Where the Ships Die (2 page)

That was when George Albert Wiley III screwed up his courage, took six running steps, and launched himself into the air. The Pest staggered under the boy's weight and screamed as small fingers found his eyes.

Dorn nearly fell as the upperclassman let go of the belt. He gasped for air, saw Cramer start to rise, and kicked him in the head. He turned, left fist up, right fist back. The attack never came. The Pest was down and nearly invisible under ten squirming rats, each one of whom was determined to deliver five blows for every one received during the past year. Their arms moved with the regularity of pistons, and the Pest begged for mercy, but the rats weren't about to give him any. But, suddenly, a whistle blew.

At the sound, the rats jumped back, saw what they'd accomplished, and regarded each other with horror. What had they done? Fear replaced momentary jubilation. Payback is a bitch, and the uppers would exact a terrible revenge. Headmaster Tull entered, followed by Coach Mahowski. They were big men and radiated authority. Dorn relaxed his stance, tried to look casual, and found it hard to do. Not with a rat roped to the pillar, blood all over the place, and four of his classmates laid out on the floor.

Coach Mahowski hurried to Mundulo, cut the little boy down, and carried him away. Tull had piercing green eyes, and they swept the room like lasers. ' 'Every single one of you will be sorry this happened. The first form is restricted to their dorm. Those upperclassman who need medical attention will get it and report to their rooms. Mr. Voss, you know where the detention room is ... Go there."

Headmaster Tull kept Dorn waiting for two hours. Plenty of time to think, sweat, and wonder. But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dorn was ushered into a sparsely furnished office. Holo stats of dead headmasters stared from paneled walls, and the school's motto, "Learn that you might serve," had been carved into a ceiling beam. Hazy sunlight filtered down through a skylight and pooled on the surface of Tull's desk. It was bare except for an antique clock, a pen set, and a single pile of hardcopy. The printout looked like a school record, and it didn't take a genius to figure out who it belonged to.

Dorn had been standing there for a full five minutes before Tull entered. The headmaster gestured toward some guest chairs. Dorn waited till Tull was seated before accepting the invitation. A shaft of sunlight caressed the administrator's shoulders and gave the impression that he was on good terms with the local gods. He sorted through some hardcopy, found what he was looking for, and cleared his throat. "You've had quite an afternoon, Mr. Voss. You scored a C on your history exam, skipped fourth period, and fought a rather one-sided duel in the swimming pavilion. The dispensary hasn't been this busy in a long, long time."

Dorn couldn't think of anything to say. So he didn't speak. Tull nodded as if agreeing with his decision. "Yours is a difficult case, Mr. Voss ... made more so by the rather complex circumstances. While I can never endorse physical violence as a solution for problems, especially when faculty are available to deal with such situations, I'm not so old, nor so out of touch that I've lost track of the social pressures fostered by an institution such as ours, or the fact that your actions stemmed from the most honorable of intentions." Tull paused. Dorn shifted in his seat. "In fact, the sad truth of the matter is that Mr. Cramer and his friends were overdue for a lesson in humility, and received their just deserts. Mr. Wiley and the other members of the first form had high praise for your courage and resolve, although I'm not sure that I believe you were in the botanical garden for the purposes of meditation, or that you suggested faculty mediation prior to beating the crap out of Mr. Cramer. However, all's well that ends well, assuming that you will refrain from such episodes in the future."

Dorn swallowed to clear his throat. "How's Mr. Mundulo?"

"Not very well," Tull answered darkly, "but he'll recover, and his assailants will be expelled from the school. And that brings us to you."

Dorn was puzzled. It seemed as if Tull had accepted the necessity of what he'd done, so what remained? Tull looked at the hardcopy as if checking to make sure that the text hadn't changed somehow. "Tell me, Mr. Voss, when was the last time you heard from your parents?"

Dorn felt a sudden queasiness in the pit of his stomach. "My parents? Gee, I don't know, six, maybe seven months ago?"

Tull nodded. "Is that unusual?"

Dorn became defensive. "A little. They usually send a package of stuff every couple of months, but they're busy."

Tull stood and looked out the window. His hands were clasped behind his back. "Yes, Milford parents
are
busy people." There was silence for a moment before the headmaster turned. He looked concerned, almost kindly. "Look, Mr. Voss, I'm terribly sorry to trouble you with what may be a false alarm, but we haven't heard from your parents in a long time. Simply put, that means the last installment of your tuition wasn't paid, and no deposit was made to your personal expense account."

Dorn frowned and tried to square the words with reality as he knew it. "But that's impossible... I bought some school supplies yesterday."

"Yes," Tull replied sympathetically. "I took the liberty of loaning you some of my funds. After all, your father was a student here, as was his father, and it's the least I could do."

Momentarily speechless, Dorn was numb with shock. His parents were worth millions, maybe
billions,
since they owned their own company, a fleet of ships, and a wormhole. One of only four gaps in the space-time continuum through which most of the Confederacy's fast freight was forced to go. That meant his tuition and expenses were little more than pocket change. Unless something awful had happened, and his parents were what? Dead? The teenager remembered his anger at being dumped on New Hope and felt a sudden sense of guilt.

In spite of the fact that lots of sentients had tried, no means of faster than ship communication had been discovered yet. If Dorn wanted to find out what, in fact, had happened, he had only one choice. "I need to find my parents, sir. I'll pack and leave on the next ship."

Tull raised a hand in protest. "I understand how you feel, son, and I wish it were that easy, but there are laws that govern what minors can and can't do. It's impossible for you to lift without your parent's permission. Not to mention the fact that a deep-space ticket costs a great deal of money, more than I can afford to loan you. No, we'll wait. A number of ships are scheduled to land soon, and I wouldn't be surprised if we hear something during the next couple of weeks."

Dorn tried to take comfort from the headmaster's words but found it hard to do. "And if we don't hear? What then?"

Tull looked away, then back again. "Eventually, if I receive no answer to the urgent letters already sent, you'll be asked to leave the academy. But let's cross that bridge when we come to it. School is the most important thing right now ... and you're pulling a C in history."

Dorn nodded, mumbled his thanks, and left the office. Little more than fifteen minutes had passed, and his whole life had changed.

2

Tragedy, like good fortune, is little more than an illusion.

La-Da

Traa philosopher

Standard year 2097

The Planet La-Tri

The Mountain of the Moons loomed black on blue as the sun set and three satellites rose in the east. The moons glowed yellow-white, and La-Ma touched forehead, chest, and abdomen, an action that symbolized the unity between mind, heart, and body.

The priestess allowed her eyes to drift down along barely seen ridges, vertical cliffs, and hills of black volcanic rock to the high ground where ancient walls protected the Temple of Tranquility and the 3,333 altars within. It had been a fortress once, a place of comparative safety into which the priesthood could retreat, defending both themselves and the triune concepts of peace, harmony, and love. But that was hundreds of years ago, before the great reconciliation, and the unification of the Traa race.

All these thoughts and more made their way through La-Ma's mind as she watched the grand processional wind its way down the mountainside and into the temple. Every celebrant carried a glow rod that lit the area around them but was no more than a pinprick against the night. However, when combined with all the rest, the glow rods made a river of light visible from orbit.

The processional was an important symbol, made all the more so by the fact that each of the more than 2,500,000 individuals below were part of a three-person triad that included a priest, a warrior, and a commercial being. La-Ma was looking at roughly one-third of the Traa race, in her opinion the most important part, since the Philosopher Sept had responsibility for science, education, healing, as well as the spiritual and moral health of the Traa people. This fact both amazed and frightened her due to the responsibility involved.

Unlike the amazingly fecund humans, or the equally fertile Du'zaath, the Traa had an extremely low birth rate. Two or three offspring per triad were typical, though there were enough larger families to keep the population stable. This was a situation that theoretically made the race vulnerable to attack and caused the Warrior and Commercial septs no end of worry. Which explained why they advocated commercial domination, or failing that, all-out war—a war that the Philosopher Sept opposed lest it destroy the Traa rather than protecting them. Not to mention the suffering it would bring to millions of sentient beings and the harm it would do to their various planets. No, such a course was unthinkable, which accounted for the fact that La-Ma and her peers had resolved to hold the gathering over the objections of their own scientists.

Yes, they understood the mountain was stirring for the first time in eight hundred years; yes, they knew an eruption could be catastrophic, but the alternative was just as risky. It would take months, perhaps as much as a year to select another location, overcome objections from the traditionalist faction, and stage another gathering. More than enough time for the other septs to complete their plans and put them in motion. There were other ways to communicate, of course, but the Traa made decisions by consensus, and preferred face-to-face speech where matters of substance were concerned.

La-Ma thought of her own lovers, the warrior Ka-Di, and the commercial being Sa-Lo, and felt affection mixed with consternation. How could they be so blind? To believe that force rather than love would secure the future of the race? But they were as true to their septs as she was to hers.

Gravel crunched on the path behind her, and La-Ma turned. Like all of his kind, La-To had a short snout, omnivorous dentition, and horizontal nostrils. He wore the white robe of a priest, which, when combined with the short brown fur that covered his body, was sufficient for a warm summer's evening. He lifted a hand in greeting. It had three fingers and one thumb. "Peace unto you, La-Ma... La-Si told me you'd be here."

La-Ma pressed her hand against La-To's. "Peace unto you, La-To. La-Si spoke truthfully." She gestured toward the processional below. "Look, our brothers and sisters are beautiful, are they not?"

La-To looked and was about to answer when another mild earthquake shook the ground beneath his feet. He held his breath against the possibility that a worse tremor would follow. Nothing happened. "Yes, but we must hurry. The seismologists are concerned. The quakes are coming more and more frequently now. A steam vent opened to the east, and the sulfur dioxide emissions have increased. La-Si recommends we open and close the meeting as quickly as possible."

The temblors frightened La-Ma more than she cared to admit. She was quick to agree. "Yes, and let's evacuate the moment the ceremonies are over."

La-To considered her suggestion. It wouldn't be easy to move 2,500,000 individuals, especially when many had their hearts set on sleeping in one of the altar rooms, or within sacred hollows on the mountain's slopes, but it had to be done. Especially since the scientists agreed that even a medium-sized eruption was likely to spew tons of rock and ash. Thousands might be injured or killed. He gestured his agreement. "An excellent idea... I'll work on transportation while you handle the meeting."

La-Ma agreed and followed La-To down toward the valley below. The ground shook as something shifted deep beneath their feet. A quake rolled through the Valley of Tranquility. An altar fell.

Hours had passed while the processional wound its way through the 333 stations of devotion and into the central cavern, a cavern created when molten lava flowed down the mountain's flanks thousands of years before, spreading fingers of red into the valley below. However, in spite of the fact that the rock
looked
solid, bubbles existed deep inside. They remained undisturbed as subsequent flows chose other less difficult paths.

A time came when free-roaming outlaws drove a band of peace-loving Traa up off the plains. There the first defensive walls were built, shafts were dug, and a bubble was breached. Soon other caverns were discovered and linked via underground passageways.

Hundreds of years passed, years in which food, texts, and gunpowder were stored in the caves, new engineering principles were discovered, and powerful machines were invented, all of which enabled the creation of a vast amphitheater with seating for nearly three million Traa. It was into this vast space, equipped with an elaborate multimedia communications system, that La-Ma stared, her heart beating heavily in her chest, the sound of her introduction still reverberating off the walls. This was the first time she had stood on the rotating platform and faced the entire sept. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her message was critically important. What if she failed? The other septs would continue their aggressive actions, the alien races would respond in kind, and a war would be fought. Millions of Traa watched her expectantly. La-Ma opened her mouth. Nothing came out. She tried again.

"Thank you, La-Si. It's an honor to address this distinguished gathering. The scientists among you are aware that the Mountain of the Moons has awoken from its long slumber. With that in mind I will keep my comments short and ask that you cooperate when we evacuate the temple."