

### Books by D.L. Morrese

## ~*~

~Stories of the Warden's World~

### An Android Dog's Tale

### Defying Fate (Combined eBook Edition)

### The Warden Threat (Defying Fate Part 1)

### The Warden War (Defying Fate Part 2)

### Amy's Pendant

### Disturbing Clockwork

### ~*~

~Adventures of the Brane Child~

### Brane Child

### The Scarecrow's Brane

### Brane Child

(A Science Fiction Counter-Fantasy Novel)

### D.L. Morrese

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Fuzzy Android Press

(http://fuzzyandroid.wordpress.com/)

in cooperation with _Smashwords_

ISBN-13: 9781310425578

Copyright © 2014 by D.L. Morrese
License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in a form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a Website without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

First Paperback Edition: December 2014

First eBook Edition: December 2014

Publisher's Notes on this Edition

This edition has been minimally formatted for compatibility with multiple types of digital readers. Paperback editions are also available.

Author's Notes

Thanks again to Rowan for editing and other valuable comments on the final draft of this story. I really appreciate your help. Thanks also to readers who have taken a chance on a book by an unknown indie author, especially those who have written reviews or who have recommended those books to friends.

~*~

### This book is dedicated to all the philosophers, scientists, engineers, and dreamers who have ever looked up at the stars in wonder and asked themselves, "How the hell can I get there?"

"There are countless suns and an infinity of planets which circle round their suns as our seven planets circle round ours."

— _Giordano Bruno 1584, De l'infinito univesro et mondi (The Infinite Universe and Its Worlds)_

### ~Prologue~

At the end of the sixteenth century, Giordano Bruno, an insightful but not overly cautious Italian friar, philosopher, mathematician, and poet suggested that our sun was a star, that Earth was a planet, and that there might be other planets around other stars. He saw no reason why they, too, might not have life.

People in positions of power saw this as a challenge to their beliefs and to their authority, and they voiced their discontent in direct and unsubtle ways. They imprisoned him, tried him for heresy, and eventually burned him at the stake with a spike through his tongue in 1600. Some of them thought he got off too easy.

By the middle of the twenty-first century, using methods such as radial velocity, changes in luminosity, infrared imaging, and spectral analysis, astronomers had inferred the existence of hundreds of worlds in the theoretically habitable zones around other stars. A fair number of these planets, they said, might support life. They could not know for sure, of course. The newly discovered planets remained much too far away for direct investigation, but they found the data from long-range instruments highly suggestive. They yearned to learn more.

None of these astronomers were burned.

Times had changed. The new holders of power did not see other planets as a threat. They saw them as an opportunity. Governments wanted to control them. Corporations wanted to exploit them. Scientists wanted to investigate them. Others wanted to explore them, or colonize them, or escape to them. Even some of the major religions, including the one that had condemned poor Father Bruno, were now receptive to the idea. Their commitment to the Strong Anthropic Principle, that God had created the universe for humanity, assured them that these new worlds must be there for mankind. If people could not get to them, what was the point of them being there?

Unfortunately, they remained out of reach.

Compared to the planet on which humanity evolved, compared to the entire solar system, space is disturbingly big, and stars are inconveniently far apart. The fastest manned spaceships people knew how to build would take tens of thousands of years to reach the nearest of the newly discovered worlds. Even robotic probes would take many millennia. There seemed to be no practical way to get there from here, at least not in anything anyone would consider a reasonable amount of time.

One serious problem was the universal speed limit discovered by Albert Einstein in 1905. Nothing could reach, let alone surpass, the speed of light. That was the theory. The reality was that even light-speed was a pipe dream. No ship ever made, up to this point, could achieve more than a minute fraction of the 300,000 kilometers per second limit imposed by physics and disclosed by relativity.

And yet the planets beckoned.

As with any inconvenient law, there were those who tried to find a way around it. If humanity were to reach these tantalizing new worlds, it needed to discover some kind of shortcut, but as no one had any clear idea what it might be, funding for research remained paltry and tenuous. Corporations driven by profit considered it a risky investment. Politicians motivated by the desire for reelection feared being labeled as wasteful spenders of taxpayer money.

Nonetheless, the hunt continued in small ways in research laboratories and universities around the world. Curious and often socially awkward investigators labored without recognition or financial reward, simply because they had a dream and wanted to know if they could somehow make it a reality.

By the dawn of the twenty-second century, over one thousand promising worlds taunted the frustrated ambitions of humanity.

Then, one day, a brilliant post-graduate student without a social life, hit upon an idea. Three dimensions of space and one of time were not all there were. This had been known, or at least theorized, for some time. But she realized that the numbers behind quantum mechanics, like the words on a page, were only tools that helped people deal with reality by taking it apart and focusing attention on small, intellectually manageable pieces. Those pieces were themselves somewhat arbitrary, with fuzzy subjective borders separating one thing from another. Reality was much bigger and not as neatly divisible as words and numbers might make it seem. Space, time, matter, energy, and all the rest might be far more observer-dependent that people generally thought them to be, which, she claimed, might mean the highway of reality had unmarked side roads that people simply were not equipped to spot.

What she came up with was an unconventional theory, and although many scientists eyed it with all due skepticism, no one reached for kindling and a torch.

Leading experts in physics, however, remained wary. Her revolutionary ideas required considerable peer review, debate, and years of painstaking research before they could pass judgment on their merit. But with entire worlds waiting to be won by the first to reach them, the competition between nations and among corporations hurried the idea to practical testing.

This is not her story, but the experimental spaceship _Brane Child_ could not have existed without her.

Its commander and crew might not have objected strongly to that.

### ~Chapter 1~

A petite young woman, sitting alone in a crowded room with only her inner demons for company, took another sip from her coffee cup, enjoying a well-deserved moment of downtime. The last few weeks had been rushed and confusing, if not exactly hectic.

Lisa Chang enjoyed difficult questions. They were what made life interesting, and she enjoyed tackling them to find solutions, preferably one at a time. But she did not have the data she needed to solve those that plagued her now.

Why her? She hadn't requested the job. She didn't particularly want it and was surprised when the Deputy Project Manager for the Brane Skip project offered it to her three weeks ago. There must be someone else better suited. She had only been with the project a few months.

Sure, it was important, she admitted to herself, breathing in the rich, calming aroma from her cup. She held no doubt about that. And it was one hell of an opportunity, but the simple fact was she didn't feel qualified, and she could not imagine for a moment that her supervisors felt differently. She had always prided herself on being well prepared, and for this, she wasn't. She didn't understand the device well enough, and she certainly didn't trust the thing. The commander of a mission should have more confidence in it.

The science and technology behind the Brane Skip weren't strong enough yet. She felt that corporate and political suit-wearers were rushing the effort, probably for money and for national pride. She recognized these as real considerations for those in charge, but from her perspective as an engineer, they should not be relevant factors at all.

For career reasons, she really could not turn down the offer, so she didn't. Now she was responsible for making the test flight a success, and she always took her responsibilities seriously.

"Would you like some more coffee, Miss Chang?" a mechanical voice asked.

The robo-server waiting patiently by her table stood barely one hundred and twenty centimeters high from the top of its domed head to where its wheels touched the cafeteria floor—tall enough to perform its function, but not so tall as to be intimidating to patrons with robophobia. Some people simply were not comfortable around ambulatory robots. It was an affliction Lisa did not share. Unlike the Brane Skip device, robots were simple, understandable. They made sense. This one was not much more than a programmable coffee dispenser.

She nodded, and the mechanical server refilled her cup from a retractable nozzle in its base.

"May I get you something to eat?" it asked politely.

"Not right now. Maybe later," she said without looking at it.

"Very good, miss," it said with all the obsequious formality programmed into it before rolling away to see to the needs of other diners.

Its voice and manner called to mind a Victorian English butler, which mildly irritated her. Living things could have personalities, but machines didn't. Simulating one was intentionally deceptive. It was a fantasy, a lie. Also, it should be 'very well', not 'very good', or better yet, 'acknowledged', because that's all it meant. The robot understood the instructions you gave it and would comply. It didn't mean it approved. It had no capacity for judging if a customer's choice was 'good'. If you ordered scrambled eggs with peanut butter and jalapeno peppers, it would say 'very good', even though the combination would trigger a gag reflex for anyone with functioning taste buds.

She placed her steaming cup of caffeinated goodness on the table, where it rested just as it would have on Earth. The five-kilometer-long main level of the ring turned at over three hundred kilometers per hour, doing a complete rotation about once every minute to simulate Earth gravity. On this level of the station, one could almost imagine being in some mid-price hotel or office complex on Earth rather than floating in space one and a half million kilometers from it.

Feynman Station, at the Sun-Earth L2 Lagrangian point, was a good place to work, with almost all the comforts of home, but she had not asked for the reassignment. Her transfer to the Brane Skip project four months ago came with a raise in pay and congratulations from her coworkers. Everyone seemed to regard it as an honor. At the time, so did she, although she had wondered why she was being honored. She felt pretty sure her former boss held some kind of grudge against her, and the unfairness of it still burned under a simmering pan of quiet resentment. She had only been doing her job, and apparently doing it better than some of the engineers who were above her in the company hierarchy.

She had been one junior engineer on a team working on a contract for the U.S. Navy to design and build a low orbit defense platform. Since no two nations had gone to war with one another for over a century, she didn't know why they needed it, other than perhaps asteroid interception, for which far less expensive options existed. But the job offered good pay, and she did her best to earn it. The design flaw she had noticed in the plans for the air purification subsystem would have been costly to correct after construction and would have delayed the project by several months, if not more. She mentioned it to one of the engineers working for the Navy. He told his contract specialist, and the Navy ended up requesting a design change so early in the program that the government incurred no additional costs. Her boss had publicly praised her but had later called her into his office. She remembered his words exactly. "If you're on contract to find a solution, there is money to be made by prolonging the problem." He had said it with a smile and in such a way that someone might think he was joking, but she knew he was not. Apparently her primary job was not to get the engineering right, as she had naively believed. Her job was to support the team and help it make money for the corporation.

Two months after that meeting, she received a transfer to the Brane Skip program. She suspected her boss had pulled some strings, called in some favors, and possibly even padded her personnel file in order to get her off his project before she did anything else that might adversely affect his year-end bonus. If his goal was to get rid of her, he could not have sent her farther.

She did not know any more about the classified Brane Skip program at the time than did the general public. She knew more now, of course, enough to know she didn't know enough, and what she did know did not entirely make sense.

She took another sip from her cup, idly watching the display-screens mounted high on the walls all around the dining hall. The name of the ship rolled by again on the one showing tomorrow's departures.

_Brane Child—Atmospheric Cargo Transport, Bruno Class (Modified), General Spaceworks._ Where the other entries provided a destination, this one said, _Test Flight_.

The line scrolled up to make way for more listings. Nothing special to see here. Move on.

She shifted her attention to the screen showing station news headlines, watching for a few minutes until the loop began to repeat. There was no mention of the _Brane Child_ in the news. Why should there be? Tomorrow's test would be the fourth for the ship, and it had returned safely from each of those. Another test was hardly newsworthy. But unlike the previous trials, this time the ship would have a crew, although this was a relatively last minute decision and not public knowledge. Whether that would make a difference, no one knew, just as no one knew where the ship went to or where it returned from when it skipped. That's why the corporation wanted people on board this time. They might notice something the automated systems did not.

She had asked her supervisor about her selection as mission commander, of course, and he had provided her with inadequate and undoubtedly scripted answers that sounded good. She was already working on the project. She was single, smart, experienced, responsible, and someone who possessed demonstrated abilities for 'thinking outside the box.' Yeah, right. That was a phrase management often pulled out as being in favor of until someone not in management actually did it.

A screen showing a live feed from one of the exterior cameras focused briefly on the weekly passenger liner from Earth making its final approach to the station. Tiny jets of flame from its thrusters flashed as it maneuvered to match speed and orientation with the rotating station. The silent technological ballet of the large ship against the black backdrop of space held a certain surreal beauty. She never ceased to be amazed at what applied science could accomplish.

'Why me?' she asked herself again. There were other engineers here on the station working on the project, and some of them were far more versed on it than she was. She wasn't even involved with the mysterious Brane Skip device. Her job supported the update and modification of the life support systems of the old cargo vessel being used as a test base. She wasn't in the inner circle of those with top-secret clearances and special access permission. She had no real idea how the thing worked.

Part of the reason for her selection might be that corporate management considered her expendable. She was not critical to the project's success. If the test flight failed, she could be easily dismissed or reassigned. If it failed catastrophically, they could blame it on her inexperience. In either case, the project could still go on with little interruption due to her absence.

She could have turned down the offer. She almost had, but she suspected that would have been a bad career move, and good jobs with benefits were not easy to come by. Regardless of her discomfort with the technology behind it, an offer like this came once in a lifetime, if that. The Brane Skip was potentially the most important contract that General Spaceworks Corporation currently held. It might be the most important human invention since computers. It could revolutionize space travel and open the galaxy to exploration.

That, ultimately, is what prompted her to accept the job. If it succeeded, it could effectively allow mankind to ignore the universal speed limit by skipping a ship and its crew between theoretical membranes that formed different layers of reality. That was the theory behind it, anyway. The physics were beyond her, but it held the promise of allowing humanity to travel to the stars. What kind of aerospace engineer wouldn't want to work on that?

Funding for the program came from both NASA and DARPA, and she had heard that the White House was closely watching the project's progress. The status reports her supervisors prepared had visibility in corporate and government halls of power.

If the upcoming test went well, she could be famous, not that this mattered to her other than that it might allow her to name her own job afterwards with any of the major space development companies.

"Hi, Commander. Mind if I join you?" The tall, broad shouldered man standing by the table gave her a warm, innocent smile. He wore a T-shirt bearing the logo of a popular video game. Lisa recognized the name but had never played it. Games were not her thing.

"Hi, Brax. I didn't see you come in. Have a seat."

Braxton White would be the _Brane Child's_ pilot tomorrow. At least his selection made some amount of sense. He had piloted Bruno class cargo ships before and had been involved in outfitting the test ship after General Spaceworks retired the vessel from its cargo fleet in order to be repurposed and renamed for this project.

"I don't think you would have noticed a herd of elephants line-dancing. You looked like you were orbiting some distant star. Concerned about tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I take it that you're not."

"Well, I'm pretty excited to see what will happen when we switch that thing on, but as far as my part goes, there's nothing to it. I fly the bird out. I fly the bird back. Brunos are tough ships. This one may be old, but they were built to last, and everything we're likely to need for this little milk run is up to spec."

"The gray haze doesn't bother you?"

He smiled. "No, that's the fun part. The adventure. The mystery. Woooooo..." He held up both hands and wiggled his fingers to accompany the spooky 'woo-woo' noise and laughed.

She returned a weak smile even though she didn't think it was funny. Brax was seven years older than she was and considerably taller. Most people were. Her size, build, and youthful face often caused people to underestimate her until they heard her speak or caught a glimpse of the depth and intensity in her brown, almond shaped eyes. Despite the difference in their ages and heights, she often viewed him as a big kid. Sometimes his inability to take anything seriously annoyed her. He tended to approach reality with the same inconsequential attitude he displayed for the games he played in his free time. The only thing that ever seemed to bother him was his ex-wife, which is probably why he seldom mentioned her.

One of the dining hall's robo-servers trundled quietly to their table. "What can I get you, Mr. White?" it asked.

"Just a cup of coffee, right now," he told it.

The automated waiter produced a clean cup from a rack integrated into its cylindrical body and filled it.

"Anything else for you, Miss Chang?"

She held out her cup with a heavy sigh of resignation. "Just a refill."

"Listen, Lisa," Brax said. "There's no need to worry. This can only go one of two ways. If the BS device flops, tomorrow will be kind of dull. If it works, it will be cool!"

His simple attitude was as contagious as an unwelcome social disease, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She would love to be able to approach the matter as lightly as he did, but she couldn't. Whether or not she wanted the job, she was the mission commander, and she was responsible for ensuring its success, which she might not be able to do because she did not know enough about the thing being tested.

"Oh look, here comes the rest of our gallant crew," Brax said, snapping his attention toward the open arch to the main corridor.

Lisa, inconveniently shorter than the pilot was, craned her neck to look past the cafeteria's other occupied tables. Dr. Leonard Dixon and Sandra Suarez were just entering the dining hall. Doc, currently attired in a loose beige shirt and plain brown chinos, would be monitoring the crew to see if the skip had any physiological effects on them. Sandra, the far better dressed of the two in a silky, low cut blouse and tight black slacks, would be handling sensors and communications. Her effortless magnetism drew the eyes of several men in the dining hall as she and her companion made a visual survey of the room.

Together their group represented a good representation of the American genetic mix. Sandra had a Spanish name and a Mediterranean complexion. The doctor was dark-skinned with sub-Saharan African features. Brax almost looked Scandinavian with pale skin, short blonde hair, and ice blue eyes. Lisa was everything else. She considered herself one hundred percent contemporary American, with ancestral roots in at least four different continents. Their personalities were a mixed bag as well. Lisa knew she sometimes took things a bit too seriously. Brax was just the opposite. His ground state was to treat everything as a game, often with only mildly restrained exuberance. Sandra was self-confident and a bit flirtatious, but she possessed a quick wit, which occasionally manifested itself in sarcasm. And Doc, well, he was a bit of a puzzle. The best words she could think of to describe him might be 'serene' or 'professorial' as if some philosophy professor from a bygone era had somehow been reincarnated as an African-American physician from Buffalo. Unlike her, all three of them had volunteered for the project—Brax because it sounded like an adventure, Sandra because it seemed like a good career move, and Doc because he said it could open a door to a wider universe. She was not entirely sure what he meant by that but suspected it was more than just getting around the light-speed barrier.

Brax stood and waved until the two crew members acknowledged him and changed their trajectory to head toward their table.

"Have a seat," Brax said. "All set for tomorrow?"

Sandra slid gracefully into a chair. The doctor, almost exactly the same height but over a decade older, took the seat next to her.

"I need some—" Sandra began.

"Can I get you something, Miss Suarez?" one of the robo-servers asked.

"These things are really creepy," she said, casting it a suspicious glance.

"It's their programming," Lisa said. "They monitor the room and look for people who might want service."

"They're still creepy. But yeah, little robot, I'd like a glass of red wine."

"Very good, miss. And you, Doctor Dixon?"

"A glass of ice water, please," he said.

That was Doc. No one else would say 'please' to a robot.

"And a pizza," Brax added before the server could leave. "Bring us an extra-large New York style pizza with cheese and...?" He surveyed the others around the table by raising his eyebrows and letting the question dangle.

Lisa knew Sandra did not eat meat and that Brax liked sausage and anchovies, so a pizza compromise would be needed.

She exercised her command authority to bypass a debate.

"I think just cheese is fine," she said.

"Extra cheese, then," Brax amended.

"Very good," the server said. "I'll be back soon with your order."

"Anyway, Brax," Sandra said, "Since you asked. I checked out ship sensors and communications, and they're fine, but I can't say I'm thrilled about going out in that obsolete cargo boat. Why couldn't we get something newer?"

Lisa knew the answer to this one. She had wondered the same thing and had checked the files to find an answer. Since it did not pertain to the BS device itself, the information wasn't classified.

"Too expensive," she said. "The corporate bean-counters wanted the cheapest way possible to test the device before building a new ship around it. They just needed something big and powerful enough to accommodate the Brane Skip device and support a crew. Bruno class cargo ships have big holds and massive power generators. They were going to retire this one anyway. In fact, it was in orbit around Earth's moon waiting to go to the recyclers when it was requisitioned for the project."

"Isn't it part of a mission commander's job to instill confidence?" Sandra teased. "Saying that the ship we're going to trust our lives to was rescued from a scrap yard doesn't do that."

The fledgling commander smiled. "Sorry, I'm new at the job. But Brax knows these ships, and he says it'll be fine."

"She'll get us there and back," Brax said confidently. "She's got two one hundred kilowatt high-beta fusion reactors with opposed magnetic fields powering the thrusters. I checked them myself and there's nothing wrong with them. Seals are good, and electrostatic confinement checks out. We probably won't need it all, but I made sure the deuterium and tritium tanks were full, too. For a little run like this, that ship is fine."

Lisa knew the ship's power systems were more than adequate. The fusion reactors were designed to lift the ship and all the cargo anyone could cram into it from the bottom of Earth's gravity well. They could power a small city. She assumed the power output would be more than enough for the Brane Skip, but she did not know its requirements. That information was classified above her clearance level.

"It's still older than my grandmother," Sandra said.

The robot returned with a large, hot pizza and four plates. Lisa didn't realize how hungry she was until she smelled it.

"I'm sure it's safe," Brax said, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "The ship and the mice that went along for the ride last time returned safely."

The last test flight had included a cage of lab mice, and Brax was right. They had come back healthy and no more confused than they had been when they had left.

"So why does Lisa still look like she's waiting for her own execution?" Sandra persisted.

"It's not the ship I'm concerned about."

"She's worried about the BS device," Brax said.

"You know, they really need to come up with a better name for that thing," Sandra said.

"I'm not sure it isn't appropriate," Lisa said. "According to what little I've been able to find out about it, the whole idea is based on M-Theory, with the 'M' either standing for membrane, mother, magic, mystery, or possibly mumbo-jumbo. It's an offshoot of superstring theory and proposes that the universe, or at least the one we know about, is kind of like a sheet in a stack of sheets. We're on one sheet, but reality is bigger than that. It's the whole big pile."

She had spent days researching the subject and had learned a few new terms, but she felt she had gained no real understanding. It was simply far too strange for her logically analytical mind to accept without repeatedly throwing down the bullshit card.

"Well, I can kind of visualize that," Sandra said.

"Yeah, but like most scientific analogies, it's probably useful and wrong in all its particulars. And even if it's not, everything that affects a brane, except gravity, theoretically remains on the brane. Stuff from one doesn't skip to another."

"The thing works, though," Brax said.

Lisa sighed. "Maybe. Something happens, anyway."

She pulled up a simplified line drawing of the BS device and some explanatory information on her personal data tablet and passed it around the table.

"The device supposedly transmits the patterns in an area of space-time in our brane to an adjacent brane in a fourth spatial dimension using Kaluza-Klein particles. According to that," she said, pointing to the data tablet currently held by Doc, "every particle we know of has a KK partner, but unlike things like bosons and leptons, the KK particles have momentum in extra dimensions. So when the device activates, it translates an area of space-time from our brane to an adjacent brane, hence 'Brane Skip'. Now, I'm an engineer, not a physicist, but it sounds like magic to me, and I don't believe in magic."

"Careful, Lisa. You're attitude's showing," Sandra said. "You might want to tuck that in before you embarrass yourself."

"I think we can all agree that we do not understand how it does what it does," Doc said, always the diplomat. "But we do know it does something. The test vehicles do disappear and reappear."

"If it's any help, I don't know how they get such good three-dimensional effects on a two-dimensional screen in a video game," Brax said. "But it works."

"May I take your empty plate, Miss Suarez?"

"And I don't know how these robo-servers always know what I want before I do," Sandra said, "but they certainly seem to."

"Lisa," Doc said, "Perhaps you are uncomfortable because you feel unprepared for this mission due to your lack of understanding about the device. You strike me as someone who likes to know what something is before she steps in it."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Nope," Brax said, grabbing the last slice of pizza.

Lisa glared at him.

"What? All I mean is that surprises can be fun."

"It's okay, Lisa," Sandra said. "Don't hit him. He's not an engineer. He doesn't understand these things."

Doc smiled. "Lisa, I think you're trying to assume more responsibility than you need to. You're the mission commander, but your mission is to get the ship to the skip point, activate the device, observe what happens, and then come back. That's it. You are not responsible for making the device work, and you are not responsible if it doesn't. Treat it as a black box."

"I don't like not knowing what's in the box," she said, which was true, but what Doc said was true too. Her overactive sense of responsibility was kicking in again. It was probably because she had developed it so early in life.

Her thoughts drifted to her childhood and her idealistic parents. Her father was a musician and her mother was a writer, or at least that was how they saw themselves. Her dad did have a steady gig at one of the big Orlando theme parks, for a while, until the corporate big-wigs decided to replace his band after a six-year run with a lumberjack act, which they claimed was 'fresher'. The real reason, she suspected, was that it was cheaper.

Her mom had a blog, a couple unpublished books of poetry, and a few self-published novels.

They both had talent. What they did not have were steady incomes. They also shared a seemingly inherent inability to manage what they did make very well.

They were good parents, in their own distracted ways. They sang her lullabies and read her stories at bedtime, but both seemed to regard money as something so unartistic it couldn't possibly have any real significance. It was useful when they needed a new set of guitar strings or toner for their printer, but things like rent and utilities were unartistic intangibles and therefore not of any immediate concern.

She ended up taking over the household finances before she became a teenager, soon after their landlord threatened to evict them from their small downtown apartment. Her natural talent for numbers and intuitive grasp for keeping things in balance ensured that they no longer spent more than they made and that their bills were paid more or less on time. Eventually, her parents landed steady jobs in catering, which at least ensured them a more reliable income, but those years had left her with a sense that she always needed to take care of things, as well as making her something of a worrier, afraid she might overlook something important.

"Pretend it's Schrodinger's cat," Doc said, jarring her back to the here and now.

"Alive or dead?"

"Neither or both. It doesn't matter. It's not your cat."

She smiled. He had a point. She wasn't responsible for the entire Brane Skip project. She was only in command of a two- or three-day mission, depending on what they observed. It should be simple—activate the device, get as much data as they could about the gray haze to help the project's scientists and technicians learn how to navigate through it, and then return to Feynman Station. Her responsibility was limited. She had made sure the ship was as ready as she could make it. The crew knew what she expected of them. That part of the mission was under control, but she remained uneasy about the part she could not influence and what it might do to the part that was.

"What about the gray haze?" Sandra asked.

"That's the fun part," Brax said, which warranted an exaggerated eye roll from the communications officer sitting next to him.

The gray haze was the big mystery. All the missions involving smaller probes, as well as those done robotically by _Brane Child_ , had returned safely, but the data they had collected made no sense. The fact was that there wasn't any data. The probes had gone somewhere—some people speculated some-when—disappearing from normal space and returning seconds or hours later with readings of subjective time passing. They found nothing else. No gasses, no stars, no radiation of any type. All external readings indicated nothing but an ineffable gray haze. It suggested a place that was not a place, not empty vacuum, but void, where perhaps even the fabric of space-time itself did not exist. Some theorists maintained that this was impossible, but something strange was going on. There were several competing hypotheses to explain it, but no one knew.

"Fun?" Lisa said.

"Sure. Think of it as an adventure."

### ~Chapter 2~

After an early breakfast in the dining hall, the test crew of the experimental ship _Brane Child_ made their way along the station's main level, past shops and offices, and on toward the closest elevator entrance. Other people roamed the wide corridor, tastefully decorated with planters and an occasional fountain, but it remained far from crowded.

The crew drew some attention because of their attire. Their light blue jump suits, adorned with colorfully embroidered patches, stood out among the business suits, lab coats, or T-shirts and jeans worn by most of the station's pedestrians. The fact that each crew member carried an overnight bag, proved to anyone who might be interested that Lisa Chang and her companions were outbound.

She did not know how many people currently resided on Feynman station. The population varied widely from about ten thousand to twenty thousand people. It was a city without a nation, governed by the International Near Space Treaty overseen by the United Nations Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space. Any government, business, or private organization could lease space here.

In addition to General Spaceworks, she knew of four other large corporations with a presence on the station, and there were always private organizations and universities conducting research projects. It was also a fuel depot and support base for ships, asteroid miners, and nearby observatories and other small stations. It even attracted a small but regular stream of tourists.

They reached the elevators, and Lisa pressed the 'down' button without hesitation. The elevators actually traveled out and in relative to the center of the station, but it felt like down and up to those inside. The docking ring was one level 'down', and the small car began its descent. It was too late for second thoughts or worries. She was as prepared as she could be, but she could not help feeling she could have been better prepared if her employer was more forthcoming about the device they would be testing. She understood why they were not, but she still resented it. The claim that she had no 'need to know' made her feel as though they did not trust her, and she could not help wondering if they were keeping any other secrets from her.

They shared the short elevator ride in silence with three men in gray coveralls with patches that marked them as station facilities workers. With them was a crablike maintenance robot about the size of a cocker spaniel. One of the workers smiled flirtatiously at Sandra. She winked and smiled back. He was, Lisa must admit, fairly good-looking, but she did not envy Sandra for being the focus of the young man's attention. She had other things on her mind.

"This is going to be fun," Brax said as the elevator doors opened on the docking level.

Lisa herself was feeling an odd mixture of excitement and dread, but it could end up being fun, she supposed. What mattered most was that it would end up being over. There might be additional tests afterwards, but by then she hoped to feel more relaxed about them.

They made their way down a much more austere corridor than the one above them, although still wide enough for ten people to walk abreast. Before long, they arrived at docking bay twelve where the _Brane Child_ was berthed. Two General Spaceworks security guards—humans, not robots—stood outside the closed doors. Each wore a black jumpsuit sporting a circular company logo patch and an armband that said SECURITY, as if the stun-sticks at their belts did not already say the same thing louder. The station did not permit projectile weapons, but the guards were intimidating enough without them.

They nodded silent greetings as the four crew members scanned their key cards at the entrance.

Gordon Fritz, General Spaceworks' Deputy Project Manager for the Brane Skip project and Lisa's current supervisor, was the only person waiting for them inside the docking bay's reception lounge. He was older than Lisa by at least a decade and was dressed in a conservative dark blue business suit with a Mandarin collar. His smile of greeting appeared strained, as if he felt more nervous than happy to see them.

"I wanted to be here personally to see you off," he said. "You really deserve a more elaborate send-off. This is a big step in the project. It's the first manned test of something that might just open a way to other star systems, but we're keeping everything close-hold until we have more definitive answers on a few open questions."

"Like the gray haze," Lisa said.

"That's one of the big ones. I'm sure you know how it is."

She did. The company's reputation would suffer and its stock value would fall if it made a big deal out of a test that ended in failure. The caution implied a certain lack of confidence on the part of the upper management, and it worried her. Her expression must have betrayed the direction of her thoughts because he adopted a more optimistic tone.

"I have every confidence that today will go well and that you will bring back some answers for us, of course. But, as you are aware, we are venturing into unknown scientific territory. This is true cutting edge stuff. It could significantly alter the course of humanity. You all should be proud."

He failed to mention that it could also bring in huge profits, but if they succeeded in developing a way to overcome the vast distances between stars, those profits would be well deserved.

"Thanks, Mr. Fritz," she said. "I'm sure we're all aware of how important this is. We'll do our part."

"I'm sure you will. But, I don't want you to take any risks out there. If something seems wrong or if you suffer any odd effects from the transition into skip-space, skip back immediately. Understood?"

Is that what they are calling the gray haze now? Skip-space? It did have a less ominous tone to it. She could not tell if his cautionary reminder was because he knew something she didn't or because he didn't know all the same things she didn't. There were certainly more than enough of them to give one pause.

"Understood," she said.

"Good. Good luck, then. I'm looking forward to welcoming you back."

He shook hands with each of them as they passed on their way to the pressurized boarding bridge connecting the reception lounge's airlock with the crew hatch of the _Brane Child_. The dock master had already evacuated the air in the bay in preparation for their launch. The ship was waiting for them in vacuum.

She intended to lead the way down the collapsible bridge, but Brax, a huge grin on his face, strode ahead on his long legs, like a kid eager to grab a front row seat to a new movie. She found herself behind him walking next to Doc, with Sandra a step behind them.

"Fritz is nervous about something," Sandra said softly.

Doc nodded. "I noticed that."

"He should be," Lisa said. "Like he said, there are a lot of unknowns." She sincerely hoped that was all it was. They still had no real idea how to navigate beyond the gray haze, skip-space, in order to bypass vast distances of normal space. The theory simply said it should be possible.

"Come on, guys," Brax called, several steps in front of them. "Adventure awaits."

~*~

"Welcome aboard," the _Brane Child's_ artificial intelligence said as they entered through the open airlock.

Sims had no gender, of course, but its voice sounded male. Some of the newer ship management systems had distinct personalities, or at least enough cognitive ability to simulate one, but Sims was an older model. It could take independent action in specific circumstances, within preprogrammed limits, but it had no capacity for imagination or creative thought. The modern versions of shipboard AIs were equally limited, but their creative programming deceptively suggested otherwise. Lisa was content with Sims as it was. Fortunately, no one in management argued to upgrade it, no doubt because it would have been an unnecessary expense.

The docked ship shared the fractionally increased sensation of gravity of the outer docking level. Each level 'down' provided the feeling of a little added weight, but it was barely noticeable between adjacent levels. Lisa thought she could feel it, but it might simply have been the weight of responsibility.

"Sims, seal the airlock and then tell docking control that they may withdraw the boarding bridge."

"Yes, Commander Chang."

His acknowledgement reminded her that from now on and until they returned, she would be 'Commander Chang' rather than 'Lisa' to the ship and crew as a matter of protocol.

"Okay, everyone. Secure your gear in your cubicles and then report to your stations. I want everyone strapped in in five minutes. You know the routine."

As an atmospheric shuttle originally designed to get cargo from and to planetary bodies, it had a layout not unlike airplanes from a century before, with the bridge forward of the rest of the ship. The sleeping cubicles for the crew were immediately behind it. The engineer in Lisa appreciated the efficiency of the layout. This ship was not designed for looks or luxury. Everything the crew might need on a normal flight was nearby along a central corridor, which made getting around, especially in zero g, much easier.

The crew members were all on the bridge and at their stations well before the five minutes passed.

One large main screen, currently black, occupied the forward center spot of the compact flight deck. Brax's pilot station was to the left of it and Lisa's command station was to the right. The stations Sandra and Doc occupied were behind them, each one equipped with screens and control panels applicable to their functions.

Lisa snugged the straps securing her in her seat a bit more tightly than necessary in preparation for launch. She heard the buckles of her crewmate's restraints clicking around her.

"Pilot station set for manual control. Engines show ready," Brax announced.

"Sensors and communications are green," Sandra said.

"Life support is functioning normally," Doc said.

"Okay. Let's do this," Lisa said. "Dock master, this is Commander Chang aboard the _Brane Child_. We are good to go."

"Copy that, _Brane Child_ ," a female voice replied. "Extending docking arms. I'll try not to bump you too much."

"Real human service?" Sandra said with some surprise. "We must be more important than I thought."

"Only the best for those boldly going where no one has gone before," the voice said. "General Spaceworks swore us all to secrecy, but we know about the mission—as much as they think we need to know, anyway. We played rock-paper-scissors to see who would have the honor of seeing you off. I won."

Lisa appreciated the enthusiasm evident in the dock master's voice. It reminded her of how important this was and how many people, even some with no financial or immediate career interests, were eager for it to succeed. With her own doubts about the device and the apparent concern about it from her boss, she had almost lost sight of that. But every new idea, every invention, every discovery came with unknowns. It was why tests like this were necessary, so that the problems could be identified and resolved. Humans would still be huddled in caves shivering in the darkness if some bright and adventurous early ancestor had not experimented with fire. He, or possibly she, may have been burned a few times in the process, but humanity owes its very existence to people who take risks to investigate the unknown. Lisa felt a touch of pride in possibly playing a small role in her species' ongoing climb of progress.

The ship jerked as the telescoping arms began to extend, and then jerked again less than a minute later when they stopped.

"Arm's extended and locked. Prepare for release, _Brane Child_ ," the voice from the dock master's station said.

"Copy that," Lisa replied. "Release when ready."

"Coming into position for your planned trajectory. Releasing in three—two—one. Clamps released."

Lisa expected what followed, but her stomach objected nonetheless. The instant weightlessness as the ship flung away on a tangent from the point of release made it feel like they were falling. No matter how tightly you strapped yourself in, it was still unpleasant.

"Good luck, _Brane Child_ ," the dock master said. "See you when you get back."

"Ugh," Sandra half sighed and half burped. "I will never get used to that."

"I don't think anyone ever does," Lisa agreed, fighting her own nausea.

"You know, people say that, but unless you count the rush, it's never bothered me," Brax said from his pilot's station.

Lisa turned her head slowly as she tried to adjust to weightlessness and glared at him. His attention remained focused on the control panel in front of him, so he did not notice.

"Relative speed three one five kph," he said. "We're on course."

He tapped the controls. Faint hissing sounds conveyed through the hull accompanied a slight sense of motion.

"Adjusting orientation to match direction. Prepare for acceleration burn."

A few minutes later, the vibration through the ship caused by the main engines firing and a feeling of being gently pressed into her seat ended.

"ETA to skip point two point two five hours," Brax said.

"You all did quite well," Doc told them. "Your heart rates are already returning to normal."

"Maybe, but I think I left my stomach back on the station," Sandra said.

Lisa tried to settle hers through sheer force of will as the ship coasted toward the coordinates in empty space where they would conduct their test of the Brane Skip device. Her efforts were only partially successful. A distraction might help.

"We may as well see where we're going," she said. "Sims, main screen, forward view."

The black screen changed to a black screen sprinkled with bright dots of light. They all stared at it.

"Not a big difference, is there?" Sandra said after a few moments.

"Space has many interesting things to see, I'm sure, but they do seem to be inconveniently far apart," Doc said.

"Well, we're still on our way to the game," Brax said. "The real adventure begins when we press the magic button."

"This isn't a game," Lisa said with annoyance. She let the 'magic button' comment slide because she felt much the same way about it.

"Oh, everything is a kind of game, metaphorically speaking," Brax said. "There are goals and players and tactics and such. I mean, games are just simplified bits of reality, aren't they? The same goes for stories."

"That doesn't mean that reality is a game."

He shrugged. "All the world's a stage, though, right?"

An insightful fellow at times, Shakespeare," Doc said. "And as another wise man once said, 'We're all stories in the end.'"

"Buddha?" Sandra guessed.

"Doctor Who, I believe. Actually, just 'the Doctor.' 'Who' was not part of his name. But Brax has a point. You can learn a lot about the real world from stories and games."

"Role-playing games especially," Brax said. "They're my favorite. When I was in college, I'd play them in the dorm with a bunch of friends. Not the computer games; the original ones with paper and dice and stuff."

"You weren't one of those weirdoes who would dress up like an elf or a wizard, were you?" Sandra said.

Lisa tried to picture Brax dressed as an elf. It didn't work. He might make a respectable barbarian hero, though.

Brax laughed. "No, nothing like that. Well, when my friend Rob was the dungeon master, he sometimes wore a pointy hat with "Wizzard" written on it in glitter, but it was just kind of a joke."

Lisa had played games as a child, of course, and she had read stories and watched videos, as most children will do, but as she grew older, there seemed to be no time for games, and her reading and other spare time preferences had turned almost exclusively to nonfiction.

This concerned her parents because they feared she was robbing herself of her childhood. In one of her rare arguments with them, she countered that some people simply grew up too late. But despite how peculiar her childhood may have been, she believed she had benefitted from being forced to wake up and smell the coffee as young as she had. Reality had become far more interesting to her than the alternatives.

"So, what do you think you can learn from games?" Lisa said.

The subject did not interest her much, but the conversation took her mind off the still uncomfortable sensation of endless falling and, more importantly, her lingering nervousness about the mission ahead.

"Games and simulations have long been important learning tools," Doc said. "They can teach people to assess situations rationally, identify potential problems, compare options, determine courses of action, and, of course the importance of preparation and logistics."

"Well, yeah," Brax said. "The dungeon master had to do all of that, and if you were playing a thief or a magic user, that stuff was important, but I usually just played a fighter."

Despite how this made him sound, Lisa knew he was far from stupid. He simply preferred things to be straightforward and uncomplicated.

"There is still an element of strategy and tactics in the role of a fighter," Doc said. "You must assess both your abilities and those of your opponent in order to decide what to do. As Sun Tzu said in _The Art of War_ , 'Know thy self, know thy enemy.'"

"I suppose. I mean, if you were facing a bunch of kobolds or goblins, you knew you could pretty much just go in and bash them, but you had to think twice about facing a dragon."

"I was never much of a fantasy fan," Lisa said, only half paying attention.

"'Fantasy is an exercise bicycle for the mind,'" Doc quoted. "'It might not take you anywhere, but it tones up the muscles that can.' That was Terry Pratchett."

"What's with you and the quotes today, Doc?" Sandra asked.

His dark brows rose in surprise. "You know, I'm not sure. They just keep coming to mind."

"Well, cut it out. It's getting annoying."

He smiled. "But it is germane to the topic at hand. Fantasy stories help free the mind of preconceptions. It allows people to be more open to alternatives."

"Maybe," Lisa admitted. "But you have to admit that a lot of those stories are just plain stupid. What about the ones that have people zapping bad guys by mumbling bits of mock-Latin and pointing wands?"

"The point, I think, is to see the truth behind the fiction. Yes, magic wands and spells are absurd, but many such stories are actually about things like friendship, trust, perseverance, and other ineffable things that, although intangible, have a certain truth nonetheless. The fantastic settings and magical spells are there to turn what is true and important into a story that is interesting and enjoyable. I don't think anyone believes the fantasy parts are real...." He paused, perhaps reflecting on what Lisa felt was abundant evidence to the contrary. "Well, not many people."

"I did," Brax said. "When I was a kid, I used to go out in our backyard and look through the bushes for portals to other worlds, dragon eggs, whatever. I once tried to signal flying saucers with a laser pointer."

"Any luck?" Sandra asked, barely suppressing a chuckle.

"I found a gold ring once, but it turned out to be plastic."

"I hear what you're saying, Doc," Lisa said. "All good fiction does something like that, I think. But there is only so much disbelief I can suspend for the sake of a story. I'm okay with science fiction if it's not too implausible, but I have a lower tolerance for fantasy. After a point, it just becomes silly."

She did not doubt that important ideas could be conveyed through fiction, but those same ideas could be articulated more clearly in a well-written work of history or philosophy, and those didn't come with all the nonsense. Most didn't, in any case.

"The ones with zombies used to scare me when I was little," Sandra said. "I think I got over it when my great grandmother died and I realized dead was dead. I was eight at the time. After that, they just seemed, well, like you said, silly."

"Approaching designated coordinates," Brax said. "Engaging braking thrusters. We should be in position in fifteen minutes."

The rockets whispered in response. Lisa could barely feel the deceleration.

"Let's start with a full sensor scan," she said. "Is there anything odd out there, Sandra?"

"Checking now." The communications officer paused as the data came in. "No anomalous readings. Just empty space."

"We're now at dead stop relative to the station," Brax announced.

"Sandra, notify Fritz that we've arrived and are ready to begin the test," Lisa said.

Sandra tapped the controls at her station, paused, and tapped again. "Message sent and acknowledged."

Lisa took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this. I'm activating the BS system."

"I still think that's a stupid name," Sandra said.

"Someone at corporate probably thought it was funny," Brax suggested.

"They didn't have to trust their lives to it in an antique cargo boat. I know I'm not laughing."

"Oh, it's not that bad. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? The mice made it."

The main view screen flickered and the corporate logo for General Spaceworks replaced the star field. The menu that appeared next presented three options: START, TEST, and ABORT.

Lisa selected START. The word INITIALIZING appeared. The device ran separately from everything else on the ship. From this point, there were no user options. Either it would work or it wouldn't.

They waited.

"When you get into the game or the story or whatever, it almost feels real," Brax said, picking up the conversation where it had left off. "That's how you can tell it's a good one. The opposite is kind of true, too. I've noticed that when I'm doing something difficult and imagine it's a story, I don't worry about it as much, and it makes it easier."

"That might be a good method to reduce stress," Doc said.

"Provided you don't get confused about what's real and what's not," Lisa said. She had always maintained a clear distinction between what was real and what wasn't. She felt that some people often confused the two.

"You should try them," Brax said. "Role-playing games, I mean. They're a lot of fun. You would make a great elf."

"I am NOT an elf!" she said.

Lisa had been called 'elfish' before because she was short, slim, and looked younger than she was, and although she assumed it was always meant as a compliment, she didn't like it.

The display screen changed to BRANE SCANNING. A status bar below it ostensibly conveyed its progress.

"I wonder if imagining this is a story will work for me," Sandra said. "I wasn't nervous before, but I am now. The gray haze thing, you know."

Lisa felt uncomfortable about it too, but did not say anything. As commander of the mission, she should at least pretend to be confident in its success.

The words DETERMINING IMPLIED GRAVITY appeared with another status bar.

"Fear of the unknown is natural," Doc said. "Humanity has faced a lot of unknowns in its history, and only when people faced them and turned them into things that are known could they move on. Think of yourself as one of those brave pioneers."

DRAWING INFERENCES, the screen told them. Lisa had no idea what that meant.

"Right now, I'd rather think of myself home on Earth, lying on a beach with a handsome young cabana boy bringing me frosty drinks with paper umbrellas in them," Sandra said.

ASSUMING BRANE EXISTENCE. Assuming? Lisa did not like what that word implied.

"You know, this almost feels like a story," Brax said. "Venturing into the unknown and all."

"Don't get carried away with it," Sandra said. "I don't want to be in one of those action-packed pulp things with lots of explosions and death-defying escapes."

PREPARING TO JUMP TO CONCLUSION POINT.

"Yeah," Lisa agreed. "No explosions, Brax."

He laughed. "I'll do my best. How about a dragon or two?"

PRESS ENTER TO SKIP.

"Ready, Commander?" Brax said.

It wasn't as if they had much choice. "Punch it," she said.

"Adventure, here we come!" the pilot said as he pressed the button.

### ~Chapter 3~

Lisa had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but she wished she still were. Her head pounded. Her heart raced. Her stomach felt like it had been used as a vacuum cleaner bag at an old men's barbershop. It was like the worst morning-after in the history of bad morning-afters. Among the many things currently confusing her were where she was, who she was, and even what she was. When she finally managed to open her eyes, they refused to focus, perhaps in fear of what they might see.

A neuron somehow managed to beg a jump-start from a passing squirt of adrenaline, and memory began to return along with a still cloudy sense of the external world.

"Brax! Status!" she croaked.

"Whoa," he said. "What hit me?"

"Sandra! Sensors! Where are we?"

"Shit!"

"Shit, what? Are we in trouble?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe. Shit is what I feel like. Hang on. I'm still trying to find my fingers."

"Doc, are you okay? Are _we_ okay?"

"I'm pulling up the readings from our seat bio-sensors now." After a tense pause, he said, "I see nothing that can't be explained by excitement and stress. No one appears to be in any immediate danger."

"It feels like we're drifting," Brax said. "I'm sure we're still in space, um, somewhere."

"I don't suppose you could pin that down a bit more, could you?"

"Working on it."

"Sensors say there's a massive object ahead," Sandra said. "A planet, I think. It's about fifteen thousand kilometers out."

Lisa began shouting orders, most of which were probably unnecessary. The crew knew what to do, but it made her feel that the situation was less out of control than she feared it actually was.

"Brax, just make sure we don't crash into it. Sandra, try to raise Feynman Station. Doc, make sure there's no damage to life support. Sims, screen on. Focus on the object in front of us."

The main screen flickered to life. It showed a familiar looking sight.

"That can't be Earth," Lisa said, staring at the screen in disbelief. "We were one and a half million kilometers from Earth when we activated the BS device."

"It looks like Earth," Brax said.

It did, with glimpses of blue ocean peeking through heavy white cloud cover.

Brax pointed a finger at the screen. "That bit there kind of looks like the west coast of Africa. And that over there might be South America."

Lisa could almost agree, but the dense cloud layer obscured any clear details. What she thought might be coastlines disappeared almost as soon as she noticed them.

"No response from Feynman station," Sandra said.

"Sims, is that Earth?" Lisa asked.

"Uncertain," the ship's AI replied. "Planetary mass matches that of Earth. Distance from the star it is orbiting and stellar composition are also consistent with readings applicable to Earth."

"Why is that not a definitive 'Yes'?"

"There are anomalies," Sims said.

"I'm not getting anything, Commander," Sandra said.

"What kind of anything aren't you getting?"

"All kinds of anything," the communications officer said, her voice raised in exasperation. "I'm not picking up any signals or transmissions of any kind. There are no space stations and no satellites in orbit. I'm not even seeing any artificial lights on the surface. There's nothing."

"Is it possible we've jumped in time? Gone into the past?"

Time travel had been one of the wilder speculations some experts entertained as a possible outcome of skipping between branes.

"Or maybe the distant future?" Brax said.

"Um, no. I don't think so," Sandra said. "Give me a minute."

Lisa continued to search the image on the forward screen for something recognizable, but the mysterious cloud-covered planet continued to hide its secrets. The absence of anything artificial seemed _unnatural_. Sandra was right. They should at least be able to see lights from cities on the night side, even through the clouds, but there were none.

"No, the stars are where they should be," Sandra said. "If we had moved far enough in time to explain these anomalies, they'd be in a different configuration."

Lisa and the others stared silently bemused by the image on the screen. The planet seemed almost peaceful, welcoming. Why did she think that meant it must be some kind of trap?

"So what happened?" Lisa eventually asked of no one in particular.

No one volunteered an idea.

"Maybe we should try to activate the Brane Skip again," Sandra ventured. "It might reverse whatever happened."

Lisa considered her suggestion briefly. "Let's hold that in reserve for now. We all seem to be fine, and our mission is to investigate what happens when the Brane Skip engages. This is what happened. For another thing, I don't trust it. The first time we activated it, it sent us here—wherever here is. Who knows where we'll end up if we do it again?"

"At least it's more interesting than gray haze," Brax said. "I say we explore."

"You mean go down to the planet?" Sandra said.

"Sure. Why not? Take some samples of the atmosphere, soil, water, plant life. Whatever we find. Then we'll have some great data when we get back."

"Assuming we get back."

"Well, there is that, I suppose," Brax admitted. "But if we can't—if we're stranded—that planet is probably the best desert island around here. Besides, if that's not Earth, it's a pretty close twin, and part of the reason behind this project is to find new planets suitable for human colonies. It looks like we found one."

"This is just wild speculation," Lisa said, "but is it possible we've skipped to a distant twin galaxy where all the stars and planets exactly mirror our own?"

Doc shrugged. "That may not be impossible, but it does strike me as being very unlikely. Unfortunately, I don't have a better hypothesis at the moment."

"Me either," Lisa said reluctantly.

Their mission was to find out what happened when the Brane Skip engaged, and if they were to provide anything like a comprehensive report, they would need additional information. Getting it required a closer look at the planet.

"It looks like we need more data. Let's go get some. Brax, take us into a low orbit."

"My pleasure, Commander." He settled back in his chair and began examining displays and tapping controls. "We'll need to pick up speed and change trajectory. Prepare for burn."

~*~

Two hours later, the planet below filled the main screen of the _Brane Child_ with white and blue haze.

"That's an unusual amount of cloud cover, isn't it?" Doc said.

Lisa nodded. "Sandra, what are the sensors telling us?"

"Well, the cloud composition appears normal enough. They're mostly just normal water vapor. But I don't know why they're covering most of the planet. Cloud cover should be around seventy percent, on Earth anyway, but here it's closer to ninety."

"What about below them? What can you tell us about the planet's surface?"

"The readings keep shifting. The diagnostics tell me the sensors are functioning properly, but the readings don't make sense. I can't get any distinct coastlines or much of anything else. I thought I detected a mountain range a little while ago on radar, but when I tried to get some better resolution, it wasn't there anymore."

"That's odd," Brax said.

"That's beyond odd. That's impossible," Lisa said. "Mountains don't normally just disappear. Any sign of seismic activity that might explain it?"

"None," Sandra said. "But I'm not sure I trust what these readings are telling me."

"It's time to go down for a closer look then, right?" Brax said, sounding far more enthused about the prospect than Lisa felt.

"Still looking for adventure?" Sandra said.

"Nope. Found it. And a mystery to solve. What do you say, Commander?"

"Maybe," she said.

She still felt hesitant. There must be a safer way to get better data than physically taking the ship down into the atmosphere.

"What about radio transmissions, Sandra? Are you picking up anything like that yet?"

"No, still nothing."

"Are there power readings of any sort?"

"Nothing I can detect."

Lisa found this both confusing and encouraging.

"I suppose that means that if there is someone down there, they probably won't be able to shoot us down, at least."

"So it's a go?" Brax said, leaning forward in his seat.

"There doesn't seem to be anywhere else to go," she admitted with reluctance. "Yes, take us down. Sandra, stay on top of those sensors. Look for signs of human activity—roads, bridges, things like that."

The communications officer nodded. "I recommend we have Sims monitor the sensors as well, Commander. It can analyze the data much faster than a human can."

"Good idea. Sims, tie into the external sensors. Notify us verbally of anything that may be an artificial construction."

"At what confidence level, Commander?" the AI said.

"What? I don't know." She picked a random number that seemed reasonable. "Seventy-five percent."

"Acknowledged."

"We're going in," Brax said. "Slowing for reentry. Make sure your straps are tight. This might get bumpy."

A disturbing thought suddenly occurred to Lisa. None of the old ship's atmospheric flight or landing components had been upgraded. The test plan had not called for a planetary landing, so the corporation had not spent the time or money to overhaul those systems. Their condition had suddenly become important, and it concerned her.

"Sims, what was this ship's last assignment before it was repurposed for the Brane Skip project?"

The disembodied voice of the AI responded instantly. "For the previous twenty-four years it was used to shuttle supplies from Feynman Station to nearby space observatories and other manned platforms."

"So it hasn't landed on a planet for twenty-four years?"

"Forty-four years, Commander. For the twenty years previous to that assignment, this ship carried cargo to and from stations orbiting Earth and its moon."

"Damn!"

"It did, however, make one thousand, two hundred and eighteen landings on either Earth or its moon in the forty years prior to that. During that time, it was supporting the construction of lunar space elevators and ground bases."

Lisa added the numbers and didn't like the result.

"Previous to that—"

"Never mind, Sims." She got the gist of it. The ship was an antique, and the landing systems hadn't been used, and quite possibly not serviced, for decades. Brax did say the old cargo carriers were reliable. She hoped he was right.

"We're at twelve thousand meters," Brax said. "Things will get hot in a second. Nothing to worry about. Brunos are tough ships."

The main screen turned a bright orange as the air around the ship turned to electrically charged plasma. Lisa had ridden into atmosphere before, but never on a ship this old. Her fingers left indentations in the foam padding of her seat's armrests and sweat beaded on her forehead. This had nothing to do with the temperature on the bridge, which remained unchanged, although she could hear the environmental systems straining to keep it that way. She braced herself in her seat, expecting turbulence, but despite the hell outside, the ride remained surprisingly smooth.

"We're through," Brax said. "I'm going to do a few high altitude spirals to shed speed. After that, we can go wherever you want."

"Back to the station would be nice," Sandra said. "But I don't suppose that's an option."

"Still nothing on the sensors, I take it?" Lisa said.

"The readings keep changing."

Which meant they still had no real data about the planet. Lisa saw no alternative.

"Brax, take us below the clouds as soon as you can do it safely. At least then we should be able to see something with the cameras."

"We could do it safely now, Commander, as long as you don't want to land right away."

"Since we don't know where we're going, that's not a problem."

Brax grinned and tapped one of the controls. "Reducing altitude."

A minute later, they broke through the clouds.

"Sims, show us what we're flying over."

The screen switched from showing clouds and gray skies to images of forests and rivers whizzing by at twice the speed of sound.

"Sensor readings are stabilizing now," Sandra said. "I don't have a clue what it might be, but there must be something in the clouds that mucks them up."

"Are you picking up anything interesting?"

"Hang on. Now that's strange."

"What?"

"I may have been wrong about the sensors. Their range seems to be, well, degraded. But I don't know why. I can only get clear readings for about a hundred kilometers around us. Anything farther away than that is still garbled. Within the range that we seem to have, I don't see anything that would indicate human habitation."

"That's going to make it take a lot longer to survey the place," Brax said.

He was right. Without long-range sensors, a full planetary survey was out of the question, but perhaps they could improve their odds of finding people, if any lived here.

"Sandra, see what you can do about the sensors," Lisa said. "Brax, the next time we come across a reasonably large river or coastline, follow it. That's where people tend to build towns."

"Got it. Dropping to subsonic."

The scene below them slowed enough to be able make out individual landmarks, which were limited to trees, hills, low mountains, and more trees.

"Notice," the voice of the AI announced. "Unidentified aircraft are converging on our current flight path."

"Aircraft? Where? On screen, Sims."

The image on the main view screen shifted again. Something appeared ahead, but from this distance, it looked like just a few dots floating in the gray sky.

"Increase magnification," Lisa ordered.

The AI complied, and the commander's jaw fell.

"Those can't be..."

"Dragons!" Brax said. "There are dragons here!"

Three creatures wheeled in the sky ahead of them, and they looked very much like dragons out of a fantasy movie—scaly red ones with long sinuous necks, beating their leathery wings slowly as they rode the air currents. Each was as large as an old-fashioned tractor-trailer truck.

"Here comes another one," Sandra said. "Approaching from two o'clock dead ahead."

The image of the last beast appeared on the screen much closer than the others of its kind. It obviously noticed them and apparently did not like what it saw. Its head turned with obvious malicious intent, and it vomited a cone of flame on the side of the ship as it flew past. Lisa flinched as fire splashed across the screen display.

"I don't think its breath weapon can hurt us, but I'd rather not crash into one of them." Brax said. "Initiating evasive maneuvers."

He smiled and banked the ship sharply up and to the left of the three still ahead. "This would be a lot more fun with phasers and photon torpedoes."

"What?"

"Sorry. I slipped into game mode there for a second."

Lisa exhaled a sigh of exasperation. "Just get us away from them."

"Can do. We've got speed on them."

"It looks like they've turned to follow us," Sandra said, staring intently at her sensor console. "But they're falling behind."

The screen shifted to a rear view and Lisa watched as the flying fire-breathers receded into the distance.

"Those cannot possibly have been dragons," she said.

"They looked like dragons," Brax countered.

"They must have been an illusion, maybe some kind of hologram. They're too big, and the design is all wrong. Something like that could not possibly fly, and I'm not even going to mention the fire-breathing thing."

"I agree, Commander," said Doc. "The apparent muscle mass in their wings shouldn't be sufficient for one to take off. I don't see how something like that could evolve naturally. They should not exist." He paused in thought. "But we have seen them. It is most peculiar."

"Lower gravity? Thicker atmosphere?" Brax said.

"All Earth normal," Sandra replied after examining the readings from her sensor station.

"Okay. We'll mark it down as an anomaly for now," Lisa said. "Perhaps their physiology is vastly different from anything we're familiar with. Let's keep looking for something less aggressive that we might be able to talk to. If this place has intelligent life, we may be able to get some answers."

They flew westward until they crossed the terminator into night. More of the same kind of landscape passed below them. The image on the view screen now came primarily from the ship's infrared cameras.

"There's a river ahead," Brax said. "Do you want to go upstream or downstream?"

Lisa debated what seemed to be a heads or tails question for a moment before deciding.

"Let's try downstream. Maybe it will take us to the coast."

The ship banked left.

Dark hills and thick forests passed below them on both sides of the river. Infrared images showed animal life down there but nothing clearly intelligent, or at least not an intelligence that built things they could easily notice.

"Still no roads or anything that looks like cultivated fields," Sandra said. "I'm beginning to think no one is home."

Lisa was starting to suspect she was right, when Sims suddenly provided a new data point.

"There is a heat source ninety kilometers ahead," the ship's AI announced.

"Of course, I could be wrong," Sandra said.

"Perhaps it's a forest fire," Doc speculated.

"Reduce speed, Brax," Lisa said. "Let's see what's going on there. At least it's something to aim for."

Minutes later, the light from several fires on the eastern side of the river became visible on the main screen. And something else.

"Those are buildings," Doc said. "And a lot of them are on fire."

"I'm turning on the forward spotlights," Brax said. "Let's see what we've found."

Lisa was not certain this was a good idea because it would make them more visible to whoever—or whatever—lived in those buildings. Before she could tell him not to do it, a cone of white light played across the scene beneath them.

Figures scurried between tightly packed buildings that looked like they could have come out of Dickens novel.

"It's a city!" Sandra said.

"No, it's more like the suburbs," Brax said. He redirected their lights past the confusing scene whizzing below them to a much larger structure still ahead. Stone walls stood the height of at least five men.

"That's the city."

Indistinct figures fired bows and catapults between the wall's crenellations at the equally indistinct figures torching the outlying buildings.

"And it's under attack."

"Not a good place for us to be, then," Sandra said. "Why don't we see if we can find a nice quiet place on the coast with some good sea food or something?"

"There could be people hurt down there," Doc said. "We should help them."

Lisa sympathized with both Doc's feelings and the imagined victims of the fighting below, but she could not risk her ship and her crew. She was responsible for them.

"Which side?" she asked rhetorically. "This isn't our concern. We're just here to observe, and I'm not taking us down into the middle of a battle."

"I think I can do something about that," Brax said.

"No! I don't want us to get involved in this."

"Look," Brax said. "We're going to have to land somewhere eventually anyway, and this is the only semblance of civilization we've found so far. If we want to find out more about this planet, talking to these people would be a good place to start. They should be able to tell us something. Besides, I think I can stop the fighting down there, and that's a good thing all by itself, right?"

She wasn't sure what he had in mind, but he did make valid points. The people—or whatever—down there were obviously intelligent, and if they could communicate with them, they could learn far more than flying about randomly with dodgy sensors.

"All right," Lisa said. If the weaponry of those below was limited to arrows, the ship should be safe enough. "But be careful. You will not do anything that might risk the ship, understand? This isn't one of your adventure games."

"No problem, Commander. I've got this."

Brax maneuvered the ship closer to the walled city and flew circles around it at barely four times the height of the city walls, slowing to a relative speed of just over three hundred kilometers per hour by the time they made their third lap.

"That should have gotten their attention," Brax said. "Now for the light show."

He activated all of the belly lights, which were commonly only used for landing on unimproved surfaces such as lunar construction sites. The brilliant white light they emitted had an immediate effect on the city's attackers. Some stumbled and fell. Others fled toward the woods. A few of the braver, or possibly stupider, ones shaded their eyes and looked up. Sims automatically zoomed in the view screen on one of their faces.

Ugly would be too kind a word for it. The creature had the general shape and size of a man, but no man had ever looked like this. Beady eyes squinted in a fleshy face covered in greenish skin, which clashed with the unhealthy pinkish color of its pig-like snout and ears. Bluish slime dribbled from its open mouth, filled with jagged teeth. Lisa could almost smell the halitosis in her mind.

The rate of fire from the city walls increased, and the creature they were looking at fell with a shaft through its throat. Lisa cringed at the brutal sight, barely suppressing the scream that tried to escape from her mouth. Intentional violence in her world was almost entirely restricted to fiction, which provided a kind of mental buffer absent to her in this case.

"Just one more trick," Brax said.

He fired the vertical takeoff and landing thrusters and slowed their speed even more. The ship shuddered. Lisa felt more than heard the powerful rockets attempting to counter the effects of gravity on the heavy cargo ship.

"The rest of them are running!" Brax said. He pumped his fist in the air and voiced a victory whoop, which ended abruptly because of an even louder noise.

Sudden explosions like invisible fireworks came from beneath them. The ship lurched in response to each pop. Multiple warning lights flashed at the pilot's station and elsewhere around the bridge.

"Oh-oh," Brax said. "Hang on. We're going down."

### ~Chapter 4~

Milton Puddleswirth, an apprentice magician who, until tonight, believed he had a long if somewhat frugal future ahead of him as a crafter of small spells and clever devices, carefully placed another fire pot in the bucket of the catapult. He touched his torch to the wick, causing it to sputter and smoke before glowing ominously red.

"Set!" he yelled over the din of shouting men and twanging bows.

The soot-speckled soldier on the other side of the heavy machine pulled the rope to release the catch. The catapult's arm snapped forward with a resounding thud, sending the projectile arcing into the night.

Milton had designed the fire pots himself. They were more chemical than magical—basically just grooved clay pots filled with a mixture of soft tallow, alcohol, and a dash of volatile powders—but they worked. He knew he wouldn't want to be hit by one.

The young magic user didn't bother to look to see where it landed. Since they couldn't reliably aim, there was little point. Besides, peeking over the wall would be dangerous, not that crouching behind it was free of peril. The attackers were disturbingly adept at climbing the walls, using their tough short claws to secure a grip on the stones. Startled defenders would sometimes find greenish heads emerging between the merlons close enough to smell their fetid breath. Most were beaten back with sword, halberd, or fist, plunging them to their deaths, but more still came.

Milton, with help from the other man working the catapult, cranked down the long arm to prepare for another shot while he tried to ignore the worrying sound of a battering ram beating on the gates below. A clash of metal and a scream somewhere off to his left suggested that one or more of the attackers had managed to get over the wall.

Rising between lulls in the sounds of battle came a rumble like thunder, but it was different, less abrupt, and no lightning pierced the sky. What could it be now?

He chanced a quick peek over the wall. Smoke rose from the fires set by friend and foe alike. The flames held no allegiances. Right now, they remained outside the walls, so they hampered the attackers more than the defenders. Smoke and darkness impeded his view, but a quick glimpse revealed nothing that might explain the odd sound.

He shrugged, took the last fire pot from the basket near his feet, and placed it in the catapult's bucket.

"Set!" he cried after lighting it, and another shot was fired.

A hunched figure in a hooded brown apprentice's robe, carrying a bushel basket in both arms, waddled toward him along the wall walk.

"Gorbo!" Milton said. "You're just in time."

The robed figure set the basket down slowly. The flickering illumination from the torch Milton used to light the pots revealed a pinkish snout below beady black eyes shadowed by the cowl. It was a face only a very nearsighted mother could love—from a distance. Milton had had Gorbo since he was a pup and appreciated his companionship. He was like a big kid, really, a very big, very ugly kid, but he tried to be helpful, and he seemed to enjoy the simple jobs Milton gave him.

"No more after this," Gorbo told him. "All gone."

Milton did not know what he would do once the fire pots ran out, but he could worry about that later—if there was a later. He was holding a sleep spell for emergencies, but based on recent experience, he was not sure how well it would work. He desperately hoped he would not be in a situation where he needed it.

"How's Mari?" he asked.

"Okay. She's hiding in the basement, like you said."

"Good. You'd better join her. Keep that cowl up. We don't want any misunderstandings, do we?"

"No, boss. Don't want my head bashed by a soldier either."

He turned to leave, but stopped abruptly and pointed to a spot above the burning buildings outside the walls. "What's that?"

Milton followed the direction of the pointing finger and saw a distant light in the sky slowly growing larger. It certainly wasn't lightning. Dragons? It could be dragons. He sincerely hoped not. Dragons were never good news. Even the relatively benign ones could be insufferable and demanding. A gold one had graced them with its unwelcome presence about a decade ago, when Milton was still a young boy, and it had appropriated an entire wing of the palace. It had asked first, of course, but who in his right mind is going to refuse the polite request of fifty-foot-long magical beast with potentially lethal breath? It stayed for two months, dispensing sage wisdom and impractical advice, which mostly involved telling people what they were doing wrong. It left after consuming most of the gems and pearls in the city, leaving the city dwellers poorer but no wiser—and with a great deal of toxic dragon poop to dispose of.

"Probably more bad news," Milton said. It had been a no good news kind of a day, and he saw no reason for it to change now. "Get back to the workshop and keep your head down. Tell Mari..., well, just tell her to keep her head down too."

"Okay."

"And bar the door after yourself."

"Okay."

"And don't open it for anyone you don't know."

"How can I know I don't know them unless I open door?"

Gorbo could accomplish many tasks without complaint and seemed eager to please, but he was sometimes an infuriatingly slow learner. Milton decided it would take too long to explain, so he changed his instructions.

"Don't open the door unless Mari tells you to."

"Okay."

Gorbo sidled back toward the stairs, and Milton glanced again at the mysterious light in the sky. Further contemplation of what it might be would have to wait. He could do nothing about it regardless of what it was, and he had far more immediate problems.

He loaded another fire pot, and the catapult fired again.

After a few more shots, a different sound, more of a roar than a rumble, prompted him to risk another peek over the battlements. Now, that's strange, he thought. His capacity for fear hadn't quite peaked yet, but it would take something more personally intimidating than this to make it rise much higher.

A circle of seemingly magical light swept across the overrun town below. It briefly illuminated attackers holding torches and various types of weapons swarming between the buildings. The Laughing Goblin, a pub he and Mari had lunched at only three days before, was ablaze. He hoped the pub owner had made it inside the walls before the attack. He liked the fat old man, and he made a great shepherd's pie.

Milton gasped as the fast-moving source of the strange light and sound pierced the dark cloud of heavy smoke rising into the night sky from the burning buildings. Orange and red firelight reflected off the thing's huge white belly as it banked on stubby, triangular wings. His jaw dropped. If it was a dragon, it was not one of those that appeared in Master Ferman's Manual of Mystical Monsters. For one thing, it was bigger—much bigger.

Its passage overhead had a disruptive effect on those below. The fighting did not stop, but several attackers turned away from the walls, and many of the defenders stood and stared at this new and unknown apparition. Milton watched bemused as the flying whatever-it-was circled the walled city like a vulture over a corpse. He did not like what this implied.

A scratching sound drew his attention just in time to dodge the claws reaching toward him. His grasp on the torch tightened with near panic as he thrust it at the helmeted head rising over the parapet. A sizzling of coarse hair and a squeal followed as the invading creature lost its grip on the stone.

Standing here armed with a torch waiting for more of them to crawl up seemed like an incredibly unwise idea. Even if he had a more purpose-built weapon, and knew how to use it, hand-to-hand fighting was not what he was cut out for. He wasn't a warrior. He was a magician—well, he would be, probably, some day, maybe. Whatever his future held, he must first make it through tonight.

He crouched next to the basket with the remaining fire pots. The catapult wouldn't help against those already at the walls, and the man who had been working it with him seemed to have found somewhere else he needed to be anyway. Milton considered running, but that wouldn't help if the invaders got inside, so he grabbed one of the pots, lit the wick, and lobbed it over the wall. A surprised scream and scrabbling of claws suggested this was a good move, so he did it again, and then several more times.

A sudden shout arose from the southern wall. He tossed the last of the flaming pots over the side, hoping that whatever excited the men on the south wall represented a positive turn of events. When he looked in that direction, he saw what prompted their reaction, but whether it was good or bad, he still didn't know.

The underside of the huge flying beast was now glowing white, brighter than the noontime sun, brilliantly illuminating a wide area around the wall. It must be magic, extremely powerful magic. The radiant light should prove especially disturbing to the attackers, being creatures more comfortable with darkness and shadows. This classified it as a welcome development from Milton's point of view, at least for the moment.

Some quick-witted officer shouted to the archers to fire another volley. Now that they could clearly see their targets, this made good sense. Bows twanged in response. Not knowing if the huge flying thing represented a new threat or salvation, the archers wisely targeted all their arrows at the forces below. Apparently none wanted to risk antagonizing the newcomer. Milton agreed with their act of discretion. He earnestly hoped no one on their side did anything to annoy it.

What kind of magic is this? Milton had never seen such a powerful light spell. This was truly one amazing and fearsome creature. He didn't think it was a dragon, and it certainly wasn't a bird. But it must be some kind of predator, and it was undoubtedly magical. Despite his dread that it might soon consume them all, he could not help feeling impressed.

The creature continued to circle, slower now, as Milton watched in stunned fascination. With a roar like an enraged red dragon, flames suddenly erupted from its belly. Milton's breath stopped and his knees turned to jelly at the sight of such awesome power. He wasn't the only one. Another look over the wall proved that the attackers had seen enough. They were in full flight. Milton understood their reaction, but he had nowhere to run.

The mysterious visitor shuddered and then swiveled until it hung almost motionless in the air just outside the main city gate. With what sounded like the last explosive effort of a thousand constipated ogres, it settled on the pavement of the wide courtyard in front of the gate, which was often used for assemblies and as an open-air market. Bright light still beamed all around it, but otherwise it seemed to be resting. Around it lay the bodies of many of those who had been attacking the city, bits of their armor, weapons, scaling ladders, and an abandoned battering ram, all casting long, eerie shadows in the unnatural illumination.

Milton anxiously waited for it to do something—spit fire, smash the gates, speak.... But it didn't. After successfully routing the attackers, it seemed content to rest quietly, completely ignoring the walls of the city and the people trembling behind them. On the list of its possible actions, this one was right near the top of Milton's favorites.

Now that the strange flying behemoth was motionless, and the possibility of immediate death no longer distracted him, Milton could make out details. The thing outside stretched easily twice as long as an adult dragon from nose to tail, but its body was far more bulky. Stiff wings sprouted from its sides with a total span of only about two-thirds that of its length. Letters and symbols marked a skin of dirty white, but he saw nothing that looked like eyes or a mouth, although it did have rounded bumps in a few places. Milton had no idea what those might be. The end pointing nearest the gate could be its nose, which gave him the feeling that it was waiting to see what the people inside would do.

Curiosity overruled caution, and he leaned over the wall to get a better look. Upon closer examination, he thought it looked more like a device than it did a creature, but who could build such a thing? And why?

He didn't know, and of all the other people he knew well who also probably didn't know, he knew of only one who might have a remote idea.

He raced along the wall walk, easily avoiding the men crowding along the battlements to stare at the thing below. When he got to the stairs, he noticed an officer in a sooty red jacket and tattered gold braid.

"Have you seen Ferman?" Milton asked him.

"The mage?" The officer scratched his short beard. "I think I saw him down by the east gate."

"Thanks."

Milton ran down the stone steps, almost tripping over a carelessly discarded spear. Breaking his neck now would be ironic, not to mention painful, so he continued his rush with more caution.

The stairs ended at the perimeter road that ran along the inner edge of the walls. It was only a short jog from here to the main gate.

He turned to his left and headed down the narrow road, hopping over rubbish and dodging around the people rushing back and forth in his path. The road suddenly widened, but his progress toward his destination slowed. A thick crowd of soldiers clustered around the gate casting nervous glances at one another.

"Excuse me. Excuse me," Milton repeated as he pushed his way through the armed men as politely as he could.

When he got to the closed gates, he found the man he was looking for lowering his magical staff. The old man's pointy hat and black robe, embroidered with silver moons and stars, marked him as one of the city's senior mages. He was also Milton's tutor.

"Master Ferman!" Milton called.

The magician turned and regarded his apprentice with some bemusement. "Ah, Milton. Good timing, my boy. Very good timing."

"What? Well, yes. Thank you. What is that thing out there, Master?"

Ferman stroked his long gray beard with an air of deep contemplation. "Ah, well, that, my boy, that thing out there is a.... It's nothing for you to worry about, and now is not the time for lengthy explanations, in any case. I need to make a report to the king and discuss this situation with the other senior mages. That thing is out there, and we're in here. That's the important point at the moment. I need you to stay here and use your budding magical prowess to help make sure it stays that way, if you see what I mean.

"But what can I—?"

"No time to discuss it. Don't worry. It will all be fine. I just cast a Hold Portal spell on this gate."

"And that will keep it out?"

"Hah! That it will. Nothing is getting through that gate for at least another fifteen minutes. Just do your best until I get back."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Oh, probably not more than half an hour or so. So, you see, not a problem, right?" He patted Milton on the shoulder. "There, that's a good lad."

Milton watched the retreating form of his mentor as he strode away, waving his staff from side to side to encourage the soldiers to make a path for him.

'Magical prowess?' What could he do if the thing outside decided it wanted to be inside? All he had ready was a sleep spell, which, if it worked, might be powerful enough to send a pixie with the flu down for a short nap.

He turned to the reassuringly thick, ironbound doors and put one eye to a tiny peephole. Since the gate was thick and the hole tiny, he could not see much other than a metallic foreleg and the bottom of the curved nose of the object facing him.

"What's it doing, now?" one of the soldiers nearby asked nervously.

"Nothing, as far as I can tell," Milton whispered. "It's just standing there."

"Maybe it's sleeping."

"You think we should attack it now, while it is?" said a younger man next him.

Milton peeked through the spy hole again. Standing there on its oddly spaced legs, the thing was easily over half as high as the city walls.

"No. I don't think that's a good idea," Milton said, turning around. He recalled the light and the flame he saw coming from the strange thing not long ago. "Actually, I think it's a very bad one. It might be guarding the gate for us," he said, not believing it for a minute. "But maybe it just wants to rest. I think we should let it and just wait for Master Ferman to return."

### ~Chapter 5~

Yellow and red lights flashed on the pilot's console like a small office's pathetic holiday display.

"Status!" Lisa ordered.

"We're down safe and sound," Brax replied. "Just a few minor problems."

"Minor problems? We almost crashed!"

"Crashed? No. More of an abrupt landing, really. The landing gear deployed in time."

As Lisa recalled, this was after a tense moment of uncertainty and a considerable amount of metallic groaning, but she saw no point in mentioning that. They were down safely, and the ship was in one piece, but judging by the flashing lights, a number of things would need repair before they could hope to lift off again. Assuming they had everything they needed, those repairs would take time, and they would probably have to do some of the work outside of the ship. She needed to know if they would be able to do so unmolested. Those pig-nosed things could still be out there.

She unclipped her safety harness. "Sims, screen on. Do a visual sweep of the surrounding area."

Their landing lights brightly illuminated the rectangle of pavement on which they parked. Bodies, debris, and small fires littered the ground around them. Larger fires still burned behind them in the part of the archaic city that stood outside the walls, but all of the attackers who could still move, appeared to have fled. She saw none within visual range of the cameras, in any case.

The image panned slowly forward to reveal that the nose of the ship was only about fifteen meters from the city's eastern gate. She reluctantly admitted to herself that Brax had done a good job putting them down. Despite his lackadaisical attitude about most things, he was a good pilot.

"What were those creatures?" she said softly, not expecting an answer.

"Orcs," Brax said with just a hint of a smile.

He couldn't possibly be enjoying this!

"Orcs?" she challenged. "You mean like in some stupid fantasy story?"

"Hey! Not all of them are stupid. Some are pretty good."

"Okay, sorry. This is really stressing me out. I suppose there's no reason we can't call them orcs, and maybe they do look a bit like the ones from movies or whatever, but orcs aren't real. Those can't be orcs." She glared at her pilot as a warning not to disagree.

"If I may, Commander," Doc said. "I'd like to ask Sims to search the library files to see if it can tell us anything about them."

She nodded. What could it hurt?

"Sims," Doc said. "Scan the bodies around the ship and let us know if you can find any correlates in fact or fiction."

"Working," Sims acknowledged in its customary emotionless voice. After a pause of only a few seconds, it continued. "The closest match is a fictional creature from a role-playing game reference manual initially published two hundred and three years ago. The creatures are known as orcs. Would you like additional data from that reference?"

"I'm sure that must be a coincidence," Lisa said. "I don't know what this place is, but I know it's not a game."

"I agree," Doc said. "But it does seem to have inexplicable parallels. I find that...curious."

"I wouldn't worry too much about the orcs," Brax said. "They're only one-hit-die monsters."

His persistence in speaking gibberish was not helping her mood.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lisa retorted. "They die if you hit them once?"

"Uh, no. It means their hit points are determined by the roll of..." His explanation slowed when it came upon the spikey roadblock of his commander's annoyed glare. He made a quick detour. "Well, I guess in this situation it just means that they're not nearly as tough as those dragons we saw earlier. They're really only dangerous in large numbers."

"How many are there out there?" Sandra asked nervously.

"Based on infrared sensor readings, one thousand, two hundred and twelve of the creatures retreated into the woods during the time the ship has been here." Sims replied. "An additional four hundred and eighty-four bodies are lying in and around the area. It is uncertain how many of these belong to the same species."

"Someone must be driving them," Brax said. "Orcs don't normally cooperate in numbers like that. Their clans are more likely to fight one another."

"Listen," Lisa said. She already had more than enough of his fantasy nonsense. They needed to approach the situation rationally. "The creatures on this planet may look like they're out of one of your stu...they may appear similar to things from an old role-playing game, but they can't be, and we shouldn't base our assumptions of them on a game manual."

Brax nodded sheepishly.

"Okay, then. Let's try to find out what actually is going on. The first thing we need to do is observe and try not to jump to any unwarranted conclusions."

"Okay, but—"

"But what, Brax?" She crossed her arms, daring him to say the wrong thing. Being a head shorter and about half his weight, it was like a Pekingese facing down a Great Dane. The big dog metaphorically backed away.

"Well, I don't want you to get mad or anything, but the, um, orc-like things may be mostly nocturnal."

"And you think this why?" she said, tapping her foot.

"Um, well, because they were attacking at night, and they started running when I first turned on the landing lights?" he offered hesitantly, as if presenting a suggestion for her approval.

The foot stopped. "Okay. That makes sense. We'll leave them on. Does anyone else have any other observations or suggestions?"

"I have a question," Sandra said.

Lisa sighed. "I'm loaded with them. What's yours?"

"Are we safe here? I mean, we're almost up against the wall. The things on the other side could drop rocks on us or something."

Lisa hadn't considered that, but Sandra was right. The orcs—or whatever—were not the only potentially hostile aliens around.

She turned her attention to the main view screen. "Sims, give us a view of the top of that wall."

The image on the screen shifted to a view of the crenellations. A long line of curious faces stared down at them over the edge.

"Those look like normal people," she said. After a moment of consideration, she amended that. "They look like humans, anyway."

They did, albeit oddly dressed and not overly well groomed ones. None seemed eager to drop anything on them. Their wide-eyed, nervous expressions suggested they were scared—or at least apprehensive.

"They look like they'll probably leave us alone for a while," she said, hoping it was true.

"I doubt they have anything that could hurt us much," Brax said. "Our outer hull is a heat-resistant ceramic composite, and it's tough enough to deflect small objects at high velocity. We'd hear it if they dropped a rock on us, or even something like boiling oil, but I doubt it would do any serious damage."

"Good to know," Lisa said. "Speaking of the ship, what's its status?"

"Oh, right. I meant to mention that. We've got red lights on the gyroscopic stabilizer and six of the VTOL thrusters. There are yellows on all the landing gear. Those, we may be able to clear just by cleaning and lubricating the mechanical components."

"And the rest?"

"Fixable. We should be able to fabricate replacement parts using the onboard printers."

When components fail, which they tend to do when it is most inconvenient, the crew of a ship in space cannot simply call for overnight delivery of a replacement, and they can't keep spares of every part of the ship in a bin somewhere. In the early years of spaceflight, engineers determined that the logical solution was to equip all long-range spacecraft with onboard 3-D printers. Sims would have specifications on file for all of the ship's standard components along with repair procedures. Lisa had made sure they were provisioned with enough raw stock to fabricate a few spare parts, if needed. It was an old ship after all, but she had not foreseen the possibility of requiring a major repair on a technologically backward planet. She berated herself for the oversight, realizing even as she did so that it was unreasonable. No one in their right mind could have foreseen something like this.

A neuron in one dark corner of her brain frantically tried to attract her attention with another concern, but it went unnoticed because Brax mentioned something else.

"Commander. We'll need to go outside to do some of the repairs. The maintenance drones will need to, anyway."

"Right. I assumed we would. That could be a problem if the locals are hostile, although for now they seem content just to look at us. Judging from their appearance, the environment shouldn't be a concern, but we should check anyway." She knew that just because the city dwellers looked human didn't mean they were.

"Sandra, what do the sensors tell us about atmosphere, temperature, and airborne microbes?"

The communications officer examined the sensor readings from her console. "Other than the smoke, there's nothing that seems disagreeable. It's like a summer night at home out there."

"Home?"

"In my case, Philadelphia."

"Good. I'm from Orlando. Summer nights there can get pretty hot and steamy. At least working outside shouldn't pose a problem here, provided the natives don't object."

"I'll have Sims start on building parts then, all right?" Brax said.

"Let's have it check everything first and make sure we're not missing anything important. We may need to prioritize what we fix if we don't have enough stock in our stores for it all.

"Sims, run a diagnostic analysis of all ship systems, subsystems, and components. Return a list of recommended repairs and an estimate of time and resources required. Compare this to the stock on hand and report any projected shortfalls. Display results on the main screen."

"What diagnostic level do you desire?" the ship's AI said.

"Preliminary, for now. Don't take anything off-line."

"Working."

Lights on the various panels around the bridge blinked as the scan progressed. Lines of text soon began to appear on the main screen.

"Why do we have all these failures?" Sandra said, watching the preliminary data scroll up the screen. "I thought this ship had been refurbished."

"Only the life support, sensors, and spaceflight systems were," Lisa said. "The mission profile did not have us getting anywhere near a planet, let alone a habitable one, so the atmospheric flight and landing systems were left as is. I guess the bean counters considered them an unnecessary expense."

"Bastards."

"Don't worry, Sandra," Brax said. "It's all fixable. See? Sims says we have what we need, so far. It'll just take a couple of days."

The adequacy of the stock for the printers came as good news, and Lisa felt relieved because she had personally seen to their provisioning.

"We may as well snoop on the neighbors some more," she said. "We're eventually going to have to meet them. Sims, keep working on the diagnostics, but switch the main screen to an exterior view. I want another look at the top of that wall."

The faces were still there. All of them appeared male, some with beards. Many of the men wore bullet-shaped helmets and held weapons or burning torches, which sent more sooty smoke into the night sky.

"Pike, halberd, short sword, morning star, crossbow, battle axe," Brax said as the camera scanned the line of men. "Oh, look! There's a catapult." This seemed to please him for some reason.

"Okay. Apparently you're the expert," Lisa said. "What can we infer from all this."

"Um, I don't see any firearms, but they definitely have iron and some steel. They look healthy enough, so they must have a fairly stable society and economy, including money and craft specialization. They're also sexists. No women soldiers. I'm guessing they're at a medieval level of social and technological development. They probably have some kind of king or lord mayor or something overseeing it all. They have a history of being attacked from the outside, but it doesn't happen often, or at least not recently."

"You get all that from seeing a line of scruffy men with old-fashioned weapons?"

"From that along with the layout of the city. They have those thick stone walls, which they wouldn't have built if they weren't worried about being overrun, but the city has spread out beyond them. They wouldn't build things outside of them if they were being attacked all the time."

"You know, that actually makes sense," Sandra said with a hint of surprise.

"Thanks. A lot of this is just like—"

"Please don't tell me you're basing your assessment on your experience with games and stories," Lisa warned him.

"Um, okay. I won't. Never mind."

"A partial diagnostic analysis of ship systems has been completed and a list of items requiring repair or replacement is now available," Sims announced.

"On screen," Brax said.

"Partial?" Lisa asked, and then realized why it would have to be.

"A complete analysis of all systems, as you requested, cannot be performed," the ship's AI said. "Several items integrated into the ship are not accessible by the Ship Management System."

"It must mean the BS thing," Brax said. "We're not looking too bad on the rest of this stuff, though. The scramjet's a surprise, but I suppose that hasn't been used in a while. That will need seeing to. We'll need it to break into orbit. Fortunately, a lot of what we need is just seals and gaskets and things like that. It looks like we have just enough raw stock."

Lisa barely heard him. Her mind was on what Sims had told them. She should have known. The Brane Skip technology was classified. Interfacing it with the ship's AI would be a breach of security, and it was a foregone conclusion that complete schematics for the thing wouldn't be in Sims' data banks. Still, best to find out for sure.

"Sims, how much access do you have to the Brane Skip device?"

"Limited. It can be activated manually from the command station. Data flow is one-way from the device to the ship's central data processor. No other information is available."

"We probably don't have to worry about the BS," Brax said. "It's new."

"It's also experimental, and in my experience that means buggy," she said, speaking as an engineer who had had to chase down several bugs on prototype equipment in the past.

Her training on the BS had been short. It amounted to pressing START and waiting. From the operator's standpoint, the prototype installed in the ship was supposed to be an on or off affair. The General Spaceworks scientists and engineers who built the thing, all of whom held top-secret clearances, had preset everything necessary for it to skip between branes. But there were two other menu options.

"I'm calling up the BS. I think it has its own diagnostic system."

The corporate logo again appeared on the screen. This time, she held her breath, hoped for the best, and selected TEST.

The screen responded.

TEST IN PROGRESS.

The result came quickly and justified the dread she had been feeling that nothing today would go the way she hoped.

TEST FAILURE ON KK TRANSITION MODULATOR.

TEST COMPLETE.

The screen returned to the three main options: START, TEST and ABORT. The START option was in red, indicating either that it was not available or that they were not in a place where it could be used safely. She quickly selected ABORT.

"What's a KK transition modulator?" Sandra asked.

"Beats the hell out of me," Lisa said. "But whatever it is, we need to fix it. We're eventually going to have to risk using that damn thing again if we're going to get home.

"Can we?"

"Fix it or get home?"

"Both."

"Maybe and I don't know. The only schematics I have of the BS device are like an exploded diagram for a news article. That's the only level of detail that isn't considered top secret, but it might point out where the KK transition thing is. If it does, I'm going to have Sims use one of the maintenance drones to tear the damn thing apart...I mean carefully disassemble it, locate that module, and see if we can reverse engineer it. Brax, get Sims working on fabricating the other parts we need."

"Already on it, Commander."

"Good. Sims, I'm going to my cabin to get my data pad. Have one of the maintenance drones meet me in the BS bay."

"Acknowledged, Commander."

"The rest of you try to get some sleep," she said. "Tomorrow, we'll consider calling on the neighbors."

### ~Chapter 6~

Beep...beep...beep...beep.

"What?" Lisa mumbled without opening her eyes.

"It will be dawn soon, Commander," Sims said. "You requested a wakeup call for this time."

She pushed herself up on one elbow. "Is anyone else awake?"

"Mr. Braxton White and Doctor Dixon are on the bridge. Miss Sandra Suarez is currently in the galley."

"Okay, I'm up." This was a slight exaggeration, although she did have both eyes open, which allowed her to see that Sims had considerately raised the illumination in her tiny sleeping cubicle only about halfway.

"Have you analyzed that component we removed last night?"

"Yes."

"Elaborate. What's it do? Can we fix it?"

She pushed herself to a sitting position and combed some of her disarrayed shoulder-length hair away from her face with her fingers.

"The purpose of the KK transition modulator remains uncertain, but the analysis of its physical construction and how it fits in the larger assembly provide sufficient information to conceivably repair it at a confidence level of eighty-three percent."

"Good," she said. It wasn't great, but it was better than she expected, and then she recalled how the AI phrased its response.

"Conceivably?"

"The damaged part of the assembly is made of palladium. No other item on the ship uses it, and there is none in the ship's stores."

"Can't we recover the material from the old one?"

This was standard procedure. Whenever a spaceship crew replaced a part, it recycled the failed component back into raw stock for future repairs.

"No. The failure caused most of it to be vaporized."

"That's just great," she said in a tone of voice that even the most obtuse artificial intelligence would recognize as signifying she meant the opposite.

She slid open the accordion doors of her sleeping compartment, grateful for the gravity. It would make her morning hygiene routine easier.

Grabbing her spare jumpsuit and some clean underwear, she went to what they euphemistically called the 'fresher' and got as clean as the limited facilities would allow. Since the ship had no way to wash laundry, this would also be the last day she would be able to wear truly clean clothes for the foreseeable future. She hadn't packed for an extended voyage. The mission profile said they were only supposed to be away from the station for a couple days.

She finished washing and dressing quickly and then ran a brush through her hair in front of the fresher's small mirror. Her eyes still looked tired, but she could do little about that. It had taken longer than she would have liked last night to find the failed component of the BS device. The thing had not been designed for easy maintenance, and she silently cursed the unknown engineers responsible.

When she judged herself as presentable as she was likely to get, she stepped out of the fresher and went back to her cubicle. She retrieved her personal data-pad and looked up 'palladium'. The word 'rare' in the second line of the description jumped out at her. On the plus side, it was a naturally occurring metal, so they might be able to find some here.

Brax, Doc, and Sandra were all on the bridge by the time she got there. The main screen occupied their attention. It currently displayed a slowly panning image of the top of the crenellated city wall and a staggered line of helmets glinting in the morning sun. The faces beneath the helmets were watching the ship.

"We seem to be drawing a good number of viewers," Sandra said. "It must be a pretty dull town."

"And we're watching them watching us," Brax commented. "So I guess it's pretty dull here too, right?"

"Actually, I was watching you watching them watching us because I couldn't believe you found it so entertaining."

"Right, but I was watching you watching me watching them—"

"Please," Lisa interrupted. "Not before I've had some coffee."

The pilot and the communications officer seemed to enjoy teasing one another with juvenile banter. They probably did it to relieve stress, but Lisa was not in the mood for it now.

"Good morning, Commander," Doc said. "There are some reasonably edible pancakes and bean-sausages in the galley."

"Maybe later. Just some coffee now. I should have grabbed a cup on the way here."

"I'll get you some," Sandra said.

Doc looked at the commander in a hesitant way that suggested that he didn't want to bother her but thought he must.

"What is it, Doc?" she prompted.

"I have some unfortunate news regarding the contents of our larder," he told her.

She sighed. She knew what was coming. Their mission was only supposed to last a few days, and they had provisioned accordingly.

"How long?"

"We can probably make the food we have stretch for two weeks without dipping into the emergency rations. I am not overly concerned given that there should be things we can eat available either in the city or elsewhere on the planet, but I thought you would want to know."

"More 'need' than 'want', but yeah, thanks. I also have news. We located the damaged part of the BS device, and Sims thinks we can repair it, but we don't have the palladium we need to do it."

"What's palladium?" Brax said.

"A metal, kind of like platinum but lighter. And before you ask, I don't think we should try to substitute something else because Sims can't figure out what the thing does, and I certainly don't know."

"Maybe those guys staring down at us from the wall have some," Sandra said, returning with a steaming cup of coffee for her.

Lisa took a grateful sip and then another before saying anything else.

"It's possible, I suppose, but I'm sure we can't just knock on that big door and ask if we can borrow a cup of palladium. What do you suppose would be the best way to approach them?"

"They're probably afraid of us," Brax said. "If their worldview matches their technology, and assuming this place parallels Earth, of course, they're pretty superstitious. They'll see us as magical or supernatural, maybe as messengers from their gods or something like that. We might be able to play on that. You know, go in there all sorts of pompous, and demand some palladium as tribute."

"They may be technologically unsophisticated, but I doubt they'll believe we're angels or demons or whatever just because we tell them we are. No one is that credulous."

"They might believe it. The appearance is what's important. Medieval societies on Earth didn't have much use for empirical evidence. The people in that city saw our ship fly, and they saw our landing lights, and we chased away the orcs. That should have impressed them. They'd interpret all that in a way that fits their beliefs, which boils down to, 'Big magic. Don't mess with these guys.'"

She knew that a multitude of assumptions lay behind what he just said, and she wasn't ready to risk their lives on the unproven hypothesis that this world paralleled either the fact or fantasy of Earth as closely as it might first seem.

"And if they don't? It's not like we can do magic tricks on demand to keep them in awe of us. I'm no historian, but wouldn't they be even more likely to burn us at the stake if they thought they had a chance?"

"Um, well, yeah, there is that possibility, too," the pilot admitted.

"Maybe we can trade something," Sandra said.

"Maybe, but right now we don't know if they have any palladium or even if they know what it is. We need to come up with a plan for safely communicating with—"

"Commander," Doc interrupted. "The front gate of the city is opening."

~*~

Milton put one tired, red eye to the hole in the gate and peeked out again. The mysterious flying behemoth still lurked outside, just as huge and just as intimidating in the light of dawn as it was in the dark of night.

He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep last night. The senior mages had spent far more than the half hour Ferman had predicted discussing the situation, so it wasn't until well past midnight when he had returned to advise Milton of their decision. The young apprentice agreed with most of it up until the very end.

The senior mages had determined that the flying thing was most likely a powerful magical device rather than a beast. They had deduced that people—or similar—probably abided within. They had decided that someone should go out to greet them, extend the hand of friendship, and respectfully inquire about their intentions. And they had concluded that Milton was the ideal candidate for the job because he was a personable and physically unimposing young man with a keen mind, knowledge of magic, and, perhaps most importantly, no family depending on him for support. Ferman had told him that his selection proved how much confidence they had in him and that he should view it as a great honor.

After a realistic self-assessment of his limited abilities, Milton saw it differently.

"If my father could see how brave you are, he wouldn't object so much to you keeping company with me," Mari said, standing beside him and bolstering the tiny amount of confidence he had been trying to summon. She looked at him with soft brown eyes and touched his cheek with an even softer hand.

Milton sighed and adjusted his grasp on the pole holding the white flag.

"It's not bravery he cares about, it's gold, and mine is dwindling fast. He doesn't think I'm a good investment."

Milton had inherited his workshop from his father, who had been the city's best tinsmith. Milton, although he possessed the knowledge and technical ability for the trade, did not have the artistic talent or the interest to be good at it himself. He had always been the bookish type, and the lures of magic and natural philosophy drew him. Much of his monetary inheritance, consequently, went to paying Ferman to take him on as an apprentice, but he had yet to see much income resulting from his new vocation. He kept trying to tell himself that pursuing your dreams was more important than money, but, unfortunately, it is difficult to pursue your dreams when your creditors are pursuing you. He had not reached that point yet, but he could see it looming in the near distance.

Magic, it seemed, was in decline. The old records suggested that clerical magic had suffered the most. At one time, powerful clerics were said to be able to call on their gods to part rivers, call down lightning and plagues on their enemies, and raise people from the dead. Now they were reduced to casting dubious blessings and curing light wounds, and they mostly used potions and ointments for that. But secular magic was being affected as well, with spells becoming less potent, sometimes failing entirely. Consequently, people were turning to non-magical solutions for their needs, leaving him and even the more experienced magic users without many customers. He speculated that something might be disrupting the underlying source of magic, but no one really understood what that was.

"I think you're a good investment," Mari said consolingly. "You're smart and gentle and kind. You would make a much better husband than Grizlaw. I don't care what my father wants. Grizlaw is old, fat, and nasty."

Grizlaw the cloth merchant was indeed almost twice her age and weight. He was also devious, demanding, short-tempered, and he treated people like things, but none of that mattered.

"He's rich," Milton said.

"He has a lot of money. That's not the same thing at all," Mari replied with the innocence of youth.

Milton agreed that gold was a poor way to measure the value of a person, but that made no difference either. Mari's father would decide whom she would marry. That was how it had always been.

"You should go now," he said. "I'm not sure how this is going to turn out."

"I'm going to stay," she said. "I told Gorbo to close up the workshop."

"You won't be able to see anything. They won't let women up on the wall walk."

"I know. I'm just going to wait around here until I see you come back safe and sound. Then I'll go home to help my mother with the laundry. I'll stop by the workshop later, and then you can tell me all about what happened."

"Milton!" cried his master, emerging from the crowd gathered around the gate. "Not gone yet, I see. Good. I hoped I would be in time."

Mari made way for Ferman and drifted back into the crowd.

"Have the senior mages changed their minds?" Milton asked him, hoping they had. Maybe if they ignored it, the flying thing would fly away.

"No, of course not. Don't worry. You still get to go. It's just that King Genrex would like you to invite the strangers in to see him, or for him to see them, I suppose—providing they're not dangerous or hideous or whatnot. I'm sure we can trust your judgment about that."

"I'll do my best." With any luck, no one would be home inside that thing and it wouldn't matter.

"Good lad. You'd better be off now. We're all counting on you."

Ferman turned to one of the military officers and pointed toward the gate with his staff. "Have your men open this. My apprentice here has an important job to do."

A group of soldiers unbarred and opened the gate just wide enough for Milton to squeeze through. He held the white flag in front of him and waved it earnestly. He sincerely hoped that whoever might be inside that thing would understand what it meant.

The lack of sudden, unpleasant surprises prompted him to take a step, and then another. Two steps from the gate, he heard it close, which was quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of the bar dropping solidly back in place. He found this discouraging, but turning back had never been an option.

He approached the flying behemoth slowly, constantly waving his flimsy white sign of neutrality. "Hello?" he said. "Is there anybody in there?"

If there was, they either did not hear him or did not want to answer.

He ventured forward with his eyes glued to the enormous object, searching for any sign that it noticed him. He stopped when its pale bulbous nose loomed overhead.

A metallic grating noise above and ahead startled him, and he jumped, accidently dropping his flag. With some vague idea that it represented protection, he bent to retrieve it before looking up to see that a door of sorts had opened in the belly of the beast and that a that ramp was emerging from it like a long, slow-moving tongue.

It was more fear and curiosity than courage that held him in place as the ramp settled on the ground and figures began to descend. They looked like people, which came as a welcome relief. Dwarfs, halflings, or even elves would have been all right, too. One of the things that had kept him up last night was the possibility that the strangers would be something with scales, fangs, or long spikey tails and a ravenous appetite for scrawny young men.

All four of the people coming down the ramp were dressed alike in blue, one-piece outfits that combined shirt and trousers. Two of them appeared to be women, which suggested an explanation of sorts.

"Hello. Are you adventurers?" he asked hesitantly. No past adventurers had ever arrived in such a bizarre fashion, but only adventuring parties included women as equals in his experience.

"He speaks English!" the short woman in the lead said.

Milton did not know what she meant. He spoke Common, just like everyone else.

"Um, thanks for chasing off the orcs last night," he said.

The tall man behind her smiled. He seemed friendly enough, anyway.

"What is this place?" asked the first woman. She was the smallest of the group by a few finger widths and looked a bit elfish—slim, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a tan complexion.

"It's the walled city of Bardasium." How could they not know this already?

"No, I mean the planet."

"Planet? You mean like in stars and planets? Those are in the heavens. We're on the ground."

The tall man laughed. "And it's turtles all the way down, I suppose."

"What?" the elfish-looking woman said.

"Never mind. What's your name, young man," the tall man asked. The jovial tone in his voice helped put Milton at ease.

"Milton. Milton Puddleswirth."

"Well, Milton, you can call me Brax, this is Doc, behind him is Sandra, and this fine lady is Commander Chang."

The last was the short woman who had first spoken. She must be their leader.

"So you _are_ adventurers, right?" Milton said.

"I suppose you could call us that," Commander Chang said, while behind her Brax appeared to be trying not to laugh.

Milton did not see how this could be funny, but he did not think the strangers wished him any immediate harm. Commander Chang must be their magic user, and a very powerful one, considering how they arrived. Brax was obviously the fighter. Anyone built like that would be either a fighter or a blacksmith. Doc, the dark-skinned man with the contemplative expression, would most likely be their cleric, and that would make Sandra, who appeared graceful and athletic, their thief. Viewed this way, they were a small adventuring party with a standard compliment of skills. Yes, it was all beginning to make more sense now.

"If you don't mind my asking," Milton ventured hesitantly, "why have you come to Bardasium?"

"How, would be a better question," Commander Chang said.

"We saw the fires last night from a distance and thought we might be able to help," Brax said.

"Yes, the orcs. We're not sure what provoked so many of them to attack us. They're not often much of a problem. A few orc clans wander through here now and then, but other than a stolen chicken once in a while, they're not much trouble. They can be aggressive, but they mostly end up fighting each other."

Brax nodded knowingly. "Yeah, something's driving them."

"Brax!" Commander Chang said in a warning tone.

"Just a guess," he said defensively.

"Anyway, thanks for coming to our rescue," Milton said. "It looked like we might be in some serious danger just before you arrived."

"Glad we could be of assistance," Brax said. "Shame about the town." He waved an arm toward the still smoldering part of the city on this side of the walls.

"I think most everyone got inside before the attack," Milton said. "The orcs were hooting and howling in the woods for a while before they charged in."

"They were probably working up their courage. Orcs aren't really all that brave."

"Brax...," Commander Chang said again, glaring at him.

"Just another guess," he said. "In any case, it's good to know the people here escaped."

"Yes, we're all glad to hear that," she agreed.

"Commander," Sandra said. "Maybe they would like to pay us for the service we have provided."

Ah, payment. Of course. They were definitely adventurers.

"I'm sure the king would be happy to do something like that," Milton said. "In fact, he has asked to see you, if that's agreeable with you, of course."

The commander turned to her fighter. "What do you think, Brax? You have more familiarity with situations like this."

"To be honest, Commander, I'm surprised at how familiar it all seems, but based on my experience, I'd say meeting with the king would be a fine idea."

"There may be injured people in the city," Doc said. "I'll get my bag."

"Okay, but I'd like someone to stay here with the ship," the commander said. She looked back and forth at the other members of her party. "Sandra, that's you. Keep it buttoned up until we get back."

### ~Chapter 7~

The young man seemed harmless enough. His mouse-brown hair, parted in the middle, hung straight over the tops of his somewhat too large ears. He might be considered normal height here, but he stood a bit shorter than average for a man of her time—or dimension, or whatever—although this still left him taller than Lisa was. Her lack of height was genetic, though. She knew that people in pre-modern times tended to be shorter, mostly because of the prevalence of childhood diseases and the fact that their diets were not as balanced, and food was not as fresh or as abundant as it was in industrial societies. It was a foregone conclusion that this place didn't have anything like refrigeration or combine harvesters. It might not even have irrigation.

Milton turned back toward the city. Stains spotted his floor-length brown robe, especially at the frayed hems. Although it resembled one in no way at all, it suggested something like a lab coat to Lisa. In the world she knew, she would have assumed he fit somewhere in the tech geek category. In some ways, so did she, so she recognized the type.

They followed him to the city gate, which remained closed when they reached it. Hushed voices came from the other side.

"Open the gate," Milton said.

"Who is it?" yelled a voice from inside.

"What do you mean, who is it? It's me, Milton. Ferman's apprentice. I've only been gone a half hour at most."

"Are you sure it's you?"

"What?"

"I mean, you could be like a doppelganger, or possessed, or mind-controlled, or something. It happens, you know."

"Well it hasn't. I'm quite sure I'm me."

"What about those people with you?"

"They're not me. Stop messing around."

"We can't let just anyone in, you know. Strange things are happening all over."

"And they're steadily getting stranger," Lisa mumbled.

"If I may, Commander?" Brax offered.

"Be my guest."

Brax strode to the gate and positioned himself in front of the peephole. "We are members of the awesome and renowned adventuring group known as...the Peacekeepers. We are loved by peasants, admired by kings, and feared by monsters of all kinds. We are the Peacekeepers. We're here to help you."

Lisa rolled her eyes. Peacekeepers? Where did he come up with that?

"You're sure you're not vampires or something like that?" the skeptical voice behind the door asked.

"It's daytime."

"Fair enough. What about werewolves? You could still be werewolves."

"Could be, but we're not," Brax said. "Believe me, I'd know."

A different voice offered another possibility. "What about zombies? Could be zombies."

"You idiots," Milton yelled at the door. "The king wants to talk to these people. Open the gate right now!"

The multi-voiced mumbling on the other side of the gate grew louder and more agitated. A few seconds later, it opened, and wary soldiers stepped back to make room for them to enter.

"Whew! What is that smell?" Lisa said, waving a hand ineffectually in front of her nose.

"It's a medieval city," Doc told her. "Watch where you step."

Just beyond the gate, stone and timbered buildings crowded what had to be regarded as a narrow street rather than an open sewer because people were walking on it, or more accurately, in it. And it wasn't just people. Dogs, chickens, and even pigs roamed freely, occasionally sampling items from the putrid street as if it was a buffet.

"I think I'm going to spew," Lisa said, one hand covering her face. From the look of the street, she would not be the first.

"Try breathing through your mouth," Doc said. "Shallowly, if you can."

"How can they live like this?"

"Actually, it's not as bad as I feared. In London in the fourteenth century, I've read that the muck in the streets could get over half a meter deep in places."

By staring at her feet, she avoided a soft brown lump, a glistening purple lump, and a small pig that didn't seem to want to get out of their way. Those things she could not avoid were probably eating holes in the bottoms of her shoes by now. She noticed that some of the locals wore wood-bottomed sandals as overshoes, which seemed to keep their shoes, if such they wore, above the fermenting lower sludge levels.

Something hit the street with a 'splat' not far ahead of her. She glanced up to see the shutters from a second floor window close. When she looked back down, a bewhiskered nose poked out of the layer of fresh debris and twitched at her before vanishing again.

"Was that some kind of cat?" she said, hoping it was.

"I'm fairly sure that was a rat," Doc said.

"It was too big to be a rat."

"It eats well...that is, it eats a lot here, I'm sure."

"This place is disgusting."

"Welcome to the Middle Ages."

"I've seen enough, thank you. I'd like to go home now."

"It is a bit more _real_ than similar places in stories and games," Brax said. "The people who write those tend to skip over details like this."

A dog ran past them with something she did not want to think about in its mouth.

Milton continued to lead the way past shops and stalls peddling cloth, earthenware, a few metal goods, and some semblance of food. One proudly displayed half of a pig's carcass hanging from a hook, which at least the flies buzzing everywhere seemed to be enjoying. The smell of unwashed people, decaying garbage, and bodily waste mingled disturbingly with that of freshly baked bread and roast meat. How anyone could even think about eating in a place like this amazed her.

"The palace isn't much farther," Milton said.

"At least it should be cleaner," Lisa said through the hand over her mouth. It would have to be. She couldn't imagine an alternative.

Doc shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it. When this many people are crowded together with dodgy food and no indoor plumbing, any convenient spot becomes a lavatory. They say the Palace of Versailles reeked like an outhouse in the summer, although I have to assume it was better tended to than most."

Their journey toward the palace drew bewildered stares and even a few cheers from the people they passed.

"Why are they doing that?" Lisa said. She felt like the main attraction in a small parade. "Is it because of how we're dressed?"

"Oh, no. In fact, your clothing is quite conservative compared with many adventurers we've had visit us. For some of them, it was little more than chain mail underwear, which, quite frankly, I never saw the point in. It's just that word has started to get around about your flying behemoth and how you chased away the orcs," Milton said. "You're all kind of heroes."

That might be useful, Lisa thought, or perhaps it already had been. It had gotten them an audience with the king of the place. After seeing just a small part of it, she almost felt sorry for him.

Milton led them to an iron gate in a relatively low curtain wall. Ivy climbed the stone walls and wove between the iron spikes on top. Beyond the bars of the gate lay the palace, a sprawling structure with a stone façade and narrow windows on a low hill. Between it and them was an acre of green grass, which a small flock of sheep dutifully tended and fertilized.

Milton approached the two men guarding the closed entrance. Each of the soldiers wore a shiny breastplate, helmet, and red uniform jacket, and both were armed with things that looked like wide axes on overlong handles. She thought they were called halberds, but she may have been mistaken. Ancient weapons were not one of her interests.

"King Genrex wishes to see these people," Milton said.

Genrex? Lisa thought the name sounded like a vitamin supplement for senior citizens, but she diplomatically refrained from commenting.

"They're the ones from the flying behemoth?" one of the guards asked with just a touch of awe in his voice. He glanced nervously at Lisa and the others.

"They are," Milton confirmed.

"All right. We were told to watch for you. I'll ring for an escort."

He tugged on a bell rope by the gate. Soon after, a bearded man wearing a pointy black hat and dark robes decorated in silver stars and moons approached.

"Milton!" the newcomer yelled while still some distance away. "All seems to have gone well, I see." He turned his attention to one of the guards. "Open the gate and let them in. The king is waiting."

"This is Master Ferman," Milton told them. "I'm his apprentice. Master Ferman, this is Commander Chang, Brax, and Doc. They're members of the adventuring group called the Peacekeepers. Commander Chang is their leader."

"Adventuring group. Ah, I should have known," Ferman said. He bowed politely. "You can't imagine the stir you've caused. That magical flying behemoth of yours puts on one heck of a show, let me tell you. I've never seen anything like it, and I'm no novice when it comes to magic, if I do say so myself." He waved a hand as if to brush such trivia aside. "But, enough of that. Come on, the king wishes to meet you." He glanced at his apprentice. "I suppose you may as well come along too, Milton. Follow me."

With that, Ferman turned and headed back toward the palace.

"Peacekeepers?" Lisa whispered to Brax as they followed. "Why Peacekeepers?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind." He smiled. "Actually, it was the second. I almost said Ghost Busters."

What they called themselves here probably didn't matter, but she didn't understand why they needed a name at all.

She tried to imagine what the king of a place like this would be like. She'd find out soon enough. There probably was very little chance that he would be a kindly old man with a generous disposition and some palladium in his pocket.

They got to the front door of the palace, a stout, wooden affair with ornate carving and polished brass handles. Another guard opened it for them.

When they all were inside, Ferman turned to them and in a hushed tone said, "Personally, I think you did a fine job with the orcs last night, but some of my peers still have doubts. You may have to prove yourselves. Not to worry about that, though. I'm sure you'll do fine."

Lisa wondered what this meant. It could be anything from arm wrestling to being the guest of honor in some medieval torture chamber. She very much doubted it meant polite introductions and a few probing questions over a cup of tea.

Ferman led them up a wide central corridor with stone walls decorated with tapestries dimly lighted by smoky torches sputtering in wall sconces. Doc had been right. The place did not match her preconceptions for the word 'palace'. Her definition included an excess of sparkle and a shortage of foul odors rather than the other way around.

Ferman spoke briefly to another guard by a pair of large wooden doors at the end of the hall. Doc unexpectedly put a hand on Milton's shoulder. He must have noticed something about the young man that Lisa had missed.

"You seem nervous," he said to the young apprentice.

"Oh, well, I've never been here before. Once the guard announces us, we're going to be in the presence of the king. You've probably met lots of kings and other important people, but this is my first time. It's kind of overwhelming."

"People are just people," Doc said, "and being king is just a job, right?"

"No. I mean, kings are different. They're like, well, not just anyone can be a king."

"I'm not sure about that. Warming a throne takes no special skill, and an impressive title does not by itself make a person great."

"But if he wants, he could have us beheaded," Milton said.

"Which would prove him a very small man indeed, but I see your point."

Beheaded? Until now, Lisa had not been nervous. Perhaps she should be.

"Ferman and the Peacekeepers!" the guard announced, opening the door for them to enter.

The introduction made them sound like a pop music band, one that in this case would be taking the stage without any rehearsal, and, if Milton was not exaggerating, severe penalties for a poor performance.

Ferman bowed. "Your Majesty, fellow mages, honored knights and lords, may I present to you Commander Chang, Doc, and Brax of the adventuring group known as the Peacekeepers, masters of the flying behemoth, and the heroes who helped us repel a dastardly attack upon our fair city by marauding orcs last night."

He bowed again at the waist. Brax nudged her to tell her they should as well.

When she rose, the king smiled from his ornately carved throne about ten meters in front of them. Lisa estimated his age at around seventy years. His shoulder-length white hair and beard made him look a bit like an oddly dressed Santa Claus with a purple cape and a crown.

Wooden pews lined the walls on either side, where other men sat. Some wore breastplates and red capes—probably the city's equivalent of military officers. A few, in heavy, well-tailored cloaks, must be some kind of nobility. A few men were dressed in the embroidered black robes of magicians, and one of them, a dark-haired man with a hooked nose, seemed to be glaring at them with undisguised distrust.

"So, you're an adventuring group, are you? Kind of a small one, it seems. Which of you is the leader?"

"I am." Lisa said.

Brax nudged her again.

"... Your Majesty. Our other members are in our ship." She felt it best not to reveal that Sandra was the only person there. Sims could also conceivably be considered part of the crew, although the AI was really more a part of the ship.

"Your ship is the flying behemoth, I take it?"

"That is correct, um, Your Majesty."

"An impressive thing. Very impressive. But some of my advisers have cautioned me about adventurers. They say they're nothing but trouble, bad luck, not to be trusted, and largely incompetent. The last ones we treated with certainly were. We had a minor problem with a gelatinous cube down in the catacombs several months ago. They were supposed to get rid of the thing, but they ended up just making it bigger, if you see what I mean. Gobbled them right up. But I've been around a few years, and I've learned that adventurers can sometimes be useful, and your arrival was certainly impressive. Good show chasing away those orcs, by the way. I figured we owed you something for that, which is why you're here. You've earned yourself an audience and maybe a job. Just maybe, mind you. Rennart says you should be tested first."

"Tested in what way, Your Majesty?" Lisa asked, feeling apprehensive about the situation. She saw no way out now, however. They couldn't just turn around and leave. She would have to bluff it out until the end, whatever that might be.

A bemused expression came over the portion of his face she could see through his beard. "You know, I'm not sure."

He turned toward the seats to his left. "Rennart, how did you plan to test these people?"

The man she had noticed glaring at them earlier stood. He was several years younger than Ferman but dressed much the same, although the cloth of his robes appeared to be newer and of a higher quality than that of the older mage. The tone of his obsequious reply reminded her of a defense lawyer attempting to shift the blame for a crime to the victim.

"A simple magical evaluation, Your Majesty," Rennart said.

"I don't want any fires or explosions," the king warned him, "and nothing irreversible, if you can help it."

Rennart nodded.

"Would that be all right with you, young lady," the king asked her.

What choice did she have? Perhaps just one. There was no reason everyone should be subjected to whatever the possibly sadistic man intended.

"As leader of the Peacekeepers, I will submit to this test for our group, Your Majesty."

"Brave and selfless," the king said. "I like that. I'm sure that will be acceptable." The finality with which he said it indicated that Rennart would have no problem with it even if he did.

The hook-nosed magician strode confidently toward her.

"First, a simple evaluation," he said.

She thought she could detect malicious intent in his voice. It was not the voice of a madman, the kind that raged and screamed as its owner pursued his victims with a chainsaw. This voice was calm, calculating, the voice of a man who carefully measured each cut as he flayed his opponents with a scalpel. This was not a nice man.

He mumbled a short word and made a brief gesture with his hand.

"Very odd," he said. "No reading at all. Not even background magic." A restrained smirk of cruel amusement ghosted across his face. "Now for something that may tell us a little more about the true nature of this brave adventurer."

He pulled what appeared to be a sliver of bone from a pouch on his belt, waved it from left to right, and chanted.

"If you're brave

"Or if you're true

"You will not flinch

"When I say... 'Boo!'"

He could not possibly expect to frighten her by saying 'boo'. The idea struck her as so ridiculous she could barely stop herself from laughing. Instead, she said, "Is that it? Is the test over?"

Her reaction obviously surprised the magician. He walked a circle around her, staring as if dumbfounded that she was not quivering on the ground in a warm yellow puddle. People here must scare easily.

Rennart recovered from his surprise quickly. "You may have been lucky against such a minor spell, but with His Majesty's permission, I would like to attempt something a bit more challenging."

He glanced at the king who nodded his approval.

The antagonistic magician stepped back and drew another item from a belt pouch. This one looked like either a small cocoon or a large wad of pocket fluff. He gestured more theatrically this time.

"Swirling mist on quiet bog

"Patient sits a bump on log

"Craving flies within the sog

"Now thou art a croaking frog!"

She could not restrain herself this time and laughed in his dumbfounded face.

Rennart backed away, still watching her, his eyes narrowed in a cold, calculating squint.

Ferman ran up to her. "How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously.

"To be honest, a bit confused," she said, wiping her eye and trying to compose herself.

"Oh? Like maybe wondering why you have a sudden urge to wallow in the mud or eat a fat, juicy fly?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous. I'm confused about what all this is about. It's a joke, right? Is this some kind of movie set or something?"

In her world, the real world, movies hadn't been made with live actors and sets in over fifty years because it was so slow and expensive. Better results could be obtained from computer graphics, but this being a movie set was a more plausible explanation than anything else she could imagine.

"Now I am a bit confused," Ferman admitted. "That last one might even have gotten me. Young Rennart has obviously been practicing."

"Well, I'd say he needs a bit more. As a poet, he'd make a good painter."

"I don't think it's your ability to withstand his poetry they find impressive," Brax told her.

"Your Majesty," Ferman said. "I believe Commander Chang has demonstrated an impressive resistance to magical attack. It is my opinion that the Peacekeepers have proved themselves worthy of the commission we discussed earlier."

The voices of the other people assembled in the room murmured around her. Eventually one of the magicians approached the king and whispered something she could not hear.

"Good. That's settled then," the king said. "Peacekeepers, you have done us a service by turning away the orcs, but I fear they will return. Orcs are not known for their ability to cooperate in large numbers or in common cause as they did last night. Someone or something must be controlling them. The commission we offer you is to discover who or what this is, eliminate that control, and save the city from further such attacks. If you do this, we will grant a boon of your choice. What say you?"

It sounded as if he was offering them a job as mercenaries of some kind, and her first impulse was to turn it down. She was an engineer, not a soldier. But refusing the offer might be unwise for a few reasons she could think of, one of which had much to do the armed men she noticed standing along the walls.

"May I take a moment to discuss this with my companions, Your Majesty?" Lisa said.

"Certainly. The moment is granted."

She turned back to the other two members of the crew who were with her. "What do you think? And what's a boon?"

"A boon is a gift," Brax said. "And based on the way he phrased it, you get to choose what it is. We could ask them for the palladium we need. Who knows? They might have some."

"It also extricates us from this situation and keeps us in their good graces for a while," Doc added.

"Good point. So it's a yes?"

They both nodded.

She turned to resume her audience with the king. "We will accept the commission in return for some palladium."

"Palladium?"

"A silvery metal, um, Your Majesty," she said.

His pale blue eyes squinted with bemusement before focusing them on one of the men seated along the wall. "Preazly, you are our master of alchemy. What do you know of this palladium?"

An extremely elderly man stood and replied in a quavering voice. "It is a soft, white metal, Your Majesty. Quite uncommon, the lightest of those we know of with properties similar to platinum."

"And can we obtain some?"

The old man seemed to consider the question a moment, perhaps searching his aging memory. "There are ways in which we could acquire a small amount, I believe, Your Majesty."

"How much would you need, Commander Chang?" the king asked her.

She recalled the size of the damaged KK transition modulator, estimated how much palladium they would need to repair it, and tried to translate that amount into something the king would understand. "A piece about half the size of an egg, Your Majesty."

"What kind of egg?"

"Just a regular egg."

"Are we talking a starling's egg or a dragon's egg?"

"Oh, I was thinking a chicken's egg."

He turned to his alchemist and raised an inquiring eyebrow. The recipient of the silent question nodded an equally silent reply.

"Done," he said. "We have a contract."

### ~Chapter 8~

They left the palace in the company of Ferman and Milton. The sun, now high over the eastern wall, provided more light by which to see the sights of the city. It did not improve them, and the heat did even less for the smell. Residents, clad in attire ranging from tailored velvet to patched and greasy rags, raised their knees high as they walked the crowded streets between the buildings and market stalls, making squishy, sucking noises with each step. To Lisa, they resembled a flock of shabbily plumaged shore birds on a badly polluted beach.

Townsfolk gaped and sometimes even pointed as their small group passed. A few ragged children followed, keeping up by weaving between the legs of their elders. Lisa saw one boy fall and slide a respectable distance along the well-lubricated street before coming to a stop against an old woman sitting on a crate. The crone glanced down at the boy and coughed up a wad of green phlegm.

The boy managed to dodge both it and the kick she aimed at him.

"Well done, Commander Chang," the older of the two magic-users walking with them said, holding the hem of his robe just above the muck. "I've never seen protection from magic as strong as yours. An innate ability, I presume. Rennart detected no magical devices, and I know he's quite good at that kind of thing."

Lisa continued to stare at her feet in a futile attempt to avoid as much damage to her clothing as possible.

"I take it most of the people there expected something to happen other than me laughing at him. Sorry about that, by the way. I meant no disrespect." The recent events at the palace still confused her.

"No apology necessary, I assure you. It was a fair contest, and gloating at the defeat of a strong opponent is perfectly acceptable."

"It is?"

"Medieval value system," Doc told her. "Empathy is not one of its strong points."

"I'm still not sure what he was trying to do," she said. "It hardly seemed like much of a contest. I didn't do anything except stand there."

"That is what is so impressive," Ferman said. "I don't think anyone I know of could have done as well."

"Swagger a bit," Brax whispered to her. "This is a good opportunity to build up your street cred here."

"My what?" she asked, but she tried to comply, walking—carefully—with her chin up and her back straight as if she owned the place.

She still did not understand what she had done that so impressed the magician. What was so hard about doing nothing? Something—anything—was more difficult than nothing. A rock could do nothing. The only logical conclusion, as illogical as it might be, was that Rennart sincerely believed he could turn her into a frog, which, in her eyes, marked him as clearly insane, but almost everyone else there seemed to share his delusion. Was the entire city crazy?

She took in the filthy and chaotic street scene around her and hazarded that it might very well be, which meant she was effectively in the middle of an unsupervised mental asylum. She would need to be tactful, although she suspected that not all of the inmates were dangerous. Milton and Ferman seemed relatively harmless.

The city gates were already open when they reached them, and people filed in both directions, some pushing wheelbarrows—empty going out, full coming in.

"Ah, I see the commoners are already hard at work," Ferman said.

"What are they doing?" Lisa asked.

"Salvaging what they can before the next attack, I imagine."

"Next attack?"

"Yes, unless you can stop it, of course. After your performance today, I wouldn't put it past you. But, enough of that. I'm sure you have much planning to do, and I need to discuss a few things with my apprentice here. I'll send him to see you again later today."

He grabbed Milton by the shoulder. "Come on, lad, I have a job for you."

Ferman and Milton turned back the way they had come, and Lisa, Doc, and Brax went the other. The people coming and going through the gate circled well around the _Brane Child_ , giving it a wide berth and casting it wary glances, which left the direct way clear for the returning crew.

Sandra, or maybe Sims, must have been watching for their return because the boarding ramp locked in place just as they got there, ready for them to board.

Doc stopped them at the end of the ramp.

"I think we should go through minimal decontamination before we go in," he said, pointing at their caked shoes and the soiled hems of their jumpsuits.

It seemed a wise precaution. Lisa removed her communicator from a pocket in her uniform.

"Sims, we're going to need to go through level one decontamination before we enter."

"Acknowledged, Commander. Proceed to the airlock. Surface decontamination protocols are engaged."

The UV light and antibacterial mist would not eliminate all of the dirt they had collected, but it should keep it from causing illness. It would also cut down on the smell. Lisa's nostrils had been overwhelmed and had pretty much shut down in surrender to the stench some time ago, but the ripe smell of decay was too heavy to filter out entirely. Under normal circumstances, they would strip down for a more thorough procedure, and their clothing would be wrapped and incinerated, but they had not brought enough spare garments to do this every time they went outside. The ship's onboard fabricators could make new ones, but she felt it would be wiser to conserve the time and materials needed to do so for repairing the ship and other higher priorities.

"We're going to need to find a way of doing laundry," she said as they waited in the airlock, which was currently filled with purple light and a fine mist that smelled of disinfectant.

"It shouldn't be hard to get a big tub of water," Brax said.

"Clean water," Doc amended.

"We could have the drones dig a well, I suppose," the pilot suggested.

"I don't plan on being here that long," Lisa said as the procedure ended and the inner door opened.

Sandra greeted them on the other side. "So how did it go?"

"Well, the good news is that they say they can get us some palladium," Brax said.

"And the bad news?"

"The bad news is they'll only give it to us if we stop the orc attacks," Lisa said.

"I thought we did that already."

"They think they'll return, and our job is to see they don't."

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"I haven't a clue, and I need some coffee," Lisa said, turning down the corridor toward the galley.

Sandra made the coffee while the others sat at the table barely large enough for all of them. When the ship was not under gravity, it and the chairs folded into the wall.

Lisa felt much better with the warm cup in her hand, and the familiar and welcome aroma helped overpower the residual stench in her nostrils.

"So, we have—what do they call it in stories? A quest?" Sandra said, taking a seat.

"In this case, maybe just a job," Brax replied. "A quest implies more of a lengthy search."

"Well, whatever, but we have to do it to get the stuff we need to fix the BS device. Now, call me cynical, but what if they're lying?"

"What do you mean?"

"How can we be sure they have any palladium?"

Lisa shrugged. "I don't see that we have much choice but to trust them. The king seemed honest enough to me, so I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. The trouble is, I don't see how we can fulfill our end of the agreement."

"Maybe we don't have to. Couldn't we find a source and mine some ourselves?" Sandra said.

"Possibly," Lisa said, although the idea of reneging on contract, even one as strange as this one, bothered her. She did not make promises lightly, and when she did, she did her best to keep them.

"Sims, where might we find a source of naturally occurring palladium?"

"On Earth, it is most often found with other minerals. The largest commercial sources are in Canada and Siberia," the AI responded.

Sandra seemed to take this as good news. "So let's put on some parkas and go there as soon as the ship is flightworthy again. Spares for most of the things we need to fix should be ready later today, and then it's just a matter of installation. The drones can probably finish it all in less than a day."

Lisa was not sure how viable a solution this was. Even if they could find a vein, or a deposit, or whatever, she knew next to nothing about mining. As far as she knew, none of them did.

"Sims, speculate on the difficulties we might have attempting to mine palladium at the sites on this planet corresponding to known sources on Earth."

"A direct correspondence of locations here to those on Earth cannot be assumed. This planet appears to be an Earth analogue, possibly in a state of flux, rather than an Earth parallel. Places corresponding to Siberia or Canada, or any other specific geographical location, may not exist here. Reliable sensor readings are limited to the area roughly one hundred kilometers from the ship. Beyond that, the geography is indeterminate."

"Indeterminate geography? Explain."

"The closest correlation available is the behavior of subatomic particles. The wave function does not collapse to a specific state unless the object in question is observed. Until that time, its characteristics are not fixed. "

"But that's not possible."

"Correct. Macroscopic objects do not behave in this fashion due to quantum decoherence, but no other description presents itself. Your request for an explanation required use of an analogy. No accurate explanation is available."

She crossed her arms and glared at an unfortunate patch of air. "This place is really starting to get on my nerves. It can't be real, but it doesn't seem to know that."

"Maybe the Brane Skip sent us into some kind of fantasy reality," Brax said.

"Fantasy reality? What the hell is that, other than an oxymoron?"

"Don't mind him," Sandra said. "He's probably back in game mode again."

"Well, it doesn't make sense. Any other ideas? What about you, Doc?"

"I have no explanation that makes sense either," he said.

"Do you have one that doesn't make sense?" Sandra asked teasingly.

He smiled. "A few, but other than that we are very far away from the world we know, or in a different universe entirely, I think I'll keep them to myself for now. Speculations about such fundamental questions are unlikely to help us in our present circumstances."

"True," Lisa said. "Our first priority is to get the ship flightworthy, and we seem to have that in hand. The second is getting palladium for the damn BS thing. Mining probably isn't much of an option, although it was a good idea, Sandra. We just don't have a way to find a source, and even if we did, we're not well equipped for digging it out, at least not quickly. It looks like we'll have to find a way to stop the orcs. Unfortunately, we're not well equipped for that either."

"How hard can it be to outsmart a bunch of pig-faced troglodytes?" Sandra said.

Lisa shook her head. "I don't know, and although I'm sure I'm going to regret this, let's ask our resident expert."

She turned her attention to the pilot. "Brax, what can you tell us about orcs? Where do they come from? What is their social structure, dietary preferences, mating customs, religion? Anything that might help us figure out a way to convince them to go away."

Brax paused in reflective consideration for a moment before answering. "Well, in stories and games, orcs are kind of just there, like part of the landscape. They're monsters for the heroes to overcome and hone their skills before they get to the final challenge. You don't get a lot of backstory with monsters like that. There's some, of course, but it usually doesn't play into the central plot."

"Tell us what you remember."

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head at the ceiling in thought. "Physically they're comparable to humans, but they're not especially bright, and, like I said before, they normally don't work well together. Their clans tend to be small, and they fight with one another, although I have no idea why. They're just supposed to be aggressive and competitive like that, I guess. When they do cooperate, it's probably because some more powerful kind of monster or something has somehow gotten control of them."

"Anything else?"

"I'm not sure it matters, but in some stories, they're supposed to have been magically created from either goblins or men."

"You mean like genetically engineered?"

"I guess."

"From what I've seen here so far, these people would have a tough time selectively breeding peas. I can't believe they could genetically engineer anything."

Brax shrugged. "It kind of makes sense in the context of the stories, but it's just one of those things you have to suspend disbelief for, I suppose."

Suspension of disbelief was not a skill Lisa possessed in much abundance, and not one she wished to cultivate.

"Okay," she said. "Let's assume for now that the orcs aren't bright but they have a leader who is. That kind of goes along with what the locals have told us. So how do we overcome the leader?"

"That depends on what it is."

"What are the possibilities?"

"Unfortunately, they're fairly extensive. Common things would be some kind of human, like an evil warlord, priest, or necromancer. But it could be a vampire, lich, some kind of demon, or a number of other things."

"So, first we need to find out who or what their leader is, where he, she, or it is, and then figure out a way to overcome it, right?"

"And get past the orcs that are probably guarding it, yeah."

She tried to think of it as an engineering problem and came up empty. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for a situation like this. In fact, everything in her experience told her a situation like this couldn't happen. Brax, however, had been in fantasy worlds before, at least in his head, so he remained her best source of information. She was not pleased about this.

"How would you do that in one of your games?" she asked him.

"With orcs, we just hit them with some magic first, then maybe a round of missile weapons if it's possible, and then we just wade in and hack at them until we get to the main part of the dungeon."

"And that works?"

"Usually. Eventually. In the computer games, sometimes you die a few times first if there are a lot of them."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "I think the dying a few times part is a nonstarter. We need a better plan."

"We don't even know what we're facing, yet," Lisa said. "We need better information."

A musical ping sounded, politely indicating that Sims sought permission to intrude on the conversation.

"Go ahead," Lisa said.

"Be advised that the native who was here before is returning."

"Maybe he can get us some," Sandra said.

~*~

Milton's magic shop had remained closed pretty much since the orc attack the night before, although he doubted it had cost him much business. Magic simply wasn't selling as well as it used to. Even accomplished mages like Ferman had been forced to drop their rates because, with magic becoming increasingly unreliable, many people were turning to more mundane ways to accomplish what they wanted.

His own skills were limited. Most of his recent business involved the casting of simple mending spells or magically erasing writing from parchment so the owner could use it again for something else. He was still working on his continual light cube idea, which he thought might prove popular and useful, but he had so far been unable to make the spell duration as permanent as it was supposed to be. His efforts on that project would have to wait. His assignment for the king took priority, and although it was unlikely to gain him any gold, a royal commission would up his standing in the community, well, at least within the community of magic users. He was less confident that it would raise the opinion Mari's father had of him.

He stopped by his shop just long enough to tell Gorbo they might be having guests later. The job Ferman assigned him on behalf of the king was to be the liaison between the city and the Peacekeepers. At first, he wondered why they chose him. He was only an apprentice. But he had also been the first to meet the strangers, a task he suspected he was qualified for primarily because of his expendability. Whatever the reason, the strangers already knew him and, because of Gorbo, Milton was arguably the city's expert on orcs, which might come in handy. He didn't really mind the job, although it would probably amount mainly to running errands.

He approached the Peacekeeper's ship with much less anxiety than he had the first time. It wasn't exactly a known quantity, but it was less unknown now.

People passed him going in both directions as they went about rummaging through the town to retrieve their abandoned possessions—or someone else's. No one was doing any repairs yet. They all knew the attacks weren't over.

He glanced to one side where people were stacking the bodies of the orcs who had not survived their assault on the walls. By tonight, the slain would be nothing but ashes and charred bits of bone. He almost felt sorry for them. Everyone said the wild ones could be vicious, but sometimes he thought they were more like very large and extremely ugly children.

Ahead, he saw the Peacekeepers walking down the ramp from their impressive ship, and he wondered briefly if they might allow him a peek inside. He could not imagine what it must be like, but he felt sure it would be amazing.

He was still staring transfixed in idle speculation when Commander Chang greeted him.

"Hi, Milton, I'm glad you're here. We have some questions for you."

Behind her, Doc and Brax smiled, and Sandra regarded him with a bemused expression. He knew less about her than he did the others, but she seemed all right. In fact, all of them possessed some ineffable aura of wise nobility. He was sure this was not a magical effect, but he could not explain it. They were unlike any adventurers he had ever met before. Most seemed eager for the fray and the treasure. The Peacekeepers were more thoughtful and cautious, traits he considered admirable. Of the four, only Brax exhibited much of the bravado typical of most adventurers, but even that was muted.

"I will answer them as best I can," Milton said. "In fact, that's part of why I'm here. By order of the king, I am to serve as your liaison with the city. If there is anything you need to help you fulfill your mission, ask me and I will see if I can get it for you."

"What we need right now is more information about the threat facing you."

"Well, yes, of course I can help you with that. Um, how much do you know about orcs?"

"Not much," Sandra said.

Brax stepped forward, almost nudging her out of the way. "What she means is that we don't know a lot about the local tribes. As experienced adventurers, we've encountered and defeated orcs many times, obviously."

"Undoubtedly. I did not intend to question your experience." He had no way of judging the rest of them, but Commander Chang must be an extremely high-level magic user to have shrugged off Rennart's spells at the palace this morning. "I have actually studied the orcs in the area as a kind of hobby, I suppose you could say. If I cannot provide you with what you need, a...a friend of mine may be able to."

"Good. When can we meet him?"

"Would right now be all right? He's at my workshop. Oh, and the king is having items collected for each of you that may be of assistance. You may use them as you see fit for the duration of your mission. They are supposed to be delivered to my shop by tonight."

"Magic items?" Brax asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Now that should be interesting," Sandra said with far less enthusiasm than Milton would have expected upon hearing such news. One should expect that magical items from a king, any king, would be quite potent and therefore welcome, even if they were intended as a loan rather than as a gift.

The Peacekeeper commander tilted her head, exposing an ear, which he noted was not pointed. Other than that, she really did look a bit elfish.

"Right now, huh?" she said as if mentally checking her schedule.

"If it is convenient," he said. "I'm sure you are eager to complete your preparations."

"Yes, of course," Commander Chang said in a tone that suggested she wasn't.

"Sandra," she said. "You were working with Sims to set up a repair schedule while we were away, right?"

"Yes. It's all set. Two of the drones will remove and replace what's needed out here and the third will work inside on other repairs. Sims can coordinate it. We'll have to lower the ship because of the gravity, of course. Otherwise it will take them longer to get to everything they need to."

The conversation confused Milton, but he did understand that they were talking about repairing their ship. Perhaps it had something do with preparing it for battle, like outfitting a soldier with armor and weapons.

"Sims," Lisa said into a small box she withdrew from one of the pockets in her one-piece garment, "send out the drones and begin repairs. We're going back into the city. Call me if there are any difficulties or unexpected complications."

"Acknowledged, Commander," a tinny voice replied.

The box spoke! Did it contain an ant-sized imp, perhaps?

"We'll leave soon," she told him, returning the box to her pocket. "I just want to make sure the repairs are underway before we go."

A couple of minutes later, two _things_ emerged from the ship, each walking on four legs and carrying boxes in two forward arms. The creatures were light gray, about the size of a large dog, and disturbingly insect-like.

"What are those?" Milton asked, involuntarily stepping backward.

"Maintenance drones," Commander Chang replied, which failed to clarify anything for him.

"You can think of them as trained huge spiders," Brax added. "They are completely under our control. There's no need to be concerned."

The two trained spiders moved away from the ramp, which then promptly slid back into the ship, the door closing behind it. With a shuddering sound, the legs of the flying behemoth began to shorten, lowering the huge ship until the belly rested only an arm's length from the ground. No one had done any kind of incantation, so despite how inconceivable it seemed, this may have been some innate ability of the behemoth. Could the ship somehow be alive? Or perhaps.... No, for a moment he thought it might be some kind of hidden mechanism, but that was clearly impossible. Magic must be involved.

The spiders moved under the ship to begin their task, whatever that might be.

Milton was not the only one watching them with cautious amazement. People collecting bodies, or moving in and out of the ruined outer portions of the city for other purposes, had stopped to stare. A few peasants who were apparently a bit more excitable than most, fled when they saw the strange creatures scurrying around the ship.

"Milton," Commander Chang said. "Make sure no one bothers them, all right?"

"Um, I don't think anyone will try, but I'll have a word with the guards at the gate."

### ~Chapter 9~

"This place is disgusting!" Sandra said not long after they passed through the city gates. She looked as if she was trying to preserve her shoes and her dignity by walking on tiptoes through the street muck. It wasn't working.

"Yeah, you missed it when we came in last time to see the king," Brax said. "Don't worry, it gets worse."

"I don't see how—"

"Score!" The shout from what Lisa could only think of as a Dickensian street urchin interrupted their conversation.

The filth-crusted boy who had yelled stood on one side of the road holding a broom with stiff, raggedy bristles waving in the air. Another boy, much the same as the first, stood at the other side, looking down with obvious disappointment at a large and apparently confused rat attempting to scurry away. Now that she was looking for them, Lisa noticed other boys on either side of the street who were similarly attired and equipped.

"What in the world are they doing?" she asked.

"Oh, it's a kid's game," Milton said. "They call it smack-a-rat. Kids from one side of the street try to smack rats to the other side of the street. It's great fun, but I was never much good at it."

"You're right," Sandra said to Brax. "It does get worse."

Milton led them to a two-story shop just off the main road from the city gates. A painted sign over weathered gray clapboards proclaimed it _Milton's Magical Mending & Mundane Mechanisms (Milton Puddleswirth ~ Proprietor)_. Lisa was not entirely sure what either of the listed areas of expertise meant, although it was a clever, if tongue twisting, alliteration.

The magician's apprentice withdrew a black iron key from a pouch and unlocked the door. Light from the street filtered through thick glass windows and onto a worktable inside. Several crude but functional chairs sat around it. Tools hung on one wall from pegs, and shelves held neat rows of small boxes, jars, and ceramic pots. Two tin oil lamps with clear glass globes sat on a higher table deeper into the room but they were unlit and the wall behind remained dim.

A voice rumbled from the shadows. "Hi, boss. I made tea."

Emerging from a back room, the owner of the voice, wearing a pale apron and holding a large tin tray, stepped into the light. When Lisa saw his face, she, along with the other three members of the crew of the spaceship _Brane Child_ , gasped in alarm.

"What?" the new arrival said. "Don't like tea?"

His disproportionally long arms straightened as he placed the tray on the table near the widow with exaggerated caution. Bewildered eyes regarded them above a piggish snout.

More bewildered eyes looked back at them.

"Is that an orc?" Sandra asked.

"Yes," Milton said. "Say hello to the nice people, Gorbo."

"Hello, nice people," the orc said.

"But aren't you like at war or whatever with the orcs?"

"Oh, Gorbo's all right. I've had him since he was a pup and he does make a good pot of tea. "

"Butter cookies, too," Gorbo said. "I made 'em fresh this morning."

Lisa glanced at the tea tray, which, in addition to cups, small plates, and a large teapot wearing a knitted cozy, held a ceramic platter of round, pale yellow cookies. They looked quite appetizing.

"Hang on," Sandra said. "I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but aren't we supposed to be ridding your city of orcs? Aren't they ravening monsters or something like that? Please tell me the ones last night weren't just domestic servants protesting for higher pay, because if they were, the deal's off. I'm not getting involved in a wage dispute. Those can get ugly."

"No, no," Milton said, his head shaking back and forth in fervent denial like a mouse between two cat paws. "Gorbo is the only orc living in the city. A friend of mine brought him to me after he came back from a hunting trip about six years ago."

Doc, stepped closer to the orc and regarded him with professional interest. The orc leaned away, apparently wary of his close examination, but he did nothing to prevent it.

"Your people hunt orcs?" Lisa asked. She accepted that she should not judge other cultures using her own as a measuring stick, but hunting intelligent creatures, no matter how brutish and ugly, was simply wrong by any standard.

Milton waved his arms as if fending off the accusation. "No, nothing like that. They were hunting wild boars, I think."

"Big pig. Nasty brute. Good eating," Gorbo elaborated, ending his short explanation with what might be a smile full of crooked yellow teeth.

"So how did they get an orc by hunting boar?" Lisa asked, still skeptical.

Milton paused as if trying to decide how to phrase his response. "Orcs—I mean, the orcs around here—well, sometimes if there's a runt in a big litter, a male one anyway, they leave it to, um, fend for itself."

"As babies?"

He shrugged. "I suppose it makes sense to them. Too many mouths, not enough teats, or something like that, I suppose. Typically when people find one, it's already dead from exposure, starvation, or predators, but Gorbo was healthy when my friend found him."

"So why did he bring him to you?" Lisa still suspected something ethically shady was going on.

"Well, he knew I was learning magic and that I had an interest in natural philosophy, so he thought I might like to study him. I was only sixteen at the time and only two years into my apprenticeship with Ferman, so I never thought about how dangerous it might be. Gorbo seemed small and harmless then, but they grow fast."

So the orc is a lab animal, she translated in her mind. But he seems healthy and happy enough. He's certainly better here than dead.

"So he's harmless now?" Sandra asked.

"No, I mean yes. He's not likely to run around hurting people indiscriminately, if that's what you mean."

"So this handsome fellow is only six years old?" Doc said, appraising the orc with obvious curiosity.

"Yeah. As best as I can tell, it's roughly equivalent to the physical maturity of an eighteen-year-old person."

"And you raised him?"

"Well, my friend Mari helped."

"Mari's nice," Gorbo said with an uncomplicated but truthful smile.

"I imagine that not all of your neighbors are as accepting of him as you are," Doc hazarded.

"Not that many people know about him. We try to keep him inside as much as possible, and he knows that if he does go out he needs to cover up in a hooded cloak. If anyone asks about him, I usually say that he's a man who was cursed and that I'm treating him. Since I'm a magic user, other people simply assume he's my familiar. We haven't had any serious problems yet."

"Tea's going cold," Gorbo said. He sounded hurt that his offering was not welcomed, and Lisa felt a tug of compassion for him.

"Oh, yes. I need to pour out. I'm sorry, Gorbo, I was distracted. Everyone, please sit down and help yourselves to cream and sugar if you'd like, and try one of Gorbo's cookies. I think he does a fine job with them. It's a recipe Mari taught him."

Brax was the first to accept.

"Hey! These are good," he said, shedding a few crumbs.

Lisa hesitantly sampled the tea and cookies and found both quite palatable. She couldn't identify the type of tea, but this didn't surprise her since she was more of a coffee person.

"So what have you discovered about him in six years?" Doc asked.

"Well, if Gorbo is typical, I'd say adult orcs are roughly equivalent, intellectually and emotionally, to a six-year-old human. But what seems most fascinating to me is that orcs may be intrinsically magical. I don't mean that they make good practitioners of magic; they _are_ magic. You see, I've done some experiments, and if you modify a basic Detect Magic spell to eliminate the kind of strong thaumic resonance you get from truly magical items, there is still a faint magical radiation emanating from him, a weaker version of what you get from dragons, or so I've read. I've never been in a situation to verify this first hand, of course."

Lisa struggled to make sense of what he was telling them, but Brax nodded his understanding. Doc also seemed to follow Milton's explanation, but he did so with a far more bemused expression than did the pilot.

"We met a few of those on our way here," Brax said.

"Dragons? Really? What kind?" Milton asked, clearly impressed.

"Red ones. Four of them."

"Fire-breathers. How did you survive?"

Brax shrugged. "We're faster than they are."

"Tell us more about this magical radiation you detect from Gorbo," Doc said.

"Well, under the spell, it's just an undifferentiated purplish-green aura showing that the underlying magical field is being contorted."

"Interesting," Doc said. "Would it be all right if I got a blood sample from Gorbo?"

"Um, how would you do that? I don't want him hurt."

"I have a small device I can use. I won't need much, and he shouldn't feel more than a slight pinch, if that."

"Well, if you think it might help. Is it okay with you, Gorbo?"

The orc shrugged and set his teacup down on the table with a delicate 'clink'. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Thank you, Gorbo," Doc said. "Just sit still for a minute. This won't take long."

Doc reached into his medical bag and removed a small syringe. Gorbo sat stoically until Doc uncapped the needle. The orc's beady eyes widened to the size of large, black marbles.

"What's that?"

"It's what I use to get a few drops of blood."

"It looks kind of hurty."

"I know, but I can make it so it's not. Trust me."

Gorbo looked to Milton for reassurance. The young apprentice smiled and nodded, although he looked far from certain himself.

"Do you like my cookies?" Gorbo asked Doc. This seemed a complete non sequitur to Lisa, but Doc appeared to understand.

"Yes, you make very good cookies."

This seemed to soothe the childlike orc for some reason. "Okay. I'll sit still." He tightened his face and sat stiffly in his chair, waiting for the needle.

"There, all done," Doc said a few seconds later. "That wasn't so bad, was it? And you were very brave. I think you deserve another cookie."

"I didn't feel it. No hurts at all," Gorbo said, seeming surprised.

Doc turned his attention to Milton. "You implied before that female orcs are never abandoned. Why is that?"

"Not as many of them are born. I estimate that only one out of ten orcs is female."

"No wonder they're grumpy," Sandra said.

"Are the orc tribes ruled by the females then?" Doc continued.

"I don't think so. Not in the way I think you mean. They don't really have monarchs or a council of elders or anything like that. As far as I can tell, they don't, anyway. They simply seem to have an instinct to follow whoever is strongest. They don't debate issues."

"But certainly they can make choices."

"On simple things, yes, but they don't seem to plan. They react. They tend to be quite impulsive."

"Not much different from most people, then," Lisa commented softly.

Doc seemed about to ask another question, but she stopped him. "I'm sorry Doc. I know you find all of this fascinating, but we're not here for an anthropological study of the orcs. We just need to find them and get them to go away."

"Of course. I'm sorry. The first thing we probably need to know is where they are right now."

"Good. That is more to the immediate point," Lisa said. "Milton, do you have a map?"

The apprentice magic user turned to the orc. "Gorbo, Please go fetch my map from the library."

"Got it, boss," he said, leaving the table. A minute later, he returned with a scroll of heavy, yellowish paper. Milton stood and unrolled it on the table.

"This is the city. And here," he said, circling an area to the east with his finger, "is where we think the orcs are."

Lisa also stood to get a better view. What she saw was more of a drawing than a map, although it did show the major roads of the city, presumably in their proper locations. There was, however, no sense of scale, and the map faded at the edges with fanciful drawings and a warning that those areas were 'Where Monsters Dwell'. The only details provided beyond the city were labeled dots along a serpentine line that she assumed was the river. They must represent other towns.

Milton continued, pointing out another feature. "The area along here is quite hilly and there are caves all around. Some orc tribes prefer to build their dens underground."

"So I assume they see well in the dark," Doc said.

"Oh, yes. Gorbo has very good night vision, but bright light bothers them. They avoid it if they can, but I'm sure you already know that."

Brax nodded as if this was common knowledge.

"They don't like light," Lisa mused. "I wonder if we could construct high intensity lamps and deploy them around the walls."

"We could use the specs we have for our landing lights, rig up some kind of stands, and wire them into the ship's power," Brax said.

"That might keep them away for a while, if we could make enough of them."

"We wouldn't need them close to the ship. It has lights already, but yeah, we could rig up something, I'm sure. There's a lot of wall, though. We probably can't cover it all."

They were still talking about the construction and deployment of the lamps when the door opened and a young woman with brown hair and a roundish face entered.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Milton. I didn't know you had customers."

"Mari!" Gorbo said running to her.

"Who's a good boy, then?" she said, reaching up to give him a friendly scratch behind one pig-like ear.

Milton introduced them. "Mari, these are the Peacekeepers: Commander Chang, Doc, Sandra, and Brax."

"The mighty adventurers from the flying behemoth, of course. I'm honored to meet you," she said, curtseying.

"This is Mari," Milton said to complete the formal introduction. "She's my.... She's a good friend of mine."

She smiled and gave Gorbo a scratch on his other ear.

"You know," Sandra said, "from what I see, orcs don't seem very dangerous."

Lisa agreed. Seeing Mari and Gorbo together reminded her of a Disney interpretation of an old beauty and beast fairy tale but with less of the grime removed.

"Gorbo certainly isn't," Mari said. "But the wild ones can be."

"Bad orcs fight." Gorbo said.

"And what do good orcs do?" Mari prompted.

"Good orcs make cookies!" he replied.

"What do the bad orcs do when they're not attacking cities?" Lisa asked, trying to get back on topic.

"Well, Gorbo likes to dig in the herb garden," Milton said. "He's actually quite good at it. The soil he mixes up in our mulch pit is doing wonders for my mandrakes."

"I like digging," Gorbo agreed.

"Actually, I think orcs in general enjoy it. I've visited some of the tunnels they've abandoned, and they're far more extensive than they needed to be for the size of the tribe. They may dig as a form of entertainment."

"It hardly seems entertaining to me," Sandra said.

"Believe me; it's far better than some of the other things they do, like with cats for instance."

"They like cats?"

"Briefly. Mostly for the screaming, I think."

"That's disgusting!"

"Before you become too judgmental," Doc said, "you should know that medieval people did similar things. I specifically recall reading about two very ugly entertainments they indulged in involving cats."

"I think we're straying off topic again," Lisa said. "I don't see how this helps us unless we can herd a bunch of cats into the orc's camp and get by them while they're distracted."

"You can't herd cats," Milton said. "I did an experiment once to see—"

"I wasn't serious!" Lisa said. Frustration was making her edgy. She knew far more about orcs now than she did when she arrived, but she didn't see how any of it would help her accomplish their assignment for the king and get what they needed to escape from this distorted fantasy universe.

"Oh, right," Milton said. "Sorry."

"The orcs aren't the biggest problem; it's the one leading them," Brax said.

"That's right," Milton agreed. "And it's one of the things I wanted to find out more about once you all got here. I'm going to try to observe the orc's camp. We may be able to pick up some clues about that."

He got up and returned, carefully holding a bowling ball shaped object covered in black velvet in both hands.

"Master Ferman let me borrow this," he said, removing the cloth.

"A crystal ball?" Brax said.

"Yes."

Lisa rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. Next, he'd be pulling out a wand and saying abracadabra, or something.

"How does it work?" Sandra said.

"To be honest, I really don't know, other than that it exploits the basic principles of magic field theory. I think it reads images from the user's mind and then searches the pervading magical field for the closest match. If it finds one, it displays an image of it in the ball. I know it works best if you're familiar with what you're looking for."

He put his hands on the globe and stared into the glass for several minutes while the rest of them waited expectantly.

"Um, I don't seem to be getting anything on this," he said eventually, tapping it with one finger. "I can't seem to get it to resolve an image."

"Are you sure it's turned on?" Lisa said.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I'll try again later. There may be something disrupting the magic field."

"That's too bad," Brax said. "It would be good to know what we're up against."

Lisa raised her eyebrows and shot him a disbelieving glance, which he did not seem to notice. Did he really expect the thing to work?

"What I'd like to know," Mari said, "is how you do it." Her voice suggested honest curiosity and perhaps a touch of awe.

"How who does what, my dear?" Doc asked.

"Adventurers. How do they know to come here just when we seem to need them?"

"I don't think I know what you're talking about."

"What Mari means," Milton said, "is that sometimes, just when we need them, adventurers arrive. Sometimes, it's one lone hero, but there's normally at least four—a magic user, a cleric, a fighter, and a thief."

"Like last year," Mari said. "An evil foreign wizard was trying to overthrow the king, and a group of young adventurers arrived to stop him."

"They were mostly magic users and unbelievably talented for their age," Milton added.

"Before that, it was zombies," Mari said. "We had quite a run of those. It seemed that every other month we'd have zombies lurching out of somewhere."

"Vampires seemed to be the thing when I was a boy. People were hanging garlic everywhere."

"Except for those stupid girls who kept trying to invite them in because they thought they were 'sparkly'," Mari said.

"Yeah, well, vampires can be appealing to the weak-minded, but eventually a band of adventurers got rid of them."

"And you say some hero or a group of heroes invariably arrives to deal with these threats?" Doc asked.

"Yes. It's like they somehow know before they get here that they're needed."

"These adventurers are often strangers, I take it."

"That's right. Almost always."

"Do the heroes always win?"

"Um, no; not always, but I've noticed that if the heroes are especially competent, they're usually up against something pretty powerful, almost as if someone is trying to keep things balanced. I have a hypothesis that there is some kind of magical conservation of skills—"

"What happens when the heroes don't win?" Lisa interrupted before he could elaborate. His speculations about magical fields and other mystical mumbo jumbo were not going to help them.

"That's the funny thing. Either another group will come, or whatever it is that's causing the trouble will go away on its own after a while."

"There's no plot without a hero," Doc mused.

"What?" Milton said.

"Oh, just a stray thought."

The door to the shop opened and a young man with a bowl-shaped haircut entered.

"Mari! Dad's looking for you. He said if he finds out you were here again, he's going to wallop you."

She stood up. "So don't tell him, Jop. Say you couldn't find me, which you couldn't have since I'm not here, right? I'm out shopping the market stalls, but I'm going home now, and you can meet me on my way there. That's all you need to say and I won't need to mention that thing about you peeking through the hole in the wall behind Madame Fleur's bathhouse."

"What? Hey! I never, I mean, not recently...."

She grabbed his arm. "Come on, little brother. I think it's time to go home."

Half dragging her still confused sibling, she turned and said, "It was a pleasure meeting you all. I'm sorry I have to rush off. Bye, Milton."

The door closed behind them.

"What was that all about?" Sandra asked. "I assumed she was your girlfriend."

"Oh, well, yes, kind of," Milton said. "Except she can't be because her father doesn't approve. For one thing, he's a member of the Tradesmen's Guild and, well, the guilds tend to be competitive. The tradesmen and magicians have always been at odds, and not just because they sometimes compete for customers. I think the biggest thing is that he wants to marry her to someone who can bring money into the family. Unfortunately, that's not me. Magic really isn't a lucrative profession, not recently, anyway. It's not as reliable as it once was, for some reason. No one seems to know why, but it's been bad for business. I've been living on my inheritance from my father, and the money is going out faster than it's coming in. I guess I can't blame her dad. He has to think about his old age. That's just how things are, you know."

"What a medieval attitude," Sandra said.

"We should go, too," Lisa said. "We have a bit more information now, and we need to start working on those lights."

"But the things the king was going to let you use haven't arrived yet. Can't you stay a bit longer?"

"No, it's getting late. You can bring them to the ship tomorrow, if you'd like."

"But—"

"Don't worry," Sandra said. "Just do what the Commander says and everything will be fine." She patted him on the cheek. "There's a good boy."

"Oh," Lisa added as they were leaving. "We're going to need a big tub of clean water. I'm sure you can take care of that."

"Uh, sure. I suppose."

Brax, as the last one out, closed the door on Milton's befuddled expression.

~*~

They sat at the small table in the galley that night discussing their options over coffee and prepackaged snack cakes. After checking their remaining inventory of fabrication stock, they determined that they could manufacture some high-powered, full-spectrum lights, but not enough to surround every section of the city walls. The best idea they could come up with was to make as many as they could and space them so that a mass attack on any one section would be less likely. Sims was building the units now, using all three maintenance drones to assemble the components. This would be a short-term solution at best. It would not eliminate the threat, and it would not get them the palladium they needed to repair the Brane Skip device. Somehow, they needed to get more information on whatever was commanding the orcs and find a way to stop it.

Sims interrupted their conversation. "Notice: Orcs are approaching the ship."

"Screen on!" Lisa said.

The small screen imbedded in the galley wall instantly showed the nighttime scene of the section of town immediately to the stern of the ship. Figures scurried in and out of the long shadows created by the _Brane Child's_ landing lights.

An unfamiliar sound caught her attention. It was just a slight tap, but she had never before heard the ship make a sound like it. Another, somewhat louder tap followed.

"What is that noise?"

"Small metallic objects have impacted the hull with minimal force," Sims informed them. "No damage is detected."

"They're shooting at us?" Sandra said.

"Everyone get to the bridge!" Lisa ordered, already in motion.

Sims had the main screen on when they arrived. It displayed a sweeping view of the area around the ship. There were indeed orcs out there, although most were merely fleeting shadows outside the range of the ship's lights.

Brax threw himself into his pilot's seat and began working the controls.

"I'm bringing up the spotlights to light up the ones near the walls. It will help the archers on top find things to shoot at."

A tattoo of impacts on the hull, probably no more damaging to the ship than a sudden sun shower, suggested that the ship might be the main target of the attack. Were the orcs testing them?

A heavier sound, more like a hailstone than a raindrop, supported the idea that they were.

"Sims, report. What was that?"

"We have been hit by a stone or piece of masonry with minimal force. No damage is indicated."

"Well, at least it seems they can't hurt us," Sandra said.

"That's not the important part," Brax said.

"To me it is."

"What I mean is that we can't just sit here and take it. If they're not afraid of us, they'll just go around us and attack the city."

"Sims, have you fixed the landing thrusters yet?" Lisa asked the AI. "Are we able to lift?"

"Physical repairs to the thrusters are complete. Test firing is required for calibration."

"Well, now seems a good time for that." She suspected that a bit of roaring flame would make the orcs take notice and convince them that the _Brane Child_ was not something they should annoy.

"Everyone strap in. Brax, engage the thrusters. Take us up a few meters and rotate our nose out away from the city, then sweep the area with the forward lights."

The ship rumbled as she fastened the buckles of her restraining belts. The image on the main screen verified that they were rising and rotating slowly. The ship lurched in its progress briefly as Sims calibrated the thruster alignments, but the demonstration of their power had the desired effect. By the time the forward lights cast their full illumination on the overrun part of the city, the orcs were retreating into the surrounding woods.

"I'm not sure we can keep them scared for long with just lights," Brax said. "Eventually, they're going to figure out that we can't really hurt them."

"I know you'd like some phasers, but lights are all we have," Lisa said. "Do your best. Sandra, what are you getting on sensors? Are all the orcs leaving?"

"I think so, but I'm picking up something different at the edge of the woods to our right. It's not an orc. The heat signature is different."

"Sims, direct the forward lights at the coordinates of that anomaly. Show it on the main screen and magnify."

The screen zoomed to the tree line beyond the city, where long sharp shadows retreated from the ship's lights. Whatever the creature was, it obviously did not like the light or the attention, and it quickly slipped back into the shadowed woods, giving them only a brief glimpse of a man-sized figure in robes. It may have been a trick of the light, but Lisa thought something about the head suggested it wore dreadlocks.

"Sims, try to find a match for that thing in our data banks."

"Working," the AI acknowledged.

"Any ideas, Brax?" she asked.

"Sorry, Commander. I didn't get a good enough look at it."

"Sims?"

"The data we collected on the creature is insufficient to provide a conclusive match."

"How many inconclusive matches did you find?"

"Four hundred and eleven."

And she knew there was no assurance any of them was the right one.

"Keep analyzing information as we collect it and let us know if you can narrow that down. Sandra, are there any more orcs out there?"

"No. They all seem to have gone."

"Okay, Brax. Take us down. We need to figure out a way to get a better look at that thing."

### ~Chapter 10~

Except for the growing pile of dead orcs being built by some townspeople after last night's attack, the ever-present stench wafting from the open gates of the walled city, and the fact that they still had no way to get back to civilization, it was a nice day. All four crew members of the experimental spaceship _Brane Child_ were outside, if not exactly enjoying the early morning sun and gentle breeze, then at least appreciative of the fact that things could be worse. They weren't adrift in space and it wasn't raining.

Lisa made a cursory inspection of the floodlight assemblies stacked in the shade under the belly of the ship. Sims had completed their fabrication overnight, and now the drones were digging trenches to bury the electrical cables needed to power them. They should be operational by tonight. She did not know how much of a deterrent the lights would be to the orcs, but she hoped they would at least delay another attack until she could come up with an idea for stopping them for good.

Doc had wandered off to try to chat with some of the natives going in and out of the gates. From what she could see, they seemed willing to talk. He was currently having a conversation some distance away with a small group of women, one of whom was holding a small pig that sat placidly in her arms like a baby, blissfully unaware of its future role as part of a hearty breakfast. Sandra, confident that Milton would bring them a washtub, was stringing a clothesline between two of the ship's landing struts.

"This is seriously depleting our stock of materials," Lisa said ostensibly to Brax. He was standing next to her, and from the grin on his face, he seemed to be enjoying the archaic setting. It was all just a game to him, but she had to take it seriously. She had to get them home.

"We can recover most of it when we leave and have Sims reprocess it back into stock, but yeah, you're right. Let's try not to break anything else. Fortunately, fuel's not a problem. We had full tanks when we left, and our fusion reactors were overhauled for the mission. They're pretty efficient."

She glanced up at the wall where soldiers looked down with expressions that were more than curious. They seemed anxiously hopeful, and she got the impression they were counting on her. She shook her head. Her overdeveloped sense of responsibility was kicking in again. She really needed to get over that. Not everything was her problem.

"Have you given any more thought to the orc's head bad guy, assuming there is one?"

Brax shrugged. "There must be. My top contenders are lich, vampire, and evil wizard, but I really don't know."

"Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

"What?"

"That we're trying to figure out a way to defeat a vampire or whatever. It's like we're the heroes in some stupid fantasy adventure story."

"Yeah, but we're setting up floodlights to chase away orcs, and I bet that would have sounded stupid to you a few days ago."

"To be honest, it still does."

"I suppose it doesn't really make much sense, but we're here, and it feels real enough. I don't see that we have much choice but to assume it is and go along with it."

"Play our roles, you mean."

"Yeah, pretty much." He smiled. "At least we're the good guys."

She sighed. "You don't know how difficult this is for me. Deep down, I can't get over the belief that none of this is real. Too much is simply...wrong."

"Well, that thing about the sensor range is a puzzler, that's true."

"No, I mean yes, it is, but dragons? Orcs? Come on. Even the people."

"They seem normal enough."

"That's the problem. If this is some other planet far from Earth, how did humans get here? I'm not buying parallel evolution, not to that level of detail, and even if I stretched my credulity.... Brax, these people speak English. That is simply impossible."

He shrugged. "Why? We do."

"Yes, but the evolution of cultural things like language can happen quickly," she said, wondering why she even needed to explain this to him. It was so obvious! "Species can continue for thousands, even millions of years without a lot of physical change if they're in a suitable and stable environment, but languages begin to diverge after a few generations. Those city walls must be a least a couple of centuries old."

"I agree. So?"

"So even if the ancestors of these people were—oh, I don't know—abducted by aliens or something from one of the English speaking countries on Earth, they shouldn't be speaking our kind of English. But they do. They don't talk like people from the Middle Ages. They don't even talk like people from a few hundred years ago. They talk like us. They don't even have strange accents, and they use words that I'm sure didn't even exist when people on Earth were running around with swords and armor."

"Well, okay. I agree. It's odd, but we still need to stop the orcs."

She sighed again. "So it seems. We need to do that to get the palladium, and besides, I rather feel I owe it to the people here to do the best we can. I think they're counting on us." She paused as possible strategies took tentative form in her mind. "The ship is flightworthy now. What if we flew it over the orc's camp and just hovered above it for a while? I bet that would scare them."

"I agree. It would. But they'd just go underground and come back up when we left, I bet. Milton said they have tunnels."

"Yeah, you're probably right. What about our maintenance drones? We can send in the drones and record what they find."

He shook his head. "I don't think they'd last long. The drones are tough, but there are a lot of orcs out there, and I don't think our drones would scare them for long. They aren't big or nasty enough. The orcs may be mindlessly persistent enough to batter them to bits, and we don't want to lose them."

"Do you think we could build military grade robots? We must have specs for some in the data banks."

"Not armed ones. We won't have designs for weapons on a ship like this. They're not the kind of thing a cargo ship would need—normally. We may have specs for commercial surveillance drones, but they'd take a while to make, assuming we have the materials. They're probably a bit more complicated than lampposts."

Sandra approached them, dusting her hands together in a 'that's a job well-done' fashion.

"That's the clothesline," she said. "Now we just need our little magician to conjure us up a washtub."

"I'm sure he will," Brax said.

"Me, too." Sandra looked around his shoulder and smiled.

"And here comes the last of our brave band of adventurers. Hi, Doc. Did you learn anything interesting from the natives?"

The oldest member of their crew joined them, a bemused expression on his dark face.

"Perhaps. These people seem to have very little knowledge of geography or history. Given their apparent level of technology, this may not be surprising, but other than the names of a few towns along the river, they know nothing of what lies beyond their city. And that is all they know—just the names. They are unable to provide anything that would distinguish them from one another, or from their own city, for that matter. Also, as far as they know, their ancestors have always been here and things in the past were much the same as things of today."

"Isn't that what most people thought in the Middle Ages?" Brax said.

"I can't know for sure, of course, but I would think they would have had a somewhat better grasp of the world around them. They would probably have heard of ancient Rome, for example, or of some recent discovery in Paris or Madrid. These people not only don't know; they are not even curious. Of course, that may not be that odd either, now that I come to think of it. Until the Renaissance, curiosity was often considered a fault. But much of that was due to enforced dogma, which they seem not to have here. Some, like our friend Milton, for example, do seem to have some freedom of inquiry."

"Speaking of our skinny friend," Sandra said, "here he comes. And he's bringing us a washtub!"

"And some other stuff," Lisa added.

Milton carried two long objects wrapped in cloth, which he held tightly to his chest. Two men with him carried a large wooden washtub, and three more followed behind them with buckets.

"Good morning, Milton" Lisa said. "Was anyone hurt in the attack last night?"

"Hello, Commander Chang. No, well, just some orcs. The rest ran away when you cast your fire spells from your...your ship."

One of the men with him mumbled something in his ear.

"Oh, right. Where would you like them to put the tub you asked for?"

She pointed. "Over there would be fine. Sandra will show them."

He lowered his voice. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but do you need it to conjure a spell or to concoct a magical potion?"

She laughed. "No, we need it to do our laundry."

He smiled knowingly and tapped the side of his nose. "Of course you do. You need say no more. To be honest, I'm not sure I'd understand if you did. My progress in the mystical arts is not proceeding as quickly as I had hoped. However, I was able to get the crystal ball to work last night. Strangely, it began to behave as it should just after you left."

"It did?" As far as Lisa was concerned, it behaved the way it should have while they were there. It just sat on the table like a big paperweight.

"Yes. I can't explain why it didn't before, but magic can be like that. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't."

"What did you see?" Brax asked.

"Not much, I'm afraid. Just a bunch of orcs camped in the hills. They had huts, fire pits, and normal orc things like that. I didn't see their leader, and the crystal ball I used doesn't have clairaudience, so I couldn't hear anything. I did see caves, though, so the leader may be in one of them."

"Thanks for the tub, Milton," Sandra said. "The nice people you brought with you are filling it for us now from what they assure me is a clean well. So what else do you have for us?" She pointed to the large objects he clutched in his hands.

"Ah, yes. These are the things from the king."

He began to unburden himself but Lisa stopped him.

"Why don't we go inside?" she said. "We can all sit down and talk. Besides, I need another cup of coffee."

"Are you sure we should bring Milton in the ship?" Brax asked.

"Why not?" Before he could answer, she added, "If you were about to mention the Prime Directive or something, I'm going to punch you. I'm not even convinced any of this is real—well, really real." A part of her suspected that the BS device had somehow scrambled their brains and now they were all sharing a dream, but no matter how much she pinched herself, she couldn't wake from it.

Brax pointed to Milton's feet. "Actually, I was thinking of the, uh, street residue. I'm not sure how well he'd react to decontamination."

Lisa looked at the 'mud' on the young magician's shoes.

"Milton, take off your boots and leave them out here. That should be enough. If you're carrying plague or anything like that, we've probably caught it already anyway."

Milton fumbled with his footwear while the crew headed up the ramp and into the ship. Lisa waited for him at the inner door of the airlock, and then led him to the galley where she got herself a cup of coffee.

"Can I get you something?" she asked. "I think we have tea, and maybe something remotely resembling cookies." She had to ask him again because he seemed distracted or in awe of the things around him, which here in the galley were just a small table and some chairs as far as Lisa could see, and they were far from impressive. The kindest word for their design would be 'efficient'.

"Oh, no, thanks. I really need to present you with these—"

"The things your king is loaning us for the mission, right?"

"Yes, exactly. Master Ferman told me to formally present them in the name of King Genrex and the City of Bardasium, and that they have full confidence—"

"I think I get the idea. No need to go on."

"Actually, I had to memorize a speech they wanted me to—"

"Don't worry about that," Lisa said. "I suppose we may as well see what you brought."

Doc held up his hand. "Just a moment, if I may, Commander."

"Yes, Doc?"

"Milton, you said these things are magical, is that right?"

"Well, yes. Quite. They all came from the royal treasure vaults. They possess some extremely potent magic."

"In that case, Commander, I'd like to bring these items to the medical bay. It is the closest thing we have to a laboratory. Sims can use the equipment there to check the items for power signatures and radiation. It might reveal something."

Lisa shrugged. "I don't see why not, and there is more room there than here in the galley, too. Good idea."

"So, what do you think of the ship, Milton?" Sandra asked him as they made their way down the corridor.

"It's amazingly clean, but, well, it's smaller than I imagined and not as grand. No offense meant, of course. It is still very impressive."

"It was originally a cargo ship," Brax told him. "The living areas are compact to leave as much space as possible for the holds. And of course the smaller size makes everything easier to get to, especially when we're in zero g."

Milton returned a puzzled look. "Where is 'zero g'?"

Brax laughed. "Almost everywhere. It's the place between places, and, for the most part, there's nothing much to see there. Don't worry about it."

"The place between places?" Lisa said. "What kind of explanation is that?"

"How would you describe gravity in a way people here would understand? I'm pretty sure they have no counterpart of Einstein or even Newton."

He had a point. Milton might be able to grasp the inverse square law, after some lengthy explanation, but curved space-time was probably beyond him. To be honest, the concept still confused her.

The door to the medical bay stood open as usual. Lights on panels imbedded in the walls blinked in white, yellow, and green. Milton took in all of it with a look of stunned fascination.

"You can unload your stuff there," Lisa said, pointing to the thinly padded exam table.

Milton carefully placed the items he was holding on the table and began to loosen their wrappings.

"Sims," Doc said, "please scan all of the items being placed on this table. Be ready with a brief analysis when called for."

"Acknowledged," the ship's AI replied.

Milton looked around the room in alarm. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Oh, that's just Sims," Sandra reassured him. "It's kind of like, um, well..."

"You can think of Sims as the invisible spirit of the ship," Brax said. "It's nothing to worry about."

Milton's nervous glances persisted a moment longer, but eventually he returned to what he came to do.

"This," he said, revealing the largest item, "is a staff of curing for Doc. It has twelve charges and can be used up to eight times a day, but only once on any one person during that time. It can cure disease and injuries either in part or completely, depending on severity. The command word is 'heal'."

"Sims, analysis please," Doc said.

"The item is a carved pole apparently made of oak of the genus _Quercus_ , although further analysis would be needed to confirm the species. It is one hundred seventy-seven point eight centimeters long and eight point twenty-five centimeters in circumference at its widest point. Approximate age is—"

"Stop," Doc said. "Are you detecting any hidden mechanism, electromagnetic radiation, or anything else from this object that appears anomalous?"

"No."

"Okay. I'm sorry, Milton. Please continue."

"Um, this sword is obviously for Brax," he said, sliding it part way from its scabbard. "It is enchanted with a Protection from Evil dweomer."

"Cool!" Brax said.

"Dweomer?" Sandra asked.

Milton opened his mouth to respond, but Sims answered first.

"Dweomer is a word used in some role-playing games to indicate the type of magic embodied within an enchanted item. The asserted properties attributed to this object cannot be confirmed using available equipment. Scanners are detecting no radiation of any kind from either the sword or the matching scabbard."

Milton raised his eyebrows in a silent request for permission to move on. Lisa nodded.

The next item he unwrapped was much softer.

"This is a cloak of elvenkind for Sandra. When you close the clasp and pull up the hood, the person wearing it can't be seen, well, outside anyway. It doesn't work as well in places with flat walls."

He held out the cloak and gave it a shake to unfold it. Lisa had to admit that it appeared well made, and she liked the metal clasp shaped like entwined vines.

"Sims?" Doc said.

"The garment is a full length hooded cloak of fine grade flax linen colored with a dye apparently derived from vegetable roots. A more detailed chemical analysis would be needed to confirm this. The clasp appears to be pewter. No radiation or other anomalous characteristics are indicated."

"You may continue," Doc said to Milton.

He opened a small wooden box. "This last item is for Commander Chang. It is a ring of Spell Turning. It requires no command. It activates when a spell or curse is directed against her. Most often, it will deflect it, but in some cases, it can cause the spell to rebound against the attacker."

"Sims, analysis."

"The item is an unornamented ring, six point twenty-five millimeters in width and with an inside diameter of fifteen point seven millimeters. Composition appears to be seventy-five percent gold and twenty-five percent silver. No radiation or other anomalous readings are detected."

"That's everything," Milton said. "Do you have any questions?"

"Is there anything special I should know about this," Brax said picking up the sword.

"Um, no. The dweomer functions continuously."

"Don't swing that thing in here!" Sandra said. "You'll put somebody's eye out."

"Yes, mom," he said, feigning humility but sheathing the sword. "Try on the cloak. Let's see how it looks on you."

Sandra batted her big brown eyes at him and grinned with mock mischief. "I'm sure it looks fabulous on me, big guy. Just like everything else."

She wasn't exaggerating overly much. Even Lisa, who was strictly heterosexual, recognized that Sandra could turn heads.

The communications officer flipped up the hood and closed the clasp with an audible click.

Brax reacted immediately. "That's amazing!"

"I wouldn't go that far," Lisa said. "It's nice, but it's hardly stunning."

"But you can barely see her! She's practically invisible."

"Ha-ha. Very funny. She's right there." Lisa pointed. "Sometimes, Brax, your sense of humor borders on irritating."

"Oh, it crosses that border often," Sandra said.

"You're both kidding, right? I'm telling you, I can see right through her," Brax insisted.

Lisa saw Milton nodding, and she turned and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Milton, tell me honestly because if you lie to me, I'll...I'll turn you into a frog. What do you see?"

An involuntary gulp caused his overly large Adam's apple to bounce like a nervous Ping-Pong ball. "I swear it's good magic, Commander Chang. I wouldn't lie to you. The cloak appears to be functioning as promised. I can see a haze where Sandra is standing, but that's because we're inside and there's good light. Other than that, she's pretty much invisible."

No she isn't! Lisa could see her clearly. Was everyone else going blind?

"Sandra, you can see yourself, right? If you hold up your arm, you can see it, can't you?"

Sandra did and she could.

"That's how it should be," Milton explained. "The cloak does not alter the self-perception of the wearer."

As far as Lisa could tell, it shouldn't alter anyone's perception. It was just a gray cloak. She needed a wiser opinion.

"Doc?"

He squinted, which made Lisa a little nervous.

"I can see her," Doc said, "but to be honest, she seems a bit distorted. It's hard to explain, and rather confusing."

Okay, how about an objective opinion? Fortunately, there was one available.

"Sims?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Can you see Sandra Suarez in this room?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Are you getting any odd readings from her?"

"No, Commander. Her bio readings all fall within acceptable norms."

"No electromagnetic distortions or anything like that surrounding her?"

"None that are detectable by the sensor equipment currently available."

Lisa found this reassuring insofar as it meant that she had not joined those who had detoured from the road of reality. But why had they?

She walked behind Sandra and held up two fingers behind the communication officer's back.

"Brax, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," Brax said.

So either it was a good guess or it wasn't just an illusion of some kind. She tried again with a different test subject.

"Doc, how many fingers?"

"I'm not sure. Sandra is blocking my view."

"Three," Milton said.

Damn, he was right. Lisa searched her mind for a logical explanation and found none.

"Milton?" Doc said.

"Yes?"

"How would orcs perceive this?"

"The cloak? The same way people do." He glanced nervously at Lisa. "Well, most people."

"Interesting."

One of the machines in the medical bay made a pinging sound, interrupting Lisa's thoughts.

"Ah, the test I was running must be ready," Doc said. "I need to check the results."

"I think we're done here, anyway," Lisa said. "Come on, Milton. It's time for you to go home."

~*~

Lisa returned to the galley after seeing Milton off the ship. She found Sandra and Brax there discussing the recently delivered 'magic' items.

"Do you think there's any use for this stuff?" she asked them. To her, they looked like little more than stage props.

"We were just talking about that," Brax said. "You have to admit, that cloak Sandra has is pretty strange."

"To me it just looks like a gray cloak. I have no idea why you and Milton imagined it's anything else." The fact that they did still troubled her. There must be some rational explanation.

"We should carry what he brought us whether it's of use or not," Sandra said. "If we don't, we might hurt Milton's feelings, or worse, insult his king."

She had a good point. "I don't suppose there's any harm in it."

Lisa had already slipped the ring on her finger and, somewhat to her surprise, found that it fit.

"Well, I think the sword is pretty cool," Brax said, placing his hand on the hilt, where it hung from his waist in the scabbard.

Lisa cast a meaningful look at the sword. "Do you know how to use one of those things?"

"Well, I've used them in games, so I have some idea," he said with a disarming smile. "I know you're supposed to point the pointy end toward the bad guy."

"Well, that's a good start. I'm sure you'll be an expert in no time."

Doc arrived with his magical healing staff and a puzzled look.

"Is something wrong?" Lisa asked him.

"More confusing than wrong."

"Business as usual here, then," Sandra said.

"Confusing in what way this time?" Lisa prompted.

"I was trying to run a DNA analysis on Gorbo's blood, but the results didn't make sense. I'm running it again."

"You found something strange about his DNA?"

"Let's just say that all I can say for sure at this point is that he has blood, and it's red. I'll let you know more when I can."

"At least we know they don't like being hurt. Gorbo's reaction to the needle was proof of that," Sandra said.

"Which makes me wonder why they keep trying to attack the city," Lisa said. "Is there something there they want, or do they just hate it so much they feel compelled to destroy it?"

"I don't think it's like that," Brax said. "I doubt they care much about the city one way or another. The orcs are just a weapon that someone is using. We need to know who that someone is."

"What we need is some damn palladium and try to get out of here," Sandra said. "It's been fun, but I think I've had enough of this medieval theme park."

"Actually, I had an idea about that," Doc said. "Sandra, what do you think about taking one more ride at that park?"

"What are you talking about, Doc?"

"That cloak Milton brought for you could allow you to get close enough to the orc camp to learn something about whoever is leading them."

"Wait a minute," Lisa said. "I'm not going to let Sandra risk her life by trusting a magic invisibility cloak!"

"It seems to work on some people," Brax said.

"That's true," Sandra agreed. "It worked on him, and I can't imagine the orcs are much brighter."

"Ha-ha, very funny," he said sarcastically.

She stuck out her tongue at him.

"I suspect intelligence has nothing to do with the effect," Doc said. "But I agree. Although I have no logical explanation, it does seem to be able to confer invisibility on the wearer, at least from the perspective of the local inhabitants."

Lisa wasn't sure she agreed, but she had no idea why it seemed to work on some people and not on others. She did know that she didn't trust it.

"Sandra, you can't be seriously considering doing this?" she said.

"Well, I can't say I'm enthused about the idea, but Milton did say the cloak would make me invisible to orcs, and if it will help us get out of here and back to somewhere with indoor plumbing, I'm willing to give it a shot. Besides, we're almost out of toilet paper."

"I'm sure Sims can make more," Doc said.

"I was just kidding, but I don't want to be stuck here in toxic sludge fantasyland forever. We need more information in order to leave, and this might get it for us. If the orcs seem to notice me, I'll run right back. You can be sure of that."

Lisa remained far from happy with the plan, such as it was, but she had no better ideas. Sandra was right; they did need to know more, and the cloak did inexplicably seem to work on some people. Milton was the only native they had tested it on, but if he was representative, they could infer that it worked on most of them. She'd be much less anxious about it if they could do more testing, and there might be a way to do that. It wouldn't meet modern laboratory standards, but it was probably the best they could do here, and it would help verify Milton's claims about it.

"Okay, on one condition. Before you go to the orcs' camp, wander around the city for a while. If none, and I mean NONE, of the local people seem to notice you, you can try it. Don't take any risks you don't need to. Don't stay long whether or not you learn anything. If you're not back in three hours, we'll fly the ship to their camp and..."

"And what?" Brax said.

"And rescue me, of course," Sandra said. "You're the hero, right?"

### ~Chapter 11~

Two townspeople wandered by, carrying bags over their shoulders. Sandra stepped in front of them, smiled, and waved. They were men, so they should react.

They didn't, apparently oblivious of her presence. If she did not step out of the way, they were going to walk into her.

As she quickly moved aside, her foot slipped on a piece of charred wood, causing it to skitter away. She caught her balance and avoided falling, for which she felt no small amount of relief. Outside the walls, the muck was not as bad as it was in the main part of the city, but she had no desire to get any more of it on her than necessary. Coordinated as she was, she could not recover her balance without making noise. The men walking past obviously noticed the sound of her near mishap because they stopped and looked in her direction.

"Must have been a big rat," one man said, glancing at the ground around him.

"Do you see it?" the other said.

"Nah, it must have run away."

"Too bad. There's good eating on a nice, fat rat."

Sandra held her breath while the men looked around a bit longer before giving up and continuing on their way.

The test told her two things. The first was that they did not see her, and the second was that she really did not want to be stuck here after the food they brought with them in the ship ran out.

She tried similar tests on other people—batting her eyes, sticking out her tongue, making faces—and no one seemed to notice her. She had no idea why they could not, but it gave her a superhero kind of feeling. She was the invisible woman! She could have a lot of fun with something like this. Of the people she knew, it only worked on Brax, but there was a lot of practical joke potential there. Lisa probably wouldn't like it, though—not here and now, anyway. Their commander was worried about them getting back, and Sandra sympathized. She knew she would not want to be in command of this crazy mission.

With the efficacy of the cloak confirmed, she headed in the direction of the orc camp. She knew the approximate location, but once she got past the outer edges of what passed for civilization here, she quickly lost her sense of direction. As a city girl, she seldom saw trees clumped together as they were here, and never without a nicely tended trail between them. This place didn't have one. It had a lot of plants and stuff like that, but it didn't have anything helpful. There were no signs, no landmarks, just trees, and they all looked pretty much the same to her—green part up and brown part down and stuck in the ground. What more could you say?

She walked in what she thought was the right direction for about half an hour, wishing this place had some kind of satnav, or perhaps a helpful girl in a red riding hood who could point her toward the orcs' camp. But the only recognizable creatures she saw were squirrels. There were plenty of those, and occasionally one would stop and look in her direction, but whether it was because they saw her or just heard her, she did not know.

Something that must have been there for some time without attracting her attention finally did. A heavy smell of wood smoke filtered through the trees ahead, and she followed the scent as quietly as she could, which she had come to realize was not all that quietly. The ground at her feet was littered with sticks and leaves and all kinds of things that cracked and rustled when she stepped on them. Someone really needed to sweep up around here once in a while.

Soon, the woods opened into a place that no one could accurately call a clearing, but there were fewer trees—and a lot more orcs. The first thing she noticed was that one of them was looking at her.

"That you, T'ump?" he said, glancing to either side of her. "If that's you, you better get back. K'pork's looking for you."

He continued to peer around and seemingly through her for a moment and then shrugged and moved on.

Sandra realized she had stopped breathing and decided it would be a good idea to start again. She forced herself to do it slowly. The first test of the cloak on an orc appeared to have been a success in any case.

The orc camp spread out to both her left and right, but she seemed to be at the outer edge. Smoke curled from several fires, some with small animal carcasses hung over them on spits, and most with orcs around them. All were adult males, as far as she could tell, and many appeared to be sleeping. Those who were awake wandered about talking or simply sat watching the fires. Two sitting together by a modest fire at the edge of the camp had their backs toward her. They were talking, so she decided to eavesdrop.

She crept forward trying to be as quiet as she possibly could, consciously taking slow, shallow breaths. She couldn't do anything about her heart, which seemed determined to pound despite her wishes. That was the trouble with hearts. They never listened to what your rational mind said.

She got just close enough to hear them, when another orc approached the fire. His glance slipped by her once but did not pause.

"What you watching?" he said to the two who were seated.

"Fire," one said.

"Any good?"

"It's okay."

"Seen better," the other one said.

"P'tok had a good fire yesterday. It smoked and crackled a lot. Smelled good, too."

"This one's not as good."

"Nope."

The first two orcs shook their heads but continued to watch the fire. The new arrival shrugged and wandered off, perhaps in search of something more entertaining.

"Could play sizzles," one of the remaining orcs suggested to his companion.

"Okay, you go first."

The orc dug one grubby finger into a piggish nostril and flung the contents into the fire, where it did indeed sizzle for a brief moment. Sandra felt quite relieved that they had their backs to her, which spared her from seeing the play too closely.

"Not bad. My turn," the other said.

He made his shot, resulting in an even louder sizzle.

The game continued for a few more moves until one said, "I'm all out."

"Me, too. What you want to do now?"

"Don't know. K'pork got a big funny hat from the human city. We could watch him wear it."

"Nah, K'pork's not fun anymore. Not since brain eater."

"Quiet! He's still leader. He hears you, he'll bash your head, and then brain eater will eat your brain."

"They're not here." He pointed further into the camp. "K'pork's over there somewhere, and sucker-head's in his cave." He swung one long arm around to point to the right, where two especially large orcs stood outside the mouth of a cave.

"Never know with brain eater. He's magic."

"Daytime. He won't come out."

"Right." The orc scratched his head, releasing a few small insects. "Hey! B'gur killed a boar last night. We can watch him cook it."

The other orc shook his head. "Nah, watching cooking makes me hungry."

"Um, we could watch N'stan. He might be digging a hole."

"Why?"

"He likes digging holes."

"Me, too. Want to dig a hole?"

"No, let's watch N'stan. He digs a good hole."

"I can dig a better hole."

"But N'stan has a human-made shovel."

The orc paused in what for him must have been deep thought. "Yeah, he got it from the human city yesterday." He pondered the idea a moment longer. "Okay. We'll watch him."

They got to their feet.

"Maybe if K'pork sends us back there, you can get a shovel."

The orc shook his head. A few more insects took flight. "I don't want to go back. Not even for a shovel."

"Me either. Walls and arrows and now that big flying monster thing, but if K'pork says go, we go. He's tribe leader."

"Yeah, he'll bash our heads if we don't go." The orc shrugged. "Come on; let's watch N'stan dig a hole."

"Okay. He digs a good hole."

~*~

"And that's when I left."

Lisa listened intently while Sandra briefed them on what she had observed at the orc's camp. She seemed quite pleased with herself, but then she often did.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Brax teased her.

She cocked her head as if seriously considering her answer. "To be honest, it was, in a way. I'm sure you think it was a little like those silly games you play. That was the point you were trying to make, wasn't it?"

He smiled. "No, I was being completely pointless, as usual."

"Well, my point is, it wasn't exactly like one of your games. It wasn't some imaginary me in some imaginary danger. It was the real me, and the danger was also real, so I didn't stay any longer than I had to. When the two orcs I was eavesdropping on walked away, so did I. If those things had discovered I was there, I could have ended up as lunch, or as an unwilling girlfriend, or something else equally unpleasant. I really don't want to think about it."

"Yeah, but you were invisible to them."

"They couldn't see me, but they could have heard me if I made any sound, which I tried very hard not to do."

"They could probably smell you, too."

The frosty glare she gave him could have frozen an active volcano.

He backpedaled quickly. "I just mean that it was a good thing they were by that smoky fire because, with those big noses of theirs, they probably have a great sense of smell."

"Orc noses are one more thing I do not want to think about now, or for the foreseeable future. I always thought your games were stupid and pointless, but they're like fine literature compared to what the orcs do for entertainment."

Lisa wanted to hear more about what Sandra had overheard.

"You said they called the leader a 'brain eater'," the commander said, "which means they must have been speaking English, right?"

Sandra's eyes widened with sudden insight. "Well, yes. They were. I didn't think much about it at the time, but you're right. That's strange."

"Why? Gorbo speaks English," Brax said.

Lisa could not believe he did not see the issue. "But Gorbo was raised by humans. These orcs probably have very little contact with people other than for brief periods when they're trying to climb over their city walls. I assumed orcs would have their own language."

"Maybe they do," Sandra said. "But the ones I heard spoke English, and not as badly as you might assume. One of them also referred to the leader as 'sucker-head', but I don't know if that was a description or an insult."

A polite ping announced that Sims wanted to join the conversation.

"Go ahead," Lisa said.

"Miss Suarez's information, added with the data collected last night, allows an identification of the creature in question with a ninety-four percent confidence level."

"Continue. What are we up against?"

"The fictional creature that best matches the available data is known as a 'mind flayer'. Variations appear in several books and games, but its origin appears to be in a role-playing game first devised in the mid-twentieth century." The small screen in the galley came on to show a crude black and white drawing of what looked like a person with a domed head and what might have been a braided beard. "Additional data is available."

"Hey! I fought one of those once," Brax said. "In a game, of course."

"Screen off!" Doc ordered.

Lisa turned her head quickly and gave him a confused look. "Why did you do that?"

Doc hesitated a moment. "I think it would be better if Brax simply tells us what he remembers about them."

Lisa raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why?"

"I'm working on a hypothesis that ties what we find here to what we expect. I know it makes little sense, but I think we should just hear what Brax recalls about them before we do anything else."

"All right, but you will tell me later." She trusted his judgment, but he was clearly withholding something significant from the explanation he provided.

He smiled. "You should be safe."

"So, Brax, what do you know about these things?" Lisa said.

"A mind flayer is humanoid and about as tough as a vampire—in games, that is."

"You'd be amazed at how little that tells me."

"Right, uh, I suppose you could say it's tougher to beat than a lion but not nearly as bad as a tyrannosaurus."

"Still not much help, but go on."

"Let's see. I know they often have minions. This one is obviously using the orcs. I seem to recall that they're known to set traps in their lairs, but maybe not in this case because it would probably need to keep the way clear for the orcs. It has tentacles that—"

"Wait a second!" Sandra interrupted. "Tentacles? I thought you said it was humanoid, and humans are well known for their complete lack of tentacles, at least in a literal sense."

"Oh, the tentacles are on its face. It has the normal two arms and legs."

"On its face?"

"Yeah, and if they grab you, you only have a few minutes before it sucks out your brain. But the worst thing about it is—"

"There's something worse than the brain-sucking thing?"

"Let him go on, Sandra," Doc said.

"As I was saying," Brax continued, glancing victoriously at Sandra, "the worst thing about it is its Mind Blast. It's like a mental cannon that can knock you out, cause a coma, or even kill you. It's pretty nasty. Oh, and it has other psionic powers as well."

Lisa wasn't entirely convinced that an imaginary monster from a role-playing game could somehow be real here—wherever here was, and assuming, for the moment, that 'here' possessed some kind of reality. She still had not completely abandoned her 'this is just a dream' hypothesis. But she had to admit that, so far, the parallels between this...setting and Brax's games were extraordinary, and it was, unfortunately, all they had to go on.

"So, in a game, how would you defeat one of these?" she asked.

"Long-range missile weapons from behind a thick wall on a sunny day would be best."

"They must have some weaknesses," Lisa insisted.

"Why can't we just have Sims make machine guns or grenades or something?" Sandra said.

It seemed an easy and direct solution, but Lisa knew it would not be that easy.

"Sims, do we have specs on file for the devices Sandra just mentioned?"

"No, Commander," the AI replied. "Also, our stock of the metals most likely required to fabricate such items is low."

"Wait a minute," Sandra said. "I'm confused. Sims has data on a role-playing game from the middle of the twentieth century, but it doesn't have specs for a gun?"

"The crew of a spaceship is expected to play games on long missions," Brax said. "It helps pass the time. They're not expected to shoot each other. They are expected to want to on occasion, though, especially on very long missions. Most companies frown on that, so the omission makes sense."

"Even if we could make weapons, who here knows how to use them—safely, that is?" Lisa said. "I know I don't."

Sandra shook her head. "Me either. I never got into all that kind of stuff. I did take martial arts lessons when I was a kid, though. I was actually pretty good at it, but the only weapons we used were nunchakus and bo sticks, and those were padded. But if this is what Sims said it is, and if it's like the thing in Brax's game, it does have one weakness we know about."

"What's that?"

"One of the orcs I overheard implied that their brain eater wouldn't come out in daytime. If we go down after it during the day, it probably won't chase us outside if we have to run for it."

"That's right!" Brax said. "They hate light. They live underground. And once you get past the mind blast, a few good fighters can take one down."

"Is that how you did it in your game?" Lisa asked.

"Kind of. A bunch of us went into its lair, and those who saved against the psionic blast eventually beat it. A couple guys died, but fortunately we found a Raise Dead scroll in the treasure heap—"

"I really don't think we should count on something like that in this case."

"No, probably not," he agreed. "I suppose we need a more tactful approach. That's not really my strong point."

Doc cleared his throat for attention. "I may have an idea, but I'll need a couple of hours and a look around the medical bay to make sure of a few things."

"I think we all need to think about this a while," Lisa said. "Let's break for now. And Doc, I'm coming with you. You're going to tell me what you suspect."

### ~Chapter 12~

Lisa followed Doc into the medical bay, where one item immediately drew her attention. Doc's 'magical' staff lay on top of the exam table. It was the only thing that appeared out of place in the otherwise neat, orderly room. He must have noticed her looking at it.

"I still haven't found a good spot for that," he said. "Oddly enough, no storage space in here is sized properly for a magical healing staff."

"I can't imagine how the designers could have overlooked that." Lisa closed the folding privacy door behind them. "So, what weren't you saying before?"

"I may be able to develop something to help us against the orcs, but before we talk about that, I think I should share an idea that's been simmering in my mind almost since we arrived. I'm afraid it's going to sound strange."

"What here isn't?"

"So far, not much," he agreed. "But this one is...well, let me start with this. What do you think the medical analyzer found in Gorbo's blood?"

"I don't know. Something strange, right?"

"No, stranger than that. It found nothing. No DNA, not even blood cells."

"Is that even possible?"

"It shouldn't be. I couldn't believe the test result, so I looked myself using a small optical microscope, and I found the blood cells I expected. I couldn't analyze the DNA manually, of course. The medical bay here is little more than a first aid clinic, but I saw the cells."

"How could you find them if the automated analyzer didn't?"

He leaned against the exam table. "Good question. I asked it myself. The blood and tissue analyzer is far more sensitive than a human eye looking through a glass lens, but I realized that I have one thing it doesn't."

"What's that?" She crossed her arms, wondering why Doc seemed to be belaboring his explanation. He usually came to the point using a more direct route. Whatever idea he was building up to must be either confusingly complex or incredibly odd—or both.

"Expectations. I knew cells must be there, so when I looked, they were."

"Wait a minute. Are you saying they weren't there until you looked?"

He shrugged. "I'm still not sure. First, I assumed the analyzer was malfunctioning, so I tested some of my own blood. It wasn't the machine. It was working fine."

"That's, well, like you said—strange."

"It gets stranger. When I put that sample of Gorbo's blood back in the analyzer, it found the cells, but with a fresh sample of the same blood, it found nothing."

"So are the cells there or aren't they?"

"It depends on who's looking, apparently."

She stared at him a moment in open-mouthed disbelief. "Okay, I know you well enough to know you're not taking any exotic medications, in fact, I don't think you even drink."

He shook his head. "I don't. I never developed a taste for the stuff."

"And this isn't a joke. You're serious." Lisa felt he must be. She knew Doc could joke, but not about something like this.

"I'm afraid so."

"But how can that happen? Either they're there or they're not. It shouldn't depend on who's looking."

"I can't call what I have an explanation. It's more of a working hypothesis—although I'm sure it needs more work."

That was more like a typical Doc joke. A subtle, self-deprecating play on words, unlike something Brax might say. The pilot's sense of humor was more of the whoopee-cushion and banana-peel sort.

"Let's hear what you have," she said. "I don't care how ridiculous it sounds, I promise not to laugh."

She hadn't found much funny since they had left the station. Annoying, disturbing, confusing, all those made it onto her emotional list, but funny had been sadly lacking.

He smiled and picked up the staff from the table, examining it briefly before laying it back where it was. "Consider reality," he began, as if giving a lecture to undergraduates. "Once you get past a certain amount of quantum strangeness, the universe, at least our universe, has an objective reality, or at least it seems to. Things are what they are, regardless of what the people observing them expect to find. As evidence of this, the history of science is full of discoveries that came as complete surprises to the people who made them. Often what they expected to see was not what they found. But we have to bear in mind that a scientific approach—the attempt to lay aside preconceptions and rely only on observable evidence—is a relatively new idea. It didn't really take hold until after the fifteenth century. Until then, even the most intelligent and educated people tended to start with their beliefs, or at best with philosophical contemplation. Observations were simply to provide examples of principles they believed they already knew, and people would often find very clever ways of making observed reality seem to fit faulty preconceptions. That approach doesn't affect the underlying reality, of course, but it does prevent big, upsetting surprises. I'm not sure scientific surprises are possible here. In this place, much of what passes for reality may be subjective."

"How can reality be subjective?"

"In a purely psychological sense, it is for everyone. What you see, or more accurately, how you interpret what you see, depends considerably on what you expect and what you believe. When a person of today sees a lightning storm, he's seeing a natural and impersonal event. His ancestor of a few thousand years ago may have seen a witch's curse or the judgment of an angry god. Here, it may be a bit more than that. The lightning storm may really be an angry god, if you expect it to be. In our world, reality spurs imagination. Here, imagination may shape reality."

"That's impossible."

"I agree. In our universe, observations should not significantly affect the things being observed, again, barring a bit of quantum weirdness, although this also may be largely a matter of perspective and interpretation. Still, it's not impossible. Any observation creates a situation of interaction between the observers and the observed that can, theoretically, alter the behavior of both if some kind of feedback system exists."

Lisa shook her head. "Sorry, Doc. You're losing me." She liked Doc, but he sometimes seemed to feel the need to delve into detailed explanations where they didn't help much.

"Yes, excuse me. I, too, am finding all of this confusing, and searching for an explanation has forced me to consider unlikely physical and even metaphysical possibilities."

She had taken a couple philosophy classes as an undergrad in which she had learned that metaphysics was the branch of philosophy dealing with the ultimate nature of reality. To her it sounded like highly speculative theoretical physics but without all the bothersome math and testability requirements. She did not doubt that insights could be gained from such musings, but, at best, they provided a direction in which to look, not a confirmed destination.

"What have you come up with?"

"The only conclusion I can draw from all of this mental wandering is that we are no longer in our universe. Somehow, the Brane Skip sent us...elsewhere. This place may not have even existed as anything other than a kind of unrealized potential until we activated the device. But wherever or whatever this place is, it is obviously dependent in some way on our reality. That is the only way to explain why there are people here who speak English, and why it includes so many things from human stories, like orcs and dragons. It must be a world shaped by human imagination, but here imagination somehow takes a physical form."

The fact that she seriously considered his idea said a lot about how much she trusted his opinion and how lost she was for something that might sound more reasonable.

"I think I understand what you're saying. It's the ultimate 'what you see is what you get' in a way. I'm still more than skeptical about the physics, but then I'm an engineer, not a theoretical physicist. To be honest, I was never comfortable with the Brane Skip thing either. To me, it's almost as ridiculous as the things going on in this place." She knew she was allowing herself to vent her frustrations again. It wouldn't help. She had to focus, try to understand what was going on, and find a way home. She had a responsibility. "But if this place is what it is because of our expectations, why didn't the analyzer find cells in Gorbo's blood? You certainly expected them to be there, so they should have been, right?"

"My best guess is that Gorbo's blood cells weren't there because they weren't needed for the original story."

"What story?"

"The one we're in."

"We're in a story?"

"I think so. A scenario, anyway. But it's not my story, so it's not written from my point of view."

"Whose story is it?" she said, realizing as soon as she did that she already knew. "Brax!"

"That's my guess, too. Remember what we were talking about in the ship just before we engaged the Brane Skip?"

"Yeah, Brax's silly role-playing games...." Her fists balled involuntarily. "I'm going to kill him."

"It's not his fault...well, maybe it is, but it's not what he intended. This place is not based on history. It's based on fiction, specifically, I think, fiction with which Brax is familiar. You noticed yourself how the people here do not speak like people from the Middle Ages. It goes further than that. They use words that did not exist in any historical period. Milton once mentioned that magical spells detected thaumic resonances, but 'thaumic' is a word from fiction, specifically Terry Pratchett's Discworld stories. Milton also said that the items he brought to us have dweomers, but that word also appears only in fictional stories and games. Brax would be familiar with their meanings, but no historical character would. That's why I ordered the screen off when it brought up data about the mind flayer. If the story is based on what we know, it could make things worse to learn more."

"You think the thing will only be able to do what he already thinks it's able to do, and that if he doesn't know it, then it can't, even if it's in the rulebook for his game." She thought about what she just said and it sounded confusing even to her, but she was sure Doc understood what she meant.

"Something like that. Again, I'm not sure. I don't know if I'm right about any of this, but it makes sense to me.... I suppose I should say instead that I think it holds up logically given some underlying assumptions. I admit that it doesn't make much sense without those assumptions."

If all the things Doc said were true, Lisa thought she might have a simple solution. "So, if this is all somehow based on something Brax dreamed up, can't we just tell him it's not real? Once he understands that, won't it, well, stop manifesting?"

"We can try that, in fact, I think we should, but I doubt it will work. This isn't a dream. It's more like a story in the process of being written, or an improvisational play being acted out. What happens depends on what those actors do, but the setting and characters are already established. If this universe or dimension, whatever applies, is like a quantum foam of pure potential, the wave function has already collapsed. It's as real as reality gets here. I think the only way out is the way we came in, reengage the Brane Skip device and hope it brings us home."

"And the only way to do that is to get some palladium to fix the thing, which means we'll have to play out our roles as fantasy heroes in this stupid story."

"Yes, but I think one other thing is important, too. If this is Brax's story, then what he knows to be true must be true. He knows that planets are spheres and that they orbit stars, for example. That is why we saw exactly that when we first skipped here. It was so much like Earth that we thought it was at first. When I was talking to the natives, I discovered that they don't know much about planets or stars. Most of them think that their world is flat and that the sun goes around it—if they think about it at all. Brax's knowledge trumps their belief, so the world is round."

"But how can magic work here? I'm sure he doesn't believe in magic, not in the sense that it's real. Well, pretty sure, anyway."

"That puzzled me too, but I think the fact that magic isn't real is what allows it."

There was no way to hide the confusion on Lisa's face and she didn't try to.

Doc nodded. "Let me try to explain. The only rules for magic that Brax knows about are those that pertain to stories and games, so those are the only rules that can apply here. There is nothing to trump them. Even here in a fantasy universe, reality has to work. That realization is what gave me an idea for how we might get past the orcs."

"By using magic?"

"By not using magic. By using something that we know works in reality and therefore can't be countered by magic."

"What's that?"

He pointed to the medical bay's storage locker. "Using the supplies here, I may be able to create a synthetic opioid analgesic with a rapid onset and short duration, which I know would work on any air-breathing mammal."

"Say again?"

"I suppose you could call it knockout gas. It acts quickly, but it will disperse quickly too, outside, that is. The effect should be quite potent in caves and tunnels. It may help us. We just have to make sure that Brax knows that it will work. In our universe, it certainly would."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Unfortunately, yes. If inhaled in large amounts or for prolonged periods, it can be fatal. We will need to handle it carefully and wear breather masks."

"We have those in the emergency gear. Every ship does in case the environmental systems fail."

"If you think it's something you would like to pursue, I'll start work on designing something we can produce."

Her mind was already trying to formulate ideas on how they might use Doc's knockout gas.

"Oh, yes. Do that. I'm going to talk with the others and tell them your idea. Join us as soon as you can. They may have questions."

She knew she still did, but at least she had something to base a plan on now.

~*~

Lisa went straight to the galley, which had become the unofficial gathering place for the crew when they were not otherwise occupied. This was most often the case recently. They had little to do. The sensors couldn't provide more data than they had already collected. Communication with the space station—or anywhere else in their universe for that matter—was impossible. And Sims required no assistance from them to keep the ship shipshape, even with the drones preforming additional duties such as laundry, water carrying, and the occasional discouragement of overcurious natives looking for a Peacekeeper souvenir—or perhaps a holy relic. She really didn't know how the locals saw them or what motivated a small few of them to approach the ship, but she had instructed the ship's AI to keep them away, which it did by sending out the drones. One sight of an insect-like robot heading toward a townsman went a long way toward encouraging him to recall somewhere else he urgently needed to be.

When she got to the galley, she found Brax and Sandra at the table sipping coffee. They were also apparently in the middle of a philosophical sparring match over the nature of games.

"Hi, Commander," Brax said, interrupting the point he was trying to make with Sandra.

"Our pilot is obsessed," Sandra said with an eye-rolling grin. "I don't think we should let him fly anymore."

"It's a hobby, okay?" he said defensively. "A lot of people take their hobbies seriously."

"And a lot of them are crazy, too. A hobby is a pastime to take your mind off serious things. If you take the pastime seriously, what's the point?"

"To do well at it, of course. And besides, I enjoy it. It's almost like a competitive sport."

"Which is another thing I never really saw the point in," she countered. "But it sounds to me like your distinction between reality and fantasy has gotten a bit blurred."

"Here, it may be blurred even more than you might think," Lisa interjected. "I was just talking with Doc, and he thinks the physical reality of this world is shaped by human imagination."

They listened attentively while she related the things Doc told her.

"That's pretty much it," she concluded. "What do you think?"

Sandra glared at Brax. "You mean all of this nonsense is because of him? We're in one of his stupid fantasies?" She pointed a finger like a dagger. "You idiot! Why couldn't you have been a pinochle fan?"

"Hey, don't look at me. I didn't ask to be here. In fact, if this has anything to do with me, I'm the victim. Something got into my mind and used my memories." He grinned. "I feel so violated." His mocking voice showed just how serious he was.

"I'll violate you, you overgrown adolescent." She threatened him with the closest weapon available, which was a plastic spoon.

He waggled his eyebrows. "Is that a promise?"

Lisa did not know if they were flirting or just being childish, but this was not the time for either. She found her role as the commander of this mission difficult enough to handle without adding babysitting duties.

"Cut it out, you two," she said. "This is not a game!"

"You just said it is...sort of," Brax reminded her.

"If it is, it's not a very good one. I know I'm ready to go home," Sandra added.

"I said cut it out! Whatever it is, we have to deal with it, and I need your help."

They had the decency, or at least the wisdom, to offer apologetic looks. "Sorry," they mumbled more or less in unison.

Lisa heard a sound behind her and turned to see Doc coming in.

"Hi, Doc," Sandra said, her look of remorse instantly vanishing. "Commander Chang was just telling us about your theory."

He went to the coffee dispenser and poured himself a cup. "That may be giving it more credit than it deserves. It's more of a hypothesis," he said.

"If you say so, but it almost makes sense, especially the part where it's all Brax's fault."

"Don't be too hard on him," Doc said, taking a seat. "Things could have been much worse. If reality here gets its template from imagination, we could have ended up in far less hospitable places—like crashed on a plague infested planet or spiraling into a black hole."

"Or facing down a Klingon Bird of Prey or the Star Wars Death Star," Brax added.

"Is something like that even possible?" Sandra said.

"You mean less possible than dragons and orcs?" Lisa asked.

"Good point. Consider the question withdrawn."

"I think the things Brax mentioned could manifest themselves here," Doc said. "Any sufficiently comprehensive fictional setting may be able to. If it's logically consistent and can feel _real_ , the fantasy might have the ability to take physical form."

"So anything is possible?" Sandra said.

"Not quite. I would hazard a speculation that the possibility of human interaction with the setting must exist, otherwise there is no story potential. This means that only places that provide a reasonably hospitable environment for people are likely to manifest. Unfortunately, this does not mean the settings are benign. They may be quite dangerous. In fact, if these are based on human fiction, then some potential for hazard or conflict is essential."

"Why is that?" Sandra asked. "People fantasize about, well, a lot of things. Couldn't we end up on a cruise ship or beach resort just as easily as someplace with rampaging orcs?"

"My guess is that it must present a challenge for the human characters, because these are elements essential to stories and games."

"Yeah, where's the point in a cruise ship without spies or an iceberg?" Brax said.

"You're aptitude for romance never ceases to amaze me," Sandra said.

"Your point, I think," Doc said in all seriousness, "is that romance stories, in which the fantasy essentially involves a heroine establishing a committed relationship with a rich young man, are popular. The key issue, however, is that the common setting for such tales is our reality. I presume that in order for a new universe to manifest, it must have a fundamental factor that distinguishes the fantasy world from our reality, something inherent that it has that ours doesn't, or possibly vice versa."

"Besides, romance stories are boring," Brax said. "It's just normal people doing normal stuff. Where's the fun in that?"

"Personally, I think a rich young man has far more fun potential than rampaging orcs, but I see what Doc is saying. A fantasy set in our reality can't make a different reality because it wouldn't be, well, different, right?"

"That is essentially what I am proposing."

"So..." Sandra said. "The reason all the other tests of the BS device found nothing when they skipped, other than gray haze, was because they had no one on board with an imagination?"

Doc nodded. "That's my presumption for now. This...place exists, but it takes a creative mind, or at least some ability to suspend disbelief, to give it a specific form. Whether it gets its entire template from the people crossing over from our universe, or if skipping opens some kind of conduit connecting the two, I don't know. Both may be possible, but I'm leaning toward the second idea because it could also help explain why magic is in decline here."

"How so?" Sandra asked.

"People in our universe are not as credulous as they once were. They still enjoy fantasy stories, and they identify with the characters and their fictional exploits as much as their ancestors did. Those parts of the stories still can feel real to them. But few people regard magic as something that can actually happen. If the minds of people in our universe structure the nature of this one, then the strength of their beliefs may come into play. Magic may be weaker here because few people in our universe see it as something that could really exist."

"I've been thinking about this," Lisa said, "and if we accept Doc's hypothesis, we may have an advantage. We know how fantasy adventure stories are structured; at least I'm sure Brax does. He's obviously more than familiar with them. There must be commonalities between them, so he can help us figure out the types of situations we are likely to encounter and what we need to do to prepare for them."

Brax shook his head. "I'm not sure how much I can help with that. They're all different. I mean, other than what Doc already said about there being a challenge you have to overcome, they vary a lot."

"And our challenge here is pretty obvious," Sandra said. "We need to beat the orcs by overcoming the mind flayer that's commanding them. But it still seems to be a pretty lame story. I mean, where's the character development for the bad guys?"

"You don't get much for the bad guys in a lot of them. They're just presumed evil because that's all you need to know. They're really only there for you to have something to fight."

"That's what I mean. Heroes fighting bad guys is not much of a story."

"It may not be very good, but it seems we're stuck in it." Lisa said. "But Doc also has an idea of how to beat them." She looked at the ship's doctor. "Do we have what we need for your sleeping gas?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Yes. I still need to work on an idea for how we can deploy it, but I can synthesize the chemicals we will need with the supplies and equipment we have on board."

He went on to describe in some detail the nature of the gas, focusing his narrative on how it was both simple and effective. Lisa assumed he did so to ensure that everyone here, especially Brax, retained no doubts about its ability to overcome their opponents.

"Well, that sounds like it will work," Brax said to her relief.

"And it has the advantage of overpowering a large number of them without us having to actually fight," Lisa said. "Now, we just need a way to get it to them."

"When Doc was describing his gas, I started to get an idea about that," Brax said. "What we could do is..."

They continued talking late into the night. When they finally retired to their sleeping cubicles, Lisa was exhausted both mentally and emotionally, but they had a plan.

### ~Chapter 13~

Milton looked up from his breakfast with Mari and Gorbo when the front door of his magic shop opened. He was still swallowing his last sip of hot, sweet tea when Mari smiled and greeted their visitors.

"Brax, Doc, welcome. It's nice to see you again. Would you like some tea and croissants? Gorbo made them."

The two adventurers still wore their odd, one-piece blue uniforms with multiple pockets and colorful patches. Brax had the sword Milton brought him strapped around his waist, and Doc carried his magical healing staff. Milton took this as a sign that they appreciated them, despite the less than enthusiastic reception they had initially received. Judging from the intense scrutiny to which the Peacekeepers had subjected the items, he had wondered if they thought them of little value. Commander Chang especially had seemed dismissive of them.

"I would," Brax said eagerly. "Are they as good as his butter cookies?"

"Butter cookies are sweet. Croissants are flaky. It's a different kind of good," the orc explained.

"They're good," Mari said, giving the orc an affectionate pat on his broad shoulder. Milton knew she thought of him as something between a child and a pet. They both did. "There are more in the kitchen. I'll go get them and a couple more cups."

She got up to leave, but Milton stopped her. She had already been here over an hour.

"Mari, shouldn't you be getting home? You know how your father gets, and I don't want you to get into trouble."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "That's sweet, but he probably doesn't even know I'm gone. I can stay a bit longer."

Milton smiled wistfully as he watched her walk away. He knew he stood no chance. Her father would never allow such a match. But, for now, and until her future husband forbad it, they could be friends. Once she was married, she could not have a male friend who wasn't either a close relative or extremely elderly. It would be unseemly. People would talk, and even if she wanted to continue their friendship, he would have to refuse her. He could not allow her be subjected to their whispers and innuendos, not to mention the beatings she would likely get from her husband.

"Something wrong?" Doc asked him.

The question brought him back from his self-involved thoughts of being a martyr for love.

He sighed. "No, well, nothing anyone can do anything about. It's just that Mari's father doesn't like her coming here. And she may be right about him not noticing she's gone. A lot of people were up late last night, fearing the orcs might attack again. Your magic lights must have kept them away. They are quite impressive."

"They should help for a while," Brax said as they took seats at the table.

"The reason we've come," Doc said, "is that we think we may have identified the creature controlling the orcs. It is something called a mind flayer. Are you familiar with them?"

Milton was...in a vague academic sense. "I've never seen one, but I have heard of them. I could look it up in the bestiary, if you'd like." He would need to if they wanted him to tell them anything about it. "I have a copy in the back. I'll get it." He immediately rose to do so.

"No, that's not necessary," Doc said quickly.

Milton settled back into his chair. "Of course. You must have your own books—and the invisible Mr. Sims. Is he some kind of demon?"

Doc looked at Brax. "I think you should handle this one."

Brax seemed to think about it a moment before responding. "The closest spell I can think of that you might be familiar with would be Unseen Servant, although Sims is not exactly like one. It's more of a librarian than a thing that can wash your dishes." He paused a moment, taking in Milton's bemused expression. "Does that help?"

Milton knew about Unseen Servants. He had even managed to cast one once. They were vaporous, vaguely humanoid condensations of magical force that were supposed to be able to do routine chores, although his had dissipated after only a few minutes. It didn't seem very similar to the thing he had heard on the ship, though. If this was the closest common spell to Sims, these people possessed a very strange kind of magic.

"A little, maybe," he said, "but I've never heard of magic like you have. It's much different from the kind I know about. Where do you come from?"

Doc and Brax exchanged bemused looks. "It's difficult to explain," Doc finally said. "We're from somewhere entirely different that may not be far away."

Milton expected enigmatic answers. Any practitioner of the mystical arts needed to be expert at them. You couldn't just tell a customer that a simple concoction of willow bark, for example, would ease their headache. You had to dress it up, mumble a few magical words, and obfuscate the whole thing. For some inexplicable reason, this seemed to make it work better. But the answer Doc provided sparked a memory, which related to a personal recurring question.

"Are you from the Source of Magic?" he asked.

"The what?" Brax said, clearly bewildered.

"Maybe you know it by another name. The ancient philosopher of magic Aripostal wrote that our world began as a tiny rip in another world through which magical particles, which he called magicons, leaked. I've been wondering if this might explain why magic seems to be changing, that perhaps there is something different about the quantity or nature of the magicon flow."

"I'd rather not speculate on that," Doc said, although his face suggested he was giving it some thought.

"I understand," Milton said. "Commander Chang is probably the person I should ask..." This reminded him of something else, and with the commander not here, he would probably never have a better time to ask. "I've been wondering; is Commander Chang, well is she...?"

"What?" Doc asked.

"Is she part elfish?" She looked like she might be, and it could partly explain her strange and exceptional magic.

Brax laughed. "No, she's just short and serious."

"Please don't tell her I asked. It's just that she looks a bit...and her magic...and she looks younger than I know she must be."

"We won't say a word," Brax said, still chuckling.

Milton did not know why the Peacekeeper fighter found his mistake so amusing. Other people must have noticed the resemblance.

"You were telling us about a theory of magic," Doc reminded him.

"Oh, right. Well, you see, Aripostal called the place from which the magicons originate 'the Source of Magic', and he said that other things, bigger things, might be able to come through."

"Did he say how things might get back?" Brax asked.

"Um, not as I recall. I don't think you can get there from here. He spoke of the flow going only one way."

"I hope he's wrong about that."

"So you are from there?"

Brax shrugged. "Well, we're not from here, but I suppose it's possible that here somehow comes from there, if you see what I mean."

Milton pondered yet another enigmatic answer as Mari returned with the croissants and cups. She placed a plate in front of each of his guests.

"Anyway, about the mind flayer," Doc said. "We're working on plan to overcome it, but we need a couple of things from you to make it work."

"I'll do my best to help," he agreed readily. "What do you need? I'll see if I can get it."

"Do you think you can obtain some jars, bottles, or pots that seal tightly but are likely to break if dropped from the height of, oh, about four men?"

Milton thought his fire-pots would be just the thing. "Why, yes. I think I have exactly what you're looking for."

He turned to Gorbo. "Fetch a fire pot from the storeroom, please—an empty one."

The orc rose to follow his instructions and returned promptly, holding one of the terracotta clay orbs.

"Will this do?" Milton asked, handing it to Doc.

The Peacekeeper cleric ran a finger along one of the grooves.

"This looks like it was intended to be broken."

"It was. I designed them myself for use in the catapults. With my special formula inside and a lighted wick, they are effective firebombs."

"How many of these do you have?"

"A couple hundred empty ones."

Technically, they belonged to the city since the royal treasury had paid for them. They represented Milton's largest single financial success, but after paying the potters, his profits had been far from impressive.

"And each has a threaded cap like the one here?"

"Yes. That's how I store them. I replace it with a wick just prior to use. If you do it earlier, they don't work as well."

"I'll need to put some kind of sealant on it to make sure it's airtight, but these should do nicely. How soon can you have them delivered to the ship?"

Milton was gratified that Doc found them acceptable. It made him feel more worthy than he had in a while.

"Pretty soon, I think. The king has told his people to accommodate my requests, within reason, of course."

"As soon as you can, then."

He thought a moment about what he would need to do to have the orbs delivered. "I could probably have them there by noon." He hesitated to ask more, but he wanted to know. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you going to use them for?"

Brax smiled. "We're going to put the orcs to sleep."

"All of them? With these? How?" He had never heard of anything that could do that.

Doc responded. "We'll put a... I suppose you could call it a very strong sleeping potion inside. It will work, there is no doubt about that, but it won't last long outside. It should be more effective in the caves. But this brings me to the other thing we need from you."

"What's that?"

"Troops, or at least people who can rush in and tie the orcs who have succumbed to the potion. They have to be quick, because, like I said, the effect outside does not last long. The larger orcs may begin to recover in less than half an hour."

"Why not just have the men kill them? That would be quicker." He didn't like the idea especially, but if they were pressed for time, it seemed to make more sense.

Doc lowered his head and spoke over raised eyebrows. "Milton! I'm surprised you would suggest such a thing. Killing a defenseless opponent would be inhumane. You said yourself that orcs are little trouble other than when some misguided leader is causing them to go astray. You of all people should know this. Gorbo is all right, isn't he? I must insist that your men not harm the orcs they find who are not an immediate threat. They will tie and restrain them, but that is all."

"Um, I'll make sure the soldiers know of your wishes."

The Peacekeeper cleric's admonition embarrassed him, but he was glad for it. He did not want to see the orcs harmed either, if it could be avoided. Doc was right. The mind flayer posed the real threat. The orcs were only tools.

"Good," Mari said. "I can't say I'm terribly fond of orcs, except Gorbo, of course." She patted the orc's hand. "But I wouldn't want to think Milton was responsible for killing them. That's just wrong."

"It pleases me to hear you say that," Doc said to her.

"I mean, I know what people say about them, but they're not all evil. They can't be. Gorbo's not. Of course, he's the only one I know. I suppose all the rest could be, but I don't see how that would make sense."

"That is well considered. You are obviously a very thoughtful young lady." Doc said.

"I'll make sure the men who are going know you will be angry if they disobey," Milton said. "That should be enough. Once they see all the orcs down from your spells, they'll know not to cross you."

"Yes, well, if that is what it takes, it will have to do. There is one more thing I should mention. The troops should wear scarves or some kind of cloth over their noses and mouths before going into the orc camp. "

"Why is that?"

"Brax, I think you'd better explain," Doc said.

"Sure, Doc," Brax agreed, turning to address Milton. "It's just that the effect of the potion lingers for a while. Um, covering your mouth and nose disguises you from the magic so it's not as likely to affect you."

"I've never..., well, you know. But I'll make sure they know and are prepared. When should they be there?"

"If you can get those pots to the ship in the next few hours," Doc replied, "I think we can be ready by tomorrow morning. When you see the signal, have your men rush in. Make sure they have an ample supply of rope and that they work as quickly as they can. We'll be there, but you may not see us. You will see the ship, though. The plan calls for moving it."

"What's the signal?"

Doc turned to Brax. "Back to you, I think."

"We'll cast a Spark Shower spell, a red one."

"Ah, yes. That's one I know."

~*~

Four humans and an orc, daintily nibbling a fresh and lightly buttered croissant, looked up in alarm when the front door flew open and a middle-aged, slightly overweight man with flushed cheeks huffed in. Milton recognized him immediately. It was Ludd, Mari's father, and he wasn't here to share a light breakfast with his daughter.

His heated eyes locked on Mari. "I thought I'd find you here!" he bellowed. "I've told you a hundred times you are not to spend time with this...this..." He pointed at Milton. "...this spell-mumbling page-turner."

"Yes, father," she said humbly, rising from her chair with her head bowed.

Her humility did not placate him as much as she undoubtedly hoped. His rant was far from over.

"And with his pet orc and two irresponsible adventurers to boot," he continued, red-faced and full of outrage. "Have you no shame? You are more than pretty enough to attract a man of substance, a man with property and money. To waste yourself on this snot-nosed boy is not only disrespectful of my expressed wishes, it is irresponsible to your family. We gave you life. We fed you, gave you clothes, and for what? So you could run off and not repay what you owe? That is not what good children do." He strode over and grabbed her arm. "You are coming home right now, young lady, and you will not come back here ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

Gorbo growled softly, but Milton restrained him with a look and a word before he could do anything more aggressive. The orc reluctantly complied, but his strained expression and bared teeth proved that it took all of the self-control he possessed to do so.

It looked like Brax, too, was about to intervene because he rose from his chair, although he left his magic sword in its scabbard. Doc stopped him with a shake of his head and a few quiet words about not interfering. He was right to do so. Ludd was Mari's father and the head of their family. By law and custom, his wishes dictated what those under his roof could and could not do.

"He's right, Brax," Milton said reluctantly. "Ludd is within his rights to forbid Mari from coming here."

"See!" Mari's father said. "Even your poor little magic user knows that much."

He half dragged his daughter outside, slamming the door behind him.

"What was that all about?" Brax said. "He was almost treating his daughter like property."

Milton again wondered where these people came from. Mari wasn't Ludd's property—exactly—but she was his daughter. He was responsible for her, and she, conversely, was obligated to him. That was how things worked.

Doc placed a consoling hand on Milton's slumped shoulder. "I take it that you are not happy about your seemingly poor prospects with that young lady."

Milton lowered his head. "No, but she deserves more than I can give her. At one time magic was a respected profession. It was miraculous, once. Magicians could literally make castles in the air, or so the stories say. Now, the spells often fail, and most people see magic mainly as the academic pursuit of trivia. No one comes to us much anymore. My last job was to fix a set of broken dishes." He lifted his head and presented a weak smile. "They did come out well, though. You couldn't even see the cracks."

"But you're on special assignment for the king," Brax protested. "Doesn't that give you some status?"

Milton shook his head. "No, at least not with people like Ludd. He measures status in gold pieces, as most people do, and the king doesn't have to pay for services. It's our duty as citizens to obey his orders. If we do well, he may grant a boon, but it's not guaranteed. Ludd wants Mari to marry someone with a steady income, and I can understand that."

"But what about your master—Ferman? I got the impression he was pretty well off."

"He has a meager stipend from the king for past services, but he's far from wealthy. Magic just doesn't pay the way it used to."

"So why don't you go into another profession?" Brax asked.

"It's not that easy. My father was a tinsmith. He was good at it because he had an artistic flare that I simply don't. Maybe I just didn't see it as important. I don't know. But magic and the mysteries of natural philosophy have always fascinated me. I thought that with these I might be able to do something important, something that might help people. So I read all I could get hold of, and when my father died, I used part of my inheritance to pay Ferman to take me on as an apprentice. I have some talent for magic, he says, but magic just isn't as reliable as the stories say it is. Even Ferman's spells often fail, and the truth is, no one really understands why it works when it does.

"That was where I thought I might be of the most use. I wanted to understand magic. I wanted to become, well, I guess you could call it a theoretical magician. If I could come up with a theory that explained magic, we could understand how and why it worked, but it doesn't seem to follow any clear rules. It's almost arbitrary. Take a simple mending spell, for example. If you place the broken item between two lodestones, spin them, and recite the appropriate words while holding the broken pieces together, they will rejoin. But sometimes they don't, even though the spell is the same each time. And even when they do, no one understands why. I want to know why."

Doc gave him a sympathetic smile. "It sounds to me as if you want to make a difference. You want to improve the world."

"Yes, that's it exactly. And making tin candleholders and pitchers, or whatever, doesn't do that. I knew magic wouldn't make me rich, but I thought it was important."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't restrict yourself so much."

"What do you mean?"

"Rather than just trying to understand why magic works, maybe you should try to understand how _everything_ works. Non-magical things are important, too."

"Mundane things? But everyone already understands those."

"Do they? I think you'll find they don't, or not as well as they might. And understanding them better can help you use them better." He paused a moment in thought, as if debating if he should say more. "You've seen our ship. What do you think about it?"

"It's an amazing use of magic. For some reason, adventurers' magic seems to work better than ours tends to. I don't know why that is, but I'd like to."

"It's not magical," Doc said. "Nothing about the ship is magical. It's simply using natural things in clever ways."

"But that's impossible. It flies! Only magic can accomplish that."

"Birds do it all the time, Milton. Rocks do it—if you throw them. Flying isn't easy, but it's not impossible. All sorts of amazing things are possible, but it takes knowledge and understanding to make them happen."

"Not magic?"

"No magic at all," Doc said, "unless you count the magic of imagination. A great number of very imaginative and creative people worked on that ship and all the technology behind it. I certainly don't understand all of it, but I do understand that it is understandable. It's not magic."

Milton found this almost inconceivable. No, that wasn't quite right. It was _definitely_ inconceivable. Doc was undoubtedly just trying to make him feel better, knowing that Milton could never hope to match the magical skills of someone like Commander Chang. He appreciated the effort, and perhaps Doc did have a point about learning more about how mundane things worked. He would have to consider that.

"Doc," Brax said. "We have to get back to the ship and Milton needs to take care of those things we talked about. Commander Chang will get snippy with us if we take too long."

"In a minute," Doc said.

"Milton, here's my advice. Look to see what your people need, and see if you can find ways to help provide them. We have a saying where I come from. 'Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door.'"

"Mousetrap?"

"It's just a metaphor, and not really as simple as it sounds, but it's where you should start. Find something you can make better. You don't need to base your solution on magic. In fact, it's probably better if you don't, given what you said about its erratic nature. I think you'll find that you'll learn the answers to questions you never asked and that those answers will prompt even more questions, which is, oddly, a very good thing."

~*~

Lisa waited by the airlock with her arms crossed while Brax and Doc went through decontamination. The procedure took no more time than usual, but it felt like it did. She was anxious to hear their report.

"Any problems?" she asked when the door finally opened. "You were gone longer than I expected."

"No, no problems," Doc said. "Milton said he could get us what we need. He has something of a personal issue, though. I'm going to talk with Sims to see if there is something we can do to help him."

"A personal problem? Like a doctor/patient kind of thing?"

"More of a boy/girl kind of thing," Brax said.

"And you're going to help him? You mean counseling? I didn't know you were a psychiatrist as well as an MD."

"I'm not, but I think what he really needs is a nudge in the right direction to get him thinking. They all do. I'm just going to try to provide that."

He turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait a minute. You haven't given me any details. What about the jars or whatever and the people to tie the orcs?"

"Milton has some clay pots that are suitable for what we need. He said he could have them here in the next couple of hours. He also said he was sure he could arrange for troops. That's essentially it. Other than that, we just visited."

"And had tea and croissants," Brax added.

"Don't tell me. The orc made them, right?"

"Yeah. They were good, too."

"And you didn't bring any back for the rest of us?" Sandra said, approaching from the direction of the galley.

Brax smiled. "We were being considerate. I know how much women worry about their figures."

Sandra slapped him on the arm hard enough to make him wince. "You're a Neanderthal. You know that, right?"

"I think it's time for me to make a tactical withdrawal," Doc said, inching down the corridor. "Call me when Milton gets here with the pots."

"Don't you mean tactful?" Lisa asked him.

"That, too."

### ~Chapter 14~

Straw-lined wicker baskets filled with Doc's gas bombs sat waiting near the outer cargo bay door. Lisa didn't need to check them, but she did, mainly to reassure herself that they were ready. Milton had delivered just over two hundred clay pots the day before, and Doc had worked with Sims well into the night, filling them with his knockout formula and sealing them in preparation for this morning's _mission_. He assured her that contact with the air would create a cloud of anesthetizing gas, and she had no cause to doubt him. During the mission, Sims would control their release using the three maintenance drone robots. It would be safer that way. The airtight doors at both sides allowed the bay to function as a massive airlock, and they would seal the interior door before they took off so that even if one of the clay pots broke, the gas would not penetrate the rest of the ship.

The mission.... That's how she thought of it, but it certainly wasn't the one she had signed on for. She had never imagined she would be on a mission like this. She was an engineer, not a soldier. None of them was. The most martially inclined among them was Brax, and all of his experience came from imaginary battlefields, which, she must admit, was a far safer and saner way to achieve it, but she doubted his games were much like the real thing. They wouldn't be fun if they were.

She glanced at the three multi-legged robots standing motionless and ready, like giant worker ants at a picnic patiently waiting for a crumb to drop. She suspected they were almost as old as the ship, and their design stressed functionality over any kind of esthetic appeal. In short, they were ugly, unlike the robots with which she was more familiar, those intended to serve or work closely with humans. These served the ship, and the ship did not care about their appearance.

A footstep echoed in the otherwise empty area.

"Surveying the ship before the battle, Commander?" Doc said, approaching her.

She turned. Doc, like the rest of them, now wore one of the mottled gray camouflage outfits that Sims had made for them last night from a pattern Brax found in the data banks. She didn't know if they would help, but they couldn't hurt, and she did feel less conspicuous in it than in her sky-blue jumpsuit.

"Like Lord Nelson before Trafalgar? Yeah, I suppose it's a tradition. I understand now why they did it. You want to reassure yourself that you're as ready as you can be."

"I think we are, and we have an advantage Nelson did not have. We can withdraw if the first part of the plan fails."

"You mean using the gas bombs to knock out the orcs. I thought you said it couldn't fail."

"In our world it couldn't. Here...?" He shrugged. "If orcs are mammals, which they certainly appear to be, the gas should work. As far as I know, it has to, but there is much about this place we still do not know."

That was disturbingly true, but if they succeeded, and if King Genrex could deliver the palladium that he promised them, then they could at least attempt to get away from it and back to reality. They had collected more than enough data to keep the theorists back home busy for years. Perhaps they would be able to come up with something to explain this place.

She looked around the largely empty cargo bay. The walls, floor, and high ceiling were a uniformly gray metallic composite scuffed from years of use as a cargo carrier.

"I can't help thinking there is something we're missing, something we've forgotten."

"There may be," he said, which was not the assurance for which she hoped. "But I think we can do this."

"Why? Because this is a story, and the good guys always win?"

Doc chuckled through his nose. "Well, that too, but I was thinking more about what Brax said about the mind flayer's most dangerous ability. He said it was magical, not physical, and we—you especially—seem to have an immunity to magic."

"I simply have a strong aversion to bullshit, and this place seems to be made of the stuff...and a lot of other kinds," she added, recalling the condition of the city streets. She stared at one of the bomb-filled baskets for a moment. "I can't believe people find this kind of thing entertaining. All this conflict and juvenile—"

"Commander," interrupted the voice of Sims over the speakers in the cargo bay. "A number of natives are approaching the ship. Milton is with them."

"Good," she said. "Let's get this done and get out of here."

Doc smiled. "I'll grab my magic staff and meet you outside."

~*~

Lisa made her way down the ramp and saw Sandra talking with Milton at the end of it. The _Brane Child's_ communications officer was wearing her invisibility cloak draped over her shoulders, unclasped and with the hood down, which, according to what Milton had told them, meant the 'magic' was not turned on. Brax was there, too, with his magic sword at his waist. The large man standing next to Milton also wore a sword. Lisa recognized his face as one of the men in the king's reception hall four days ago when she had laughed off a presumably powerful magical attack by one of their most accomplished wizards. He must be the commander of the hundred or so men maintaining a respectful distance behind him. The ship blocked the rays of the rising sun, casting a long shadow over them, but she saw that they also were armed, and most wore outfits more or less alike including red jackets and bullet-shaped helmets. They must be soldiers. The scene looked like something out of a movie, but it felt real enough, and she, apparently, still had a role to play.

She strode up to Milton, trying to get into the character of the powerful sorceress she was supposed to be. The apprentice magician appeared nervous, but Lisa didn't think this was because of her. He mumbled a respectful greeting, which, she thought, included just a touch of awe before introducing the man next to him.

"Commander Chang, may I present General Sevritas, commander of His Majesty's army." Milton turned his head to the man and offered a matching introduction. "General Sevritas, this is Commander Chang, leader of the adventuring group Peacekeepers and proven master of counter-magic."

The officer replied with a slight dip of his head. "Commander, Milton has advised us of our part in your plan, but it is my duty to suggest that rather than tying the orcs, as the young mage claims you have requested, we simply dispatch them while they are still under the effects of your powerful magic. This is not only for the safety of my men, but it seems to me it would also provide a simple and long lasting solution to our orc problem, which is, after all, what King Genrex has commissioned your group to help us solve."

Lisa could not deny that part of her also considered this a better idea. For one thing, it would take less time to stab an orc than bind one. Also, if they failed in their attempt to subdue the mind flayer, they would still succeed because it would no longer have any orcs to command. Added to this was her persisting belief that none of this was real, which meant that in some way the orcs, the people, and everything else around her were imaginary. But, real or not, the ultimate reason she could not agree with him was that the things she did made her the kind of person she was. It determined how she thought of herself. She did not feel like someone who could condone violence for the sake of expediency, and she did not wish to become such a person. This might be selfish. It might put the soldiers at risk for the sake of her self-respect, but she believed that Doc's knockout gas made the risk minimal. The orcs, once the gas had had its effect, would essentially already be captives, and ethical people did not harm captives.

She consciously contorted her face into what she hoped would be taken as a sever sneer of resolve. "The orcs will be bound, General. You and your men will not harm those unable to fight effectively. There will be consequences, unpleasant consequences, otherwise. I hope I make myself clear."

General Sevritas nodded, but a sly grin ghosted across his lips as he answered. "I understand. Those that cannot fight won't be killed."

Why the stupid grin? What had she missed?

"It's a side effect of the spell, General," Brax interjected. "It only works if the target is not in peril of his life. It's part of the magic. If your men do intend to harm them, you won't be going into a field of sleeping orcs; you'll be going into one full of large angry ones."

Of course! She had qualified her order. The general would simply kill the orcs and claim afterwards that all had offered resistance.

"And, I might add," Lisa said, "that the spell should be effective on all those in range. I will find it a matter worthy of investigation and my personal attention if you find any who did not succumb to it. And, I assure you, I will find the explanation."

"I see," the officer said. "In that case, I will ensure that my men are so instructed. I have already warned them about the residual effects Milton mentioned, and all will be wearing scarves over their faces. I trust this will be sufficient."

"It should be," Lisa said, hoping this was true. Doc had been uncertain about this aspect of the plan. He said the gas would dissipate quickly outdoors, but he could not be sure of how much would remain in the air when the soldiers arrived on the scene. She glanced behind her and noticed him giving her a barely perceptible nod.

"Good, we're all set then," Brax said. "We'll be lifting off in a few minutes. You and your men should all move away from the ship, General. As soon as we're clear, march toward the orc camp, but don't go in until you see our signal. Milton told you about that, right?"

"He said it would be a shower of sparks in the air," the general said.

"That's right. You should see it not long after we get there. Good luck."

"To you, too. We will do our part, and I look forward to hearing about your success in yours."

~*~

On the way back to the ship, Brax nudged her. "Did you see their uniforms?"

Lisa nodded. "Yes. I assume that means they're soldiers."

"What I mean is—they're red. You know—redshirts. I hope that's not a bad sign."

It took her a minute but she eventually got the reference. Redshirts were expendable crew members from a classic science fiction TV show from the mid-twentieth century, and the motif was extended in games and stories ever since.

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence," she said, although in a fiction-based universe, who could know?

They boarded the ship and went straight to the bridge. Brax, grinning, flung himself into the pilot's seat, obviously enjoying himself. Life really was just a game to him, but he seemed to play it well enough.

Buckles clicked as they strapped themselves in their seats. Brax began flipping switches, and lights danced in response on the control panels.

"Take us up when you're ready, Brax," Lisa said.

"All systems green," he said, checking the readings. "We're good to go."

The background whine of the power systems increased in pitch, and the ship shuddered as the VTOL thrusters lifted them off the ground.

"We're getting a little too much vibration," Brax said. "Automatic adjustments should have it smoothed out in a bit. Nothing to worry about."

"Sims, screen on. Forward display," Lisa said.

The image on the view screen showed them turning gracefully away from the walled city until the ship's nose pointed at the rising sun.

"I'm going to need the main screen, Commander," Brax said.

"Do what you need to," she replied.

Brax lifted his head. "Sims, switch the main screen to a triple split tactical display with situational telltales."

The image changed to something a bit more complicated, but the center image still showed the forward view as before.

"Okay, we're off!" Brax said as the ship moved toward the hills in the near distance where smoke rose into the morning air from at least two dozen campfires. "I'm leaving the landing gear down. If all goes according to plan, we'll be putting down again soon."

"Let's hope it does," Sandra commented softly. "I can't help thinking this place is just some kind of messed up theme park, and I'm ready to leave Fantasyland and get back to Tomorrowland."

"You're a Disney World fan?" Doc asked.

"Yeah, kind of," Sandra said. "My family vacationed there every few years."

Lisa was from Orlando, so she knew what she meant. She also liked the Disney parks. Her favorite was EPCOT, which she had visited several times when she was a student at the Florida Institute of Technology in Melbourne. The regional attraction she liked most was the nearby Kennedy Space Center. It was more of a museum than a park, and certainly not as big or anywhere near as glitzy as the big theme parks in Orlando, but to her, this was where it had all began. If any single place could claim the symbolic title, this was where space had become not just something to look at and wonder about, but a destination.

Within a few minutes, they were at the orcs' camp, and the ship slowed to barely more than a horse's gallop. On the screen, startled orcs gazed up and many ran—most toward the caves, as she expected.

"Sims, open the cargo bay door and prepare for deployment of the spheres," she ordered.

"Acknowledged."

Brax piloted the ship in a wide circle around the camp. This, they hoped, would herd the orcs toward the caves where the gas bombs would be most effective. They also suspected that the orcs' fear of the mind flayer would remain even greater than their fear of the ship, which should cause them to avoid the cave Sandra had identified as the one it occupied. The orcs might see the ship as some kind of large unknown flying predator, a strange kind of dragon, perhaps, but the mind flayer was a known and feared entity to them. But whatever they were thinking, assuming they thought much at all, the orcs were reacting as she and the others suspected they would. The majority were now running toward the caves.

Brax brought the ship nearer to the curving line of hills. Orcs crowded, shoved, and fought, sometimes scrambling over one another to get inside the caves.

"Sims, begin deploying the spheres," Lisa ordered.

"Acknowledged."

The AI and the maintenance drone robots had assisted Doc with the assembly of the gas bombs the day before. Sims was aware of their effects and could adjust their deployment for wind speed, direction, and the number of targets. The screen did not have the proper angle to show the drones shoving the clay pots out the door, but she could see they were falling accurately. The right side of the split screen showed a view of the area just below the starboard side of the ship where bombs flew in rapid succession, breaking on the ground and occasionally on the heads of especially unfortunate orcs. The latter dropped instantly, and the others staggered for a moment before they too fell to the ground.

It took them less than fifteen minutes to saturate the areas in and around all the cave entrances with gas. Lisa had been concerned that some caves might be difficult to locate, but this proved not to be the case because the fleeing orcs showed them where they were by clustering at the openings in their efforts to escape the presumed threat posed by the flying ship.

"There are still a few stragglers at the camp," Brax said. "I'm bringing us around."

He turned the ship back toward the orcs' camp, slowing in spots where they saw orcs so the maintenance drones could target them. Bombs and orcs fell quickly. One small group tried to escape into the woods, but the ship overtook them and dropped more of the pots in their path.

"I think that's it," Brax said after a few more minutes.

Lisa called for confirmation from the AI. "Sims, scan the area around us. Are there any orcs still standing?"

"None are readily visible."

"Okay, good enough. Brax, take us back to the caves and land as close as you can to the one Sandra said the mind flayer was probably in. Try not to squash or fry any of them when you put us down."

"That shouldn't be a big problem. Not too many were trying to get into that cave," Brax said.

"Which I'm thinking supports the idea that their boss is there."

"I know I always try to avoid mine," Brax said. After a brief pause, he qualified his statement. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Just put us down. I need to send the signal for General What's-his-name as soon as possible."

"Sevritas," Doc said.

"Whatever," she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. She had only talked with him briefly, but he made a lousy first impression.

The gentle thud of the landing gear touching the ground told her they were down before she finished saying the word.

"Our kit is by the airlock," Lisa said, unbuckling herself from her seat. "The gas doesn't last long, so let's go." She ran to grab hers with the others behind her.

When she reached the door, she put on one of the breathing masks, making sure it fit properly. The masks were standard equipment. Every ship and station in space carried more than enough for everyone aboard, not unlike lifeboats on ocean-going ships, at least those after 1912 when the Titanic sank. The masks wouldn't keep you alive in open space, but they could save you in the event of a malfunction of the ship's environmental system, at least long enough to try to repair it. Doc assured them that they would be effective against the gas lingering in the caves.

She grabbed one of the smaller coils of rope. Brax would take the longer one. She tucked the rope into the belt holding the flare gun. They had found two of these in the emergency kits. Lisa carried one and the other went to Doc, as they had planned. He shouldn't need it, but it couldn't hurt to carry it. If nothing else, he could use it as a distraction or even as a weapon if things turned out poorly. Each of them would also wear one of the special shoulder belts Sims had made. Each of these held six gas bombs of a different variety based on a design for bug bombs Brax had found in the database. They were essentially small, heavy plastic canisters with aerosol valves—pull the ring and the concentrated gas inside would quickly disperse. The belts also carried high intensity, full spectrum flashlights. These would not only help them see inside the cave but might also be an effective weapon against the light sensitive orcs and the even more photophobic mind flayer.

The four crew members of the test ship looked almost militarily competent in their camouflage suits and gear. Lisa knew this was an illusion, but they were as ready as they could be.

She led the way down the ramp, sensitive to any sign of danger. She saw none. A score of orcs lay on the ground around them near broken clay shards from the gas bombs, but all appeared to be unconscious.

Lisa raised her flare gun and pulled the trigger. There was less recoil than she expected as the flare rocketed into the sky on a thin trail of smoke before exploding in a shower of red sparks. A moment later, shouts from the city's soldiers rose in the distance.

"It sounds like they saw it," Brax said, his voice barely muffled by his cleverly designed breathing mask.

"Good," she said. "Brax, I need you to tie the ones here and make sure none of them come in after us."

"If you see any rousing enough to pose a threat," Doc amended, "you can use your gas bombs, but only if you must. Too much of the gas can be lethal."

"Can do," Brax said, unslinging his rope and immediately getting to work.

Lisa, Doc, and Sandra had to step over several recumbent orcs to reach the cave entrance. Sandra stopped to raise her cloak's hood and fasten the clasp.

"Do you think that will help?" Lisa said.

Sandra shrugged. "It can't hurt. Besides, one should always dress appropriately when visiting someone you've never met in order to make a good impression."

"If that works on the mind flayer the way it seems to work on the other people here, you'll make no impression at all," Doc said.

Sandra smiled. "Even better, in this case."

Lisa took one of her gas bombs, pulled the pin, and tossed it as far back into the tunnel as she could. Doc gave her a look of disapproval.

"Yeah, I know. I won't use any more unless I have to, but I'd rather not run into anything that objects to our visit."

"Given what it did to those outside, that should work," Sandra said. "I know I feel better for the precaution."

"I'm going to turn my light on. You should leave yours off for now and stay behind me—directly behind me. Based on what we know, it uses some kind of magic attack, and I may have the most resistance to it."

"If your innate ability doesn't do it, the ring you have on might," Doc said.

Lisa glanced at the ring on her finger. She had forgotten about it.

"You know I don't believe that, Doc."

"I know, but the mind flayer might."

"I don't see how it could help. The thing can't possibly know I have it."

"That may not make a difference. A general belief in magic may be all that's needed. I can't explain why or how."

She shrugged. She really held no fear of magical attacks. They worked only in fiction, and no matter how fictional this place was, she knew she was not.

"We can think about the metaphysical stuff later. Now, we're going in. You know what to do."

### ~Chapter 15~

Lisa adjusted the setting on her flashlight for wide dispersion and swept the beam along the rear of the cave, which narrowed to a smooth tunnel tilting downward. The slumbering forms of a few orcs littered the entrance but none moved when the three adventurers approached them.

It was time to finish this. Between the light and the gas bombs, she felt reasonably confident they could overcome the mind flayer, assuming it was alone and didn't have any resources or abilities they weren't expecting. The trouble was that she could not assume much of anything. All she knew about the thing was what Brax recalled from his games, which she did not consider reliable information despite Doc's hypothesis and the bizarre similarities. That was simply not how reality worked.

With the dark recesses of the tunnel looming ahead and the prospect of meeting a fantasy monster at the end, she thought it probably would have been a better idea to send one of the maintenance drones in first, at least for reconnaissance. But that would have taken more time, and it was too late, anyway. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, she realized she was not the least afraid. What she felt, more than anything, was annoyed. None of this was real. It was a game she was being forced to play, and she didn't like it. It was contrived, illogical, frustrating, and incredibly annoying. And it had dragged on far too long. She wanted it to be over, but she couldn't just quit and go home. She had to play it out, which meant she had to take it seriously enough to win. If she didn't, going home might not be an option.

"Remember, single file behind me, and try to be quiet," she whispered to Doc and Sandra. They weren't going to surprise anyone. The light precluded that, but she hoped she could conceal how many they were from the enemy she suspected lurked in darkness ahead.

The tunnel wound downward with irregular turns and side branches, but one way was always a little taller, a bit wider. Brax advised her that the main passage should lead to the boss, which is how it worked in games. She hated relying on that for tactical advice, but it was all she had, and it made a certain amount of sense. It was an ego thing. The boss always had the biggest office.

She had never had an issue with claustrophobia. Space is big and open, but the ships and stations people use to explore it are seldom larger than they need to be, with living space restricted to leave room for other more important things like fuel and cargo. No one sensitive to confined spaces worked in space. She felt no anxiety about the tunnel or being underground. However, she did recognize that she and her companions were vulnerable here. Her familiarity with weapons began and ended with those shown in popular entertainment, but she suspected that something like a rocket-propelled grenade shot from below would cause them no end of grief. She counted on the thing they were after having nothing like that.

She almost stumbled over an unconscious orc lying on the floor. A few more lay beyond it.

"They're out cold," Doc said, after a brief examination.

The three crew members stopped to bind the recumbent orcs' hands and legs as quickly as possible and continued their decent.

Before long, the tunnel widened, gradually opening into a chamber. Lisa paused and aimed the beam of her flashlight into a space no larger than the dorm room she had in college. A shadow moved in the darkness at the edge of her light and she felt...something...a sensation like what wind might be if there were no air.

She grabbed one of the gas bombs from her belt, pulled the ring, and tossed it in the direction of the movement. It had barely landed when she brought her light to bear, expecting to see something collapsing to the floor.

As with so many hopeful expectations, hers was only half met. She did see something, but it was not gasping for breath or crumpling to the ground. It was standing and staring at her with large, widely spaced black eyes.

The creature looked, more than anything else she could think of, like an average size man with his head jammed up a squid's butt. From its unseen neck downward, it looked like a man, with limbs in the correct quantity and locations. The head, however, was like something from an aquarium or an exotic seafood restaurant. It glistened wetly in a color like a bad bruise. Darker tentacles waved where a normal man might have a moustache—if the man had braided it into long dreadlocks to hide a weak chin.

The tentacles quivered as the creature spoke in a deep, aristocratic, almost mocking voice. "You have withstood my magical attack and I have withstood yours. What do you plan to do now, sorceress?"

Obviously it had not succumbed to the gas. Not knowing the physiology of the creature, they could not be sure that it would, and they had a backup plan. As an engineer, she appreciated the concept of redundancy. Plan 'A' did not work. It was time for plan 'B'. She sincerely hoped this one worked because there was no plan 'C'. She did not intend to share the details with squid face, though, and as her only reply to his question, she narrowed the beam of her light to a tighter focus and aimed it at his eyes.

The mind flayer's face tightened in what she thought might be a grimace of pain, but it did not blink. It might not be able to. She got the impression it had no eyelids. She kept the beam and her attention on its large black eyes, especially when she caught the faint sound of movement behind her.

"Unpleasant, but not especially dangerous," it said. "Is that all you have? I expected more of you." It took a step toward her. "We may need to conclude our encounter in a more mundane manner."

Self-preservation instincts developed and honed over millions of years told her that running away was a good idea and urged her to do so. She overruled them and forced herself to stand her ground with as much confidence as she could fake. In fiction, the villain liked to gloat before its victims, and in some ways, this was fiction. Maybe she could get it to expound on its greatness for a minute or two.

"Why didn't the gas affect you?" she asked.

The monster cocked its hideous head. "The magic you used on the orcs will not work against me. I am different from food animals like the orcs and you. I am superior. I am a creature of the depths and the darkness. Come to me now and submit. I shall not be merciful, but I may be quick."

She kept the intense beam of light on its face, hoping that it would keep it off balance.

"You seem quite sure of yourself," she said with bravado she did not feel. "A creature of the darkness, are you? I'm sure you were hoping to sound melodramatic, but all that it tells me is that you're vermin, like a rat or a cockroach."

"Hah, you try to insult me even now. No, the rat is more like you, and the cockroach, while tasty, is like neither of us. You put up a brave pretense, sorceress, but you do not fool me. You may be impervious to my magic, as I am to yours, but I am still stronger and smarter than you."

Its response supported her conjecture that it was not a mammal. With a head like that, it might be something more like a cephalopod.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," she said. "You certainly are uglier. I'm no great beauty, but at least I don't look like something that washed up on the beach after an oil spill."

It cocked its head again, and she noticed the half-meter long tentacles on its face did not dangle. They writhed like snakes.

"You intrigue me, sorceress. Even now that you are so close, I can barely sense your mind. Never have I tasted one as bland as yours. It is like clean water, clear and fresh and entirely without all the imperfections that provide flavor. I know that I am strange and hideous to you, so where is your fear of the unknown? Where is your loathing for what is different? I sense only curiosity and controlled apprehension from you. Your lusts and your biases are surely there, but it is as if you hold them at bay, like a human who restrains his hunting dogs."

"That's because I am not a creature of darkness. I try to see things as they really are."

"What is seen depends on who is looking. That is the essence of magic."

"It's different where I come from."

"Perhaps it is. I have speculated about you—about your people."

"You know about us?"

"Yes, I am a genius. Did you not find this in your...reference books? I feel that your knowledge of me derives from reference manuals. It lingers in the mind of your fighter outside. His is one I could savor. He knows about magic. His kind gives it substance. He believes. You were wise to leave him outside. I do not know much of your people, sorceress, but they are the source of magic, are they not? Their fears and beliefs shape it. They give it form and power. But as the source of all magic, they are also its greatest rivals. Your own counter-magic is extremely powerful. It is a shame I will not have time...." It paused, apparently reflecting on a new idea. "Ah, but perhaps I do. It is not my nature to hold one captive, but it is my nature to extract what they know. It would be interesting to conduct a prolonged inquest to discover what I can extract from you. I might enjoy that, although you certainly will not."

The problem with keeping it blinded by the bright beam of her flashlight and focusing her attention on its face was that she also could not see much of anything else around her. She thought she may have caught a glimpse of Sandra a moment ago, but she did not allow her eyes to dart in that direction. She reminded herself that the backup plan was working as long as she could keep the creature's attention on her. The fact that that attention was uncomfortable did not matter.

She might be able to turn some of that around.

"I can tell you more than you might like to know," she said. "For one thing, you only exist because of people like me...well, people in my universe, anyway. You're derivative—a construct of imagination."

The mind flayer shrugged. "I am what I am, but assuming what you say is true, I owe your people nothing. I doubt they created me or this world intentionally or with any regard for it."

"I'm not saying you should bow down and worship us. I'm telling you that you exist for entertainment. You are the bad guy in a bad story. You're here to give the heroes someone to fight."

"And you, I presume, are the hero?"

Was she? If so, it was only by accident.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I think I may be outside the story, but I don't see why the story has to happen the same way all the time."

"So the bad guy, as you have labeled me, can win?"

"That's not what I meant. What I'm saying is that you may not have to be the bad guy. You seem to have free will. You may be able to choose a different role for yourself. At best, what you are now is a metaphor for some perceived evil, like a personification of cruelty or greed or something. Is that what you want to be—just a stereotypical character in a fantasy? I don't think you have to be. I think you can make a rational choice and be something better."

"Nice try, sorceress. You try to appeal to my humanity, to my rationality, and I assure you I have none. I am a creature of hate and magic. I am not rational."

"But you can be. What is it you truly want? Why do you do the terrible things you do?"

"Did I not say? I am evil. That is why. Oh, and brains, of course. Very tasty, brains."

Sandra's report did mention that the orcs called it the brain eater.

"I can't say that sounds very appetizing to me, but I'd think, well, maybe something like raising sheep would be easier than dominating orcs and assaulting humans."

"Sheep brains? Such dull, flavorless creatures. No, I think not. Humans are best. Their capacity for belief provides a unique texture spiced with foolish fears and creative misunderstandings. But as fascinating as this is, it grows tiresome. You may be able to resist my magic, but I'm sure my physical prowess will suffice. Your brain may be magically tasteless, but I'm sure it is nourishing."

It lunged forward, arms outstretched and tentacles waving. Lisa jerked back to avoid the attack, surprised to see the creature stumble when Sandra emerged from the shadows, hitting it with some kind of martial arts kick.

It regained its balance quickly, pivoted on one leg, and shoved her aside. Lisa heard the communications officer gasp and fall, but she could not tell if she was injured.

Divided between two opponents, the mind flayer hesitated a moment and then turned again to Lisa.

"An invisible thief in the darkness, sorceress? Clever but insufficient. I shall have her for dessert."

Lisa backed away. The mind flayer waited, perhaps savoring its victory.

'Any time, Doc,' she said silently to herself.

A shadow moved quickly in the darkness. She didn't see the staff strike, but the mind flayer fell. Doc, behind it, seemed ready to strike again when the creature, with surprising speed and strength, whipped its head around and lashed at Doc with its tentacles, forcing him back.

"Three of you? Oh, how devious," it said with apparent approval as it got back on its feet. "And their minds are almost as invisible to me as your own. This shall be a unique experience. But, first things first."

It stepped toward her, its tentacles menacing, waving, reaching toward her with brain-sucking intent.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mind Flayer," Doc said from the shadows.

The creature did not pause in its slow approach. "The silent cleric speaks. He will have to wait his turn. The sorceress is the main course."

"If you don't stop, I will have to shoot you with a...a fireball."

"I shall not be distracted by your pretense. Clerics cannot cast fire—"

Lisa recognized the sound of a flare gun firing a moment before the creature's face exploded in a shower of red sparks. In the enclosed space, the intense light of the signal flare blinded her. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, her vision remained impaired because of the powerful flash, but she could see well enough to tell that the mind flayer was lying motionless on the floor of the cave, its tentacles limp and smoldering.

"Thanks, Doc," she mumbled, adjusting the flashlight to a wider beam.

"I regret that I saw no other option," Doc said with obvious remorse. "It was not a rational creature. I knew I could not reason with it, but I thought it might alter its behavior under a physical threat."

"Apparently not," she said, scanning the room to find their other crew member.

She quickly spotted Sandra crouching in a far corner of the small cavern with her own flashlight illuminating something on the ground.

"Are you all right, Sandra?" Lisa asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Maybe a bruise or two, but nothing's broken."

"What are you doing?"

"Brax told me there's always treasure after the heroes defeat the boss, and he was right."

"You found treasure?"

"I don't see anything that would make us ridiculously rich, but there's a sword, a couple rings, and some chests and bags of gold and silver coins."

Back home, gold and silver no longer held the value they once enjoyed because miners had found so much on asteroids, but the coins were still reasonably valuable. Gold and silver remained far from common, and many people retained a nostalgic fondness for the metals once used as money. In this archaic place, they probably still did.

"I suppose they're ours by whatever customs apply here, so we may as well take them. We also need to haul back the mind flayer's body to prove we've accomplished our mission."

Sandra glanced at the smoldering carcass.

"Yuck. I'll grab some of the treasure and meet you outside."

~*~

They found Brax standing guard at the cave entrance with his sword drawn. Lisa suspected he had probably been playing with it.

"Any trouble?" Brax asked, placing his sword in the scabbard.

Lisa and Doc dropped the body of the mind flayer.

"You mean other than almost having our brains sucked out by old squid-face?" Sandra said. With her hands full of treasure, she did not point, not that it was necessary. Their former adversary was the already the primary focus of attention.

Brax gazed at it with fascination. "It's definitely a mind flayer, but it looks kind of scorched...and dead. It looks entirely dead."

"Doc had to shoot it with a flare gun," Sandra said.

"A flare gun? That's risky. You can't really aim one of those things."

"He was less than three meters away at the time."

Brax's eyebrows rose. "He fired a flare underground at something a few meters away. Wow! That's gutsy, Doc."

"He had no choice," Lisa added, knowing Doc disapproved of violence. Having to inflict it must be upsetting him, although he hid it well. "The gas didn't work on it, and talking to it did no good."

"Yeah, mind flayers are like that in games, too," Brax said.

"What about you?" Lisa asked him. "Any problems out here?" She glanced around the cave entrance where bound orcs lay scattered. A few were beginning to stir.

"No, most of them are still out cold. That general was by here a few minutes before you came out and said his men were almost done tying up the ones outside. He told me to tell you that your spell is still active in the caves, though, and he's stopped sending his men inside because they keep falling down. He wants to know when you will dispel it. He said he'd be back."

Doc shook his head. "Unfortunately, reality doesn't work that way. I'm sure it's safe to remove our masks outside now, but the gas in the caves and tunnels may linger for a while longer. It seems to be a bit more potent than I expected since it's still affecting the soldiers. I'd suggest giving it another twenty minutes or so. The orcs inside will probably be suffering the effects a bit longer, but I'm sure it will be dispersed enough by then so that people going inside won't succumb to it."

"So I can take this thing off?" Brax said, fingering his breathing mask.

Doc nodded.

"Good," Brax said. "I think it's giving me a rash."

Sandra dropped the bags she was holding. "Not so fast, big guy. Leave it on. I need you to go back down there and help me haul up the rest of the treasure."

"Treasure?" he said, his eyes widening and his mouth stretching into a broad grin like that of a child presented with a jumbo chocolate bar.

"Yeah, didn't you wonder what I was carrying in these sacks?"

"Well, no, actually. I figured it was... To be honest, I didn't notice."

"You are a charmer, Brax. Not being noticed is exactly what women crave."

"You're being sarcastic, right?"

"Are you?"

"Would you like me to be?"

"Now you're learning. Come on. Give me a hand."

"Bring my staff up too, please," Doc said. "I had to leave it down there to help carry the body."

They disappeared into the cave. Lisa cautiously removed her mask, took a sniff, and suffered no immediate ill effects, although the air was heavy with an unpleasant order not unlike burnt calamari. She glanced at the mind flayer's corpse.

"Why do you think it continued to go for me after you hit it?" she asked Doc. "You were the only one down there with any kind of weapon."

"What surprised me was that it seemed to suffer very little from my attack. I hit it on the head quite hard with a very solid staff. A blow like that should have dazed or possibly even killed it. But, in answer to your question, I think it continued to see you as its greatest threat. According to Brax, clerics, which I apparently seem to be to the locals, have comparatively few powerful offensive spells. Clerical magic is most often defensive. You, as both leader and sorceress, might still have had a magical trick or two up your sleeve."

"But I didn't have any magic. None of us did."

"Well, Milton assures me that the staff is magical, although I don't suppose that matters. A big stick is always a big stick."

"And a flare gun is always a flare gun."

"It's real, and reality works whether you believe it or not."

### ~Chapter 16~

It took Sandra and Brax three trips to carry the treasure out of the cave, and they had the maintenance robots help load everything into the ship. They had just finished when General Sevritas returned with Milton and a few soldiers wearing red uniform coats and smug expressions.

The general dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Your spell worked, Commander Chang. We met with minimal resistance, and we have prevailed. All the orcs in the field have been bound and captured."

His chest swelled and his tone of voice carried a sense of pride, as if this had been a major military victory on his part. She glanced at the orcs Brax had bound around the entrance to the mind flayer's cave. They were beginning to come around, and those few who seemed remotely aware of the world around them appeared cowed. A few were on their knees hunched and puking.

"Any injuries?" she asked him.

"None. My men came through the encounter unscathed."

"I meant the orcs."

He grimaced. "None that I am immediately aware of. But now that we have them, what do you propose we do about them? I don't see why we shouldn't simply kill them all now."

He visibly recoiled from her resulting glare.

"Humanely, of course," he amended. "It seems to be the simplest and best final solution to this problem."

"Their disposition is something I need to discuss with our official liaison," she said, nodding toward Milton, who seemed fairly cowed at the moment himself. He stood well away from the general and looked like he'd like to be farther.

The crew of the _Brane Child_ had discussed the matter of what to do with the orcs last night, and Doc had come up with a brilliant plan. At least she thought it was brilliant. The people here might have a different viewpoint. The problem was that it required the king to go along with it, and for that to happen, it must be presented properly and by the right people.

The general objected. "The boy? Now that I'm here, I should think that you would prefer to deal with—"

Lisa raised her hand, an eyebrow, and her voice to interrupt him. "Milton is the official representative of the city assigned by your king, as I recall, and the fate of the orcs has magical implications, which, frankly, you may not fully grasp."

General Sevritas huffed, but she had played a king, and he was, in this card game of medieval politics, just a jack of clubs—or in his case, swords.

"Well, in that case," he backpedaled, "I'll see to my men and await further orders from the king."

"Please see to the orcs as well. You may need to leave men to guard them overnight. If so, see that they are fed. As I'm sure you are aware, the king has much to consider in this matter. It may take some time."

He nodded, but his face said he didn't like taking orders from the tiny foreign woman standing arrogantly before him. The top of her head barely reached his nose, and although she had to look up to do so, she looked straight into his eyes. He returned her gaze, uncertain but unafraid. He was probably an excellent soldier. She still didn't like him.

"Oh, and one other thing," she said.

"And what might that be?"

"Can you have some of your men take the body of this creature to your king?" She pointed to the deceased mind flayer. "We will be at the palace soon to collect the boon he promised us, but first we must discuss certain issues with the young apprentice mage."

He nodded grudgingly. "Very well. I'll see to that."

She turned her attention to Milton and crooked a finger. "I need you to come with us."

~*~

Milton felt happy to comply. General Sevritas made him nervous. The military officer had kept his sword drawn while his men went about tying their prisoners, and his method of checking to see if an orc was unconscious was to kick it. The general had seemed disappointed that none had responded with anything more threatening than a weak groan.

The apprentice mage followed the Peacekeepers up the inclined ramp and into their amazing sky ship. The Peacekeeper commander asked him again to remove his shoes, which he readily did. It was a small consideration for another opportunity to visit the ship, which despite all appearances, they insisted was not magical. He didn't believe them. Magic users were notoriously secretive about their methods and discoveries in order to keep them from potential rivals. He believed the Peacekeepers were being honest with him, for the most part, but they were obviously keeping some secrets, especially about their strange form of magic.

Brax headed in one direction and Lisa led the rest of them the opposite way into the ship's small kitchen, which looked nothing like any kitchen Milton had seen before. They said the room was for food preparation and called it the ship's galley, but there was no fireplace, no oven, no water pump...all it contained was a small table, some chairs, and odd cabinets and cubbies along the walls, some with tiny magical lights or dark panels. They also seemed to use it for a meeting room, and, he noticed, possibly a treasure room. Gold and silver coins spilled from bags heaped casually in one corner. Other items rested on top, including an ornate sword, which he suspected might be magically enhanced.

Commander Chang pointed to a simple chair, made of metal tubes and something like stiff leather, and told him to sit. The tiny table it was at held nothing but a bound book without a title.

"Where did Brax go?" Milton asked.

Of all the Peacekeepers, their fighter was the one he felt he understood best. He seemed the most like normal people. The others were strange and _foreign_.

"He's piloting the ship," Lisa said. "Sims could do it, but regulations require a human pilot on ships with passengers when it's flying in atmosphere."

Milton understood about half of the short sentence, but it was an exciting half. "You mean we're going to fly now?"

"Just back to the city. Nothing to be concerned about."

He wasn't concerned, exactly, but flying was rare, something only the most potent magicians even attempted, often catastrophically and sometimes quite messily. He never expected he would ever do it. "Is there a window? I mean, can I watch?"

"There are no windows, but I can have the screen in here display an outside view, if you'd like."

He nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed at how naïve he must appear to them, but this would probably be the only time in his life that he would have an experience like this. He was willing to sacrifice a bit of dignity to make the most of it.

"Screen on," she commanded aloud. "Exterior forward view."

A panel in the wall about the length of his arm suddenly went from being featureless black to something that looked to him very much like a window opening out on the familiar scene below them. It was the one he just left, full of captured orcs and city soldiers, although from a higher perspective. He saw General Sevritas with his back turned to the ship, gesturing and yelling orders to his men.

"That's not a window?"

"No."

"It's more like a crystal ball then, but flat, right?"

"You can think of it that way, I suppose."

He did, and it helped—until he remembered that Doc had insisted that no magic was involved in any of this. If it wasn't a window and it wasn't magic, what was it? Perhaps they just wanted him to think it wasn't magic so he wouldn't try to duplicate it, not that he thought he had much chance of that.

The ship shuddered. The pervasive hum that seemed to permeate the ship shifted to a higher pitch. He felt oddly heavier for a moment, and in the window that was not a window, the scene changed. Loose grass and leaves swirled below them as the ship gently rose into the air and accelerated. They were moving faster, and much smoother, than a galloping horse within seconds.

"We'll be back to the city in a few minutes," Chang said, forcing his attention from the screen. "There are things we need to discuss now. Doc thinks we can help you."

"But you already have," Milton said. "You killed the mind flayer and stopped the orcs."

"Yes, but, well, it's about your city."

"It's impressive, isn't it?" Milton said with some pride. He had never been to another, but he felt sure Bardasium, with its thousands of people and impressive walls and buildings, must be one of the greatest cities in existence.

"It's certainly...memorable, but it is a bit smelly."

Milton did not know what point she was trying to make, but he felt sure she wasn't talking about people cooking.

"It's the condition of the streets," Doc said.

"They stink, Milton," Sandra added.

"Well," Milton said, still not sure what they were implying, "that's because there are so many people. That's what makes it a city."

The ship around them lurched, and he looked up at the screen to see they were now motionless outside the city walls.

"We're back already?"

"Yes, but it's not time for you to leave yet," Commander Chang told him. "Like I said, we think we can help you."

He tried tying the ends of their recent comments together to get some idea about the thread of their meaning. "Is it about cleaning the streets?"

"Partly," Doc said. "Have you ever heard of something called a sewer system?" He pushed the book resting on the table toward him. "Open it."

Milton did, leafing carefully through the high quality paper pages, which held drawings, formulas, and small sections of text, most of which he found incomprehensible at first glance. It was like a tome of a completely unfamiliar form of magic—a kind of alchemy, perhaps.

"Sims and I worked these up based on our scans of your city," Doc said. "They're plans for an underground sewer system that will help you keep your streets...less cluttered, fresher, and healthier. It contains information on everything you should need, given your current level of technology. At the end, there are diagrams and detailed descriptions of the various components."

Milton poured through the pages, flipping back and forth between illustrations. He understood some of it, enough to know it would be a massive undertaking, and, if it worked, a wonderful thing to have. It would be nice not to have to be so careful about what he stepped in outside, not to mention what he and others tracked inside. It was an amazing idea, and he thought it might work, except for one rather large problem.

"But who would build it? Where would we get the workers and the money?"

"We have an idea for that, too," Doc said, pausing for a significant look over his dark eyebrows. "Would you say that Gorbo is a good worker?"

Milton could see where this conversation was heading immediately, and it was a dead end. "Wait! Are you saying we have the orcs build this? People would never go for it. Orcs are dangerous, or at best vermin."

"Is Gorbo vermin?"

A picture of Gorbo making butter cookies immediately popped into his mind. In this brief fantasy, Mari stood next him, wearing a sheer apron and not much of anything else while she stirred a bowl of batter. He reluctantly dispelled the image and tried to focus on the question.

"Well, no, but that's how people see them, especially now after the attacks."

"There must be some way to change their minds, but the only one you really need to convince is your king, right?"

"Wait!—What?—Who?—Me?—Why Me?"

"Because you are the city's resident expert on orcs, of course. We thought you could be in charge of the project."

"I'm an apprentice," he said with all due emphasis on the final word. "I can't be in charge of anything. The senior mages would never allow it."

"So tell them we said _they_ should be in charge of it," Sandra said. "It doesn't really matter. Tell them we're giving them a great unskilled workforce of cheap labor that isn't going to complain about pay, working conditions, promotions, or benefit packages. I know a lot of businesspeople back home who would love an opportunity like this."

Milton pondered that a moment. It was true. Gorbo never complained about anything, and he seemed to enjoy tedious work. As far as Milton could remember, the orc never considered a job so grubby he balked at doing it. If the orcs were properly supervised, he felt sure they could do the physical labor something like this required. But that would not be enough.

"What about funding? There will be materials to buy, and the orcs will need to be housed and fed. That will cost money."

"Back home, something like this would be funded by the government as a civic improvement project," Lisa said. "Wouldn't the king be willing to pay for it? Surely, he'll see the benefit. I've only been here a little while, and it's pretty obvious to me."

"I doubt it. These plans cover the whole city, and I'm sure he doesn't see that as his problem. He doesn't walk those streets or shop at the markets. He's got people for that."

"You could start the project with his palace," Doc suggested.

Milton shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. But it would be terribly disruptive, I should think. It's a big risk to whoever is in charge."

"Why is that?" Lisa asked.

Her innocent question implied a great deal of misunderstanding about the realities of life. It was clearer than ever to Milton that she was definitely not from around here.

"If it works, the king might give those in charge some kind of boon, like a title, or property, or something. But if it doesn't, or if it takes too long, he'll pay them in a different way, if you see what I mean. No one tries to change anything in a big way that the king, or anyone else with power, is likely to notice—or worse, object to—unless they are very sure of themselves."

"Medieval thinking," Doc said. "It's part of the reason humanity didn't begin making rapid technological progress until the sixteenth century." He directed his comment to Commander Chang. Milton did not understand what he meant.

"Don't get me wrong," Milton said. "I mean, I think it's a great idea, but it needs approval from the king, and I can't see anyone presenting it to him. It's too big, too...ambitious."

"It could also be very profitable," Sandra said. "Once this is built—oh, say at the king's palace at first—everyone will want their homes and businesses to have it. Think about it. No more smelly chamber pots. No more cold morning walks to the outhouse. And that's in addition to making it safe—well, less messy—to walk the streets. I would imagine that the people overseeing this will become quite wealthy, certainly wealthy enough to make a good catch for any father's daughter."

This prompted Milton's imagination some more, and ideas began to form that were more resistant to risk.

"Rich?" he said. Magicians were seldom rich, but this sounded like a business, and businessmen often were.

"And well respected, I should imagine," Sandra added.

"The king would still have to approve it."

"The king would have to want it, I think. That's a sales job."

More ideas buzzed through his head, working overtime now with thoughts of Mari providing incentive. If he presented the idea to Ferman as a way for mages to regain prestige and income, and if he could convince him how useful orcs could be with Gorbo as an example, and if...well, he would need to get creative, but he might be able to do it. Then Ferman could take the idea to the Guild of Magicians to ensure their support...

"Are you still with us, Milton?" Sandra asked.

"Oh, yes. I was just thinking. This might take a while, but I can start with Ferman. He may want to meet with you, I imagine, before he goes to the Guild. I think he'll be interested, but..."

"But what?"

"What if he's not? What will happen to the orcs?"

Commander Chang looked at Doc, who looked at Sandra, who looked back at the commander, who looked lost for a reply.

After a moment, Doc said, "We'll carry them somewhere and release them. But if that happens, the orcs will remain monsters, your streets will remain filthy, and nothing will improve for them, for you, or for your city. You see, it's not all about helping you. The orcs may benefit most. I think one reason they are so easily swayed by things like the mind flayer is that they have no productive purpose. This could give them one, and I think they'll be happier for it. No one expects them to be anything more than monsters, now. Not even them. So that's all they are. But I think they can be something else if you give them a reason to be. I know this probably will not matter to the people you need to talk to, but I think it matters to you."

Milton knew that Gorbo was happiest when he was busy, and he kept himself busy when Milton wasn't around with cleaning and gardening. He also liked puzzles, although he wasn't very good at them. If the magicians went for the Peacekeeper's idea, he'd have to think about things like hobbies and distractions for the orcs, but first things first.

"What about funding?"

Commander Chang glanced at the pile of treasure in the corner. "We may be able to provide enough to get it started."

"With that treasure, you could probably fund the entire thing and more, I should think," Milton said.

~*~

Lisa, Sandra, and Doc accompanied Milton to the city gate, where a wide-eyed soldier greeted them. He spoke to Lisa.

"General Sevritas was here about half an hour ago. He told us to tell you to come straight to the palace if we saw you."

"Thank you. We're on our way there now."

Instead of stepping aside, he said, "I saw the thing when they brought it in...the thing they said was commanding the orcs. What a hideous beast. We're safe now, right? Now that it's dead?"

"From him, yes," she said. She hoped to imply that they themselves were a force to be reckoned with if displeased, but judging from his tremble, he already assumed that. Brax had told her they needed what he called 'street cred'.

"Good," the guard said, apparently reassured. "Thanks."

They parted company with Milton just past the gate, and the apprentice magician rushed off to try to find Ferman. She hoped he would be successful in convincing him to support their proposition about the orcs and the sewer system. It seemed an elegant solution that would benefit everyone, but successful or not, they had done what they had promised, and they would get the palladium they needed. That did not mean they would be able to get home, necessarily, but it did mean they could try to.

### ~Chapter 17~

They arrived at the palace gates, and the guards allowed them to pass with a simple nod of their heads and a complete lack of questions. When they reached the main audience chamber, Lisa saw more people than she expected. The king was leaning forward on his throne, while a group of men in military uniforms and others wearing magician's robes crouched over the corpse of the mind flayer, which lay on the floor on a coarse blanket. Still more people hovered along the walls or sat quietly in pews.

"The Peacekeepers," the guard at the doors announced as they entered.

The king's blue eyes looked up and sparkled at them through thick, white brows like ice crystals in a snowbank. It was difficult to say, but Lisa thought he looked pleased. She took this as a good sign.

"You got the thing, I see," he said, pointing to the body on the floor. General Sevritas just finished giving us his report. My mages have confirmed that it is a mind flayer. Ugly brutes, aren't they? They say they can be quite challenging."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied with a bow, attempting to convey the courtly manners Brax said were expected. But she also knew she had to reflect a certain sense of arrogance to maintain her image as a 'powerful sorceress'. "I certainly wouldn't recommend having a dinner date with one, but it wasn't as smart or as tough as it thought it was. As you see, we prevailed."

"Excellent. You seem to have done well."

She dipped her head as a sign of appreciation for his faint praise. "Now that we have accomplished what you asked of us, I respectfully request the boon we were promised. Then, we can be on our way. I'm sure you don't want us sticking around." The last was an effort at a bit more of the street cred thing Brax mentioned. Talk to them as if they are good friends, but imply that this could change, and that they would be wise not to let it.

The king squinted one eye as he considered what she said and, perhaps, implied. "Yes, a bit of some metal, as I recall."

"Palladium, Your Majesty."

"Yes, palladium. I can't say I'm familiar with it, but my magicians assure me we can produce some."

"If I may, Your Majesty," a voice as slick as industrial lubricant said from the magician's huddle around the deceased mind flayer. She recognized it.

Rennart, the dark haired magician who had challenged her previously, stood from his examination of the creature's corpse.

"You wish to add something?" the king said.

"With all due respect, the Peacekeepers have brought us a body, which they say was the creature commanding the orcs, and they have helped our men capture those orcs, but the orcs are still here. Based on General Sevritas's report, in fact, the Peacekeepers have instructed that these admittedly lesser monsters not be harmed."

"Your point?" the king prompted.

"We cannot be sure the threat has passed. The orcs remain, and there is no real proof that this creature was responsible for their attacks."

The king combed his fingers through his white beard and paused for a reflective scratch. "What have you to say to that, Commander Chang?"

She noticed more people slipping into the room surreptitiously. They did not look like soldiers, so she figured nothing unpleasant was likely to happen in the immediate future. They were probably more city elders. Without any means to spread news quickly, they might not have received their invitations or summonses to be here right away. She ignored them.

"I have no doubt that the mind flayer was the one directing the orc attacks and I am sure the orcs themselves will confirm this," she said. "In any event, they are now your captives, and our official liaison, the apprentice magician Milton, is well qualified to question them if you wish him to do so. Our mission was to stop them from being a threat, and this we have done."

"We may indeed wish to question them," Rennart said. "But that is not a final solution, is it? We can't just set them free. It is my humble suggestion that we intensively interrogate a few and then have all of them put to the sword."

Why was the preferred solution always to kill something around here? Were medieval societies like that or did it have more to do with those juvenile fantasy adventure stories?

"One does not kill helpless captives," she said, directing her comment to the hook-nosed magician.

"Why not? It seems the best time. Waiting until they are armed and dangerous hardly has any advantages I can see."

Unsuppressed laughter rose from some of the people in the back of the room.

She glared at him. He had manners and fine clothes, at least by the standards here, but from her perspective, he possessed about the same level of civilized behavior as an alligator. Unfortunately, it was his perspective that dominated here, and she had no way to change that. Her best option was to bluff her way through this by playing the role of the mysterious and intimidating foreign sorceress.

"Every person, every _thing_ has value to those with understanding," she said condescendingly as if he were an ignorant and unruly child. "It is no wonder the magic users here are so ineffective and disrespected. It is a disgrace to the profession. You do not see the opportunities you have. You posture. You pretend, but you have no true knowledge. You try to pick scraps of wisdom from the writings of men long dead, never realizing that they may have been just as mistaken as you are. You need to open your eyes, look at what is around you, and think for yourselves. I will say no more about that for now, but we have given the young magic user you sent to us something that may help you overcome a bit of your shortsightedness. For now, I'll simply tell you that the magic that allowed your soldiers to capture the orcs so easily has repercussions, extremely unpleasant ones if the captives are harmed in your custody."

Rennart eyed her. She saw uncertainty on his face, and perhaps a touch of fear. She tried to return an expression conveying confidence and resolve. If she got nothing else from this experience, her acting abilities were improving.

"Rennart?" the king prompted.

"I am unfamiliar with the form of magic wielded by Commander Chang and her company, but I still believe it is too early to determine if full completion of their mission has been achieved."

"Yes, quite, and as you point out, there is still the matter of the orcs."

The king sat reflectively for a while before addressing her again. "Commander Chang, I would like to consider this some more. If there are issues resulting from, as you say, repercussions from your magic, I think it would be best if you were here to help us deal with them."

Did that mean...? She snapped her attention to the king, forgetting to disguise the anger she felt.

"No, I do not intend to order the orcs destroyed," he assured her. "For now, we will hold them as you have requested." He glanced at those in audience, pausing to catch the attention of General Sevritas, Rennart, and a few others specifically before continuing. "But the orcs remain a potential problem for which, as yet, I have not heard an adequate proposal to resolve. I trust one will be forthcoming, but until that time I must regretfully decree that this affair is not concluded to my satisfaction."

She forced herself not to say more about their plan for having the orcs build a sewer system. Doc had been quite persuasive that the proposal should come from the king's own people. She and her crew were strangers here, and, as adventurers, regarded with some suspicion.

"One way or another, I will make my final decision on the boon I promised in a day or two after I consult with my advisers. I hope you have no objection to this. If it turns out you have indeed provided a lasting solution to this threat, then the boon shall be yours. This, I promise."

She bowed her head in acknowledgement. "I quite understand, Your Majesty. It is always good for wise leaders to base their decisions on careful consideration."

He was either playing it safe or playing politics. There might be factions and interests he must consider of which she remained unaware. Perhaps he felt the need to appease Rennart and Sevritas. She couldn't know for sure, but it wasn't as if she had much choice. She might be impervious to their magic, but she was less certain about their swords. They probably were too, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"There is one more thing," Rennart said. "Insofar as they have done all they can for now, I suggest they return the items you have so graciously loaned them."

"Hmm, well, that does seem appropriate," the king agreed. "Commander Chang?"

"I'm sure those of us here have no problems with that, Your Majesty."

She removed the ring from her finger, and turned to her two companions. Sandra was already removing her cloak, which she laid on the floor at Lisa's feet. Doc set down his staff on top of it and Lisa put the ring next to it.

"There was a fourth item, was there not?" Rennart said.

"Yes, a sword," she said, trying to make it sound inconsequential. "It is at the ship with one of our other members. I don't believe he had any cause to use it, and I'll make sure it is returned to you."

~*~

They stepped out of the palace and into a sunny afternoon where the air was slightly less stuffy.

"I didn't know you were so good at BS," Sandra said. "You called Rennart a disgrace, and I think you scared him when you said your magic has repercussions. That was pretty good. I thought the guy was going to soil himself."

"He didn't seem all that intimidated to me," Lisa said.

"Maybe not intimidated, but you definitely took him down a peg. He likes to pretend he's important by making everyone else feel inferior. I've been out with guys like that—but never twice."

"Peacekeepers!" Milton called, running toward them from the direction of the city. His master, Ferman, jogged behind him, trying to keep up.

"Am I too late? Is it over?" Ferman said, puffing. "I'd just got word that you'd completed your mission when Milton found me. I'm afraid I let time slip away from me while he explained your plan for the orcs. I hoped I could still get here in time for your audience with the king, but I guess I didn't make it."

"It just ended." Lisa said. "The king seemed ready to grant us the boon he promised before your friend Rennart objected. He doesn't believe we've eliminated the threat."

"He's more of a peer than a friend," Ferman said. "It's the orc thing, isn't it? We, that is, the members of the Guild of Magicians, discussed that when we heard you did not want them harmed. I couldn't understand it at the time." He held up the book they had given Milton. "But then my apprentice showed me this. I must say, it is certainly intriguing. Quite bold, in fact. However did you come up with such an idea?"

"Such things are common where we're from. But you understand now, right?"

"Oh yes. It is a most ingenious plan, and quite clever the way it turns a foe into, well, not an ally exactly, but something useful. Risky, of course. Very risky, but I can see the opportunity, too. Still, I don't fully understand. I would think it would have been simpler just to kill them."

"Not you, too?" Lisa said with exasperation. "What is it with you people?"

"Oh, I'm not saying we should now, of course." He tapped the book with a finger. "This is a much better idea. I just don't see why you went to the trouble of coming up with it."

She sighed. "Call it being civilized. This helps you. It helps the orcs, and it means I won't have to do something you and your city might regret, if you understand what I'm saying."

Why couldn't these people behave properly without being threatened? Perhaps she was reading too much into what he said. He did say he no longer thought killing them was the best idea. It was the 'no longer' part that bothered her. It also bothered her that she had nothing to back up her implied threat.

His eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, yes, we can't have that."

"So, do you think you can convince your king to go along with our plan for a sewer system?"

"You really need one," Sandra added.

"Me? No." Ferman shook his head. "I don't have that kind of influence myself, but I think I can persuade some of the more open-minded members of the Guild of Magicians, and they may sway others. The plan presents, well, certain advantages for them."

"Really?" she said.

"Yes. As I'm sure you know, magic doesn't always provide reliable results."

"Really?" she said again, only slightly more sarcastically than before.

"Not yours, of course. I'm sure you don't have problems, but here, well, the efficacy of our spells has been spotty of late, and people have been turning to other ways to solve their problems."

Good for them, Lisa thought, but she said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

"Consequently, we, that is the magicians, have seen a bit of a decline in our, um, resources recently. This idea may open a way to regain some of those."

"Our thoughts, exactly," she said. "We're always eager to help."

"There will still be resistance, of course. People here don't trust orcs. They see them as dangerous."

"The only one I've met personally is Gorbo, and he doesn't seem dangerous," Lisa said.

"Ah, yes. Young Milton's pet. I'm not saying they can't be domesticated, but they are still monsters, you know."

"Actually, I don't. I try not to make generalizations unless I have bit more data."

He paused and scratched his beard. "I'm not sure what this data is of which you speak, but then your magic is obviously much different from ours. But, as I said, we're going to need backing from others to make this happen. I know a few people specifically who will be quite resistant."

"Let me guess. Rennart and General Sevritas."

"Yes, but others as well. I haven't had much time to ponder this as well as I would like, but I think there are two things you could do that should help immensely."

"What are those?"

"Well, the first is funding. Milton suggested you might be able to provide money to get this started. Is that correct?"

"We have the treasure from the mind flayer."

"And you would be willing to part with some of it? You do know it is yours by right. No one would question this."

"I'm sure we can spare some of it."

He smiled, showing stained uneven teeth. "You are most generous. Most adventuring groups aren't."

"Perhaps we'll start a trend."

He laughed. "I wouldn't count on that."

"You said there were two things. What's the other?"

"Well, people will be nervous about the orcs. Milton tells me they seem to have a natural instinct to follow authority, and if we're the authority—well, this may not be necessary, but if you promised to cast an Obedience spell on them, I'm sure people would feel much better about them being around."

"They're like big, stupid children, really," Milton added. "The orcs, that is, not our people of course. Well, not as much, anyway. But Ferman is right. Everyone would be much happier if you cast an Obedience spell. They all know what a powerful sorceress you are."

"But I can't—"

"She'd be happy to," Doc interjected.

"I would?" she said, giving him a bemused glance.

"Of course. A simple Obedience spell with indefinite duration should be sufficient." He winked at her. "It will ease everyone's minds, I think."

She had almost forgotten her role in this story. The whole fantasy thing with magic and subservience to authority clashed with her natural analytical perspective as an engineer. Despite all this, she had to admit that role-playing the character was sometimes fun, and the next line was hers.

"As I was about to say, I don't believe it is necessary, but if it will help everyone feel more comfortable, I would be willing to cast the spell."

"Excellent!" Ferman said. "I will make sure to tell the other senior mages. I'm sure most of them went to the magicians' guildhall right after the audience to discuss this very subject. I'll meet with them there and tell them about your plan."

"I wish you luck," she said sincerely. Things would work out so much simpler if he succeeded.

~*~

Lisa couldn't seem to relax enough to sleep, and she was in her pajamas reading a book on medieval technology when Sims told her Milton was approaching the ship.

"What's the local time, Sims?"

"Twelve minutes past midnight."

She hadn't expected to hear back from him before tomorrow—well, later today. Something important must have happened.

She placed her reader on the shelf by the bed, slid out of her sleeping cubicle, and quickly dressed in one of her jumpsuits.

"You may as well wake the others," she said as she made her way to the airlock. "Whatever the news is, I'm sure they'd like to hear it."

"Acknowledged," the AI's emotionless voice replied from speakers in the corridor.

When she got to the bottom of the ramp outside, Milton was waiting along with Ferman, standing uncertainly in the bright glow of the ship's landing lights. Both men looked up with droopy, tired eyes, but their mouths were smiling.

"The news is good, I take it," she said.

"Very good," Ferman said. "The king has tasked the Guild of Magicians to build one of your sewer systems to service the palace. He even agreed that we could use orcs to do much of the labor—under certain conditions, of course."

"What conditions?" Lisa asked with a tone of suspicion.

"Nothing onerous. They are to be guarded and supervised at all times, and none may be on palace grounds after nightfall, but we can manage that. We're going to bring in more apprentices under a new subdivision for natural philosophy within the guild."

"So the Guild of Magicians will have a department of natural philosophy?" The idea bothered her at first because it implied that this new way of looking at the world would be subservient to their old, magical worldview. But then she remembered that some of the earliest scientists of her world, Copernicus, Kepler, Newton, and others were also priests, alchemists, or astrologers. New ways of thinking must be built from the old. They can't just spring into existence fully formed.

"Yes, Milton actually suggested that. I think it's a good idea, but I suspect some of the more conservative mages went along with it mainly to distance themselves from it. They still don't like the idea of nontraditional magic, and they certainly don't like orcs, but when we explained how this could actually bring in money, enough of them went along with it to tip the majority to our favor."

"I doubt it was easy to convince them," Doc said, approaching with Brax and Sandra from the ship.

Milton lowered his eyes and shook his head. Ferman laughed and said, "Hardly. We've had an exhausting evening. We went from the guildhall to Milton's shop first because some of the guild members wanted to see Gorbo to assure themselves that orcs could be domesticated."

"The teacakes helped, I think," Milton said. "Gorbo makes nice teacakes. And he was wearing the apron with flowers on it that he likes. It's hard to see someone in a flowered apron as dangerous."

"I quite enjoyed our talk, in fact," Ferman said. "I can't say Gorbo is a deep thinker, but his simple honesty impressed me. If this construction project goes well, I imagine the orcs can be put to all sorts of jobs."

"I hope you're not thinking of making slaves out of them," Doc said. "Slavery is abhorrent to my people."

"Is it?" Ferman's rhetorical question carried no sign of anything other than innocent curiosity. "How odd, but no; in fact, we decided that they should be paid, but they will be regarded as indentured servants to the Guild of Magicians for a year. Some members insisted on this as reparation for the damage they did, especially to the outer part of the city. That doesn't mean they will be abused in any way. We're going to try to make sure of that."

"Gorbo actually suggested that the orcs would work better if they were paid," Milton added. "He says it will be a way for them to keep score among themselves. I think they have some kind of instinctive status seeking behavior. Talking with him about this has been very informative. There is still much to do, obviously, but I'm sure we're going to be able to make it work."

"Yes, quite," Ferman said. "Many details remain, but the idea has support. After leaving Milton's shop, we went to see some of the masters of other guilds. They were resistant at first, but the leader of the Guild of Merchants came around fairly quickly. He said clean streets would help business, and he helped us sway others. By the time we got to the palace, it was well after dark, but we had the leaders of a dozen guilds with us."

"Some were already asking about hiring orcs for other jobs," Milton said.

"True," Ferman agreed. "King Genrex granted us a late night audience and listened to everything we told him. By this time, Rennart had already sided with us because his dislike of the orcs was overruled by his love of money."

Rennart? The guy who tried to turn me into a frog? I got the impression he doesn't like us."

"Oh, he doesn't. Especially you, Commander Chang. You threaten his status. He's one of our most formidable magicians. When your ship first arrived, it proved that his magic pales in comparison. And then when his spells failed against you, well, let's just say he did not take it well and began looking for a way to regain what he thought he lost to you. He's not being enthusiastic with his support for the sewer plan. He's just not actively opposing the idea. When I told him you would ensure the good behavior of the orcs by casting an Obedience spell, he withdrew all his objections, but I think he may be hoping they'll misbehave and prove you are not as powerful as everyone seems to think."

"What a devious, self-serving slime toad," Sandra said.

"There are many who would agree with you," Ferman said. "But he is influential."

Brax smiled. "Well, if you're living in a sewer, you have to expect the worst stuff to float to the top."

Sandra slapped him. "Ignore this oaf. Stupid stuff just falls out of his mouth all the time. I'm sure he meant no disrespect to your city."

"No offense taken," Ferman said. "And if I understand his metaphor accurately, it is not inaccurate. Fear, self-interest, and money are often more influential than wisdom, I'm sad to say. But in this case, they seem to be working in our favor."

"What about General Sevritas?" Lisa asked. "I doubt he's onboard with all of this."

"Well, no, he's not. But one of the other officers mentioned that orcs, if properly trained, might make good soldiers—"

"You're not going to—"

"No, Commander Chang. Not anytime soon anyway. Everyone is still a bit too uncertain about the orcs to arm them. But who knows? In time, if they integrate well into our city, they may end up being trusted in all sorts of professions."

She kept forgetting how different this place was from her universe. In her world, wars were close to unthinkable, and nations maintained armies mainly due to tradition. The primary job of soldiers, at least in the modern world she was from, was to provide assistance for disaster relief. The idea that the orcs might become soldiers in the old-fashioned sense, which meant killing other soldiers, disturbed her.

"I see. I'm sure that would be a sure sign of success, then," she said.

"Indeed it would," Ferman agreed. "But I am forgetting one of the main reasons for our late night visit. The king has ruled that the boon he promised will be presented to you tomorrow morning. We're going to assemble the captured orcs outside your ship at two hours past dawn so that you may cast your Obedience spell. I'm quite looking forward to seeing that, actually."

"So, we'll get the palladium after I cast the spell?"

"Yes, that's right, and complete the, um, promised transfer of funding."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"Well, yes. A minor thing. I was told to retrieve the sword loaned to Brax for the mission, if you have no objection."

"None at all," Lisa said.

Brax was currently wearing it along with the expression of a kid just told he could not have a second helping of dessert.

"Come on, Brax," Sandra said. "You don't need it, and you'd just end up cutting yourself with the stupid thing anyway."

"I'm doing it," he said with reluctance, undoing the clasps and buckles holding the sword belt. When he finally handed it to Milton, he seemed to have shrugged off his disappointment at not being allowed to keep his new toy and was actually smiling.

"Thank you," Ferman said. "We'll see you all in the morning."

### ~Chapter 18~

Lisa sipped her coffee and watched the activity outside on the screen in the galley. Sims told her that the workmen had arrived before dawn with a wagonload of precut lumber and fabric, taking advantage of the ship's lights to begin work immediately. The platform they were building appeared almost done. It was a crude stage about a meter off the ground, but the colorful drapery and bunting lent it a festive appearance. Other city dwellers were also at work setting up stalls and booths while a few early arrivers staked out prime spots from which to see the decorated platform. A growing number of people, dressed in shabby cloaks and tunics that she had come to regard as common peasant garb, wandered about or stood gawking at the ship.

"It looks like they're planning to make a big show of this," Lisa commented to Sandra, sitting next to her.

"They're probably starved for entertainment," the _Brane Child's_ communications officer said. "I mean, other than tormenting small animals and the occasional public execution, what do they have?"

"Oh, I'm sure they have plays and minstrel shows and things like that," Doc said. He pointed to the screen. "See just there to the right. That looks like some kind of puppet stage."

"You mean like a Punch and Judy show? That's hardly entertainment."

"It's a different culture. You can't judge them by our standards."

"Sure I can," Sandra protested. "They're the only standards I have. And you can't tell me that _you_ like it here."

Doc shrugged. "I must admit, I prefer our universe. As Thomas Hobbes said of primitive societies, life in them is nasty, brutish, and short. That doesn't mean they don't have their own unique charms."

"I don't find filth and disease charming." Sandra cocked her head as if searching for an exception and eventually found one. "Gorbo's cookies were good...but don't tell me anything about where the ingredients came from, okay?"

"They were probably all right. Actually, in terms of squalor, this place is not as bad as preindustrial cities on our world. I think the fact that it's somehow based on fantasy rather than history has something to do with that."

"Hey! There's Milton," Brax said, pointing to the screen. "And he's got Gorbo with him."

"I suppose it doesn't make any difference if people see him now," Lisa said. "He's just another ugly face in crowd."

Milton, along with a small group of other magic users, was making his way toward a fenced area near the newly constructed platform. Heading toward the same location from another direction, Gorbo's homely brethren shuffled with downcast eyes as guards herded them from the sides. The scene made Lisa wonder if they had done the right thing by coming up with their sewer plan. It made sense at the time, and she thought it still did, but the benefits would probably not be fully realized for years.

The orcs all wore similar shapeless tunics, and loose bindings that amounted to rope manacles hung at their wrists and ankles. Lisa did not believe the latter necessary. Without a leader, the orcs seemed lost and surprisingly docile. She could not believe they were still much threat. The citizens of Bardasium might not agree, and, she must admit, not without cause, but her 'spell' might help ease their minds. It was simply a matter of psychology. She had spent over an hour early this morning composing it.

"I suppose we'd better get down there," she said. "I'm sure the king will be arriving soon, and no doubt the protocol is for us to wait for him rather than the other way around." She turned to the pilot. "Brax, is our 'magic' enhancement ready?"

"Yes, Sims will monitor your performance and trigger it at the right time."

"Good. Let's get this over with."

~*~

They located Milton easily enough. He was standing at the fence, going from one orc to another and talking to them.

"Hi, Milton," Lisa said. "Inspecting your new workforce?"

"Oh, Hello, Commander Chang. Yes, kind of. We tried to make them as respectable as possible for the king. We're planning to standardize the uniform into something more distinctive. Then we can provide something like rank insignia and stuff for them, kind of like what Gorbo has on."

The orc held out a sleeve, which displayed a row of chevrons like a soldier's stripes.

"Mari sewed them on," Gorbo said. "She says it means I'm top orc."

"That's right. He's my assistant," Milton said. "Actually, the uniforms were his idea, sort of. He asked me who the orc chiefs were and how everyone would know. Orcs are very sensitive to group hierarchies, you know, and since we're going to need team leaders among them anyway, uniforms and rank insignia seemed like a good idea. The tunics were the best we could do on short notice, and I still haven't selected all the team leaders. That's one of the things I'm working on now."

"Team leaders?" Lisa asked. This struck her as a relatively modern business concept that seemed out of place in a medieval setting like this. It further proved to her that this world was not a distortion of history but some kind of realization of fantasy fiction as seen through the eyes of people of her own time. Milton's next statement made the case all the stronger.

"Yes. I can't directly oversee every orc here, so I figured we'd have team leaders who we could make responsible for the orcs under them, and maybe build up a whole management structure with higher level supervisors, eventually. So far, I've discovered that there are three different orc clans here, so their chiefs will be a good place to start, but we'll have at least twenty work teams. I figure I'll need to select that many team leaders."

He turned to speak to the closest orc behind the fence. "What's your name?" he asked in the high-pitched, suspiciously friendly voice people often use with small children they aren't entirely comfortable around but don't wish to frighten.

The orc lifted his eyes to peer past his brow ridge and said, "Buzzoff."

Gorbo reached past Milton and gave the orc a backhanded slap. "You're civilized now. Show respect. This is your new boss. Tell him your name."

"Gorbo has been a lot of help," Milton whispered to Lisa. "He definitely has a certain rapport with them."

The slapped orc cowered. "My name is B'uzzoff, but I can change it if the new boss don't like it."

"No, no. That's all right," Milton said. "I'm sure Gorbo just misunderstood. So, tell me, B'uzzoff, how have the soldiers been treating you?"

B'uzzoff shrugged his broad shoulders and cocked his head. "Okay. They fed us. Good stuff, too. We got chicken guts last night. Cooked and everything. They were hardly rancid at all."

"Chicken guts?" Lisa said, turning to Milton. "You fed them chicken guts?"

"All kinds of guts, actually," he answered. "We weren't really prepared for this, so we had to scrounge to find enough food for them. We eventually collected scraps from butchers who had more than they needed for sausages."

"They put animal guts in sausages?

"They put _everything_ in sausages. That's what makes them sausages. They all end up tasting pretty much the same when you add the spices and salt and stuff. That's what sausage means, you know—stuff that's full of salt."

Lisa could hear Sandra suppressing a gag behind her, but Brax laughed. "It sounds like yours are full of all kinds of—"

Sandra recovered quickly and slapped him. "If you can't control what comes out of your mouth, I'm going to have to tape it closed."

"I was going to say gizzards," Brax said sheepishly.

"No you weren't."

He scuffed his foot in the dirt. "Well, Okay, I wasn't. But they sound really offal."

"Better, but too late."

Lisa turned and saw the ship's communications officer rolling her eyes and shaking her head at the grinning pilot. Doc simply smiled as he watched the interplay between them.

Turning her attention back to the orcs, and seeing them standing there dull-eyed and submissive, brought to mind dogs in an animal shelter—scared but eager to please—just nowhere near as cute. She felt sorry for them, but she also knew that dogs could bite. She hoped the orcs wouldn't, metaphorically or otherwise. The plan to integrate them into the city would fail if they did, and both the people here and the orcs would lose. She truly believed that everyone would benefit if they all just learned to get along, but she also realized that her belief derived from her twenty-second century culture. Here and now—wherever and whenever that might be—life was, as Doc said, comparatively nasty, brutish, and short.

She walked up to the orc Milton had been talking with. "So, how do you feel about working with the people here?"

B'uzzoff shrugged again. "Kind of dull so far. They don't let us do nothin', and there's nothin' much to watch, but it's gotta be better than the brain eater. He was one bad boss."

The orc next to him gave him a nudge. "And these guys beat him."

"Uh, yeah. I forgot that." B'uzzoff's face adopted the expression of a puppy by a puddle in the living room. Lisa found it somehow ingratiating. "I'm really going to like working with these people." He looked at her with frightened, pleading eyes. "You're not going to eat our brains, are you?"

Lisa smiled benignly. "I can assure you that the thought never entered my mind."

A sudden change in the atmosphere of the crowd drew her attention. People murmured and several heads turned toward the direction of the city gate.

"What's going on?" Lisa asked Milton.

"I think the king is coming. We'd better get to the platform."

They weren't far away from it and got there in time to see a black carriage pulled by four horses roll up. A military escort of officers and men in clean uniforms and shining armor marched on either side of it. General Sevritas led them. A somewhat less orderly group of well-dressed city dwellers, including a few in distinctive magician's robes, followed behind. People cheered. Perhaps Sandra was right. These people really were starved for entertainment.

The driver stopped the carriage alongside the platform, and General Sevritas opened the door. King Genrex stepped out if full royal regalia, wearing long purple robes trimmed in fur, which gave them a somewhat barbaric touch. Lisa had always associated fur with cavemen, although she knew people had continued to wear fur and animal skins up until the last century.

He paused, waved regally, and smiled at the crowd, which cheered louder. Lisa didn't and wondered what everyone found so entertaining. All the king had done was wave.

"Come on," Milton told her. "You'll go on stage after the king speaks."

He made it sound as if King Genrex was the introductory act and she was the star of the show. At least she had a script of sorts this time.

She stepped up to the edge of the platform, and the soldiers surrounding it moved aside to let her pass. She glanced back at the ship. Sims should be monitoring everything. She certainly hoped it was.

"Commander Chang," the king said. "Please, join me. You have accomplished a great deal."

"All we did was get rid of the mind flayer."

"Well, that too, but I meant how you've turned traditional enemies into allies."

"You mean the orcs."

"Actually, no, but I'm sure that's all well and good. I was referring to the guilds. You've really energized our Guild of Magicians, as well as several others. The guilds are actually working cooperatively rather than trying to undermine each other, which is what they always spent much of their effort doing before. This new attitude is somewhat refreshing. The strange idea you gave them may actually work. If it does, we'll be the most envied city in the land."

"It should work, Your Majesty, provided your subjects treat the orcs well."

Her world had never experienced the situation the people here would face. There was only one complex language and tool-using species on Earth—humans—and she wasn't sure that they would not have exploited another one if it had existed. They had certainly exploited one another throughout history. Still, this solution seemed better than having the humans and the orcs continue to fight. At least they could attempt to coexist peacefully now.

She stepped onto the platform to another cheer from the crowd. She had been concerned that her 'spell' would be a dud, but if the locals were this easily entertained, she'd be a hit.

King Genrex silenced the crowd with a wave of his hand. "Today begins a new age of peace and prosperity for Bardasium," he began.

Lisa paid little attention. Hers was a world where such speeches were common. They came from the mouths of politicians and advertisers with various levels of truth and sincerity, and invariably uttered with more confidence than their messages warranted. She immediately recognized the tone as the one used by people trying to sell something, and she protected herself by ignoring it. She wasn't the intended customer in this case, anyway. She was the expert who would back up the claims he was making, not unlike the doctor brought on to verify that a particular miracle drug really works, or a guy in a lab coat hired to say that a little bit of lead or some extra carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is a good thing. Fortunately for her self-respect, she believed in the product he was selling.

Another round of applause and cheering announced when he was done. He smiled at the crowd.

"Is your Obedience spell ready?" he asked her softly through his beard.

She feigned a confident smile of her own. "It's all set to cast, Your Majesty." She really hoped Sims was prepared.

She stepped forward and the king stepped back as far as the small platform allowed, as if trying to get out of range of any possible unpleasant magical side effects. A bit of hesitant applause emerged from the crowd, and she looked out at a sea of dirty faces and their wide eyes of curiosity and anticipation. Yes, she was definitely the main act, and she had the audience's attention. She would do her best to put on a good show for them. Their future depended on it.

"People of Bardasium. Orcs of the three clans. You have been given a rare opportunity," she announced, projecting her voice as much as she could. They had decided against amplifying it through the ship because it might confuse people who had no concept of speakers. They might think the ship was talking. "You can make a brighter future for yourselves and for your children by working together. Chances like the one you have now don't come often. You may never have another. I will do one last thing to help, but it is ultimately up to you to succeed or fail."

She swept what she hoped was a commanding gaze across the crowd, waiting until she felt sure they were all watching to see what she would do next. Turning her attention to the orcs, she glared a moment longer, snapped out her arms as if pulling power from the sky, and began her 'spell'.

Orcs! You must harken and hear what I say.

You were downtrodden and once led astray.

I hereby change you to everyone's gain.

You are no longer the bringers of pain.

You are no longer the lurkers in night.

You are no longer the beasts who fear light.

You have new masters with whom to comply.

You must obey them to live or else die.

You are now useful. You build, not destroy.

Do these things well and life you'll enjoy.

It was more of a children's rhyme than a spell, but she delivered it with as much mystic gravitas as she could. She was an engineer, not a poet, and certainly not a sorceress, but it was the perception of the listeners that mattered. She didn't like including the implied threat, but Brax said it should be there. He claimed that an Obedience spell was like a contract. It must have an 'or else' clause.

As her final word reached the ears of those at the rear of the crowd, her hair frizzed and she felt a tingling, as if ants were crawling under her clothes. Everyone else apparently felt the same thing, because several jumped in alarm, and some of the orcs fell to their knees. Even she was impressed, and she knew what caused it. Sims had sent an electrostatic discharge through the ship's hull. Doc suggested the idea, and Brax agreed it might add veracity to her 'magic'.

She heard King Genrex gasp behind her, but he recovered quickly.

"Very impressive. Very impressive indeed," he said to her as he smoothed down his beard, which had fluffed out like an angry cat because of the static electricity.

He stepped to the front of the platform. "I declare this festival open!" he announced. The crowd around the stage roared approval and began to disperse. Guards and a few young magic users were already leading the orcs away.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," Lisa said before the king could step off the platform. "About our boon...."

"Oh, yes, of course. I have given those details into the care of Master Ferman. He'll handle the exchange—your promised boon for a portion of the mind flayer's treasure, if I'm not mistaken. I am quite sure he's around here somewhere." He dismissed her and any further thought of those 'details' from his mind with a regal wave of his hand before boarding his coach.

Scanning the crowd from the vantage point of the stage, she located Ferman wandering near the departing orcs. Milton, Gorbo, and a small group of other magicians were with him. She raced down the platform's steps, but Sandra, Doc, and Brax intercepted her as soon as she cleared them.

"That was pretty good," Sandra said. "I didn't know you could act on stage that well."

"Neither did I," she said, not stopping. "But I don't want to do it anymore. We have to get to Ferman. Apparently he has our palladium."

"I was wondering about that," Brax said.

"I was worried about it," Sandra admitted. "As fun as this has been, it's time to go."

The crew members of the _Brane Child_ followed Lisa to the orc pen where they found Ferman in discussion with three other magic users. Milton was apparently running interference.

"They're talking about the orcs and the project," the young apprentice told them. There are still a lot of things to work out." He exhaled an overburdened sigh. "And the way things are going, I'm going to end up doing a lot of them."

"Sorry about that," Lisa said, attempting to maneuver around him. "But we need to talk to him about the palladium—the boon we were promised. The king told me he had it."

She pushed past him, interrupting the magic users' peripatetic conference. "Master Ferman, the king says you have the palladium he promised us."

He turned, apparently surprised to see her. "What? Oh, yes. I almost forgot about that. So much to do, you know." He dug in the folds of his robes and produced a black cube about the size of his palm.

"The palladium is in there?" Lisa asked.

"Yes—well, in a manner of speaking."

"What manner would that be?" She cocked an incredulous eyebrow and prepared to fire a volley of verbal abuse if she did not like the answer.

He took a step back. "Well, in magical potential, as it were. Milton can explain it all, I'm sure." He quickly handed the box to his apprentice. "I know he can arrange everything to your satisfaction. He's proven quite competent, but I need to see to other matters right now. I don't think I've ever been so busy. There is so much to arrange." He turned to re-engage with his fellow magic users.

She glared at the exploited apprentice. "What's going on, Milton? Do we get our palladium or not?"

"Um, well, yes, of course. All we need to do is take the Black Box to the thing that needs fixing, and it will magically produce whatever's needed."

"Magic? You know how I feel about magic, Milton."

"Well, yes. Ours tends to be somewhat less than reliable, so I understand your hesitation. But I'm sure this will work just as well as yours always does. It's... well, it's a Black Box. What's inside can't be determined until you open it and look, but since the observer is part of the process, it provides exactly what you need every time. It's a very primal form of magic. Very basic. Very—"

"Quantum?"

"I was going to say 'ancient'."

Great! All they needed was a small chunk of naturally occurring metal, and what they got was a magic box. She heard what Milton said it could do, but nothing could rearrange subatomic particles the way this thing would have to in order to do what he claimed—not without an explosion like a stellar nova being part of the process, in any case.

She did a quick estimate of the probability of it working and came up with a lot of zeroes before hitting a one to the far right of the decimal point. Unfortunately, this still made it their best option. If it did somehow tap into a kind of observer-dependent quantum effect, the odds might be significantly greater for some observers than others in this bizarre alternate reality.

"Right, ancient. Well, I'm sure that makes sense," she lied. "Brax, take Milton to the ship and see to the...manifestation of the part we need. The rest of us are going to stay out here and—"

"Enjoy the festivities," Doc finished for her.

"Exactly," Lisa agreed. "I haven't been to a renaissance fair in years. We'll go see—"

"Minstrels," Sandra said. "And maybe a jester, or whatever. I'm sure it will be—"

"Interesting," Lisa said at the same time Doc said, "Fascinating."

Lisa watched Milton and the _Brane Child's_ pilot disappear into the ship, leaving Gorbo outside at the end of the ramp.

"Do you think it will work?" she asked the two crew members who remained behind with her.

"I don't see how it could," Sandra said. "But that doesn't seem to matter here as much as it does back home. What about you, Doc?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched the people wandering about the stalls and booths set up in and around the courtyard.

"Have you ever heard of Terry Pratchett?" he eventually asked.

"You mentioned him once before, but I'm not sure I know who he is." Lisa said.

"He was a fantasy writer of the late twentieth/early twenty-first century. He had a truly unique talent for creating a fantasy world that readers could not possibly believe was real, which allowed them to suspend disbelief so that they could enjoy the fantasy without their brains' logic filters kicking in."

"I've read a few fantasy stories from that time," Sandra said. "They all seemed to try to make zombies and vampires seem like they were real. They were supposed to be scary, but I thought they were stupid."

"Pratchett's were different—funny, but far from stupid. I bring him up because he sometimes mentions a thing he called 'narrativium', which is a force within a story that guides it to a satisfying conclusion—a kind of narrative causality. Our world doesn't have anything like that. People star in their own stories, but most lead uneventful lives. Things happen, but very few endeavors tie up all the loose ends or conclude the way one might believe they should. This universe isn't like ours, though. It seems to have some basis in fantasy, and if something like Pratchett's narrativium is operating, then—"

"The Black Box should work?" Lisa said.

"I don't know, Doc," Sandra objected. "We're talking about a magic box. The odds of that working are—what?—one in a million?"

Doc smiled. "One corollary of Pratchett's law of narrativium is that one-in-a-million chances succeed nine times out of ten."

### ~Chapter 19~

The area around the ship remained free of peddlers and entertainers, but a few townspeople braved a closer approach and some even hesitantly touched a landing strut or stood in the shadow of the ship to gaze in awe at the belly of the flying behemoth. Lisa had told Sims to allow them to indulge their curiosity as long as none of them looked likely to cause any damage.

Gorbo greeted them at the end of the ramp.

"Milton told me to stand guard here," the orc said. "I've never done that before. Am I doing it right?"

You're here and you're standing," Lisa said. "That seems to fulfill the job requirements as far as I can see."

"So I'm doing it right?"

"Yes you are," Doc said, patting him on the shoulder.

A few minutes passed, and Milton and Brax emerged from the ship. Both of them were smiling.

"It worked?" Lisa said, not even attempting to hide the surprise in her voice.

"Like magic," Brax said with no sense of irony. "We put the box next to the BS device and it hummed for a while. Then it went 'ping'. Milton opened it, and the missing part was inside along with a spare. Sims is using a maintenance drone to install it now. It shouldn't take long."

"This I've got to see," Sandra said.

Doc stopped her. "Perhaps we should wait for the magic to settle before we examine it too closely," he said.

"That might be prudent," Lisa agreed. She didn't want to risk causing some kind of instability in what the magic box apparently did because she still could not believe it did it. "But I see no reason why we shouldn't go in. We still have to give Milton the treasure we promised him."

"Thank you," Milton said with a slight sigh of relief. "Ferman was quite explicit that I needed to get that before I left."

"I'm sure he was," Lisa said. "Well, come on. Let's see to it."

"Should I stand guard some more," Gorbo said as they started up the ramp.

"Um, no, Milton said. Try to find Ferman and tell him I'm going to need help carrying the treasure."

"Okay, boss," Gorbo said, immediately turning away, by all appearances pleased to have another duty to perform.

As they entered the galley, it occurred to Lisa that they had not done a comprehensive inventory of the things they had obtained from the mind flayer's cave. When they first got them, she had assumed they would be hauling everything back with them, but that would not happen now.

"We should have a record of this stuff for our mission report," she said.

"Assuming we get back to submit one," Sandra said.

"Let's assume we will," Doc said. "It may help."

Lisa picked up the sword from the treasure pile. "Sims, do an analysis and make a record of the items we put on the table. Notify us of anything that appears anomalous."

"Acknowledged. Note that sensors in this location are limited to superficial examination."

"That will do."

"We don't have to give them the sword, do we?" Brax said with the tone and expression of a boy told it was time to turn off his game and get to his schoolwork. "I had to return the one they loaned me, but I was hoping we could keep this one."

"You don't need a sword," Sandra told him. "I saw you playing with the other one. You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself."

"I was getting the hang of it," he protested.

"It goes," Lisa said. "We can keep a bag of coins or something smaller as souvenirs."

They laid the items on the table, spilling the bags for Sims to record the contents and then refilling them when it signaled it was done.

Lisa didn't know the local value of any of the sparkly items they spread across the table, but she assumed it was considerable because Milton watched with wide, amazed eyes as they emptied each bag.

"Do you think we'll have enough to fund the project?" Lisa asked him.

He gulped and nodded. "Easily."

"Possible anomaly," Sims announced unexpectedly. The table currently held the contents of a bag of small jewelry.

"Which items?"

The display screen in the wall came on showing an image of the table's contents. An orange circle surrounded what appeared to be a roughly triangular brooch made of some kind of gold alloy.

Lisa thought it looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she might have seen something like it before.

"Why is this anomalous, Sims?"

"It possesses a close resemblance to an object in a fictional database that does not overlap with the presumed basis for this universe."

"Something from a different story?" Doc said. "Perhaps it is some kind of spillover from a different fictional universe."

Brax located it in the pile of jewelry and held it up. "It looks like a Star Trek communicator badge."

Lisa was not a big fan herself, but she was familiar with Star Trek. New movies based on it still came out every few years, and there were countless books, videos, and games.

"Sims, are you detecting any electromagnetic power readings from this item?

"No."

"Okay. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but we'll hold onto it."

Brax put the brooch aside and they continued their inventory. By the time they were done, they had found several items that appeared based on specific fantasy stories. Although curious, these fit within the ordinary fantasy fiction genre. But three more didn't—a Buck Rogers decoder ring, a pendant that resembled a Time Lord's pocket watch, and, improbably, a small bath towel with the number '42' embroidered on it. Those were definitely more science fiction than fantasy. They put them aside as well.

A musical tone signaled that Sims wished to speak again.

"Go ahead, Sims," Lisa said.

"Ferman and six other people have approached the ship. They are currently waiting at the ramp with Gorbo."

"It looks like it's time to take care of the final details." Lisa motioned to the items on and around the table. "Get all of this stuff to the airlock but don't bring it down until I join you. There's something I want to check first."

She rushed to the bridge, sat at her command station, and called up the interface for the BS device. When the logo for General Spaceworks made way for the main menu, she selected TEST.

Glowing green block letters appeared on the screen.

TEST IN PROGRESS.

The one word result came almost instantly.

PASS.

The success of the BS test relieved and confused her. The magic box had worked. She didn't know how it could have, but it meant they could try to get back to their world. She could entertain all of the various 'how' and 'why' questions buzzing in her mind later. If they succeeded, the physicists and philosophers back home would be debating the physics and metaphysics of it for years.

The main menu reappeared and she selected ABORT.

One of the maintenance drones was dropping a bag on the heap of treasure sitting by the airlock when she got there, and everyone who should be was standing by.

"All ready?" she asked.

"Yes," Brax said,

To her surprise, Milton objected. "No," he said.

"Why not?" Lisa asked him.

"You should keep more of the treasure. It's yours by right."

She didn't really care about the treasure. Here, it undoubtedly represented a fortune. Even with the devalued price of gold, it was probably worth a respectable sum back home. But she was reasonably sure that anything returned from their mission legally belonged to General Spaceworks Corporation, and she knew they already had a substantial profit margin built into the Brane Skip contract. It wasn't worth arguing about, though.

"All right." She grabbed one of the larger bags from the pile and handed it to the drone. "We'll keep this one. Sims, return this bag to the galley."

"Acknowledged," the disembodied voice of the AI said as the drone retreated with the bag.

"Are you sure that's all you want?" Milton asked. "There is more than enough here to get the orcs situated and the sewer project started."

"We don't really need it," she said. A better use for some of the money suddenly occurred to her, but now was not the time.

~*~

Lisa looked down and saw Ferman standing at the end of the ramp with a small group of young men dressed in brown hooded robes much like those Milton wore. They had a skinny mule hitched to a two-wheeled cart with them.

She grabbed one of the smaller bags from the pile by the airlock and peeked inside. It held a mixed collection of gold and silver coins. It should do.

Milton led the way down the ramp to meet his master, with Lisa and the rest of the ship's crew behind him. The drones would bring the treasure as soon as she gave Sims the word.

"Commander Chang," Ferman said. "Milton's orc told me he would need help carrying the treasure." He eyed the small bag she was holding with obvious disappointment. "Is that it?"

"This?" she said, lifting the bag. "No. This is for Milton."

"Me?" the apprentice said.

"Yes," Lisa said. She now addressed the senior mage. "Ferman, your apprentice has been a great help to us, and we wanted to express our appreciation with a small boon." She handed the bag to Milton who accepted it, slack-jawed and silent. "I'll have the funding for the sewer project brought down presently. I assume such a boon is in order?"

"Um, well, of course. What is yours is yours to give as you see fit."

"So now this is his to do with as he sees fit, correct?" Her original thought was simply to present the bag to Milton in front of a credible witness so there would be no chance of him being accused of theft or embezzlement. But not knowing what rules applied concerning apprentices, guild dues, or royal tithes, she also wanted to make sure Milton would be allowed to keep at least a substantial portion of what she gave him.

"Yes. That is correct."

"Excellent. In that case, I see no reason to detain you."

She turned to the ship and yelled up the ramp. "Sims, bring down the funding we promised for the sewer project."

A moment later, the three maintenance drones, laden with treasure, emerged from the ship and marched single file down the ramp. Ferman's eyes widened as they unloaded the booty into the cart, and his jaw dropped when they returned with a second load.

"This is really most generous," he finally managed to say. "So, I take it you will be leaving us soon?" He did not sound eager for her to say yes, exactly, but she did get the impression that he would not regret their departure.

"Just a moment, if I may," Doc said. "I'd like to talk with Milton for a moment."

"Oh, certainly," Ferman said. "Fond farewells and all that, I imagine."

Milton, clutching the bag Lisa gave him to his chest, looked at Doc. "Thank you. Thank you all," the apprentice said tearfully.

"Is that enough for you and your young lady?" Doc asked him.

"More than enough, I should think, especially now that I have a steady paying job."

Ferman smiled. "Milton is our new employee relations manager for the division of the guild in charge of the sewer project."

"I don't see how Mari's father can possibly object to you now," Sandra said. "You're practically a businessman."

He gave her a weak smile. "I don't think he will any longer."

"You still seem concerned about something," Doc said. "Or am I mistaken?"

"I am, a bit," he said. "It's about the orcs. We've gotten a lot of things sorted out. There's a warehouse outside the walls that we're converting into barracks for them, which should do for now, and we're putting together project ideas and work plans—but, well, I'm afraid they'll get bored. Gorbo likes to be busy, but I'm not sure we can keep them all busy all the time. I'm worried that we may not be able to keep them out of trouble when they're not, and the first time one causes trouble, well, we're going to have trouble, if you see what I mean."

"I'm sure there are all sorts of jobs they can do," Sandra said. "They're not stupid.... Well, maybe they are, but they can haul and clean and chop and dig."

"I thought about that, and we're going to have them help rebuild the town outside the walls, but they can't be working all the time. I mean, Gorbo doesn't. He has hobbies."

"Oh, you mean you want to make sure they're entertained during their time off. That's easy. Just give them something to watch. Set up shows and sports teams. They don't even have to have a plot or anything like that. When I was in the orc camp, I heard a couple orcs talking about watching someone dig a hole. It really doesn't matter what it is. If you call it entertainment, I'm sure they'll sit and watch it. I can't say I understand why, but it works with many people in my world. I can't imagine the orcs are any harder to amuse than they are."

"That's brilliant! Sports teams, races, cooking demonstrations, log-sawing contests.... Yes, I think that will work. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Doc placed a hand on Milton's shoulder. "The important thing, I think, is to give the orcs something to be other than monsters. Give them a constructive purpose and a backstory. They may surprise you."

"That's what I'm trying to avoid."

"I meant in a good way."

~*~

They waited almost until dusk to raise the ship. The liftoff provided the last spectacle of the day for the revelers below. Brax circled the city and waggled the _Brane Child's_ wings in farewell before soaring off.

"Sensor readings are a bit better than they were when we first got here, but they're still fuzzy, and the range isn't nearly as good as it should be," Sandra said from her station.

"Record as much as you can," Lisa told her. "It may help someone figure out what this place is if... when we get back."

The ship climbed to the upper atmosphere. The forward view screen showed blue skies all around them and wispy clouds below.

"Engaging scramjet," Brax announced.

Lisa felt herself pressed into her seatback from the acceleration as the ship gained speed. They needed to get to about fifteen times the speed of sound to achieve orbit.

The curvature of the planet was now distinct, and the sky above them was a dark purple fading up to black. It did look much like Earth—from a distance.

"We discovered it, so we get to name it, right?" Brax said.

Lisa eyed him skeptically. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe something short and simple." He grinned. "We could call it 'Brax'.

Sandra laughed. "Sorry, big guy. I don't think they're going to let us name a planet after you."

"Too bad. I thought it had a nice ring to it. Chang?"

"Yes?"

"No, I mean as a name for the planet. It's also nice and short."

"So am I," she said, "but no thanks. Let's leave it unnamed for now. Besides, I don't think we've discovered a planet so much as some kind of alternate universe."

Doc remained characteristically quiet, but his face suggested deep thought.

"What are you thinking about, Doc?" Lisa asked him.

"I think you may be right. As I was telling Commander Chang earlier," he said, addressing everyone present, "I'm not sure this place existed before we arrived. I'm not entirely sure it exists now, although I suppose that would depend on what we mean by 'exist' and 'now'.

"High orbit achieved," Brax said. "We're clear to navigate. Where do you want to go, Commander?"

"Let's try to get to the same relative location we were at when we emerged from the Brane Skip."

"No problem." He tapped the control panel. "We'll be there in a couple hours."

"Doc," Sandra said. "You lost me. How could this place not exist? Either it does or it doesn't, right? Since we're here, I'd say it has to."

"Maybe it's like levels of reality," Brax said. "You know that cliché about drunks seeing pink elephants? Well, the elephants aren't real, but after you've had enough of them stomping on your head, they can make you stop drinking."

"Did it work that way for you?" Sandra said.

"He has a different addiction," Lisa said. "But Sandra is right. Either this place is real or it's not. I still don't see any other options."

"That may not be true here," Doc said. "Simple Boolean logic may not apply. A straightforward yes-or-no, true-or-false answer may not be possible. The underlying _reality_ may be in some kind of superposition of existence and nonexistence, or something else entirely, like—"

"Cats that are both alive and dead?" Sandra said.

Doc laughed. "I don't think it's even that simple. There may be more to it, assuming for the moment that there is an 'it' here to talk about. This _place_ may exist as potential, as a kind of homogenous fluid or a probability distribution without any peaks. Think of a perfectly still pool of water. It has the potential to have waves anywhere on the surface, but that probability changes if someone tosses in a rock. And the pattern of the resulting waves depends on where the rock lands, how big it is, and how hard it hits."

"We're the rock?" Lisa said.

"Maybe."

"This is getting way too metaphysical. Let's get back to reality...or whatever. So the way I understand it, you're saying that this place, this particular place with Milton and the orcs and everything, exists because we were talking about fantasy stories when we skipped?"

"Again, maybe. It might have existed in some fashion previously, but I think the skip brought us here, or perhaps I should say that here took the form it did, because of what we had in mind at the time."

"But ultimately it's fictional, right? I mean, it has dragons and orcs and magic. It's fantasy."

"I think its nature is observer-dependent."

"It's as real as I think it is?"

"No. Well, not entirely."

"So when we leave, does the place continue existing?"

"It depends on what we mean by 'existing'. But my guess is that it does in the sense that its potential is now constrained by the pattern we have unwittingly imposed upon it. Its past and present are now established. We may have shaped it, but now that it's formed, it may be able to continue from that foundation without further outside input."

"Are you saying we created an entire universe?" Brax said, clearly impressed. "Whoa! I feel so...godlike."

"Perhaps it would be better to think of it as a book. The letters in it all exist before you open it, but they can take the shape of anything, from an epic adventure to a thousand different recipes for tuna casserole. The possibilities are infinite, but they aren't one specific story or another until you open the book. But once you see a page, it's fixed, and the following pages are constrained by the page before, at least for you. I'm not sure another reader would see the same story. That's actually how it is in a way with books. The words may be the same, but each reader experiences a different story because they are part of an integrated system. A book is not complete without the reader."

Lisa squinted at him. This conversation was making her head hurt. "Are you sure you're not a theoretical physicist? You're making about as much sense as one."

"Sorry."

"So this is like a story?" Sandra said.

"In a manner of speaking."

"And it has orcs and magic and other things that don't make much sense because that's what we were thinking when we opened it, I mean, when we engaged the Brane Skip device?"

"I think so, although I cannot say how."

"And we became characters in that story?"

"So it would appear."

"Well, I can't say I understand it," Brax said. "But it was kind of fun, don't you think?"

"A bit, maybe," Sandra mumbled. "But as far as the thinking part goes, I'm not sure I can handle any more of that for a while."

Lisa had a disturbing thought.

"Doc, does our Brane Skip device make sense to you?" she asked.

"I am not really qualified to assess it from a scientific standpoint."

"Me either. I'm an engineer, not a physicist. I'm not even a philosopher. It's just that now I'm wondering if somehow we're—"

"We've arrived at the skip point, Commander," Brax said.

The view screen showed star-sprinkled space around them.

"Okay. Let's do it." She pulled up the BS interface and selected START. Now it was simply a matter of waiting.

They all watched in silent apprehension as the main screen displayed the BS countdown.

INITIALIZING

BRANE SCANNING

DETERMINING IMPLIED GRAVITY

DRAWING INFERENCES

ASSUMING BRANE EXISTENCE

PREPARING TO JUMP TO CONCLUSION POINT

PRESS ENTER TO SKIP

"That's it," Brax said. "Ready, Commander?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Hit it."

"Okay! There's no place like home!"

He brought his hand down to press the button.

Lisa's eyes widened in sudden panic as an image formed in her mind. From the expression on the faces of Doc and Sandra, she could tell that they were imagining the same thing she was. It was an expression full of ruby slippers, wicked witches, and flying monkeys.

Her lips began to form the word "No!" when the ship skipped.

~END~

### If you enjoyed this book, please let the world know. Recommendations, reviews, Tweets, and comments on social media will help ensure that the author keeps writing (instead of succumbing to the temptation of stepping away from his keyboard and getting a life).

### Other Books by D.L. Morrese

### Stories of the Warden's World:

_An Android Dog's Tale_ \- Not only does MO-126 look like a dog, his core behavioral program is derived from canine instincts. This may be one reason he finds the smelly primitives imported to work this Corporation agricultural project so fascinating. Despite their contradictory tendencies, he believes humans have potential. In fact, he likes them. This places him in something of a dilemma. Whose interests should come first—the Project's or the humans'? He must make choices, as must all sentient creatures, but what if he chooses wrong? If the corporation abandons the Project, will the humans be able to survive on their own?

_The Warden Threat_ \- A lighthearted tale of looming war, subversion, and a terrible magical weapon. Prince Donald, the idealistic third son of the king of Westgrove, believes he may be the only one able to protect his country from an invasion spearheaded by an ancient and massive stone warrior known as the Warden of Mystic Defiance. Donald, unfortunately, is woefully unprepared. His only real understanding of such things comes from his reading of adventure stories, which he soon discovers understate the realities and hardships of such quests. His guide, Kwestor, a competent but jaded ranger, feels seeking adventure is the same as asking for trouble. Donald finds both, as well as an answer he never expected.

_The Warden War_ \- This sequel continues the quest begun by Prince Donald in _The Warden Threat_. His father, the king of Westgrove, has been told the neighboring kingdom of Gotrox has discovered a magical means to animate a mysterious and gigantic ancient stone warrior, the Warden of Mystic Defiance, which it plans to use it to spearhead an invasion of his kingdom. Donald is convinced this is a hoax, a deception contrived by his father's chief adviser to bring about a war. Donald is determined to thwart him. It will not be easy. Chief Adviser Horace Barter has several advantages. He has resources, connections, influence, and the almost unquestioned trust of the king. Donald, sadly, has none of these. What the young prince has is a nominal position with the diplomatic team being sent to Gotrox and the companionship of a few rather unique friends, including a pair of 15,000-year-old androids, one of which is a dog—or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

_Amy's Pendant_ \- Amy, the only child of a poor family living in the bustling city of Dolphin Point, is given an amazing and potentially dangerous pendant as a present for her fourteenth birthday. She does not know how amazing or how potentially dangerous it is. If she did, she would cherish it even more. She is that kind of girl.

Through her investigations of the mysterious pendant, she uncovers an ancient mystery, the remnants of a vast alien commercial enterprise buried beneath the surface of the planet. Unfortunately, the central computer for the complex is aware of her intrusion and it cannot let her escape with knowledge of its existence.

_Disturbing Clockwork_ \- On a small island called Bob off the southern shore of the great Kingdom of Westgrove, Benkin, a brilliant if somewhat quirky scientist, discovers something extraordinary—clockwork automatons that can obey commands. For Benkin, this is an amazing scientific discovery, one he wants to explore; one he believes may revolutionize mankind's understanding of the world. For Snyde, a fugitive from the king's justice, it is something he can use....

### Adventures of the Brane Child:

_Brane Child -_ The Brane Skip device may provide a way for humanity to overcome the light-speed barrier and finally head for the stars. It seems like magic to Lisa Chang, the young engineer in command of the first crewed test flight, and Lisa doesn't believe in magic. But she does believe in the mission. Humanity must explore space in order to survive and prosper, and she feels honored to be among the first to go where no one has gone before. She does not know what will happen when the Brane Skip engages. She thinks it will do nothing. She fears it will explode. She does not expect it will cast them adrift in space and on a collision course with a fantasy version of Earth, complete with dragons, orcs, and wizards.... Unfortunately, this is exactly what happens.

_The Scarecrow's Brane -_ Oz isn't what Commander Lisa Chang expected. Fairy tales were never her thing, and finding herself in one is grating on her nerves. But she can't leave, at least not yet. The abrupt landing of her spaceship inadvertently squashed the only protection Emerald City had against the tyrannical Red Witch of the South. And now, unfortunately, the witch has Lisa and her crew locked in a cell. Emerald City isn't enough. The witch wants Lisa's 'magic' ship as well.

The crew of the spaceship _Brane Child_ must escape the witch's prison and then embark on a hazardous journey through the Wild Lands to Munchkinland, where Lisa must somehow convince the Great and Powerful Blue Wizards of the East to construct a new protector for Emerald City.

D.L. Morrese's books are available from fine online retailers worldwide.

### About the Author

D.L. Morrese is an award-winning author of speculative fiction books that have been called science fiction for fantasy readers. He currently resides in Orlando, Florida, U.S.A., where he spends most of his time reading, thinking, and writing, although not necessarily in that order. You can learn more about him and his books at <http://dlmorrese.wordpress.com/>.

Leave a comment if you wish. He does read them and appreciates every one. If you REALLY liked this story, please consider sharing your opinion in a short review on book retailer sites.

