Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1) (9 page)

George awoke at dawn and slapped away an insect crawling up his leg, still feeling weak and tired due to the Summoning’s pressure throughout the previous day.

Wonderful, just wonderful
, he thought.

‘It could be worse, George,’ the all too familiar voice whispered in his mind.

“I know,” he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, m’lord,” Cle’or said, having apparently been on guard duty.

He looked at the blonde-haired woman sword swain with the deep scar across her face, a member of his unwanted escort.

‘George, I don’t think body guard describes her well enough,’ the computer staff whispered.

He coughed as his elfblooded friend Balfour and the other three black liveried women of their escort rose from their blankets. The youngest, Fri’il, smiled at him as she paused to lace back up her bodice before donning her plain livery.

Oh, boy
, he thought.

She smiled all the more as he looked away, which was when he realized that Se’and, the sandy haired leader of his escort, was watching him.

“Uh, good morning,” he said.

“Morning, m’lord.”

“I am not really into this ‘m’lord’ stuff.”

“Sorry, m’lord… Would you rather we call you sire?” Se’and asked.

“Uh, no.”

“Husband then?” she asked with a look a dead seriousness.

“No!” George shouted.

“You are nonetheless,” she replied.

“No, I definitely am not.”

“Se’and, don’t push him,” said the slightly older Me’oh, the trained herbalist. “Having us bonded to him and Balfour here is not something that happens every day.”

Balfour approached.

“Gee-orj and I both feel Sire Ryff and Vyss’s generosity is a bit…misplaced.”

“You saved my brother Vyss’s life,” Se’and said, “my father’s gratitude can know no bounds.”

“And the two of you need looking after,” Cle’or said, dancing a dagger on her fingertip.

“Leaving you two out here alone will likely get you killed… And I, for one, am happy to kill anyone who tries to harm you.”

“I as well!” said Fri’il, who couldn’t be more than sixteen years old, in standard earth years.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, lass,” Cle’or said. “Practice, practice, practice.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Se’and shook her head, assuring the male travelers, “We’re yours, m’lords. Accept it and let us do our jobs. Siring babes can wait.”

George shook his head and said, “More than wait: you see, I’ve no intention of staying on this world any longer than I have to. I’ve a life on my own world, and I’ve no plans to start a family by traditions that are not my own.”

‘Live a little, George,’ Staff whispered.

“Shut up!” he rasped as Balfour coughed hard trying not to laugh as the four women looked at George in puzzlement.

After George’s pronouncement breakfast was a quiet affair. Balfour sat next to him and the four Cathartan women across from them.

Fri’il broke the silence by asking, “What did you mean by going back to your own world?”

Balfour grinned, “Jee-orj isn’t from around here. He fell through the Gate.”

“The Gate? But that’s only a legend,” Se’and said.

“For a legend it’s a hell of a drop,” George replied. He took the edge of his cloak in his left hand, “And the wyverns were no fun either.”

That got all of Cle’or’s attention.

“You fought a wyvern?”

“Several. So you see,” George said, “I don’t need your help.”

“It sounds to me just the opposite,” Se’and said. “It sounds like you need all the help you can get, sire.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Je’orj then, but that does not negate the fact you need us.”

“Fair enough, but that doesn’t make us married.”

Se’and just smiled back and Fri’il grinned.

Cle’or said, “I think you better tell us this tale, so we know what we’re up against and what your plan really is. Because,” she said, waving one of her throwing daggers, “I need to know where I need to throw this.”

George sighed as Balfour nudged him, “Jee-orj, you can’t do this alone. We can’t. I can serve as your guide but Cathartans are legendary for their swordsmanship.”

Drawing out his own dagger, he held it out. The metal was dark, nearly black.

Se’and was mesmerized at the sight of it. Me’oh had mentioned George using something like it to heal her brother, but until this moment she did not recognize what it was.

She glanced at her half sister Cle’or, who rasped, “That’s an alloy like a Black Blade, a work of anti-magery like the black swords of Cathartan legend. Where did you get it?”

“Where? In Prect in the Great Waste. A friend gave it to me.” They stared at him, knowing no one and nothing lived in the Waste. “A most unusual friend.”

“Tell us,” Fri’il begged. “Please, m’lord, I mean, Je’orj.” Fri’il, and slowly the other Cathartan escorts, began adopting Balfour’s pronunciation of his name. It confounded George since no one in this world could speak his name as he did himself.

He sighed and continued, “I awoke somewhere unexpected….”

“Wot ure oo dinkin’ bringin’ ‘im ‘ere?” a man half shouted as he awoke.

“Oo wantet mi ta leaf ‘im?”

“Luk at ‘im! Ee’s so oogly!”

George’s fingertips touched his DHR computer that lay beside him on the wide cot. He squinted as the computer staff flared brighter than he could ever remember. It lit the room and gave him and his hosts a much better view of each other. He mentally reached out to those about him and the translation program locked into place and adjusted to the dialect changes.

“Such light! It hurts my eyes!”

“Engage dampeners,” George muttered.

The computer crystal’s light dimmed, yet was still brighter than George was used to.

“Well, if we had any doubts about Greth’s story, this should settle them,” the woman Mendra said.

“That staff is indeed powerful. Oh, and you’re right, Berrick. He really is quite ugly.”

“Mendra!”

He was still in the damned nightmare. Great. Just great, a nightmare with giants with faces no one would ever want a small child to see, not if you wanted them to ever be able to go to sleep again.

‘George, I’m picking up a signal.’

“Keep on that,” he muttered as he sat up with a splitting headache. “Ow,” he muttered bringing his hands to his aching head.

“He’s so short, Qapin,” Mendra commented.

“That’s because Greth’s brought home a human.”

“No, we’re human, what he is is plain ugly,” Berrick said.

“Councilman Berrick! That’s enough,” Qapin bellowed.

The very tall woman leaned closer, “What you eat, little manling?”

‘Now ain’t that the question?’ the staff whispered in his counterpart’s mind.

George coughed, realizing there appeared to be something wrong with the DHR computer. He inspected it closely.

The large trolls that surrounded George craned their necks in wondering why he was so rapt with his staff.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just getting used to a new relationship with my computer.” His hosts stared at him with a confused look. “Nevermind. I’m George. Where the hell am I?”

‘George.’

He ignored the mental voice.

“Welcome to Prect,” said the deadly looking troll, whose face looked vaguely familiar. That face was the last thing he saw before losing consciousness after he fell through the hole in the universe and through the Gate.

“I am Greth. My scavenger party found you at
Ashra Kodiu
, the old Elvin city.”

“Elvin city?”

“This is my father Qapin, leader of all Prect. This is my Aunt Mendra, who leads the hospital wardens, and this is Berrick, Chief Councilor of Prect.”

‘George, I’ve got something. It appears to be a ship’s Mayday. The signal’s very faint, very low power. It is identifying a damaged colony vessel in need of assistance.‘

George coughed and quietly commanded, “Scan.”

‘Commencing scan.’ Images filled George’s mind, images of deck upon deck, combined cabins and other chambers. Each modified to accommodate the height of those who dwelled here. This once had been a colony starship, one that had taken damage beyond the ravages of time.

“He appears to be much frailer than we humans,” Mendra said as she knelt beside George and placed a patch on his forehead. It immediately changed color. “If he were human, at this temperature I would say he is dying.”

George shook his head, “No, my body temperature is normal for me, but thank you for your concern.”

“You hungry?”

“Uh huh.”

Mendra shoved Berrick out of her way, “I’ll be back with some tea, biscuits, and neobutrae, which should do nicely.”

“Uh, thanks, I think.”

“We put neobutrae on all our food. Good protein source,” Qapin said as the Councilor glared at George, who smiled back, figuring that was safest.

‘George, we’re in a downed starship and it’s been here a very long time. Longer than when colony ships first began leaving Earth’s Solar System some 2,148 years ago. This ship appears to be thousands of years older than that, George.’

Curious
, he thought as Greth gave him what he hoped was a reassuring look.

It was hard to tell coming from a ten foot tall leathery skinned nightmare with kind blue eyes.

Fri’il gasped, “The trolls let you live?”

“Let him finish his fanciful tale, young lady. Trolls, indeed!” Se’and said.

Seeing as he had their full attention, George placed his staff across his knees and continued.

The neobutrae was nothing like butter, but Staff did a quick scan that showed it wasn’t going to kill him. He guessed the taste was in the eye of the beholder too. They watched him eat each and every bite.

“Uh, I’d like to go back the way I came.”

“Through the Gate?” Qapin half choked.

“Yes.”

“We’re not even sure how you managed to make use of it.”

“Hmm,” he muttered.
Great. Just great
. “In that case, can I get a tour?”

”A tour?”

“Of the
Questor
.”

Qapin’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear that name?”

George heard staff say, ‘Ah, George, you seemed to have pulled it directly from the neural interface.’

George hadn’t asked for that information. That wasn't how a DHR computer with a data/human rapport interface works, the user asks and it shares. You didn’t just suddenly
know
.

George decided truth was always the best policy, especially with hulking trolls. He answered Qapin, “The ship knows its name.”

“It’s called Prect.” Greth said disapprovingly.

“No, it’s the Colonizer
Questor
, Mars Registry 675 Dash B.”

“Who told you that?!” Councilor Berrick cried.

“It’s in the Mayday. It’s still broadcasting.”

“What?!” Mendra shouted as part of the troll chorus.

“You don’t know the ship’s broadcasting?” he asked.

“This is intolerable!” the councilor said.

“Berrick, we’ll handle this!”

“No, this is a matter for the Council!”

Qapin grinned, “Really?”

The councilor stared at him. “You wouldn’t! I’m Chief Councilor! The Council won’t stand for this!”

“Actually, I believe you’ll find they understand this falls in my area of responsibility.”

Grumbling, Berrick left as the Qapin ordered, “Greth, get that fool Lawson!”

And that was how George met the dwarf troll, Lawson. He was only six feet tall and was easy to mistake for one of the troll children running through the corridors that served as streets. He was like the young trolls, closer to human norms. “You called, Qapin?” Lawson said as he arrived.

“Yes, our human friend George here tells us that the ship’s name is
Questor
.”

Lawson stared at me. “Who told you the Holy Name?”

Qapin said, “He told me, and it was the ship that told him. It is board-casting a May-day.”

“It’s board casting? I’ve read about that in the Sacred Manuals, but it shouldn’t be. The Comm Board is dead, so it can’t be board-casting.”

“Show me the Comm Board,” George said.

“Show him the Board, Greth. Lawson, escort them and keep this quiet. Berrick’s already screaming that we should offer his staff to the Power Plant.”

“What?!”
What?!
George said, shaking his head at the mental echo.

Greth reassured George, “Don’t worry. No one’s taking that from you.”

Lawson stared at the crystalline staff. “What is that?”

“My computer.”

“And it works?”

“Sorta.”

‘George!’ the staff protested.

George was led to the alternate bridge, the back-up in case of catastrophic failure of the main system. Staff scanned as Lawson led them through the corridor to the main bridge, which was badly damaged.

The alternate bridge was much better.

Lawson pointed, “The Comm Board’s over there.”

“Full scan,” he muttered, holding the staff directly before him.

It glowed so brightly he winced.

‘Commencing. Anomalies noted.’ A diagram of the room filled George’s mind as he closed his eyes.

He pointed to the right, “The Comm Board’s over there, Lawson. That’s Auxiliary Control.”

Lawson and Greth stood in awe as the Comm Board lit up and a broken monitor activated, “…ayDay, this is
Questor
, Mars Registry 675 Dash B. We have made a forced landing. Off course due to drive failure. Mayday, this is
Questor
, Mars…”

George waved his hand and Staff deactivated the audio. Greth and Lawson were dumbfounded. There was a data stamp in the comm data that had been lost in the transmission. The ship had landed there two thousand years ago, but staff dated the landing here at 5609 years previous, with a standard deviation of ten years maximum. Archaeology was their business. The time discrepancy raised more questions, but facts were facts. George was here in a downed starship that may have passed through a time warp due to their drive failure. If that we the case, only arriving three thousand or so years earlier was a stroke of pure luck.

Looking at his new troll friends, George knew they had paid a terrible price for remaining here. The low levels of radiation weren’t lethal in the short term, but the mutation they’d suffered made the long term results to their genetic make-up clear enough.

When George and the trolls returned to the others, Berrick’s qualms worsened.

“How could you allow him onto the bridge?”

“Berrick, it was my decision to make!” Qapin yelled back.

“What damage did he do?” the Councilor demanded to know.

“Damage? He fixed the Comm Board and rerouted external sensors to it, which can warn us of encroachments like it was designed to thousands of years ago.”

Berrick was livid, “He damaged the Holy of Holies!”

“What?!” George shouted. “It’s a miracle the systems work at all.”

“It’s magery!” Berrick shouted. “We take our power from the enchantments left behind, and our power systems need more power. We need your staff’s energy!”

“Berrick!” Qapin shouted as George held his staff tighter, which began to blaze in a reflection of his anger.

Berrick leapt toward him and sought to tear the staff from his grasp. The gray haired troll bounced off the defensive field and hit his head. Greth knelt beside the unconscious counselor as George said to Qapin, “No one’s messing with my staff.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Qapin said. “Berrick’s a real idiot.”

George nodded as Lawson studied the staff from a distance and noted, “That was a shield, like the manuals say the ship had.”

“Similar principals,” he replied, seeing Lawson getting ready to launch into another discussion about the ship’s systems.

“Qapin, can I take him to the Core?”

“Best now while Berrick’s unconscious.”

“The Core,” George said. “You mean the computer core?”

Lawson nodded.

The
Questor’s
computer core was a rather dark place to visit. It was like entering a cave.

George held Staff up. It provided better quality than Lawson’s torch. “Well, this is it, George.”

Greth said, “I’ll stay on guard out here. Whatever you do, be quick about it.”

“No one but me ever comes here,” Lawson said.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Greth said.

George declared, “Scan.”

‘Commencing scan. Anomalies detected. Functionality is erratic. Core is operating but at an extremely slow speed.’

George dropped into deeper rapport with the staff and could perceive what it meant. A fraction of a data stream appeared in George’s mind, an action that should have appeared in closer to a microsecond was slowly registering as time went by.

“It’s out of phase.”

‘Or, looked at another way, it is perhaps we who are out of temporal phase, George.’

“The difference between say a thousand years passing and over five thousand?”

‘Hypothetically.’

“George? Can you make it work?” Lawson asked.

“It’s already working, just at a pace too slow for you to work with it.”

“Perhaps if you uplink to it,” Lawson suggested.

“Uplink?”

“Using the headset. it’s too small for anyone else other than the kids and me, or you. It’s why Qapin’s given me access. He told me to tell no one, but the Core could be of great help to us.”

He led George to a recessed command module with a sea shell shaped head piece that was designed for human interface. It had a sim visor, something George had only seen in a museums and archival images.