and angst. Half the Aspect’s crew were ecstatic about their recent victory while the other half were fighting off a sense of dread and shock. Only the flurry of activity that followed prevented either group from falling fully on either side of the fence.

  Orli remained busy in sick bay for several hours after the orb had disappeared into space, but the flow of wounded they’d expected from the orb’s apparent attempt to board had never come to pass. They got a few more patients as one of the crews working to seal off the crushed cargo hold had a minor mishap with a ruptured welding tank, but beyond a broken bone and some stitches, there was no longer much to do.

  A few hours after the orb vanished, the alert level was once more lowered to Orange, sending Orli back down to the nursery and her lab. When she arrived, exhausted, she went straight through her lab and into the tiny room that was her quarters, barely four by nine, and threw herself atop the bunk that folded out from the wall. Closing her eyes and resting a forearm across her eyelids to block the glare from the light fixture mounted directly above, she tried to breathe the stress away with carefully measured breaths. God, she was tired. After a while she started to tremble, and eventually to cry.

  She’d never seen so much blood in all her life. And the tension was horrible, the fear. And that poor woman. Dead. She couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. Orli suddenly wished she’d thought to learn the woman’s name. She seemed so young to die, and to not even have Orli know her name was a tragedy. To die alone and anonymous out here, so far away from anything alive and warm that might have cared, to die in the arms of someone who didn’t even know your name. The injustice was too enormous for Orli to let go. The whole of this existence was an injustice too enormous to let go.