Wizard (The Key to Magic) (32 page)

The big marine nodded. "Aye, my lord king. We won't ask more of you."

As the group dispersed, Mar, with a lighter step, sought out Truhsg and asked him straight out why Quaestor Eishtren sought death in battle.

"I thought you knew, my lord king. Quaestor Eishtren's wife and children went missing when Mhajhkaei fell to the monks. He is convinced that they are dead."

"But he doesn't know that for certain?"

"No, my lord king. They are not recorded with the buried. Still, if they were alive, they would have shown up by now."

"Maybe not.

FORTY-ONE

142nd Year of the Reign of the City

(Thirteenthday, Waning, Second Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

Mhajhkaei

Lyra ran, chasing her children ahead of her.

The boys acted as if it were a game. Lyriy, at thirteen, knew better. She kept pace with her mother, her eyes dancing about as if she expected ravening monks to leap at them at any moment. Fenriy, clasped in her mother's arms, just clung as tightly as her small arms could and buried her face in Lyra's neck.

Lyra threw a look over her shoulder. The Black Monks that had panicked her into flight had not given chase. Perhaps she and her children had not been seen by the marching demons.

The winding backstreet curved sharply to the west and she slowed as her view of what lay ahead shortened.

"Mother!" shouted Behgl. "Run faster!"

"No!" she cried. "Wait son!"

A legionnaire in full armor burst from an alley to intercept the boy, causing both Behgl and closely following Tgheon to draw up short. The legionnaire had a sword, but it was scabbarded. As he wore a helmet with nose and cheek guards, most of his face was obscured, but he looked young.

"Not that way!" He shouted. "The Phaelle'n are just around the next turn! Into the alley! Quick!"

Lyra ran up, grabbed Behgl's hand to make sure of him, and ordered Lyriy and Tgheon ahead of her as she darted into the narrow lane.

"Keep running!" the legionnaire called after them. "Don't stop for anything!"

Lyra felt a shock like nothing she had experienced before and then gasped as she and her children staggered into a room filled with bright light.

FORTY-TWO

7025 by the Common Reckoning

(Secondday, Waning, 3rd Summermoon, 1644 After the Founding of the Empire)

Orbital B

Oyraebos woke, expecting to see Mortyn's some older face as the canopy hinged open, but instead saw only the softly lit ceiling of the compartment

He felt no residual effects from the stasis; the medical devices had already taken care of that. Having had some unvoiced anxiety concerning the process, he lay still for a few seconds as he mentally took stock. Hearing and vision seemed fine and he felt no unfamiliar twinges or pains.

He sat up and climbed out of the coffin, his bare feet finding the deck warm and clean. The canopies of the other coffins that crowded the long chamber in their dozens remained closed and the technicians and medics that should have been in attendance were absent. As a Section Leader, he was to have been one of the first to have been awakened, but by no means should he have been awakened alone and at the very least there should have been a technician or medic in attendance.

Had there been a malfunction?

Turning slightly, he considered the control panel at the head of his coffin. Prior to being entombed, as a contingency he and the other sorcerers had been given a thorough but swift explanation of the readouts, buttons, and major spells. As far as he could tell, all the systems were functioning at an optimal state but an indicator showed that the revival process had been triggered remotely.

A ball of blue light, an announcement sprite, appeared in front of him.
"Proctor Oyraebos, please come to Orbital Control."

"Where is Proctor Mortyn?"

"This entity is capable of producing announcements only. It cannot respond to questions."

Frowning, he took his clothes from the shelf beneath his coffin and began to dress in a hurried fashion. The unsettling situation had given him the sense that his awakening had been the result of an emergency and he wanted to find out what was going on as soon as possible.

The corridors and glide tubes were in proper shape but he encountered no one as he followed the most direct route to the heart of the orbital. By all appearances, the entire maintenance crew had departed -- or perhaps also gone into stasis -- and this supposition multiplied his apprehension.

When he rushed the last few steps into Orbital Control, a six-sided chamber with skry stones that showed external views of the orbital mounted to the walls, he also found no one. All of the consoles were unattended, their chairs empty and swiveled to the side lock position.

At the Command Pilot's centrally located station, a large drone had been bolted into a support cradle made of scrap steel that had been welded to the deck. Many of the drone's access plates were open and cabling had been haphazardly spliced from it to the equally exposed innards of the command console.

"Proctor Oyraebos," the drone said in a sexless, artificial voice, "you have been removed from stasis according to Protocol Thirteen. A human command decision is required. Please provide direction for Command Oversight One."

Heart racing, he stalked across the deck to confront the machine. "Where is the regular crew? Where are the Proctors that remained awake?"

"Non-specific query. Unable to respond."

He made an exasperated grunt. "Where is Proctor Mortyn?"

"That information is not available to Command Oversight One."

"Who is in command of the orbital?"

"That information is not available to Command Oversight One."

He stopped to think for a moment. "What is your function?"

"Command Oversight One monitors and regulates all technical systems of Orbital B and all communications with the Tertiary Launch Site."

"Establish a voice comm so that I can speak with someone at the Tertiary Launch Site."

After an almost imperceptible pause, the drone said, "No voice comm link can be established with the Tertiary Launch Site. Only data link available."

"What's transmitting the data?"

"Non-specific query. Unable to respond."

He thought back to the one drone sentience course that he had had in secondary school and tried to phrase his next command properly. "Identify the device connected on the data link."

"Device is Automated Sentry Four."

"Direct Automated Sentry Four to alert personnel at the Tertiary Launch Sight to open a comm link."

"Command parsing failed."

"Transmit my voice as a data packet to Automated Sentry Four and direct it to broadcast the recording at an audible level."

"Ready to record."

"This is Proctor Oyraebos. I have been awakened from stasis aboard Orbital B. No crew are present. Please comm me immediately."

"Recording transmitted. Automated Sentry Four reports that it is unable to comply with the directive. External and auxiliary functions not available."

Oyraebos cursed. "Is there anyone else aboard?"

"Yes. Two thousand four hundred and sixty-eight personnel are currently aboard."

"How many of those are not in stasis?"

"One."

He cursed again. "You said that I was awakened because a human command decision is required. What is the nature of the decision?"

"Automated Sentry Four has detected intruders at the Tertiary Launch Site. Please choose response option and level."

"List options and levels."

"Options: Observe, Apprehend, Repel. Levels: No Force, Moderate Force, Deadly Force."

"Identify the intruders."

"Information not available."

"Quantify threat level."

"Information not available."

"What information is available concerning the intruders?"

"Surveillance audio is available."

"Play it."

Human voices came from the drone, a fragment of a conversation.

"What language is that?"

"Information not available."

"Translate surveillance audio."

"Translation not possible."

He gave up. "Direct Automated Sentry Four to take no action."

"Directive transmitted."

He thought for a moment. "Do you have access to operations logs?"

"Yes."

"Display last entry."

"Indicate console for display."

He went to this nearest, unlocked the chair, and sat down. "This one."

When the image appeared on the skry tablet, it was of a middle-aged woman that he did not know. Her clothing was the standard issue coverall and her hair extremely short. She looked agitated and rushed.

"The Remnants enclave at Mount Brigon fired on the rescue shuttle and it crashed, but there are survivors. The rest of us are going to take another shuttle down to help. Since we don't know how long we'll have to be away, we've taken one of the drones out of storage and modified it to maintain the orbital. I'll resume this log when we return."

The tablet darkened.

"Who are the Remnants?"

"Information not available."

"What was the date of that entry?"

"Day 147, 2377 by the Common Reckoning."

"What?"

"Please clarify nature of query."

"Three hundred years! I have been in stasis for over three hundred years?"

"No," Command Oversight replied in its aggravatingly emotionless tone.

He felt his hear sink. "State current date."

"Day 184, 7025 by the Common Reckoning."

The shock was so severe that for several moments he could not speak. When his thinking cleared, he ordered the drone to play the log entries since the moment he had gone into stasis. At first, he watched each and every one, but as the months rolled in to years, he felt compelled to skip through.

When he learned that the world that he had known had destroyed itself, he pounded the console with his fist and yelled curses.

When he learned that Mortyn had married, had children, and lived a long if severe life aboard the orbital, he smiled for his lost friend.

When he learned that Mortyn's descendants and those of the other crew, destitute of experience of the evil that men could do, had been too naive to recognize the pleading messages from the Remnants as obvious lies intended to lure them down to the surface, he wept.

Shaken, he left Orbital Control and wandered the corridors for an hour or two, trying not to think. Even after five thousand years, the orbital, preserved and maintained by spells of unequalled finesse and power, was in perfect order. Every panel was in place, every light functioned, and the glide tubes whisked him about without a bobble. The lavatories, galleys, and crew quarters were all neat and clean. In the latter, he looked upon but did not touch the personal items that their millennia vanished occupants had left lying about.

When he returned to Orbital Control, he asked the drone, "Do you have the capability to observe the surface?"

"Yes."

"How many people are alive down there?"

"Information not available."

"Estimate population based upon extent of illumination of population centers at night. Use factors derived from historical data to estimate technological level and from that derive the appropriate population density factor."

"Given those parameters, the population of the surface is estimated to be twelve and one-half million with a margin of error of ten point eight percent."

That, at least, was encouraging.

"Can you establish a voice communication link with any of them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The few comms in operation are low powered military units that are warded against intrusion."

And that was entirely discouraging.

The world had recovered, but what type of world it had become was an unknown.

However, one thing was certain: the Project and its supporters had slept long enough. The orbital had the capacity to comfortably support twenty-four hundred people, but the plan had always been to return to the surface and reestablish their work.

"Provide demographic summary of personnel in stasis."

"One thousand three hundred and four are female. One thousand one hundred and sixty-four are male. Ninety-two females are classified as elderly. Nine hundred and one females are classified as non-elderly adults. Two hundred and eleven females are classified as children --"

"Cancel. How many medics are in stasis?"

"Would you like those classified as Medic's Assistants to be included in the total?"

"Yes."

"There are forty-seven Medics and Medic's Assistants in stasis."

"How many are active members of the Project?" Participants might lack sufficient discipline to deal with the crisis.

"Three."

"Direct me to the coffins of the those three. I want to have trained personnel on hand should there be complications with any of the rest of the revivals."

The drone gave him the compartment location and coffin number of the first medic, a man named Walis. After verifying that all was well with the entombed medic, he activated the revival sequence.

Walis woke with the same clear head and energy as had Oyraebos and, after a short mental debate on the merits of springing the news on the unsuspecting medic, the sorcerer elected to explain all that had happened.

Walis was a larger man with the muscular physique of someone who had conscientiously exercised to remain in top condition. He accepted Oyraebos's quick explanation of their present circumstance with laudable aplomb, making no comment.

"We are going to waken everyone?" Walis asked, glancing at a coffin adjacent to his.

"Yes. Over a period of time as we have the opportunity and the manpower."

"Might we immediately awaken two others that I know in this compartment? One is a medic and the other is a Medic's Assistant."

"They are Participants?"

"Yes."

"The two of us would be ill equipped to deal with emotional outbursts at this point."