Planetary: Mercury, page 10
I saw something move in the dust storm. A vast something move within the storm. Then, I saw crab legs shift and scuttle about. Claws and even a pincer the size of an ore hauler waved at the corners of my sight, as shadows and hints. The mouth of the largest ding-bat I’d ever seen moved through the fog of dust. Thousands of teeth, each three times my size, rotated in a vast circle, with a dark center I did not want to see. The vast plate face of a ding-bat joined it, but it was like the ding-bat I saw mid leap. Blue lines and shining circles covered the entire surface in designs that seemed symmetrical, but then didn’t seem so. I don’t know much more. I tongued the overdrive switch again and again. I won’t sugarcoat it; I screamed in hysterical terror.
I stopped looking at it and focused on keeping myself stable. If I lost contact with the ground, it would all be over and I’d be sucked into the maw and never get out! I didn’t even want to think about! I focused on keeping my wheels down. Dust pulled me back. Rocks and stones started flying back towards me. Several bounced off my shell of a suit. To my right and left I saw boulders rolling back into the grinder, where I could hear the very crunch and crushing when they fell.
The dust thinned. I could see farther, and with the dust thinning, the pull on me decreased. I could gain traction again and I gained ground. I pushed the motorcycle further forward, and I freed myself of the worst of it.
Devil may care! I cursed myself for my competence and show boating. All this and my reward isn’t fame or money, it’s more life-threatening work! I heard the mass shift and roil through the ground. I saw cave-ins and hillocks rise and fall all around me. One opened up underneath me, but I pushed forward, catching the ground as it rose back up.
Then, I heard a screech, a splitting sound. The ground shattered, falling under my back wheel not even a second after I had passed it at the speed I was in. I took a risk, and looked back.
The mass, now unmistakably a ding-bat of size I had never heard of before, rose up to the high heavens. It seemed like it never ended, as much as a mile of it in the sky. The vast form cracked, the dark green acid blood pouring out like waterfalls. Smoke thankfully obscured the bulk of it, but I saw things crawl out of it. The forms, smaller ding-bats, pushed themselves out, more and more from that gestalt of them all. Then, it broke apart in a snap, ding-bats thrown from horizon to horizon with no concern.
I turned the visor up and saw the vast numbers of ding-bats fall towards me. These looked right at me, shining blue and all the other colors in their damned strange patterns. I tongued the overdrive one more time. It failed again! I readied the fasces. I won’t claim to be anything like a brave man underneath my attitudes and fast words, but I swore that I’d go down fighting!
Then, like an emergency oxygen mask showing up just before a crash, the A.I. came back on. After a few seconds, it showed me a path through the falling ding-bats. Even as I starting batting the small rock grinders away, I dodged through the undulating masses, slipping through the largest number of them.
The overdrive came on with a kick and I pushed through the rain of metal eaters. I waved my fasces left and right, knocking aside obstacles. Then the A.I. led me up a slope and up again to pass through the Calypso Rupes. I was farther along than I had known!
A straight race towards Rachmaninoff was before me. I could see the first of the transponder towers, and what’s more, they could see me! Line of sight guaranteed, my suit made the connection.
“Is this motorcycle courier AB0380, George Mikos of Schubert Station? Your GPS came in range of Transponder Tower 1-394-3. Are you incoming?”
“Yes! Yes, bless your eyes! Listen, do you see what I’m seeing?”
Whoever I was talking to stopped for a second and checked the cameras. “It appears to be raining ding-bats.”
“You bet your behind it is! Look! You can’t let them in, they’ll destroy your loading docks! Shut the doors, almost to closing. When I get past, slam it on their faces!”
“Roger, I’m going to contact Herbert. This is crazy!”
I dodged the falling ding-bats, but it was with far more purpose. End in sight, I threw myself into beating the ding-bats to the doors. Behind me, the A.I. warned that they were now leaping after me. The great number of them had fallen, even miles out, and now they were eating everything metal or ore in sight. I watched the transponder fall, devoured by the ding-bats. There was no mark of anything else, everything else being devoured I swerved around some, still in their strange combined forms, three of their blank, circular saw faces reaching out to try and get me from one large body.
When it moved within range of the next transponder, it nearly devoured itself. “This is Herbert! We’re pulling for you, son! I had been keeping the doors nearly closed to keep the sun out of them. We’re about five hundred degrees fahrenheit here where it’s cool! Come on! The miners, workers and their families are counting on you!”
I shouted and ordered the A.I. to give me everything the motorcycle had. The speed finally put me faster than the pursuing ding-bats. The crater walls lay before me and I saw a channel cut through for the mining machines. The space pad, rudimentary flat squares on the flat ground, passed by in a blur. The walls too, I didn’t know how fast I was going, but still ding-bats fell to my right and left. My fasces smoked for all the acid blood on it, barely able to hold together.
My suit sprung leaks as the blood dripped over me from the afterbirth of that THING that spewed out all the ding-bats. The A.I. began to shriek warning after warning at me, but I ignored it. In the last few seconds, I abandoned the fasces and put both hands on the handlebars, shouting at the top of my lungs. I aimed for the crack in the doors with what little I could see, as the visor started to give out as the A.I., unable to handle the situation, crapped out.
The front wheel hit something and I, and the bike, were thrown forward, sliding on the dirt of Mercury and then the steel plates of the floor of the threshold. The door shut with a vast clash of metal against metal. I started choking. My suit had been irreparably damaged. I clutched at my head as heat and strange smells afflicted me. I heard men shouting for oxygen and fire suppressors.
I woke up in the hospital bed nearly a week later. I had spent most of that week unconscious and in the medical healing tank. I had radiation poisoning, oxygen deprivation damage to my lungs, burns of at least three different kinds and four different degrees and that was just the stuff on the outside. Not going to lie, my first words begged for alcohol. I spent the rest of the month there, lying in bed like an invalid.
Herbert saw me and said that this was covered by my medical insurance. I thanked him for his kindness, then asked him why he didn’t bring me the good whiskey. He laughed, thinking I was joking. Apparently all the most important documents, disks and storage devices survived. They didn’t survive well, but it was enough.
Scientists came next, and they asked all sorts of questions about the cyclopean ding-bat monolith thing that really took a toll on my sanity. They left only after the good doctor beat them off me with a broom. At least the bed was comfortable and I needed the rest.
When I was released, I headed straight for the bar and spent a month’s pay on the best alcohol in the house. The bartender, a dapper gentleman in lime green suspenders, looked at me without comment, having seen plenty of drunks in his day. I slumped over it after the first drink. The burn went down so good, like the nectar of the gods. The sigh I made ruffled the bartender’s mustache.
“Pardon me! Are you the motorcycle guy?” I straightened and turned around in a second. Before me stood a very cute girl in the mousey sort of way. She was clearly some sort of secretary, or a girl trying to work off a contract for one of the big companies. Blonde hair in a braid, big coke bottle glasses, a demure but curious expression, luscious lips and a very fine figure filled my eyes.
“Yes I am!” I gave her my best smirk-smile combo. It’s one of those things that’s shows amused confidence. Yes, I am awesome, no, it isn’t THAT big of a deal. It felt ill-fitting, after so many procedures and whatever they had done to keep me alive that first week.
She giggled a bit, in the good, shy way. I might be a little rusty after the month long confinement, but she looked like she wanted a good story from a bravo like myself. Half the work was already done. I grabbed a glass behind the bar, ignoring a snort from the bartender. I put the glasses in her hands and kept the bottle in my left. With my right I hugged her close to me, getting some good skin to skin touching, despite her drab and modest clothing. I started talking about all my crazy adventures and thrilled her with stories of hungering ding-bats. And let me tell you, we became firm companions after a few drinks.
Rachmaninoff was a great place, but maybe I talked myself up a bit too much there. I prepared to leave the crater mining station for reassignment when Herbert came up and asked me to sit down, never a good sign. “Mikos, I have a mission for you. Hoggo is loaning you to me for the time being. I need someone to get to Alver crater station. Apparently there’s some sort of epidemic and I want you to deliver aid. We can’t use the cargo ships, as intersolar law prevents them going in for risk of having this disease go solar. However, there is a loophole for motorcycle couriers. Are you up for it? All you have to do is drop it off and get out of there. It needs to be a volunteer, but I can definitely make it worth your while.”
I wanted to scream no. My adventure sense was tingling, and not in the good way. Instead my mouth said. “No problem, boss, I’m the best damn courier on the whole planet. Leave it to me!”
About the Author
Benjamin Wheeler has been wearing a wolf’s head rubber mask since Halloween. He won’t take it off. We’re not even sure it’s the real Benjamin Wheeler in there. He’s only spoken in broken French so far. He does write the good stuff, though. Check out Astounding Frontiers which has his In the Seraglio of the Sheik of Mars and keep an ear out for his next novel coming out someday sooner than later. Working title: Seven Siblings.
THE ELEMENT OF TRANSFORMATION
L. Jagi Lamplighter
Erasmus Prospero lay on the hay of his barred cell, straw poking into his back and one stalk clenched between his teeth. His dark hair, lank from the extreme heat, hung in his eyes. His once-fine green silks and velvets were soiled. Despite the dismal conditions of his surroundings, he patted his left boot and smiled.
The Conde‘s guards had taken his sword, his knife, his alchemical powders, and his enchanted ring, but they had overlooked the most important of his possessions. Though, in truth, the crystal vial hidden in his boot was only his second most-important possession. Had he brought the most important one, he would not have ended up in this situation.
Alas, his father, the Dread Magician Prospero of Shakespearian fame, kept Eramsus’s birthright—the Staff of Withering that allowed him to age things or make them young—locked up with the other family staffs of power. Prospero only allowed his children to use the staffs when it suited his paternal whim. So Erasmus had been empty-handed when the Conde’s men came for him.
That had not stopped him from injuring at least five of them. The Water of Life that granted the Prospero family their immortality made them far stronger than ordinary mortals. Sadly, the Conde’s guard contained many more than five men.
Perhaps, despite its great value, the little crystal vial of Water of Life should be counted as his third-most important possession. From under his drooping lace collar, Erasmus pulled out a dented gold locket and clicked it open. Inside was a cameo of a young woman, carved in white and brown agate. Seeing it drained away his last drop of levity. Even after a hundred years, he still felt the pain of her absence. Daily, grief imprisoned his heart as firmly as if his chest were constricted by lead shackles. If the Conde’s men had so much as dared to lay a finger on his locket, he would have killed them with his bare hands.
Through the bars of the only window, the tiny planet Mercury glinted in the pre-dawn sky. Erasmus sighed. It was believed that bad luck ruled so long as Mercury was in retrograde. Some felt that this was because the backward motion of the inmost wanderer drew the ambient luck with it. Some felt that it was the rising tide of ill-luck that pushed the planet backward. Yet others said that Mercury retreated whenever the god whose namesake it bore, ever a champion of mankind, was forced to leave his throne in the heavens and toil upon the earth, a penalty for some ancient wrong.
Whatever the cause, Erasmus felt grateful that this coming day would be the last of this period of mercurial back-peddling and that the little harbinger would soon be returning to its proper, forward path.
He could certainly do with a change of luck.
The sun rose over the horizon, filling the Andalusian skies with a brilliant, cloudless blue. As it continued towards its zenith, Erasmus lay upon his back in the straw, taking what pleasure he may from dreaming up new tortures for his captors—the Conde, his overly obedient men-at-arms, that obsequious, doddering chancellor, and the lascivious dancing maidens, particularly the brazen hussy who shamelessly flaunted her body before him, attempting to draw his thoughts away from his beloved Maria. He hoped they would all spend at least a millennium in fiery purgatory when the time came.
The door opened, and a second man was shoved into the cell so violently that he crashed to the ground. As the barred door slammed closed again, the newcomer grunted and turned over. He was a youth of Mediterranean descent, with dark curling hair and a close-cropped beard. A short, sleeveless tunic of linen was all that covered his lithe, bronzed body. He wore sandals with laces that wrapped around his leg to his upper calf. It was an odd outfit, as if the man were trying to imitate the dress of a figure on a Grecian Urn.
The young man levered himself up onto his elbow and examined his surroundings. His eyes rested on his cellmate, taking in Erasmus’s dark green garments of expensive silk and velvet. He continued gazing for so long that Erasmus was beginning to muse merrily upon what future torment might be applied to this the newcomer as well, when the young man spoke.
“I know you, stranger.” The youth’s voice was surprisingly deep and lively. “You are Lucretius’s son.”
An eerie shiver slithered down Erasmus’s spine. Very few individuals had ever been on a first name basis with his father. All of the mortals ones were dead, which meant this one was…
Mary, Mother of God. Erasmus’s heart skipped a beat. He was about to die.
Erasmus drew the straw from between his teeth and sat up. With a sort of sitting half bow, he said with what dignity he could muster, “Erasmus Prospero at your service. And you are?”
“You may call me… Trist.”
“Trist as in Tristmagistus? The Thrice-Great One?”
The youth’s eyes danced. “Very much so.”
“I see.” Erasmus swallowed and loosened his collar. Then, never being a man given much to cowardice, he resigned himself for the inevitable.
“And what might the god of thieves and messengers be doing in a cramped cell beneath a Spanish castle?” he asked lightly.
“Helped some mortals. Angered my father.” The youth shrugged. “Without my powers for a time. Apparently, I picked the wrong establishment from which to request hospitality.”
“Yes. I discovered that, too. Came here by invitation, with the hopes of prosperous trading. Apparently, our host, and I use that word lightly, did not like what I had to offer.”
“It will be his doom.”
“Good,” Erasmus smiled, but there was no humor in his expression. “Soon? Or was that just a general statement as in: ‘All men shall meet their dooms?’”
“At sundown, my power will return to me. It is an explosive process. Everything near me will be destroyed.”
“Including…” Erasmus swallowed again, “… me?”
“Including you.”
“Ah, unfortunate.” Erasmus lay back on the straw again. He gestured airily.
“He takes the knights in the field,
Enarmed under helm and shield,
Victor he is at all melee;
Timor Mortis conturbat me.”
The god of travel laid back as well, resting his head on his crossed arms.
“I don’t suppose,” Erasmus asked presently, “that there is anything I could do to postpone or forestall my rapidly-approaching demise?”
“As it happens,” the divine youth’s eyes twinkled merrily, “there is.”
“Really?” Erasmus rose to a sitting position.
“If I had but a modicum of my power, I could control how the rest returned to me. I would be able to spare those near me.”
“And is there something I… ah.” Erasmus’s mouth closed with a snap.
Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a slender crystal vial no longer than the first joint of his thumb. He held it up to the light filtering in from the high barred window. The pearly liquid within shimmered and sparkled. The cut crystal sliced the sunlight into tiny rainbows that danced about the musty cell.
“And here I was thinking how lucky I was that the Conde had not confiscated it.”
“You are lucky,” said the youth, smiling. “You may live yet.”
Erasmus swirled the liquid. The tiny rainbows danced the jig. “You are asking for a year of my life, you know.”
The god of merchants shrugged. “Only if you do not acquire more Water of Life, which you no doubt will.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. It takes my sister Miranda a year and a day to fetch Water of Life from the Well at the World’s End,” explained Erasmus, “and she can bring back only as much as she can carry. That small amount must be shared among our entire family. Miranda hates me, so I always receive my share last.”
“She hates you?” the young man raised a skeptical eye. “The fair Miranda?”
